Yellowstone, Finally

So, Yellowstone. While the area is huge and beautiful, most of it is inaccessible by car. Hiking is one way to get a more in depth interaction with the area, but since I had a day to cover as much as I could, I decided to do the touristy car loop. It's very difficult to write about the experience, because Yellowstone is all about the experience. It's about standing in a spot and being surrounded by the sights and sounds and smells and feels of a very special place. When you're looking down into a bubbling, rainbow pool of sulfuric water, and the cool breeze is mingling with the hot steam against your skin, and you can taste the sulfur on your tongue, and a buffalo is rolling in the dirt nearby, and the vents are growling with the sound of thermal energy straining against the rock, you realize there's no medium that can really do justice to it all. But I'll try a little.

Old Faithful may be the most famous geyser in the park, but that's probably just because it's the most predictable and has a short enough interval for people to guarantee a sighting. There are other, nicer geysers that you can get closer to. I preferred Solitary Geyser myself, for a number of reasons. For one, it takes a bit of hike up a hillside to get to, which means instead of being one of a hundred people on Independence Day weekend crowding around the more popular geysers I found myself alone in a very nice outcropping. I also saw a pika on my way up.

This isn't my photo. The pika I saw moved too fast for me to get a shot of, but I doubt I will see one of these critters again. They only live in high elevation, and to be honest, I'm not sure if what I saw was a pika. I got a good look at it, and it certainly wasn't a rodent I had ever seen before, but there might be some cousin I'm unfamiliar with or something. It looked a lot like the little guy above though.

 You can also get much closer to Solitary Geyser. I'm pretty sure this is it, but all these pools and geysers tend to look the same after the first dozen or so. It eruption is puny in comparison to its siblings, only four feet or so, but it erupts every 10 minutes with an angry little burble. It also has managed to kill most of the forest down hill from it, which is an impressive feat imo.

The other nice thing about Solitary Geyser is that just to the left of where this picture is taken you have a bird's eye view of most of the geysers in the area. I got to watch another geyser, one with a very impressive height, go off in the distance, whereas you can't see all that much once you climb back down to the boardwalk.

Everywhere there are signs warning you to stay on the path, not to drop things into the features, and so on and so forth. I found it interesting that the warning signs were in eight different languages, all western save for Japanese, and yet hands down the most common language I heard while I was at the park was Mandarin. Sometimes I heard more Mandarin than English. If I were to list the languages I heard in their order of frequency, it would go: Mandarin, some South Asian Language (not familiar enough with India to pin point it), French, and then Texan. At times I understood more Mandarin than Texan.

And yet there's no literature in Mandarin or Punjabi or whatever. Obviously all the signage was created prior to the huge wave of Chinese tourism that we're now experiencing. I'd say that a quarter of the people in some of the areas I visited at least were Chinese or of direct Chinese decent. 

Anyway, back to the tour. There was wildlife of course. At one point a large herd of elk was spotted traveling across a plains area, which caused quite a traffic buildup as everyone veered off the road to watch, but most of the time the rockstars of the large mammal world were the buffalo. 

Here we have a buffalo standing around, doing nothing more than holding up traffic forever. He wasn't moving, or really bothering to care about the cars trying to get around him. He just stood there and seemed pleased with himself. The rest of his herd was being more reasonable on either side of the road. People are, in general, really stupid when it comes to their tourism. There were cars that would stop right at his face and someone would hang out the window to take a picture. The white car you see stopped behind him had gotten around, stopped, and the lady in the passenger seat got out and started shooting. It took quite a while for the cars on the other side of the road to decide it was time to let me through, and even when I was trying to get around the stupid white car in front of me insisted on taking more pictures before moving on. 

This was the closest I came to any buffalo, but it wasn't the most interesting encounter. There's a patch of road a few miles before you even hit the park where a herd likes to hang out in the mornings. I've passed them twice now, and both times you slow to a crawl as you navigate around these beasts going back and forth from the street. The cool part about that herd are the baby calves they have right now. They're only about the size of a large dog, and are caramel colored and nothing but leg. I didn't see any calves in the park, only outside of it.

On occasion there were buffalo at the springs. I don't think the rangers appreciate this much, because when you're trying to tell people that stepping off the board walk will result in falling through a weak crust to your boiling doom, having a ton of animal chilling right next to the water does not properly illustrate that concept.

