Rant to the desert community

Now that I've moved to a new place, I am walking-distance to several things which makes me happy. What makes me unhappy is the sights I see on my way to the nearby rec center: manicured lawns and landscaping full of water-hungry plant species, gigantic trucks/SUVs in every driveway, huge air conditioning units on every over-sized home. This brought a surge of angry, frustrated thoughts that I often have when faced with the realities of living in Las Vegas. It is beyond comprehension why people move to this uniquely harsh environment and believe that it is their right to re-create some kind of lush, familiar, tree-lined urban landscape, somehow convincing themselves that their comfort & happiness trumps all other considerations when using up our very limited desert resources. If xeriscaping isn't cutting it, if the wide selection of desert-adapted plants, the assortment of geologically significant rock formations, the expansive views, the brilliant blue skies, etc, etc isn't enough to satiate your aesthetic appetite, THEN MOVE!! If you want trees, and roses, and grassy fields, MOVE!!! If you want 60 degrees indoors (despite the 100 degrees outside) then MOVE!!! Water does not magically multiply as the population does. I love how people have this delusional, American "patriotic" attitude that freedom means free-reign to rape and abuse and destroy the very America they claim to hold so dear. Why isn't preserving this country as it was, responsibly enjoying our land while leaving it unscarred so the next American can enjoy it the priority of every "patriot"?? I've seen multiple bumper stickers in this area reading "Wilderness: Land of no use" and it just saddens me that the only joy these people seem to find is brought by destruction. The American dream needs to progress beyond the white picket fence, making babies, and consuming, consuming, consuming. I implore you to seek out happiness that does not involve a purchase and to find a place that feels like home without transforming it into something completely unnatural. 

Part 3

In the low light of dawn it can be tricky to spot a very rock-like tortoises tucked under a creosote bush so we often spend a few minutes circling around a few shrubs, sometimes walking right by the critter several times until it's form becomes noticeable and we smack our heads at our obliviousness. I unload and go into health assessment trance-mode, automatically pulling out this and that out of my arsenal of medical equipment. A garbage bag laid out, saline drawn, alcohol pads at the ready, needles within reach, scale and calipers sterilized- we are ready to go. I check over the tortoise's eyes, nose, skin, shell, respiration, and overall fitness. We take photos and weigh it before we start collecting samples. Now, I'm not sure I can convince you with words as to how strong an adult tortoise can be but believe me, it takes a practiced grip and some well-toned muscles to pull a tortoise from its shell when every instinct it has screams, "suck in for your life!!!". I have become somewhat of a legend. My primary job is clean-up, meaning I go back to the tortoises that all others have failed to extract for sampling. A combination of small hands and serious arm muscles makes me perfectly suited for this task. When we're lucky though, a tortoise will cooperate and move its head about in curiosity or in an attempt to make a run for it, but when we're not lucky patience becomes our most valuable asset. I maintain a firm enough grip to hold on, but light enough to relax the tortoise and coax its head forward. Some tortoises are lured effortlessly, others have me breathing in and out as if I was in labor, pausing now and then when I can no longer ignore the fiery burn in my forearms. Tortoises don't bite but they do have an interesting technique of sharply pulling in their forearm, pinching my fingers between the bony edge of the shell and its rigid leg resulting in many curses and screams on my part. Little jerks. Still, I win in the end, and with the head secure we can get this over with. With some persuasion, we get the tortoise to open and say "ah" so I can check it's mouth for signs of herpes (seriously) and swab its pink surfaces with a long q-tip to be cultured in a lab. Then we flush out the nasal cavity using the tortoise equivalent of a neti pot, collecting the resulting fluids for culture as well. I draw some blood, get it on ice and we wrap up, clean up, and bid adieu to our tortoise who appears unfazed despite our rude poking and prodding. With a couple good interns at my side and an unfussy tortoise, I've done a full assessment in about 15 minutes, but usually takes twice as long. The mobile lab is packed up and we're on the move again, but now the sun is up and it's a race against the rays. The temperature has literally jumped a good 15 degrees and we're limited to handling tortoises under 95 to prevent over-heating. We manage to perform this routine 6-8 times a day like well-oiled machines, feeling completely drained by 10AM as lack of sleep, physical exhaustion, and the blazing sun try and convince me that sleep should be my next priority.

Back at the house, the swamp cooler has done nothing to prevent our living space from baking in the summer heat, giving us no relief. The work day is far from over. I shove some food in my mouth, guzzle a glass of water, and get right to it. Blood samples need to be centrifuged and frozen within a limited time frame so I'm in a big rush to spin, aliquot, and store our samples. Bodies and bins of equipment flood the house, everyone dashing about prepping for the next day, organizing their samples for processing, and proofing and downloading data and photos. For most work is over by noon, I'll manage to take a break at some point so we congregate on the porch, cool down with a beer while someone picks away at an instrument of some sort. There's camaraderie in this madness. Who else understands what this is like but us?

