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.