The majority of the spots carved out for tourists were around hotsprings and 'paint pots.' I couldn't figure out how to take pictures of the paint pots to give a really good sense of them, because a large part of their charm is the fact that they are boiling mud, and I didn't manage to get a good shot of any bubbles bursting, so all it looks like is interesting colored mud. The spectrum of color represented in the paint pots is impressive though. They go from red, to blue, from black to white. The photo above isn't a paint pot. It's a hot spring. I think it's abyss hotspring but I don't quite remember. The colors were much more vivid in person, but you get some sense of what the stiller waters looked like.

On the return loop I ended up encountering snow. There were some large drifts about 3 feet deep on the sides of some of the larger hills, and this pile was blocking the path to this waterfall...

In order to get to it you had to clime up the drift into the forested area and then back down once things cleared up. I ended up with snow in my sneakers in July.

That's pretty much it. I left at 6AM and didn't get back home until 10pm. After I was done with the park I drove to Signal Mountain, where I was told one could get the best view of the sunset over the Tetons. This was true, but here is where my most ridiculous encounter with mosquitoes until this morning happened. I got to the top about an hour before sunset, assuming that there would be no parking and it would be crammed with people, but when I stopped there was almost no one, and the people who were there were leaving. I didn't realize what was going on until I was making my way to the over look and passed a guy who was wildly waving his hands in front of his face. Even though Signal Mountain give one amazing view across all of Jackson hole and Teton National Park, the mosquitoes up there are vicious. I tried hiding in the car but couldn't get in fast enough to prevent a few dozen mosquitoes from following me. It was the top of a mountain, so there wasn't anywhere to flee from them either.

I was determined that I'd wait it out though. A number of people came, got to the overlook, and then retreated, but by the time the sun set only about ten people had maintained the will for the payoff, though the photographers were complaining that there were so many mosquitoes that their shots were being ruined.

I managed to kill two mosquitoes at once just by slapping at a random place on my leg. They were really nasty. But I did see a nice sunset.

Interlude

I was planning on talking about how Saturday night included one of my most ridiculous mosquito encounters ever, but I went out hiking this morning and that no longer holds true. Until today I had been relatively peaceful towards the mosquitoes, even though they were growing in number and their incessant buzzing has been keeping me up at night. As long as they didn't land on me and start sucking, they could live. And the mosquitoes in my room have been good about that, generally.

Today I left in the early morning hours to hike the Two Ocean and Emma Matilda lake paths. Around each lake is about 6 miles, and combined they're about 10 or so. It was supposed to be a good area for animal sightings, including bears, so I had this can of bear spray with me that looked something like a miniature fire extinguisher.

The good news was I didn't get attacked by a bear. The bad news was I didn't even see a bear, or anything else for that matter, beyond a few grouse, which were pretty cool.What I did end up running into were mosquitoes. The entire hike was so utterly infested with them I don't doubt that was why there were no animals in sight. They had all be driven away by these blood suckers, and I was the only stupid mammal that didn't turn right around and leave when I noticed there were so many of them.

The scenery around the hike was nice, there was some cloud cover keeping things from getting too hot, and the hike was very docile, with only some mild inclines. Thank God, because I shot through it all as fast as my legs could carry me. I was too stubborn to turn back until there was no point in not just finishing the loop, but I couldn't stop without getting engulfed by insects. Even as it was I was almost eaten alive. If I hadn't had my sweater things would have been much, much worse. As it was, the only parts of me that were exposed were my face, my throat, and my knuckles, all of which were attacked so consistently my hands were bloody and black from retaliation by the time I made it out. In the beginning I kept feeling them coming down on the top of my head, so I had to put my hood up. I made the mistake of checking my shoulders a few times, only to get a little creeped out by the sheer number of mosquitoes trying vainly to get through my sleeves. I learned pretty fast to not worry about it and just charge through. Even the sound of the many streams feeding into the lake were drowned out by the insane buzzing. It all reminded me of those stupid swarms in Diablo II, only instead of zapping my stamina these mosquitoes actually enhanced it by driving me forward.

I had brought lunch with me, which I had sealed tight to prevent the smell from attracting bears, but I couldn't stop to eat it without being thoroughly eaten in turn, so I was starving by the time I got back to the car. Instead of looping around both lakes as I had intended, I ended up cutting my losses and marching down the middle of them.

All in all, it was a real disappointment. The first of the summer, to be honest. I would have loved to have taken my time and enjoyed the solitude of the place, but it just wasn't going to happen.

