Portal to Portal

La légende de la chambre sept

2009-06-18T20:19:00.001-07:00

Il était une fois quatre filles qui vivaient ensemble dans une petite chambre dans un forêt, sur une montagne, au milieu du désert qui s'épand du coin sud-est d'Arizona jusqu'au Nouveau Mexique.

Deux des filles — les canadiennes — se connaissaient avant et étaient de très bonnes amies (même après le long voyage en voiture pour arriver à ce paradis américain). Les deux autres étaient des étrangères venant de côtes opposées des États-Unis.

Comment ces quatre sont arrivé à partager cette petite chambre dans un forêt, sur une montagne, au milieu du désert n'importe peu. Ce qui nous concerne c'est l'amitié rapide et profonde qui s'est formée entre elles. Considérant qu'elles n'avaient pas de contrôle sur leurs situations, et qu'il y avait des différences d'ages et d'intérêts, ces quatres filles étaient très chanceuses. Et très contentes.

Durant leurs semaines ensemble dans cette petite chambre dans un forêt, sur une montagne, au milieu du désert, les filles on parlé beaucoup, rit beaucoup, fêté beaucoup (surtout ceci), et partagé beaucoup. La vie quotidienne dans une place si isolée peut être très difficile, mais ensemble elles ont formé de beaux souvenirs inoubliables.

Ce qui leurs ont arrivé après leurs semaines ensemble n'est pas connu, mais on peut être certain qu'elles sont toujours amies et qu'elles pensent à leur temps dans cette chambre dans un forêt, sur une montagne, au milieu du désert avec un grand sourire et le levé d'un verre.

-FIN-

Our infamous door.

We celebrated anything we could think to celebrate.

Kate blowing out a candle wedged in a plastic cup in honour of her 1/2 birthday.

Speaking of infamous... here we are dressed as the Royal Court of Shitlandia in celebration of 7/12th Halloween.

(Shitlandia is the loving nickname of the wetlands that volunteers had to weed)

The knight, princess, and queen of Shitlandia with their flag.
(designed by Chris)

The knight of Shitlandia with the official crest.

The princess of Shitlandia in her official crown.
(we realized one day we were playing scrabble with these letters missing. Ha ha!)

Kate came to 7/12th Halloween as bycatch.
Go nerdy or go home! Love it!

Chris looking really excited about the traditional spraying of random pink string for when a 1/2 birthday is celebrated when it is really one's 1/4 birthday.

Chris' happy 1/2 birthday paper plates hung in our escape pod (tent in the middle of the woods)

Kate, Meg, and I as saguaro cacti at the Arizona Desert Museum
Go dorky or go home! And dress the same when you do it...

I cannot expess how lucky I feel to have made such amazing friends at the Station. Miss you guys a ton! Can't wait for road trips to Oregon and New York for visits.

Hope the planning for 7/12th Christmas are coming along!

Stay strong and don't let the Station eat you alive.

Culture shock

2009-06-17T11:33:00.000-07:00

We went over the border into Canada yesterday. It was exhilirating to finally see the signs and get here. A moment we had been waiting for since we left the beauty of Bryce and started our marathon drives across the mid-west. For the first bit, the sun was shining brighter, the grass grew greener, and the road seemed like it was paved yesterday. I missed the desert, but was excited to see lakes and rivers and dark rock.

Then we got to the cities.

Out of nowhere, I had a strong urge to do a uwie and drive back to the southwest. Back to sparseness and empty highways. Hamilton and Toronto are nice cities for the most part, don't get me wrong, but what's with everyone running around trying to get places and driving like idiots and commuting every day to a job they hate in this humidity? And ten-lane highways? And urban sprawl? And strip malls?? I immediately recognized my unhappy feeling as urban culture shock.

Before we left the station, all my daydreaming about Ottawa revolved around going to exotic restaurants, sitting on patios, going to the movies, and being able to get what you want when you want it... Having seen urban life again and being reminded of its hectic noise and frantic rat-race attitude, my daydreams are mostly about Algonquin Park, friends' cottages, and walks through the Gatineaus. And, more importantly, the possibility of getting out again and returning to dirt roads and fitting in when wearing a cowboy hat. This feeling will likely dissipate when I am reunited with the town and people I love, but for now my car is pointed east, but my soul wants to go south.

The People Make the Place (The Hula Hoop Series)

2009-06-10T06:07:00.000-07:00

These are the very fine and fun people I have spent the last weeks with and am leaving today.

In order of the hoop:

Ming
Mount Holyoke College / Ewha | Bird Girl
Famous for: almost beating everyone at Scrabble,
shooting back whiskey without batting an eye (until it hits her)
Hula Hoop Skills: Super cute and stylin'!

Chris
Howard University | Lizard Guy
Famous for: knife throwing, rattlesnake wranglin'
and always with a smile.
Hula Hoop Skills: Super fast! It's practically hitting his chin!

Krista
Arizona State University | Hummingbird Girl
Famous for: carrying a long pole wherever she goes, randomness
Hula Hoop Skills: Awesome! And extra points for hulaing in pjs!

Meg
Fordham University | Medicine Girl?
Famous for: best laugh of all time, grabbing life by the...
Hula Hoop Skills: Super slick; kept going even when the creepy lizard people descended.

Matt

University of Puget Sound | Lizard Guy
Famous for: awesome t-shirts, defying biology by surviving with no sleep
Hula Hoop Skills: an impressive three seconds!

Laura

University of Puget Sound | Lizard Girl (but secretly a slug and snail girl)
Famous for: optimism about one day having data, being awesome to hang out with when she can squeeze in a rare minute to hang out
Hula Hoop Skills: It's levitating! Cool!

Sandy
University of Puget Sound | Tree Lizard Girl
Famous for: Canadianism, search and rescue coordinator
Hula Hoop Skills: She can hula with her knees! Awesome.

Brittany
University of Puget Sound | Lizard Girl
Famous for: burning the midnight oil, taking long walks in the woods
Hula Hoop Skills: so fast, the picture's blurry!

Bob
Retired and happy | Bird Guy
Famous for: fastest evening cleaner of SWRS history,
keeper of the Cheezit Mouse
Hula Hoop Skills: kept going back for more. Just like he does with SWRS.
Super props for the supervolunteer. Fare well Bob!

Ed
University of Maryland | Needed Something To Do This Summer Guy
Famous for: being Ed from Ed and the Popettes, need I say more?
Hula Hoop Skills: Yet to be seen playing a sport without a beer in his hand
and his ability to pull it off never ceases to amaze.

Chris
Trent University alumnus | Dipteran Girl
Famous for: creative photographic genius, cabbage patching
Hula Hoop Skills: Extra points for style and throwing her neck out for the cause

Denise
On sabbatical | Social Science Girl ("what's with that?")
Famous for: most back-to-back evening cleans,
getting black eyed by a cactus
Hula Hoop Skills: Super fly. Until I reached for my beer...

Stephen
College of Wooster | Plant Guy (for six weeks at least)
Famous for: getting up before the birds, headbutting a mountain
Hula Hoop Skills: surprised himself with his mad ability

Stacey
University of Puget Sound (prof) | Lizard Person
Famous for: keeping up her students' morale, funny stories of SWRS past
Hula Hoop Skills: worth pressuring to see! Way to go!

Kate
Oregon State University | Drought Girl
Famous for: studying drought in the rain, being a roommate from heaven
Hula Hoop Skills: you try hulaing when trapped in a net...

Wade
Former SWRS Station Director | Lizard Guy
Famous for: recounting Station lore, winning best costume for coming as The White Man at 7/12th Halloween
Hula Hoop Skills: not worth creasing the cummerbund

--

Thanks for the great party guys!

We'll miss you too!

2009-06-09T14:13:00.000-07:00

Yup. That's me. And that's a rifle. A real rifle.

I have been debating on whether to post about this and whether to include any pictures, and have decided to just be controversial, go balls out and put it out there.

I shot guns. A bunch of them.

Our very sweet volunteer coordinator, P.D. — who coos at bobcats, wears socks with sandals, is very educated and in touch with his sentimental side — owns, carries and shoots a lot of guns. He lives on a beautiful desert property that includes a big pit with two old, beat-up refrigerators and fire extinguishers he uses for target practice. We were invited over on one of his days off to give it a shot.

Chris took the opportunity last time she was here and this time to get experience handling and shooting a rifle. She hopes to do remote field work and being able to handle arms (for protection from large predators) is often a job requirement. She did awesome. No grizzly or lion would dare even try for a nibble.

As for me, well I would be surprised if I ever applied for a position that asked for firearms experience. They generally haven't been shown to be good communications tools (though some may argue the contrary). I went along because it was a likely once-in-a-lifetime chance to know what it feels like, in a safe environment.

I actually expected that my comfort with guns would diminish rather than get better with the experience. And I was right. Save for one little unexpected happening - for a moment there, despite myself, I had fun. Getting the bullet where you aim it feels good. Staying steady when the rifle almost knocks your shoulder practically out of its socket feels good. Not being scared or too intimidated feels good.

The first shot was bad. Louder and stronger than you expect, and my aim was atrocious. But as the afternoon progressed, I got the hang of it and gained confidence. Confidence is important when shooting guns. Nervous is the last thing you and the people around you want to feel.

I had one very uncomfortable moment with the tinee-tiny Laura Croft thigh-holster gun. I didn't think it was an automatic and just squeezed the trigger again after the first shot assuming nothing would happen. It went off. My heart almost stopped and I realized fully how dangerous these things are. They can kill people. Like, for real. After that, I was uneasy for a while.

