Spike 6, Seattle, Spike 7 and Moving On.

Portland, OR
Elevation: 50ft.

There is something to be said about the things we carry. Since Seattle I’ve had this feeling like I’ve been lost in place and I’m not sure what that even means. This chapter of my life started the moment I fired up Rhyhorn in my parent’s garage and backed out down the familiar drive way waving goodbye to my foundation, my base. I suppose this could be just another part of learning to stand on my own, just growing up to put it plainly. I don’t really know but I do know that I already miss the woods, the disconnect. I’ve been feeling very alone lately but alone in the woods is different than alone in the city.

Spike 6 began a little non-traditionally. Instead of leaving from the cabins as a group, Lily, Eleanor and I met up with the crew at Hotelling Campground straight from San Francisco. The team had already done a day in the field when we met up with them and I felt guilty that I was still in shorts and a t-shirt and clean as can be. Alan joined us for this spike which was good. It helped us confirm many of our questions, got him some field time and set us up for a good closure to the season (little did we know that there would actually be enough funding for another full spike afterwards). The crew had done a two-plot day (a new site and a control, which, still takes a good amount of time) and was pretty tired and dirty looking. It was then that I realized how desperate we all must look to everyone we meet. 

Having Rhyhorn with me was a real treat. It gave me a chance to practice living out of him some more and saved me a lot of logistic grief having all of my food and clothes in my own place - zero time breaking down camp in the morning means more time to take a shit and make instant noodles. Waking up that first morning I already knew it was gonna be a doozy of a spike. It was a hot week and most of the plots were going to be low elevation sites. Needless to say we all fell asleep in puddles. 

The week turned out to be a good one for wildfires I think in the time that we were there at least 3 had started around us. By the third day the valleys were filling up with smoke. As bad as the fires were, it was a welcome relief to the heat. Blocking out the sun with it’s eye stinging mist, the fires became a sort of presence. 

Alan kept mentioning that I wouldn’t have anything to blog about since the week was going so smoothly, and he was right. Things went very well despite the additional plots. Having him back as a leader took a load off of the crew. We didn’t need to consult a printout of instructions and any problem we encountered was assessed by him directly right away - we were flexible. I will say that another reason things seemed to be so good - neutral - for me was that I had just started to shut down. Similar to the kind of foggy angst I’m feeling now I had somehow flipped a switch in me that simply turned me off. There were moments that I just felt dead inside. A season like this was abnormally hard physically and mentally on the crew and I just couldn’t handle it. Here’s me with some Poison Oak.

Here’s my worst enemy, Tan Oak. 

The rest of the week has really faded in my memory but the pictures I took remind me of the smokey drives and the long long days. Collecting the micromet sensors was an interesting return to the beginning. A few days before meeting the rest of the crew I had gone to the sites with Krista, Alan and Howie to set them up and I knew even then that this was going to be a tough project and that I would be a totally different person come the day that I return to get them - I was right. This job taught me the value of hard work and even more the value of working hard. Sometimes there came endless days filled with hardships and dead ends and giving up was all that we wanted to do but there’s something to be said about gritting your teeth and just jumping in knowing that it’s all just gotta be done. 

Spike 6 ended with driving back to Happy Camp a day early. In addition to paying for all of the campsites, Alan treated the whole crew to a pizza dinner! It was more than we could have asked for from a guy working just as hard as we all were. Driving back through the smokey valleys behind the trucks I was reminded just how small we were in the grand scheme of things. 

We came back to the cabins to a commiserating email from Rob. Ever concerned and watchful of us, our awesome supervisor showered us with praise and shared with us an old photo of him and his hotshot crew back from a day fighting fires. What. A. Bad. Ass. And of course he got the spot next to the lady - ooh, kill’em. 

After a goodnight’s rest, a whole bunch of laundry and part I of packing Lily and I headed north for Portland. The mission this break was to catch up on emails, job applications, weight and to head up to Seattle!

Packed with our things and my new friend (Lily’s friend), Janelle, our trio headed up to the maritime city. Each of us had different people we wanted to meet up with on different days - it was logistically a potential mess but it went through without a hitch cause these girls were super independent and knew how to get around on their own. On the first day we hit up the Pike Place Market area.

It was a nice change of scenery and pace. The climate was mostly a cool, salty breezy 70º and the city was filled with colorful tourists and people. Walking around Pike Place Market I felt giddy to be so close to where REI and Starbucks (kind of) got their starts. My contacts for the break were two old friends from the east coast, Morgan from SCBI and Mark from the third grade. Seeing them both was unbelievably amazing for me. For a moment I snapped out of my tired fog and had a jump in my step again. The first night we met up with Morgan and three or four of the local AmeriCorps teams and house partied! It was refreshing and a little overwhelming to be around so many young people again. Though there wasn’t BP or earsplitting dubstep like the good old Leach House days, there was good conversations and much needed hugs. 

The next day I met up with my old friend and the Obi Wan to my Anakin (he taught me how to break dance back in middle school), Mark Nufable. He took me on a tour of the other side of Seattle and showed me parks, amazing food, comic book shops, the most amazing card game shop I’ve ever seen, REI SEATTLE!!! and the wicked awesome EMP Museum. 

(Yes those did belong to Gimli, Strider and Frodo)

(Made me miss my brother)

(Shout out to my NEON family!)

After the museum we crossed the water and headed towards Ballard and quite possibly one of the biggest moments for me on the west coast so far - the Conor Byrne Pub!!! Aside from it being extremely old and historic, the interior was open and comfortable, the crowd was mellow and musical, the tap was rich in craft brews and whiskey and IT’S WHERE THE HEAD AND THE HEART MET! 

My life felt more complete than ever. THATH has been the closest band I’ve ever held onto and has been a driving force for a lot of my life decisions for the past 3 years. Not a long time, but I’ve gotten so much done in that time and I really do owe it to them. Lily met up with us and surprised us, and the entire bar, by signing up for the open mic night and playing the Mbira. I’ve never met such an earnestly positive and fearless person in my life and am very very grateful and proud to call her my friend. At 22 she has already travelled much of the world and has touched many lives, and is a bad ass Mbira player.

