|
Stephen M. Coghlan, Jr. |
About Me
I am originally from a small town in the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York. During high school and my first year of college, although I loved to hike and fish, I had set my mind on a career in investment banking (yikes!) and a life of certain stress and endless material acquisition. I am very fortunate to have “seen the light” in time to turn my life around after an epiphany. One glorious autumn day many years back, I was enjoying the beauty and solitude of my favorite trout stream (I won’t divulge its name or location – but it shouldn’t be that hard to figure out if you are really curious and do some investigating), fishing a little, hiking a lot, and not having any luck catching. I sat by the edge of my favorite pool, just relishing the crisp, fragrant air, the calming babble of the stream, and the brilliant autumn scenery, when a flash caught my eye. As my eyes adjusted to the glare and I developed the correct search image, the stream bottom suddenly came to life. A dozen or so lake-run brown trout (and perhaps an Atlantic salmon or two, but maybe that’s wishful thinking!) staged over the gravel in the tail-out in full reproductive vigor. Suddenly I realized I was witnessing an event worthy of a National Geographic special. Males fought and courted, females dug and cleaned, kypes gaped, gills flared, backs arched, tails beat, bellies quivered, and gametes flowed! I was amazed and enamoured, and although I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know why, I knew immediately that my life would be incomplete without trying to understand and conserve these glorious fish. The rest, you might say, is history. I discussed my revelation with my biology professor at my community college, Tom Steenburg. Tom (who has since passed away) was an inspirational educator who absolutely lived for making a difference in his students’ lives, and helped me get started along my new pathway. I took science and math classes, volunteered with the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation (special thanks to Jeff Robins and his crew), and conducted an independent study on lake trout demography using NYDEC data. I forsook a promised scholarship in finance from Ithaca College and instead transferred to the SUNY College of Environmental Science and Forestry in Syracuse, NY, where I majored in environmental and forest biology with a minor in aquatic ecology. At ESF I found my niche, a community to which I felt I belonged and could contribute. At the risk of generalizing, most ESF students are extremely motivated, progressive, bright, dedicated, and possess a love for the outdoors and a passion for understanding nature both empirically and aesthetically. In turn, the professors strove to provide an atmosphere in which students could capitalize on both their passions and their intellect and contribute to science and society. As an undergraduate, I immersed myself in all aspects of my education. I was fortunate to not only take excellent and challenging courses, but also spent countless hours in the field and even contributed to several graduate students’ research projects. It was only natural that my undergraduate experience led me to pursue my graduate aspirations at ESF. Graduate school was an eye-opening experience for me as I strove to make the transition from “fish squeezer” to “ecologist”. So many aspects of aquatic ecology fascinated me, and perhaps I took on more “side projects” than was wise, but I loved every minute of it. Aside from conducting research on juvenile ecology of Atlantic salmon in Lake Ontario tributaries, I was a fish- and insect-collecting fanatic, searching for and checking off species on my master list, much in the same way a philatelist or baseball card aficionado does, recounting the story behind every acquisition (“Oh, I remember that green sunfish, catalog number 1873…he came from that logjam upstream of the bridge on Red Creek…”). Some of my favorite finds were a spawning aggregation of American brook lamprey in Sterling Valley Creek, a school of longhead darter in Olean Creek, and a single creek chubsucker from the Salmon River floodplain. I also was fortunate enough to meet and work with three professors who have profoundly affected my life in many ways. Charlie Hall opened my eyes to new ways of thinking and solving problems. He has convinced this “fish squeezer” of the importance of energy in ecology and economics, and of critically questioning established, yet largely untested, theories. He also turned me on to the concept of energy balance along multiple environmental gradients, which seems to me the closest thing to a unifying theory that ecology has today. I only wish my conversion to Hallism had happened sooner in my career. The world would be a much less perturbed and more equitable place if more people thought like Charlie. Don Stewart shared with me his complementary, but equally groundbreaking, perspective on energetic ecology; his work on taxonomy, systematics, biogeography, conservation biology, bioenergetics, and life history theory demonstrates that he is a modern-day “renaissance man”. He always was willing to share his advice and thoughts, and showed great patience as I wrestled with complex ideas that seemed to come so easily to him. I miss our collecting trips in pursuit of the wily brook stickleback and the ever-elusive shield darter. As my major professor, Neil Ringler influenced me more than anyone else throughout my academic career. As an undergraduate, I was drawn immediately to his style of teaching. He infused enthusiasm, excitement, humor, passion, and immense knowledge into his lectures, and several years later, I found myself consciously and unconsciously adopting his style into my teaching; I could not have asked for a better role model. While taking his course in