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.