I reluctantly peel away from the group to go over the day's work and plan the next. People retreat for the night around 6PM, I'm lucky if I fall asleep by 8 because 12:45AM my alarm wakes me to start again.

Part 2

Even in the dark we know where we're going. I see as clear as day the perfect interwoven network of roads that sprawl across this desert landscape. I pour over these maps so often that they are etched in my mind, always available to reference. Past the gate, second left, follow the fence around the hill, bare a sharp right out of the wash, take the right fork towards the center of plot 2. We park, each take the leak we've been holding in throughout the bumpy hour ride, and assemble our gear. I purposely carry as much as I know I can manage and still maintain a quick pace, which given the size of me is far more than you would ever imagine.

My backpack has 3 liters of water, a digital camera in a pelican case, 8ft of measuring tape, spare handheld devices in case anyone's equipment goes awry, a roll of duct tape, a tube or two of putty epoxy, metal tags with numbers etched into them, ziploc bag of latex gloves, small flashlights, a spotting mirror, and a binder full of datasheets. I sling over my shoulder a second bag which would be used by any other person as a tackle box as it was intended but today it is full of 4-5 100mL containers of sterile saline, various syringes, needles of several lengths and gauges, bleach pads, alcohol and iodine wipes, ziploc bags containing everything one might need to collect tissue samples from a tort, flagging, instant freeze packs, hospital grade sanitizer, needle nosed pliers, even more latex gloves, and a tray for holding vials. In one hand I grab a small cooler full of ice, more sterile saline, heparinized needles (needles coated with heparin to prevent blood clotting), and a rainbow assortment of vials filled with various bacterial growth media. I must look ridiculous. Thus adorned, I feel like someone cranked up the gravity. This is not only my job, it is my daily workout session. Whenever I hike in my spare time I feel like I should throw rocks in my bag. Everything is too light, it just feels wrong.

My comrades unfurl an antenna, three prongs on each side, about three feet across. They punch in the numbers that will lead us to our first tortoise. Every single time you punch in a frequency you feel a sense of dread, you hold your breath as you lift the antenna high in the air. Will there be a beep? Or will you have to haul your lab-on-the-go up some ridiculous hill in hopes that your signal carries far enough to locate this mobile bastard of a tortoise. Eureka! A nice strong beep. Not far to go. A kit fox nearby stares with shining blue eyes at our awkward troop and follows us for a ways to see what hi jinx we are up to. A deep red sliver is starting to appear on the horizon. Suddenly the silhouettes of hills, boulders, and joshua trees surround us. A few coyote yip, yap, and howl in the distance. We soak it in, knowing that these are our last moments of cool, comfortable temperatures. The moment the sunlight breaches the horizon, the effects are instantaneous. The temperatures climb and climb, relentlessly.

Part 1

I don't write anymore, no time. Building a career in this field has caused me to offer up my free time to the blustery Barstow winds. Like a greedy CEO obsessed with expansion and profits, who spends long nights at the office neglecting family and friends, who dreams in charts and pie graphs...I live and breath my work, except financial recompense is far from the force that drives me. In fact if I told anyone in the business world, even those just getting started, the meager wage I earn for my troubles, they would call me a fool. I'm not sure if it's the inherited and impenetrable Polish work ethic, an explosive and often self-destructive Italian pride, or simply a small person complex that causes me to go above and beyond to prove my worth, but I find that it leaves little room for reflection.

I find myself overwhelmed often. Imagine living out of a perpetually packed bag, spending maybe 5, 6 days a month in the home you pay to live in. The week begins and ends with a grueling 2.5 hour drive on a stretch of highway traveled by the most ignorant drivers the West coast can provide. I've found the best survival method for this road is to imagine the worst possible move the driver near you can pull, and as you find yourself thinking "there's no way he's going to do that" sure enough, before the thought is finished he is doing it. As the ramshackle but still operational highway gas stations come into view and the Ron Paul signs increase in frequency, you know you're getting close to Barstow. The first half mile of town is a good indication of what's in store for you. Every other building is either a suspected crack house or vacant to the point of rotting (that is, it would be rotting if things could actually rot in the desert). Those that are actually inhabited are often equipped with their own garbage heap and several pit bulls.

And then there it is, our home away from home: a shamble of a house that welcomes you with the putrid smell of poorly maintained septic system. Even empty (though this house never is because you live with 7-8 coworkers) you are never really alone; any number of pests lurk in the cracks and crevices- flies, cockroaches, mice, ants, bed bugs. They seem to come and go seasonally in waves. If it's high tide for ants, best move your food from the lower cabinets, perhaps to the drawers, but be sure to move to the upper cabinets before mice season begins. Speaking of food, have you ever tried to fit 9 people's perishable foods inside of one refrigerator? The result is a tetris-like jumble that transforms the simple act of retrieving milk, into a multi-step endeavor. And don't even think about a second cup of coffee. There's half a dozen caffeine fiends waiting to lap up even the gritty dregs left at the bottom of the pot. In the dead of a Mojave summer a hot cup of joe sounds like that last thing you would want except a 12:45AM alarm says otherwise.

