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.