A Purse for Emily

I won two dollars at the Delaware County Fair. My mother submitted the purse that I knit for my sister this summer, and it won third place. I lost to a pair of lacy socks and possibly a cabled sweater.

The purse began as a gift to makeup for my absence at her graduation in may. To truly mark the occasion, I picked a pattern harder than anything I had previously knit. 4 panels, 3 major panes, a whole lot of new pattern stitches, with 34 bobbles each. The weekend Emily graduated from Carnegie Mellon, I was knitting at a campsite in Nevada's Delmar valley, while my coworkers

teased me that the piece on my needles most resembled a beautifully textured thong.

I knit and knit and knit. Her birthday rapidly approached. Luckily, the purse was built of four panels- I could give her two for graduation and two for her birthday. Or, really, two weeks after her birthday, when I headed back east to spend a long weekend with my family and friends on vacation.

I knit in the middle of nowhere. 12 hours of work, make some dinner, knit until the sun set on

our campsites. Watching the last rays of the day reflect off of the canyon walls in the Big Rocks Wilderness. Working by headlamp as the stars flicker into perspective. Knitting in gloves by the side of a tiny alpine lake in Idaho's Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness as the temperatures dropped with the setting sun. Reclining in the Sunday afternoon shade with my needles in hand at the Shady Motel in Caliente. I knit in the Tule desert, the Delmar Valley, the Pahroc Range, The Hiko Range, The Muleshoe Valley. I tried to knit as Brandt drove the curving roads through redwood forest in Humbolt County, but it was too windy for my weak equilibrium.

I was almost done when a car accident caused my elbow to swell into a useless lump. I had all kinds of good excuses for being late on my gift, a lack of electricity, too much time driving, small stitches, big purse, lost needles, airport security, etc... But I finished it- and mailed the pieces home for her and Mom to sew it's lining and call it done.

This purse brought Emily into my life this summer. It gave me a reason to talk about her, tell her best stories, to anyone who would listen. The simple, polite inquiry, "What's that you're knitting?" opened the door to as many emily stories as I could squeeze into the window before they stopped listening, and then a few more. It brought her to the desert- to more valleys and ranges and sunsets that she'll probably never really know.

Now, Emily is carrying this purse around Baltimore- to restaurants and ceramics studios and art museums that i'll probably never know. But hopefully, if people ask about her beautiful and unique accessory, she'll have a chance to talk about me- bring me to life a little bit in her world too.

Star-gazing

It's been a good week for stars. Which is fortunate, because star-gazing is good for the soul. Maybe it's just my soul, but feeling like a tiny speck on a tiny planet beneath a sparkling, infinite sky can heal most of what ails me. It's calming, inspiring, a way to feel connected to a world larger than I can really know.

This week, my sleeping bag rolled out in the the Big Rocks Wilderness, dwarfed by the boulders of the Pahroc Canyon, the milky way was shining clear. Last month's monsoon clouds have cleared, the half-moon rose late, and the high canyon walls block any faint light pollution from spoiling the view. In the hour or so before I'd drifted to sleep, I usually saw more than 15 shooting stars, big sweeping flashes across the sky. Sleeping out every night in the desert, I am used to seeing a few before I close my eyes, but this show was above and beyond.

Seeing a good shooting star makes you feel special. Good luck, make a wish, etc... But as it turns out, there are millions of meteors flashing across the sky, throughout the day and night, caused usually by sand-sized grains of astronomical grit, burning up with friction through the air molecules of the atmosphere. However, according to space.com, we can usually only see .005% of the sky at one time, bringing our eye's share of shooting stars to an average of 12 per hour. Which means that maybe, if you catch them all, you should still feel pretty special.

Last night, the sky-show got even better. A big electrical storm hung over the Delmar valley to the south of us. We could barely hear the thunder, but the sky flashed and glowed with lightning strikes every minute or two. Far enough away to be fear from the fears of rain (and putting up a tent in a wet, 2am panic) and lightning-strike fire, we just enjoyed the light-show.

Shooting stars diving across the sky into a cloud of flashing light. I sleep well after a show like that, once I convince myself to close my eyes....

How often does the NYTimes speak to you?

Seeking: an absorption in the immediate so intense and complete that the idiot chatter of your brain shuts up for once and you temporarily lose yourself, to your relief.

Camp Cooking

Too many people think that camp food is ramen noodles, freeze-dried mush, or easy-mac (that's right Christy and Clarissa- I'm looking at you) and whenever I go camping with them, they are astonished with what i end up making. I'm not trying to brag, really, it's just that because I'm always camping, if I didn't make decent food in the field, I would never eat anything good. It's like when people are surprised that i floss when camping. If I didn't floss when camping, when the hell would I floss? So gross. But I digress.

The point is that I've been eating pretty well in the backcountry this summer, and I'm pretty pleased about it. My crew takes turns cooking for each other, and we're all a bit competitive, so when it comes to eating dinner, we've all been winning. So, I just wanted to share some of the season's best recipes.

