Covered in bird poop and really loving it
McMaster student is returning to remote Alaska to take part in seabird research
Growing up in downtown Toronto, Flynn O’Dacre never imagined herself living on an uninhabited island in the Gulf of Alaska, spending each day getting splattered by bird puke and poop.
Last summer, the McMaster University student spent four months living in a tent on Middleton Island, roughly 112 kilometres from the Alaskan mainland and a one-hour flight from Anchorage.
The island was once the home of the Middleton Island Air Force Station. But the seabirds took over when the military left in the early 1960s, laying claim to the four demilitarized radar towers.
Along with the birds, eventually came the Middleton Island Marine Biological Station, which saw researchers — the only human inhabitants of the isle — move in.
There is no running water on Middleton, very limited Wi-Fi and summer days there are rarely warm.
The near-deafening sound of thousands of birds fills the air, while the landscape is practically devoid of trees.
And O’Dacre can’t wait to go back. “When I first got off the plane last summer, I just felt like it was where I belonged,” O’Dacre told The Spectator in an interview. “It just felt right.”
O’Dacre arrived on the island last year as a student researcher, working alongside McMaster biology professor Emily Choy and her research group.
A friend had flagged the job to O’Dacre — then a third-year arts and science student minoring in math — knowing her love of birding and goal of becoming a wildlife conservationist.
The now 22-year-old never thought she’d get the gig, but those moments of doubt were shortlived.
“It was what I’d wanted to do for ages and ages,” O’Dacre said. “There was no hesitation.”
This summer she’ll again take on the role of a seabird anesthesiologist, helping Choy implant tiny heart rate loggers into black-legged kittiwakes.
Choy told The Spectator the data collected by the pint-sized monitors assists in conservation efforts by helping researchers better understand bird behaviour as well as the effects of climate change on the vulnerable species.
But that’s not all O’Dacre did last summer, she noted.
Her job was split into two parts, the latter of which saw her take part in the long-term census program for seabirds on the island to track the productivity and reproductive health of the fowl.
That job saw O’Dacre feed the kittiwakes nesting in the radar tower three times a day, serving their favourite meal — half-thawed fish. The birds would “glug” the fish back whole, with O’Dacre recording how many each consumed until they were full.
O’Dacre also took measurements of the kittiwakes, which often saw her covered in bird poop or puke as she held onto them. The first few times she was puked on, her instinct was to wipe it off immediately.
But it turns out, the data inside the upchuck remnants is of the utmost importance for wildlife researchers, O’Dacre noted.
“You have to bag it, label it with the bird, put the date on it and weigh it,” said O’Dacre. “There is a whole processing for the vomit, which was a little bit disgusting.”
O’Dacre was also in charge of the puffin monitoring team, which saw her hike to the cliffs of the island and dig for nests in hopes of finding eggs. Once O’Dacre found them, she’d take their temperature, predict the hatch date and measure the chicks.
She even learned how to take blood from the tiny birds — one of the many moments that had the soon-to-be master’s student questioning how she’d even ended up on the island.
“It just felt so wild,” said O’Dacre. But the bewilderment on Middleton didn’t stop with the work. Living on an island only inhabited by researchers — all of whom live in tents — also took some adjusting to.
There is no grocery store or pharmacy, so what you bring with you is what you have. However, as other researchers arrived on the island throughout the summer, bags of groceries would accompany them.
The teams took turns doing chores, cooking meals and hauling in water, which had to be boiled on the stove for something that resembled a hot shower.
O’Dacre described the seemingly “intensive process,” which included a “nasty looking” bucket and sponge that researchers would use to bathe once a week.
“It wasn’t very effective,” she said with a laugh. “You were never really able to get clean.”
Outside of her research, O’Dacre spent most of her time reading. Her carry-on was crammed with more than a dozen books, plus a Kobo.
She’d often bike down to the shore with a sandwich in her backpack and a Victorian novel in her hand on her day off. O’Dacre had enough time to read George Eliot’s “Middlemarch” in its entirety — something she described as a “life goal.”
And while O’Dacre was excited about her first real shower and seeing her family when she left the island last summer, she felt an immediate pull in her heart about saying goodbye.
“I was very sad to leave,” she said. “It just felt like that was where I was meant to be.”
While her stint this summer will be shorter, O’Dacre noted that her time on the island and working alongside Choy and her team provided her with a “breadth of knowledge” she believes couldn’t have found in Ontario.
“She has taught me so much,” said O’Dacre. “It made it seem like it was a possible career path and it was very reassuring to go there and know that it was something I love doing.”