The Summer to Date (7/17)

I haven't written anything in about a month, which is a really long time as far as the summer goes. I've gotten used to feeling perpetual disbelief at how quickly time is passing here at Bryce. Do I think that I will regret not having written more?

          

 Probably not, because when I reflect on what I have been doing instead of writing, I feel as though I made the best use of my time to date. I won't regret staying up late to gab with my housemate instead of writing. I won't regret talking and laughing with the Veg crew when I could have been drafting my reflections in my head during the day. I also met someone, pretty early in the summer, and I'd be lying if I said that didn't have anything to do with my lack of composition. When I'm not trying to figure out the origin of some new bruise or thinking up something to cook for dinner, I'm with him. Actually, I do those things when I'm with him anyway, so.

            

No, I won't regret not having written more. On some level, I wish I had. I wish I had taken the time to describe what it's like to lean against an aspen at break time, eating quietly in a meadow as the rushing leaves overhead sounded less like the wind and more like the ocean. I can imagine it now, the feeling of the breeze on my dampened clothes and gritty skin, but I can't remember what I was thinking that day with the backpack sprayer slapped on my back.

          

  At first I was really excited about spraying for invasives. I felt as though I was making a difference and doing some decent work. But I've come to realize that most field scientists are not 5' 2", and the backpack sprayer really doesn't sit on my back well. The waist straps sit too low, and the shoulder straps don't go anywhere near short enough to prevent the weight of the liquid herbicide from hanging from my shoulders and collarbones completely.  We've spent the last few weeks spraying for Bull Thistle, which I now see whenever I close my eyes.

           

We work in the burned areas, and it's hard walking. My legs end up getting pretty beat up from awkwardly clambering over downed trees or pushing my way through the rest of the dead and fallen limber. Some days it's hard to keep my attitude up, and there has definitely been a day when I felt like kicking my sprayer down the slopes we constantly scale and descend, and sitting down and crying.

            

But, that's pretty normal. There were days when I felt like that both at Dismal and at sea. There was one gloriously slobbery, snotty day where I spent a solid half hour slumped against the steering wheel of the Silverado, crying and cursing the flow meter that was sitting in the passenger seat. There was also a night at sea, when I felt so isolated and so frustrated from a lack of rest that I spent the evening curled up in my cubbyhole crying myself into exhaustion.

            

There have been some really triumphant days in the past month, too. Something finally clicked with the elevation, and I successfully survived an 8 mile hike down to a camera and back up. Which I then did again a week or two later.

            

There was a day when a retired professor came and gave us a talk on the plants at Bryce. Except it was less of a talk and more of us pulling things out of the ground for him to identify. I ended up learning a lot about the natural history of the flora here. I've made something of a game of learning the plants, there are a lot, so I'm not always correct when I attach some label to a shrub or a grass, but compared to what I knew on May 20th, I'm practically an expert.

            

I've gotten to go out birding with someone with the Rocky Mountain Bird Observatory. I can name a few common birds by sight and sound, and while I was out that day I heard some finches and warblers, which was exciting, because I hadn't considered what songbirds occupied the area. The birder was also really great to talk to, and I've found that to be the theme-- not just with birders, but with almost everyone I've run into here at Bryce. Why would I want to be in my own head, going over and over my experiences when there are so many people here I can talk to and learn from? That's been my general feeling regarding this blog. I'm not saying this experience is any richer than any of my others, but it's different in what perspectives I consider on a day to day basis.

            

Previous travels were more introspective, eye opening on an internal level. This experience, thus far, has been much more focused on the outside. A study on how I interact with what and those around me.

           

I'm having a lot of fun here. I love the days when we trap and band hummingbirds. Holding those soft, delicate creatures in my hands makes being in the field at 5:30 100% worth it. I get to chat with the volunteers that come through, which is always fun. Not this week, but at the last banding session the director of the US Fish and Wildlife Service came to trap with us. It was such an incredible opportunity, to talk with him! We chatted about Dismal and the refuges in general, and he even asked me how the refuge system compared to the parks. I got a picture, which he then sent to my email. He'll be hearing from me in the future, that's for sure.

           

I've gotten to use some cool equipment, and today I'm going to St. George to meet with parents of the children attending a Paiute youth camp. Sarah will be teaching a little during the weeklong camp, and I've been working on a tracks and scat book for the last month or so for it. I've put together a lot of little projects, it feels like. They keep me very busy here, which I like.

           

In the last month or so since my last posting a lot has happened. I dressed up as a giant prairie dog for Utah Prairie Dog Day, and my family came to visit. It was really awesome to see them, and I was happy for them to see where I've been living and working. It was also fun to see them struggle with the elevation, in a "See, I told you!" kind of way. Earlier this month for the fourth of July I went down to Tucson. I saw some saguaro cacti and baked in the heat. Monsoon season has started up, too, so I've seen some really incredible storms. It's nice, because sometimes they chase us out of the burns, which means I can strip off my PPE and return to a normal human temperature.

            

Maybe I'll try to write a little more later this week, but to be honest. I kind of like immersing myself in this place. It feels as though the rest of the world has been put on hold, I'm completely out of the loop, and I like it. 

Mountain Weenie (6/15)

It's the end of my fourth week here at Bryce. I probably sound a bit like a broken record in my disbelief of the passage of time. But it's going by quickly, and before I get into the events of the past week, this afternoon I scrubbed my boots.

