April 19th, 2011

A cattle coral hardly seems to be a fitting place to set up camp when trying to experience Wilderness. Yet decades of stomping hooves level the ground and thick wooden gates provide excellent shelter from the wind. Tonight a cool breeze gently carries away the heat of the sun beaten sand so perhaps a wind break is unnecessary. The level ground and soft sand is a welcome luxury.

Small black songbirds with crests like cardinals and bright white patches under their wings perch atop the Joshua trees around camp letting a short ‘beep’ carry out into the hills to join the songs of a multitude of other birds. I am surrounded by tiny musicians performing their favorite tunes continuously and without a cover charge.  They bring this landscape to life as the sun sinks low and the air cools, celebrating another day’s successful hunt of bugs and lizards, seeds and berries.

Mockingbirds also frequent this area, bringing with them the patterns of chirps and whistles they learned in their travels to South America and back. Many of the songs they sing were composed by birds that I will never see in my lifetime, and may yet be undiscovered by humans. More musically inclined than any human, mockingbirds can sing every song they know one right after the other without stopping. Every individual creates his own compilation, a collage of other birds’ songs that suits its own personal sense of style. So vast is the memory of these remarkable birds that they can capture, recreate, and remix tens of thousands of songs to create their own (How many DJ’s do you know that can do that?!).

Rolling hills covered with black brush comprises most of the landscape of my day. An occasional Joshua tree will rise up out of the thick cover, however not much else grows on this section of the South McCulloughs. That may be due in part to the way that the ground here slowly hardens and compacts. The surface is composed of stones of various sizes forming a mosaic-like crust, gradually getting tighter and tighter choking out new growth.

A small horned lizard perched upon a rock basking in the afternoon sun provided some welcome entertainment on our hike. With a disc shaped body and a stubby tail these charismatic little reptiles adorn themselves with a set of protrusions on their head that resemble a regal crown. Capable of changing the color of their skin they can quickly disappear into the sand as they lay still and try to blend in. I sat down next to his basking rock and he quickly darted into my lap and crawled underneath my folded legs. When I lifted my knees he hid under my boot. When I lifted my boot he scurried to the other. Every time I tried to move to reveal him he sought shelter under another part of me, like a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

This place has brief moments of breathtaking beauty: pink clouds streak across a yellow sky with deep purple mountains and throngs of birds. Yet these are intermittently scattered between long expanses of desolating heat and silence. I think humans might be the only animals stupid enough to go trompsing about in the desert during midday.

I thought today about changing myself, and how all the changes I expected to occur throughout my life are supposed to be correlated to a specific scenery or landscape. As if the landscape can somehow create the situation or the change within the human psyche. However, I’ve come to learn that most of the change in my life has been the result of the people I have interacted with and the relationships that have been created and dismantled. I feel as though (a kangaroo rat just darted out of its burrow right next to me! I’ve been waiting for almost an hour) the human experience is painted by our friend and family. Our life is a canvas and we paint it with the colors of our friends and family. Some people give us bright yellows and oranges, and some dark blues and even browns. Although we may paint over some areas of our canvas, those layers don’t get erased, they built onto. Some people’s paintings are hung in galleries as models or inspirations, while others are stored in closets (and some are burned). I think it is finding connections and inspirations from others that make real changes in the human experience. Dealing with the obstacles that various landscapes provide (limited water, heat, cold, humidity, etc.) is handled by a basic and instinctual part of the brain, but the intricacies of interhuman actions challenge our most sophisticated responses.

A black throated sparrow has come to inspect the cholla next to me. A cholla is a seemingly impenetrable fortress in cactus form. Growing its narrow arms in a dense bushy fashion it fills the gaps between them with intensely sharp and rigid spines. Paying little mind to the innumerable puncturing point the sparrow merrily hops about the inside of the cholla’s stronghold, tweeting as it goes no less.

Cholla grow their spines all over their thick skin in clumps that protrude like little mosquito bites. When the cactus dies these little balls of terror litter the ground and poke anything soft. Even long after the rest of the cactus has decayed the spiny balls can stab right through the soles of your sandals.

The stars are beginning to appear and I think I will retire to the warmth of my sleeping bag. I seemed to have inadvertently placed my tent on an exit to a kangaroo rat’s burrow. I can hear him sniffing his way out from under the nylon and see the little bulge he creates navigating around my pack and boots. I would move my tent but he seems to have found a way out and darted off to his foraging grounds. I’ll move my pack to ease his return in the early hours of the morning.

*P*S* Over the course of the night I awoke to the sound of the kangaroo rat returning. However, rather than retry tunneling under the tent he spent half an hour digging a new entrance to his tunnel system. I watched by the light of my headlamp as he flung dirt up and into my tent, just retribution for creating this excess work for him I believe. I thoroughly enjoyed watching him run headfirst into his hole and hop backwards as he scooped little pawfulls of sand and energetically flung them between his hind legs and onto my sleeping bag. All the while half a dozen other individuals zooming into and out of view to see what all the commotion was about.

April 14th, 2011

If you’ve ever wondered what happened to the dinosaurs, asking yourself where or how they vanished then you clearly have never come across a roadrunner. Standing 10” tall and 2’ long this voracious predator hunts with tenacious speed and has a character  to match. Standing tall it cocks its long tail feather and Mohawk-like crest straight up. As it moves it lowers its head and tail giving it a streamlined shape. Its movements and appearance could well have been the inspiration for the Velacoraptor in Steven Spielburg’s Jurrasic Park.