So after I got home, took a nice long shower, and finally had my lunch, I decided I was done playing nice with the mosquitoes, and whatever foolish insect crossed my sight or caught my ears was going to die. I've been hunting them almost four hours straight now. The floor of my cabin is littered with corpses, and still they keep coming. I had thought there were only a couple in here, but apparently I was wrong. Either that or for every bug that falls, three more take its place. No wonder the buzzing was keeping me up at night. I had brought some nice earphones with me, and keeping them on and the volume up is the only thing keeping me sane right now, to be honest. If I hear one more stupid whizzing noise behind my head I might just snap.

So I think I'm done with hiking, or at least next time I run into so many mosquitoes in one place, I am going to turn around and find a nice place to hang around.

There are no photos of any of this because getting the camera out and holding it still was too much of an invitation to the swarm.

Wild Archival - Day 31

After a straight week of warm, dry weather, the skies opened up thirty minutes ago and pelted rain down on us hard enough that it sounded like the timbers were cracking.It all ended as quickly as it began, and now I'm sitting comfy in bed, enjoying the cool air the little storm brought with it and trying to get my thoughts in line.

This week has been a particularly eventful one, and it's hard to figure out where to begin. There was the last few days, which I spent meeting a number of very interesting people and discovering a number of very interesting things, and then there was yesterday, which I spent driving a loop around Yellowstone National Park.

I'm going to try to be concise here, but I don't think it'll happen.

So Monday I happened to run into a gentleman at the Center whom Steve introduced to me as Harvey Locke, and his wife Marie. I think her full name was Mariezef, but I'm not quite sure about that. They were French Canadians, come down to give a talk at the visitor's center, which Harvey invited me down to see.

It was an excuse to stay out of the studio, which has been hard to stay lurking in since the weather has improved, so I made the trek down and watched. Apparently this Harvey Locke is a forerunner of Canadian conservation and a major spokesperson for the Yellowstone the Yukon initiative, which was the group that had the Murie Center's artist in residence Dwayne Harty paint some of the most remote areas of the Canadian West.

So there was that connection. Anyway, the Lockes turned out to be hands down wonderful people. They invited me to join them at a dinner gathering at the center, and I ended up spending the evening chatting with ten or so people about every little thing but mostly conservation and Jackson, was eaten raw by mosquitoes and had some of the most delicious fruit salad ever. There was mint in it.

After dinner we retreated to the camp fire and continued our conversation, which had drifted to the cultural differences between Canada and the US in terms of guns. By twilight there were only a few of us left, still chatting away and roasting a few marshmallows I had pilfered from the back. At one point a moose and her calf stepped out of the forest line. All we could really see was their silhouettes down the path, but they were quite close. By the end it was just me and Dirk, kicking around embers and listening to the moose bugling out in the distance. At one point we heard an owl too.

Dirk is an awesome guy. Everyone here is awesome, but Dirk is like Minnesota's answer to Steve Irwin. He has such genuine enthusiasm for absolutely everything, and when he talks about all the random critters we come across out here it's not hard to believe that those experiences are the best anyone could ever have. He ended up telling me that night that the strange sounds I had heard a while back ago were most likely coyotes.

About two weeks ago I was lying in bed, getting to sleep, when I hear what sounded like hyenas yipping somewhere close by. The sounds kept getting closer and closer, and lasted for a good 15 minutes, until I was pretty sure they were somewhere right on the property. It's pitch black outside. There is no light, so opening a window would have done no good in identifying the sound. Besides, I didn't want to draw attention to myself. Then, when we were at the fire this Monday dirk was talking about coyotes coming so close to his cabin he would have stepped on them if he had gone out. He assured me that they were harmless, but all the same I think I will try to keep a wall between us if they do come by again.

Then, for the rest of the weeks I was doing the fun work of organizing the messiest cabinets in the archive. I had been pampered with how well done everything else in the collection was, but there were a few drawers that were little more than piles of paper dumped in with the barest of labeling and no organization whatsoever, so there was a lot of rearranging, and relabeling, and organizing things back and forth until something that looked like sanity appeared.

I did find some neat stuff along the way.

This was in with a drawer full of awards and metals. I found it interesting for two features.

The mush detail at the top...

And the tag on the inside. According to this the badge was made in Newark, and the interesting historical detail is in the list of unions on the tag. That's something I've never seen before, though I suppose the more I work with material from this era the more it might come up.

And here was the second cool find. Outdoor Pastimes of an American Hunter, by Theodore Roosevelt.