The trip came to an end and we headed back to Portland. Learning that there was enough funding for a full 7th spike was bittersweet. I had already begun to miss the team and the mountains but god the work was tough. But, as I began to really truly understand, nothing in life is, why cry about it?

Spike 7 started without a hitch. I felt we were all kind of worried about the spike since two of our teammates were heading out halfway and since most of the plots we had been assigned were revisits of old ones where Alan wanted us to haul out a number of large trees - no exception. It seemed like the fates had mercy on us because our first plot was super flat and super open as well as a easy hike down from the road - it was a gracious warm up. 

(A Costco pie never tasted so good)

The plots were as hard as we had expected. Processing and hauling out trees as big as Alan wanted us to turned out to be not just a full days work but a long full days work, even with a team of 6. It made me think about how this was essentially him making us correct our misunderstandings of his instructions and how it just didn’t seem realistic that a three man crew would have been able to do this and still finish each day at a reasonable time. It just didn’t add up. Perhaps we could have had each three man crew take two days per plot, one day to do the protocols and another to get the stems but then there was no way we would have hit the 60 plots we needed. Looking around at the whole team working till it began to get dark I just didn’t get it. But, then again, that’s not a call us field techs can make.

It was a smokey week. Fires were still burning and new ones had started. There had been, by this time, 3 hotshot fatalities. Wildfires just are a part of life here and the firefighters that fight them are truly heroes. I felt fortunate to grow up on the wast coast where all we worry about is heavy rain and snow not closing schools down. A cool thing about the smoke is the spectacular sunsets it creates. 

With our current work rate in mind we decided to focus on revisits while we still had Charles and Kim and to attack the plots as a full team. The hope was that we could hit enough big ones that we weren’t just destroyed when it became just Eleanor, Matt, Lily and I. 

Though, as bad as I make the job seem, it was filled with rewards. As all hardships are I suppose. There is a good side. We all became tougher and closer. By Spike 7 we could have easily been hired on as a ultra-low budget logging crew. Nothing automated just dull hand saws and muscle. Looking back on the work I really hated it but being back in the city I miss the simplicity of it all. Waking up I didn’t have emails or texts or appointments or errands or, fuck, exercise to worry about. It was get up, break down the tent, get your dirty clothes on and hit the road. In a way my angst could be attributed to me just not acclimating easily back to the developed life. After Charles and Kim left we had our asses kicked by a revisit and didn’t get out of the field till past 2200 hours but it was that kind of asinine ass kicking that makes the good times great. 

The last leg of our Spike was characterized by a hodge podge of driving and confusion and, suprisingly, the coast. Tired and broken from the 2200 plot we drove long and high to a very remote new plot. Once we got there we realized that the path down into it was overgrown and such thick brush that we could barely make out the sheer drop it hid. Tired and broken to the bones the last thing we all wanted was another late night - it was a full stem analysis plot and we still needed to head to Brookings, OR by the end of the day, a 5 or so hour drive. We chalked it up to field karma and decided to treat ourselves better today and made our way to the coast. We used the daylight to resupply ice and fuel and to contact the local ranger to let them know we were in the area and, of course, a Morality Fund fueled pizza dinner!

We planned to drive as close as possible to the plot and dispersal camp setting us up for an early attack on the plot. Following the GPS and Alan’s instructions we carefully made our way east into the mountains but inevitably hit a road we couldn’t drive. Even in 4 low ‘OSU 1′ simply couldn’t climb the steep, washed out fire road. We were over 2 kilometers from the plot and in backing up the truck got it stuck against the brushy, sandy side of the road. I had never seen the axels on these trucks flex so much as they straddled and slide into the deep washed out ruts over and over again. 

Upon freeing the truck we had to figure out logistics. Admittedly it did cross our minds to just camp on the beach, forge a plot and head back to the cabins - but that wouldn’t have been right. Looking at the maps we found a round about way to put us close to two of the plots - it would mean arriving in the dark again. 

The next morning we tackled REP02, the 1999 Repeater Fire. The plot proved to be your classic dense Tan Oak plot on a east facing slope so we suffocated and burned for 12 hours and hiked out. 

The next day was REP01 and even denser plot filled with Tan Oak and Madrone aka the clothes ripper. Madrone branches are smooth, hard and brittle and will snap into sharp points easily. They tear at your skin and clothes and usually make for a bad time. The plot was filled with so many large conifers and blowdowns that it would make both the protocols and stem analysis take longer - fitting for our last plot of the season. 

But turning off the negativity, closing my mouth and jumping in I went through the motions until even this passed. Hiking out we felt like a load had been taken of of us, like we had been freed…Starting up the truck there was one thing on all of our minds - ice cream.

Back at the cabins we rested, we sawed, we cleaned, we packed. And then when all the dust fell we said our goodbyes. It was hard but not as hard as in past jobs. I would be seeing most of them again shortly either in Portland or in the short HJ Andrews soil and veg stints we had all been transitioned into. But another part of it, I think, was simply me growing up. Pulling out of that cabin gravel road for the last time I turned onto 96 and headed west towards Seiad Valley. It was emotional but not as emotional as I thought it would be. It’s the nature of the job to make strong but short connections to the people and places you worked with and then to move forward into the next chapter. Folks with more seasons under their belts do this better but I think I am getting there. “No old friends”. 

Almost there. 

