Going Green (River, that is)

Down the Green River. Larval fish traps, seines, dry bags, food, drink, gear stacked in colorful piles in the two boats. We launched from Green River State Park on Monday afternoon for a four day fish trip. Our sample jars covet the illusive (endangered) Razorback Sucker larva, a transparent slip of a fish to-be. We put them in the jars of alcohol to return to civilization where someone with a microscope will announce our sampling success, or failure.
To hunt our miniscule prey we set light traps in the backwaters as the sun goes down. The next morning we pull the traps before the sun returns to draw the quarry from our artificial light. That’s about it for our work day. In between dawn and dusk we motor downriver to our next sites and stop to seine in fishy looking areas. This leaves ample time to play Mexican train dominoes (one of the few games I actually like), wander around in the desert, and lounge aimlessly in camp.
It’s a beautiful stretch of desert: down the Green River through Labyrinth and Still Water Canyons, turning the boats back up stream at the confluence with the Colorado River to return to civilization via Meander Canyon. It’s a different sort of boating now that we have left the inflatable oar rigs at the warehouse in favor of the faster metal, motored boats. Boat driving (specifically the steering part) is a new skill for me, and one that certainly doesn’t come naturally. My apologies to that willow tree.
Finally I felt that I was getting the hang of it all. And here comes the wind to chop the river’s surface into a thousand pummeling waves. And here I am, by myself, trailing behind in the slower (25 hp motor, that’s why) boat. OK, no problem, I got this. Just hit the waves at an angle. But watch out for the sticks and branches floating downstream, you can’t hit those, it’s tough on the prop. Vroooom, thud, vrooooom, thud, vrrrooom, thud, etc as I go plunging into the waves and the flat bottom of the metal boat smacks down into each jarring trough. I got this guys, don’t worry, but how about keeping me in eyesight (the second boat is a 50 hp and leaves me in the dust)? Suddenly, in a particularly windy wavy section my motor falls silent. Alright, out of gas? Nope, just filled that anyways. Ok, give the fuel line a few pumps, back to neutral, hit start, put in gear. I get a grumble and then silence again. Try again, and then again, and one more time because I might have done it wrong the first three times. Nothing. Alright guys, you can come back and find me now… guys? Please come back?
They came back to rescue me, the fuel line had cracked but when replaced we were back on our soggy way.
I think I am just not meant to deal with anything with a motor. I can handle a car, but only because I have been driving since age 16. Make it a (huge) truck and it’s still ok. Put a boat trailer on the end of that truck and it’s alright, as long as I only have to go forward. Backing up that trailer is a whole other embarrassing event. Sometimes it goes so smoothly. I pat myself on the back and say I am getting the hang of this. Then toss in a busy ramp and a few onlookers and suddenly that trailer seems magnetically repelled from anywhere I want it to go. Three tries later it’s where it’s supposed to be and I am wishing I could hide under a rock until my incompetence is forgotten.
Mechanical discombobulation aside, it’s a beautiful stretch of river. Work is less a chore and more of a privilege. I could be imprisoned in a cubicle, confined to a desk, to shuffle papers from one stack to another. I am not. In the day we float through canyons, following the river down through a million years of geologic history. The white, red, orange, purple, and green layers of rock each tell a story of what was there before. Dinosaur tracks marching across uplifted blocks of stone speak of a time before people. Cliff dwellings, perched on the cliff walls like hanging swallows’ nests, are reminders that we are not the first to explore this landscape. And, as I sit on the tethered boat at night, watching the bats dive and weave in the growing darkness, silhouettes lost against the trees and then reappearing above in the yellow glow of the rising moon, I know this is special.

It's getting lizardy, but maybe that's just spring

If I wasn't feeling like my usual inordinately lazy self I would split this into two posts, and include some complete sentences on the shenanigans associated with these photos. I might have even spellchecked. I didn't. So here are some photos comprising the last two weeks: hiking adventures in the needles district of Canyonlands and then a San Juan river trip from Shiprock to Montezuma Creek.

The work photos go first.

First day on the river. Technically we didn't even make it on the river. After leaving Moab at 5 am and driving through snow, sleet, and hail to reach Shiprock, New Mexico and the rest of the river crew the bosses decided the weather was too bad to work in. It wasn't the snow/rain that did it. It was the wind. We still work in the snow.


