Shirtless and on the clock

In my line of work there are stretches of time, sometimes even days, where I don’t see a soul. There are also times of copious sweating. Thus, it is totally acceptable that I take off my shirt as often as I can. I asked my boss if I was allowed to do this. He said it was ok if I hide the FS logo on the shirt just in case someone walks up. In fact, he often skinny dips in the lakes. On my lunch break, the shirt comes off no matter where I am. When I cross a roaring creek or stumble across a waterfall, the shirt comes off and I go in. It just occurred to me how strange this is. I can undress at work, on the clock. Chalk it up- another reason I love my job.

Contacts

I “make contacts.” Contacts is a word used all the time out here. Every time I hear the word contact I think of my snarky self in middle school Latin class. Whenever I would talk out of turn my teacher, Mrs. Navik, would ask me if I had eye contact. I would always respond, “How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t wear contacts.” But the word contact our here isn’t a joking matter. It is in the first couple of sentences of my job description and basically means I need to go up to people and say hello and what not. However every time someone asks me to make contact I either think that I should tackle the person or physically go up to the person and feel him or her and then write in my ranger’s log “the man was really hairy,” or “the woman is really buff.” I’m glad that neither tackling nor physically feeling is the type of contact that Brad wants me to perform. That would make my job a lot more awkward than it already can be. So far I have had only two awkward encounters. The first was two miles off of any trail at a random lake. I walked up on 7 guys sunbathing naked together. The second was in broad daylight in a high use area. There were two really old people making out on top of each other on a beach. Thank god I didn’t have to make any physical contact with either of these groups.

Clifford the radio

Cliff is my radio. Cliff and I are inseparable (by law) and we are attached at the hip (by design). In all seriousness, I have gotten used to using the radio and actually enjoy it. Having the radio is a constant reminder that I am backed up. If I need something, if I fall and can’t walk, or if I get stung by a bee all I have to do is grab Cliff and dispatch send someone our way. Now you can see why I have become attached to Cliff recently and even anthropomorphized him. Without him I would be lost. I put Cliff on my hip and walk around listening to all the chatter of the frontcountry rangers. At those moments Cliff is like a “make your own adventure” audiobook. I can hear rangers call for back up or if they are going into a camp that they feel unsure of they ask dispatch for a 15 minute timer (that means, “I am about to make a contact with some tweakers and could you check in 15 minutes to make sure they are eating me). I know most people who use dispatch and try to picture them going into these different camps, making contacts, trying to write tickets and then coming out ten minutes later and calling for a law enforcement officer, LEO, for back-up. I also get to make sure that my coworkers are alive, well and there location twice a day. Most of the time I know what they are going to say: Eugene Dispatch this is Hieber and I am out of service for the night at ________," yet I still turn up the radio and smile when I hear their voices. We all are called on the radio by our last names. For some reason Bothfeld is really hard to distinguish on the radio. I have been asked multiple times to repeat my name (Unit calling, this is Eugene can you repeat your name). One time, they thought my last name was Rockafellar. Seriously? How do you get from Bothfeld to Rockafellar? I can just see the lady sitting at her desk thinking of ways to screw with me. Unfortunately my boss, Brad, took us to see Eugene Dispatch headquarters so I know what it looks like. But previous to this I imagined a whole bunch of people in tree houses on top of some mountain. It is actually a high-tech room with maps all over the place with arrows with people’s names on it. Sometimes I just want to use Cliff to say “yo Hieber, What’s happening.” Like I mentioned previously, Cliff is a really formal piece of equipment and is only used for work. When Dan and I wanted to watch the fireworks from Grizzly Peak but didn’t know what day they were shooting them off we had to figure out a really roundabout way to ask Brad without the rest of the world knowing. We have come up with a bunch of code phrases that sound work related but actually mean something else. It is like bidding in bridge—saying 3 hearts actually means I have the jack of spades or some crap like that. When one of my coworkers asks me for my location and I am still in base camp at some ridiculously late hour of the day I respond with, “I am three campsites down from the stream,” which actually translates to, “I am still in base-camp you nimwit, can you make it any more obvious.” When I asked Sarah to try and find my shirt on the PCT we decided that if she found it she would make her mid-day check in from the PCT rather than Hunt’s Cove (she found it!). Sometimes I get on the radio and ask work related questions that I don’t actually need an answer to just because I am bored and what something to do. All in all, I have become accustomed to having Cliff by my side. He provides me with protection, entertainment and most of all, reminds me how much better my job is than the front country rangers because I don’t have to deal with tweakers all day.