So why do I do it? So far it sounds horrible, like the last thing a person would want to spend the last year and half doing. When I first open my eyes each morning I might say yes, that's true. But everyone hates doing anything when they first wake up. By the end of this multi-part sojourn, the tone will shift I promise you. In the darkness of pre-dawn we are suddenly bustling with activity. Bodies darting left and right in a frenzied ballet, bins of equipment hauled out the door, clanging antennas, smashing ice, "Did you grab magnets?", "Do we have enough needles?"...and in 15 minutes the house is empty and silent as we drive off into the still starry morning.

Sometimes the desert is so silent the silence itself is sound. We are the only ones out here. Correction, we are the only humans out here. The jack rabbits and kangaroo rats make their presence known by darting out in front of our vehicles at the worst possible moment. Avoiding them is a skill. I imagine their quality of life must be poor to have so many suicidal individuals in a population, it's like Seattle in the rainy season.

My Happy Places

Patrick posed a question to me once, "What are your top 5 happy places?" These are the places that overwhelm you; that stretch the corners of your lips from ear to ear in a grin so unstoppable you couldn't force a grimace if you tried. I thought for a moment about this, the top two places coming to me easily, but the other three were impossible to narrow down. I simply couldn't be restricted to 5 places alone. I began rattling off a series of places, some specific, some broad, some relating to actions or events more than the places themselves. Since that day, I have modified the list slightly. Only in that my top places have become very specific spots that were recently discovered within my broader happy places. The goal of this post is to share some of my happy places with you, and vainly attempt to describe their affect on me in words, though I don't expect my verbiage to adequately capture the essence of these spots.
My number 1, 2, and 3 are all so close it's pretty much a three-way tie. Not surprisingly, all three are in Utah and all three are canyons (one spans both Utah and Arizona to be fair).

1) Having been a frequent visitor to Zion National Park, I foolishly assumed I was familiar will all her treasures. I was proved wrong when taken to Kolob into the Southern fork of Taylor creek. This is one of those scenes that is so indescribable, so painfully beautiful that it makes your heart ache: immense, vertical sandstone cliffs surround this desert paradise- we're talking a lush green forest, thick mats of wildflowers contrasted with the rich, sugary, rust-red sand and crisp blue Utah sky. The intensity of these colors nearly blinded me, filled me with uncontrolled glee. I could not stop myself from giggling, the sensation was too much. I could live there, I want to live there. Revert back to a primal world and let the canyon sustain me. If I ever go missing, this is the first place you should look...but please, take your time finding me.

2) I will bestow my number two spot to Escalante National Monument. This encompasses quite a bit of land so let me sum up what this place has to offer: isolated, rugged, red canyon country whose inner depths must be penetrated and pondered before grasping the true beauty of the place. Escalante must be experienced up-close for most of its secrets lie within the canyons- some so narrow even I have a hard time shuffling my way through. This is where I go to experience real solitude, and view the most awe-inspiring starry night sky these brown eyes have seen.

3) I think I may have mentioned before how I loathe turning around. No place tests my logical mind more than Paria canyon in Vermillion Cliffs National Monument. By this I mean, even though I know there is a great distance behind me that must be traveled, I find myself pressing on despite the reasonable voice in my head saying it is time to go back. The next bend lures me in with its siren song, and I submit only to discover another with equally irresistible offerings. A place like that can be wonderfully dangerous.

4) The High Sierra Music Festival is not about location but atmosphere. Although, I find myself imagining that this small "town" never really disappears after those four glorious days, but remains unchanged until you return the next year. As much as I dislike crowded places, the large numbers of festivaling faces- the costumed, the dread-locked, the tattooed- gathered in the often blazing hot sun of the sierra foothills for the common purpose of letting music fill and move us, are a comfort and a joy to me. It is a place where you can encounter self expression in more forms that you initially thought possible, and dance until the world melts away.

5)Aside from Chicago, there is only one other place I have lived for a significant amount of time- Mendocino county. Despite having little wildlife work available to me, I found this place so unlike any other place I have ever been, that I could not tear myself away easily. The Anderson Valley and Mendocino coast are very difficult to adequately describe. I found myself immersed in rolling green hills dotted with gnarly oak trees, bountiful orchards, bleating baby sheep, and the tell-tale rows of vineyards; mist-shrouded coastal redwoods whose canopy encloses a wonderland of delicious-smelling, rotting earth, secretive salamanders, and the most varied mushrooms of all forms and colors; stark, jagged cliffs overlooking the chilling Pacific, showcasing heart wrenching sunsets almost daily; epicurean delights: wines, cheeses, foods masterfully prepared by good friends, fresh produce from my yard, meats from animals raised and slaughtered down the road, a back-to-the-land mentality. This is where I honed my domestic side, and I will always to some degree ache for this place.

