Klamath River, CA
Elevation: 4,090ft.

Spike 5 was by far the hardest spike we have had. It gave me a lot of time and opportunities to think about the work I was doing, the field I was trying to make a place for myself in and the value of perspective. Let me explain. The spike itself was the hardest because the fires we were assigned were fires from grid codes 11 and 12. The first number is time since fire within a 5 year bin and the second is how wet it is, 1 being very wet and 4 being very dry. Our fires were from 1987 and were extremely wet. We weren’t sure what this meant since we had never worked on fires within this grid code but 4 spikes in we weren’t taking any chances. From the very first morning at the cabins I could tell everyone was moving a little slower and was packing a few more niceties for the next 8 days. 

Hitting the road I felt this weight about the cab. A weight really about everyone. It was our 5th spike making it the 49th time we would be driving, hiking and processing a plot. 49 times of anything with little to no change each time could mess anyone up and wouldn’t have to be as taxing to the body, health and moral as this job has been. The weight just didn’t seem to go away. Following Alan’s instructions we navigated forest service roads skirting ridges and climbing mountains. By now the view was normal and didn’t phase us much. Honestly all of our eyes were trained on the road desperately praying that it would hold up beyond a few boulders and navigable washouts. 

Warmed up we pulled off to the side of the road near our first plot. The first part of our assignment was to do 5 plots within the Specimen Fire. The instructions simply told us to park and climb.

Because it was Day 1 we spent a good amount of time refueling, making contact with the local rangers, driving, figuring out Alan Akbar’s scripture - the usual - but what that meant was that our first plot would be in the dead heat of the day and would usually set us up for a late night. Climbing up my thoughts began to run. I thought about my knees, the blown out stitching on the side of my boot, the poison oak on my arms and legs and the potential for tanoak to be in the plot. I’ve never worked a job that seemed to present so many health risks and yet demand so much data. It just seemed, at times, absurd. Turning my ankle ever so often on the loose rocks and crawling up and through swathes of poison oak I just thought to myself, shit, at least I am getting all the bang for my buck. This job is the bootcamp I have been looking for to get me ready to tackle the many jobs to come. Once we got to the polygon we began to notice heavy signs of management. Since it was such an old fire there weren’t many records of salvage logging and it was all fair game. As a rule we were to avoid any plots with heavy/obvious management since it would affect the data. So we u-turned and hiked down. 

Driving down the road a bit more we reached the end, which, in Alan Akbar’s scripture, was to be our dispersal campsite for the next few days. Getting out of the truck our stomach’s all sank so fast in unison you could almost hear it. Before us was nothing but a huge patch of exposed gravel and dusty dirt covered in sharp grass and burs. A few trees lined the edge and dominating the edge opposite the road was a large rock pile. As we walked to the edge our stomachs bottomed out. We were surrounded by a steep ravine and nearly all of our plots were a kilometer hike down and up onto the opposite surrounding ridges. (You can see the campsite and what I’m talking about my following the road till it ends in the previous picture. Our plots where on the ridges behind the cul-de-sac).

“This is absurd…This is crazy…”

Setting up our tents and a shelter we gathered in the shade and tarried until it was time for dinner. Many read, I chose to stand drinking a warm beer eating meat sticks and sweating my ass off. Kim was a champion and rose to the task of digging us out a latrine. She not only dug a majestic hole facing a beautiful view of the surrounding mountains but she also dug stairs into the side of the ridge for us. We all took a field trip to see it.

The next morning we split into teams of 3 and descended the mountain. Pulling on my gloves, picking up the the metal measuring pole and strapping my dreads to the side of my backpack (yea I do that) I felt like a warrior descending his stronghold into the valley below to execute a covert assassination on the enemy camps below. A few minutes into the descent we realized there was nothing but sheer drops surrounding us. Frustrated, confused and feeling helpless we stood in silence gripping the crumbling edges of the exposed rock. 

“This is absurd.”

Skirting the ridge back towards our camp we switchbacked down. Reaching the creek took a long time and strained my ankles so much they gave out a number of times. The slope of the ridge was so extreme standing still caused the dirt below us to crumble. As we began our ascent I already knew this was going to be the worst spike yet. I know I’ve complained about the job a lot and I know that just a few months ago I was completely amped to be out in the mountains of the PNW but something about just being spread so thin and being demanded so much really has worn me out. Talking to the crew I’m hearing similar feedback and so I know it’s not me being crazy, or this being my first big rodeo. On our way up we passed an old camp filled with glass jars, old tins, mining tools and, most eerily, two double bed frames. 

The longer I stood there, sweating, my curiosity for how all of these things got here quickly turned to why did they all just leave everything? Were they just littering because it was the good ol’ days or were they chased out? Either way I didn’t like the juju and kept hiking. 

Here’s a view of the campsite from our plot. (The ridge behind the tree).

The next morning I couldn’t put weight on my ankles. Walking to take my morning shit I could barely make it down the dirt road, I was worried. Coincidentally it was Lily and I’s birthdays! Out of pure coincidence we both were born on July 17th, she was turning 22 and I was turning 25. Pulling out my snowpeak pot I cooked up some raman and eggs and threw in some vegetarian breakfast sausage (courtesy of Lily) and treated myself. 

