Checking out a cute chick

Dutiful dad brooding his baby

I don't feel like I'll ever be comfortable again. There's a kink in my back, my Achilles tendon feels like someone shot a poisoned arrow into it, my shoulders are crunchy, my knees are bruised, my ass is sore, and my eyes are strained. Do I sound eighty or what? But that's what sitting on the hard ground, back arched and eye pressed to a spotting scope for eight-hour stretches will do to you.

I've been on Nest Watch duty the past three days, following that weird day of impending government shutdown. Well, the government is still up and running, so after a lovely day spent eating all the contents of Studio City in a 24-hour period, I drove back up to the mountain, happy to return since a) I still had a job, and b) there was a new-hatched chick in need of watching!

Good grief, I nearly squealed the first time I saw that fuzzy little dinosaur materializing between its dad's legs as 247 stood over his brood. But squeals are quite unbecoming of serious biologists, so I wisely held my tongue.

I snapped this photo on my way to a.m. obs

Shut It Down

I've got to say, today's been been a little unreal.

All week there was, looming over our heads, the imminent threat of a government shutdown in lieu of Congress not being able to agree on a budget. As it was, the fate of the funding for the condor program was up in the air, contingent on which was the wind was blowing when the dust from hammering out the budget had settled (aagh! mixed metaphors!!!!) But it seemed like each side of the negotiations would just hold out until the last second when a compromise could be reached. The government couldn't shut down. That would be ridiculous.

Cut to today at around 3 o'clock: I'm out at Pole Canyon, Molly is down South Potrero way. Joseph radios us. "Pack up your stuff and get down the mountain. Try to be out of there by four. If the government shuts down at the end of today you're not legally allowed to be at the ranch house tonight. Who knows if any of us will still have jobs tomorrow." Or something to that effect. 

Back at the office, it was all grim smiles and gallows humor, as the employees kept tabs on the news coming out of Washington, and I waited for my mom to get to Ventura to pick me up. I was going home for the weekend. 

Joseph: "I'll understand if you want to look for another job..."

Me: "Oh god, I hope it doesn't come to that"

Lovely Lupins and Other Flora

Bonus points if you can identify them!

Wilderness First Aid Training Part 2

In which Hopper Mountain Wildlife Refuge becomes the site of an absurd number of near-fatal accidents, including:

• an ATV collision
• a machete fight
• a baby carrot-choking
• hypothermia
• numerous broken bones
• a crazed mule deer attack

There was fake blood everywhere.

Also, I now have my Wilderness First Aid certification! See, I even have the badge to prove it:

Wilderness First Aid Training Part 1

Earlier:
It's Tuesday morning. I'm up at Hopper, sitting on the back porch. It's positively tropical out here. There's the dim buzz of bees subbing in for the distant roar of traffic. I'm waiting for my coworkers to arrive. We have wilderness first aid training today and tomorrow, which is both great and also terrifying, since anything that requires remembering a bunch of information and doing things correctly in a high pressure situation with a passel of people watching is automatically such.

Listening intently to our instructor.

NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

Ria thrashes around while Joseph and our instructor examine the extent of her injuries. There was even fake blood.

Blake puts a makeshift cervical collar on my possibly broken neck.

First Aid is hilarious!

Making a burrito out of hypothermic Vince.

Later:
Strange day. I've seen a whole different side of my coworkers: banana fights, dirty jokes, tipsy knot-tying, fiercely competitive board gamery. I think it was the stress of the day, reacting to practice emergencies, that necessitated the full-on party that ensued when it was over.

(Photos courtesy of Geoff)

One is the Loneliest Number

Five days with no human contact, unless you count that one late afternoon when I drove into Maricopa—hardly even a town—and eavesdropped on a bored, drawling conversation about the gays, and paid for my snacks without uttering but a word of have a nice day to the cashier at the mini-mart.  Five days of waking up when it was light and going to bed when the sun went down, of working around the weather, of driving on roads empty of people but full of ground squirrels. Five days of conversations with cottontails.

I’m angry, driving down Ventura Boulevard at 10:05 pm. There are too many people, too many cars. I thought briefly about pulling off into the parking lot of the Encino Laemmle Theaters, catching a 10 o’clock movie. No one at home, after all. No one to call. No one expecting me. I make a bet with myself: If there is a parking space out front, I go. I can make it before the trailers end. It is 10:01. There are, of course, no spots. If not, home again, home again. I go back the way I came. It’s so bright, all the neon, and crowds of well-dressed people stand outside of bars on a Saturday night. Beckoning. Mocking.

I’m lonely, driving down Ventura Boulevard. How strange, being surrounded by so many people, being so lonely. In five days I never once felt lonely. The irony nearly leaves a mark when it slaps me in the face.