Then I shot a massive revolver with a kick-back so strong that I had to watch the butt of the gun didn't hit my forehead. Once I got the hang of that gun I found myself hitting the targets, really getting into it and wanting to just keep shooting.

The following picture (and the video I will not post) gives me the willies. I'm sorry if it does for you too. But I do look like I could be Indiana Jones' fearless sidekick...

After I stepped back and thought about it, I felt sick. I don't want guns to be something to enjoy. And I could see how people get into them. I could see how I could get into them. I am in favour of hunting for food and have no problem with registered rifles designed for hunting or protection in the depths of the Amazon, but having guns people can buy and own that are designed to kill people is something I am very uncomfortable with. And I don't know how I feel about having shot some.

P.D. talked about it for a bit and it was obvious he fully supports the right to bear arms. He carried a concealed gun in Houston all the time. He told us that in every state that implemented laws allowing concealed weapons (40 in total) the crime rate has gone down. Every one. I suppose his philosophy and logic is well-meaning, but I just can't handle the idea that you can be walking around your grocery store and people around you can be carrying deadly weapons.

P.D. with his holster and I with my wee lady gun.

And I had to wonder on the repercussions for Canada. If the US didn't have such a strong gun culture, people who want to do bad things may have better access to guns because of cross-border smuggling. But who knows, I'm just making stuff up with no information.

After we were finished shooting, we had some cokes and went and looked at the bobcat kittens. A nice way to get warm and fuzzy feelings back.

--

Well, I feel better now that it's all out in the open. I certainly don't think I'll jump at the opportunity to shoot guns again, but I don't regret going out that day. And it did help me unload some pent up anger at the evil refrigerator industry...

The Return of the Persistent Cowboys

2009-06-08T10:18:00.000-07:00

I had a feeling we couldn't leave this place without seeing at least one of them one more time....

Yesterday before dinner, Chris and I were off in the woods having a beer and chatting, and when we got back Meg and Kate told us we had had visitors. Cley, of Rodeo Tavern Cowboy fame, came by looking for us. Nobidy knew where we were, and he said they would return after dinner. As promised, I wasn't even done my brownie and ice cream when a big truck pulled up and two cowboys stepped out. Carter wasn't one of them -- apparently he went back to Willcox -- but Cley brought his buddy Wes. I guess to have someone for Chris to fawn over. Very considerate of him.

Wes was the rancheriest rancher I have ever met. Sweat-stained cowboy hat, bad sunburn, bad grammar, cockiness and horseshit on his shirt. For real. And he knew before he left with Cley to come stalk us that he was going to be seen by two lovely Canadian ladies...

They stepped out of the 3/4 ton truck with cans of Coors in their hand. What a turn on! We got hugs and the whole sad song and dance about us not calling. So Cley had come to whisk us away for the evening. He knew we were leaving soon, because his friend was at the Tavern when we stopped in to buy a shirt for Beth. You can't do anything in this calley (pop. 250) without the word getting around!

So the activity he proposed for that night was "driving around and having a few beers". How did he know that drinking and driving is our favourite activity??! I Asked him about the DUI he told me about last time and he said it was finally cleared up. He said this while opening a second can of beer. Coors Light this time. We made a comment about him working on his next infraction, and he laughed and said that was one of the reasons he came back to live here. To drive drunk and get away with it, essentially. His status was quickly deteriorating from "Slime Bucket" to "Super Slime Bucket". And outside of the jubillant atmosphere of the Tavern, it was less funny.

Meanwhile, Wes was slurring the same three questions to Chris and trying his best to stay upright.

On their thirs beer now, they tried their best to convince us to drop the plans that we had (that I sort of exaggerated the importance of) and go with them. We compromised by chatting with them briefly in the parking lot of the Station (getting looks and sly smiles from the volunteers and researchers walking by). Most of the conversation involved telling them we wouldn't go with them (or sleep with them) and avoiding their flirtations ("No, Cley, I will not tell you I love you in French..."). At this point, I couldn't resist asking about Mindy. You'll remember, Mindy was his "kinda sorta" girlfriend that lives in Tuscon and showed up unexpectedly the last time we saw the boys at the Tavern. I had nothing to worry about, though. Cley told me they "split sheets" last week. Lucky me.

When we asked for Carter, the two got all jealous of how the "nice guy" was the ones the girls wanted. They should really learn to take a hint.

Anyway, they finally drove off, drunk and honking. We got Carter's last name and Cley's mailing address so we'll send them postcards from Ottawa and be done with it.

End of Chapter.

Good grief!

The Bisbee buzz

2009-06-07T10:25:00.000-07:00

When your whole life revolves around a few acres and the same group of people, it's nice to get out and have a dose of what we consider "normalcy"; i.e., pavement, coffee shops, restaurants, stores, bars, strangers, anonymity. We'd been to Douglas a few times, but the highlight there is a Walmart and delicious carne asada (burritos). A few days ago, the night we saw the rattlesnake (see following post), we ventured further west and visited Bisbee, Arizona. It was so interesting and refershingly different that we went back yesterday with the room-7 posse.

It has all the stores and anonymity we crave, but as one of the "quirkiest towns in America" it isfar from normal.

Bisbee started as a mining town. No need to look that up on the web to know it, though. This pit is the first thing that greets you:

Then in the 1970s, long after the bottom feel out of mining, the artists and hippies started to flock here and eventually made it was it is today: antique shops, copper and turquise art shops, live music, art everywhere and an endless and varied array of odd characters. Tie-dyed shirts and hemp bags are still in fashion here, and lots of people just hang around in the parks and walking their dogs, and drive around in beat-up vintage trucks or art cars.

This place is really different compared to our Arizona experiences up to date. It felt like when we turned to corner after the mining pit, we were transported to a different far off familiar land. It was like being in Nelson, BC actually. Most of the town is uphill, people often don't pickup after their pooches, life happens at the coffee shop, and walls canvases.

See the B on the mountain? Common here. Douglas has a D.
Then again, Sudbury has a giant nickel, so who am I to talk...

I think this was the dog park.

My favourite.

And then there is the bizarre cornucopia of hilarious signs.

Can't... go... on... must... shop...

AAARGHHHH!

At first I thought it would be a great place to hang out for a while, but the throngs of tourists (and we were there in off season), lack of affordability and pot smell I think would drive me batty. Nice place to visit though. And I love spending afternoons poking around semi-affordable three-storey antique shops. If you are ever in Arizona, be sure to stop into this "Liberal Oasis in a Conservative Desert".

Encounters on Highway 80

2009-06-06T20:08:00.000-07:00

The other day, Chris, myself, Meg and Chris (aka "Lizard Chris" or "Boy Chris") went on a big day trip to Douglas, Mexico, and Bisbee. After enjoying the luxury of eating pizza not cooked at the Station, we made our way home. The sun had set and we rode home in the dark. Out here that means wildlife running across the roads. Usually it's bunnies and jackrabbits, but we were in for a treat this night.

I was sleepily looking out at the mountains, flashes of lighting and what was likely fires starting, when suddenly Boy Chris let out an expletive and swerved quickly in the road. He backed up muttering something about hoping he didn't kill it. We asked what "it" was and he replied "rattlesnake" in the same tone someone would say "toaster". So, um.... why are we backing up toward it??

Here's the funny thing about biologists. Most have a specialty. And they, like, are in love with whatever they study and have little brain room for the rest of the animal/insect/plant kingdoms for the most part. Chris is a lizard guy. He likes reptiles. He made no attempt at even braking lightly for the rabbits or foxes or other creatures crossing the road, but a rattlesnake must be protected at all cost. Cute, I guess...

Anyway, so we stop in the road (luckily not at all busy, as usual), put the flashers on and all piled out to look at this man-eater. And there it was. Unharmed, beautiful, and none too pleased to see us. It was also in the middle of the road. Chris pulled out the 2-foot-long box for a tripod he bought that day and started to poke the snake. Yes, poke it.

Unsurprisingly it coiled up, hissed and rattled its tail. Surprisingly, it didn't lunge and sink its teeth in Chris' leg. That would have made for a bad night. This is the closest I dared get to get a photo:

Chris seemed unfazed and actually did get the little guy to the relative safety of the shoulder. Just as this was achieved, we noticed headlights in the distance. We quickly threw the box and ourselves in the car and started to buckle up when the headlights approaching turned on the red and blue flashing lights. Cops. Two vehicles marked "Sheriff" pulled over, one in front and one behind. One humourless man walked up and asked us what we were doing. Luckily the snake was still in view so our story didn't sound crazy. He mumbled something to his companions and then, without a word to us or acknowledgment of Chris asking whether they had a pole to poke the snake away further, they drove off in a rush, narrowly missing the rattler Chris practically risked his life to help off the road. Not everyone sees these snakes the way we did that night.

I feel lucky for having seen one, but I will be even luckier if I don't ever see one again. Or, at least, don't have to poke one.

By the time I get home, I will be...

2009-06-05T11:33:00.001-07:00

unable to wash one more dish (sorry JJ!).

an expert at stream crossing.

an expert at climbing over barbed-wire fences.

able to identify all sorts of birds ...that don't live in Canada.

craving a job that lets me keep working outside.

unable to sleep in a room by myself.

unable to function without Chris around.

more confident in myself.

still confused and scared about what the heck I'm doing with my life.

embarrassed that I only finished the one book I was halfway through when I got here; but happy for the reasons I had no time to read.

salivating whenever I hear a bell ring.

craving salad and meatloaf and wondering where the endless vat of lemonade is.

an expert at pothole slalom.

finding creative ways to explain how two months washing dishes and weeding in Arizona makes me a perfect candidate for that desk job.

more aware of the trees, birds, bats, animals, insects...

drinking Ontario beer very chance I get.

wondering why everyone is still asleep at 7am on a Saturday.

trying to remember how to use a telephone.

missing Meg and Kate.

reminded of the joy of mosquitoes.

not taking for granted the amazing thing that is living walking distance to pho.

taking my place on Mae's porch with offerings of tequila.

looking for a good cowboy hangout in Ottawa.

singing new songs thanks to Dave and Kate.

hot.

stronger.

tanned.

dirty.

bruised.

scraped.

broke.

happy to see you.