           

I had all but forgotten what color my hiking boots were under the layers of grime and dust. And as I sat on the front porch in the sunshine and mountain breeze, I considered the past year. My mind has been very occupied and a little bit tired in the past few weeks. The work, acclimation, and usual self-induced pressure have been wearing on me, a heavy weight upon my shoulders--a weight that I admit, has a strong tendency to distract me from my surroundings.

           

Yet had someone told me two or three years ago that at twenty-one I'd be interning and living in a National Park, having lived in a swamp for three months and on a sailing ship for six weeks, I probably would have rolled my eyes, not even giving the thought any weight by its consideration.

            

Give or take a week or two, it has been a year since my hiking boots were baptized in the waters of Great Dismal. The swamp was so, so challenging, and I can't forget that as I nostalgically compare the work I'm doing here to the work I'm doing there. I've found myself wishing frequently for the familiar. I thought that at this point, I knew what I was doing, or at least, that I had an idea of what challenges faced me. Of course, I was so far from the mark I was off the map. But from what I've heard, that's youth for you.

           

 And you know, sometimes it's nice to be reminded of how young you are. It's a good reminder that there are things to come, both wonderful and interesting, so a few set-backs now shouldn't be taken as seriously--or rather, I shouldn't be so hard on myself from the beginning.

           

Scrubbing away at my boots became an odd sort of reminder of my current youth and capabilities. Because I'm having trouble now, doesn't mean I'm not the same person that had trouble (and ending up making something of that trouble) back at Great Dismal.

           

So, what of these challenges? Let me go back to my week.

           

Mondays and Wednesdays I work with the vegetation crew, and this past Monday we went out to spray for smooth brome, a routine endeavor. I've come to like spraying. It's a privilege to get off of the road and trail and wander in the meadows, and they're so picturesque, even when I'm baking in my personal protective equipment (PPE) with however many pounds of liquid herbicide is on my back, I can't help but be a little happy.

            

The long stretches of brush and silence are nice, it gives my mind time to wander, to enjoy the lack of road noise and ponder whatever is going on with me and the tall blond strapped to one of the other backpack sprayers. It's also a very fulfilling way to leave a mark-- the indigo blue dye on the leaves of our targets is a marker for the applicators as well as proof of a job done.

            

The crew is great to work with, I had my hesitations about working in a large group, but when the days feel long the company shortens the feeling considerably.

           

On Tuesday I had a bit of a day. There's this sound-scape monitoring project currently in the works, as Bryce is one of the quietest parks in the area (also one of the darkest). There's also a proposed mine to be built a little ways away that might interfere with the sound dynamics of the park. So one of the law enforcement officers wanted to get out and deploy some monitoring equipment down one of the trails.

            

Zac, the biotech, and I spent most of the morning assembling the litany of equipment necessary for each deployment. There would be two, and the total cost of all of the needed equipment would pay for my student loans in full at least two times over.

            

Needless to say, I was pretty excited about the acoustic monitoring.

           

I was also excited to see another petite woman going with us, it would be nice to have someone on the expedition with a similar stride.

           

Of course, a conflict in scheduling meant she ended up not going with.

            

Anyway, we were going down to a previous site, down by Riggs Spring, which is just off of the Riggs Spring Trail in the back-country.

            

The descent was... uncomfortable. The steep gradient couples with the awkward distribution of weight in my borrowed backpack were hell on my knees, and put me in a state of complete dread for the return trip.

           

It was less than two miles down to the site, and we got there relatively quickly. It helped that gravity was on our side, I think.

           

So we get down and set up the equipment. Zac and the LE were hilarious together, so being in the field with them was an absolute blast. I found myself consistently snickering at their exchanges.

           

I'm sure you've already guess where my troubles came into play.

           

The ascent.

           

Always, the ascent.

           

We were expected back before 4-- when going into the backcountry you have to sign out and let the office know when you plan on returning. If you're not back on time, they'll radio you to establish contact. If you don't reply or aren't back within a two hour window of your proposed return time, they'll start sending out search parties.

            

Anyway, as we left the site the LE figured we'd be back to the car by 2:30. Of course, that didn't happen.

          

  That didn't happen because twenty minutes into the ascent I felt as though my lungs were about to shrivel up and die inside of my chest. Typical of these ascents, my legs and muscles felt fine. The pack on my back barely registered on my shoulders it was so light. It ended up taking us an extra 15-20 minutes to get up because I kept having to stop to breathe.

           

I felt pretty lousy about it. I'm not used to not being able to do the things I want or need to do. I'm not used to my body letting me down. I'm used to fieldwork making me feel strong and capable. On Tuesday I just felt miserable.

           

On Wednesday my self-esteem took another blow-- we were out spraying again. And I wanted to GPS. I figured it was worth it to keep some weight off of my recovering soul and body and instead wander around taking the points for each patch of grass we sprayed.

            

Well, after a full day of spraying a number of odd shaped patched with different invasive densities, I had no idea how to estimate the amount of herbicide used at each location. This is important, because at the end of the spray season, the locations, densities, and amount of herbicide used will be mapped. It's important to know how much of and where the herbicide is going.

           

So I put in some placeholder numbers and figured I'd talk to the veg crew leader at the end of the day, since he was out training for the afternoon.

           

Of course, it slipped my mind, and we went to work on getting the data onto sheets and into spreadsheets. So my placeholders ended up becoming a little less temporary, which in turn frustrated one of the seasonals, which in turn lead to me awkwardly apologizing and trying to explain my rationale to Eric when he stopped by to ask me about it the next day.