“Skinny lil’ farm girl”

I have always been really comfortable with my weight. I never thought of myself as really skinny, rather, a pleasant middle ground. I have enough blubber on me to keep warm in times of trouble yet by no means am I fat. In fact, every time I go to the doctors she always comments on my healthy weight. But for some reason, according to Oregonians I am emaciated. I have run into about ten people now that have commented on how skinny I am and have gotten comments like, “They let such a skinny girl carry such a large pack,” or “I’m surprised your legs don’t snap under the weight.” The best interaction by far was this horse packer, Jacque, that I kept running into. Jacque was a character. I first ran into him on my lunch break when he and his buddy asked if he could join me. I love company, especially during lonesome 4 day tours so I obliged. We got to talking and I pretty much got his whole life story. Here is the abridged version: He started a roofing company in Redmond but then found god. He sold his roofing company to do god’s work- which according to him is riding around on horses spreading the word of god. He asked me about myself. I don’t usually reveal my true identity to strangers in the backcountry. As nice as they can be in that setting, who knows what they are like in the frontcountry. He seemed like a true, tough and tried Oregonian so I decided to go with a controversial alias: Jane Davis (for those who don’t know, this is a female version of my good college friend Jon Davis. He lives in the middle of nowhere Iowa and I make fun of him for it). When I finished my life story Jacques came up to me, grabbed my shoulder and yealled, “Bones!” He moved to my hip and once again yelled, “Bones!” I gave him a strange look and he retorted, “What are they doing letting a skinny lil’ farm girl carry heavy pack in these parts of the woods. From the looks of it you don’t got much to ya, but I can tell you got gumption.” He then went over to one of his horses and grabbed an apple out of the saddle bag and said, “I was going to give this to one of my horses, but by the looks of it you need it more.” I ate the apple, thanked him and went on my way. However, for some reason I ran into Jacques 3 more times and each time he would look at me and say, “ya still haven’t gained the weight” and once again reach into the saddle bag and give me some sort of food. I don’t think that I have lost a ton of weight since I have been out here—5 lbs at most. MY metabolism has really amped up in the past couple of weeks. I am eating about 3,500-4,000 calories a day. I usually don’t carry that much food into the backcountry. If I did, my pack would be way too heavy for the amount of miles I attempt. I do go into a calorie defecit during my shift, but I sure to make it up on my off days with a lot of butter and cheese. I am going to blame everyone’s concern about my weight on my pregnancy top and I am not going to worry about it because I get free food out of the deal.

Updates from the field

I was allowed to go into the field by myself for the first time. With some poking and prodding I was allowed to take a round about route to my first base-camp that involved about 13 miles and a gear drop for some rangers in need of batteries and a water purifier. Dan hiked me to Blue Lake where we ran into some naked men getting their male bonding times before we departed. From then on I was totally alone. I hiked through a forest that was recently hit by a forest fire. Actually the B&B fire annihilated 400,000 acres of forest and lasted about two months hit it. It was entirely eerie to have the first solo experience in what felt like a wasteland. At the same time felt free. I was technically at work but when I saw a butte that I wanted to climb I said, “why not?” This is the best part of my job: the freedom to climb whatever I want because if I wanted to climb it, I bet someone else has had the same idea. This means that I need to check it out. Back to the trip report. I climbed to the top of a butte and could see most of the wilderness with one look. I looked around. I was alone so I let out a scream. A couple miles later I was at base camp. I spent my first night alone, truly alone (more on this below).
The next day I decided to just book it. I am under the impression that everyone has a marketable skill. I am decent at biochemistry but I don’t really have the passion for the lab. I used to be good at soccer but didn’t feel like pursuing it. I am decent at ultimate but I am a flaky teammate, but I am really good at walking. I decided to do a 20-mile loop. I put my food in my left cargo pocket and slurped away at my camelback and just started moving my legs. I only stopped to refill my water (side note: I drank 10L of water that day). I didn’t see anyone that day. It was amazing. I cannot really explain the feeling of being on the move alone. It is something you just need to experience.
On the third day I once again made my rounds at the dispersed campsites around Marion Lake. There was no one there so I decided to follow the outlet stream down to the road where I was going to get picked up. I stumbled upon a double water fall. I kept hiking up the ridgeline to an amazing outlook for lunch. When I called into dispatch for my 12:00 check in I desperately wanted to day, “Eugene dispatch, I am checking in from the middle of nowhere. Don’t worry about me.” All in all a good weekend.