Car-Camping Winners:
Work is lovely because we drive these huge trucks with ample space for coolers and rubbermaid bins with cutting boards, cast-iron skillets, and vegetable peelers (just kidding, i never peel anything, even when i'm in a kitchen- but you get the idea).
#1. Apples and Sweet Potatoes
-Cook up a bunch of couscous or quinoa and let the grains fluff up in the hot water while you chop up apples and a sweet potato. Make a sauce of olive oil, balsamic vinegar and maple syrup and steam/roast the veggies for maybe 20 minutes, covered, stirring frequently. Chop up some soy-sausage and stir in as the veggies get squishy. When the sausage chunks are hot, let your amazed friends serve the mixture on top of the grains and top with feta cheese and crasins.
#2. Easy Curry
-Make instant rice. While it is fluffing, chop up two vegetable- like a zucchini and a bell pepper or onion and eggplant, and some garlic. Most combos are good. Put 1 can coconut milk, the veggies, a scoop of curry paste (which does not need refrigeration, fyi)- i usually use green, but any flavor is good, in the pot, and cook for about 10-15 minutes, until the veggies are getting slightly soft. Chop up some extra firm tofu and stir in. When the tofu is hot, serve over rice, and if you are feeling really fancy, top with cilantro.
#3. Cowboy eggs
-Saute a bell pepper and onion. Dump a bunch of eggs on top, and scramble. When eggs are almost done, stir in some spinach, so that it wilts in the hot mixture. Serve wrapped up in tortillas with cheese and salsa.
#4. Roast veggies.
-Instant rice. Chop up sweet potato, bell peppers, chilies, onion, garlic. Roast in olive oil, which takes about 15 minutes. Season with salt and pepper or a little red curry paste. Optional topping- mix some chopped up cucumber with yogurt and cilantro. This might be the prettiest recipe. And James deserves the credit for this one.

Okay- now I'm hungry enough that I need to go get some lunch.... I'll write up the best backcountry winners soon.

Half Dome by Moonlight

First, allow me to state the obvious. Yosemite Valley is beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful, especially in the wet, tall, green and granite contrast to the open basin and range, the dry, high desert where I spend my time. But Yosemite is also Crowded, crowded, crowded. Campsites were full, backcountry units were full, parking areas were full. That's what I get for living in the middle of nowhere- I forget that when you travel to one of the nations most popular parks- you pretty much have to plan ahead. And we did not.So, although there was a collection of rain clouds holding tight to the Sierra Nevadas, we knew that the moon was almost full, so I suggested that we hike up halfdome in the moonlight instead of fighting the crowds up in the morning. No campsite? No sleep? No problem. We packed up, rain gear, thermals, and lots of chocolate covered coffee beans.

We started the hike at 10, on the last shuttle to the trailhead. Once our eyes adjusted (we were trying to go headlamp-less as much as possible) we made pretty good time up the very first few miles of the John Muir Trail (which I am now making plans to conquer- hopefully next summer) to the first enormous, moonlight-glowing waterfall. We crossed the stream and headed up a long series of steep, rocky steps past the second falls, only tripping occasionally on hidden roots and slippery rocks.

At the top of the falls we could see halfdome rising in the moonlight, and realised that we were way ahead of schedule. There was not much point in arriving at the summit before sunrise, it'd be too cold and windy to hang out long. So we stopped to nap several times, adding layers and cuddling into a 5-way spoon. After about half an hour of rest, we were too cold to continue and had to resume hiking to regain the feeling in our fingers and toes. So we just hiked slowly- enough to stay warm but not get to the top too fast.

We reached the first summit at first light, after another long rocky staircase. Then, the challenge of the tip-top peak appeared before us, two cable handrails climb the last 300-ish vertical feet along a slickrock slope of 50 or 60 degrees. We climbed it, reaching the peak as the sun just barely broke free of the clouds.

We thought that we would be the first ones to the peak, having passed a few other parties with similar, sunrise on the summit plans within the last half mile. I lead the cable climb, and to my surprise, found 4 guys in sleeping bags sipping coffee on the summit. Probably 15 more people followed us up, but the clouds on the horizon were still dark and omnious, so we choose not to linger. The idea of sliding down the already slippery rock in a rainstorm did not appeal, so we headed down.

The sun rose, and burnt off the clouds. About halfway into our victorious hike down, we ran into the first of several huge packs of dayhikers, the trail was literally packed solid with uphill moving hikers by 8 or 9 am. I am SO glad we hiked in the night's solitude.

We reached the park valley in late morning to discover that we still couldn't get a campsite or a backcountry permit, and that my car had been impounded for violating the no visible food in cars bear-protection rule. Reality sucks. Half Dome was awesome.
We got the car back, some pizza, more caffiene, and hit the Tioga rd back east, through some snowflurries and switchbacks until settling in to a campsite at a hot springs just north of mammoth lakes. We went to sleep at 7pm, and it was so worth it.