           

It's all fixable, it's just... inconvenient, and I don't want to produce things that aren't my best, or that aren't of decent quality. It just added to my surmounting embarrassment at my own incompetence. Eric was really great about it, letting me know that essentially, because I hadn't been given a rundown what to do, the mistakes weren't my undoing. I let him know that I should have just asked when I was unsure.

            

Lessons learned, I guess.

            

Also, with veg crew on Wednesday we went to investigate a report from one of the volunteers about a potential invasive on one of the trails. As soon as the word hike left Eric's mouth anxiety began to creep in around the periphery of my thoughts. I didn't want to make a fool of myself in front of the veg crew. I didn't want anyone to think less of me because I'm a complete and utter mountain weenie.

          

With each step down the trail my stress grew. I continually looked back to Eric to make sure he wanted us to keep going. All I could think about was the ascent. You get yourself down, you get yourself back up, I kept telling myself.

It was no where near as steep as the Riggs Spring hike the day before. But I had to stop a handful of times when my breath was on the verge of nonexistence. I stayed in the front so I wouldn't have to keep vocalizing my inadequacies, instead opting for setting the pace. A similarly short-legged ally appreciated the pace I was going. I made sure to stop before my breathing became as difficult as I had let it get the day before, which helped.  

My parents think it may have something to do with my diet. I munch on fruits and veggies throughout the day in an attempt to be healthy. They think I'm not getting enough protein, or, food in general, which is why I've been struggling so consistently.

          

 I never thought I'd be one to need to eat more, but I guess I can deal with that.

           

Thursday was more of an office day, for which I was grateful. Zac and Sarah were stuck in meetings for most of the morning, which left me open to work on an interpretive program left over from last year. I spent the morning polishing up a hummingbird powerpoint, so now I know plenty about the hummingbirds of Bryce, and have a nice little presentation to show for it.

          

 Then I worked a little on my own project, sifting through the resources available, and working on a children's tracking booklet for a Paiute summer camp that Sarah will be talking at later in the summer. So I'm learning a lot about animal tracks and scat, too. Oh, and veg crew had a shrub identification hour after we emerged from the canyon. I'm getting to know the plants on top of the animals here.

            

I feel much better about the week after having talked to family, my friends here at the park, and Zac. As we were out searching for frogs by the sewage bays he asked me how Bryce was treating me. Which I treated as an opportunity and leapt at the chance to apologize for being such a slow poke. He reassured me that no matter how good of shape you're in, elevation can affect everyone differently. He was kind about me taking breaks, saying that he'd rather me stop when I needed to than push myself too hard. He brought me down to earth a little bit. That conversation, and cleaning those hiking boots, really helped clear my head some.

            

A... week in the life of a National Park intern (6/6)

I can't believe how bad I've been about writing for this. I'm going to try to catch up on the past two weeks. Hopefully I can manage to avoid being too wordy.

The schedule last week was a little strange. I spent most of the week with the Veg crew, because we took Tuesday off in order to work a Friday spray day, because we work four ten hour days. Having three day weekends is really, really nice, but the long days are definitely felt by the end of the week.

Most of Wednesday was spent inside the office, most of the crew (myself included) were studying up to take our Thursday pesticide certification exam. I read until my eyes were grainy and studied until my brain was completely fried. And here I had thought finals were over.

But Wednesday was fairly uneventful. On Thursday, after almost oversleeping, I spent the first few hours of the morning banding hummingbirds. It's funny how things can become routine if you're not actively thinking about it. That same day I met another volunteer, a student in the same year as me who was spending the summer working on his thesis project. Another volunteer showed up for banding, someone from NPR's radiolab, which was pretty cool.

The morning was much slower than the previous banding session, although it wasn't nearly as cold. There weren't too many birds in the first few hours, before I had to leave to get ready for the examination. There was one, however, that was injured during capture.

It was my bird, and when Sarah came up to ask if there was anything strange about the capture I totally blanked. Nothing seemed to have been wrong, the net went down as the bird was feeding just as it should have, but its toes and foot had been damaged and were bleeding. I was horrified to think that I had harmed one of those precious little birds.

Feeling bummed about the injured critter, and brain dead and impatient about the exam, I left for the Visitor's Center. Where I studied for the three tests I'd be taking: the basic pesticide certification, the right-of-way certification (for spraying along roadsides and the like), and the public health management (which included the treatment of public health pests like mosquitoes and fleas).

The rest of the crew just took the first two. I was so ready to be free of the looming certifications that I pounded them out and was the first person done. I passed all of my tests, so now I'm certified to apply and supervise the application of pesticides! I feel so official now.

To put my newfound powers to use, I went to the spray day on Friday, which was a little less than an hour away. We, along with several other crews, went out to a private property to spray of Scotch Thistle.

Oh, I forgot the best part of the morning.

So we had to be at the office around six fifteen so we could hop in the trucks and get out to the location on time. Wanting to do some things online, I left the house a few minutes early to use the computer. As I strolled up, I checked the time, 6:06 am, plenty of time to use the public computer, and one of the custodial guys said
that someone is normally around to disarm the alarms at 6.

Well, I walk in through the first door with no problem. Get to the keypad at the second and punch in the code, again with no problem. But the second I opened the door and took a step, the alarms just started blaring at me. Really waking me up as I pressed myself against the wall.

I was embarrassed, but alone, so fortunately there were no witnesses to my mortification. For a moment I considered going ahead and using the computer. I didn't know who to call or what to do, and I was almost halfway down the hall when I decided it would probably be better to wait outside to explain myself.

