Braiding Sweetgrass

installed. A drift fence is simply a length of snow fence about eight
feet long, with a foot-high strip of aluminum roof flashing wired like
a wall along its base. The salamanders can’t wiggle through.
Confronting this obstacle, they edge along the drift fence as if it
were a log or a rock. They attempt to follow it to its end, slithering
along in the darkness, moving by feel of the fence against skin.
Until suddenly the ground vanishes and they fall into a buried plastic
bucket from which they cannot escape. The students come along
every so often and count the animals in the bucket, record the
species on their clipboards, and then gently release them on the
other side of the fence, on their way to the pond. At night’s end, the
number of animals caught by the drift fences provides an estimate
of the number who safely crossed the road.
These studies may provide the evidence that will save the
salamanders, but there is a short-term cost to that long-term
benefit. In order to do the research properly, no human intervention
is allowed. When a car is coming, the students have to stand back,
grit their teeth, and let it happen. Our well-intentioned salamander
rescues have in fact biased the experiment tonight, as we
decreased the number who normally would have been hit, causing
an underestimate in the serious losses that occur. It poses an
ethical dilemma for the students. The dead who could have been
saved become the collateral damage of the study—a sacrifice that
they hope will pay off in future protection for the species.
This roadkill monitoring is the project of James Gibbs, an
internationally renowned conservation biologist. He is a leader in
conserving Galapagos tortoises and Tanzanian toads—but his
concerns are also here in Labrador Hollow. He and his students set
up the drift fences, patrol the road, and stay up all night counting.
Gibbs confesses that sometimes, on rainy nights when he knows