The mission after leaving the State of Jefferson was to visit Mrs. Doris Templeman in Medford. Mrs. Templeman and her late husband sponsored my mother and her family from Cambodia to the states as they were fleeing the Pol Pot Regime. Meeting up with her was on my list of things to do for a long long time and I don’t think I could have anticipated exactly how wonderful it was going to be. Right off the bat she welcomed me with open arms and gave me a warm shower and a soft bed to sleep in. She fed me lavishly with fresh fruit, stir friend noodles, cookies and all the iced tea you can drink (made right, she was born and raised on a farm in the midwest)! From the moment I got there till the I left after breakfast the next morning we talked. We talked about my mother and her family and their first days here in the U.S., we talked about her and her husband’s life together and their adventurous days travelling with their kids job hopping all over the states, we talked about doing what your heart tells you to do and that positivity and faith can take you a long long way and we talked about loss, mortality and being good and strong. I had never sat and talked to her before though we had run into each other a fair amount of times during my teenage years. It was fascinating and touching to learn so much about such an important person to my family, we talked like we were old friends. Shoot we even talked about wildfires, ecology, climate change and the importance of conservation. Probably the most touching things we talked about was when she spoke about my mom and her siblings. Looking through old albums she told me how she first met them when they were all very sick and scared and desperate and how they all worked so hard to excel in school and to learn english - how nothing she gave them no matter how small was so incredibly appreciated. It was an experience to hear someone talk about my aunts and uncles like they were kids. These were people I grew up looking up to for guidance, people I always thought had it figured out. Looking through their photos I watched them grow up into teenagers and then into adults and then into parents. I left Virginia feeling a stronger connection to my family than I ever had, a connection like we were all earnest friends and no longer just relatives. After talking to Mrs. Templeman and hearing how emotionally she told stories about them and my grandparents I had never appreciated or missed them more. I am so grateful and proud to come from two extremely strong families. I come from a family tree rooted in war and loss and supported by hard work and love. It made me miss all of my not-so-little cousins and my dear brother. It wiped away all the sadness and loneliness the field season had dredged up from the back of my mind and simply made me grateful. Before I left I facetimed my mom and aunt at work knowing just how much Mrs. Templeman and them would appreciate it. She’s been a part of our family since my mom was 10 and has watched her grow up and is now watching me grow up and seeing them talk and laugh warmed my heart beyond compare. 

All in all it has all come to a close. I’m sorry for such a large, rambling post I really put too much off for too long. The next steps for me are uncertain. For the next 5 weeks or so I have secured some work at OSU’s HJ Andrews Experimental Forest doing some soil science work as well as some vegetation work. It will give me something to do, get me paid and get me into another opportunity to network. There ain’t no rest for the wicked and I need to keep climbing as long as these hands and legs can climb. Until next time all of my dear friends and family - I’ll see you in the woods. 

Chris

Spike 5: What the hell.

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

Oregon Country Coast - The Fair, The Coast and Existentialism

Klamath River, CA
Elevation: 4,090 ft. 

I had never seen a play. Well, I suppose I have seen plays in grade school and certainly have dabbled in acting in college - but I had never seen a professional play. Driving into Ashland I was excited to see one of the Shakespearean plays the Oregon Shakespeare Festival was so known for. The play was Much Ado About Nothing, one I hadn’t read yet. I was surprised to see that it was done in a contemporary theme with the soldiers in modern combat attire and the actors and actresses in hip clothing. The actors playing Benedick and Beatrice were sassy, full of attitude and on point! I had never had so much fun at a play before. After the play we roamed about Ashland’s downtown. I had driven past the little town on I-5 so many times before without giving it a second thought but walking past its many storefronts and restaurants I was overcome with the feeling that I should live here. The mix of tourist shops, local foodie spots and wandering, eclectic, dreadlocked youths (homeless or hippie, never sure) made the little thespian town all the more quaint. Did I mention that they had a restaurant that, coming from the BBQ coast, slow cooked the best damn pulled pork I’ve had in a long long time? Hands down the meat cup I got from Home State BBQ set the tone for my 4th break!

After lunch and much meandering we met up with Kim and her friends Teresa and Ben for a free show at OSF’s Green Show stage. It was the Chickspeare Improve group and they were a riot! Taking suggestions from the audience for a play on love they had everyone laughing. One of them even got off stage and began kissing random women in the audience (she was playing the role of a man trying to see which woman would be her true love based on their kiss and she broke the 4th wall and started kissing the audience too), it was hilarious and it was also how I knew I wasn’t in Virginia anymore haha.

We spend the night at Teresa and Ben’s cozy home in Medford. Full of musical instruments, pine cones and all around adorable collected things their home reminded me of the home I want to eventually own. Their backyard was filled with native grasses and plants and their dog, Sandy, was the absolute best!

The next day it was off to food shop and then back to Klamath River to gear up for the rest of break. The mission was the Oregon Country Fair and then a journey down the southern coast. 

The fair was unlike anything I had ever experienced. The only fairs I have been to were small local ones as a child, big state fairs as an adult but never the Oregon Country Fair. in a few words it was like the naked bike ride met a renaissance festival and then crashed into a watered down Burning Man. The sprawling fair took place in the heart of a forest in Veneta, OR just west of Eugene. Vendors sold things ranging from leather belt pouches and wooden wares to edible plants and sustainable energy. I was blown away by the number of colorful costumes people wore, the number of dreadlocked folks (fight the good fight!) and the sheer amount of music. There was a main stage, a second stage and then buskers littered everywhere in between. And food. So much food going from Indian food to vegan BBQ! Unfortunately I was too stingy to pay for a lot of the options. So often were to portions small, the lines long and the prices high. I also didn’t buy much because there simply wasn’t anything that I needed and everything also seemed overpriced. Instead I people watched, listened to music and kept a tally of how many boobs vs. asians I saw. Yep. As wonderful and beautiful and adventurous the PNW has been so far I have to admit it isn’t very diverse. Save the city of Portland of course. Oh and that ratio was 13:8 with boobs being “pair of boobs”, of course. Towrads the end of the day we met up with our friend Matt who was volunteering at the Native Plant Society of Oregon booth. The booth featured edible plants and explained many of their everyday uses. Stinging Nettle even had a place. 