So, the rest of the crew trickled up. I was posted right outside the door, pushing the angry sounds coming from the building as far from my mind as I could while I tried to use the weak wifi. It was kind of amusing, and the rest of the crew were good natured about it, so maybe they'll forget about it by the time I leave.

This wasn't the first time I've set off the alarm somewhere. When I went to Prime Hook on my own last summer I really made a mess of things at the research center where I was staying. It's becoming something of a trend, but at least now I know what to expect.

Back to the spray day-- there wasn't very much Scotch Thistle, and a lot of ground to cover. So we loaded up our backpack sprayers with the preordained amount of chemical concoction, and set out. We each had about three gallons of liquid on our backs as we waddled through the little canyon.

Because there wasn't very much, we ended up using very little of what we had. It was heavy, although I passed the time by contemplating how easy the walking was compared to other experiences. It was really shrubby, with areas of thick willow growth, but it was relatively flat. And not really moving, unlike when we tried to do things at sea. So I let myself get good and distracted, occasionally chatting with some of the veg guys from Zion NP or with my fellow veggette.

Peekaboo Loop

It ended up taking us three hours or so to go the two-ish miles down in the canyon. We were all pretty beat and hungry by the time we made it back to the glimmering havens that were the vehicles. The people putting on the spray day provided lunch, so I indulged in some chips, a soda, and a cheese-rich sandwich. I figured I had earned the sugar.

The following weekend was short, too short after having had that five day weekend especially. But it was really nice, I spent some time in Panguitch, the closest decently sized town, with one of the other veg crew members. Most of the resource management division had gone to Flagstaff for a music festival, so we ended up hanging out around the park. On Sunday, I did the peekaboo loop with him and one of the arch guys that was also hanging around for the weekend.

It was a nice little walk into the amphitheater, but the uphill climbs were still a little intense for my delicate, sea-level lungs. It was a little embarrassing, because neither of the guys were having problems, well, breathing, and they were also a lot faster than me. But between the two of them, they had at least a foot and a half in height over me, but I'm glad I went.

More Peekaboo.  We've been having some really nice weather.

So for this week!


On Monday we ended up doing some more spraying, but this time it was here in the park, in the Meadow we had sprayed at during one of my first days with veg. Only this time I got a backpack sprayer too. The weight is challenging in and of itself, but the way it sits on my back is a little funny, and the long sleeves and rubber gloves we have to wear really make the experience less than comfortable.

The hours passed surprisingly quickly, though, and there was quite a bit of what we were spraying for-- the invasive grass smooth brome. It was nice to be out doing something, though. I felt as though the first week the schedule was so upset that I didn't really get to do a whole lot, and then the second week the longer weekend and the pesticide exam really upset the rest of my time as well.

This week was much better for me as far as scheduling goes. I got to spend a lot of time in the sun making some progress at the park, working with the crew to get rid of an invasive species.

And on Tuesday I went out with Wildlife for what felt like the first time. I went with the bear volunteer and Zac, the biotech. We were going to deploy some cameras at Sheep Creek and Swamp Canyon. I wasn't really needed, but because my summer might include some camera runs, it was good to go out and get familiar with the equipment.

The walk down was really pleasant, and quick. Also mostly downhill. We got down to the site in an hour and a half.

The bear print we found at our first site.

We spent a good amount of time at the bottom of the trail, working on the camera settings and evaluating sites and photos. We did manage to get a great picture of an elk, and the prize of all prizes, an awesome, clear picture of the tan-faced bear Zac has affectionately named "Ninja."

There was also a bear track down on the trail, by the campground that had been closed recently due to the bear presence. It was pretty exciting for everyone, especially the guy whose project it is, to see recent evidence and a clear photo.

The walk back up was a little hellish. It was absolutely exhausting, the ascent was steep and consistent, never really letting up. I was like a fish out of water, almost unable to enjoy the surroundings as my lungs burned and my legs turned to lead. It's such a strange feeling, knowing that your body really isn't that tired, but feeling so utterly wiped that it's difficult to continue.

A meadow we passed through
 as we looked for camera
deployment sites.

I had to stop a few times just to breathe on the way back up, which never feels all that great. I don't really want to be the slowest or the weakest, and even though I know these guys are much more acclimated and have much longer legs than I do, it's no less frustrating to have to take a breather. But I made it up in one piece, and the more I keep pushing myself (safely) the more I will adjust.

It will be a nice moment to go back to my valley living and have the cardiovascular system of an Olympian.

Yesterday was another interesting day! I really should be better about writing at the end of the day, but once I get home all I want to do is shower and eat, and because I've had to focus so much on getting through my hikes, it's been hard to write these. Last summer I spent a lot of my hikes composing these in my head as I go.

But I was feeling very run down and lethargic. The early days on Thursday and Friday, combined with the short weekend combined with getting used to the early mornings in general, combined with the hikes and the general feeling of physical exertion caught up with me and I was moving slow.

Fortunately, I was with two of the Fire Effects women from Zion. They were out observing vegetation plots in areas that had been burned. The three that we looked at were year 5 evaluations. Which just means that the plot had been burned five years ago. Some of the spots have been used since the early nineties, so I was excited about the idea of being able to watch the progress of an area in such a specific context.

But the abbreviations and processes for the sites were all but lost on me at first. I was pooped, and there was so much to know. The names of the plants that we looked at were put into science speak-- written down as the first two letters of the genus and the first two letters of the species name. So I can identify some new plants and grasses, but I have a hard time remembering their common names.