Addictions

I have discovered podcasts. I am behind the times. I can freely admit this- living in a tent in remote parts of nevada makes it difficult to stay on top of things like new technologies, films, and celebrity gossip. We work in areas of radio silence sometimes- or the only station we can find is such bad popcountry that silence would be preferable.

But, since this device called an ipod (have you heard of them?) entered my life, this had all changed. I can just play it through the my Dodge SuperDuty's stereo (his name is Sir Galahad, fyi, the white knight) and we are saved from inspirational lyrics like "Baby, I want to check you for ticks," and "He had one hand on the steering wheel and one hand on my.....heart." But, better music is just not enough- i missed NPR- news, this american life, car talk, i even miss the misery of marketplace.

Then, I discovered that you can download all of these amazing radio programs, and many more, straight from itunes to my computer for free. I catch up on my weekly news with Wait, Wait, Don't tell me, a pop news quiz in which I never know any of the answers any more. We listen to This American Life and Science Friday on our way to work for the week. On my personal time, I drool over the Splendid Table and laugh at Savage Love.

And I've discovered new podcasts I never knew i was missing- like WYNC's Radiolab- a science meets culture show that is brilliant, and The Moth- a live, storytelling series performing in NYC. PRI's Life on Earth is fantastic. Scientific American has these 60-second clips on new discoveries and research. Slate.com's book club podcasts has expanded my reading list. I'm devouring the back episodes of Radiolab, thinking about how exciting science is and how many fascinating ways there are to turn science into stories. Maybe they need an intern?

I never thought i would become so addicted to an ipod- but it's enabled me to get back in touch with the world outside of the Ely BLM district- excited about what good reporting and good storytelling can do to an audience. Addict them. See me, example A.

Bryce Canyon

I spent the past few days in a beautiful place- hiking the under the rim trail of Bryce Canyon National Park. We were practically alone on a spectacular trail, the kind of being in a place that makes me wish I had more talent to describe the power of the experience. All of the authors who have inspired me recently, as a writer and as a being, have an incredible sense of place. Edward Abbey, Wendell Barry, Barbara Kingsolver, Tim O'Brien,Terry Tempest Williams, John McPhee, Micheal Pollan, Paul Theroux, and the woman who just wrote The White Mary, which was excellent, to name a short list, all bring the settings of their stories to life. And I am so jealous.

Sometimes I feel like I'll never be able to compete. I'll never be Abbey's lone wolf in the wilderness, or have Barry's emotional connection to the land he has lived and worked his entire life. They have already found the poetry in red rock desert, the intrigue of basin and range fault lines, the magic of the sprouting spring garden, and the adventure of being alone in an unfamiliar land.

I feel the power of the places in my life, from the mundane, staring at the stars through my windshield as I spend yet another night sleeping in the honda, the snowpeak of Mt. Wheeler just illuminated by moonlight, to the extreme, reaching the crest of the ridgeline, 33 miles later, to finally see Bryce Canyon opening out in front of us:The problem is that in all of the places that I find myself, I end up wishing that I had more talent, a greater ability to find truth in the telling, to bring the places I live alive to people who will never wander in the million-dollar wildflower blooms on the Hiko-Stewart fire in Lincoln County Nevada (an essay on this to come, I promise) or climb over the Mormon mountain range carrying several days worth of water to follow fires in the wilderness.

I'm addicted to maps, the names of the mountains and canyons and trails, that all of this nothing out here was actually somewhere to someone, at least long enough to name it. I think that the best I can do, until I hopefully grow up into more talent, is to experience each place that I find myself, as fully as a can. Sometimes, I just take a step back and think, "is this really my life, in this place? this is ridiculous, if only my friends could see me now;" slicing up t-shirts sleeves at 8,000 ft, 15 miles from a trailhead, to make emergency tampons, or lying on my belly, my hair tangled in a spikey-endangered shrub, digging with my bare hands like a dog to claim a piece of it's root's for cloning. These places feel more real, the landscapes that really make up my life.
And of course sharing them sometimes with the people who make up my life as well- Joanna and I on the trail above- once the snow stopped and the sun came out. What a great hike.

Ely Baby!

It's SNOWING in Ely.

This is not surprising, except that it was 80 plus as I was packing up my vegas apartment last week. 4 hours later, the temp had dropped 60 degrees and I had arrived at my new home. And by home, i mean where I pitch my tent. Brrrr....

So, to say my goodbyes to southern nevada- here's the best of my new camera:

Desert Tortoise hanging out in a Krameria erecta.

This awesome Lily who's name I can't remember, and the Jepson is in my car and it's snowing outside....
And the narrows of Lake Mead, receding behind us, as we rushed off to search for endangered and very small Astragalus geyeri....