Catch up

I have a lot of catching up to do. Luckily, I have been writing in my personal journal so I think I'll share a few of those entries to get you up to speed on the latest. Just when I was all set to spend a summer in the Midwest (Iowa to be precise), I received an interview call for a job that could not be turned down- tortoise research in the Mojave. So here I am in Henderson, NV. My schedule is insane, I never know where I'll be or for how long. I've worked 10, 12, 14 hour days with next to no compensation. I complain quite a bit, but the truth is I'll put up with a lot of BS to be in the desert. It's charms have not lessened since my last visit. Here's a few snippets of my adventures thus far:

3/23/10
I cannot resist a trail that doesn't end. I was going to take it easy today after yesterday's 1800ft ascent to turtlehead peak. The pine creek canyon trail: 3 miles round-trip sounded like a minuscule thing, perfect for a mild jaunt. I should have anticipated that beyond the managed trail lay a path deep into the canyon, and I just could not turn away. How could I stop? Who knows what lies around the next corner? Those seductive little cairnes beckoning me further- it is them I blame, and their creator who also could not turn back but left behind a sign that there is further to go. And how can I let this phantom one-up me? I must continue. Oh how I hate to turn around!

3/26/10 (camping in red rocks NCA)
The wind is violent, persistent. I watch my tent shake and rattle with unnerving force. I half-expect to wake up in Oz.

4/4/10
Boyscout canyon hike in black rock canyon NRA. Several zebra-tailed and side-blotched lizards on the sand/gravel wash bottom. Chuckwalla spotted on large rock but entered crevice and would not be persuaded to emerge.

4/5/10
Tortoise tracking outside of Barstow-
The Calico hills: a multi-colored talus playground. Walked a wash through a canyon of every rock hue imaginable to tricky ascent up steep canyon side to lone tortoise burrow. Incredibly rewarding day.

4/18/10
Spring in the desert. This is the most dazzling spring I've witnessed in the arid Southwest. There is so much blooming that a constant fragrance lingers in the air- fills all the empty desert space with a sweet scent. Color blankets the ground- yellows and whites dominate with splashes of purples, pinks, and reds. The indigo bush has begun to show its deeply hued flowers. Desert lilies stand solitary and regal- an elegant flower. So much life on display in this harsh environment. Lizards and snakes are now being spotted, active in the mild spring sun. Blister beetles hustle and bustle among the annuals, a comical chiggedy-chiggedy sound accompanies their frenzied movements. The small things make a day of plant picking bearable. The sight of a patch-nosed snake is enough to brighten my mood and make my hunched "gardening" more worthwhile.

Life is good

I have been a happy person as of late. I feel more focused, more healthy, more energetic. Without the daily emotional ups and downs brought on by unwanted factors being introduced into my life, I find that life is much less stressful. Being back in the field, having time to exercise daily, spending time cooking great food for myself, and even getting out and socializing on my own have all contributed to my cheerful demeanor. I've developed an overwhelming optimism about this year: experiencing new places, my brother's upcoming marriage, the possibility of interesting jobs, and the prospect of graduate school, all have me giddy for the upcoming months.

Work on Fort Gordon has been going well. Some days we come up empty, but others are fraught with the thrill of finding tortoises. It can be challenging, depending on the burrow's structure. A few tortoises seem to feel the need to fortify themselves in their underground domains, creating little dunes and blockades along their sandy paths. Whether they do this on purpose, who's to say. But for the camera-wielder, it presents an obstacle to be overcome. Imagine, if you will, shoving a 3/4 inch tube with a baseball-sized camera at the end along the length of a sometimes, 10-12 foot tunnel. Fixed to your head is a set of what looks like virtual reality goggles, giving you that coveted view of the secret underground world. Suddenly, you feel like James Bond, possibly even humming the familiar theme song as you snake the camera further down, anticipating what your high-tech spy equipment might reveal. Though, this process isn't always so smooth. There is often a push and tug battle, a flipping, shoving, twisting of the camera as you come to a pile of sand, or a shrinking of the cave's opening. Your hands feel raw as you fight for just an inch or two more. You refuse to stop until you've reach the burrow's definitive end! And then you see in the shadows, what looks like a large, smooth bolder...except, this bolder seems to have thick, elephantine legs sprouting from it. You slowly creep the camera closer, and there is an ancient-looking face, whose cracked surface is caked with damp sand. The eyelids are often shut tight, peaceful in the knowledge that this subterranean chamber is safe from the cruel dangers of the outside world. Safe from everything except humans that is. Much to our dismay, we've encountered burrows smashed beyond recognition by the tank-like machines used to thin the pine stands on Fort Gordon. Ironically, this thinning is performed for the benefit of the tortoise, maintaining suitable habitat for the future. Unfortunately, suitable habitat isn't going to be of much use if they crush or trap all of the tortoises in the process! So goes the plight of the tortoise.