Other notes;
I shot a hand gun for the first time and hit 3 beer bottles in a row.

Notes on being alone (taken straight from my trail journal)

I am excited to do little things. Life has much more excitement. I am excited when me feet get dirty because I have the time to wash them thoroughly. I have disproven that a watch pot never boils three times tonight. I think that it is impossible to get peeved when I alone because I can take the time to fix whatever annoys me. Right now there are 12 mosquitoes in my tent. I have the time to count them. I have also started pretending that my arms are frog tongues and I have been catching and releasing them. Something that is usually a nuisance has become a fun game. My work usually overworks my body, but it gives me the opportunity to unwind my mind from all the so-called time saving devices. The one thing that I am actually really thankful for is my radio. People chatter on it all day and I can trace the locations of all my friends from the compound as well as Dan and Sarah. I imagine what they are doing as I know they sometimes imagine what I am doing. It feels like I have some friends with me and I am not totally cut off from the front country. I am living the border life.

Three things that everybody eventually finds out

Three things that everybody eventually finds out-
So if you spend a while with me, there are three things that always come up. I guess they are my little quirks and I think that everyone has quirks. Apparently mine are very obvious.
1. I am terrified of fish. I hate swimming in lakes and pools. The odd thing is that I don’t really mind swift moving currents of rivers. I guess I think that the currents force the fish past me (unless they are those pesky spawning salmon). I freak out in rocking boats and don’t like rock hopping over lakes with steep drop offs. If anyone ever throws me into a body of water, I will legitimately freak out. This isn’t the cute screaming, everyone point and laugh type of freak out. It is more of a “oh crap, we really scared her, I feel bad now,” type of freak out. This was the first quirk that surfaced here in at Willamette National Forest. This is natural because many miniature lakes surround us as well as Detroit Lake and most of out past times include swimming. When people find out they usually separate out into two categories. The first group of people makes fun of me (as they probably should) and threatens to throw me into the water. The second group is a little more supportive and say, “If I go in will you?” or something of that nature. I guess there is a third group: The people that start in group two but quickly switch to group one when the get fed up with me. So far in Oregon both categories exist. Dan is really supportive and really wants me to go swimming so I might take a dip at the end of the summer just to make him happy. Erin, my roommate, on the other hand is not so supportive and just makes fun of me. It doesn’t bother me. I think I deserve it.
2. I love blue juice. Blue juice, also known as watered down blue Powerade, has been my drink of choice since first year of college. They have it on tap in the dining hall and there have been many meals (mainly just Saturday mornings) that consist of just 5 glasses of blue juice. My dentist and the doctor to try and kick the habit and I though have told me that the middle of nowhere Oregon would be the place to detox. Not the case. We shop at this store called WINCO (more on that later) that sells liter bottles for $.58! This blue juice obsession really doesn’t fit in with the rest of my eating habits. I tend to go for the organic, all natural choice and blue juice is definitely not organic. My roommate aptly pointed out that it is radioactive blue. However, it looks like I have dragged down another person into my blue juice stupor. I even got him to call it blue juice. He steals sips when I am not looking. Now with a partner in crime, I won’t be able to kick the habit this summer.
3. My middle name is Day Walker. This usually comes up because I am fascinated by middle names. It is a hidden identity and says so much about a person or at least about their family. Therefore when I am getting to know someone I often ask his or her middle name. There aren’t many of my friends that I don’t know their middle name (Scott Hoag, you are one of them… expect a phone call soon!). Anyway, take my mother’s name for example, Elizabeth F. Brown. When she was born the F stood for Foster. Then her brother Charlie was born. He became Charles Foster and my mother was Elizabeth Farwell. Then her brother Albert Farwell was born and she became Elizabeth Fayette (I think), but she was pretty undone by all the identity changes that she decided to stick with just the letter F. That tells me a lot about her parents and herself… read into as you wish. If nothing else, it is a funny story. Some people don’t have middle names and some are very religious. So while their first name is Rainbow, there middle name is Jesus. BAM! I instantly know that they are religious… or Hispanic. My middle name is Day Walker. When people ask me where it comes from I usually tell them that my parents are huge Wesley Snipes fans (Blade reference). Some people bite, the others wait for the real answer. The truth is, I don’t really know. I know they are both family names, but why they chose to give me two extremely hippy middle names is beyond me. I like it a lot. It suits me really well. If you look at it literally, I love to walk and, frankly, I am scared of the dark. But also, it really connects me to my family. Both Day and Walker are frequent middle names on my mother ‘s side (Albert Day, Jeremy Walker, Samuel Walker, Nathaniel Walker (x2), Della Day... I hope I didn’t get any of those wrong. I am missing a bunch, sorry Farwells). When people at Detroit found out my middle name is Day Walker, they latched on. My roommate calls me Day Walker and Dan calls me the truncated version, Day Wok (he insists on spelling it this way).