Less than a week now till we point the car north and east...

Paradise

2009-06-04T12:58:00.000-07:00

"One of the Reed Daughters [first settlers here] married George A. Walker. The young couple moved to an isolated location which, because of their happiness, they named Paradise. In 1901 the Chiricahua Development Company located a vein of ore here and spent nearly half a million developing it. The isolation of Paradise was replaced by a mining town which was a Paradise for roisterers. It is now a ghost town."

- Will C. Barnes, Arizona Place Names

--

Down the road and over the mountain there is a very small town called Paradise. Though it has only a handful of residents, it is not a ghost town. At least not in the sense that the buildings are inhabited. Take a trip to the cemetery and it is clear that ghosts are there. And I don't think they're roistering.

Judd - accident in mine
1904

Mexican - Unknown
no date

Mexican Child
1928

Suddenly I understood why they had to specify this surprising burial rule on the sign:

Makes me wonder what happens to the "Unknown Mexicans" today. I can only hope they found their own Paradise one way or another.

Corralling cowboys

2009-06-02T10:51:00.001-07:00

So my first introduction to the Rodeo Tavern was Chris' amazing photo of a cowboy sitting at the bar the last time she was here. Bullets in the belt and all. I hoped that I too would get to see real live yippee-ay-kayaying cowboys.

On the night we arrived (which seems like eons ago now), the volunteers we were replacing went out the tavern for their last night here. (Due to exhaustion and the unexpected overwhelmingness and sadness of finally arriving, Chris and I chose to sit on our front porch, look at the stars, and lean on each other; an oft-repeated ritual.) A little over and hour later they returned, dejected. They told us that the tavern was under new Mormon ownership and operating under very strict rules: you were allowed two drinks in your first hour there and only one per hour afterward, and the place closed at 9pm (8pm Arizona time). I think if they ever tried that on a Saturday night in Ottawa, there would be hell to pay.

This was sad news. The prospect of seeing cowboys was rolling off with the tumbleweed. Not to mention I was looking forward to having a place to get away to that wasn't on station grounds for a little break from the politics and people.

A few weeks later we went to send off the other volunteer left. We took off immediately after eating dinner to ensure we would have at least an hour there, postponing our dishwashing duties for when we returned. We drove the half an hour to get there, leaving the cool forest and going into the warmth of the desert night.

If you are ever passing through Rodeo and wonder where the tavern is, just go through town on Highway 80 and stop where you see the most pick-up trucks. There she'll be.

When we walked in that night, though, the place was dead. There were people in the back restaurant section, but at the bar it was only us and a couple dining on deep-fried something covered in fat and smothered in cheese.

And there, over the bar, was the evidence of the former volunteers' claim:

Well, it's not like we were looking to get sauced, but I did worry about what this kind of policy would do to the atmosphere. From what I could tell at that point, my fears were justified.

This was my only cowboy encounter:

"Git along lil' lady. This Tavern ain't big enough for the two of us."

That said we had a nice night. The bartender was really friendly and he told us that the bar only closes at 9pm if there isn't enough business to keep it open. And apparently there were busy nights. So we had our two drinks, paid the ridiculously cheap tab, contributed a twoonie to their bar of coins and went home to a pile of dishes and a whack of mopping.

Fast forward a few more weeks. We decide to venture out to the pub again on a Friday night with the new roommates and Shirley the cook who had recently given her resignation and no longer had to worry about drinking with the lowly volunteers. We walk in and holy jumpin' was it ever a different story. We drove down a little later than intended and were worried it might be closed or closing, but as we opened to door we were hit with the cacophony of music, pool balls smacking against each other and the unmistakable buzz of a half-drunk bar.

And there were cowboys.

How did I know they were the real thing? The quality of the cowboy hats, the dirt on the jeans, the red necks and the spurs on the boots. Oh yes. Spurs. There were also the dressed up cowboys who were taking their ladies out. They had freshly shaven handlebar mustaches, stiffly starched button-up shirts, and shiny belt buckles. I wish I had a photo of the one with his lady friend sporting a beehive. Weren't they just a sight.

We sat at the only table left - right in the middle of the action and took it all in; wide-eyed and all a-giggle.

And we got carded. Yes ma'am!

I wish had the clock running to know exactly how much time it took from us walking in the door and having one of them dirty working cowboys pulling up a chair and asking us if we had boyfriends. It felt like seconds.

The cowboy, Cley, told us how her grew up around here, but left to be a horse handler in various states. He came back to New Mexico ranchin' when his dad needed him to take up the business. He'd only been back at it for a couple weeks. Oh, and he has a kinda-sorta girlfriend. But she lives in Tuscon. And who knows whether they're really still together and yada yada yada. Hey, I'm an honest guy, he says.

Cley and his buddies were playing pool, being buffoons, and definitely drinking way more than one beer and hour (turns out the bar is being sued by a Mormon over a drinking and driving accident, but when the boss ain't around, the rule is relaxed).

Compared to the run-of-the-mill IT/bureaucrat suitor from home, it was a hilarious and welcome change. On my request, Cley took off one of his spurs and we passed it around. Kate tried it on her sandals, but it just didn't have the same effect.

Enter Carter. Cowboy #2. Now Cley acts very much like a frat boy out past curfew, whereas Carter was the stereotypical, raised-by-his-mama gentleman. A little cleaner cut, an expensive black hat, a well-groomed mustached that curved from his nose to his chin, and polite to a tea.

Before we knew it, I had Cley saddlin' up next to me and Chris was Carter's leaning post. I had to pinch myself. Were these guys for real?

Yes. Yes they were.

Chris and I are now avoiding each other's eyes to ward off a serious giggle fit and are trying to take their songs and dances seriously with little success. Cley tells me how he's the boss of the crew there tonight (including the "honorary Meskin") and Carter tells Chris about all the Rodeo magazines that have him on the cover.

One of the station staff was in the restaurant out back and as she left she leans over and whispers to me: "Don't fall in love too quickly!" *Wink*

Far from it. He's definitely built like a cowboy, but I think our inability to achieve marital bliss may lay in a difference of lifestyle and values. Chris asked Cley what he did when he saw a wolves in the area. He answered: "I shoot 'em!" We may be naive thinking about their endangered status rather than considering the stress of the risk to a rancher's livelihood. Though, he did say that it would be great to have wolves around for tourist photo ops. Photo ops? Get real.

Oh, and the crowning glory was when he bought shots of the vilest alcohol imaginable and then went out and threw up outside. Charming.

Anyway, the idea to go out horseback riding was brought up and they offered to take us out and gave us their numbers. We realize that this would mean putting up with the flirting and figuring out more creative ways to reject their advances, but horseback riding with a couple cowboys with each other there for safety sounded like a opportunity for hilarity and fun too good to pass up.

--

A week passes and it's Friday night again. We haven't called them. But we start to wonder: will they show up again hoping to see us? Curiosity and the desire for another fun night with the girls made us go back. My bet was that they would be there.

There were some familiar faces when we walked in, but no sign of our boys. It was looking like I would lose the bet. We sat down anyway, ordered drinks, and were having a nice quiet evening of chatting and playing bad country music in the jukebox that has likely not been updated in 50 years.

About an hour later, just when the bartender was saying they were going to close in half an hour, who walks in the door? You guessed it. Carter, Cley and... wait. Who's this. Meet Mindy. Cley's kinda sorta girlfriend.

This just keep getting better and better.

Turns out Mindy had come down for Memorial Day weekend to surprise her ranchin' boyfriend. From her comments and body language, it was clear she understood that she picked the wrong night (for Cley) to tag along to the bar. Apparently the boys had been talking about seeing "the Canadian girls" again all week and Carter made them go down to the tavern in the hopes of seeing us again even with the new unexpected female element. I was practically peeing my pants at this time, the situation was so funny.

So Chris got chatted up again to little success (again) and we listened to dirty jokes and laments that we never called. It was another memorably surreal night of cowboys and awkward sporadic my-girlfriend-is-right-behind-me flirting from Cley, who had by now earned the nickname Slime Bucket. Mindy was incredibly good-natured and nice and it was another memorable evening at the tavern. This time, you will be happy to know, I did not forget my camera.

Cley putting a tip in Ben's boot.

One dollar for the sexy spurs shot.

"Hey guys! Guys! Did you notice there are ladies takin' a picture of this??"
(What can we say? It's a nice belt buckle...)

"Actually, my name is Chris."

Hat exchange - Chris in Carter's fancy hat.

Carter looking lovely in Chris'.

Ben, on the far right, probably razzing Cley for his bad-timing girlfriend.

Chris, Meg and I, showing off our new hot t-shirts.

A quick tour of the place at the end of the night:

They should change this to "Beware of Lonesome Cowboys".

Last Friday night came and went and we didn't return to the Tavern. We also haven't called them. If we're feeling like a horseback ride is worth all that fly swatting, then we'll see.

Local Politics

2009-06-01T08:18:00.001-07:00

Creepy crawlies and fuzzy wuzzies

2009-05-26T14:39:00.000-07:00

I have been having trouble getting to sleep the last few nights and my creative juices are not flowing fast enough to recount the cowboy stories, so in the meantime, here are some other weird creatures I have encountered here.

