Mud and Guts: Caving in the Wilderness

Over a year ago, I started caving. And while I say "I", no one can start themselves into caving. You have to rely on the kindness of established cavers to train you and make sure you don't do anything too stupid at first.

This calls for the head-first approach, right?

I was overwhelmed even by small caves then, but I listened to stories and dreamed about some caves that had achieved an almost mythical status in my mind.

So when I was invited to tag along with some of the most experienced, expert cavers in the country on their caving expedition in the Bob Marshall Wilderness, I accepted even with the awareness that I was probably going to pee myself in fear. Ten days in the wilderness was about 8 days longer than I'd ever been in the Wilderness before, and easily the most remote caving I had ever done. Just hiking around on the surface you are pretty much beyond rescue, let alone in the depths of the caves themselves.

Ten days of backpacking, caving, and rafting, with a group of mostly strangers--I was well out of every comfort zone I have. When the day of departure came, my farewells to my family had almost a note of finality to them.

I had one main goal: don't cause trouble for the group.

Wilderness sign...OF NO RETURN!

There were so many things to worry about that by the time I started hiking I couldn't possibly worry about them all, so I just focused on one step, one mile at a time. I stuck by the side of an older and wiser friend who tolerated my beginner-ness with saintly patience.

For the first time in my life, I didn't need an alarm clock. My inner alarm (i.e. fright) woke me consistently at 5:30-6:00 AM each morning. Afraid of being too slow and left behind, I jumped up to get ready each morning. I saw something like 9 sunrises in a row, easily a record for me.

I learned more in these days than, I suspect, an entire semester of school. I slowly got to know each of my companions and became even more awed by the company I was keeping. These were incredibly intelligent, competent adults, miles ahead of me in every aspect of life, with PhDs and life experience to their name. They taught me to run survey instruments and gain vertical caving skills. And they never passed up an opportunity to make a dick joke.

It's so big!

Every day scared me, but the work was fun. I helped map a new section of cave where no human had ever been before. In the meantime, the others were pushing deeper in a cave that would prove to be the deepest in the US. After 3 days of caving, I took a rest day to hike around and look at plants, clean my gear and nap in my tent. It was absolutely gorgeous, of course.

I thought I wanted a day to enjoy the beauty of the wilderness. But that day, as I lay in the full sun surrounded by flowers and swatting at numerous flies, I realized I would actually rather be underground.

So I went.

The next day, I found myself at the bottom of Virgil the Turtle, one of the deepest caves in the US. I had told myself around a year ago that this was the cave I wanted to get in someday, thinking it wouldn't be for a very long time. Sitting at the bottom of Virgil was a surreal experience. I wasn't sure if it was actually happening, or if I had somehow died and was having a very realistic fantasy.

Although a very dimly lit fantasy.

Then one of my companions reached over and smeared some of the abundantly present mud on my face, breaking the spell. In the midst of wrestling to try to mud him back, I realized that this was definitely real, and there was nowhere else on--or in--the earth I'd rather be.

Plenty more mud where that came from!

At the end of the trip, we floated out on tiny, inadequate rafts on the South Fork of the Flathead. Even that part was scary (maybe the scariest!)

But it wasn't with a group of strangers anymore.

Lead the way!

 I accomplished my number one goal (well, mostly), plus a few others. And I have no regrets.

The cave suit, tragically, did not survive.

In Search of Bats: Part II

It's hard to believe, but it has been a MONTH of bridge surveys. I don't know when a month has ever gone by faster.

After a month, the hardest thing about these surveys aren't the day-to-day mechanics of fieldwork, but figuring out what it means, and what sort of questions I should be investigating. I am more efficient in my surveys; I have a system, and I know what I'm looking for. I have volunteer assistants who both help me complete the surveys and keep me from going entirely crazy on my own.

My previous assistants weren't particularly good with pens.

So, what do bridge surveys really look like on the ground, and without romantic notions?

  

 Bridges come in two varieties: too big to survey, or too small. They are hundreds of feet in the air, or six inches from the surface of a gushing stream. They all look about the same from the little colored square on the GPS, so you never really know what to expect until you drive up (or sometimes, hike up) on it. They are also everywhere. You do not even realize how many bridges you drive over in a day, and probably don't care, but I have learned to care.

 I can tell when I'm driving over a bridge because I get this terrible feeling, a disturbance in the force, telling me I just missed a bridge and I've got to fight my way back to it. I am supposed to survey every bridge I encounter (let me say again, EVERY BRIDGE). Any bridge that I miss could potentially be the one to house a whole colony of bats, and I can't bear to skip even the meanest of bridges.