Phinizy Swamp

After a day of unceasing rain, Sunday morning looked sunny and promising. I made my way to Phinizy swamp, a local nature preserve Southeast of town. The place was deserted, just how I like it and bird calls filled the air. With binoculars in hand, I walked the boardwalk crossing over baldcypress swamp and was overwhelmed by the number of bird species flying, swimming, and wading about. This was a place I could spend hours in, reacquainting myself with Eastern birds and taking in the Southern, moss-covered charm of the scene. After crossing the swamp, a series of trails and roads surround a patchwork of open ponds and canals. On one of these land bridges stood a great blue heron with a mouthful: a huge freshly caught fish for breakfast. I anticipated turtles and was not disappointed - an adult pond slider basked on a patch of flattened cattails at the pond edge. Another leathery face popped in and out of the water nearby. Though I would have liked to continue this meandering through wetlands full of activity, the rain returned in heavy streams. I took my time getting back regardless and was rewarded with a red-shouldered hawk fly-by and close-up views of an Eastern bluebird and yellow-bellied sapsucker. I was at least grateful I had left my camera in the car which would have been soaked, but next time I will capture the essence of the place.

The Phantom Tortoise

Let me give you an idea of what is going on here in Georgia:
We leave in the morning for Fort Gordon where each day we wait in a ridiculous line to enter the base. That is, we enter the base after they make us get out of our truck, brandish ID's and allow them to engage in a laughable search of our vehicle (laughable becase we have in the back seat three large black Pelican cases of equipment which doesn't seem to attract their attention whatsoever and have never asked us to open them...but you better have the hood up for engine inspection!). Next, we head to range control to make sure the training areas we plan on working in are closed so as to avoid any unwanted gunfire and the like. Then we commence with the searching. Unfortunately our high-tech gps equipment has been malfunctioning from the get-go, so that means line-transects the old fashioned way. See what happens when you depend on the latest and greatest technology? Surveying on Fort Gordon is like a walk in the park: Flat, generally non-brushy land with long-leaf pine stands, sunny skies and helicopters?...we came across a random helicopter in the middle of the woods today, which I will say was a first for me. The only problem, and it's kind of a big one- no tortoises! We've come across one occupied burrow and a handful of unoccupieds during our pilot surveys. Depending on the goal of the project, low turn-out can be expected, but seeing as our goal was to use line-distance theory to estimate tortoise population size on the base the lack of tortoises means no data with which to calculate an estimate. The calculations simply don't work with a small sample size. Time for a new plan...we're going to concentrate our efforts on the historically active areas of the base next week and see what we can come up with. If we get more no shows, no more project. Eeek, sounds scary, but not so much. This would mean a relocation to the Jones Center in Newton, GA where I would help out with any other projects they currently have going. Could mean some amphibian work which is something I would LOVE to get experience with. I'll find out more next week after we searh our little hearts out for the phantom gopher tortoise.

Detour

A testament to life's unpredictability:
Instead of cruising my way through the Big Easy, spending the holidays in sunny Florida, I'm watching the snow fall on the streets of Chicago. I won't get into why I'm here, but I am glad for it. I leave after New Years for Augusta.

Move #...who am I kidding, I lost count long ago

Two more days of work, two days of packing, a week on the road. That's the plan. Work is so dull I can barely stand it. I'm hoping my life's possessions haven't increased much and still fit in my ford focus. I like being able to fit my life in a car, and a small one at that. How many people can say that? The trip includes stops in the Mojave desert, Albuquerque, Lubbock, New Orleans, a week or so in Tallahassee and concludes with my solo departure to Augusta, GA. There's a lot of miles to cover, this being my longest road-trip to date. Approximate grand total: 3,306. Some people don't travel that in a lifetime. It doesn't pay to stay in one place, no matter how comfortable you are. You don't learn much about the world, about yourself unless you face the unknown once in awhile.

So what unknown am I facing this time? Well, I've had enough of the hippie West, so I'm taking a spin in the diirrrty South. I will spend a brief time (2.5 months) in Augusta, GA surveying Gopher tortoises on an army base. The Gopher tortoise is so named because of their impressive burrowing capacity. They are generally not active in winter, remaining deep in their burrows (and I mean deep, these things can be ten feet underground in a burrow up to 40ft long). What my job will entail is locating the burrow, and fishing a camera scope down the length of it to determine occupancy. The real exciting thing is this: Gopher tortoise burrows are an essential part of the local environment and are utilized by an array of mammal, reptile, and amphibian species (and one owl). In examining these burrows, I might see any number of Southeastern natives: it's like an animal grab-bag.