That night we headed westward and camped halfway between I-5 and the coast. Our first stop the next morning was Seal Rock, OR where I finally got to the sea. Walking along the cool, windy beach I dug my feet deeply and longingly into the wet sand. For too long now I have been craving the ocean. The hot, dry days out here in the mountains have so been wearing down my soul (as you know). I love the work I am doing, mostly, but I know more than ever now that I will settle near the sea.

Driving north towards Newport we hit the Oregon Coast Aquarium and the Rogue Ales brewery! The aquarium was the perfect place to start our trip down the coast. It was filled with animals and displays pertinent to the tide pools and beaches we would eventually see. The aviary was filled with coastal birds that reminded me of my cousin Amanda and all of her work she’s been doing with them. I’m not much of a bird person but hiking with her and Khem and learning about the coastal species along the shores have been so interesting to me (a possible future job perhaps). 

Rogue Ales has to be, currently, my favorite Oregon brewery. Their beers are always so imaginative and full of flavor. Their artwork is reminiscent of the work of Shepard Fairey and it’s obvious that they are a brewery serious about brewing quality beers as they are serious about having fun. Did I mention their parking lot is always filled with big rigs?

Next we hit the road and gunned it south. Our fist stop was Cape Perpetua where we hiked down to the coast and through tide pools. The hike was the perfect mix of well-maintained trail, aromatic conifers and salty ocean air. God am I dreading work tomorrow. 

Leaning down close to an evaporated pool of sea salt I angled my camera low to the ground. My hopes was to capture an out of this world macro landscape. The rim of the pool becoming the distant ridges of some forlorn planet of slat and rock. The distant blues of the sky painting its clouds as the sky of this forgotten Interstellar-esque planet. 

Stomachs grumbling we headed further south. Sunlight was starting to wane and we still needed to find camping. The mission was to be as far south as Coos Bay (the middle point of the southen half of the coast) by nightfall. Stopping in the cozy seaside town of Florence we were greeted by the smell of coffee, waffle cones and seafood.

On the road again we headed south. The sunset was quickly blotted out by stormy clouds. As we passed ATV-filled campsite to ATV-filled campsite we quickly realized that the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area was just that. It wasn’t the pristine dunes of northern Minnesota and Michigan that Eleanor and I remembered. As we approached Northbend, OR we hit a fog bank. It swallowed the trees and the shore and it painted the world a cloudy, forlorn white that I had always associated with the PNW.

Running out of battery so I will have to speed this up, damn the gods for not placing an outlet on this porch. We camped at Eel Creek Campground. At a pricey $20 we were reluctant but it was better than the local KOA or Walmart’s parking lot. We discovered the next morning that it was the trailhead to a 3 mile roundtrip hike to the shore over the dunes the coast were named after. I ran into a guy in the bathroom the night before who described the hike as simply, Tatooine. And Tatooine it was.

As far as the eye could see the sand sprawled endlessly away. In the distance only a faint line of trees could be seen, a long hike lay between us and the cold, sweet ocean. Hiking on sand. It’s hard but something everyone should do. Cool to the touch, it broke away underneath our feet testing the strength of our thighs and knees with each step. After what seemed an eternity the sand broke away to reveal the edge of the forest. Their a well-worn path led through the trees to a boardwalk.

Which then opened up to a coastal shrubland. The likes I’d never seen before.

The ocean was sweet as ever it were. She greeted me with gently waves and a cooling breeze. Why ever did I forsake the gentle power of the ocean for such callous, malicous mountains? Like the Avett Brothers say, we all have worries to give to the sea. 

Travelling ever southward we took a dead-end route down 540 to Shoreacres State Park. What we had hoped was to be on the scenic route that took us along the coast from Coos Bay to Bannon but seeing as how we had taken a wrong turn we decided to explore it anyways. Stomachs rumbling we grabbed a bag of nuts and explored the old estate. But first, here is a rock o’ sea lions. 

The old estate was owned by a very unfortunate Mr. Louis J. Simpson. Who essentially preserved the southern qoarter of the Oregon coast by buying up all the and over the course of his life. Why? Because he was a self-made man and loved the ocean. He built a lavish mansion for his wife for Christmas and she soon later died of illness and a wildfire razed the mansion and his gardens. Bad things happen indiscriminately my friends. Walking along the edge of his old grounds I had an eerie feeling of being in a place rich with history and loss. Through so many things the shore had remained in place. Steadfast and ever flowing the waves were here before him, they are here after him and they will be here long after me. The values we humans place on things and each other seem so small compared to the rest of the world. Us transient, self-important things. The whole notion of our egos are as pointless as war. Unimportant we have only succeeded in ruining this earth. If I don’t dedicate myself and my life to fighting the good fight then I will die a leach like the rest of this wretched world. Anyways. His gardens were magnificent. 

Our last stop before heading eastward for Medford was the South Slough National Estuarine Research Reserve. Estuaries, where the salty waters of the ocean mix and mingle with the fresh water of streams, have always been an interest to me. Since I first learned about it in Ecology 101 I have always been curious about learning more about the types of life that spring up in these diverse ecosystems. Following the trail down through the woods we wound closer and closer to the estuary. The vegetation transformed from coastal forest to a riparian forest rich with moisture loving plants like ferns and the skunk cabbage (one I had never heard of before).

The estuary itself was oddly low. Judging from the time I didn’t think it had to do with the normal tides. It was curious. 

On the road again we began the long drive east. We needed to reach Medford, resupply for the spike and then head to the cabins. But as the miles wore on the heavy weight of sleep began to pull at my eyelids, stronger than the grumbling pains of my stomach. Heart pounding I nodded awake and gripped Rhyhorn’s wheel tightly. Pulling into the small fishing town of Bandon, OR we parked at the Old Town and began looking for coffee and food. It would seem the pattern for small towns across america to close at 1600/1700 and we were out of luck. walking up and down the street we were met with stores either closed, too expensive or too sketch. I felt like this trash fish.

We ended up finding a little oyster shack on the boardwalk that served Americanos and chowder and we were on the road again. Tired but satisfied I started the engine and settled in for the long drive back. Turning onto 42S I thought of how good a warm shower, a hot meal and a soft bed would feel.