Another day in the South McCullough Wilderness has shown less wildlife than yesterday, although some new and different encounters. I started the morning off with a small grey songbird pirched upon the yucca at the foot of my sleeping bag happily chirping as it gazed out over the rising sun spreading light over its domain. Unfamiliar with this particular species I assumed it to be a migratory bird, stopping here to indulge on the bugs as they rush to take advantage of the desert in bloom. I wondered how far it had come and how far it had left to go on and whether this was a regular destination on its yearly journey.

Zebra tail lizards dart in every direction as we walk along the sandy washes, waiting until the last possible moment before your footstep crushes it to make its hurried escape. So fast are these little creatures that they often catch air as they scurry up a tiretrack and travel quite some distance before touching the ground again.

Contrails streak the blue sky with strokes of white, as this is a major route for air travel to and from Los Angeles and Las Vegas. The only time I haven’t heard the grumbling of jets passing by is late in the night when your ears ring as they strain to hear the slightest of sounds.

My writing probably reads as sporadically as it feels to write. My cooking duties over thast few days may be to blasme as I tend to write around dinner time. My mind preoccupied with not burning the lentils makes my thoughts choppy.

Mesquite would be and interesting thing to write about with its gnarled shape and mistletoe parasite.

A Nalgene full of hot tea is helping to warm my sleeping bag. I keep it between my legs just above the knee to allow it the best access to my femoral artery. This lets my blood carry the warmth down to my toes. The rest of me will produce warmth by breaking down the lentils cooked in fajita seasoning, tortillas, onions, cheese and salsa that I consumed for dinner. As an extra bonus, when the water in my Nalgene has cooled slightly the tea I have placed within it will make a tasty treat and aid in my falling asleep.

I am tenting again tonight to keep the multitude of bugs from buzzing about my ears at all hours of the night. However, I do wonder if I am sabotaging my experience, as if I may end up learning from the humming and whirring of tiny wingbeats about my head.

My life right now tends to center around learning how be a man, a contributing member of society and a good human being. I am trying to test myself in various ways, mentally physically and emotionally. In some ways I’m being tested against my will, forced into situations that are uncomfortable for me to confront at the time and even painful. I want to be a better man. I want to be a good man. I want to be a positive influence on my grandkids someday. I want to inspire them. Sometime I think the only reason I do some of the crazy and stupid things that I do is to someday tell them a story or show them a picture of what an adventure life can be if they would just get away from that stupid TV and get outside.

April 13th, 2011

Ten and a half miles doesn’t really describe much of today’s journey. It doesn’t hint at the pain my feet bore, the sights my eyes gazed upon or the strife that my mind endured. It merely states a distance. And even so, it doesn’t really note the bends and curves, the hills and valleys, canyons and ridges that lie within it. Ten miles is an easy enough distance to travel by foot. However, it is more than a distance. It is an experience. It equates to  more than a line drawn on a map or a track on a GPS.

I lie again under the stars and moon blurred by a haze of dust stirred by a day of houling winds. Off in the distance great clouds of sand and finer materials swirl up on the great blowing currents forming what looks like an approaching storm. The next mountain range to the west is imperceivable through the white mass. I wish to continue writing but am gather up by sleep and ache. I can almost feel the pack as if it remains on back even here in my sleeping bag. Moonlight casts shadows under the yucca and the bugs stir in the lee of small ridges.

April 12th, 2011

Gravel can be an extremely comfortable place to escape the heat of the day given that you can find a spot in the shade. I have found an exquisite nook under the tailgate of the truck that I’ve just driven a few miles up a rocky wash. I take a short nap to calm my nerves, frazzled by the stress of treacherous driving. Upon my waking I’ve come to find that gravel offers a menagerie of ways to explore my senses. Rocks of every color in your crayon box and shape in your imagination exist in the form of gravel and are awaiting your discovery.

In my time laying in this quiet place I dug into the gravel suing my hands, a variety of stones and even sticks. As I excavated I tried to imagine the center of the earth beneath me and the surface on the other side. I imagined the ocean several miles deep somewhere in the South Pacific that covers the rock there and the countless sea creatures that I would find if I could dig straight through. Holding stones of various colors I thought of how much pressure it takes to create them. I myself am contributing in some small part to the compaction of what lies beneath me, so I could consider myself a stone maker of sorts.

The gravel I am lying in, however, has come to be in this particular spot in this particular moment in time as a result of the process of erosion. Millennia of wind and water have broken each piece apart from one another and carried them down from the hillsides. In fact each one is on a slow journey down to a lower elevation and may one day end in the sea. From there it may have many layers of rocks and sediment pile up on top of it and become a new type of stone, or be forced deeper in to the earth. Perhaps somewhere along the way lichen will transform its minerals into the building blocks of living cells that will end up as a part of a vast and complex food chain. It may be destined to travel the world on the wings of birds and the flippers of whales, the fur of cats and the teeth of mice each absorbing it and changing its path.