Start swimmin!

Once under the bridge, I have to check every crevice that could possibly house a bat. Some bridges are easy--a blank slab on the bottom, nothing more--but others have a million tiny hiding places. From the few bats I've encountered so far, I have learned the number one rule of bridge searching, Do Not Make Assumptions. Just because the research says a bat won't be in a 1-inch deep crevice 3 feet off the ground, doesn't mean you won't find one there (apparently).

Don't Make Assumptions means that I need to crawl under the nastiest, cobwebbiest bridges you can find, and stick my face directly into spiders that shouldn't exist outside a horror movie.

I've gotten soaking wet, spit cobwebs out by the dozens, rolled around in poop, fallen off precariously piled rocks, and nearly toppled into torrents of water. My volunteers have similar stories. Anyone who says this is not proper field work should go crawl in an irrigation ditch sometime and then decide. However, the bats I have found melted my heart and made me love them all over again, and I'd survey a thousand bridges for the chance to get up close with them as I have (there are adorable pictures, guys).

My workplace is also beautiful. I am unimaginably lucky to be doing this sort of work in the gorgeous Western Montana, a place that I have been taking for granted. I can camp out by beautiful mountain streams with my volunteer partner, wake up and catch the sun rising over our first bridge. I am content out in the woods, taking an evening run or reading around the fire once the work is all done. The field season is flying by, and while it can be occasionally tempting to wish it was over and all the hard decisions were already made, I try to remember to enjoy it too.

Days like these do not come around often. I have the freedom, and the company of a small but good crew, to make the most of it.

Til next time

-Batwoman

Alaska Season

When I first came to Barrow, everything around me seemed alien. From the moment I walked off the plane and inhaled the crisp 20 degree air, I didn't know what to expect.

I definitely thought the plane was going to touch down on the Arctic Ocean.

My new crewmates were immediately calling out names of birds I didn't know. On the first night, we surveyed birds from the vehicle until 1 AM (3 AM for my time zone). I was exhausted, eyes blurred from looking at tiny dots in the distance that were supposedly birds, and most of all freezing my ass off. I wondered if I was really prepared for this. At first the tundra seemed dead and cold. As the days passed, I was forced to open my eyes and really look.

It started with one tiny little buttercup blooming amongst the brown dead matter. I earned the nickname Princess Buttercup because of my excitement over this one little flower. But it meant the world to me.

When I started working up here in Alaska, birds flying overhead were just birds. The tundra was just a thick mat of brown sludge to tread over. But if I have learned anything here, it is that everything is something. By which I mean, that bird flying overhead has a name, and it matters. It might be a loon winging past, or a jaeger or a duck--maybe even a snowy owl if you're lucky. And the nameless husks of plants I walked over? I made it my goal to know them all, and fairly well succeeded.

Photo taken on the "desolate" tundra

The eider crew members became like a family, each of us with our unique quirks. On memorable occasions we cut off our own hair to fashion ourselves mustaches just to prank someone, or baked and decorated a cake just to eat it in front of the Cake Eater Road sign.

But mostly, we hiked. We walked--or more appropriately at times, slogged--through miles and miles of the tundra each day. I caught the eider bug, and came to adore the creatures (and identify them from quite a distance).

Seeing double male Steller's eiders

Another incredible part of this adventure has been experiencing a different culture and living very close to it. The Inupiat people give us permission to conduct these studies on their land, and everyone I have met has been very welcoming. We were invited to their gatherings, such as their Fourth of July games where everyone takes part in competitions. I joined in on the annual marathon (two laps around town, or 6 miles), my longest race yet.

In two short months, I have learned a considerable amount. Above all, I think I have begun to think like a scientist. It doesn't come naturally to me. But I was curious about everything I saw here. What appeals to me about science is that it all starts with that--just plain old curiosity. Without it, you have nothing.

You wouldn't have these adorable goslings!

Tomorrow is my last day in Barrow. My last day to soak up this experience. It seems like I just got here but it is already time to move on to new ventures--namely, my junior year of college. Life has to keep moving, as always. But this place is unforgettable. And I have no regrets.

I do not regret doing my required polar plunge shortly after this photo was taken.