Taking it slow and carefully we hiked down to our second plot. This plot was full of Doug Fir and collecting 30 stems for Alan Akbar’s stem analysis would be no problem. Possibly my least favorite part of the protocol is the stem analysis. You hike to the plot in the burning heat and carry out 8 protocols and then you have to find and cut down 30 Doug Firs proportional to the sizes you recorded in the plot (so a range from bike handle diameter to of your thigh) and then either saw them up into cookies there or hike with them all out. It just seems crazy. Granted I understand that the high number of samples are necessary for the modeling but damn it they have us in teams of 3! Plus we are doing this essentially every damn plot (some have too few Doug Fir) so that’s about 50 times before this job is over. For the most part we have started to cut the larger trees into 50cm segments, throwing those into our packs and then carrying the smaller trees up by hand. 

“Fuck.”

Packing our things in the truck we headed out of the Specimen Fire. The mission was to refuel and resupply in Etna and then to continue south for the Hotelling Fires. Starting up the engines we pulled away from our dusty stronghold. Looking back at the distant ridges I held up my middle finger and gently scanned it across the glow of the setting sun. The Ray’s in Etna has become our best friend. Oddly filled with other dirty, bewildered, tired young people I realized we were in a major PCTtown. Hungrily and quickly fading I wandered around the store’s aisles. How strange it was to be standing on tile. Just this morning I was sweating and clutching onto dear life to the edge of a rock begging my ankle to keep supporting me and here I was surrounded by cereal boxes. The lights were almost blindingly bright. I remembered it was my birthday and I bought myself a nicely sized tomato. Noticing how confused the clerk was I just looked at him and pulled out my credit card.

“Sometimes you just want a tomato.”

Walking out into the cool night I helped load up the coolers with ice. Then the crew did possibly the sweetest thing anyone has done for me in a long while and walked Lily and I across the street to the library handicap parking, sat us down, presented us with a small chocolate cake and a tub of ice cream and proceeded to sing us happy birthday! I have to admit I was so happy and grateful I almost teared up. We ate the cookie dough ice cream and cake like it was food. 

The next morning was rough. We didn’t get to a decently close campsite until 2300 hours or so and the neighbors woke up at 0500 “dropping” pots and laughing and revving their engines before pulling out. It was most likely pay back for how loud we were setting up shop the night before. We all ate breakfast ravenously since the cake and ice cream ended up being our dinner. Luckily we filled up are water jugs in a local park the night before so nearly everyone had a variation of ramen and we all filled up our water supplies for the field. Revving our engines we made our way west towards the Hotelling Fires. 

We decided to tackle the first plot as a 6 person team due to time constraints. Considering how each of the crew members had the knowledge and strength to do each of the protocols as a 3 man crew the capacity of a 6 man crew was not unlike marching into a UNSC mission with 5 other Spartans next to you. Hiking down into the fire I was surprised by the amount of leaves on the ground. The wetness in the air, the loose rocks on the ground and the colorful deciduous leaves everywhere reminded me so much of home. Sometimes I forget that I am in California. I started to become homesick for my family in NoVa and my family at SCBI.

That night we camped and ate like kings. Eleanor whipped up pasta and brussel sprouts served with squeezed lemons and chilled white wine. Jesus Fuck. 

The next day we split up and tackled two plots. My team’s was at the bottom of a landslide. Classic Akbar. It was an old site so it was grown up quite a bit. The whole plot was basically Madrone which, if you’ve ever hiked through a Madrone forest, a forest of sharp exposed nails. Tearing up our clothes and skin it made little work of our moral. Drained of sweat and blood we powered through the protocol. Just before entering the plot I looked up into the morning sky and saw the sun perfectly hidden behind a huge dead Doug Fir, it pleased me.

That night the other crew surprised us with more pasta, chilled beer and birthday pudding pie!

The next day we boosted moral with another double up and tackled the last Hotelling Fire as a 6 man super team. 

Gunning it for the St. Claire Fire we stopped in Mathew’s Creek campground for water and a much longed for bath in the Salmon River. Clean and revived I chugged as much water as I could at the camp’s spigot, hung my gear to dry and climbed into the truck. With thunder in the distance and  a a few rain drops earlier in the plot, I had high hope that this last arm of our spike would be cooler. 

Driving eastward we passed through wet forests and beautiful views and came across a small town with the prettiest community center complete with a lavish bar, honor code vending machine and a stand up piano. 

14% battery left. The St. Claire Fires proved to be pleasant, albeit long. The choices were a short hike to a site that will definitely have stem analysis or a long hike down and up a ravine to one that didn’t. My team chose the one without stem analysis. The next morning we re-read Alan Akbar’s scripture and it turned out to be a classic Alan situation. His ultimatums are hardly a compromise but rather two types of hard. IF we didn’t do stem analysis in a plot THEN we would instead have to core a large tree in each subplot (9) and then cut down 3 additional ones in the subplot and take the bottom cookie (27). So we had to find and cut down 27 trees anyways. It just didn’t make sense. If you can’t find enough trees in a subplot to do collect 30 trees for stem analysis then just core and cut down 36 trees. What the hell. 

7%. All in all the spike came to a peaceful end. I ran into 2 rattlers on the way out of my last plot and peed a little. I cooked curry and everyone loved it. We resupplied in Etna and Yreka and made it to the cabin with time to spare. Doing stem analysis and inventory we loaded up poor Matt’s car with stems and papers to deliver to Corvallis. This break the mission is San Francisco and I am going to relish in being in a city with a high of 76 and to hell with you Klamath and I love and miss you all and call and text me cause signal will be a plenty!

Chris