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Locals

Collectively, we decided that in order to live here you need to be…strange? A little off your rocker? Maybe that’s what happens in more isolated areas?

A lot just kind of walk right up to you and ask, what are ya doin? It’s hard to explain. We can’t say geologists because then people discuss rocks with you. And really we tried to avoid anything about climate change or the forestry service. Not that either of those necessarily have bad connotations, they just have the potential to ignite some sort of opinionated lecture. So most of the time we stick with looking at Salmon habitat. Most of them like this, but then we undergo the unfortunate time of listening to everyone’s fishing stories and then having to confess that we actually know nothing about salmon. When we mentioned to our camp host that we were surveying one particular stream even though there really isn’t any reported studies of fish, he regaled us with “Bulllllshit there’s no fish in there! Now let me tell you…” and so on for about ten minutes (later he would introduce us to all of his bear statues). Others look at our surveying equipment and ask if we’re selling their land or increasing their property values. Those who don’t know what surveying equipment looks like, often ask if we’re going fishing – either the traditional way or some sort of electrocution method. Laughingly, we came up with a few sample responses (none of which we ever actually tried). My personal favorite was Jaime’s: I’m a scientist; I work for the government (has a sort of Manhattan project flair, doesn’t it?). Others included that we’re surveying for the new dam or coal plant that will be going in soon. Lol, everyone loves that.

One stream Jaime and I did, situated next to a backwoods campground, had quite possibly the best assortment. There was a family reunion, in which even though I was freezing cold in my waders and three layers of jackets, the girls bravely donned swimsuits in order to wash their hair. Jaime and I laughed at each other: it had been at least a week since we had washed ours. One girl, for no apparent reason, though I suspect it was to make bubbles, dumped half of a Dawn dishwashing soap bottle into the river. Just climbed up on a log, opened the cap, and started squeezing the bottle and smiling. Another elderly man had the longest beard I have ever seen. He randomly appeared on the rocky bar maybe twenty feet down from us, and, after watching us pick up rocks to measure, he himself would pick up random rocks and toss them aside. Another man on the other side of a wooded log jam had a newspaper bag in his hand and was just picking up rocks and placing them inside. Jaime tried to ask what he was doing, but all he replied was “picking up rocks.”

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There’s a heat wave? Why is it so cold…

The month after the Fourth of July break, it was collectively decided to just kind of push through the next month. No more long breaks, just lots of working with a one day break every week or so to shower and do laundry. During one of these sessions, we all huddled around laptops for a morning, submitting time sheets, applying to jobs (me), and working on abstracts for an upcoming conference (Jaime and Paul). The Today show served as background noise for much of the morning until the weather report across the nation caught my attention. I hadn’t realized it, but apparently this is one of the hottest years on record. The whole country was doused in bright reds and oranges with a flashy sun-proclaiming warm, hot, or sizzling. It was “sizzling” over Virginia with greater than 100 degree weather. I had to laugh. It has been consistently 40 or 50 degrees since I arrived on the Olympic peninsula, with cold sheets of rain never seeming to cease. One particularly warm day where I only wore two layers of clothes, Chris had exclaimed that morning: “wow, it’s 9am and already 60 degrees!” Part of me wanted to be in the warm summer weather, but I have lived through too many Norfolk/Williamsburg summers to have had any sort of jealousy. Where is the happy medium?

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How are beer cans everywhere?

Just when you think you have driven down miles of dirt roads, bushwhacked and waded down several hundred meters of some random stream – that you must be in some completely remote location that few humans have visited – you find a beer can. It’s not just that someone else has been here, it’s that they bothered to lug a 6pack into this wild but certainly not the most scenic area. Like actually it sucks just lugging a tripod over some of these logs. But alas there it is.