In addition to packing for this excursion, I have been seeking out a place to be in the world after I'm done traipsing the Georgian wilds. School is my main goal by years end. I have some prospects, which will hopefully materialize into solid plans by the time I get to Georgia. I'll keep everyone posted.

Backpacking the blues away

Since Taylor and I were both feeling the itch for an outdoor excursion, we decided to take a short backpacking trip along the Lost Coast. For those that aren't familiar, the Lost Coast is a huge portion of undeveloped coastline along Northern Mendocino county and Southern Humbolt county. There are over 20 miles of trail to explore, but tackling the whole thing is a bit more endeavor than we had time for. So, we decided on a short over-nighter through some of the tougher parts. The difficulty came from several ascents and descents crossing gulches that carve the steep coastal cliffs. As is usually the case, the views were worth the climb.

The hike reminded me that only a year ago I had the luxury of doing this for a living and with that thought came a pang of sadness that lasted not more than a microsecond as I took in the fresh air and sights. Anyone who has gone on a hike with me, especially after I've suffered the suffocating lack of significant outdoor exposure, can tell you my change in mood is drastically noticeable. My mother can even see it in pictures. These places, these things I do, the creatures I encounter fill me up until I feel like I might burst. See, this is me right before I exploded with joy:

We camped at Anderson gulch, watched the sun set behind the cliffs and sink below the Pacific. And whaddya know, a spotted owl announced the arrival of nightfall with a few calls and crow barks. After packing up the following morning, I decided to examine the stream before we began our strenuous hike back. Lo and behold, there is the animal I've been hoping to see ever since I first moved to Mendocino county in 2007: a Pacific giant salamander. It was still a larva, having yet to reach its impressive, near foot-long adult form, but I still found it thrilling.

On our way out, we were sure to revisit the mushroom patch we discovered on the way in. And this was no mere mushroom patch, let me tell you, this was the motherload...the jackpot of all chanterelle patches. If we had been so inclined, we could have hauled three-four bags full of the biggest yellow chanterelles I've ever seen. But seeing as neither Taylor nor myself were feeling particularly greedy, we selected enough to fill a bag and left the rest to nature. Maybe a passing bear will make a hefty meal out of what we left behind. After a discovery like this, we caught the mushroom hunting bug and have since been scouring the forest surrounding our home. The past couple weeks we have been eating like kings: dishes you would pay $15, $20, even $30 for in some stuffy, upscale restaurant. Sauteed chicken and chanterelles in a white wine tarragon sauce, fresh crab (caught that day by Andy) and pasta with chanterelles in a cream sauce, pig's ear mushroom burgers, cream of chanterelle soup...I don't think I will ever eat this good again in my life. But aside from the edible varieties, our "backyard" holds a multitude of strangely-shaped, brightly colored, unusually textured mushrooms. One of my favorites is what's called an earthstar. This other-worldly looking thing picture here. If you touch it in anyway, it shoots out a whispy puff of spores from the small opening on top its bulbous center.

So this is fall in Mendocino, actually winter is pretty much the same except wetter. I'm excited to be spending the holidays here again, but after December, you better believe I'm looking to split. We'll see how my interview goes. Here's hoping I'll be Georgia-bound come 2010.

Plans

Or lack thereof, I should say. Solid plans elude me. I reach, like a coral polyp's tentacle, seeking even the smallest morsel in the expanse of sea surrounding me. The water offers no reward this time of year. And so I hunger...

I'm not sure I can find the patience to remain at the winery until the seas become more plentiful. The spring bounty of wildlife work is so far from now. But in these limited times, what else is there to do but wait. I have one prospect, which would be my saving grace. But with the way my luck has been these days, I try not to get too hopeful.

Limbo Part 2

So after all that, I find out I wasn't selected for the very perfect desert tortoise grad project. True to my nature, I spent the evening acting like it was the end of the world. The next day I was skipping around the county fair concerned more about who was going to brave the "Zipper" with me before the night was through. I am a notorious over-reactor, but a quick re-bounder. I find it a good balance.

The search continues...

Limbo

Ok, so I lied and updating took me longer than I thought. The picture was just a screensaver-type ploy to buy me more time. Guess it didn't work! ha

