In Biochemistry class, we are talking about the properties and activities of the phospholipid bilayers that surround every living cell. The prof put up a photo of a boiling pool in Yellowstone that was scummed with bright orange and yellow bacteria to emphasize that all living cells use this same structure, even extreme thermophiles. The bilayers are made of specific types of molecules that self-assemble into this configuration when put in aqueous solution. It is a very ancient structure indeed. While the biochemical and evolutionary stories are certainly fascinating, I found myself thinking about my fabulous trip to Iceland a while back where I saw plenty of boiling pools rimmed with weird minerals and brightly colored bacterial mats. And I began to fret about not having any more cool adventures like that. I can only post just so many photos of the dogs napping in the sun by the back door before the blog devolves into meaningless, navel-gazing blather.
Well. As the saying goes, be careful what you wish for.
I've mentioned before that I am volunteering at a wildlife rehabilitation and education center located north of Corvallis. From October to the beginning of January, I was on a Wednesday morning shift, but my class schedule this term didn't have any morning openings so I had to switch to an evening shift.
The morning and evening shifts are pretty different. Some animals eat during the day, some at night. You spend more time cleaning cages in the mornings. And we generally have to contend with much colder temps for the morning shifts--frozen water bowls and hoses and even your own clothes since you inevitably get wet when spraying clumps of bird poop and chick remnants off perches.
Last night was my first evening shift. I volunteered to take care of the animals in the outdoor enclosures at the back of the property. I often took on this particular set of tasks during the morning shift and am familiar with some of the longer-term residents.
Only one bird needed to be fed: a young Great Horned Owl. I hadn't seen him before. First, the owls eat at night so we never really dealt with them during the morning shift, but this particular owl is a relatively new arrival. He was in a building that I had not visited before. He was to get one mouse and three chicks for his meal. I tossed them into a pitcher with hot water to warm up/thaw (the mice are kept in the freezer, the chicks in the fridge) then went to check on the other animals on my list.
It was dusk when I walked out there for my initial recon but I could still see the outlines of the animals in the cages. It was a short list: the pair of merlins (one was already bedded down for the night in the crate they used as a nest), the two ducks and a goose (oddly friendly birds whose wading pool needed emptying, cleaning, and refilling; ducks and geese shit copiously), the squirrels, and a red-tailed hawk who viewed me with considerable suspicion. I gave them all fresh water then returned to the kitchen to prepare the owl's dinner.
By the time I carried the small metal plate with the mouse and three chicks out to the owl's enclosure, it was nearly full dark. I am familiar with the layout of the buildings and the paths but I had to open the first door to the owl's enclosure entirely by feel. All of the doors are double locked with a snap-lock or carabiner placed through a primary latch. The owl is in a multi-cage building so the first door led to a vestibule with interior doors that opened into the animal spaces. The vestibule is about 10 feet by 10 feet and it has no lights (none of the outback buildings are lit). There was a glimmer of city lights so I left the outer door open until I could find the double locked entrance to the owl's cage. I then closed the outer door and fumbled my way into the owl's cage.
The owl was fairly distressed by my entry so I tried to make it quick: remove the soiled pillowcase on the stump, place a clean one down, and lay out the now cooled mouse and chicks, cut bits facing up (we slit them open to entice sick animals to eat). The entire time the owl was flinging itself against the mesh in the corner trying to get away from me. I could see it silhouetted against the city-lit night sky but the lower part of the cage was completely black. I turned to leave...and couldn't find the pull-string to open the latch which is located on the outside, of course. The door was closed and completely flush with the wall. Where was the string?
I found a line of zipties zipped together sticking out from behind a piece of 2x4 framing the door and pulled on that. It broke. I followed the stump of zipties to see where it went but the metal siding was so well attached to the wood framing that I couldn't get my hand through. I couldn't even tell if the zipties were attached to anything on the other side. I hadn't noticed any zipties when I opened the door the first time.
I tried to slip my hand between the door and the frame but the space was too small. I could tell where the latch was but could not reach it. I would have needed a tool with a right angle to open it anyway. I was in a cage floored with gravel, decorated with limbs and stumps and a damned angry owl. I thought about trying to bend the metal plate into a tool but it proved too thick. I was trapped in the enclosure with the owl.
I was a new team member and the only one handling the outback that evening. I wasn't even sure if anyone would miss me!
I crouched down in a corner to consider my options. I decided yelling was the best choice, at least as an initial plan. I calmly shouted "Help! I'm locked in!", counted to fifty, and repeated it. Every time I yelled, the owl became very agitated and began flying around the entire enclosure. He could certainly see me even if I couldn't see him. I felt a puff of air from his wings over my head several times. I stayed crouched and kept my head down. Counting to fifty wasn't an exact clock but I spent about 15 minutes doing this. I began to wonder what my next option should be. I wasn't panicked and it wasn't terribly cold and I was dressed appropriately. But the owl was pissed and I did not relish the idea of spending hours in that cage with him.
Then I heard a guy yell "I hear you! I'm coming!" I stopped yelling and stood up, trying to see through the trees. The owl stopped flinging himself around the cage and perched on a tree limb above the door, waiting with me.
I saw a bobbing light coming towards me--I was a little confused because it was coming from the opposite direction of the main buildings and I thought I was the only one out there. But whoever he was, he was coming to let me out. He came closer and said, "I'm not familiar with the buildings." Okay, definitely not a facility volunteer. "Turn right in about 50 feet," I said. I could see now that he was wearing a headlamp. Very useful, those things.
He came over and opened up the outer door and paused. I said, "I'm stuck inside, you'll have to open this door too." And so he did. To the great relief of me and the owl, I slipped out into the vestibule. It was only when I was relatching the door that I noticed that there was marker writing scrawled on the metal siding: door latch string broken. Hey, helpful person, that message is not very fucking helpful IN THE DARK! Sheesh.
I found out that this guy lives in a teepee at the far end of the property (Oregon, hippies, whatever). I had no idea he was back there although I had seen the teepee. I thanked him profusely and returned to the main building. Sure enough, none of them had even noticed that I had not returned in a timely manner! I filled out a repair request, resisting the urge to include a rant that writing on an enclosure wall was not a particularly effective way to share important information.
So, an adventure. Certainly not the same scope as riding Icelandic ponies for three days but an exciting event nonetheless. Lesson learned: add my new shift leader's number to my phone and carry the thing in a back pocket at all times. Other lesson learned: I'm not MacGyver. But at least I didn't panic. And the owl got his dinner, which he would no doubt eventually eat.
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