One of the easier camera deployments for the day.

Today was another interesting day. The bear volunteer was ready to have a bit easier of a day, after having hiked all over for the entirety of the week deploying his cameras. So we went to the Southern end of the park, driving until we were just a few yards from where the cameras were to be deployed. It was so, so nice.

For the last sites, however, we kind of went on a wild goose chase. We were sent out in search of springs, but all we had was a poor map and some markers that were a little two big for the other map we had. We spent a few hours hiking up and down these oddly sandy hills, searching for what started to seem like a mythical fountain.

I was feeling pretty miserable that morning, too, as we went out. I felt lethargic, grumpy, and irritable. The walk to begin with was, you guessed it, uphill.

The terrain was strange-- firm and solid for the most part, with a crunchy upper layer and a sandy bottom. So it was a lot of work to get anywhere, because one minute your foot would feel totally solid, but the next you'd be sinking into the sand. It was very aggravating.

We took a short break as we decided which direction to go. I had a snack and my spirits really improved, as did the weight of my feet. I started to feel vaguely like a baby mountain goat as I clambered awkwardly up the slopes behind the long-legged bear investigator.

My snack was actually the volunteer.

The rough start, however, didn't help for the rest of the day. I was constantly being checked on, and because my gait is so much smaller, I felt as though he was constantly pausing to wait on me. Which was annoying for a few different reasons.

But we were both worn pretty thin by the time we found what could have been one of the huge dots on the map. This was, of course, after we had scaled one of the taller hills, and after we descended the crumbly, uncomfortable slopes.

There were definitely a few moments where I was sure I was going to break my ankle. I would step just a little wrong and a sharp pain would scream out from my ankle. Not wanting to seem like a baby, I ignored it. Initially it was painful, but after a moment it didn't actively hurt, so I decided to get over it. Tonight my ankle is a little sore, but not swollen. I think I just displeased it.

Anyway, we had started walking around 10:45 or so. I remember clearly because the first twenty minutes were as long as the last two hours. We ended up at the truck around 1:30. Just in time to be back at the snake relocation training session at two.

One of the hills we scaled for vantage points.

I inhaled my lunch in the truck and learned about rattlesnakes. I signed up to be on the list of people to call for rattlesnake relocations, so maybe I'll get the chance to up close with some wild wildlife!

Anyway, the rest of the afternoon was as busy as the past few weeks-- I chatted with Sarah for the first time and kind of got caught up with her, which was very grounding and relieving. I got some direction and a little more info on some upcoming events-- I'll be at a booth, helping on Utah Prairie Dog Day this month! I also have the chance to put together some interpretive wildlife projects.

I can't believe how much we did, I know I'm missing so many things. Like the potential feral kittens at one of the view points, or how hot it is when you're out in long sleeves and rubber gloves, or how incredible it is to glance up from your feet and see the wide expanse of the hoodoos alongside your trail.

Memorial Day Weekend (5/28)

Yesterday, to close out the long holiday weekend, I went on another hike. This time my housemate and I hiked from the Sheep Creek/ Swamp Canyon connection trail, where we met up with Swamp Canyon and the Under the Rim Trail. We popped out on the road again, several hours and miles later. These trails are South of housing and the visitors center, about midway down the road that takes you to all of the major points.

It was a beautiful, beautiful trail.

It was also mostly uphill.

But we descended into the canyon rather quickly from the starting point, and at once the rock faces rose up around us, making the canyon feel almost like a cradle. Wildflowers grew alongside the trail, making me pause every so often to take a picture of the colourful, reaching petals.

The sharp descent made for a long, gradual climb back up for the duration of the trip. I was pretty annoyed at the fact, actually, because my housemate had very specifically expressed her desire to start at the Sheep Creek entrance because that ascent would have been too steep.

Grumble grumble.

Towards the middle of the hike, the birds quieted down, and we were met with the soft gurgling of the stream the trail followed. We dipped our fingertips into the small rush, and the water was cold-- almost snowmelt cold. A surprise compared to the fresh, mild weather we were having.

There were large areas that had been washed out by the spring meltings. There were times when we stood, turning in circles, looking for the tell-tail rock cairns that would put our feet back on the path.

I had just started reading about cairns in a natural navigation book I picked up from the visitor center library, so I was more than happy to rebuild the ones that had toppled or move the ones that weren't as visible.

We lost the trail at one point almost completely in an area where there had been quite a big washout. We scrambled up a steep incline, looking for markers and not seeing them. We were almost ready to turn around until we walked back to our last rock marker and saw another one across the creek. After that, the signs were very obvious, they lead us upwards to the most stunning view.

The highlight of the hike, the thing that made the lung-crushing ascent worth the internal griping, was incredible. Standing on the top of a hill, looking out across the canyons and valleys and right out past the edge of the earth, until every mountainous slope was a hazy blue against the horizon, I felt at once tiny and full of potential. From this view, I could see the general area where we started, the low point of our descent, and the climb up to where I was.

It was breathtaking.

The last mile was also breathtaking, but in a different way. The steady incline had sharpened, and my lungs were not cooperating, finally getting me back for being so active after weeks of sitting at my desk and burying myself with schoolwork. I began to feel pretty ill, and I would walk a few paces and have to take a break.

When we got to the road, it was very apparent I wouldn't be able to walk the three miles back to the car, no matter how flat and smooth the walk would be. I sat down and sucked down a liter while my housemate sped walk to fetch the car.

Of course, ten minutes after she left, I was feeling fine again.