(Speaking of creepy, as I write this, Bob-the-supervolunteer is currently skinning a 41-inch dead gopher snake. Just another lazy Tuesday afternoon with a razor blade, a snake in the freezer, and time to kill.)

Lizards!

Spiny lizard

Alligator lizard

Sexy blue spiny lizard underbelly for attracting the ladies!

I came across this beauty on my daily hike. A mountain king snake! Very similar to a very poisonous snake out here (scarlet king snake), but this one is harmless. Remember: red on black, friend of Jack / Red on yellow, you're a dead fellow. Or is it the other way??? In any case, I didn't take my chances and let it be.

We found this lovely thing (Sphingidae Moth - namesake of one of Chris' much-missed kitties) flapping on the ground. Probably on her last legs (or whatever you call them). A nice opportunity to see it up close.

This cutie (screech owl) makes you think he's got his eyes closed, but he sees you! He's very little. Maybe half a foot:

A Vireo mom in her nest:

There is a Black Phoebe that nests in the eaves of the guest rooms. Here are her little puffballs of cuteness:

Speaking of the wee ones, we got to see these bobcat babies (bobkittens!) in the garage of the volunteer coordinator. And no, unfortunately we can't take them home...:

The other day I found this praying mantis on my boot. Just before it got in my boot. Probably running from a post-copulative angry female or something...

They're creepy. They turn their heads and look at you. Shudder.

And check this out! A very rare find at this time of year:

This fuzzy thing is the only proof that I saw a scorpion after lifting a rock while helping Kate with her stream experiments. It's very tiny:

It's the only of the really dangerous creatures here that I have seen. Meet the others:

How reasuring! A whole book about venemous creatures on my doorstep!

But the weirdest creatures of all are still to come...

The Roommates!!!

Meg, me, Kate, and Chris. Giggling.

Field trips: Mexico and Monument

2009-05-23T08:14:00.000-07:00

You'd think I'd be used to strange things and happenings by now. What with the resident deer that likes to sun herself by the pool, the bag that smells like (and probably is) skunk spray outside the Director's office, and the creepy football that travels around the yard even though I never see anyone touch it.

Then of course there is the endless array of bizarre plants

hummingbirds in bags

the creepy bear traps in the middle of the woods

and curious backroad signage

But strange things are everywhere and ours to keep discovering every day. This week was especially strange because of freak rains and I went on two very strange and very exciting road trips.

For the first, I went with my roommies Kate and Meg to Douglas to pick up supplies (beer and pants). With the swine flu paranoia calmed down and since Meg could cross over without a passport, we decided to go for a quick walk into Mexico.

Yup! A walk.

So with all the border madness that goes on around here, can you believe that you can walk from the US to Mexico where the only thing that slows you down is an unmanned turnstile? There is obviously very little concern of illegal immigration into Mexico. In fact, they might even be encouraging it.

We didn't stay long. It was a hot sunny day, more so because of the concrete we are so unused to. We walked around, had some tasty popsicles, poked in some shops, and bought some good tequila. Unfortunately they only let you across with one litre of alcohol so I can't come home with some for everyone. (Though I do know of one porch where a tasting party will occur on my return...)

A few pictures:

...because social work just doesn't seem to be working.

Roadside gynecology anyone?

Tecate is the Budweiser of Mexico.

Dress shops and pharmacies where you don't need a prescription are also ubiquitous.

The biggest difference between Douglas and Agua Pieta was garbage and rubble.

Once the booze bought and the sunburn had, we walked back over, this time going through an American checkpoint. The border guard asked me if I had been there before, commented on my excellent choice of tequila, and sent me on my way.

On the ride back home we saw some undocumented immigrants getting manacled by the border guard. I don't think I'll ever get used to that sight.

Monument

Field trip #2 was a fun ride in a Jeep to the Chiricahua National Monument with Chris and Meg. My little Civic would never have made it over the washboard roads littered with rocks and holes on the sides of mountains.

We each took a turn driving and laughing at the poor person stuck in the back, taking the brunt of the bumps.

Meg behind the wheel.

Chris and I. Me being a dork in the back.

Landscape just before arriving:

There is a shuttle that leaves the visitor's centre at 8:30 and it dropped us off at Masai Point. On the way up, Kathy the Park Ranger told us how a monument is designated so by a president. In this case, Calvin Coolidge in 1924. I asked her if she had any tips on seeing some of the odder wildlife out here and she said she often tells people they won't see something like a ring-tailed cat and then turns the corner to find one. Then she turned the corner and a coati ran in front of us. Very cool and cute.

She dropped us off at the top of a mountain in the middle of Arizona and we set out to find our way back to the Jeep. I had seen many pictures of the Monument, but the real thing was just breathtaking. Truly spectacular. As Kathy said, Arizona tourism is built on erosion. And what lovely volcanic rock erosion it is:

You can see why they called it Masai Point.

The desert seems to always be around the corner out here.

A hoodoo on the Heart of Rocks trail towering over Meg.

They look eerily like people sometimes...

Balanced Rock (with Foreshadow Rock in the background)

Old Maid

Defying gravity. Made us a bit nervous about walking under these guys!

Punch and Judy. Where we ate our dry bread and cold cut sandwiches. The typical Station "sack lunch".

Kissing Rocks. Aw.

Go see Chris' poetic Monument photos too.

We finished the trail in a speedy four hours and went back over the twists and turns and bumps of mountain to home sweet home. We were lucky - it rained cats and dogs the next day (very unusual for this time of year).

Now that the rain seems to have abated, more fun will be had and more posts posted.

Stay tuned next time for... "The Cowboys of the Rodeo Tavern!" Yippee-ay kay-ay.

While everyone else was clubbing and going to church

2009-05-17T15:46:00.000-07:00

What an eventful twelve hours!

As many of my friends in Ottawa will attest, I have been water deprived and looking enviously at the forecast back home, asking for packages of rain to be sent my way.

I don't know what you guys did, but thanks for listening. The awe-inspiring lightning was a nice touch.

Sheet lightning storm!!

Chris took some amazing photos and posted them on her blog. Totally worth checking out.

The rain came and went quickly and after a short sleep, I got up extra early (5am) to start hummingbird research duty to a absolute chorus of birds:

After stumbling over to the coffee machine (which, I'm embarrassed to say, we were too tired to figure out), made our way to the hummingbird feeders where these nets were set up to capture them. Susan, the researcher who makes a bi-weekly appearance to do population studies and banding was raring to go. Our job for the next five hours was to "fish" for the hummers. The nets that surrounded the feeders were mostly lifted and the long fishing lines that held them up were clipped to a stand in front of the bench we sat on. When a hummingbird landed on the feeder and the timing was just right, we let go of the clip and the net fell around him/her. Then came the fun and scary bit. We had to go grab them gently, place them in a mesh bag and bring them to the researchers.

You know, just another Sunday morning at SWRS.

Here is Chris deftly catching a feisty little thing:

Want to see more action? I placed my camera on video at the base of the netted area while I got this one:

The most amazing hummingbird here is the Magnificent. You can see why they call it that:

Oh! He blinked!

That's better.

Shimmering in the sun.

He's quite big. The little ones (blackchinned) were the most intense. They were hard to get your hand around and flew all around touching down on the net very rarely. The feeling of the wind from those little wings on my palm was impressive. And when I finally got them - being very careful not to hurt their wings - their little flexible bodies were warm against my fingertips and their little hearts were beating so fast, the whole bird was vibrating. It was an experience I'll never forget.

Sweating it out

2009-05-16T12:08:00.000-07:00

I was nervous from the moment I woke up last Saturday. A few days prior, Leesa (Station staff) invited me to participate in a sweat lodge ceremony in her backyard. I was really excited. It was a chance to experience something so unique with such a long and spiritual history in an incredibly powerful landscape. I also like physical and mental challenges. Or, that is to say, I like overcoming physical and mental challenges.

I was nervous because of the very real chance that I might not be able to go through with the whole thing. I have often felt lightheaded in saunas and do not enjoy extreme humidity. But, heck, if I can climb Silver Peak, I can do just about anything.

But nervous I remained.

Our lovely motherly cook Shirley had been to some before and answered my questions the best she could, making sure I had everything I needed:

water
a towel to bring in
a towel for the shower after
bandanna... for something important apparently
loose skirt
loose shirt
water

And away I went. I drove to Leesa's place, guzzling water and listening to Sufjan Stevens to try and stay calm. I pulled up to a lovely house behind the infamous Rodeo Tavern and, following the note on the door, made my way around back. There, I met Dori, Joyce, Mary, Maria, Gary, Malcolm, and Richard. Strangers who would soon share with me this experience. Mary was the only other newbie.

The lodge was set up at the end of the large yard that backed onto desert and mountains. It was small. Or, rather, short. The tarp-covered dome was probably no more than four feet high at the apex. It was very hard to picture all of us fitting into it. It looked a little like this.

The moon was soon to rise and we were waiting for the sky to change colour before beginning. We milled around having pleasant where-are-you-from conversation and I tried not to think about fainting and headaches and admitting defeat.

Next to the big bonfire, Richard, who was to lead the ceremony, was getting together all the supplies. When the time came, Malcolm held up a smoking sauce pan filled with burning sage to smudge each of us, front and back. Clutching my towel and bandanna but woefully leaving my water bottle behind, I went to the door, turned clockwise while saying "All My Relations" as instructed, stooped down and went through the flap.

It was dark and small. In the middle there was a shallow but wide pit and the earth between it and the walls was covered in squares of offwhite carpet. Custom says women go in first and you must crawl clockwise all the way around, stopping next to the person who went ahead of you. I squirmed until I found a spot without a rock poking up underneath to sit on and scootched forward because my head touched the roof (or was it the wall...).

