Last year, a reader requested that I post some personal reminiscences about Frank. I didn’t get around to doing it then but thought I’d offer something on this sad anniversary.
Frank and I met through the Ivorybill Researchers’ Forum (www.ibwo.net) in the fall of 2008. I made my first trip to search with him in Louisiana shortly thereafter. Our collaboration gelled in the summer of 2009 when he began to visit our old search area. I visited him again in November 2009. In January 2010, I came up with the name Project Coyote as a play on his name and to reflect his central role in the effort.
On the surface, Frank and I were probably as different as the worlds in which we grew up. Frank was one of the smartest, most paradoxical people I’ve ever known. He was a very well-read autodidact whose writing style was deceptively at odds with the way he presented himself – as a stone cold, 2nd amendment loving, libertarian redneck, albeit a nerdy math, physics, sci-fi, and Star Trek loving one. I’m a very liberal New Yorker of Jewish ancestry with degrees in law and American Studies.
Despite our differences, we found more common ground politically than I could have anticipated, and he’d sometimes say, “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but . . .” We shared a distaste for spectator sports and also found common ground musically. Though he loved Pink Floyd first and foremost, and I grew up in the ’70s Punk scene, we both enjoyed rootsier genres, and some of our most enjoyable, non-field times involved tequila and singing together. Frank was a good singer and gifted all-around musician; I managed to harmonize decently on background vocals. The Stones’ “Dead Flowers” was a favorite.
But what really united us was the ivorybill, and more specifically, a shared sense that figuring out what J.J. Kuhn knew was the key to documenting the bird.
While there are echoes of the Tanner-Kuhn dynamic in our story – at least to the extent that, like Tanner, I’m from New York, with a graduate degree from an Ivy League school, and Frank, like Kuhn, was from Louisiana with no formal academic training – we were doing something different. We were equal partners, trying to solve a mystery together, bringing different, complementary skills to the effort.
Still, when we were approached about the possibility of doing a reality show (I’m thankful every day that didn’t happen), I described us as “the odd couple of the ivorybill world”. In retrospect, the oddness was more superficial than substantial; we may not have been the only such pair; and odd may be commonplace when it comes to the ivorybill. In any case, I miss my friend, our shared dedication to the search, the music, and our many running jokes – especially the ones about stump holes and the ubiquitous Plate 11.
In 2009, we learned of a private landowner in East-central Louisiana who claimed to have Ivory-billed Woodpeckers on his property. This individual seemed to be very credible, correctly pointing out several inaccuracies in sketches published in the Louisiana Hunting Guide. Over the next two years, there were a number of possible sightings and auditory contacts. Frank Wiley, Mark Michaels, and other Project Coyote volunteers gathered evidence – camera trap photosgraphs, recordings of suggestive calls and double knocks, images of extensive bark scaling on living and recently dead trees in the vicinity. This material was originally posted on a website that is no longer operational. We have received a number of requests to revive the site and have decided to do so here. Pages that included images will be available in PDF format.
In 2011, a large parcel of adjacent forest was logged, and while we believe that ivorybills are still present in the vicinity of the original Project Coyote search area, the birds do not seem to be frequenting our old hot zone. For this reason, we have shifted our focus to other parts of the state. We remain optimistic that the species is present in multiple Louisiana locations and that conclusive documentation will eventually be obtained, but this may well take years.
April 21, 2013