So goodbye to the Mojave, and the friends I made there, the Great Basin is calling my name!!

For love of sourdough

One of the worst things about moving into your car and tent for the summer is that it's not an ideal habitat for pet sourdough. I discovered this awful truth last march, and now, as I pack up and bid adieu to nightly showers, sheets, and refrigeration, i'm saddest to say goodbye to the yeast community that has sustained me the past few months.

There is hardly anything better than a warm loaf of bread, just out of the oven, spread with a little butter. I love how baking each loaf seems like a little bit of a miracle- you combine the simplest of ingredients- flour, yeast, warm water, salt, maybe some sugar or oil; and work it with your hands until all of the stress and tension has been released from your body into the accepting and forgiving dough. Leave it somewhere warm and it rises, filling the room with that yeasty aroma that smells like home, wherever you are. You punch down the inflated dough, an incredibly satisfying feeling, and leave it to swell again. Finally, you roll your creation into a bread pan, and trust the oven at 350 degrees to finish the work you've started.

From bread, I've learned patience, flexibility, and the absolute superiority of real butter. But, of all the breads I've baked, my sourdough has to be my favorite.

Having a sourdough starter is like having a pet. But a productive pet, you feed it, and it feeds you in return. This is serious sustainability. It saves me money not buying baker's yeast. A community of yeasts and the associated bacteria that feast on the end-products of the yeast's metabolism, my starter usually lives in a yogurt container on the counter, happily doubling in size when I feed it equal parts unbleached flour and water. Every couple days I scoop out a cup or two and bake bread, pizza crusts, pancakes, or on special occasions, donuts.

I made the donuts last weekend, my sourdough's last hurrah. They are dense, cakey spice donuts, the sourdough flavor mixing in with ginger and nutmeg, fried in hot oil and rolled in cinnamon sugar to finish. You don't even want to know how much oil it takes to fry them, but they are so worth it.

Before I truly said good bye to this starter, which has been a loyal friend for several months since I inherited it from a coworker, Lindsey, I began to grow babies. I grew the starter and divided it into lots of mason jars, for Felicia, Briant, Cayenne, and Sarah, along with instructions on the care and feeding of these new pets. Don't stir with a metal spoon. Put it to sleep in the refrigerator if you aren't going to feed or use it for a few days. You can bake almost anything with it.

It's fun to trace the sourdough lineage, to watch the culture that sustained me these past few months, hopefully live on in the kitchens of my friends. The starter I gave up last year died in the hands of my sister, wielding a metal spoon, apparently, but a daughter starter has been living the good life in Albuquerque, providing the weekly bread for my friends Sarah and Alex for over a year now. I like that it creates a sense of community, connections through the strains of yeast we all enjoy.

So I wish all my baby sourdoughs luck, and the new parents great success in raising a healthy, happy community of yeasts. Maybe, when I move out of my tent next fall and into somewhere with an oven (yay!!!), one of them will still have some living sourdough, and I can inherit a daughter of my starter's daughters, and keep my baking full circle.

Why my job is interesting....

A first draft of an essay for my research group's newsletter

Lake Mead National Recreation Area is on of the country’s largest national parks, the largest in the lower 48 states. The 1.5 million acres of park upland encompass the intersection of 3 of north America’s major deserts, the Mojave, the Sonoran, and the Great Basin. The park is home to many rare plant populations. The only population of smoketrees, Psorothamnus spinosus, in Nevada, the northern most community of Palo Verde, Cercidium microphyllum, the endemic and endangered bear poppy, Arctomecon californica to name a few, are surviving and thriving within the National Parks Service protection.

The desert plants’ distribution and abundance are controlled by many factors, but the primary ones in the park seem to be climate and geology. The main climate gradients are intuitive- warmer to the south and cooler to the north; temperatures also decrease with increasing elevation. The aspect of a mountain also affects the local climate; slopes that face south receive more sunlight than those that face north, often favoring different species on opposite slopes.

The controlling affect of local geology is more complicated. As anyone who has taken a scenic drive through the park knows, the rocks around change quite a bit. Volcanic ranges, sedimentary ranges, flat sandy basins, gypsum-rich rolling hills, cobbled desert pavement, black mesas, and red sandstone cliffs. Rooted in place, a plant’s main relationship with its environment is through the soils. Soil properties like mineral and nutrient composition, texture, depth, and ability to retain water have a direct affect on which plants will be able to succeed rooted in that place.

The NRCS has described and mapped more than 50 soil types within the park. Surveying which soil associations support which plant communities is key to understanding the vegetation composition across this diverse landscape.

Within the next 50 years, we expect to see some major changes to our regional climate as a result of the anthropogenic carbon dioxide levels rising in the atmosphere. One to three degree Celsius temperatures increases and more severe, less predicatable precipitation events, leading to an increase in both floods and droughts. To continue in their ideal habitat, scientists expect to see plant and animal communities migrate along climate gradients- seeking cooler conditions northward or up-slopes.