Till next time my dear friends,

Chris

Spike 4: Field Karma, Blizzards and Stir-Frys

Klamath River, CA
Elevation: 4,090ft. 

One by one the team started to arrive. It was Tuesday night and a somber feeling seemed to float around the stuffy cabin. Packing away clothes and food everyone already seemed tired and injured. My back was aching, my knees were shot and I already missed my warm bed. None of us were ready for Spike 4.  Because of the increasing heat wave we were assigned to high elevation fires in southern Oregon’s Rogue River-Siskiyou National Forest not too far from Cave Junction, Selma and Grants Pass. Tossing our dirt and sap covered packs into the trucks we assumed our familiar places, powered on the GPSs and gunned it north. 

We stopped in Yreka for gas, a printer and a few provisions and headed west on 96. Turning onto an old gravel road we climbed northwards. As we climbed and climbed the dry chaparral mountains gave way to beautiful meadows and vistas unlike anything we had ever seen before. The temperature rose even as the air thinned and we all already began to grow weary from the heat. The road turned to dirt and we followed the ridge of a great valley. Turning out of the forest we came face to face with alpine meadows and mountain tops the likes that haven’t been seen since the Third Age.

I couldn’t believe our luck. With my hand stretched out the window I embraced the warm, sweet scented breeze and really believed Alan had decided to treat us this week. The campsite we planned to stay at was full so we drove further towards our first plot and set up shop in a mining claim campsite surrounded by posted signs that were alarmingly clear that this was a protected area. Strapping on our packs we began our hike. We would tackle the plot as a 6 person team because of time constraints and had chosen a plot that Alan had placed off of a hikeable road. There was no road. It took us almost 2 hours to get to the site because we had to bushwack up a dried out blowdown. Gone were the meadows and flowing hills and gone was much of the energy I had left. By early evening we had reached the polygon.

“Gods help us, for we are lost”. We didn’t get the plot set up until 1600 hours and by that point we were out of energy and I was running low on water. Plowing through the protocols we gassed it with all we had. The sun was no joke even at our higher elevation. I found myself parched yet constantly sweating. The air was thick and heavy and the ground was littered in blown down snags. We made it back to camp with little light left. Bathing in the nearby creek we gathered hungrily around the stove for Lily’s mac and cheese like moths to funeral pyre. It was Day 1.

We awoke with the sun and birds. Something that books make sound amazing but in reality it’s a pain in the ass. It was Day 2 and our last plot in the Quartz Creek Fire. Our hopes weren’t high which made getting ready and gearing up for the day much more bearable. 

I suppose I should reiterate what it is exactly that we do. We are a 6 person field crew collecting data for a project studying the effect of climate change on conifer regeneration after high-severity wildfire burns. We are sent to old burn sites of various ages and aridity and collect data on the types of shrubs and trees present. This is the only field season that the grant is able to pay for so it’s important that we get ALL of the projected plots before our contracts run out. Which means no breaks. Packing up our samples we hiked back down to the trucks and headed towards Selma, OR and the famous Biscuit Fire. 

It was July 2nd and we were getting dangerously close to the holiday. Camps were getting full for the weekend and people were getting rowdy. The sounds of drunken screams, loud music and barking dogs echoing off the valley walls would be a part of our nights for the next 3 days. Waking up to the sounds of birds and cell phone alarms I peeled back my sticky sleeping bag liner. We weren’t able to make it to a higher elevation that night and had to try to sleep though noise and through a 80º night. The time was 0600 hours.

The Biscuit Fire burned for 5 months straight. Started by dry lightening on July 12, 2002 it burned a total of 500,000 acres of southern Oregon and northern California. You could see the name thing from space. It was a fire so large and long burning that it provided the canvas for a lot of ecological research down the road. It was a fire that rang a tone in the local ecology community akin to 9/11 (but not as tragic), everyone knew what they were doing when the Biscuit Fire started. It was a fire so big that we would spend the rest of the spike collecting data from plots within it. 

The next day we had a city break. We returned to Cave Junction to rendezvous with Dunbar Carpenter, a personal friend of Jonathan Thompson (our PI) who was going to volunteer with us the rest of the spike. On the way in we stopped by Dairy Queen for much needed Blizzards. I don’t think I had ever been so happy to see a Dairy Queen in my life. Or people and roads and buildings and AC for that matter. Waiting for the Blizzard, Charles and I filled our nalgenes with water form the soda fountain machine and its sheer coldness gave us headaches but god damn were we happy. I ran to the head before leaving for the ranger station and came face to face with my reflection. I hadn’t seen myself for 3 days and I already looked insane.

Having Dunbar on the team was a breath of fresh air. He wasn’t the old, crusty, bitter old forester we thought we was going to be instead he was a cheerful, light-hearted PhD who loved to climb, wore a straw hat and never had anything negative to say. I gotta admit he was the new face and the positive push we needed. 

Day 4 came. To birds again. But this time it came to us after a sleepless night. Drunken townies blasted music and shot fireworks until 0200 at least and like clockwork the sun comes out and the birds start singing at 0500. It took a lot to get into the truck that day. Clothes still soaked and sour from 3 sweaty days. My favorite boots had started losing chunks of their soles to the rugged terrain and the right boot had its side blown out from all the skirting we did on these steep slopes and without the side support it felt like a worn out clown shoe. My face and lips were burnt and my eyes were weary from staring at a bright white data sheet all day and the poison oak was starting to set in. Looking out over the farm fields on the way to the day’s plot I began to think about Laurie again and things never seemed so far away. 

Hiking into the plot we were surprised at how open it was. All around us were the stumps of cleared trees - evidence of the severe logging that happened after the fire. In the distance we could see where our polygon lie and it didn’t look much worse. The slope was steep and the ground was sheer but our hope rose with each step.