Freezing river fashion


Oh, you have got to be kidding! That looks like another storm! I repent for burning all those peeps on Easter, just bring back the sun.


That's a razorback sucker, one of the endangered species we get to play with. Yeah, the pictures a little out of focus, but I couldn't feel my fingers.


Kokepelli (I think) hanging out with a gallery of other petroglyphs in the canyon above our first campsite.


Now, jumping back in time, to my canyonlands hiking trip. There was more sun, but it was also so windy that my tent blew out of the campsite. We returned at the end of our 11 mile hike to find it held down by rocks (thank you to whoever caught and tethered it)


It's a lizard! The weather has turned quite lizardy out here. This is embarrassing, but I an not really sure what this one is. I want to call it an ornate tree lizard (Urosaurus), but it could just be a side blotch and I missed the blotch. It ran away after I shoved the camera in its face.


I'm trying to learn all my desert flowers (since I seem to be failing on lizards, at least the flowers don't run away from me), but haven't got a clue as to what this is. A beer to anyone who can id it.


Common Paintbrush


Newspaper rock, on the road to the Needles district.


Claretcup. Cool trivia: the genus name Echinocereus comes from the Greek word echinos, hedgehog.

Gummi bears in the wash

I need to outgrow the habit of putting food in my pockets. I got back from another five day river trip today, and like the responsible adult I pretend to be, am doing laundry. The great thing about the spin cycle is that it nicely separates the candy wrappers, soggy gummi bears, nail clippers, twigs, change, and rocks from my pants and socks. The chapstick never fairs as well, unfortunately.
I tried something new on this past river trip. I attempted to record bits of events throughout the day, though out the trip. I attempted. I failed. I made two entries and both are distinctly grumpy in flavor as they were written on days when the wind was threatening to fling me and my boat into the sharp rocks and spiky plants. So, I’ll just record my usual summary of what immediately comes to mind about the last few weeks.
Ummmmmmmmmm…..
Well, the last five days were spent river rafting and shocking fish. The weather vacillated between April and January. The river greeted us with rain and gusts of wind on our first day. I lost an oar (but got it back). I caught it on a rock and sent it flying as I was furiously flailing away from the rocks towards which the wind was pushing me. I have amassed the most interesting collection of blisters on my hands. Everyone else seems to have settled into calluses. Not me. I just get new blisters in new spots on each trip. Eventually they will run out of new territory to colonize and be forced to form calluses. Or so I tell myself.
The high water made the San Juan a much more exciting river to row. Stretches that had been flat water on previous trips presented as washboards of waves and the current made each stroke more of an effort.
I gear boated the first day, which meant that all I had to do was get from point A to B then to C (and set up lunch) then to D and finally Camp (E?) before the shock boats. Gear boating is supposed to be your relaxing day on the river, but the increase in weather had an inverse relationship with my relaxation abilities. (AAAAAH Not the Rock!!!)
The weather was better the following days but still threw windy temper tantrums on a regular basis. We caught the usual cast of fishes: Catfish, Pike minnow, bullheads, and suckers. I was only stabbed by one catfish on this trip. I think I am getting better at this!
There is one good thing about the serrated razor blades that serve as catfish fins. The little buggers practically net themselves. All you have to do is get the net near the catfish and it gets its spiky little self stuck in there. Of course, you then have to untangle the slimy pokey thing from the net which is generally when the stabbing happens. It could be worse. It could be a carp.
That’s it. I am going to have a bowl of lucky charms, fold my laundry, and go to bed. There better not be any gummibears stuck to my sheets.
And a few photographs for you viewing pleasure:

last night on the river, from the camp site.


cool, catfish leeches!


wait... I thought we were hiking to an arch. oh well, this is cool, too. (but maybe we'll take the map next time)


when was the last time you looked closely at a lichen? I suggest you try it. Amazing (and no, I am not on drugs I swear)


Cryptobiotic soil, also AMAZING!

catfish and goblins

Here I am in Moab sitting down to a lunch of a more than slightly blackened grilled cheese sandwich. The appearance of which, I tell myself, reflects an inability to multitask and not a complete deficiency in cooking skills (or so I hope). Sometimes I wonder at how I used to cook for 40-60 people in the co-op days.
The last two weeks have been filled with lots of desert and river work/fun. I became a gainfully employed “fish squeezer” on March 30th. April first we launched on the San Juan for a week of rowing and fish zapping. We are monitoring endangered species (Colorado pike minnow and razorback suckers) and removing unwelcome invaders (catfish, carp, brown trout, etc). On the last trip I learned how to paddle a shock boat. On this trip I hope to get some practice with the dutch oven. How else do you make brownies on a river?