Unfortunately, community migration with changing climate is much more complicated than it sounds. Some plant species with strong dispersal mechanisms will be able to adapt quickly, others will be unable to adjust their range on a meaningful timescale. Species that traditionally cohabitate will find themselves separated; changing community dynamics. Perhaps the biggest challenge at Lake Mead, and in much of the southwest, for ecosystems dealing with the changing climate, is that the soils, rocky-outcrops, and sandy washes will all remain stationary. Species will find that their ideal climate has shifted but their ideal soils have not, creating mismatches that could potentially threaten their survival.

One of the missions of our National Parks is to protect and conserve our natural ecosystems. To figure out the most efficient and effective ways to protect the plant communities of Lake Mead NRA in the changing climate, understanding how soils-climate-species interact the first step for the park. We are currently, on a park-wide scale, to study the plants associated with the different soil types, elevations, slopes, and locations. Collecting this base-line data will help us to see how the communities change and move with a changing climate. With this new information, we can understand where to focus our conservation efforts; to protect this park and it’s ecosystems for the future.

Settled

Okay- my brief moment of spaz is over before it even picked up steam. I talked with the women from Anchorage and she informed me that instead of camping, her crew lives on a small boat on the Gulf of Alaska during their field trips. Considering my incredibly wimpy equilibruim and how sad/sick I can get on a rocking vessel, I decided to decline. I was a little sad, but it made the decision easy. SO I am moving back to Ely. SOON. March 30th we start training. It will still be freezing in Ely on march 30th. So now I have an excuse to buy new wool long underwear...mmm....ibex sale....

YAY job!

Karma

See look what I did- i wrote about all these options yesterday and what happens... everyone calls today, while I was freezing my ass off on a speedboat. Neil with the crew lead job in Ely, the Forest Service in Anchorage wanting to talk about the inventory position. Ahhh.

So the question is (I'm giving myself 48 hours)

Nevada:

Or Anchorage:
The desert: On the down side, it's hot, steep, burn-up, and I'd have to live in my honda again. On the up-side, there's great stargazing, people I like, long weekends to play all over the region, and a crew lead spot.

Or the frozen north: It could be perfect, 65 and sun-shine (alaska 1.0) or freezing rainy and buggy as hell (alaska 2.0). I'd get days off in anchorage, play ultimate, buy food or see movies (oh man- the Bear Tooth...), tons of sunshine, sleeplessness, a chance to work for a new agency, get paid through the fall, learn some new plants, maybe not like the people or the protocol....ahhh...I still need to talk to the PI, before I can really even do this...

(Yes- that is me, in my head-net, exclaiming over our discovery of maybe the world's largest ground-squirell midden. )

So VOTE. VOTE now!!! I might not listen to you, but your input is still welcome! 48 hours on the clock....

It's February Again

So I've been working on the really interesting piece about climate change and Mojave, including the predicted increases in both droughts and floods and how Joshua trees wouldn't be able to adapt to shifting conditions because their seed dispersal mechanisms are adapted to extinct large megafauna like giant desert sloths, but it's not done yet.

So, instead, since it's february, i'm going to indulge in one of my favorite topics: Making way too many plans for what I should do with my life!! (or at least my summer field season). As some of you may remember from last february- I get way too excited about way too many options for summer work and turn into a total spaz. How can the shortest month have the most drama? Last year I applied for like 15 jobs, interviewed for 6, got offered 5, wrote a huge research presentation, fought with statistical analysis software, and fell into all kinds of smooshy romantic feelings for a boy who was way too nice to be my type (at the time, he later turned out to be more of a jerk that I initially gave him credit for). And, in the end, on Leap Day, the last day of the month of spaz, I made the wrong decision, and took the wrong job, and ended up doing boring work in terrible conditions for 3 months (Never again CAKN Botany!)

So this year I am trying to limit my options and make better decisions. Also, only one job has been actually offered to me so far, so this is all just a little bit premature (and therefore more fun, right?) But sometimes you need to prioritize b/c if you have to turn down one position to wait and hear about another one, which you might not get, so you have to have a backup plan.

A. I could go back to Ely. I liked my boss, the schedule, 8 on, 6 off with a great starting location for wilderness trips, great star-gazing, I know most of the plants, decent project protocol, it gets way too hot, I might get a crew lead position which would be good experience and a raise(for now, all I have guaranteed is the tech spot), and I know it won't surprise me and end up miserable. Its starts by April 1st though, which is a little sooner than I meant to leave vegas...

B. I can wait to hear from a forest service position out of Anchorage I've been coveting. Last year they didn't hire any techs b/c everyone came back from the previous season (which is a good sign for a good project- bad for my odds of joining the project) but now i'm way more qualified- that miserable summer in Denali's swamps has to bee good for something, right? I'd love to get back to Anchorage- mix the backcountry work up with a little civilization on my days off.