Getting to the plot we couldn’t believe our luck! The shrubs stood no more than 2 meters and there was no poison oak in sight! “Alan akbar!” A praise to our wrathful god we would start to use more as the spike continued. 

But a wrathful god he is. Though that night was filled with relief, laughter and our neighbor’s fireworks it would be first and last of easy days for me. From Day 5 till the end it was hell days. Situated at Josephine Campground we set up shop for the last time. It was from here that we would tackle the next half of the spike. It was here that good food, good music and good laughter was had. It was here that our spirits recovered each night and it was here that I realized that despite all the pain and abject suffering I was feeling at these plots I was in the mountains working with earth every day and sleeping under its stars at night. I was out here with the best crew anyone could have the honor of working with and damn it it’s better than 1,000 good days in an office. 

But what good would a journey of tests and beauty and loss be without a hard last day? Climbing into our trusty F250 I assumed the navigator’s seat and grabbed the 1996 forest service map, the only map we had that covered the township ranges of our plots. The GPS flashed to life and off we were for BIS-12. Following Alan’s instructions (Alan akbar!) we kept on a forest road until it merged with a smaller one that would put us on a ridge above our plot. It should be a reasonably pleasant hike down. And then the road ended.

Classic Alan. Gearing up we prepared for the little-over-a-kilometer hike down. Looking around us we could see down into the valley into Selma and, as pointed out by Matt, could just make out the Siskiyou Field Institute. Looking at the sloping hills and low shrubs around us I had high hopes for the plot. But not until mid-day would we learn that we would all leave pieces of our souls in that plot. 

As we descended lower and lower the amount of Tan Oak and hidden snags began to increase. It became difficult to walk and soon we had to grab and pull ourselves through the terrain any way we could. Unfortunately the dominant tree was Tan Oak (Lithocarpus densiflorus). The powder from the Tan Oaks became too much. We all hated Tan Oak. It was just a part of the vegetation that grew in this area but never before had we been in such a dense forest of it. It seemed to be the dominant tree and its fiberglass-like powder seemed to fill the air. 

Descending into our plot it only got worse. Alan (Alan akbar!) had managed to find a polygon void of the small shrubs of the surrounding area and was instead nearly 75% filled with ripe, powdery Tan Oak. 

For the most part we had all stopped wearing our bandanas. 1 because of the intense heat and the need to breathe and 2 because the amount of Tan Oak in our plots were usually a bearable amount. Wrapping my handkerchief around my face I loaded up on data sheets and water and tackled the plot like a silverback in a fiberglass factory. 

Wiping the dust and sweat off of my face I could feel the burning in my throat and eyes. It was like asbestos met fiberglass met pollen met pepper spray. It was bad shit. Looking over at Matt and Kim I saw Matt dead-eyed staring into the plot. 

“Do you think we’re gonna die in here?” 

No Matthew. We will die but not today. 

That night we ate like kings. I cooked up my famous couscous and curry (with 3 vegetables this time and tomatoes on the side) and Kim busted out red wine she had been saving. I don’t think a pot of curry had ever been drained so quickly. As the sun began to set a surreal orange overtook the campsite. It got suddenly brighter until it got so absurdly bright it was like the day had restarted. Matt called it Alpenglow. It was my first one and no picture I took could do it justice. It was just one of those moments that one had to hold on to. And then let go.

Until next time my friends.

Chris

Crater Lake National Park

Klamath River, CA (aka the bowl the PNW shits all of its heat into)
Elevation: 4,090ft.

It was good to be on the road again. Loaded packs pressed against extra gas and water, beers chilling in the yeti and assorted gear hanging about Rhyhorn’s trunk - I was finally on an adventure again. Work has been wearing me down mentally and physically and the heat has been a cruel bonus. Gripping the wheel tightly, sitting back in my seat I pulled out onto Hwy 96 east - the destination was Crater Lake.

Driving northward on I-5 we passed the familiar, steep windy roads we usually drove for work. Passing lumbering tractor trailers we chugged along towards Ashland. In my mind we were heading to the bluest, deepest lake in America and, hopefully, cooler weather. Pulling into the park we headed westward along the Rim Drive figuring that we would hit as many overlooks and hikes as we could, camp in Mazama Village in the south for the night and then tackle the bout tour and Wizard Island the next day. 

Hiking through the sandy soils of the caldera’s rim we encountered a lot of sun-bleached snags and exposed rock. No matter where you hiked you could see down into the massive lake. It clocked in at 80ºF which, while not as cool as I would have liked it, was a welcome respite from the 100ºF averages we were working through last week. We stopped at a lookout and hiked up to Discovery Point where gold prospectors first encountered Crater Lake. 

From the Lightning Spring pull-off we hiked northwards towards the Watchman Overlook. The winding road tok us up a few mild switchbacks but granted us amazing views of the lake and the lands to the west. To the northwest you could see Desert Cone, an old cindercone, a landmark I would rely on several times over the rest of the trip. 

Much like any major National Park, CLNP was extremely built up and accommodating to the average tourist. This meant well-maintained trails, nice roads, occasional restaurants and gift shops and signs. Signs signs signs I love signs! Signs and maps always translate to not being lost. The comforts of the park were welcome luxuries and made the lake all the more enjoyable and vacationy for us. 

A view of the road below where the hike started. 

Driving northwards we passed Cleetwood Cove Trail where we would eventually board the boat tours that take visitors down to Wizard Island in the center of the lake. But that was for the next day. Today was “hike all the overlooks” day. On the east side of the park we parked Rhyhorn, geared up and made our way up Mt. Scott. The 2.5 mile trail would gain us 1,479 feet and would be a test to our underfed (our faults) and field-tenderized bodies. Gazing up through the thick air I made out the small dot that was the watch tower. 