“Poor Will” is the song of a local night bird. Over and over again through all hours of darkness I can hear this call move around my tent. The call contains within it a strange up note at the end similar to the sound a drop of water makes when it falls a short distance into a sink full of water. The bird that produces this sound is an elusive shadow that darts in and out of my perspective in the moonlight. Like a Hollywood ghoul it appears only for a moment or at least I think it does…

Check out: http://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Common_Poorwill/id and play the "common voice."

The sound of a lone bull in the evening is kind of haunting as well. In the distance he bellows a lonely grunt, as if to ward off another cold night and what lurks within it. His tracks lead right down the wash and occasionally meander down well used cattle trails through the thick brush. It is kind of surprising that he can fit his massive body through dense catsclaw and cholla.

I’m lying in my tent now, writing by red-headlamp light trying to fight the cold off of my feet and the fears out of my head. Sleep slithers ever closer as my vision blurs and sags (my handwriting gets difficult to decipher here). Yet a passing plane or rustling of my clothes quickly rouses me, for the dread of an approaching cougar or angry bull. I’m sure tonight I’m more likely of being trampled by the bull, but I keep wondering why I’ve returned to my uneasiness after my time sleeping out at Spirit Mtn. Was it a fluke? Do I just let myself get caught up in tales of cougars and bears (and lions oh my!) and let my imagination get the better of me? The real high levels of risk exist more in moving cars and loonies with guns that with cougars. (End)

You should see the little doodle I did as I was fading into sleep this night. Maybe if I had a scanner I’d post it. In reflection of transcribing this entry from paper to my computer I have to wonder what really is fear and how does it take such a firm grip on my psyche late in the evening. To a certain extent I think that fear is a healthy emotion to experience, and to acknowledge when it is occurring.

April 6th, 2011

Joshua Trees are a bit difficult to explain. Yet, I feel inclined to do so considering I am sitting in the midst of one of the largest stands of the oldest Joshua Trees in the world. When I was young my family would watch a fourth of July fireworks display in our neighborhood. My favorite Firework that I looked forward to seeing every year started out like any other. A distant thud sent a faint glimmer of white light streaking up into the sky and as its trajectory slowed flashes of white light blast in every direction. As they fell each piece would slow and start to fade, but suddenly as if invigorated they excitedly flashed back to life and rocketed screaming in a new and unpredictable direction.

Joshua Trees must be the equivalent to this fiery spectacle as it grows in a sporadic twisting and turning fashion, splitting off and redirecting as it grows. It helps too that the leaves of this miraculous tree grow as a bunch on the end of every branch and in a fashion that mirrors an explosion or some facsimile thereof. If you can imagine a single trunk splitting in two directions, and each splitting again with a new direction in mind. Continuing this process exponentially may give you the sense that this tree wants to be extremely complex and intricately woven.

Each needle of this tree is around ten inches long and stiff enough to give you a good jab. When it has fulfilled its responsibility to the tree the leaf yellows and folds back much same way a palm frond does. It can take these trees several decades to reach a height of only a few feet, but the grove I am immersed in houses specimens over twenty feet tall and containing countless branches. It is safe to estimate that these gargantuans are centuries old, perhaps standing tall before white settlers crossed the Atlantic.

This stand is known as the Wee Thump Joshua Tree Wilderness. The term wee thump is a Yuman word meaning ‘the ancient ones.’ They believe that these ancient trees are their ancestors who have taken the form of the slow growing giants.

When a Joshua grows too large or grows sick it falls over and slowly decays. One of the more interesting aspects of these fascinating plants is how shallow their roots are. A giant twenty foot tree may have a root system that forms a disc shape less than a foot below the sand surface. However, shooting out from this disc are hundreds of thin roots like rays on a child’s depiction of the sun or spines on a sea urchin. By covering more surface area in this way the trees are able to collect more water before it seeps away into the depths of the sandy soil.

We are camping here tonight so that we can get an earlier jump on the South McCullough mountains tomorrow morning. I spent my day in a wash on the northern border of the Spirit Mountain Wilderness hiking an old mining road. The closing of this particular old road is currently under debate, and for good reason. Well over grown by shrubs and grasses and in many places impossible to travel by vehicle, White Rock Road cuts through some of the best habitat for birds, reptiles and insects in the area.

Every step of the twin track meandering up and down washes and ridgelines was covered in a layer of white, yellow or blue wildflowers. The whole of the hillsides were covered by small bushes that appeared yellow for their abundant coat of small sunny flowers. The air was alive with bees and flies anxiously buzzing from bloom to bloom.

We turned a corner on the road and followed the tire tread up another hill and were greeted by a humming, buzzing from the rocks along the trail. We quickly associated the rattling with its maker, a large Mojave rattlesnake not happy to have been approached so closely. At first, she toyed with the idea of fleeing, but as she bolted she landed upon a rock which she fancied a stage. Puffer her body up as large as she could she raised more than half of her body length off the rock and struck a frighteningly intimidating pose. With her neck forming a tight S shape she slowly stretched her tongue down and then curled it up over head. All the while her rattle quivering fervently. Chris snapped a surreal photo and we left her to calm her nerves.