C. Forest-Service riparian project in Idaho and Montana. If Neil doesn't offer me a crew lead and Anchorage doesn't pan out, this could be pretty great. It's a big project, they wanted to hire me last year, and the applications not due for a few more weeks. I've never been to this area, and I really want to, so it would be a good chance to have a new adventure. I've heard recommendations on the project from friends too. Unfortunately, they only hire at the GS-5, so it's a little pay cut relative to what I would make with options A and B, but it might be worth it to see a new part of the country.

D. So, I sent out a lot of other forest service spot resumes. The website makes it so easy. The pacific northwest network and the northern rockies network, I think. It's hard to remember. I'm not attached to any of them, but it might be cool if they called me up and I learned some details. But otherwise, I'm trying to pretend that those positions don't really exist. Yet. Like I said, I'm keeping it simple this year.

Back to the familiar or out into another land unknown? It's tempting both ways- if last year's unknown hadn't been so unfortunate, I'd probably be more inclined to just jump into deep waters again, but I feel like I've learned to appreciate the usefulness of checking the water first.

Who knows? I guess it really depends on who offers me what these next few weeks. In the end, I just need to make some serious summer money, so I can visit Emily in Thailand and join Clarissa on a southeastasain backpacking adventure in the fall. Thinking about it that way, i don't even feel like a spaz at all.

Rock On

I spend my days wandering around the desert. I get paid to look at the plants, which is nice, but I spend all my spare time ogling at the ridiculousness of the rocks around me. It amazes me how diverse the geology around me can be- how much the rock-related scenery can change across a day's work. And of course, as the geology changes, the plants change, so really, it's okay that I look at rocks on the clock too.

Just in the past few weeks I've seen: Devil's Throat, a huge, pretty damn deep sinkhole that's slowing expanding to break-out of the BLM's fence, a red mountain and a blue mountain standing side by side, a new boulder-field cleaving perfectly square chunks about 10 ft tall, petroglyphs of people and sheep and squiggly circles carved in desert varnish on a sheer face about 15ft off the ground, mountains that raised up sideways- the rock layers jutting up 45 degrees off from horizontal, mesas held together by the solid slab on top while the slopes turn to scree and slide away, boulders with warts, new crystals and geodes for my ever-growing rock garden, pink gypsum soils that crumble under foot, red strips, cathedral peaks, cliffs, canyons, and a regular rainbow of soil samples.

Rocks were not this cool in Ohio. Or Virginia. Hell- we didn't even have rocks in Florida or out on the tundra. Perhaps that has something to do with why I'll never live in those two places ever again. There's just something...necessary... about topography.

So as I roam the desert, collecting data and plant specimens, I'm also collecting a list of rock-related questions I need someone to answer. I want to know the hows and whys of the my surroundings. I've been working my way through John McPhee's beautiful books on geology, The Annals of the Former World, and his descriptions pretty much make me giddy. I am in love with his love affair for geologist jargon.

But frankly, I don't really want to become an amateur geologist. My brain is too full of plant families, too busy half-consciously checking for stellate hairs and counting sepals. I just want to carry a geologist around with me to satisfy my curiosities as they arrive. That would be so useful. Lauren told me once, as we were mocking ornithologists' OCD and herpetologists' weirdness that I should marry a geologist. I think she's right- we could be the perfect play-outside couple: who really needs to know what kind of a rattlesnake it is anyways, right? Just don't piss it off.

I haven't quite decided to start hanging fliers to advertise myself around the geo building at UNLV, but I think I probably should. As far as I know, there's only one geologist likely to be reading this blog, unless Nancy forwards it to her nephew in another attempt to set us up, so Perry, I hope this doesn't feel awkwardly like a marriage proposal. Unless of course you'd be interested.

My desperation aside, the real point is that the rocks out here really rock. It's hard to resist getting to know them, photograph them, climb them, claim the small shiny ones for my collection. I'm looking forward to the arrival of some visitors these next few weeks, to show off all of the beautiful places I've discovered. I still don't know the hows or the whys, but i feel like the where is a pretty great place to start.

Love and other dangerous sports

So i just finished reading the book Emily sent me for my birthday, The Scavenger's Guide to Haute Cuisine, by Steven Rinella, and I am head-over-heels in love. Even before I saw the ridiculously attractive pictures of him on his website, I was totally smitten. Emily KNEW this would happen, that's why she sent me the book.

You see, I frequently fall in love with men I barely know- experience has taught me that it's much safer than falling in love with the men who actually play a role in my life. I fell in love once with a boy I was arguing with across a bonfire. I fell so in love with a cocaine-addicted sixth grade history teacher named Bobby on a cruise ship that I was a giggling wreck at loss for words in his presence. Heck, just a few weeks ago I fell in love with the guy belaying me at the gym. I never met any of them again, but it was still love. I fall head over heels for the simple things, like a week's worth of backcountry scruff and a a story to go with it, a sense of humor and a sense of adventure. But I digress.