“Fuck”

Making our way up the trail a cool breeze whipped at our sweaty bodies. Everything seemed to hurt. Disproportionally so. We were both realizing how much this season was affecting our knees. I like to think that I am fairly resilient and built fairly tough but at my ripe age of 24 (going on 25) you begin to realize that there is “good hurt”, “hurt that hurts but then heals stronger” and then there’s “fuck these are my only knees and it hurts to squat down to shit I’m in trouble”. But for now, there was this lovely cool, moist-ish breeze cooling down our elevation-stricken panting light headed bodies. Looking out to the south I could see misty blue mountains topped by endless skies.

To the west I could see storm clouds coming to kill us.

Getting worried about the encroaching storm we sped up our pace. We were so close there was no turning back now. Turning the last corner we could see the watch tower.

Plunking down at the tower’s base we busted out some snacks and took in the well-earned view. There was still a surprising amount of snow scattered about the summit. Not enough to really warrant being called significant snowpack but enough to breed “snow mosquitoes” which promptly attacked the hell out of us. The good thing was that, unlike the smaller lowland variants, these were big, brown and clumsy. Killing them was child’s play.

Sweaty, tired and satisfied we pulled into Mazama Village wild-eyed and ready for bed. Unpacking our gear it was funny to look around at the assortment of car campers that were our neighbors and seeing how much fun they were having. I personally love seeing people, no matter how tacky and over prepared, out and about enjoying nature. Put it simply, if they were here sweating, hiking, complaining, driving, gazing through the window of a massive camper at the lake with us they came here for the amazing experience of sharing these natural places with others. In a way I realized, as I systematically set up my tent and ate a cold can of Chef Boyardee, that I missed when the outdoors were fun and not work. I realized that I was dancing on the edge of the fragile balance all people face when their passion becomes a job and they just need to let go of the gas a little lest they burn out. I know that I want to work for the earth. I want to work long and hard and to spend my days out here for as long as I can and that it just means climbing the conservation ladder systematically and tactically. Choosing jobs wisely and not being too picky - but making sure that each one counts and pushes me further. I am determined not to burn out. The next morning started at 0545. We needed to get to the boat dock by 0730. 

Looking down into the water, no matter where you were on the caldera’s rim, it was clear that getting down and back up was nearly impossible. The soft, sandy sediment of the inner walls of the caldera were constantly eroding into the water. To think how early adventurers and animals made it down to the water was mind-boggling. We were lucky in that there was a reinforced 1 mile trail leading down to the dock. We were part of the first tour that morning and it was obvious that the other early birds waiting at the dock with us were prepared to hike and explore.

The climb was steep and, as we neared the top of the cindercone, sandy and barren. 

Reaching the top of the rim I was unsure of what to expect. It was the first time I had ever seen a cindercone let alone climb one and here I was face to face with an old volcano. 

“It’s crazy to think that, at one point, this was the spot that it all went down. Everything around here knew that it was going down. This is where all of the shit gathered to hit the fan.”

Realizing we were the first folks to summit the island we laid our packs down and I grabbed my DSLR and we hiked around the rim. From the top of Wizard Island it felt like we were in a gigantic bowl; deep blue water stretching out below us towards towering walls of rock, the cleanest air I’ve ever breathed flowing around us through the dry heat. 

The red soil contrasted so beautifully with the blueness of the water. These were the first DSLR photos on the blog that didn’t need to be edited.

The ridge across the water is Mt. Scott which we hiked the day before.

We stopped for lunch before hiking back down. Sliding as close as I dared to the rim of the cindercone I ate my nuts and meat sticks. It was definitely the coolest lunch spot to date. 

We had about an hour and a half before the boat returned to get us leaving us just enough time to hike down, hike to the bay and take a quick dip. At the bottom of the cindercone the soil became much more volcanic and by that I mean it was hell to hike in chacos. 

It was hands down the coolest place I’ve stripped down to my undies and washed myself in. 

Back on Rim Drive we headed clockwise south and hit overlooks we didn’t have time to hit the day before. In the bright summer sun we could see further to the east than we could yesterday. 

From Cloudcap Overlook we could see the tiny island we had just climbed. 

Our last stop of the day before heading back south for home were The Pinnacles. Hardened pipes of exposed fumaroles that gave the dried up stream valley an eerie look. 

Driving closer and closer to the cabins we watched the temperatures climb. Stopping in Medford for a resupply for the nest spike the temperature clocked in as 107ºF. This spike will be mainly southern Oregon and at high elevations. Fingers crossed that that means less mosquitoes, poison oak and cooler temperatures but I have learned not to really rely on these mountains for reliability. Halfway done with this season and it will be back on the market for work. Fall and Winter will be around the corner and I can be back in my element. Until the next adventures my friends.

Chris

Spike 3: A Closer Look, A Harder Feel

Klamath River, CA
Elevation: 4,090ft.

The birds and the sun woke me up before my alarm. The room was quiet, the AC was loud and my blanket felt warmer and safer than anything I had ever felt before-VBRRRROOOM came a logging truck tearing up the hill behind our cabin and I was up. The alarm went off, Charles’ alarm went off, Matt’s alarm went off and a resounding round of “fuck” was exchanged. Starting up the stove, Matt boiled water for tea, Charles started packing his pack and I stayed lying in bed. Next door I could hear the girls stirring and I knew it was time. Spike 3. 

Slamming the dusty tailgate of our white F150s we gathered around to look at our instructions for the week. The mission was to get to Yreka, have our radios looked at (again), then to head south towards Weaverville to make contact with the Shasta-Trinity National Forest Ranger and Dispatch. We were going to be spending this spike in a new forest and so we needed to establish check-in/check-out protocols and emergency protocols. Radios couldn’t be fixed (the tech didn’t have the right cord, not his fault, we are using Oregon radios in California) and Weaverville didn’t know what we were meeting them for. A hectic 3 hours of driving the winding roads between Northern California’s towns and a few confusing conversations with the Forest Service later and we were on our way to our first camp site. Thank god for driving days. It was already hot, our sore bodies weren’t really recovered from the last spike, we were all tired and it felt like, at least for me, we were starting with an already low moral. But one good thing about all of it that won’t ever change - it’s beautiful out here.