A cool rain came in the afternoon and we started working our way down the hill. As I strolled, avoiding trampling wildflowers, I heard a faint high-pitched squeak like that of a bird far away. I looked in the direction it came from, eager to see a new bird but came to find nothing in view. I turned and carried on my hike only hear the sound again, only closer. I waited a moment, rain dripping from the brim of my hat and soaking into my shirt when a small black streak flashed across my view and turned sharply skyward. I immediately recognized the tiny frame and blurred wings as that of a hummingbird and as quickly as I had it marked it turned and reversed its course diving headlong towards the ground. As its speed increased it let out its gleeful screech, as if yelling “WEEEE” in its dive-bombing run. Just as it approached the ground it banked back hard and again rose straight into the air. It continued this jubilant U shaped pattern playfully for many minutes as I watched intently and smiling. I like think that this was his celebration of the rain watering his flowers and could not contain his excited dance to mark the occasion. As he chased the rain drops down to the ground my mind turned to the many ways that we humans celebrate the changing seasons with dancing, festivals and parades. Once again our distance from other animals grows smaller. I took off my hat and tilted my face back so that I too could enjoy this rare desert rain and appreciate the feeling of a good life with this hummingbird.

I’ve come to learn since that day that this U shaped pattern is part of a courtship ritual that these hummingbirds participate in. The gleeful sound that the bird makes on its dive is actually the sound of special tail feathers vibrating when the bird reaches just the right speed.

April 5th, 2011

Juniper berries are a small waxy fruit with a baby blue powder coat and peculiar little horns. The waxy texture of this berry is so dense like a resin and the flavor so bitter that hardly anything eats them. The juniper tree itself grows into a short stand with many trunks, much like a large bush. It is however a distant relative of the pine tree with its needles reduced down to form little more than a green segmented branch. Every segment where a needle would grow on other pines the juniper’s branch remains flat.

The shade of one of these extraordinary trees is where I reside this evening as the sun slowly lowers in the western sky. I’ve taken up my seat beneath a tree that lives in a little wash and am facing north toward the bright white face of Spirit Mountain’s southern precipice. From this outlook Spirit’s great dragon tooth, an upstanding column that tapers at the top giving it the shape of a fang is clearly visible and appears as tall as the summit of the great mountain.

I am joined this evening by a swarm of may, horse, and fruit flies who seem to enjoy the novelty of white paper and bare feet. They do not seem to be reading my notes, as the need coaxing to allow me to turn the page in my notebook. A variety of lizards can be seen slowly crawling along the sunny sand around this campsite. On occasion you can hear the whir of a hummingbird as it zips past, probably in search of the next patch of wildflower in bloom. The variety and beauty of desert wildflowers truly boggles the mind. Next to me is a patch of tiny white flowers on a millimeter or two in diameter on the end of grass stalks a few centimeters tall. I can also see blooms of yellow, violet, deep and baby blues, reds, oranges and every combination thereof. Even the Yucca, a large hard plant that produces spear-like leaves has managed to shoot up massive flower stalks that tower over my head to display its large white flowers.

Sitting so close to Spirit Mountain does give a certain sense of doing wrong, as if by being here I am encroaching upon something sacred. This feeling is somewhat exacerbated by the fact that this campsite is massive, reaching far beyond what is necessary. There are tire tracks that lead in every direction around the area and every possible inch of ground that could be trample is. The patches of ground that slope too much for a tent have apparently been trampled or turned into dumpsites for broken glass and beer cans. Fire rings patch the ground every twenty paces or so and seem to grow in size as they approach the road. One ring is easily four feet across and nearly a foot deep surrounded by scorched rocks, ash pouring out and half burned trash pied up in the center. Because this heathen’s site lies outside of the National Parks Service’s Wilderness boundary and instead is within BLM land there is little chance that it will receive any rehabilitation or protection. On top of that the tribes have required the NPS to not allow camping within the Spirit Mountain Wilderness so everyone who visits the area is funneled out into this site, so it will continue to grow and grow.

As the sun sinks still lower and lower it paints the southern face of Spirit in an eerie orange glow. The shadows of each spire cast long and dark giving enormous depth and striking aesthetics to the ominous structure. The jagged ridgeline seems to saw through the darkening sky like a red hot cross-cut blade.

The unmistakable whine-like hum of mosquito wings begins to fill my ears and my hopes of sleeping out under the stars again tonight start to fade. I have a bad habit of itching mosquito bites in my sleep, so no matter how hard I try to prevent myself from scratching during the day, it will eventually and regretfully happen.

Through Christmas Tree Pass, which separates Spirit Mountain Wilderness and Bridge Canyon Wilderness I can see the monuments of Castle Rock, an incredibly formed ridgeline that just so happens to look like a castle wall is built on top of it. It is shrouded in a deep purple shadow up against the intensely red setting sun, neon pink clouds and surrounded by a baby blue sky. The scene could be pulled from a postcard off a shelf at a historic sight in northern Scotland, except for the Yucca and Juniper.

A steady breeze blows again tonight as the temperature dwindles. My thoughts trace back to last night down in the shallow alcove of Lake Mojave. I spent the night hiding from the wind under a salt cedar watching the stars slowly spin above me hidden in part by the black silhouette of whisping leaves. I was awoken during the night by a kangaroo rat, a small rodent with an immensely long tail and strong hind legs designed for hopping. I also should mention their cunningly cute faces with giant black eyes and long whiskers. My little friend decided to rouse me from my slumber by leaping onto my forehead and quickly jumping off again. He stood next to me for a short while, as I peered into the darkness harnessing all of my ability to make out his tiny shadow. Perhaps perplexed by my size, smell, and strange reaction to having been lept upon, he scurried about me making sure to poke his tiny nose into every nook along the outside of my sleeping bags. Made somewhat uncomfortable at first by this thorough investigation I soon came to smile at the novelty of befriending a wild local.

