And midge larvae, which pretty much look the same but with orange heads and fewer legs.This is because I have spent all day, every day, for about a week and a half with my face about two inches from a petri dish of bug-and-creek-sludge surprise.
It is actually a pretty cool technique, I suppose. We collect bags full of the bottom sediments in the creek then drown whatever might be living there in ethanol and take em home. After that, GW here gets to sit around in a borrowed lab and sort the little critters (or Benthic Macro Invertebrates, or "BMIs" as those in the know call them or "BMIzz" as those cool kids in the know like to call the) from the sludge, count them, pull out 100 at random, ID them and tabulate. Repeat. Forty times. Start to finish it takes at least a day per bag.
It is about the best way to assess the "health" of the stream, I mean, the little critters do live there. And since we know which ones are more sensitive to bad water conditions, like Stone Flies, and which aren't, like leeches, we can get a sense of the creek's health and biodiversity.
I'm about ready to say screw Casper (this is the creek, the Casperkill or Casper's Creek) and its unhealthy water. At first I thought I just had to put up with the vague intoxication of inhaling ethanol all day long, but then visions began. Sleep used to be so pleasant and now I shudder to close my eyes. I'm going to get in trouble with my darlin' too if I keep trying to kiss her with my eyes open. YOU try to get romantic with visions of clumped larvae floating in front of you.
Of course, maybe I'm just having trouble sleeping because I've developed a nasty cough. Is it the ethanol? I mean, really, who gets a "cough?" An English professor friend of mine pointed out that women in Victorian novels are often prone to getting coughs. Of course, that usually means it's close to the end.
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