To Barrow, to Barrow

           Another semester of school has begun, and with it more adventure as we head into spring. . . Well, granted, the semester hasn't been all that adventurous so far. Unless you count walking to school a different way every day so as to not get bored. (I've discovered a treasure of beautiful architecture around here). Or I guess, class or whatever that thing is that I'm here to do.
           Three weeks of life and no adventure, no adrenaline rush? No wonder I'm going batshit. Well, that is all to change soon. . .
           Because I've already got plans lined up for this summer, and they include this place:

                               That's right: Pluto.                          

If you'll trace your eyes up to that circled red dot there, yes, the one that is hundreds of miles from literally anywhere, that is where I will be spending my summer. The town is called Barrow. The cast? An 8 person team of researchers. Target?

No, the caribou BEHIND the duck.

         Yeahhh. Pretty sweet deal eh?
          Of course, as the actual date draws closer I will become gradually more panicked about it. WHAT IF MIDNIGHT SUN MAKES ME CRAZY? What if I'm already crazy and don't know it yet? What if I get attacked by THIS?

Dammit. Wrong photo.

How about THIS?

That's more like it.

Okay, so I'm thrilled at the prospect of seeing one of these guys. But not up close, I must admit. There's potential for walruses, caribou, bowhead whales...whew. The possibilities. . . So anyways yes, I get to saddle up and spend the summer working in Barrow, studying endangered eiders. No matter how many times I say that it never seems to get more real. . .
      Adventure one day? Hell. Yes.
      (Oh god.)

Dream Vacation

It's that time of year when college students flee somewhere warm and dry for a week, hopefully to escape the dreary Missoula spring weather. Unless you're crazy, that is, and decide to go farther north to chase the receding snow just so that you can camp in it and freeze your ass off.
       
Guilty! My very best adventure buddy and I loaded up the car and headed for Alberta to spend our spring break snowshoeing through deep crust and camping out in spring snowstorms. The Canadian Rockies were like nowhere we'd ever been before.

A scene like this ought to be narrated by Morgan Freeman.

This picture is of our trek to the toe of the Athabasca Glacier, my brother's obsession of the entire trip. I had to force him to stay off the glacier itself. Dying in a crevasse and becoming one with the glacier forever seemed not to bother him too much.

That's alright--I actually understood this sentiment. Dying in Banff amongst the towering peaks and extremes of life. . . you could a lot worse. (You know, if you HAD to die.)

For four days we explored, snowshoeing through some extreme avalanche territory, crossing semi-frozen lakes and negotiating icy trails and roads blocked in by snow. We got stuck only once in a parking lot, though that was nerve wracking enough. It was the middle of the Canadian wilderness and we had no cell service or snow shovel, a fact I keenly remembered at that point.

After the car got stuck we were both a little shaken, especially when the snow began to flurry and the clouds descend. There wasn't an open winter campsite around for hours of driving. When I saw a sign for an open hostel in the middle of nowhere, like a little winter oasis placed there just for us, I hurried to pull over. HI-Rampart Creek Wilderness Hostel turned out to be another wonderful part of the journey, being our first time ever staying in a hostel. As soon as we saw the heated rooms with bunk beds we were sold. Besides, the guy running the hostel seemed like he had been alone for days, possibly months, with only his adorable dog Dana for companionship.

Our last day in Canada was magic. We woke well rested from the hostel to peer outside and see that the clouds had lifted, and it was going to be a beautiful day in the Rockies.

Almost right away we came across a wolf bounding gracefully down the highway. He stayed for a few moments in front of us before leaping over the side of the road and disappearing into the valley below. It was my first time seeing a wolf in the wild, and I think I see what all the fuss is about now.

The weather held the entire day, through our trek to the glacier and exploration of steep, dramatic canyons filled with ice falls. At the end of the day we worked our way back to Banff town, which is pretty charming when you look past extensive tourism. Also, I am of legal age in Banff, so my brother and I capped off our trip with a few drinks at the bar while watching a local band, whose members wore cutoff jeans and no shoes, play songs like "I'm at Home Getting Hammered While She's Out Getting Nailed."

Despite sleeping out in a snow flurried campground that night, we stayed warm and neither of us wanted to leave in the morning. We'd been living out a dream, and nobody wants to wake up from that--but eventually it is time to return to the real world. My brother is graduating this spring and his life is moving on to working a job in Denali National Park and wherever he wants to go after that. And it's time for me to finish up the semester with as much grace as I can manage, and set off on my own new adventure alone in the Arctic tundra.

Life moves on, but we'll always have the pictures. 