So, I spend my work week river rafting and fish flinging. When the weekend comes I take a break from this tough life with various hiking adventures. Arches National park is right down the road and someday I might even make it to Canyon Lands. There are great hiking adventures right in town. Petroglyphs lurk around rocky corners and absurdly augmented jeeps roam the landscape like drunken mountain goats.

Yesterday I headed out of town to explore a pair of slot canyons (bell and little wild horse) with a fellow fish squeezer. It’s a non-technical hike (no ropes or skills needed) but we were still a little surprised to find ourselves sharing the narrow canyon corridors with screaming babies in backpacks and several troops of grumpy grumbling kids (there were plenty of happy kids too, but they didn’t make nearly as much noise). The scenery was great, the hike amazing, but next time I think we will figure out which day of the week it is before we get to the trail head ( ohhhhh, it’s Saturday…. Oops).



We finished our hike with plenty of sunlight remaining and decided to explore Goblin Valley State park. It’s truly in the middle of nowhere, but highly worth the visit. I could try to describe it in words, but out of laziness I’ll just upload the photos instead.


On Tuesday morning I will be heading back to the river for a second round of fish filled fun. Is there an aspect of my life you want to hear more about? Want a species list of every herp I have seen so far? Wish I would write more than once every 6 months? That’s what the comments are for!! (hint hint).

back to the blog

Long time no write. I know, I know, five months without my riveting prose.
What have I been up to since November? Here’s a summary:
I left Utah at the end of October, and via Albuquerque, returned to California. I applied to Graduate school. That kept me busy for about two weeks and then I had to find other ways to entertain myself. In January I went up to Oakhurst (it’s near Yosemite) and became a certified wilderness EMT (oooh, shiny certificate). I spent a month playing with fake blood in the snow, constructing splints out of camp chairs and rain coats. In the event of a wilderness medical disaster I am totally prepared: Oxygen and Transport!!! Oh, wait, that’s urban….
Now it’s March. I’ve just returned from an adventure in Arizona. I saw the Grand Canyon. It turns out that March is still winter at 7,000 feet. We started our hike into the canyon at 8 in the morning, before the sun had a chance to soften the icy bobsled course of a trail. After an hour of slip, slide and splat we graduated to sloshing through mud, the trail finally drying up into proper desert dust at mid day. The river was green, the cactus purple, and the camping great at Indian Gardens. I especially liked the motorized compost toilets. The humming is very soothing.
I currently have a jury summons that is preventing me from making plans more than 12 hours in advance, but at the end of this month I head off for my next adventure. I am heading back to Utah (gasp!), but this time to the fun part of the state. Moab. I am going to be working for the Division of Wildlife doing fish surveys on the major rivers in the South eastern part of the state. Longish story shorter, I am in Utah until the end of May and then I will be heading up to Yosemite for the rest of the field season. Someone needs to count those toads!
I anticipate great story making moments in the coming months. Perhaps a few will even make it to the screen.