Limited edition, 164 of two hundred, signed by the author. Now, in the world of rare books this is not actually a huge deal. But the guys at work got a kick out of it and you have to admit, it's not many people who have gotten to flip through a book signed by Teddy.

Here's an illustration from the book I found particularly amusing. Cook vs. Bear.

Now that the inventory is pretty much done, the time for playing with materials has passed. Most of the work I'm doing this month will be writing up procedure, starting grant work, and making a report with suggestions on how to proceed from here.

And then, some quick tidbits:
There is a family of bats in the roof of Mardy's porch. Every time I step outside in the evening I can hear them screeching away, but luckily the door is enough to keep that sound out. I haven't seen them yet but I'm keeping my eyes peeled.

Apparently mosquitoes have a period of extreme activity, which is sometime from the beginning of evening until nighttime. Considering how long that window of time is right now, it's a slaughterhouse.

I keep remembering to mention something here and then forgetting when I go to put it down.

Since this post is already long, I'll put Yellowstone in another one.

Yellowstone

How crazy is this? I spend the entire day, from dawn to dusk, in the great national parks of Yellowstone and Grand Teton, and still my closest encounter with wild life happens as I'm trudging back, exhausted, to my cabin. I was a few steps away from the porch when I heard a "thud thud thud" to my left. When I turned I saw the white butt of some ungulate bounding away from me a mere five feet or so away. She probably would have kicked me if she was any closer. There's this large bush near the cabin, and since it was already twilight and she was well obstructed, neither of us saw each other until I had almost run into her.

I froze, she froze at a safer distance, we stared at each other, and then I crept into my cabin and opened my curtains without turning on the light. Once she was certain that I wasn't coming out to attack her she started grazing again, right outside my window. I watched her meander around, stopping occasionally to stare my way with huge, mickey mouse ears outstretched, (don't think she could see me, but you never know) until it got so dark all I could see was the white of her tail and the dark shadow of her ears when she moved. Eventually I couldn't see even that, so now I'm typing this up.

This day was too full for me to write about exhausted as I am, never mind this week.  I saw a ton, learned a ton, drove 300 miles, and now I need to pass out and write up a more in detail report later tomorrow.

Badassery

In the mornings I read incident reports for all public parks in the nation. They have taught me a few things.

1) There's a suicide or an attempted suicide almost every day in public parks.
2) If it weren't for rangers and trained rescuers there would also be a lot of dead hikers and climbers in the parks.
3) Water and cold are deadly.
4) Some people are just bad ass. Case in point:

On Tuesday, a 52-year-old woman headed out from the Farewell Gap trailhead on a solo day hike as part of her training for an ultra-marathon. She hiked up Farewell Canyon, crossing Franklin Creek on a snow bridge. On her return trip, the snow bridge collapsed underneath her and she fell into the creek. She was swept downstream under the snow for 30 to 40 feet before being able to stop herself. She stood up in the creek under the snow, but had no access to the surface. Using her hands, she dug through about five feet of snow and created a small hole, then threw her backpack out of the hole. It was seen there by other visitors, who went to examine the pack and found the woman under the snow nearby. By that time, she'd been trapped in the creek under snow for over three hours and was hypothermic and incoherent. One person pulled her out while another went back to the trailhead to summon help; the other members of the group helped warm her. Rangers and a park helicopter with a medic on board were dispatched to the scene. When the rangers arrived, the woman declined either evacuation or medical assistance. The rangers helped her return to the trailhead. [Submitted by Dana Dierkes, Public Affairs Officer]

Wild Archival - Day 24

Last week was the first in which I seriously felt like an Archivist. I just finished the bulk of my folder level inventory, which is basically a list of folders that researchers used to get a beat on what is available in the collection and narrow their search. I wasn't sure if it was any good, because even though I had done my research  a general lack of experience meant that I was asking myself questions constantly. Was I prioritizing the right projects? Was I doing work that's usefulness was appropriate for the time spent on it? Were the results going to be understandable to anyone but me? The folks at the center had been very supportive and enthusiastic about my work, but they weren't really overseeing it.

I ended up reprocessing a large portion of a collection as well. It had been put into our system in more detail than any other part of the archives, but all the material was then thrown into a box and finding any of it was impossible. So I ended up spending a day refoldering things and fixing little errors that cropped up along the way. The whole time I was thinking, am I getting distracted from the more important business at hand? Processing is very time consuming, and there was still a lot of other stuff to be done.