Functional Diversity of Adirondack Ecosystems at Cranberry Lake Biology Station, I discovered how challenging and rewarding aquatic ecology could be; while conducting research and writing the final project report, I found myself working harder and more enjoyably than I ever had before, not only because I was impassioned about the subject material, but I also wanted to impress my mentor. When I decided to remain at SUNY-ESF for graduate school, it was in no small part because I felt that I could learn so much from him, and have so much fun, in the process (at the time, it hardly seemed possible that two people on the same campus could get so excited about stomach contents and salmonine sex!). I was honored when he invited me to teach alongside him at CLBS, and later encouraged me to teach on my own. When struggling to develop a research project, I was always amazed to find out that many of my ideas (which I had thought innovative and timely) already had percolated through Dr. Ringler’s mind decades earlier; what I perceived to be critical gaps in the literature were filled instantly with obscure references that came so easily from his memory. Whenever a crisis materialized (such as any number of problems associated with transporting tens of thousands of Atlantic salmon fry through 300 miles of backwoods in a less-than-reliable truck equipped with a less-than-reliable aeration system), there was no better ally than he. The only persistent tension I would note between us was whether to call the immature forms of hemimetabolous aquatic insects “naiads” or “nymphs” (I suppose it is the aquatic ecologists’ version of “great taste” vs. “less filling”). I was also fortunate enough to have many experiences teaching while relatively young, and many opportunities to improve with age. As a grad student, I TA’d courses in fisheries biology, aquatic entomology, ichthyology, genetics, and comparative vertebrate anatomy, and taught courses in Adirondack Field Ecology at CLBS. One of the most fulfilling and rewarding moments I could experience is watching that lightbulb come on over a student’s head, and knowing that I helped to facilitate it. Teaching at CLBS was probably my most cherished memory of ESF, as all these wonderful interactions with students occurred in such a phenomenal geographic locale. Plus, more lightbulbs seem to turn on while on the banks of Sucker Brook, the shores of Darning Needle Pond, or during the late-night study session in the dining hall than they do in stuffy Illick Hall. After grad school, I made the most significant move of my life – to Arkansas State University in Jonesboro, where I took a post-doc position studying the life histories of fish via otolith chemistry. I really had no idea of what to expect, other than a few preconceived ideas about the South and the certainty that it would be HOT. My boss, Robyn Hannigan, is an amazing geochemist, and seems to accomplish more in a month that most people do in a year. I am very thankful that that she took a chance on hiring a complete novice in otolithology such as myself, and I’m amazed at how much I learned after two short years. We studied trout populations in the Little Red River tailwater (which, incidentally, is home to the world-record brown trout), and used chemical signatures in otoliths to identify spawning locations and distinguish hatchery-produced from wild individuals. I can say now, with complete certainty, that I made the right choice moving to Arkansas. I experienced many things, met many people, listened to many opinions, and saw many places that otherwise would have eluded me. Sylamore Creek in the Ozark Mountains is an incredibly beautiful and unique place, as is Collins Creek in the Little Red River. The faculty and students at ASU were diverse, interesting, and offered myriad perspectives on so many issues, and I learned a lot about my self through interacting with my new-found friends and colleagues. The locals in my small-town of Harrisburg, and most other places, were colorful and friendly. That said, it was HOT. And when I thought it couldn’t possibly get any hotter, it did. And then it got so hot that I thought I would ionize. And then the locals said, “Heck, summer ain’t even here yet. Wait until July”. So, after two summers in Arkansas, I confirmed what I had long suspected – I much prefer cold climates to hot, and maples and firs to oaks and hickories. And so here I am at the University of Maine. In my short time here so far, everything about it is great - the students, the university, my colleagues, the atmosphere, the landscape, the state and federal agencies, and the weather. I see many similarities between the wildlife students here and the biology students at ESF, which is probably why I feel so at-home. The UMaine wildlife students seem incredibly eager, smart, motivated, involved in the college and the community, and want to be hands-on doing fieldwork and making a difference in the world. And I’m sure that the more students I meet and interact with, the more impressive they will seem. A bit about my non-science life: As expected, I absolutely love to hunt, fish, and tie flies. I also enjoy playing guitar and bass, and singing when tolerated; some of the more famous bands I’ve played in include Snap Crow Legs, The Four of Us, Classic Rock Overdose, and Benthic Groove. I’ve been married for 2 1/2 years to my best friend, who also happens to be an entomologist studying fungal pathogens of agricultural and forest pests. Jen and I have 2 wonderful dogs, Nerka and Hyla, and 3 cats, Harrison, Ringo, and Paul. As a family we enjoy camping, hiking, backpacking, and organic gardening. When the dogs and I want to give Jen and the cats a break, our favorite activities are finding and chasing squirrels, rabbits, grouse, and woodcock (and if I’m lucky I can get a shot off before Nerka catches her quarry).
|