After everyone was in, Gary went and got the first round of rocks. He shoveled the large round glowing red porous masses from the bonfire, and brought them to Richard, who used two antlers to handle them. As each of the seven rocks was placed in the centre, Leesa sprinkled cedar on each and welcomed them.

The flap was open and the moon was full so I had a chance to look around and see that the lodge frame was made with long bent branches, which were covered in woven Mexican blankets. There were wide strips of cloth and feathers hanging from the top over the pit. Looking over to Richard who sat next to the door, I could see his outline as he sang in what I believe was an Apache language while getting everything ready. I took in this silhouette and wondered how long it would be until I would see light again. Already I was sweating.

The flap was closed and everything went dark.

Round 1

Richard explained the ceremony. There are four rounds. In the first we would introduce ourselves to make sure the spirits knew who we were (apparently they can't see in the dark either) and sing; in the second we would sing to honour women; the third was the prayer round; and the fourth would have more singing and saying goodbye. He gave no sense of length. What was clear is that the heat would build as more rocks were added each time. He said he would try and go easy for the newbies but asked us all to endeavour to be strong and stick it out. His advice? Turn off your brain when it told you to get the heck out. I think he spooked Mary, the other first-timer, and she asked to leave right away. I understood how she felt, but told myself I would do my best to make it through. How bad could it be?

Everyone introduced themselves and said a few words about why they were there. This was weird for me as I wasn't exactly sure of my deeper reasons as this was such an unfamiliar thing. I told everyone I was a visitor looking to learn from the people and the land here with an open mind and heart.

It was clear from what the others shared that there was a great desire for people to find peace and lift burdens in this lodge. Though sceptical, I thought that would be nice for me too.

The temperature was rising quickly but I was feeling confident and relatively comfortable. Then Richard poured a bucketful of water on the rocks. The air got hot and thick.

The singing and drumming started. Wow! Was it ever powerful! Leesa's voice in particular was strong and beautiful. In such a small space, it was so dominating that it became impossible to think of anything else. This helped a great deal. I breathed in through my nose and enjoyed the feeling of the sweat pouring down my skin.

Though this round was bearable, I was grateful when the flap opened and the cool night air wafted in. I felt a little nauseous and headachy, but was assured this was normal. Everyone checked in on me to make sure I was doing well. Their concern felt welcoming.

Round 2

New rocks were welcomed and Richard told us about the spirits and the different forms they take for different people. He spoke of the four colours - red, white, black and yellow - and their attributes. These attributes he believed were evident in the peoples of they represented - the red (Natives) were spiritual, the white (Caucasian) were handy, the black (Blacks) were athletic, and the yellow (Asian) were experts in medicine and healing. He also spoke of how every man is 51% male and 49% female while every woman is 51% female and 49% male - that one percent being the physical. Though I could not relate to these philosophies, I tried to focus on their intent. He was preaching acceptance and others and oneself; not seeing yourself as better or worse than anyone else.

It was hard to pay close attention, though, as the heat rose. He kept pouring water and breathing became a little more difficult. I tried to take shallow breaths, but it was hard. Then I discovered the use of the bandanna which would become my best friend for the rest of the night - breathing through it allowed me to inhale deeply and shielded my face from the heat.

The singing and drumming started and I was again amazed at how much it helped to withstand the heat. After Richard finished, Malcolm sang a Christian song in English and before you know it the flap opened once more.

The second round was definitely more difficult, but neither it nor the first were long and my confidence went up. It helped that I (weirdly) had to get up and go to the bathroom, allowing for a break from the heat. The outside air was cool and refreshing. Water was passed between each round to rehydrate and pour over your head. The relief was wonderful. Like the feeling you get with the first signs of spring after a hard winter.

Round 3

More rocks! I winced with each one added. It takes a long time to shovel out seven rocks one at a time and put them awkwardly in the pit with antler oven mitts. And you knew with each glowing mass that things were just going to get that much more painful. Tortuous. But I'd been doing ok so far. The nausea and headache had passed and I survived the first two.

For this round, everyone in turn was to pray out loud to the spirit(s) in whatever way they conceived it(them). Richard started. He spoke for a few minutes about each person around the circle and blessed them. For me, he said that I was at the beginning of a journey with a lot of change in my life and wished for me the ability to follow my heart. Creepily intuitive. He then prayed for each member of his family and friends, ending each sentence with "Grandfather God". He was very eloquent and touching, but I myself was praying for him to finish. I felt shame for thinking this, but the heat was getting unbearable and he was only the first of eight of us to pray. Things were not looking good.

There are survival methods when you get overwhelmed. Seeing as heat rises, you can lie down and it becomes marginally less intense. Also, you can lift the bottom of the tarp a bit and let a little outside air in to breathe. By the middle of Richard's prayer, everyone but him was lying down with their backs to the centre, mouths against their little tunnels to the outside. It helped, but was definitely not enough to alleviate the growing discomfort. Breathing in felt like inhaling fire and I worried I would have no nose hairs by the time it was over. I breathed through my towel and to my amazement, when I exhaled it radiated coolness throughout its fibers. My breath was significantly cooler than the air. Breathe on your palm and imagine that.

My clothes were all soaked through and my skin was burning. It was increasingly hard not to express my discomfort and I found myself sighing and groaning quite a bit. I wasn't the only one and as soon as Richard finished his prayer (with the customary "Mitaku Oyasin") he opened the flap. Had he not done this, I really don't think I would have made it. I don't think I was the only one that was worried, either. That said, the other prayers were not as short as I would have liked and I guiltily wished everyone would just say a word or two so we could get out of here.

I can count the number of time I have prayed on one hand. I was very nervous about my turn. Everyone else was really baring themselves. I knew more about these strangers by the end than I do about many of my friends. Sad stories were shared and I was overcome with their honesty and openness. When my turn came I wanted to keep it short, but I actually found that once I got started it was hard to stop and I understood why everyone took their time. It was such a free and non-judgmental space. There were often sounds of sympathy or joy expressed when people spoke - conveying deep listening and empathy.

After thanking them all for being so welcoming - especially Leesa for her generous invitation to participate - I sent out a general wish for people back home and here to find peace and direction in their lives and for all, including myself, to realize that a heart that has loved and been loved can never truly be broken. I sent love to my friends and family, signed off and laid down again. It felt weird but good to speak out like that and I realized that while I was talking, the discomfort from the wet heat went unnoticed.

Once all prayers were spoken, and just when I thought I would lose it and claw my way out, the flap was opened and we were able to go outside and take a break. This rarely happens - usually you stay in the lodge between rounds with the flap open, but apparently even Richard was feeling dizzy.

The air was cool. The moon was full and bright.

Once more to go.

Round 4

Mercifully short. Two songs. Cheers and congratulations when it was over. I was starving. It was midnight. We had been in the lodge for over four hours.

Feast

We showered, smoked the peace pipe (just sage, thank goodness), ate, and looked at each other in the oddness of indoor lighting. I was surprised at how normal the conversation was. We had all been through this unbelievably intense experience and were now discussing border politics and career moves over burritos.

But when I finally left to drive back to the Station at 1am, I got meaningful looks and hugs from everyone. I was sad to leave them. This motley crew felt like family.

Epilogue

I don't know what I expected to feel. I certainly had no noticeable epiphanies or profound spiritual feelings. But waking up the next morning after very little sleep, I actually felt light and chipper and kept up energetically for the whole day. The next day I slept coma-like through breakfast for the first time but the feeling of weight lifted off my shoulders remained. Nothing drastic, but a noticeable shift. It could be I was acclimatizing or getting a ton of vitamin D, but I think the sweat lodge had some effect.

That said, I won't be clambering to do another in the near future. Maybe once time has passed and I forget the extreme discomfort I'll venture in again. For now, I'll keep myself open to other new experiences and opportunities here.

Beauté

2009-05-14T14:52:00.000-07:00

Les fleurs délicates des cactus:

Un couché du soleil blanc... Oui, blanc:

La lune énorme:

Les montagnes majestueuses:

Un moment pour soi:

L'amour:

Je t'aime papa!

Random things found in the desert

2009-05-11T19:38:00.000-07:00

The desert is endlessly mysterious and a little scary:

Not pictured: empty backpacks, clay pigeons, coyotes...

The desert is a place that attracts eccentrics:

There is certainly a lot of barbed wire in the desert.
So much so that the Rodeo Tavern put up a display of the different types.
I've been learning to climb them.

The desert is the perfect place to write your name in the night:

But tonight, I'm nestled in the cool mountain forest.

G'nite!

Bats!

2009-05-10T09:41:00.001-07:00

One of the benefits of this gig is that you can pretty much tag along to any of the biological courses or studies happening here. Now, I am clearly not a biologist. But living things are pretty great, and learning about stuff is groovy. I tell ya, this dabbling in random specialties really fits well with my generalist tendencies.

So, the "bat people" (formally known as Bat Conservation International) were here this past week. I heard a lot about them before they arrived and expected a bunch of hollow-eyed, pale nerds. They were actually quite normal. Too bad. So much less interesting... I was still intrigued, though, and drawn to their odd lifestyle. Birders get up at 5am to get their worms, whereas the bat people stay up late, drink lots of coffee, and don't start work until sunset. My kind of people.

And, heck - it's not every day you get to see a bat up close.

So I asked to tag along to their evening of catching and identifying. Before you know it, there I was hopping across a creek helping them put up giant "mist nets" to catch the little guys. I wasn't able to handle any of them as I don't have my rabies shot, but I got to watch and learn. Aside from ingesting literally a mouthful of small bugs while setting up the harp trap, it was amazing.