As the morning sun began the process of transforming the sky from black to blue I awoke to a small band of grey flycatchers foraging in the branches above my head. These tiny birds, no bigger than a sparrow are easily identified by their short forked tail feathers. They chirped and flapped about the salt cedar paying little mind to me, although in my sleeping bag I am sure I looked like a giant orange caterpillar. With my new found pride in tentless camping and having enjoyed my wildlife experiences of the evening I happily arose to start another day in Spirit.

April 4th, 2011

Honey bees are some of the smallest bees in North America. Their small sizes gives rise to a higher pitched ‘buzz’ than their larger cousins carpenter and bumble bees. However, when they gather in large numbers the hum of a busy colony can create an intimidating volume that seems to blanket the grass. This small beach surrounded by the limestone cliff faces cut into the earth by millennia of flooding and drying has attracted dust such a mass of honey bees. They surround me and cover me in a low hum. The bees seem to have been lured to this particular alcove of Lake Mojave for the easy access to water among the saturated rocks along the shore without much risk of a gentle wave capturing them and drawing them under the surface.

The alcove I am perched inside of is L shaped and full of a nearly clear blue water. The limestone canyon that the water fills gives the water a bright green hue in its shallower sections creating an eerie gradient reminiscent of a sulphur lake in Yellowstone. I am sheltered from the wind blowing off of the lake by the crumbling canyon walls and dense growth of salt cedar. This whispy plant grows into a giant bush with delicate leaves and branches that capture and dance with the wind. It is an invasive species in this part of the country and poses a large threat to the native flora. Its uncanny ability to spread along water corridors and choke out other plants has caused it to spread hundreds of miles, carried by the wind. Originally brought from China as an ornamental it now goes nearly unchecked in the springs and rivers of the Southwest.

This alcove is just big enough to throw a stone across to the other side, if you were to put in a little effort. The water doesn’t get more than knee deep until you turn the corner and head out into the lake. No fish appear to inhabit these waters, and none are native to them although several species of game fish have been stocked into it. The National Park Service is currently battling the spread of an invasive mussel which strains algae from the water. The decrease in natural algae, which are an important factor in enriching the water with oxygen, chokes out fish with higher levels of CO2 in the water. No natural predators of the mussels in the lake means that they spread unchecked and put the lakes of the region in an ecological downward spiral.

A pair of mallards has been diligently defending this alcove from other pairs. The male carefully watches as the female searches the area for food. Although the follows her, he refrains from eating anything himself in order to ensure that the female and by consequence their young get the most nutrition possible. He will chase off any other pair that enters the area.

Turkey vultures circle overhead, keeping their broad wings fixed outstretched to reduce energy loss from flapping. They have come to this area in search of trash and scraps that have been left by inconsiderate campers. Following the breeze and occasional thermal they spiral along the shore of the river, ever watchful for an easy scavenge.

The mallards approach me now, revealing a glimmering purple patch bordered with thin lines of black and white tucked under their wings. The male shows off his curly black ornamental tail feathers.

I wish I could describe the bird songs coming out of the buses as the sun sets with anything resembling accuracy. The sky to the west turns a pale purple on the horizon and silhouettes of dozens of bats streak in sporadic patterns across the darkening sky. As the ruckus of tweets and shrills from the bushes fades it is replaced by the gently pulsing violining of crickets. The air is cooling now and the breeze is fluctuating. I begin to remember the notes about last night I wanted to make.

I spent the night out under the stars for fear that the howling wind would rattle a tent too much and keep me awake. As I lay down and zipped up the sleeping bag a spectacle of shooting stars streaked out of the southern sky, putting a big smile on my sleep face. I looked west and saw Orion dancing across the top of Keith’s rattling tent, Sirius close in tow. I spent the night battling the blasting gale from my shelter of one of the tires of our truck. It served as my wind blind as I lay perpendicular to the truck with my pillow pressed against the wheel. Every few minutes a gust would kick up sand and lash it across my face. Not caring much for the sensation of sand and gravel on my face and in my ears I pulled my t-shirt off my arms and bulled it over my head so that I could continue to view the stars through the scope of my sleeve. The shirt provided enough protection from sandy ears and also allowed me to open my bag enough to dump excess heat and avoid sweating. I fancied myself ingenious for my flexibility.

My writing continues with notes and thoughts on Kathryn, but those are for me and I won’t share them.

April 3rd 2011

Sitting on the shore of Lake Mojave, I am surrounded by the sand and rock of a campsite beach. This completely artificial oasis is made possible by the large concrete dam built on the Colorado River about a quarter mile south of us. The beach is courtesy of the National Park Service. My party is joined by nearly a dozen other groups of RV’ers, mallards, wood duck, common grackle and a pair of geese. The mallards seem to have paired for the season, one male with his shimmering emerald cap, white collar, brown vest and slate belly; the female in brown. One pair has staken claim to the same small patch of beach on which I will be residing. They defend it fervently, the male going so far as to pursue other pairs in flight, banking and turning like a top gun dogfight. The grackles, small black and brown birds with yellow eyes and cumbersome folded tails privilege us with their enthusiastic, if not strange song. The wood duck, a solitary male has taken up following a pair of mallards like a third wheel on a first date. His unusual behavior does not overshadow his exquisite beauty however. He wears a great crest on his head and bright shades of green on his face, accented by streaks of piercing white. More noteworthy may even be his blood red eyes. The geese it would seem are locals well accustomed to humans. They go so far as to walk right up to the humans and murmur a low noise as if to beckon a hand out.

