Wildlife Confessionals

This will be a short post. But an important one (at least to me).

The Wildlife Society’s Western Section has collected and is printing some wonderful fieldwork stories into an anthology.  I happen to be one of the authors in the collection and proud of it.  There are some great stories in this anthology that should help explain what it is really like to be a wildlifer in all its poignant glory and all its humorous repugnancy.



Below are a couple of excepts from the two stories I contributed to the anthology.  A lot of people donated their time and effort to pull this together including 12 other authors that contributed great stories.  Pre-order a copy to help the TWS Western Section raise funds for student scholarships.  Thanks guys, cheers!!!

When it rains bullets and beer cans on his first day of work, getting stuck in the mud becomes the least of Joseph Drake’s worries during the eventful evening of The First Day.

“The patch of road ahead was giving him cause to reconsider his trajectory. But even as he eased on the brakes, the truck jerked to a stop and our inertia was redirected from forward motion into a sinking feeling. We abandoned the cab to assess our situation. The front tires had clearly sunk several inches. Having become so intimate with the road slop, we quickly realized that we had been skipping like a giant stone across the mud at high speed. It was only when we had slowed down that we lost momentum and succumbed to the mud. When James tried to gun the truck back onto the road, it simply lurched forward into the mud until the spinning wheels began digging deeper and deeper. It was a beautiful attempt but the mud won again.”


In Bender Springs, Drake trades the woods for a white-knuckle summer dogding unexploded ordinances and drug smugglers to inventory the deserts’ tinajas.

“We reach another bad stretch of road and I try to thread the needle on a section washed out from the recent monsoons. Instead the truck slides abruptly to the right as the sand and rock collapse under the tires. Just as quickly, the truck lurches to the left as a fountain of rocks and soil erupt skyward. Time slows, but not before I hear a sharp intake of air from Jordan and I try to make sense of what – on this former bombing range littered with unexploded ordinances – what could possibly have gone wrong this time.”



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