Using an instrument that looks like a metal detector , Decker scans the ankle-deep snow and soil to locate terrapins that hatched last summer and dispersed from the nest last fall . Most didn ’ t go far , just a few dozen yards into nearby shrubs or along the edge of the forest , though a few made it almost to Hundred Acre Cove , a football field ’ s length away . The unseen hatchlings , most marked with a pink flag near their hibernation site , have electronic tags attached to their shells that the instrument can detect .
At the first site , Decker reaches the scanner deep into a thicket , and within seconds she hears a distinctive beep indicating that hatchling 3137 remains where it has been since November . A few yards away , hatchling 3176 is quickly detected as well , and several yards further the scanner beeps for hatchling 3157 .
The process continues for nearly two hours as the locations of forty-two tagged terrapin hatchlings are confirmed .
“ What ’ s so remarkable is that the hatchlings aren ’ t very far down in the soil ,” Decker says . “ They ’ re able to survive being almost frozen and still come back to life when the weather warms up .”
Wearing similar black parkas , black backpacks and olive pants , Decker and Stevenson confer occasionally about the data that Stevenson is recording or to share a story or two , but they are mostly all business — perhaps because they want to complete the job and get out of the cold as soon as possible .
Stevenson , a Tiverton resident , has only been working with Decker for a month , so she has yet to even
see a diamondback terrapin . “ This cold work will pay off in the spring ,” Decker tells her , “ when you ’ ll finally get to meet the hatchlings .”
Decker hopes her master ’ s thesis will explain where the hatchlings spend their first winter , an element of their life cycle that remains a mystery to scientists . Most are thought to bury themselves in the soil and leaf litter between their nest and the marsh . Yet no one knows for certain .
“ We don ’ t know how the hatchlings make their choices of where to go , Decker says . “ We don ’ t think they eat much until spring , so they must be running on fumes . But they know what they ’ re doing , since they ’ ve been doing it for thousands , if not millions , of years .”
When she has questions about her research , Decker seeks advice from Karraker , who she calls “ my dream adviser .” Born at the Grand Canyon and raised at several parks , including Yosemite , where her park ranger father was assigned , Karraker was enthralled with reptiles and amphibians from a very young age . She started her career studying frogs and turtles in China , Thailand and Indonesia before joining the URI faculty in 2012 and becoming involved with the terrapin project two years later .
Karraker occasionally helps with the nest and hatchling monitoring in Barrington , but mostly she advises the project leaders to ensure that their efforts are scientifically rigorous , recommends the use of new monitoring strategies and technologies , and encourages her students to get involved .
“ What ’ s inspiring to me about the Barrington project is that you ’ ve got this thirty-one-year effort initiated and led by community members , many of whom have no background in biology , just people who love nature and care about the land they live on and the ecosystems and species there ,” she says . “ The most important thing is that the broader community knows about this species and how precious it is to have it there .”
When the time comes for the current project leaders to step aside and let a new volunteer take the reins , no one will be surprised if it ’ s another woman . �
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