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.