This beach lies on a small bay on the lake so we can see short outcropping of sandstone and white limestone speckled with flowering creosote. Up until now the creosote has been a scraggly bush with faint traces of green as it has pushed small leaves in bunches out the ends of its thin branches. However, the whole landscape is now full of bright yellow as each plant produces hundreds of tiny flowers.

Across the river lies Arizona, A gentle slope rises from the river up to a sudden and drastic change to a ridgeline dotted with mesas and precipices. The rock that hasn’t eroded away towers above the slope below creating a dragon’s tail like scene. The desert looks desolate from this distance.

As the sun sets behind me I watch my shadow grow longer, reaching farther out into the gently rippling water. The breeze is blowing down the river from the north bringing with it the pollen from a spring thrust to life and a calming sound as it rustles the leaves of the cottonwood tree I sit under.

In a setting such as this I can’t help but think of my home in the Appalachians. I yearn to be back in the rolling hills, covered by a fine mist, masked by a dense cover of oak and pine. I ache to hear the song birds as they travel through this time of year and smell the honeysuckle.

The sun is setting down behind the granite spires of Bridge Canyon Wilderness. The Sandstone of Arizona remains lit up, but the temperature begins to drop and the wind is picking up on my beach oasis. The smell of charcoal and the need to layer up reawakens me from my Smokies daydream. It would seem that setting up camp will take precedence over writing for the time being.

April 3, 2011

Sunday,
Spirit Mountain, a place of rich cultural and religious significance to the native people of this area. Jagged granite spires, clear spring water, lush plant life and a gathering of migratory birds barely describes the beauty and power of this landscape. That is my destination for the week. I'll be leaving in just a few hours.

This past week I've spent my days finding the snow line in the Spring Mountains for the Forest Service (FS). Basically what this entails is hiking up a trail and taking a GPS coordinate of any fallen trees, flowing water, or breaks in the snow. It also means that when I can't find the trail in the snow, or it gets too deep to pass I take note of that too. All of this information is used by the FS to inform the public of where they could/should be hiking.
I started out by driving the Harris Spring Road, which is a playground for OHV and Jeeps near the base of the mountain. The whole area is very heavily used with tire tracks going off in every direction. I eventually reached a point where the snow was too deep to continue driving, so back down the hill I went.
On Wednesday Chris and I hiked the Mary Jane Falls Trail. We had little expectation of just how far we would actually be able to hike in, but were hopeful that we could find something cool. At the trail head the snow was very shallow, maybe two inches or so. Yet, due to the use that this trail was receiving the snow on the trail was thinned out and melting in the sun. This caused a slippery mess combining snow and ice and mud. Farther up the trail we became surrounded by large old pine trees and white rolling hills. Every now and then we would come across a small tree across the trail and happily pulled it off to the side. As we gained elevation the snow got deeper and deeper, and the footprints became fewer and fewer until we were following what seemed to be a single set. Whoever it was that created these tracks, I was happy that they had trudged out ahead because there's no other way I would have know where the trail was for all the snow.

Up we went, higher and higher catching glimpses of the surrounding ridgeline through the trees. Limestone faces painted with white lines where ever snow could hang on and black pine trees sprung up like stubble on an unshaven chin. We took a long break for lunch, weary from the constant strain of lifting our feet up over the snow and pushing them back down in. Three feet of snow is nice until you sink down to your groin, soaking your socks and pants. Several times during lunch I heard a strange noise from farther up the trail, like hooves on rock or stones falling. After taking time to enjoy my carrot and homemade sourdough we continued up the footprint path until we heard the sound of flowing water. The sound brought me right back home to flowing streams and creeks that I grew up playing in in Georgia. However, when I raised my eyes up to the ridge where we were headed I saw the water pouring off of the cliff. Through the trees I could see that the water found its way over a 80-100 foot drop and made a series of steps down the snow covered ledges of the face. As we approached, the running water cut underneath the snow. It was an eerie sight to see a large area of snow and hear the water rushing, but not know how deep it was or where it was safe to cross.

Nearing the base of the fall I heard that same noise again, like falling rock, and looked up to see that as the snow high up on the fall melted it tumbled down the face in huge blocks. The blocks pile up at the base of the fall creating a huge mound. The water that falls onto this pile cuts through it, forming this massive sculpture of ice and snow with pillars and spears sticking straight up into the sky. We watched carefully as more snow would fall off the face and onto the piles, waiting for an opportunity to climb in behind the fall to a cave. After one big crash of falling snow we made a run for it, quickly and carefully climbing the wet rock to a space that had eroded away behind the fall. We spent a great deal of time here marveling at the beauty of our current situation. Observing the power of the fall, studying the curves of the giant icicles, inspecting the amazing plants that grow straight of the rock, and basking in the serenity of the mountaintop scene. I didn't ever want to leave.