Well, on Friday I had my first researcher come in. He was a nice guy, looking for information on the Muries' collaboration with other scientists in their field. I gave him a quick explanation about the organization of material, suggested a few places for him to start, and printed out my guide while warning him he was the first person to see it. I was sort of steeling myself for harsh criticism. This guy had been to a number of other archives looking for relevant material, including large university archives, so he was obviously familiar with how these things worked. I was half expecting him to go through the guide, look up, and ask, "how is this supposed to help?"

Instead he praised it (maybe cause he really was a nice guy) and then managed to use it to hone in on a pile of material that was rel event to him, which he spent the rest of the day on. The awesome part was the files he ended up pulling were the ones I had refoldered a few days ago because they were in disarray and I couldn't properly record their arrangement until it was fixed.

So my decisions were vindicated and my material was useful. At that moment I stopped feeling like a student pidling around with stuff and started feeling like someone with a little real control and authority. It's a nice feeling, let me tell you.

In non-archival news, a robin has decided the the little overhang under the Homestead porch is a great place to raise a family. This means that she has built her nest about a foot over the heads of anyone who goes into the building through front door and isn't aware that they are coming until they duck under the porch. When I saw the empty next my first thought was that I was going to be dive bombed constantly. I was correct. Three times now I have gone to make lunch or what have you and a robin has dived at me in a flurry of indignant tweeting. I figured after the first time she would realize that she had made a mistake in her planning and move the nest, but no luck. I am now going around to the side door so I'm not responsible for an avian heart attack.

Today I forgot about her and opened the front door to leave. The robin was in her nest and I saw her before pushing in the screen door. We stared at each other. She did not look amused, so I backtracked and went out the side. The neat part is you can easily spy on the nest from inside the cabin. The annoying part is getting attacked while you are lurching to the kitchen for breakfast is not the most relaxing way to start the day.

Wild Archival - Day 20?

I'm losing track of how long I've been here.

Spring has come out full force by now. The grass is growing an inch a day so that I'll be wading through it soon enough, the buttes have exploded in color, and the insects are out in full force.

I opened my door last night to a small army of mosquitoes. Five minutes out there will get you ten bites if you aren't properly covered, and I can't shut my door fast enough to keep one or two of the buggers out. I had just been told a story of a group of monks who had visited the ranch last year, and how they hadn't even swatted at the mosquitoes that probably were gorging themselves on liters of holy blood, and I've been feeling generous, so rather than kill the stray bugs out right I've just been swatting them away.

Until this afternoon, when a small swarm of them had me for lunch. At that point I was annoyed and itchy, and the mosquito population in my room had reached the unacceptable level of three or four, so I ended up killing one. Got blood all over my hands.

Most of my direct encounters with the wilderness have been with bugs. It's a good thing that spiders don't particularly bother me because they have quite the representation up here. You shake anything and a spider falls out of it. I had to trap a noisy, stupid bee in a box and throw it out of the studio one day, and who should fly out of the box when I open it but a spider. I was washing carrots, put them in the sink for a moment to put something away, and when I come back a spider is sitting on the carrot. I pull my curtain open in the morning and a spider falls onto my pillow. I'm much happier with spiders than I am with mosquitoes though, so we've been getting along fine. I just throw them out of the room once in a while.

There were also some sort of moth convention yesterday. Six huge grey moths were hanging along the side of the building and refused to move for anything. I poked one a few times and it didn't even react.

This guy was about the height of my pointer finger.

I took the path behind the center again, and the flooded area was no longer flooded, which I'm taking as a good sign.

Still looks a little unpleasant though. There were hoof tracks in the mud, but alas, no bears.

That shiny white stuff is water. The path wasn't -completely- dried out, so I had to detour through the brush at right.

This lovely little field was at the other end.

One of the many lovely little spots along the trail.

I've also been trying to take a picture of the ground squirrels but they're too timid.. They are everywhere now. When I walk between the cabins they scatter before me, but they move too quick and they stick to the tall grass, so it's hard to get a good view of them. When I got here their holes weren't really finished. They were all shallow and led nowhere, but now there's this huge pile of fresh dirt that is added to daily, even though I never catch the critters adding to it, and you can see evidence of their work everywhere.

 

 I don't get the point of this particular tunnel. Maybe there are other branches somewhere.

One of the more obvious tracks.

Work has hit a level of comfortably boringness. I've almost finished going through every cabinet in the building, and next will be rearrangement, which is always a very delicate matter.