BUGGING OUT IN GLACIER NATIONAL PARK, Guest Post by Paige Arnold

My granddaughter Paige spent five weeks participating in a summer research project at Glacier National Park sponsored by the Keck Geology Consortium at Macalester College in St. Paul, Minnesota. I thank her for her perceptive thoughts about her encounters with bugs during her time at Glacier NP. "Bugging Out in Glacier National Park" is republished from the Keck Geology Blog, where you can also find posts by other members of the research team.

My first day in the field, I felt a bit like a moth in the daytime. Surrounded by unfamiliar sights, sounds, and creatures (fellow Keck students included), I felt completely out of my element and like I was being pulled in every direction possible. The overwhelming environment around me led me to focus my gaze on something smaller, something more familiar that would allow me to start with details rather than the full picture: bugs. 

Glacier National Park is full of bugs, the most notable of which to most is the mosquito (impossible not to notice if even one manages to sneak into your tent overnight or if you stand still for a second too long). If you look a bit further, though, there are plenty of insects hiding just out of sight or perhaps below a particularly large rock. 

Some disguise themselves as other species, like the hover fly which adopts the patterning of a bee as a survival strategy. Some are so prominent and strange-looking that even a bug-enjoyer like myself has to stop and ask “oh my god how did that even HAPPEN” (looking at you, sawyer beetle). Some are enjoyed by all, like the Chlosyne Palla butterfly that stopped some of us in our tracks during a particularly busy coring day, and some are widely disliked, like the mosquito (self explanatory). 

No matter how high or low we were, the amount of bugs surrounding us never seemed to drop. We saw the same anise swallowtails and hover flies both down near Swiftcurrent Lake where one minute out of the shade made my vision swim, and up near Iceberg lake, where the ground stays covered by snow in the middle of July. 

Over time, the environment that once felt blinding started to feel promising, and instead of shying away from it I began to drink it in, like a caterpillar eating every leaf in sight in preparation for its eventual metamorphosis. Though my appreciation for Glacier’s bugs started out as an independent pursuit, as I began to feel more at home my interest became more widespread throughout the group. Some bugs we named and held dear to our hearts (Francis, Margo, Margo 2, Margo n+1), and some we briefly admired (or peeked at from a safe distance) before moving on. 

Near the end of the trip, I resonated with many of the bugs I had seen during my time in the park. Over time and continuous exposure, I developed a thicker outer shell like a beetle’s, which allowed me to enjoy the park despite the weather, long days, and unfamiliar camping lifestyle. Near the middle, I began to separate from my cocoon as I gained comfort among the environment and my peers, tentatively beginning to take steps outside my comfort zone. As opposed to the beginning of the trip where I felt like a moth under the sun, in the very last days I felt like the moths we saw on bathroom breaks from stargazing; content, peaceful, and at rest.

 For more about this and other Keck Geology programs, go to the Keck Geology website.