The first ones I saw were cute and much smaller than I would have imagined:

Measuring this bat's tragus

Here is one of the course participants handling what I think is a Brown Bat. She seems to suspect it might have "that furious stuff", a type of rabies. Shiver. And listen to the clicking.

Then I was asked to take a bat over to the fun folk from USDA who were there taking saliva and blood samples for a rabies study. Once the bats were measured and weighed by BCI students, they were put in an opaque bag and hung in trees while waiting to be transported. They tend to hang out there upside down pretty peacefully until moved. I went to carry one to the research picnic table and had my first listen to the chilling sound of the Hoary:

I was never afraid of bats before, but felt I might be by the time the night was over.

One hoary got caught in the net and was really freaking out. As you can see I wasn't the only jumpy one:

Considering the woman in the right of the this video practically got her finger eaten off and went through a varied array of profanities when taking one off the net earlier, it's clear this is not a popular bat. Even for apprentice bat people.

Here's a better look at the fellow (note the fangs):

(I have to admit, I struggled a wee bit with seeing the little guys getting caught, manhandled and being so distressed. A lot of the studies here require capture and it freaks out the animals - I am not entirely comfortable with the idea, but will try and look at it through the eyes of a biologist. The intention is ultimately to maintain and protect populations as well as monitoring things like rabies and other things that can affect us as well.)

It was late when I got back five hours later and I was tired, but the adrenaline was flowing. What an amazing opportunity! I never ever thought I would do anything like it. To my delight, one of the instructors said I was very handy with the nets and told me to look him up once I got my rabies shots. Well, this could have been the worst pick-up line of all time as far as I know, but if not, maybe I'll consider a career as a bat conservationism...

Unlikely, but new bat people are back next week and I'm excited to go out in the field again. Bats are way cooler than birds. And the t-shirts are better too.

Silver Peak

2009-05-09T10:52:00.001-07:00

Chris and I climbed Silver Peak on Wednesday, a 3,050-foot climb to an 8,000-foot elevation. 4 1/2 miles each way (yup, I'm a true American now).

The six hours went pretty much like this:

Up, up, up, up, up, owie, owie, owie.

Standing triumphantly at the peak and marvelling at the amazingness of the world.

Down, down, down, down, owie, owie, owie.

Ok, it was more than that...

Chris resting halfway up the climb under the Juniper tree

Denise resting halfway up the climb (pleased with herself... so far)

We often had to walk over broken rock (mildly disconcerting). These ones had a surprising sound underfoot:

Feels like walking on (walking on) broken dishes. (I know. I take weird videos... but doesn't it make you feel like you're really there with me?)

So there is a point where the elevation is high enough for the habitat to actually be called "Canadian". Trippy. And nice. I took in the dark brown dirt and shade and familiar conifers.

Weird to actually be behind these features I have admired from the road.

Chris at the top! (take 2 or 3? Check out her 2007 hike.
Ha! Note the identical pic! Hilarious.)

I made it! Cool as a cucumber. (Actually, it was really hard...)

Proud of myself.

Nice view of the Station. Can't you see it?

View from the top:

Yes, I am obsessed with panoramas.
What can I do? Life here is a 360-degrees affair.

Suicidal lizard.

Suicidal squirrel (and desert)

Steep descent to start the climb down. And the outhouse.

One of the 1,543 or so switchbacks

A ways to go still.

Just past here, Chris and I seemed to simultaneously speed up. The sun was getting higher and hotter and our knees were about to give way. We made it and drove home with Chris' feet out the window and me driving barefoot. We booted it and made it in time for lunch to the amazement of everyone. Tough cookies we are.

The rest of the day was spent on our porch with beer and scrabble.

Desert wind, desert sunset

2009-05-05T20:43:00.000-07:00

Stepping out into the desert as the sun was slowly setting over the mountains is a sensation I wish I could put in a jar and open when I need comfort and grounding.

The desert wind is warm and it is deep. It feels like it has come from far away places and is bringing us tales of the places it's been. Places without worry and harm.

Then you look around you and see this.

Most wonderful few hours here yet.

Lines in the sand

2009-05-01T16:41:00.000-07:00

I went to a gun shop on my day off. It was a small building behind the feed store and quilt shop on the corner of hwy 80 and the road to Portal. Once again, for me, the middle of nowhere. I walked in and a big tattooed man was by the counter in the cramped dark shop with a rifle in his hand. My leg was then attacked by two very cute puppies...

Sometimes it feels like I'm in a bad Tarantino knock-off. It's just as weird and unevenly paced, but the people are slightly less badass.

The reason I was in a gun shop in the middle of nowhere is that I was looking for a good sturdy water bottle. In the mania of my departure I came here without any and I was seriously worried that my disposable bottle from Oklahoma I've been reusing would literally melt one day. This place was not the first place I would think to look, but the natural foods store in the middler of nowhere (see pic) directed me that way. And there aren't too many options out here.

Turns out they did indeed have good bottles. The big man (who had put away his gun) and I got chatting at the cash and when he found out where I was from, brightened and told me he was from Montana. He then gave me $5 off - a discount for a fellow "northerner". Wild. Until very recently, I couldn't point to Montana on a map and it would take almost as much time for me to drive there fro home as it did to get here.

And then I crossed the highway and visited the very odd Chiracahua Desert Museum. The woman there was from Michigan and we also had a moment of regional-origin bonding. Michigan is much closer to Ottawa than Montana, but I admit I have never before thought of Michiginians as kindred. Maybe it's the Canadian we're-not-American attitude. Or maybe, like those who ask us about polar bears and igloos, I have that annoying perspective that as soon as you cross the border, everyone drawls, doesn't "get" winter, and will step over you for a buck.

This got me thinking about affiliations and borders. Does an Arizonan who sets up a gun shop in Canada give a Chihuahuan customer the "southerner" discount on water bottles?

The border here, though, is an entirely different beast than ours.

Alberta meets Montana:

source: wikipedia

Arizona meets Sonora:

The white trucks on the left (US) are border patrol.

source: wikipedia

Ok, I realize my photo choices are highly manipulative, but the border has an incredible and surreal presence that is hard to describe.

As I recounted in my first post, we became aware of the closeness of Mexico while driving through New Mexico when we were redirected through border patrol. We were waved through without so much as a sideways glance, but we did see a car that was pulled over and being examined by dogs.

And then, as we neared the Station for the first time, we were greeted by this warning:

This was hard to believe. The road really is winding, climbing, and leads to very little other than national parks, camping and the Station. But just about every time I drive to town I see white border patrol trucks with the paddywagons in the back. I first interpreted this as paranoid patrolling, but I have now seen four Mexicans walking the desert roads.

It was my first or second full day here when I saw the first trio - two men and one woman. She was lagging behind the men and they were all deep, deep shades of brown and red. All they had were the clothes on their backs and a jug of water. The strange thing, though, was that they were walking in the general direction of Mexico. I expected to see people trying to get as deep in to the States as possible. It was the same with the fourth guy I saw walking alone south on hwy 80. He also just had a jug of water and that's it. Through he at least was wearing a hat.

Here's another panorama to give you a better idea of the terrain these people are walking through. I'm in the middle of hwy 80 at the intersection with the road to Portal. It's oddly overcast.

People at the Station told me that often people cross over illegally to work for a day or sell drugs or who knows what and then get on the busy roads and start walking, waiting for a border patrol truck to pick them up and drive them home. I never would have guessed. But apparently border patrol usually does little more than drop you off over the border. With the huge volume of people doing this, it may be the only way to manage it. Recently, though, I've heard that the chances are higher that they will keep you a day or two in prison before letting you return.

When Chris and I were in Douglas - a city right on the border - we saw a building surrounded by walls and barbed wire. We stopped at the gas station about 50 feet away from it and looked up to see two men in orange suits on the second floor walkway of what was indeed a prison. Wild. There were surveillance cameras in the fields around the border and apparently last time Chris was here there were motorized platforms with snipers. I guess it would have been interesting to see this, but I'm glad I didn't.

It was a funny feeling when I passed the three people on the road last week. I was alone in the car and really wanted to help them by offering them a ride. But, to be honest, I was scared. I have the impression from movies and stories that those who cross over illegally may be desperate to get away from authorities and at the time I worried that trying to take my car would be too tempting. Though I still don't think I would pick up anybody when driving alone, I definitely have a less paranoid opinion of these desert walkers. Especially as they are likely just trying to get back home. I might stop and give them water as the maintenance guy did for these three before I ran into them.

It's an incredibly odd thing for me, this idea of not being able to go somewhere. I essentially have the freedom and means to leave Canada (as presently demonstrated) and could likely get a work visa without too much trouble. More importantly, I live in a place I don't have to leave.

Well, it's funny, because I "had" to get away, which is what prompted this trip, but my need and the need of people who risk their lives to get away are worlds - or rather countries - apart.

--

The meaning of place and belonging is always complicated. I am faced all the time here with the idea that the people who occupy this land have the right to throw out those not born or citizened here. Yet, drive south on highway 80 and you'll come across a small stone tower called "Geronimo Surenders Monument" (aka "Geronimo's finger")
marking the end of the wars with the Native Americans in the 1880s. It's a familiar argument in both Canada and the US, pointing out the double standard of immigrants refusing rights of entry to immigrants, but this monument, which is on the very road I saw an illegal on, really pointed to our skewed sense of property and humanity for me.

"Near here Geronimo, last Apache chieftain and Nachite with their followers surrendered, on Sept. 6th 1886, to General Nelson A. Miles. U.S. Army Lieutenant Chas B. Gatewood with Kieta and Martine Apache Scouts, risked their lives to enter the camp of the hostiles to present terms of surrender offered to them by General Miles.