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Matching Jackets

If a coat says that it is breathable, it’s not waterproof. My Columbia rain jacket has served me well the handful of times I have taken it out, but it was no match for this rainforest and lost all sense of repellency within a couple days of the trip. After the first few days on our own, we walked into the Forks Grocery/Hardware/Clothing store and looked around for jackets and tarps. After a little searching and a lot of trying things on, the guys found matching forest-green, heavy-duty jackets made of pvc plastic. None of them, however, fit me. The adult small actually fit Paul quite well while women’s sizes were nonexistent and the only children’s sizes available were small and medium. The guys encouraged me to at least buy one of those cheap ponchos, but I opted instead for the roll of plastic bags I had in my car. For the next five or six days I wore a t-shirt, a plastic bag overtop with broken arm and head holes, a fleece pullover, and another plastic bag, this time with the head hole in the middle of the bag to create a sort of hood with the bag’s corners as awkward ears. It kept me dryer…but yah, didn’t really work very well.

At one point in the week we ran out of water, so on the way to one of our sites we stopped into a little outfitters store that rented gear and sold clothes and snacks. The woman behind the counter was actually from Boise and her and Chris connected immediately in conversation. Apparently she had come up here just to surf for vacation, she met surfer dude (she really did call him that) and stayed here with him when her friends left to go back to school or work. Now she lives in a house down the road with surfer dude and works at this store for her math professor who also doubles as a published women’s history novelist. She took us out back and gave us the most iron-filled well water. While our bucket was filling, I perused the jacket section and found a pretty good name brand jacket for just 30 bucks (compared to at least 100 for all the other ones). I didn’t have any money with me and I couldn’t quite tell if it was waterproof, so I left it alone. A few days later, with the boss in tow, we returned to the store and both of us bought these navy blue, Helly Hansen, polyurethane jackets. Now the guys matched with their jackets and girls matched with our own. It was adorable. Finally, just as the rain was gone, I had a rain jacket. There were really only one or two more terrible rain days to follow, but it didn’t matter, because I was protected from them.

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Wildlife in the field

Did you know that the banana slug is the official state mollusk of California? The pacific slug is also the largest terrestrial slug species in the world. Fascinating, right? Yah, we saw a ton of them. We hung out with them, did some laundry, surveyed a couple of reaches, went on a picnic, watched them mate (which actually makes you want to throw up), accidentally stepped on them, accidentally grabbed them – you can do anything with your slug buddies.

Deer were pretty frequent, though usually in just ones or twos. Elk on the other hand were always in herds of at least 20, standing just off the road. They were huge creatures, often with a large group of females and just one or two bulls proudly displaying their immense antlers in warning.

And, finally, I saw a bear. We had split into two teams with Jamie and Paul further upstream and Chris and I downstream. We had just finished surveying our section and were measuring a particularly large wood jam on the side of the creek. Some bushes upstream and to the left of me began to stir and I stared inquisitively for a moment, wondering how Paul got so hairy, before realizing it was a small black bear. I have seen bears before and been much closer to them, but for some reason I completely panicked. I caught my breath and began just shouting “BEAR! (ohmygod ohmygod) BEAR!!!!!!!.” In my shock I hadn’t been able to recall my coworkers name, but mid-scream I finally remembered and switched to the more effective “ CHRIS! BEAR!!! CHRIS!” Oh my god, I thought, it’s already mauled Paul and Jaime and now it’s coming for us and we’re all going to die and I wonder if my wader boots are thick enough that I could withstand a bite of that nature. I had been standing at the base of this 12ft high wood jam, but in perhaps record time while I was screaming, scrambled to the very top – still pointing and screaming. Finally, Chris recognized my cries of panic and walked over. His eyes widened as he looked toward where my finger pointed, but instead of joining me on my little perch, he made some sort of “Oh, cool” remark and ran to get a better look, the whole way making jesters as if he were shooting the thing. I stayed where I was until I could no longer see the bear, who seemed just as freaked out as I was by my screaming. Jaime and Paul came downstream and met up with Chris to begin swapping their bear encounter stories. I finally bundled up the courage to leave my wood jam and joined them, only to be ridiculed for not remembering that bears can climb things and I was probably less safe so high up. Whatever. Later we would share this story with the campground host. He listened carefully, asked what stream we had been in, and then smiled at us saying that that was just ol’ Brown Face. Apparently many of the bears are named around here (at least by this guy) and each of his random ceramic bear lawn ornaments represent a friend he has lost.

