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HIDDEN NOMADS If you read an article in a biology journal or a news article discussing the results of a biological study, you’re seeing the results of the challenging and often dangerous work of wildlife biology technicians, or as they’re more commonly known, field techs. Although their daily lives are defined by enduring physically and psychologically challenging conditions as they collect the data and perform the observations that form the basis for scientific inquiry, you won’t see their names in scientific publications and they won’t be appearing in a documentary or delivering pithy quotables to National Geographic or NPR. It’s no exaggeration to think of these hard working and dedicated lovers of the outdoors as the unsung heroes of biology. When you do see them, you probably won’t know it. If you live in rural America, you’ve probably seen field techs at your local grocery store stocking up before their next stint in a remote corner of your area, people you can identify only as outsiders, possibly in need of a shower and a trip to the laundromat. When you drive on an interstate, you’re sharing the road with field techs hurtling across the country on their way to the next job which will last two, maybe three months before it’s time for them to start applying for jobs and interviewing all over again. The life of a field tech is one of instability and constant discomfort which offers little in the way of material gains, one which makes it difficult to develop and maintain lasting personal relationships. It’s common for field techs to find themselves becoming acquainted with a new group of strangers with whom they’ll be working and living as each season begins, with the knowledge that these new, temporary relationships are likely to be intense but fleeting. But this lifestyle also offers unparalleled opportunities for true adventure — to explore deep into unvisited corners of America’s forests, grasslands, and deserts and to experience the country’s natural beauty through intensive interaction with its plants and wildlife. THE LIFE OF A TECH A typical working day for a field tech would be unimaginable for many people. That day might start hours before sunrise or just before sunset. It may involve sitting still for hours in sub-freezing temperatures or it may involve chasing animals, some which have the advantage of flight, through densely wooded canyons. It may involve sweeping up insects with a hand-held net, putting a tracking device on a large carnivore, or spending hours on foot with a receiver and antenna determining the location of the animal bearing that tracking device. It may involve miles of excruciatingly slow driving along unpaved roads or carrying heavy equipment deep into the wilderness where the potential for deadly encounters with wildlife or weather phenomena is ever present. It may involve encounters with swarms of angry insects or angry (and potentially armed) landowners. The living conditions field techs endure for the duration of their seasons, which could last anywhere from a few weeks to a few months, might also be difficult to relate to. Those lucky enough to be spending the season sleeping in a permanent structure may have to share a single bathroom and small kitchen with several other technicians. Others might be sharing the claustrophobic quarters of a single-wide trailer with no other traces of civilization in sight. Others still may be sleeping in a tent every night or finding a way to lie down comfortably for the night in a vehicle; access to electricity, kitchen appliances, or running water may be lacking along with internet and cell phone service. It’s possible to go days or even weeks without seeing another person.  For those field techs committed to the experiencing the lifestyle full-time, the gaps in between seasons are likely to bring an entirely different set of stressors with them. When it’s time to look for work again, a field tech vies with dozens or perhaps hundreds of applicants for coveted, highly competitive positions. If applying and interviewing for jobs during a season, restricted access to the internet can delay and otherwise encumber the process. Upon securing the next season’s work, the tech may have the luxury of a couple of weeks to make their way to the next job. In this case, they might spend the time camping and visiting national parks along the way or perhaps staying with friends, some of whom may be part of a network built up through years of cultivating acquaintances with similarly minded outdoor enthusiasts in the field. Or they may have only a few days to work their way through thousands of miles of uniform American interstates in vehicles packed tightly with everything they’ll need for the next few months, stewing in the anxiety, excitement, or some combination of the two that accompanies the start of each new adventure. A repetitive stream of green, blue, and brown road signs; advertisements for the same restaurants, hotels, gas stations, and tourist gimmicks; only the radio or recorded music for company. Highway towns, cheap roadside motels, passing trucks, pulling over for stopped vehicles, left lane ends in half a mile, road work ahead, next rest area 74 miles, and thousands upon thousands of white rectangles dividing lanes and whizzing by in an endless stream. If no jobs are available, as might often be the case in the winter, a field tech is forced to find an alternative temporary living and working situation. A tech shut out of work in this manner may find themselves forced into unfulfilling and tedious toil in food service or retail, working within walls and under unnatural lighting, daydreaming of an opportunity to return to a job which involves walking through natural environments in search of elusive animals at some unknown time in the future. FIELD TECHS: WHO AND WHY Given these challenges, why would anyone pursue this lifestyle, sometimes for years or even decades, when the discomfort and dangers are so abundant and when one injury or major car