farewell to Happy Valley

Six months ago October seemed an eon away. Now it’s here, bringing cold weather, an end to field work, and my departure from Utah County (a.k.a. Happy Valley).
So, Utah, we say our goodbyes. I know you certainly won’t miss me, that’s been clear since the ice thawed last march. The question is, will I miss you?
I loved the open spaces. The West Desert where the highway was a dirt road and rush hour traffic meant passing another truck every hour. Sure, the entirety of the Wasatch front is slowly succumbing to the mycelium of urban sprawl, but the deserts are still open- home only to eagles, horny toads, and polygamist colonies.
I am going to miss the wildlife: herds of pronghorn watching us barrel down that dirt highway, golden eagles perched on the power polls that seem to extend to infinity, the elevated heart rate that seems to accompany each up-close encounter with a moose. There were the boreal toads we searched for but never seemed to find and endless piles of minnows to be indentified and measured.
Yesterday I went climbing in Rock Canyon. I was down off the route and belaying my climing partner, Kenny, when suddenly there was the sound of slipping gravel. Seconds later a big horn sheep flew down the path, passing a mere 30 feet below our rocky perch. The big horn sheep moved towards the floor of the canyon, meandered through the dry creek bed, and then began to climb the slope on the opposite side. We watched it bounce its way up the rock and navigate the cliff edges until just the bright white patch of its rump was visible on the opposing slope. We rappelled down and then walked back down to the parking lot as the sun began to set across Utah Lake. Pretty awesome.
The job was great. At an hour that the rest of the working world is contemplating a wardrobe of business casual, we are already suited up in waders and baseball caps and tromping through the great outdoors. For the first few months we focused on frog surveys. At the end of July we switched to fish work. It’s a little hard to admit, as a herpetology geek, that the fish work was actually more fun. Herp work is a lot of searching, flipping over rocks, scanning the ground for elusive creepy critters. Fish work, on the other hand, is very active. Electroshocking, in particular, is almost like a team sport complete with flinging nets and flying fish. It’s reminiscent of that arcade game, the one where you try to hit the gophers with the mallet.
The (undeveloped) land was beautiful, the work was fun, and the critters plentiful, but I think it would be very hard to ever call Utah home. Utah might as well be another planet. In a suburban area stuffed to the brim with people I was on my own outside of work. On weekends that I stayed in town I looked forward to work on Monday, not just because I enjoyed my job, but also because there were people to talk with. I used to think that I liked being totally independent, that I wasn’t such a fan of people in general, but, well that’s just not true. I like friends (well, duh), and it’s infinitely better to actually be in the same state as those said friends because no amount of email or IM can equal a hug, a face to face conversation, or just hanging out.
So, on that note, I make my farewell to Happy Valley (officially known as Utah County) and meander my way back to California.
Yay for friends.

Bryce, and then some

We had issues at work on Wednesday. We left the office all bright and cheery, ready to zap and count fish. Unfortunately halfway through the fish zapping and counting process our fish-zapper (technically called a backpack electroshocker) had a bit of a temper tantrum and would shock no more. Those sculpins and brown trout aren’t going to count themselves!!!
Suddenly finding ourselves as a field crew without functioning field instruments we had a team huddle and proceeded onto Plan B: Windshield Biology. We spent the next several hours scoping out access to streams that we were supposed to survey in the next week. The current bone-dry nature of those streams raises doubts about their resident fish population. Moral of the story, you can’t find threatened fish in streams without water.
Thursday was far more successful: our stream had water and our shocker worked. Our presence must have been the most exciting event in the area because we had a very attentive audience of small children for the length of our sampling stretch. Into our normal regiment of catch, measure, weigh, release we inserted an extra step. A surprising number of fish ended up in the waiting hands of future biologists, where the scaly specimens received careful inspection before bouncing back into the stream.
After work on Thursday I headed down to Bryce National Park with two of my coworkers, Matt and Heather. Bryce Canyon is incredible. In the south west corner of Utah, at 9,000 feet, it sits above the desert. A combination of geology and weather (high number of freeze-thaw days) have eroded the canyons into armies of orange tinted pillars (hoodoos they are called).
Ten years ago we passed through Bryce on a family road trip. It was December, and I clearly remember my dad dragging us out of the warm car, pointing out into the blank screen of snow and informing us that this would be a spectacular site, if only we could see it. Visibility was not an issue this time and it was incredible. Pinnacles and walls in washes of pink, orange, and white stood in stark contrast against the cerulean blue of the sky. Ponderosa and Bristle Cone Pines dotted slopes and perched precariously atop eroding spires, roots curling around air where rock once stood.
We camped in the park, and froze our butts off. Despite our college degrees and designation as “biologists” none of us made the intellectual connection that it might be cold at 9,000 feet. It was a wonderful 75 F in the day and an unpleasant 45 F after dark (hats, sweatshirts, gloves…. all at home in 100 F Provo, UT). In three days we hiked all but one of the main trails in the park (the park is actually not very big) and went on a trail ride. Matt had never been on a horse so Heather and I thought it would be quite entertaining to get him on one. We spent 2 hours meandering around into, and then back out of, a canyon. The horses, well trained in the etiquette of trail horse, were on both auto-pilot and cruise control, concerned only with keeping their nose in the tail of the preceding horse. Matt, on a mule named Chubby, brought up the rear. We all survived our weekend adventure; however, I suspect the Native Aquatics field crew might be moving a little slower than usual come Monday.