Altitude is aggravating.

But that aside, it really was an incredible weekend. Last night, once I had eaten pretty much everything my kitchen had to offer, I went to a BBQ over at Eric and Zac's house. There were homemade rolls, homemade brew, really delicious pulled pork and an incredible cherry cobbler. I won't have to eat for a while, but it was a really nice time.

It's been a little more than a week since I arrived, but this one Kurt Vonnegut quote keeps rolling around in my head:

"I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.'"

So, if all of this isn't nice, I really, honestly don't know what it.

Navajo/ Queen's Garden Loop (5/25)

Yesterday one of the other members of the veg crew and I went to Cedar City, the closest big town to run errands and pick up some groceries. I wouldn't necessarily call Cedar a city, it's more of a series of shopping centers built up around the highway, but they have a Walmart, so I can avoid paying $5 for a loaf of bread again (I haven't gotten over it, in case you hadn't noticed).

Today was my resting day, I slept in until 9:30, which at school really wouldn't have been that late (maybe even leaning on the side of early), but here it's close to four hours later than when I usually get up. I lounged in my pajamas, and when I felt like it, I went to the library and soaked up the internet, since we don't have it at the house. Ahh, a glorious do-nothing morning, the first in weeks.

I wasn't really planning on doing much else after, but my other housemate wanted to go out for a small hike. So! We went on a small hike, doing part of the Navajo Trail and the Queen's Garden loop inside of the amphitheater. We started at one of the popular view points, Sunset Point (or Sunrise? They're so close together...)

It was incredible. I must have taken 150 photos of the short trek, and since we were both soaking it up it took quite a bit longer than it should have. It took us a little more than two hours to go 2.5 miles, because we kept stopping to take picture after picture.

But it was absolutely beautiful. The descent into the amphitheater was lovely, we waddled down into the ponderosa pine stands, surrounded by the orange cream coloured hoodoos and rock faces. As we went, the sun got lower in the Western sky, casting shadows across the layers of the spires and lighting up the already vivid oranges and smooth creams.

The white-tipped walls, no doubt bleached white by the high mountain sun, stood out in bright contrast against the blue, cloudless sky. We were met with bright bursts of emerald and the deep lush greens of the high-altitude trees and shrubs.

The climb back up was gradual as we continued to photo-document our brief stint in and out of the hoodoos, which jutted up from the ground in layers. Looking out across the highest peaks of the short trail, the rows seemed almost like dominos waiting to topple over in quick succession. It was a beautiful, colourful little hike, and hopefully the casual pace will help my sea-level lungs orient themselves to the 7000-8000 feet on which I perched myself. By the last big ascents, I was panting like a dog, my lungs burning as if I had run up the inclines instead of meandered back up. Tomorrow we may go out again, because I'm ready to soak up the rest of the honeyed sunlight and orange cream walls.

Hummingbird Heartbeats and Vegetation (5/22)

It has been a very, very busy week.

Monday was freezing, I was up and out before dawn, my headlamp in prime position as  made my way to the bird banding station. There I met another intern, one of the men in charge of the construction and contracting at the park, the north campground hostess, and another park employee from resource management.

Together, we set up tables and chairs before we put up the delicate nets we'd be using to catch hummingbirds. It was a neat little system, with a feeder hung inside the trap net. It reminded me of those cartoon animal traps, you know the ones, that involve a crate, a stick, and either a huge slice of cheese or a steak, depending on whether or not it was Tom or Jerry setting it up.

Similarly, a hummingbird feeder was hung inside of a net, which was suspended from a sort of bar set up at the banding site. The net was in two parts, there was a flat mesh bottom that was leveled and weighted down by a plastic ring on the ground, and above that there was a net that could be scrunched upwards. To release the net, a thin fishing line was released from a small clip a little ways back, by the chairs. We started catching birds just past six.


Catching a hummingbird isn't that difficult, when they enter the ring of the net and bow their small heads to drink from the feeder, the net is released, which traps the bird. The net falls down to the bottom mesh disc, essentially forming a cage. As it works itself into a tizzy trying to figure out what it got itself into, you stick one arm between the mesh bottom and the net itself. Making a loose cage with your hands, you gently capture it between your hand and the side of the net, minding the amount of stress the bird is under.

Then, when you have it in your hands and the wings feel like a motorized fan in your palm and they're squeaking their tiny voices out, you put them in a wide meshed bag, being careful of snagging their beaks and legs.

It's incredible, the feel of them. They're so delicate in your palm, but so fast and precious in their colour and form. When I went to put them into the mesh bags I could feel their heartbeats purring against my fingertips, the chambers of their hearts working in overdrive. The wonder of holding something as small and lovely offset my fear of harming them. Catching was exciting, each animal an opportunity to be in awe of their warmth and graceful shape.

We caught a lot of birds in the first two hours, in addition to watching the sun come up and peak between the ponderosas. It was so, so cold, lingering at freezing all morning, with the wind blowing just enough to get under your clothes and the sun constantly falling behind the clouds. It stayed cold through the five hour collection and survey.

The rest of the day was spent around the park itself. Sarah, the biologist, took me and the other intern, who was here last summer, around to the key points of the park. We went to Bryce Point, Paria Point, and Inspiration Point.

The other bodies at the points fell away from my attention as I took it in. We were 8300 feet up, looking down into the stunning sunset coloured hoodoos. The rich oranges and unique towers of earth were breathtaking. I could hardly believe what I was seeing, and I definitely couldn't wait to get down into the amphitheater to see them from another angle.