Summer has passed in a frenetic blur as usual. I spent time in four different states (CA, IL, NC, GA), entertained multiple visitors from Chicago and the East coast, climbed mountains, hunted salamanders, foraged, camped, danced, cooked and worked...just a little. Now I find myself floating in that wildly uncomfortable state of limbo. Waiting and waiting and waiting to hear from Tucson, mulling over my options, sloshing them about my slightly aching head (I find myself often on the brink of a headache more days than not...one that never completely materializes, which needless to say is irritating enough). Luckily though, California this time of year is primed. The beauty is enough to make you cry, if of course, you were a huge wuss. Fall and all its wondrous accessories approaches. Our apple and pear trees are bursting, zucchini bread is being baked as I type, wildlife is being sighted on the streets (I saw a bear and a ringtail on the way home from work...ringtails are very rarely seen, they look like this:)

the first rains of the season are starting, the county fair is coming up this weekend, grapes are being picked and crushed by cheap, immigrant labor...it's everything you would expect. And to further amplify the enjoyment of the season in as nerdy a way as possible, Taylor bought a scope for bird watching after years of weighing the benefits vs. the cost (he's not exactly a raging consumer). For those of you less attuned to natural cycles, fall is the time for many a bird to make the long migratory haul back to whence they came after a summer of amorous mischief. With the wonders of curved glass at our disposal, we've seen birds in greater detail than ever before...seems like an insignificant thing to get excited over, but you've never watched a Peregrine falcon bathing in a pool on a remote beach. So despite the anxiety thickly permeating the air lately, there have been many pleasant distractions. I welcome them all! Anything to pass the time until I leave California...and I will leave one way or another, even if school doesn't pan out this time around.

Chicago in 8 days

I did more in 8 days in Chicago than I've done in the months since I've moved back to California. Oh the city life!
-band/bar cruising w/ Jason and his lovely girlfriend
-scoping out a newly restored section of lake shore, native plants reemerging without any help!
-Museum of Science and Industry, getting my nerd on at the Harry Potter exhibit
-karaoke with Joey and the Tuck's crew
-grilled steak and veggie feast as only Dad can do
-White sox baseball! right behind the bullpen, Dye's home run mere feet away!
-long run on the lake front, all the familiar sights along the way (museums, buckingham fountain, skyline and navy pier)
-toasting the newly engaged with bubbly and burgers...there's a fancy combo
-my first 10K race at Lincoln Park Zoo, and of course walking around the zoo afterwards...I was very impressed with their enclosure designs
-volunteering with Mom to clear some invasive vegetation...scored free t-shirts
-brunch with one of my favorite people!

About the only thing I didn't get to do as planned was revisit the marshy wonders of Lockport Prairie and chase me down some herps. Next time...

Concerning Running

So I'm going to elaborate on my new-found hobby because it excites me. Now most of you know, I am not built like a runner. The gene pool is limited people; the Aiellos are not a tall, lanky sort. I think of myself less like the galloping steed and more like the plodding donkey. I mean no offense to myself...I'm a proud plodder. At a slow and steady pace I have tackled some hefty hikes. Heave a load onto my back and I'm ready to go! There are even times when I repeat to myself "slow and steady like the mule" as a sort of mantra to get me past the tough slopes. Still, I have always envied those toned-legged specimens that zip past at a light and graceful pace. So, in a stubborn attempt to defy the gods I have taken a more serious approach to running as of March-April. At first, things didn't look good. Some days it was torture, and I seemed deadlocked on 3 miles... unable to advance in distance. The fact that every road around here involves endless ups and downs only made things worse. Curse these squat legs of mine! Then one day, it just clicked. I paid attention to my pacing, controlled my breathing, and suddenly 30 min became 40, 40 became 60. I find myself comfortably covering 6 1/2 miles without feeling like I was dragged through hell and back. I could go further, but now my major deterrent is finding the time. A half hour is so much easier to fit into my schedule than 1 hour+. Sometimes I get home from work, go for a run and suddenly it's 8 o'clock and I've yet to eat dinner! As much as I am enjoying this new physical activity, I refuse to rouse myself at 5 in the morning just to fit in a workout. But in light of my achievements, I thought a race or two might be an appropriate celebration. I don't mean racing to place, just to finish and support whatever cause may be benefitting. So, I signed up for a 10K at Lincoln Park Zoo during the time I'll be visiting home in June. I ran the 5K race for the cure in Lubbock and had a grand time. And now that I'm a trot or two above a donkey, the 10K should be a breeze.

I haven't updated in awhile, but not much has changed. I've settled into a comfortable routine that involves quite a bit of work and sporadic time for play. I spend Monday night in the field with Taylor, Wed-Sat sometimes Wed-Sun in the tasting room, and various hours throughout the week entering data and such. Without the luxury of a gym, I've become somewhat of a runner. Five to six days a week I run, and Tuesday nights are my fitness class in Fort Bragg (the nearest town North of Mendocino). Workout time is crucial time for me. I cannot survive my day-to-day without the regular release of endorphins. Field work used to take care of that, but now I have to fit it into my down time. The rest is spent cooking, baking or watching Battlestar Galactica (Taylor and I are a tad obsessed with this show). Not a whole lot of room for fun and adventure, but I have planned some exciting events here and there: trip to Chicago first week of June, High Sierra Music Festival in July, Utah excursion in the fall? It gets hazier the further into the future we go.

