Life Aloft

During a summer spent between 6,000 – 12,000 feet, I learned that:

1. Woodrats and voles die when left in traps through the night
2. It takes twice as long to rehydrate backpacking meals at higher elevations (duh!)
3. Cooler, crisper air attracts gas-guzzling, RV-idling crowds, seeking cooler, crisper air
4. Layering is the way of life
5. Time elongates and stretches in open natural places and distances seem further … key elements for gaining perspective and clearing the mind
6. Allergies do not improve at this altitude
7. I still run like crap (at two months in, I think I’ve worn out the ‘adjusting to the altitude’ excuse)
8. I get sunburned
9. Roadkill consist of marmots, elk and the occasional moose
10. I run my life independently and semi-proficiently, with little outside interference …

… enjoy it, honey, ‘cos it’s all coming to an end

Me & Time

So it occurred to me over the weekend, as I was actively engaged in watching ice melt, that a lot of the underlying stress I am feeling about the upcoming Fall 2010, when … in my head, anyway …I am making this HUGE, drastic change in my life, is based on the notion that I am not at my personal best. And I’ve been trying to take and make the time, albeit not very successfully, to try and sort out a fair amount of baggage and angst from earlier this year, that so threw off me off kilter.

But some things can’t be rushed. Some things are done, when they’re done.

It’s a nice idea to start my next phase in life back in school at the top of my game. But truthfully, how often are we really at our very best? For the most part, we’re shuffling between our best and our worst, hopefully edging ourselves more towards one end of the spectrum over the other.

I’ve had more highs than lows in my life; I’ve been at my best more often than my worst. And if I can maintain that balance, maybe that’s okay for the time being. Until this magical thing called “time” does its thing and everything is alright again.

Time sure likes taking its bloody time though…

Who’s on First?

Julie: “I know you’re worried about your woodrats. I’m more worried about getting mauled by a mountain lion.”

Hmmm… perhaps my priorities are sometimes skewed. Like this morning when I had to save my flea-infested woodrat in the NW corner from a four-foot rattlesnake, which was none to happy with my interference. The feeling was mutual. He was quite a beauty though, at least as much as I could appreciate it after I had a chance to stuff my heart back in place, and calm the thudding in my chest.

Work has always been my #1 priority in life. Then there’s school, which is also up there. Family, friends, and loved ones factor in as well. And more recently, a renewed commitment to edge myself upwards too.

So these days, it’s getting awfully crowded and top-heavy. Each aspect of my life jostles for top billing while I stubbornly refuse to prioritize and try and do it all. It’s no wonder I’m feeling exhausted, worn out and very ready for a break.

I’ve had five hours sleep in the last 48 hours and my campground is overrun with holiday revelers. For once, I am prioritizing one aspect of my life above all others. The next three days are mine: I am bear-canistered and pepper-sprayed.

My time begins in the morning. Good night.

Breakfast of Champions

I have a diet of an undergraduate squirrel, except with good quality Korean ramen. When I wake up – not in the morning – but the second time – quite definitely in the afternoon – I help myself to a large bowl of black walnut ice cream. It’s a Midwestern thing (the flavour that is, not the habit of waking up to a bowl of ice cream).

When I wake up the first time, just pre-dawn, it’s dark, strong, bitter coffee with a dash of milk. And some hurried bites from a granola bar in between Shermans. A good amount of trail mix is consumed on drives between the trailer and study site.

I’m down to one sit-down meal: dinner. I have enough single-serving frozen meals to last me a good two weeks. And I’ve been happily harvesting the bounty of the summer: melons, cherries, nectarines, white peaches, etc.

Copious amounts of tea – Chinese and black tea, sometimes sweetened – is consumed throughout the day, and a cupful when I wake up the third time, just prior to the midnight shift.

So let me rephrase my previous statement: I have a diet of an undergraduate squirrel, with a proclivity for iced tea, fresh fruit and Midwestern desserts. And only good quality Korean ramen.

Sleep-Deprived Mutterings

Our first 10-night trapping run is kicking my ass. 4-5 hours of sleep each morning is starting to catch up. It’s all I can do to keep up with data (never mind data checking), and trapping needs and preparation.

The fact that I doubled my Shermans in the last three days may have something to do with the sheer fatigue I’m battling at the moment; or perhaps it’s the telemetry project I volunteered for that is about to take over my afternoons.

Voles, bleepin’ voles. If they are out there, I will find them, track them down, trap them and vaccinate them. Now it’s entirely possible that they have been plagued out – this is a plague study after all – but I don’t actually know that. So I proceed as if I’m missing some magical formula that will miraculously materialize voles before me. Hence I’m trapping at 6 plots consecutively with 120 Shermans. And no, of course I haven’t stopped trapping my woodrats.

Where are you, my measly, mean-tempered Microtus munchkins?

< Pause >

Flood warning, tornado watch and severe thunderstorms: guess it’s time for a break.

In 14 trapping nights, we’ve caught 60+ individual woodrats. Not too shabby. We have vaccine arriving in a few days, and hopefully, the transponders will begin working too so we can start pit tagging, because trying to read tiny ear tags via headlamp is not advisable for a pair of 30-something-year-old eyes.

Vole trapping has a taken a bit of a back seat but is about to hit center stage pronto. It seems every time I reach some level of comfort, I throw myself neck-deep into something new.

Julie (volunteer) has been a welcome addition (note: she’s also a meat-loving, elk-hunting Texan mother of four, with a surprising fascination with my bone-crunching, cartilage-munching, marrow-sucking eating habits). She has been coping well considering I have been moving traps around on her almost daily. She started working on arrival, giving up the option of taking a day to adjust to the night schedule (bonus point #1), and then bare-handed a grab on a suddenly-awake, recently-anesthetized woodrat two nights ago (bonus point #2).

It *almost* feels like I know what I’m doing.

Stalked by Night

There’s something slightly unnerving about a pair of widely spaced eyes, set high off the ground, following you around at night. But like so many things, it just takes a little getting used to. Ironically I was just listening an old “This American Life” from 2003, with the theme “Cat & Mouse” earlier in the evening, and here I was getting approached from behind by a rather ballsy elk, probably the buck that was following me around two days ago when I opened and baited my plots. It’d run off every time I turned around or move to my next trap. The game continued for about an hour before I suppose I bored it and it moved on. Just one hour…must be losing my touch out here in the boonies. Maybe an hour is equivalent to seven elk years or something.

It’s been a whole five days since my last fatality, so it looks like half-night trapping is here to stay. It hasn’t been too hard a transition, and working with live animals has the tendency to keep my spirits up. Although my chocolate intake hasn’t eased one bit. I just baked a couple of chocolate cakes, been cooking for three days, 200 crunches last night, and am about to head out for a run. It appears I’m still stressing about something, or everything.

My volunteer arrives tomorrow. I wonder what she’ll think about a freezer partially filled with dead critters, about getting stalked at night, about having to chase off the great horned owl that’s messing with traps, about starting work at midnight and wrapping up whenever we get done, about the photo of a ferret over a dead (and tagged!) juvie PD that I have tacked on the fridge. I know what she’ll say … I’ve asked. But just in case she’s being polite, I cooked a stew and baked a cake. And I’m keeping my fingers crossed that she’s not vegetarian.

She’s bringing a portable grill. Surely that isn’t for grilled veggies, right? Don’t they throw you out of Texas for being a vegetarian?

It’s time for my run…