After two days, Gatewood received the consent of Geronimo and Nachite to surrender.

The surrender of Geronimo in Skeleton Canyon, on that historic day, forever ended Indian warfare in the United States.

--

This memorial erected in A.D. 1934 by the City of Douglas with federal C.W.A. funds."

Micro and macro

2009-04-30T12:55:00.000-07:00

We met our scientist at 9am after a breakfast of eggs and salsa with fruit and yogurt and headed off into the woods to the south of the Station to see what we could see. Specifically, we are looking for Mexican Jays.

As soon as I started paying more attention to bird calls and the sounds of other critters, the whole forest changed. In the city there is lots of noise all over, but it's pretty much the same selection and its origins are usually clear (vehicle, person, jackhammer, seagull, drunks...) but in the forest there are several layers of sounds and, for me at least for now, most are mysterious. What bird is that? Was that slithery sound in the leaves a lizard or a snake? Were those big steps over the ridge a person, large bird, deer or mountain lion? Was that a huge dragonfly or a little hummingbird? Is that a mythical beast or construction in the distance??

By listening and learning from the company of biologists, which I am most grateful for, you can start to pick through the cacophony. Today, for instance, I learned that the much-hunted (with binoculars) trogon makes a noise like a dehydrated dog trying to bark. I also was thus reminded that even though the bird is beautiful, doesn't mean their song will be...

At one point, we were trekking over rocks next to the creek when an all-too familiar sound startled us: gobble-gobble-gobble. And there it was - a massive, warty headed, wobbly chinned turkey. He was doing this amazing pouffy, stompy, I'm-so-hot-please-mate-with-me dance. I heard footsteps over the ridge, and lo and behold, a boring brown and likely fertile female was going up the creek.

Here's a little section of his number; unfortunately, he didn't do his loud warbly cry while I was filming. He's camera shy I suppose.

Not like the pictures on the frozen thanksgiving bird, eh? This place is endlessly weird. I love it.

It's also nice when walking thorough the forest here that you have to pay so much attention. You have to watch your footing for loose rocks or rattlers, make sure to avoid the prickly things, figure out the best way around or over barbed wire fences, keep an ear out for loud footsteps, and keep eyes and ears out for whatever you are collecting data on. This heightened awareness is a welcome change from the urban auto-pilot I am used to.

I did not realize how big our study plot was, though, and will be sure next time to wear a long-sleeved shirt, a hat, and bring more water. The sun out here is relentless. Even in the woods - the canopy is a lot less dense here. Every day is a learning day.

Speaking of learning, I went to a talk about the ecological significance of the Chiracahua mountains yesterday and learned some amazing things. Like, the reason the American Natural History Museum acquired a research station in this mountain range is because of its incredible biological/geological diversity. The whole west coast of the Americas was underwater 500 million or so years ago, so apparently you can actually still find aquatic fossils at the tops of mountains. The pushing up of the coast by the plates created mountain ranges, but also volcanoes. They spent a lot of time erupting and creating lots and lots of ash which compacted over years and years and years, resulting in the mountains you see here. That's why they look so worn and old - they are much more fragile than mountains made of good ol' earth-crust rock, so the wind and rain erode them much faster.

The west coast was also spared from the last ice age, so there are a lot of ancient species here. The other amazing factor I'm sure you're all dying to hear about is the fact that these particular mountains are what are known as "sky islands". The climate at elevation is drastically different than that of the valleys. So the animals, insects and plants of the mountain cannot travel anywhere else - they would die in transit through the desert. So they are basically stuck on whatever mountain they are born on, which makes for density as well as unique evolutionary patterns. And to top it all off, this range seems to be a cul de sac for animals from the north, east, south, or west who migrate and stop here because it's too hot, cold, wet, and/or dry on the other side. The immigration of animals from Mexico is likely declining, though - the presenters say - now that a lot of the fence is up along the border. (More on the border later. Its presence is very real here.)

Anyway, there's my little geology/biology lesson for the day.

As for me, I went through a bit of an, shall we say, adjustment the last few days (read: mild homesickness, missing urban life a bit, and a little tired of the same people day in and day out, except Chris who is awesome), but this has passed with (surprisingly) more sleep and the work with the scientist in the forest feels great. It's a lot of fun. And does the body good. And pained.

I am already over sunned (today marks one week here) so I have to start being much more careful than back home. I also have nasty blisters on my feet from my sandals - grit gets under the straps and basically sandpapers my feet - but other than that I am fit as a fiddle. Chris and I attempted to fix the big crack that developed in the car's windshield during the drive to sketchy success, I guess.

I'm looking forward to more learning and more hiking and exploring. One of these posts I'll have to talk about our cave explorings. Very neat.

Thanks to all who have sent me messages or left comments! It's great to hear from you!

Daily life at SWRS

2009-04-29T09:04:00.001-07:00

6:00 - wake up to sound of construction of new buildings behind our room.

6:30 - drag myself out of bed and run.

7:00 - if scheduled, fill hummingbird feeders, then head to Main House to set up for breakfast.

7:30 (sharp) - eat breakfast. Avert eyes if sausage gravy is on the menu.

8:00 - clean up after breakfast.

9:00 - check email, blog, try to inform myself about swine flu without falling for the sensationalism.

10:00 - walk around plots in forest documenting location of Mexican jays with the GPS.

11:30 - if scheduled, set up for lunch.

noon (sharp) - eat lunch. Try not to gorge myself on bacon.

12:30 - more dishes.

13:00 - go for a hike or bike ride or road trip into "town" followed by dip in the pool and reading.

16:00 - walk plots looking for jays again.

17:00 - listen to talk about ecological importance of Chiracahua Mountains. Or attempt to fix a crack in windshield of car.

17:30 - if not scheduled for breakfast and lunch, I'm on dinner and evening clean duty.

18:00 (sharp) - eat dinner. Fail at avoiding dessert yet again.

18:30 - begin evening clean - dishes, cleaning, sweeping, mopping of whole dining room and kitchen. Blare loud music when cook leaves.

20:00 - find Chris, drink beer. Help her with night photography experiments.

21:30 - try and put back a little tiny bit of moisture into my skin. Examine new cuts/blisters/bruises. Wish my hair would curl. Wash and hang clothes if needed and machines are free.

22:00 - go to bed, read, sleep.

start over

Context:

Two inspirational women

2009-04-27T10:16:00.000-07:00

My camera broke yesterday, so I'll take advantage of this unfortunate situation for a text-heavy post I've been meaning to write.

In my first two days here I met two women that gave me a lot to think about.

The second was a gregarious woman from Pennsylvania here with her birder husband. She was going bonkers over the Red River cereal Chris brought up (they apparently can't get it in the US and the cook loves the stuff - as do I). The woman actually found it on amazon.com and will be ordering six boxes for $49 when she gets home. Chris and I are considering an import-export business...

Anyway, though this demonstrates her good taste for things Canadian, it is not at all why she was inspirational.

The day before yesterday, she was wearing a shirt covered in drawings of birds. Not a remarkable thing - all the nutty birders do it - but hers were the birds of the Galapagos. I asked her if she had been and she told me that she went with her husband after she was diagnosed with breast cancer. The doctors had to inject blue dye in her breast and she told her husband - "Now you have your own blue-footed booby!" When she was well enough, they decided to plan a trip - something she was able to look forward to during all the scary unpleasantness. She was determined to go wherever the boobies were, which turned out to the the Galapagos. The trip was meaningful enough for her and her husband that they took out a home equity loan to do it. This method of financing is tinged with stigma, I realize, but as she bubbled away to her birding tour I had lump in my throat. She found a way to struggle through cancer and live to laugh about it. Puts my fears of the next big transition in my life in perspective.

The first woman I met the day before was really interesting. She sat beside us lowly volunteers at lunch and immediately struck up a conversation, asking what our stories and backgrounds were. She exuded optimism and told us of her dream to be a virtuoso organist. When this was clearly not going to happen, she travelled - living in Lebanon, being evacuated to Paris and teaching music there for a year, hitchhiking around the US - working just to keep travelling. She then stumbled into a career as a piano tuner in Las Vegas. She had to fight sexist perceptions that she would never being able to learn how to use a wrench and worked hard with little support to be the best in her field despite this. Meanwhile, she takes off for several months a year and keeps travelling. She married at 49 ("Plenty early enough" she said, laughing) and though she doesn't have children, takes in travellers and guests at her home with open arms. In fact, we are invited and are considering the Vegasian detour on our return trip.

Recounting this, I realize it's hard to get across the effect she had on me. The inspirational thing was that, like the Red River lady, she was living just the way she wanted and was not afraid to take chances. I was also touched by her openness to us and her clear desire to be good to others and to herself.

Now that I have an increasingly clearer idea of what my own aspirations are, it was nice to have the timely reminder to go and do the things I need to do now with an open heart. And be a nice and generous person as often as possible.

Desert observations

2009-04-26T09:12:00.000-07:00

It's really hard to imagine that this landscape will soon be the norm for me. It has all the basic elements of home - sky, dirt, relief, trees, water, rocks, plants, animals, etc., but everything is wackier.

The sky is big and mostly cloudless. When I wake up at 6am, the sun is well above the very big mountains to the east. This may have something to do with the fact that Arizona does not do Daylight Savings Time for some reason. I have been meaning to ask when the sun rises, but seeing as it is unlikely I will get up that early, I'll focus on the sunsets. And the stars. The bazillion stars.