Hitchhikin' Through Life

          The summer may be over, and the drudge of school has begun, but the adventures continue! For the second time, I went rock climbing outdoors (not to mention, somehow found myself walking out of the Trailhead with a new climbing harness. Oops.)
         If ever you reach a point of incredible stress in your life and just need a release, take up climbing. There is nothing quite like it. All your buzzing thoughts and worries vanish when you're high up in the sky clinging to a rock, needing to focus on your every move. Not to mention, I've made some new climber friends (making friends yay!) which is of course, always awesome.
        I also managed to kick a few things off the bucket list this weekend, including:
        1) Backpacking! Crazily enough, I spent all summer out in the woods but never did go backpacking. I went with three very good friends, in Glacier National Park of all places. We swam in the chilly waters of Gunsight Lake, danced with mountain goats in the sunset, and threw snowballs at each other on the high talus slopes. It was an amazing, breathtaking (sometimes literally, as we climbed over a mountain pass) experience.

     2) Hitchhiking. We got down to the end of the trail and discovered that the park shuttle was no longer running, and stuck our thumbs out. I felt a little ridiculous at first, but I didn't think it would be a problem--my friend Jeremy and I looked like pretty harmless youths, our giant packs giving us an air of legitimacy, so I thought. It was only 20-30 minutes before we got picked up, but that time span felt like forever, as we knew that if we didn't get picked up it was another 11 miles of walking to go. At last, we were saved by a lovely Canadian woman doctor.
          So much for helping out your fellow Americans, you entitled, wealthy white assholes. (Not that I'm bitter). Jody, thank you so much, wherever you are. I learned a good lesson from this one though--you never know when you're going to be the one stranded at the side of the road. Do a person a good turn whenever you can.

    3) Riding a motorcycle over Going to the Sun road. I've wanted to do this ever since I first went up Going to the Sun in a car. Let me tell you. It absolutely cannot compare to doing it on a bike. I rode pillion behind Jeremy on his bike, so I was free to just look. And I did. My eyes were bloodshot from the wildfire smoke afterward, and I was sore as hell from hiking 22 miles and then sitting in one cramped position on the back of the bike. But it was soooo worth it.

         The real adventure of the trip? Getting to do all this with good friends at my side. We signed the hiker register at Sperry Chalet "Happiness is only real when shared."

                                                        
                     

Oh yeah, the rest of spring break

I realize my last post turned into another cake rant post, but I did other things this spring break (just barely--that cake took me a shockingly long time). I explored nearby national monuments with my trusty travel companion, i.e. my brother, and had some pretty hilarious moments.  I'm starting to think we are going to travel the world together, he and I. I think it's in our blood somehow because we equally share this enthusiasm to see everything, be it outside our front porch or thousands of miles away. Not only see it, but get our darn picture taken beside it. Must be kind of like the way dogs have to pee on everything--we need a picture with everything.

Must. . . take. ..  fake teepee picture!

It's more than that though, I think. I'm not sure why, but we are both hungry to experience everything life has to offer. Whether that's snowshoeing in ten degree weather or surviving in the Alaskan bush for two weeks.So far we've been protected on our little adventures, whether by divine intervention or simple beginner's luck. For me, I never know if I'll wake up the next morning with all joy and happiness stripped from my life. So I take it while the getting is good--perhaps it's a blessing in disguise that way.

Anyway, spring break! Gosh I get sidetracked. After our trip to Pompey's Pillar (Lewis and Clark's rest stop) we traveled out to Little Bighorn Battlefield, the famous place of Custer's Last Stand. I've thought the place was creepy before as a youth, and I can't say this trip changed my mind. "It's kind of eerie here," I told my brother.

"Maybe it's the tombstones," he said.
  Point taken. Still, I usually find cemeteries to be quiet in a peaceful way, not a creepy way. . . Little Bighorn Battlefield does not feel peaceful, even though it's dead quiet other than birds chirping. There's a stifling silence that's probably just my imagination working overtime. But my brother and I both agreed that this was not a soothing place to stop and have a picnic.
      Since I will be running a 5K later in April, I attempted to get ready for it this break. Turns out I've lost some (or all. . .) of my stamina over the winter. My running condition is pathetic right now. I went for a jog today and staggered home with the worst migraine of my life. Yeah, that was a fail.
     But you know, it was a good break. I had some really good times with old friends I had lost touch with. I rode my motorcycle nearly every day (and will have to drag myself away from it kicking and screaming). I made a little money babysitting for some of my favorite people.But the break is over, and it's time to go kick some ass, take names, and not let anything get me down. No matter what comes my way. I can whine, maybe even cry a bit, but no matter how hard it gets, I will not quit. Hear me, world? There is too much to see and do and live. Bring it on.