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Raindrops keep falling on my head…Here comes the sun

After the July fourth holiday, I met up with the guys at the Safeway (a grocery store) in Aberdeen. Jaime stayed in Boise, returning one of our fancy autolevels for one that actually worked. But this simple return took a full week instead of a day and the three of us were slightly stranded. We brought my car along to keep a few things dry from the rain, and Chris’s truck to do our work. Every single day of those eight days it rained. I changed clothes three times, rotating from one soaked layer to a slightly dryer layer every few days. Water started to seep in from the bottom of Chris’ tent, soaking everything, while Paul’s rainfly began to lose it waterproofness. We eventually bought a tarp and cramped our three tents underneath it, but this only seemed to slightly improve anything. We started to check the weather report off of Paul’s smart phone searching for any hope of this misery ending, but with few people in the region the weather reports were sketchy at best for just a few scattered towns. One of the later days in the week the weather report boasted of just 20% rain. We were pretty hopeful, but still knew better than to forget our rain jackets. By midday it began to pour but we were so determined to finish two reaches that we nevertheless didn’t walk out of the field until 10p.m. We cheeringly joked that 20% must mean only six hours of rain, while secretly dying on the inside. It was twilight when we began to walk back to the truck and I was tired so I stumbled a little more than usual. While crossing a few larger boulders on the side of the stream my boots lost their grip on the rock and I fell, overtopping my waders slightly as the water tumbled around me. Luckily I screamed pretty loudly and Paul quickly scooped me up. I was so drenched already from that day my little swim almost didn’t even make a difference. The next day was 30% rain. We groaned, predicting this must mean what, 10 hours of rain for the day? But it wasn’t – it was glorious. The sky became the color blue we hadn’t seen in what felt like weeks. And the sun! We were like vampires, sparkling in it’s radiance, unsure of what to do with ourselves other than stop working and bask in it’s glory. Mid grain size measurement, we laid down on the smooth rocks and just stayed there. Paul even started snoring. We couldn’t help ourselves; I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face. You just can’t appreciate the sun without having been through eight days of monsoon. All of our outlooks changed: from depressed, irritated survival mode to much more playful and joking and just plain giddy. And, right on cue, our boss came back in time for the sunshine. I guess you can at least chalk it up as a bonding experience.

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Harry Potter: lots of driving and no sleep for the final midnight release

7/13/2011

In 4th grade I was the biggest Harry Potter fan. I had gotten the first three books as some sort of present (Christmas? Birthday? Funsies?) and, though I struggled through the first one, quickly became quite obsessed with the characters. I subdued my impatience for the 4th book by simply rereading the first three numerous times (much to my parents consternation that I wouldn’t move on to another book). Waiting turns out to be an integral component for any Harry Potter fan. You had to wait for the next book, the next movie, the next interview, the next hint of what would come next. I grew up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione – always a little younger than the characters of the book which made hoping that my upcoming middle and high school years would be filled with just as much excitement slightly plausible. On my 11th birthday I really expected an owl to barge through my chimney or Hagrid to come stomping down the door. The fourth and fifth books my mom pre-ordered from Amazon and the two of us would wait patiently on the doorstep all morning, looking up excitedly at the sound of any diesel engine, hoping it would be an approaching UPS truck. The sixth book I begged my uncle to drive me an hour from Christmas Cove Maine to the nearest bookstore in Damriscotta. I took an old broom, some marker for a scar, and a sheet folded over a rope for a makeshift cloak. Together we admired the decorations, costumes, and foaming green punch, counting down excitedly until midnight. I hurriedly read the first chapter at the bookstore and sat in wondrous happiness all the way home. The final book I went to another midnight party with my family at Prince Books in downtown Norfolk. For the whole night and next day all I did was read – I actually don’t even remember eating or sleeping. When an old friend randomly stopped by, it was literally painful to talk to her for an entire hour as I anxiously awaited the outcome of a Gringott’s bank heist. I flew out to Madison, Wisconsin, was picked up by the organizer of my meteorology camp, and had her drive me to her house to finish the final chapter before I could carry on with the start of camp. The movies have been slightly less memorable as my obsession waned – but I still made every single midnight showing.