The dirt is dry. Like, really dry. I know, I know, it is the desert... but seriously - I am pretty much constantly covered in dust. Yesterday there were HUGE gusts of wind and I was driving around the New Mexico desert. There were dust clouds everywhere. I was driving north on hwy 80 with my windows open and all of a sudden the wind kicked up and practically burst my ear drum! I went to this store, literally in the middle of nowhere, that sells organics and natural products (very surreal in a place where most businesses are taverns or churches), and I couldn't get the door open to get out the wind was so strong. Here is a very creepy video to give you an idea of the wind and dust (and absence of people and children... *shiver*:

The trees are all different - small leaves and short compared to ours. The sycamores are cool, I'll try to get some shots of them. The bushes are pretty much all thorny and there are cacti EVERYWHERE! They are as common as our dandelions almost. So weird. A lot of the plants look like they're right out of a Dr. Seuss book. Very weird.

As for water, well, coming from the land o' lakes and rivers, this place is pretty bare. Better than New Mexico where there are endless river beds and the water has clearly decided to sleep somewhere else. Here there a whopping two creeks. Luckily the water at the station is very drinkable. In fact, I don't think I've ever drank so much on a daily basis. Way more than 8 a day, that's for sure.

Now the rocks, they are something else (JJ - you have to visit this place sometime). The patterns and colours and commonness of geode-like shiny bits have ruined me for Canadian shield rocks forever. Check these out:

Look at the many weird things growing out of this rock:

As for the fauna, well there is a resident mule deer here named Mickey who just wanders around the property that I hope to befriend. Her mom, Molly, was famous here for her approachability, which may have been the cause of her untimely demise by a mountain lion two weeks ago. She is much missed - people come here just to visit her.

Yesterday on our hike we heard what was likely the rattle of a rattlesnake. And there are scorpions around. I'm not too too concerned - watch your step and don't bother them and they won't bother you.

Now that you are all worried for me, let me tell you about the non-deadly animals. There are obviously birds galore. This place is a birder's mecca. I don't know much about them yet, but hope to go on some tours. Maybe see the mythical trogon everyone keeps talking about. Birder culture is weird though. And a little obsessive. So I think I'll stay on the periphery and avoid becoming a lifelister [people who spend all their time trying to see new species just to add to their list]. The hummingbirds are pretty amazing. And big! There are feeders here and I have never seen so many all at once. We're talking ten fighting over each feeder. They are beautiful.

And would you believe it? The lizards here are as common as squirrels back home. They are so cute.

And that's just a small taste of the differentness of this place. I have much, much more to talk about, but if I sit here all day and do that, I won't be experiencing more things to talk about.

Speaking of, in case you are worried that I am spending too much time on the internet rather than enjoying my surroundings, the other very different thing here is the pace of time. It's been a long, long time since I felt it passing so leisurely. I can write an incredibly longwinded blog post (like this one), eat three meals, work my four hours, go on long hikes, read many chapters of a book, sit around, lie down, have a shower, drive to Rodeo and back, and still feel like I have hours to kill.

Speaking of, my porch, my book, and some coffee are calling. It's 10am here and there are still two hours until lunch.

Talk to y'all later!

4,411 kilometres later...

2009-04-24T11:01:00.000-07:00

... and we're here! Five days on the road and we can finally settle into our home for the next six weeks - the Southwestern Research Station in Portal, AZ.

It took 5 days of mostly easy driving. The first stretch was Ottawa to Toronto which I have done countless times, but it has never felt so short. When your trip totals almost 40 hours in total, your perception of distance changes.

The next day we crossed the border and were stopped immediately once the "volunteering" was uttered. When we told the nice woman at border control what we were doing (helping at a biological research station in the mountains of Arizona) she immediately looked up and asked "Now why would you want to do that?"; not joking. First of all, I'm glad Chris took the mic here - as a biologist her answer made sense. I just nodded and made it seem like I was going for the same reasons. Had I said, "Well, I hated my job and needed to get away from things back home and I have no clue what I am doing afterwards", I may have ended up in the room labelled "search" with the fluorescent lights and sterilized gloves (I really wish they had shut the door - that room still gives me nightmares). Secondly, is there a "good enough" answer? Who are they to judge our motivations? Why not ask us about the fruit in our cooler instead? Anyway, they eventually they let us go, after taking our picture and our fingerprints...

anecdote: There was an oriental couple at the booth next to us who, when asked "Where are you folks headed?" answered "Two bags of rice and some soy sauce." Even the border lady was giggling.

So after being permitted to enter, we were in the US! But only a very, very small fraction to our destination. That day we drive through Michigan (making a very short detour in Flint to see if Mr. Moore was around) and Indiana and stayed at a pretty nice highway hotel that we booked through hotwire.

Indianapolis is a weird place. We went looking for dinner and parked by their cobblestone roundabout with the MASSIVE war memorial in the middle. Walking around on the very large, excessively clean streets with very few people and no women around, I told Chris it felt like being in a place built to demonstrate what a city should look like; as if we stumbled upon Universal Studios Indiana or something. We eventually asked the only people we found who didn't look like they were headed to the sports bar where we should go and they directed us to a nice strip where we enjoyed good food and beer after an eight-hour driving day.

The next day we enjoyed our complimentary breakfast, wisely avoiding the sausage gravy which looked like the Quaker factory's Cream of Wheat rejects, and hit the road headed for Kansas City.

Now's a good time as any to talk about the landscape of the midwest, I suppose, as normally this is a big part of a road trip. In our case, however, we quickly realized why no one we know has ever done this route and why we know so little of these states. They are quite boring. Lovely and prairie-like with rolling hills and fields and all that, but never ending. And I like prairies. After a while I was jonesing for the lakes and rivers and forests and hills I am more accustomed to. But, alas, I will not see such scenery again for eight more weeks. One thing that was awesome, though, was that by mid-Indiana, the grass was green and the trees were almost fully leaved. It was summer!

We stopped for lunch in St Louis at a great restaurant that specialized in crepe sandwiches and had the option of adding bacon to almost anything (drool). We poked around a nice bookstore, got a parking ticket, and then got very lost on the gazillions of highway that cut through town.

Little did we know that this would end up being Getting Lost Day. We pulled into Kansas City in the evening, where we were to stay with a very kind and generous friend of a friend. We had to take a detour from our directions as the highway we wanted was closed due to a bad accident (second of three on the trip: two trucks collided in Michigan, this car flipped, and later, in New Mexico, a pick-up was on its side. Not great to see on a long roadtrip... or ever). So we tried to find the place sans a good city map and ended up driving through a zoological park for a while, and then a low income neighbourhood, and then a very VERY high income neighbourhood. It was surreal. Roundabouts with fountains in the centre, turrets galore, sports cars everywhere... Our little trusty rust bucket from Ontario was quite out of place. We eventually found the house, two neighbourhoods and income brackets over and were happy to be able to actually make food and drink bad American beer. Our host came home early and we chatted pleasantly about travel and the cities where we live and the education system.

OK, now comes the big haul. The next day we woke up late (7 am!) and got on the road headed for Santa Rose, New Mexico. Stopping only to pee and eat (we "enjoyed" a free breakfast burrito at the only fast food joint of the trip - Sonic) and go through a border control station (I guess white Canadian girls do not fit the smuggler profile) we arrived at Santa Rosa, NM over 12 hours later. What a day! And if anyone has been to New Mexico, it is hot and dry and straight-roaded and big. The change from green prairie to brown and prickly prairie was sudden and awesome. I have always wanted to see this desert and there it was - it appeared out of nowhere somewhere in the middle of that top square nubbin of Texas. And it was there the next day too.

Still Life at Motel 6

We left Santa Rosa, which should be renamed Sketchy Motels Galore (don't worry mom, we stayed at the more respectable Motel 6), and started on our last day on the road. And boy were we ready for it. Our bodies were not enjoying the lack of moving.

New Mexico landscape. Check out the first town name.

I was getting worried as we neared our very last turn-off to get to Arizona and the Research Station. There was no end in sight for the scorching desert. The prospect of spending six weeks without shade or vegetation or clouds was less than pleasant. For the very last stretch, I had to switch off driving duties due to the quick onset of heat exhaustion and very mild hallucinations. My body was definitely not yet acclimatized and is wondering what the heck happened to spring. But then we turned a corner, went down the first two-lane road I'd seen all day and everything changed. We were entering Coronado Forest. We drove down actual shaded roads with plants and animals an the mountains had a lot more vegetation. What a relief!

Almost there... look! green!

--

So my 10-year-old Honda Civic made it from Ottawa to Arizona! There is crack starting in the windshield and a squeaking noise coming from the power steering belt when turning at slow speeds that needs adjustment. I actually phoned my mechanic from somewhere in Oklahoma to ask him about it. He'll be emailing me instructions on fixing it. Funnily enough, we woke up yesterday morning at the research centre and the back right tire was flat. Good thing it happened here and not on the side of a New Mexican highway! The maintenance guy here, Ben, plugged it and we're all good to go. Nice to be in a place with a shop and nice helpful people.

Speaking of this place, it's nothing short of amazing. It feels like I'm in a wizened elderly version of the mountains of BC I'm more familiar with. They surround us, but look ancient. There is one mountain covered in near-fluorescent green lichen.

Oh, and everything here is prickly and hurts to touch. It's kinda hilarious actually.

It looks like I may be getting to help out with hummingbird observation. And for those of you who know me, you'll be shocked to hear that so far I am getting up at 6am (!) and running . It's altitude training (we're at 5,400 feet). We'll also be doing some hiking (up to 9,500 feet), exploring the landscape and avoiding rattlesnakes. All romance aside though, if you are reading this and wondering what I might be up to, the likely answer is dishes.

More soon! Pics to come. I'm lazy. Chris isn't though, so check out her blog.