Mendocino is just about at its peak right now. Spring and early summer is a stunning time to be here. Foggy mid-summer will be less invigorating. And then there's the mixed blessing of additional tourism traffic. Sure, I'll make more money as the RV's and BMW's come a rollin' in but there's also a fair bit of annoyance as "my town" (I like to pretend I'm local) is overrun by men sporting Eddie Bauer capri shorts and tacky vacation shirts complete with trophy wives sipping wine with their new and frightening post-surgery lips. Oh the things I'd love to say to these people! That's California for you.

After a month of settling in, finding a job and entertaining our first house guests, California seems like home again. Winter has been surprisingly dry, with only a day or two of rain each week: a topic which is discussed frequently by lamenting locals. When rain does grace us with its presence, I gear up in various water-repelling materials, grab my camera and prepare to get down and dirty as I scour the surrounding forest for creatures dwelling beneath rotting logs and detritus. I never gave much time to the salamanders and newts, but in searching the wet and dark places of Mendocino, I have found a new appreciation for these animals.

Opposite this dirt-smeared persona, I am also the neat and friendly hostess at the tasting room of Handley Cellars. Three days a week selling wine is plenty for me as the commute is long and gas-consuming. I learned last night that Taylor's boss for owl surveying has work for me to do at home, so extra money will be earned mapping out spotted owl territories and entering data Taylor collects in the field. Which is fine by me. The forest roads out here can be treacherous and for once in my life I'd rather not be out in the field, especially for night surveys.

Until money begins to be less of an issue, a trip back home will have to wait. The tourists have yet to arrive en masse, but when they do...they will buy, oh yes, they will buy. But I do hope to fly home possibly in late summer. Then again, there is always a spare bedroom here for anyone who wishes to use it!

and the rain, rain rain came down, down, down

Hi everybody! (Hi, Dr. Nick!). I have yet to post since the big move, so here I go. The drive from Lubbock to Mendocino was a gorgeous one. Unfortunately, I had to be cautious with the car loaded with basically all of my belongings including a live snake. Though I would have liked to hike about in the deserts of Southern Arizona to my heart's content, I was aware of my cargo's precarious situation and therefore limited myself to day hikes here and there. My first stop was in white sands National Monument in New Mexico. I might as well mention this now because you'll soon notice that those in charge of naming the National parks in this country are among the least imaginative people ever. This picture and those to come adequately demonstrate why I've come to this conclusion. After lunch and some dune cruising, I made my way to Tucson. The next day was spent stretching my legs on a good ten mile walk around Saguaro National Park (a little imagination people!). I was quite enthralled by this landscape. It was incredibly different than the deserts of Southern Utah that I love so dearly. These desert valleys were teaming with such a diversity of cactus species, the most distinct being the saguaro itself which up until this point I had never encountered. The uniqueness of this environment was soon attested to as I began to identify the birds around me: every single one was a species new to me, species that only range in a small area around Southern Arizona and Mexico. It was like visiting a foreign country: without the stagnation of familiarity everything seemed strange and fascinating. After drinking in the new surroundings, I drove outside of town and found a great spot to set up camp. With the sun going down over the nearby mountains, I turned on the radio and was pleasantly surprised by the best blues segment I've ever heard played on the air. It even paid tribute to Chicago blues specifically. With the stars overhead, I fell asleep in a blissful state. 

Then I woke up with a very sore back and the traveling ensued. This morning the reality of winter finally struck me

 as strong winds dropped temperatures to a more reasonable january level. So I decided to halt all hiking attempts and just drive on. I crossed into California and stopped at Joshua Tree National Park. It was even colder here, sapping all my enthusiasm for being outdoors. Still, I drove through the park, walked around here and there among some interesting rock formations, followed a coyote for awhile, snapped a few pictures and was on my way.

 I've never felt so touristy before! It was gross. Anyway, after a hotel stay and half a day of driving I began to recognize my surroundings. Past the bay and on the 101, familiar exits passed by. Curving through the hills and valleys, the turns still familiar to me the wineries rolled by and soon the craggy coastline appeared. This area truly is a sight to see. Coming from the featureless plains of Lubbock, I appreciated it all the more. I was lucky to arrive back in Mendocino during a warm spell and had a few days of sunshine to reacquaint myself with favorite spots. Now that we're settled in, the rains have begun in typical winter fashion. I could try to explain where we live, but words don't do it justice. If you go to : this website you'll get to explore our house. Our friend Sarah owns the place and used to rent out the back apartment as a bed and breakfast. So all the guest areas are part of our place, fully furnished and decorated with Sarah's art. Our backyard connects to trails leading into state park forest and a river trail which I frequent when the rains let up. We walked yesterday afternoon a little ways away from the house and collected a bounty of gourmet mushrooms for dinner. Earlier that day, I saw these mushrooms being sold at the grocery store for $17.00/lb. We probably gathered a couple lbs in the span of 30 minutes. Talk about the good life.