I was in the middle of the latest field session, in the middle of the woods with no cell or internet service – but there was no way I was missing this. After all the years of waiting for the next book or movie, there would be no more waiting after this. This was it. The end. The finale. There were no excuses for missing such an extraordinary event. Sure I could see it later in the summer, but why tarnish such a perfect record and see a movie without the same anticipation and dedication of the crowds I have come to love. The closest movie theater would be in either Forks or Aberdeen. Despite filming the entire twilight series in Forks, online there appeared to be no movie theater. So it was Aberdeen – a place not listed on Fandango and who refused to reserve tickets over the phone. My coworkers cooked dinner at the “Promised Land” campground and I drove an hour south to buy the tickets before they sold out. The mall the theater was in had three cars in the parking lot. The place felt like that Will Smith movie where’s he’s all alone in NYC: stores were brightly lit and open with no customers walking around and seemingly no staff behind the counters. The classic elevator music played loudly in the background. I finally ran into human life on the other side of the mall where I bought my ticket from the movie theater concession stand, because there wasn’t enough staff to man both the concession stand and the box office. Walking back, I ran into one little 5ish year old girl, playing alone in the middle of the mall. When I walked past, she looked up and began following maybe 5ft behind me. Great, now I was in some sort of horror film. Someone with a clown mask and knife is definitely about to come around the corner and stab me to death – that, or the whole town is filled with zombies. But alas I made it to my car safely with the ticket tucked into my wallet. I grabbed a bag of marshmallows for the guys (who am I kidding? They were for me…) and drove an hour back to the campground.

Two days later, our surveying had only brought us further north. Now I was two and a half hours away from the theater in Aberdeen. I had just completed three ten hour days in the field (in the pouring rain), with at least another four or five before we went on another break and it was pretty much guaranteed that I would be getting no sleep tonight. I left quickly after we finished work, making the guys set up my tent for me and text me the directions to the latest patch of flat area that would be our campground for the night. The whole way there my phone, suddenly delighted at having service, was buzzing with texts from the east coast proclaiming excitement over the beginning of the film. When I arrived at the mall, the number of cars had certainly multiplied. I am aware of the demographics of Harry Potter fans, but was still a little taken aback that every single person was white, a little overweight, and incredibly awkward. For a while people in wizard robes were shouting spells at each other with sticks, while a seven year old dobby with no shoes but lots of socks ran around in circles in the lobby, an elderly Mad-Eye sat quietly in the corner with his wife, Professor Trelawney, and a teenage Goyle ran around shouting “I am Goyle” with the same fervor Leonidas gave to “This is Sparta.” I acted like a homeless person again, getting stares as I changed my clothes, washed my face, and brushed my teeth in the first bathroom with plumbing I had seen in days. Refreshed, I marched out to a still chaotic scene, wondering when some sort of line would form. The costume contest had finished at 30 til, but they still hadn’t let us in at 10 til. Though order was attempted with some sort of ticket numbering system, chaos eventually ensued and I found an excellent seat in the back of the front row section. Texts of people getting out of their movie on the east coast began to trickle in and I couldn’t stand waiting anymore. The people around me were considerably less enthused: the girl next to me began weeping into her boyfriend’s arm about some friend and a pair of shoes and the girls in front of me kept texting the whole movie, gossiping about some girl sitting three rows back who was rude for not sitting with them. But I didn’t care. The whole movie I was transfixed. I quietly wept throughout the whole thing as various characters were killed and then laughed or shouted or clapped when something heroic happened. I didn’t want it to end. But it had to at some point. I watched every single credit roll by, even though I was the only one in the theater, and then silently got up and filed out into the darkness.

The drive home I was filled with sadness which slowly was overcome with sleepiness. I stopped midway through my drive at around 3:30 am and took a nap in my car next to the Pacific Ocean, looking out onto the moonlit beach. I woke up a little later and continued driving, cursing the terrible directions I was given and missing the pizza box sign the guys had left me. Eventually I found the gravel pit, the only dry spot in the region which was filled with tiny rocks and a sprinkling of overturned and rusted cars. At 5:30 am I crawled thankfully into my sleeping bag and promptly passed out. Though we normally wake up at 6am, the boys let me sleep til 7 and made me pancakes. I did work the full day that day, but every now and then a spontaneous nap would occur in the middle of a survey (usually on a log) – only to be interrupted by the pelting of rain or a stadia rod poking my side.