March 31, 2011

Today is Thursday!
So far I've had a pretty exciting week! But before I tell you about that let me share a little bit about the weekend that came before it. You see, last week I was stuck in a cubicle working on reporting. So Chris (my roomate) and I busted out on Friday afternoon and headed south on 15. Our first stop was a really good Mexican restaurant in Barstow, CA called Rosita's. The decorations on the wall were kinda weird, like a Mexican version of Disney animation but with potato characters. The food on the other hand was quite good. They served a super hot sauce along side their salsa and chips in case you needed to make your appetizer a bit more exciting. Two Tecates and bean salad later we were on the road again. By the time we got to Victorville, CA it was already dark. There wasn't anything noteworthy there anyway. On to Los Angeles! I was kind of excited about seeing this famous city and all the streets that I had grown up being exposed to in movies and television. Hollywood Blvd: check. Sunset Blvd: Check. Santa Monica Blvd: Check. We didn't linger long and headed northwest of the city to Topanga State Park (yes, like the girld from Boy Meets World!). However, upon our arrival at the park which is tucked away inside of a high class subdivision, we found the gate locked and no way around the tire destroying spikes in the road. So eastbound we went to Angeles National Forest! Seems really cool right? Well, driving around a National Forest in the dark and coming upon a state prison: not so cool. After we drove around the road that meandered through the strange trees and rolling hills we found a great patch of dirt to pitch the tent. It just so happened that this patch of dirt was right next to the Forest Service Fire Station parking lot. Oh well. We were greeted Saturday morning by a raven fervently alerting every other creature in the vicinity that there was red tailed hawk in nearby. The red tailed hawk also greeted the morning with its skreeching call. It was a thrill to pull open the tent and see the forest in morning light. We were in dense forest, surrounded by bird sounds and cloaked in a fine mist. The vale of water droplets in the air briefly covered the hills, and then allowed you to glimpse them as they gently blew around. It was like being in the Smokies again. We spent most of the day wandering around the forest, taking lots of time to study the flora that seemed so foreign and other worldly. All of the time that I spent identifying plants back East was wasted on an entire different ecosystem. I didn't see a single plant that I recognized. Yet, it was intoxicating. I was entranced by the complexity of the flowers and the delicacy of the leaves. I was baffled at the scale of the trees and the rigidity of the thorns. This place was magical.
There was a hill near a stream that had eroded to expose the rock underneath. It crumbled into small pieces, as if it were held together by nothing more than will. Between the cracks succulents grew, and to amazing sizes. High up on the hill, well out of range to safely reach a crew of succulents held fast onto the vertical grade. Some of these unreal plants exceeded two feet in diameter and had multiple flower stalks.

After a full day's hike we decided to head to the ocean and finally get to sink our toes in it. Westward bound again we came to a small state beach. This park area looked as if it had been quite an amazing and popular place thirty years ago. But, today this place was rundown. Everything was locked up, the parking lots were empty, and the hobos had set up camp. There was a running trail that ran between the dunes and the parking lot that seemed to be very popular amongst bikers, runners, and walkers. However, no one seemed to linger in the park. They followed the trail in one end of the park and out the other, as if to bigger and better sights. I moseyed out onto the beach, which was covered in smooth stones that seemed to pulled straight out of a river bed and placed perfectly spaced in the soft sand. As I made my way down to the water I noticed a distinct odor: death. I glanced up and down the beach and noticed flies buzzing about me. I followed their trail and found a carcass well deteriorated right in the middle of the beach. At first glance it took on the shape of a fish, about four feet long and almost leathery with lots of large holes in it. Yet, there were bones. In fact there was a large vertebrae about the size of a dog's. Upon further inspection, sure enough, fur! This must have been a sea lion! Welcome to the Pacific, mind the carcass.

That night we cruised back to downtown LA to find the music scene I've been hearing so much about. I couldn't find the names of anything exciting on my dying Iphone, so we hit up the first bar we could find to maybe ask the local folk: So and so's Tavern or something like that. Turns out this 'tavern' served nothing but bud light and other assorted travesties so we hightailed out to the next bar, which happened to have two hundred some odd awesome handcrafted beers from around the world. Needless to say, we ended up spending too much time there 'world travelling' and found our best option was sleeping in the car.

Sunday morning was filled with hangover hilarity as Chris got to see that burrito he consumed the night before again, only this time spattered across a gas station parking lot. From there we headed back to LV with a newfound sense of accomplishment for surviving our unplanned adventure and excitement for the next one.

I was going to talk about this week though! I guess it will have to wait until tomorrow when it actually ends. Night!

March 21, 2011

Today is Monday, actually I've had the day off! Woohoo!
My roomate Chris and I decided that it would be a great use of the day to go snowboarding.

I really really needed a way to let loose and blow off some steam after a rough week. Chris and I were planning on running up to Zion National Park, but between the weather and the cost, it just didn't seem like a good idea.  So, a Monday morning after a heavy snowfall? Snowboard!
It continued to snow all day, which was awesome.
We were shrouded in a cloud of wisping snowflakes and clouds that would only allow light to cast on the surrounding mountain peaks for a few moments and quickly close the sun out again. The falling snow created this surreal, three dimensional environment, cloaking distance in a grey mist.
Learning to snowboard was actually pretty easy. It was definitely easier than everyone I've spoken to made it out to be. I learned pretty quickly (I'll leave out the stories of me tumbling down the mountain over and over again).