Yesterday was my first day with the Vegetation crew. It was a little hectic, because in the morning I had to get checked in into the government housing and take the internet security course to get access to the computers. By the time that was over with, I was itching to get outside, because I had been stuck inside all day waiting for the appointments to roll around and studying for the herbicide certification tests next week.

The rest of the crew, all more experienced (and, well, seasonal employees as opposed to interns) went out ahead while I waited for the vegetation leader to finish up in the office. I learned how to make the gps files for the sites we would be spraying.

Eric and I met the rest of the crew out at a location called East Creek Meadow, they were wearing long pants, long sleeves, rubber gloves, and herbicide backpack sprayers. Leaving them to do their thing, Eric walked me through the gps again and we made a big loop of the area being sprayed while letting the Trimble device take points as we walked. The invasive targeted was smooth brome, a little green grass that apparently has been doing really well in areas historically used for cattle grazing.



It was a beautiful little area, surrounded on all sides by ponderosa pines, with great stretches of blue-grey grasses and fragrant sage brush.

I was so envious of everyone spraying, itching to jump into the fray and show that I'm worth my salt, but I'll get there. With the exception of the other undergrad intern, the rest of the veg crew are all seasonal employees, and everyone has previous vegetation experience. Patience is key, and I'll learn all I can from these unsuspecting teachers.

We ended up taking lunch at a picnic table in the meadow and the six of us: two interns, the crew leader, and the three seasonals, ate together. Everyone at the park has been incredibly open and welcoming, and I really can't believe how warm my first few days have been.

It's hard to be negative with such great people around, everyone comes from an interesting background, and we've been getting to know each other through our previous field experiences. I have a really, really good feeling about the summer, and I'm relieved to know there are people my age I'll be able to get on well with. Last summer, and even at sea, a consistent challenge was getting along with one or two people I didn't mesh well with. Regardless of how fulfilling those experiences were, it is a big relief to have had as good a start with this group as I did.


Today we were supposed to go out to a spray site an hour and a half away. With three of the crew members and Eric, we hopped in the truck and got rolling. The drive there was a quick one as I got to know one of the other crew members. I really can't get over how engaging these people are.

But as we approached the site, after following a curious set of directions: "Head north at the fifth post past the 52 mile marker." We discovered a completely empty tract of the private land. There was not another living soul in sight as we weaved through the brush in an attempt to find the set up station.

Turns out, we missed the event by a day, and ending up meandering around town as the missed dates were confirmed and future dates solidified. The affair ended up taking almost all of the morning, so by the time we got back to the visitor's center after making a pit stop at Subway, we were sleepy from the long stint in the truck.

The rest of the afternoon was more interesting, we picked up our places from the day before and went out to do some rehab on some little burn scar areas near the historic lodge.

This past winter, the small ponderosas were cut and cleared and stacked into small piles along with whatever other fuel was on the ground. The piles were then burned, leaving scars a little less than a meter in diameter.

We went out with rakes and seed, and while someone put down seed and took the gps point of the scar, others raked the seed into the ground and covered the area with nearby pine needles and other mulchy materials. We did this for about an hour before the radio sounded for hands to help with an individual that had fallen off of a horse on one of the canyon horse tours.

Since we were close, we went down to the amphitheatre to check it out.

Three quarters of a mile down the musty, dusty, stinky mule path, the law enforcement and first responders had arrived to help the individual that had injured himself. We stood by and essentially held things or moved things while the big guys did the work.

After the injuries had been tended to, the individual was lived onto a heavy-duty type stretcher. It took six people to maneuver the man up the steep incline back to the road where the ambulance was waiting, and I had a really, really difficult time getting back up.

I would barely go a few feet before my lungs started burning, I was panting, hard, before we even really made any progress. The muscles in my thighs burned, and I was simultaneously annoyed at my body for it's lack of oxygen intake and my own inability to keep my breathing within a normal range.

I was absolutely wheezing.

I've been doing my best to acclimate to the 8000 foot elevation shift, but the body adjusts when it wants to. The amount of water I've been drinking as been ridiculous, and I'm constantly bounding off to the restroom or eyeing the tree lines of a decent spot out of sight of the road and the numerous visitors constantly exploring the park. Elevation and hydration in general aren't the most convenient things I could think of.

But fumbling pulmonary organs aside, there have been so many moments where I haven't been able to believe where I am. Once the ordeal with the horse had ended, we went back to the burn scars. Every so often I'd look up and past the ponderosas, to the edge of the rim to see only sky.

It's what I imagine the view from a cloud would be. Just blue for days, past the edge of your fluffy white island.

We finished that up, and after a rushed shower and a sandwich I ate walking down the street, I joined some of the other staff for their first round of softball.

I'm not too sporty and didn't really think I'd be able to handle running around after our extended day, but it was a lot of fun. We cycled through batting and the infield and outfield, and everyone was at varying degrees of skill, so I didn't feel as bad as I would have normally about my pathetic attempts at batting.

But it was really enjoyable, playing with the orange dreamsicle backdrop of the Utah mountains.

Driving (Migrating) for the Summer (5/19)

It was unfamiliar country, the drive to Bryce Canyon. A sprawling pattern of low mountains and wide basins stretched out over the course of the 12 hour drive. My ears popped and adjusted every other minute as we climbed from the Northern California valleys to the southwestern corner of Utah. The clouds loomed over the landscape, expansive and casting their shadows far beyond their sky borders.