The point is that I have fallen in love with Steven Rinella for several reasons. The first is that he wrote an awesome book that combines food and playing outside- which happen to be pretty much my two favorite things. It's also a lot about killing things, which I never realized that I was interested in until now. He hunts, catches fish, digs for clams, spears frogs, and captures baby pigeons from the nests around town. And then he cooks it all into one big feast. It's about returning to a more natural way of being in touch with your food and your environment and your family and friends. LOVE.

His interest in hunting and fishing makes perfect sense to me. My purpose in not eating meat these days is not because I don't enjoy the taste or because I think carnivory is wrong, but simply because I don't want to support our industrialized system of agriculture, in particular the inhumane and ecologically disastrous ways in which we produce meat. I've been more than happy to eat wild caught fish, wild game, and meat grown on small, ecologically responsible farms. Now, after reading this book, I wish I could do that a lot more. I guess I need to learn how to hunt and fish. Just what I needed was more new hobbies. I even asked Dad for a shotgun for Christmas (since I feel left out in Nevada without one) but I think he thought I was joking, so I'll have to tackle this one on my own.

I'm also in love with Steven Rinella because he has the type of job I would love to have. He's succeeding in freelance writing about his passions; the outdoors, food, adventure, and science.
Do I want to marry him or be him? I am so torn. But until I decide, I'm going to check at my library for his new book, on Buffalo, and if they don't have it, I'll have to buy it. I can't wait. It might be better to have my own personal copy, since I'll probably be drooling the whole time I read it anyway.

To the rescue!

Late Sunday afternoon I took Allee and Amorita down to the Gold Strike Hot Springs for a little post-tournament soak. I wanted to show off to Allee how beautiful the desert can be (Amo already knows...) and we needed a relaxing evening instead of another night out on the strip. It's a two mile trail through a great canyon, easy wash-hiking with occasional boulders to scramble over or slide down. We hiked in as the sun began to set and everyone else was hiking out, so we had the pools of hot water to ourselves we arrived- perfect for a little quiet skinny dipping and a peaceful beer.

And then this guy arrived. Just after we got comfortable (eg naked and drinking). I warned him, in case he was squeamish, that there were naked chicks in the vicinity. He wasn't, and after a brief chat, we learned that he had also been in town for the ultimate tournament. Thus considered a kindred spirit, we invited him in and offered him a beer. He declined the beer, but hopped in for a quick soak. He only stayed for a little while, citing a lack of headlamp and a long drive back to Phoenix as excuses. Apparently, there's a tourney in Tempe last weekend, and he might know a women's team that needs a woman, so I gave him my number.

Which turned out to be a very good decision. We lingered another half an hour or so, enjoying the warmth and the stars coming out into the moonless night. Our hike out was slow, with only my headlamp on the trail occasionally tricky terrain (like the rope-assisted scrambles), Allee in flip-flops, and all three of us in a hot-spring-soak induced tranquility. But, when we finally made it to the car, my headlamp fading as the batteries died, we noticed a jeep parked behind me with Arizona plates and a "Play Ultimate" sticker. Shit- the guy's still in there somewhere. Without a headlamp or any water, as he told us earlier.

We drove up the road, where I found cell reception and two messages "Hey- I think I might be lost" and "Are you guys out of the canyon yet?" I tried to call, but it didn't go through. I replied that we were out, he must be on a side canyon somewhere, and that we were going to run home for more headlamps and too dump the flip-flop florida girl off in bed before coming back down.

We hurried back, prepared. Water, lights, and wool hats (it cools off quick at night still). About half way down the trail, a few side canyons meet, and in the dark, it'd be pretty easy to start up the wrong one, so I had a pretty good idea where he might be. As we returned to the trailhead, we found the lights of a park ranger, and saw another driving up the jeep-trail to the peak. Apparently, he had called for help. We introduced ourselves to Ranger Michelle, who seemed pretty pleased to have our help, since we were far more prepared than she was for night hiking in the canyon. Once we told her that we were fellow park-people, we got into action. The park's plan had been to drive the powerline roads to look for him, and if that didn't work, they would have gone to a fly-over.

Luckily for the rangers and the lost boy, we had a pretty good idea where he might be, making a foot-search the much more practical option. We hit the trail, at a pretty good pace this time, pausing to yell in unison and listen to our echos and the lack of response. We had a nice chat with Michelle. Her partner, the road driver, sat as back-up at the trailhead. Finally, about a mile down, we heard a call back from up a steep side canyon- "Kate?" A quick scramble and I found him, quite happy to see me, only a couple hundred meters from the proper trail.

