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.
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