Catching up: March 17th

So, I realized today that I haven't been posting anything on here! Oh dear!
Well today is:
Thursday March 17, 2011.

Catching you up completely would be pretty much impossible so I'll stick to the highlights.
I've been doing Wilderness monitoring for the Forest Service, National Park Service, and BLM. So far I've been to Lovell Canyon, Wee Thump Joshua Tree, Gold Butte, Bridge Canyon, Nellis Wash, and Spirit Mountain. These places are each unique and very important to our nation for historic and natural values. Last week I attended the inagural National Wilderness Stewardship Alliance Confrence and got to speak with higher ups in the agencies, and people representing Friends groups all across the country. Overall, this is proving to be an eye opening experience.

I'll try to make more detailed reports from now on, and actually keep them up to date.
Cheers!

Backlog: Jan 19

January 19, 2011

Wednesday

So today at work I got to see a presentation of wildlife photography from the various Wilderness areas around Clark County. I also got to participate in a few of the activities that are facilitated to school kids around the county: dots on the wall, picture sort, and word pyramid. Dots on the wall consisted of 6 posters hung on the wall, each with a statement like ‘I can state 3 reasons Wilderness is important’ or ‘I believe Wilderness is worth protecting.’ Each participant gets 6 stickers and places his/her stickers on a continuum under the statement of agree to disagree. Picture sort had a series of pictures and the group was asked to place them into two categories Wilderness and non Wilderness. Word Pyramid: each participant received a sheet of paper with a pyramid on it, and a set of small pieces of paper, each having a word on it like fresh air or hunting and fishing. The participants were asked to place the more important pieces at the top of the pyramid and the less so farther down the pyramid.

We then went through an entire lecture on interpretation techniques, and even role played some methods for dealing with problem kids.

Then we spent a long time working on the menu for next week’s hike.

I had a beer, sorry this is blunt. I’m tired and don’t feel like writing.

Backlog: Jan 13

January 13, 2011

Thursday

First day of ‘WFA’ training took place in the Lovell Canyon. Overall a pretty draining day between listening to way too much information being thrown at me and just being really long. The Red Cross’ WFA training has turned into a 2 day WFR course with a limp. It is too fast and too dense to really be beneficial to anyone. There is not enough practice and too much lecture to really be retained by anyone. IT IS DANGEROUS. I did basically the same course over the course of 8 days and got to practice for long periods of time each day. This course is crap.

I miss Kat a lot. Knowing she is close, the soft sensation of her skin under my fingertips release so much serotonin in my brain that I am having severe withdrawls from not having her here everyday. It gives me a sinking, almost panic feeling when I consider doing something significant or dangerous without having that immediate sense of reassurance. I am in a constant state of stress. It takes most of my effort to keep composed and put the group first. I wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear several times today and last night. I have a lot to gain from being here but I think they would be better off without me somethimes. It is hard to sleep. Kat is my home and I want to go to her.

We spent the day sitting in a circle in what used to be a camping spot down a forest service road. It was covered in broken glass of greens a browns scattered amongst the old rifle cartridges. We were surrounded by beautiful mountains. Off in the distance was Mt. Charlston and the Mummy. Joshua and Juniper trees surrounded us as well. Those mountains are truly breathtaking.

Backlog: Jan 11

January 11^th, 2011

Tuesday

Today was the first day of ‘work.’ I started out the day waking up several time before my alarm went off because my toes were aching and numb from the cold. I was curled up on my sleeping pad in the corner of my tiny downstairs room in Northwest Las Vegas. I didn’t purchase a sleeping bag before I moved out here so I’m trying to make due with a fleece liner. Needless to say when the heater is left off and the temps get down to 29*F, the basement is frigid and I am a popsicle. -- I spent the last three days looking for an apartment and living out of a hotel room with three other guys. That got old really fast. We’re trying to keep the cost of living down by using heating and lighting minimally. – I tried to start out the morning with a hot shower to rouse my spirits, but after several minutes the water continued to be icy cold. I spent the rest of the morning huddling around a warm coffee mug, trying to take in its lifting vapors without searing my tongue and lips. A five minute walk gets me to the office, this house is in a great location. I can also walk to the grocery store and probably to goodwill too.

Most of the work day consisted of listening to Dr. John Hiatt tell the story of Wilderness, the Friends of Nevada Wilderness and lots of interesting tidbits along the way. Honestly, it was a sensory overload kind of day. I learned a lot about Clark County and some of the Wilderness areas around here. I also learned about the kind of work that I’m going to be doing in the coming months: Baseline Wilderness monitoring in areas that have NEVER been monitored by the BLM, USFS, FWS, and NPS; Raising awareness of the Wilderness areas surrounding Clark County among elementary, middle, and high school students around Las Vegas; and Restoration planning and implementation. All of these things are super exciting. I can’t wait to get out into the desert and see places that have rarely been seen, teach kids about the amazing opportunities they have around them, and to get my hands dirty and restore some illegally created ‘ways.’

We spent a little bit of time talking about some of the natural occurrences that shape Southern Nevada, especially fire. Lightning starts a lot of fires around here and I’m going to be wary of both.