I'm not sure a boy has ever been so happy to see me. Lost, alone on a cold, moonless night in a canyon like that would have to be pretty scary. I gave him a hug, some water, and a headlamp, and we headed back down to Amo and Ranger Michelle. Apparently, he had hiked almost the whole way up the side canyon's steep, rough terrain before becoming convinced that he was really lost, and then trying to come back down, disoriented in darkness. He was scared and tired, but nothing seemed to be really bruised but his ego. I tried to chatter about ultimate and such on the hike out, to distract him from beating himself up too much.

Really, it probably could have happened to anybody who was feeling a little too confident. It's just a quick little hike, I won't need any water. I'll be out before it gets too dark, I won't need a headlamp. I couldn't really be lost and need help, could I? I do stupid stuff like that too. I mean, we just had 1 dying lamp, a little water, a few beers, improper footwear, and we had neglected to tell anyone else where we were going. But, we were in a group, and i'm pretty familiar with the trail, even in the dark. But it's a good lesson that it pays to be prepared, especially on the little trips that I take for granted. Allee had remarked on how prepared we were in the first place, "like little girl-scouts," I think she said, but it's nice to be reminded why the desert has taught me to do that. Because even if I've remembered not to be stupid, someone else might be.

So now, I've got a place to stay if I ever go to Phoenix. Amo and I were already considering a little Arizona trip in a few weeks- which is good timing now that someone owes us a beer or two.

Happy Birthday!

YAY Yesterday! 2009 is flying by, my birthday has come and gone already. I think it was a good one though- I like the feel of this 24 thing much better that 23 thing i did last year. I started off the day by calling my mother, to thank her for having me, obviously, and she rounded up my father and sister for the traumatic family tradition of loud, out-of-key and off-rhythm vocalizations that pass for singing at our house. Waiting for me to make the coffee (this was 6 am) my roommate, Amorita asked, "Why are you holding the phone so far away from your ear?" That's a prengaman-birthday!

Work was pleasant, the sun was shining, the wind occasionally took a break from howling, and we hiked to some pretty neat plots in the Gale Hills with high diversity. After work, Amorita and I used the excuse of my birthday to throw our first party in the apartment. We invited all our coworkers (since we don't really have any other friends) and a few of the ultimate frisbee folks, and bought a lot of tequila and limeade. 6 batches of margaritas later, we proclaimed the event a smashing success. There was hardly anywhere to sit and plenty to drink, but no one seemed to mind. It was a huge mess to clean up this morning, so that's a sign that people had fun right?

In case I needed any other reasons to feel pleased with myself besides the anniversary of my birth, an excellent party, and a sunny weekend off-work, my refrigerator was just approved by the NYTimes. That's right, the most viewed article in the NYT online site right now is about the 11 best foods that you aren't eating. But I am apparently smarting than everyone else, because it's basically a list of my favorite foods. Beets and swiss chard are currently in my fridge, and I just finished off my cabbage and tofu stir-fry, which features a lot of turmeric. Blueberries in the freezer for breakfast smoothies. I loved everything pumpkin, seeds, flesh, and convenient cans. I make awesome pumpkin cornbread with lots of cinnamon. Prunes? duh- they are a perfect backpacking snack. I have lived off prunes and peanut butter, not that I care to repeat that adventure... We just bought pomegranate juice actually, for jazzing up the margaritas, so I can check that off too. Lastly, there are sardines in the cupboards, they aren't my favorite, but I'll cook them into a dried food dinner that needs a little protein and salt. Yep- that's all 11. It's always nice to read something that tells you that you are right. I think the over emphasis on certain "miracle" foods instead of focusing overall on a healthy, diverse diet of fresh food is misleading, but I'm still going to bask in my diet's success. Which is making me hungary.

Happy New Year!

The past two years my new year's resolutions have been pretty resounding successes. 2007- I baked all my own bread. I started the year relying on baking powder biscuits, but by the end I had successful sourdough, hearty-whole wheat, bagels, flatbreads, and baguette. In 2008 I bought bread again (it's hard to bake in the backcountry on a campstove) but decided to dedicate more time to reading for fun and find gainful employment. I'd consider it mostly a success on both counts. This year, however, I'm considering resolving too many things that require too much time.

Resolutions: Spend more time writing, more time climbing, actually go to the pool and swim occasionally, be stronger, be faster, be braver, no cavities, help my ankles finally heal, save money for retirement and grand travel plans, figure out where I might want to go for grad school, make new friends, keep the old, send more letters.

Resolutions are a tricky thing- new year, new leaf, we all hold such high expectations for a few shiny weeks before we settle back into another year. I had lunch with friends last week when the subject turned to resolutions. One is vowing to have no boyfriends this year, the other, vows to lower her bad cholesterol. I'm not sure I'd feel attached to either goal, but I'm jealous that they simplified their lists. Mine still needs some work. I already cut plenty. But it's a big, brand new year before us, so I'll see what I can do. Whatever you've decided to do this year, good luck and happy new year!!