The goal was to stick together as a 6 person team for the first 3 plots and then to split into 3 person teams for the rest of the spike. It was always planned that we would function in 3 person groups but two spikes of working with 4-5 people (Kim joined us this spike making it 6) didn’t really prepare us (me) for the added pressure and labor. 

Right off the bat Shasta-Trinity proved to be a different type of beast than I was prepared for. Over the course of the last two spikes I learned a lot of lessons concerning field work and field dress primarily because of the heat and the terrain. I had to give up on being clean, ditched the carhartts for breathable field pants and accepted the thorns and poison oak (that shit is just too hot for hiking up and down mountains) and lost the wool buff and used my face mask buff for my head instead. That was perhaps my biggest trade off. There exists a tree in Northern California that epitomizes suffering. Lithocarpus densiflorus (LIDE3) aka Tanoak. This tree grows dense and prolifically with multiple boles stemming from a central bole or from a pre-fire stump and it’s leaves near the ground can be spiky. But worst of all it’s leaves are coated in a fiberglass-like dust that will explode off into the air if you so much as brush the branches aside. Hiking through it we churn up clouds of this dust, so much that it sticks to our clothes making us appear fuzzy and yellow. You can imagine how his dust just burns our throats and eyes. But, because of the heat (hi 90s is the norm), we have all but abandoned our bandanas in exchange for air and not having a heat stroke. Anyways. Shasta-Trinity was filled with Tanoak and Poison Oak (Toxicodenron diversilobum aka TODI) and the slopes were near impossible to climb. 

Pacing my breath, I grabbed LIDE3 and QUCH2 (Quercus chrysolepis) hand over hand to get up the slope. My task was to measure the woody fuel load along the top and bottom lines of our rectangular 30m x 15m plot. What this meant was categorizing all of the twigs, sticks and logs that the tape crossed into either 1, 10, 100 or 1,000 hour categories. This meant how long it would burn in a fire and how much it would help fuel the fire. For the most part this is a pain in the ass because you have to crawl along the ground over and under whatever is there and count each stick for 7.5m but sometimes the forest gods put you under a LIDE and on top of a massive pile.

Our first campsite was by far one of our best. Denny Campground was situated between the two tiny mountain towns Daily and Denny and was just a short walk down to a beautiful emerald pool formed by two gravel bars along the New River. On our last day there we gathered around the truck to gauge our water supply and to divide up trees for processing. But first, as was our usual custom when a stream was nearby, it was bath time. Taking off our clothes we joked around about our cuts and rashes and passed around the communal Tecnu bottle. It was then that Eleanor uttered my favorite quote of the season thusfar, “I hope the things on my legs aren’t- horse”. “Horse?” I asked looking at her like she was crazy. “Horse, there’s a horse”! I looked up and there trotting towards us through the dusky lught was a brown orse with white freckles on its face and chest. I was both panicked and awed. 

His name, as we later learned from Lily who drove into Denny asking around if anyone had lost their horse, was Orion after the constellation. He was a free-range horse who’s owners let run loose during the day and he returned to their ranch at night. Denny was a town small enough and removed enough that that would actually work. Orion hung out with us for a bit as we worked and then we headed down for a cold refreshing bath. 

It’s the random horses and the cool cool streams that keep me from burning out. It’s the small simple things like looking forward to breakfast for dinner after a nice bath that remind me why I chose to take the leap into this fied. Life if full of perspective and I have learned more in this month than I could have imagined. B for D!

We ended our last plot as a full team on a “hell plot”. From the topo maps and the information given to us about the plots from Alan we could only get a ballpark idea what the plot was actually going to look like. It was going to be a wet plot that burned in 1999, so big trees and a lot of brush. The topo map told us it would be a long, steep hike in and out and that the plot itself was on a steep slope. 

Despite the hot day, the shit tone of LIDE3 and TODI and the exhaustive amounts of large trees we had to cut and carry out of the field (30) we kept our spirits and humor high. 

Klamath 2015 - First Spike

Klamath River, CA
Elevation: 4,090 ft.

18% laptop battery - here we go.

The first spike of field work ended yesterday and the day has been well spent doing laundry, airing out the tents, relishing the wifi and recovering from 8 days of bushwacking up and down the steep exposures of the Klamath-Siskiyou Mountains. 

In a nutshell the project is a study on the affect of climate change on the regeneration of conifer forests. To refine the projection models the project needs hard data and that’s our job. Boots on the ground for 8 days and nights my team and I are visiting different burn sites ranging from 1987 to 2008, varying in aridity, and collecting data on the species present, growth forms, ground cover, soil samples, heights/ DBH and of course sampling saplings and older trees. The hope is that we can build a more complete picture on how the trees are growing compared to their broadleaf competitors and how the aridity, temperature and moisture has affected that. What’s that all mean? A lot of climbing, poison oak and sticky hands.

We are running a 8 on 6 off schedule in order to make the most out of a 40 hour week limitation which means early mornings, tired nights and baby wipe baths. The trade off of camp site nomad living is that for 8 days we are totally immersed in the mountains and trees. Seldom did we see another person, shower or town and it was wonderful. Dinners were communal, vegetarian and always satisfying. Breakfast and lunch were up to us and, seeing as how we lived out of the trucks and tents, my tailgate food-making skills came in handy.

To say that I have already seen and learned more than I could have imagined would be understating it. I have never seen mountains or forests like this and, as an east coaster, can bring a different perspective and appreciation for the new world I am exploring. Pokémon vibes were strong all week. From the rocky outcroppings to the misty mountains I have fallen in love with thie rugged and beautiful coast. I also learned to cook my first vegetarian meal - couscous and veggie meat, so not really. 

The best part of any job is the people and I already know that this team of ruffians is going to do great. We are all tough as nails, supportive of each other and funny as hell. With a dream team like that I know we are going to kick this season’s ass. 

5% left, right on. Till next time my wonderful family and friends. I miss you all and am thinking of home always!