The snow peaked tips of mountains piqued our interest and excitement as we neared my summer station, my parents, who drove the entire way, my parents had a little too much fun on the winding mountain roads. On our descents especially, I felt as though I were simultaneously in a car commercial and back on the SSV Corwith Cramer, watching cars glide down the hillside while trying to keep my eyes focused on the horizon as my body (and stomach) rolled with the pitch and keel of the car.

The trip passed surprisingly quickly, we made good time, the half hour we dropped off of our arrival time was picked up during lunch, but we were in the speckled canyon towns by dinner.

We knew we were close when we hit an elevation of 7777 feet, not too long after we saw a pronghorn on the side of the road. My parents saw it before I did, and I had searched out of my backseat window until exclaiming an, "Oh, hello!" that quickly prompted my mother to take on a deep voice and reply to me with the animal's greetings. "We have been anxiously awaiting your arrival, Elizabeth, welcome to Utah."
Nevada was big. I always end up forgetting just how big those 'N' states are. During my drive from New York to California after my freshman year of college, I must have listened to The Police's entire discography three times before getting through Nebraska. Drives like these are subtle reminders of my relative size to the world, and of the possibilities that exist within a country as large as ours.

We passed through quite a few odd little towns built up along the highway. I haven't seen a McDonald's in the last 500 miles of traveling and it was quickly apparent that cell service is going to be only slightly more dependable than it was when I was hundreds of miles away, in the middle of the ocean. I'll be camping in the Visitor Center's library to post my summer tales.

It's currently much colder than I thought it would be, and I am mentally kicking myself over the active decisions to pack cool and light while back at Vassar. I distinctly recall holding my fleece in front of my face and thinking: "It's Utah, the desert, in the middle of the summer, you won't need a fleece."

I should have brought the fleece.

Always bring the fleece. Summer lesson number one.

Anyway, we spent the night in a nice, but overpriced little cottage after eating the umpteenth overpriced meal. The area surrounding Bryce Canyon National Park is far more touristy than I had originally thought, dotted with small restaurants with too many scraps of leather decorating their walls.

Yet, tourism aside, as you near this particular corner of Utah, the countryside becomes striking in variety and vivid beauty that's completely outside the realm of everyday America. Stepping into this region was like leaving the planet instead of simply crossing state lines.

Red Canyon, hugged up inside Dixie National Forest, was stunning. The deep red stains of the earth and the bright oranges are beyond comparison, almost unnatural in the rich saturation of colour.
The next morning we watched tour bus after tour bus steam by from our parking spot adjacent to the large stone placard welcoming visitors to Bryce Canyon NP. Families from all over, ourselves included, got out to take photos to commemorate their trek from faraway lands with a snapshot of wound-up kids and tired, but excited adults in front of the sign.

I watched from the backseat, jittery after having put off my nerves for as long as I could until I began watching for the car that would bring me to my first in-person meeting with my summer supervisor. My stomach was in knots, and I kept thinking over a line from the new Lemony Snicket book I had read on the way over, which said something to the effect of being frightened after the fact, because in the midst of things there's too much to do.

The next few hours were a blur, meeting my supervisor, talking about where we would meet, and how early (5:30!) and if I was okay with capturing the hummingbirds we'd be banding (AM I EVER). I met my housemate, who in a great flurry of activity managed to give me the low-down on everything that was wrong with the government house she had been staying in (that I would be staying in), while one of the maintenance guys installed something on the hot water heater, while discussing other issues and projects. All of this while standing in the doorway with a decent portion of my earthly possessions, alongside my parents, my supervisor, and her adorable little boys.

We dropped my things and bolted for the general store.

Things are very expensive here.

Things were very, very expensive at the general store attached to the inn/ restaurant/ gift shop/ historical monument that's been breathing alongside Bryce Canyon since before it was a National Park. Luckily my parents are generous enough not only to have driven me the twelve hours to this little corner of the universe, but set me up with a few days' worth of provisions so that my collegiate heart wouldn't give out under the weight of a $5 loaf of bread.

I did nothing for a while, wandering around the house that reminded me very much of the temporary living facilities on the air force bases of my youth. I didn't want to unpack and settle too much because my first roommate had said she was leaving right after she had listed all the things wrong with the house.

I'm happy to have a roof over my head. I haven't had a garbage disposal since I lived at home. And even if it doesn't work, it doesn't take much to make me happy. I finally decided to unpack after perfecting my grocery list.

I met my other roommate, we ventured into Tropic to go to the grocery store/ restaurant/ art gallery there. Red meat is cheap, but that's about it. We suffered together on the way back, complaining about the cost. That time my collegiate heart did give out under the cost of spaghetti noodles. Why is linguini two dollars cheaper? Why do spaghetti noodles cost more than two dollars to begin with?

I decided to eat less and have an even less discerning palate after that little stint. Although living the young liberal life will be difficult. It seems as though the only Greek Yogurt this side of the state line is pineapple. Yogurt has been a point of stress in the past, I'm currently reminding myself that it's just yogurt, but if I don't get wound up about yogurt, I will freak a little about the lack of fresh produce available, which is a bit more of a problem.

I'll be eating a lot of cucumbers. And a lot of linguini this summer.

But my roomie and I both decided we'd deal, because it is unbelievably beautiful here, and the stars will be bright above our heads, and we'll be doing exciting, fulfilling things.

It was an interesting day, spending time with her while wondering where in the state of Nevada my parents had gotten to after our second trip to the general store. I have a really, really good feeling about the people I met today. I'm looking forward to living and working with all of them.