New up and coming quirks of mine; get ready:
Botulism. It is terrifying and strikes without warning. Plus, I love my canned beans.

Pregnant Hipster Pickle- an update

I guess the title can be a little irksome at first, but I assure you, it is a kosher story in the end. On the day that I climbed up to the PCT, I took off my uniform top because I had sweat through it. I realized that I had forgot it only after we had descended 1000 ft down a scree slope. It would have taken about an hour to retrieve it so we decided to continue down and hope that it is up there when we return in a couple of weeks. In the mean time, I needed a uniform top. Dan was nice enough not to tell our boss that I lost my shirt and took me to the cage where all the uniforms are held. The only one left in my size was a maternity top. It is a polyester polo that has pleats in the front to allow the bump to grow. It looks ridiculous on me. Then again, I will always look ridiculous wearing a government issued uniform. My boss dropped my off at the trailhead and as I put on my shirt he gave me a weird look. I looked back at him and said, “yeah I know it is a maternity shirt. My last shirt was involved in a wardrobe malfunction,” and then took off down the trail before he could respond.

Updates from Willamette National Forest

Gear Review: the world’s best spoon
I have fallen in love with an inanimate object. I love my REI extra long handle titanium spoon (I believe that there is also a sea to summit version). It is the only utensil that I use and if I can’t find it food taste differently. The handle is long enough to stir pasta while it is boiling or fry anything up. The actual spoon portion is more circular with a hint of square so it fits better in my mouth while also allowing the spoon to be a great scraping device. In the backcountry, it works miracles. It cuts cheese off the block, slices garlic into fine pieces, and reaches all the way down to the bottom of a nalgene to dislodge all the chunks of hot chocolate.

Hipster pickle-
I have a ranger uniform or more aptly named, a pickle suit. It consists of green cargo pants and a beige button up polo. I look more like a little boy during Halloween than a ranger. It is baggy and hot and I am not a huge fan. I have however added some of my own flair to the uniform to make it more of an outfit. First, I always pop the collar. If people make fun of me or ask about said collar, I say it is to keep the bugs away but in reality, it makes me feel like a bad ass. Second, I add a pair of stunna shades. They are a pair of knock off Ray-Bans with a reflective metallic finish on the lenses that I found in my house that are probably from the early 1980s. Lastly, I have a huge neon shark watch. In the end I look like a hipster pickle and I am ok with that.

My first trip out-
All the snow melted from two of our base camps and we completed all of our seasonal certifications so we got to head out to our base camps this weekends. Because I am new to the position, I went into the backcountry with my supervisor. Spending every waking, showerless minute of the day- including sleeping mere inches away- is a great (and quick) way to get to know your supervisor. I guess I knew him pretty well from before this trip because he lives right above me and the walls are paper-thin. I know what kind of music he likes, when he gets up in the morning, and sometimes if I am lucky, when he pees. It turns out that we are really compatible which bodes well for the rest of the summer.
I also found out that this is almost the perfect job for me. Basically my job is to run into people, check their permit, make sure they aren’t doing anything illegal and talk to them about the backcountry. They usually all have really nice gear, and if I am lucky, a dog. For those of you that don’t know, I am obsessed with the backcountry, gear and dogs. So far the cutest dog award is a tie between an 8 month of labradoodle, and a 3 year old beagle-white lab mix. The best gear award goes to a 6 person Tarp-tent brand tent (sub-6 lbs!!!).
The only caveat is that I have to use a radio. I am required to call dispatch 3-times a day with my whereabouts as a safety precaution, but the radio scares the crap out of me. I am not that good with conversations over a phone and that is between two people. EVERYONE can hear me over the radio and I am supposed to be really formal, concise and use words like copy, clear and affirmative. It took me a ½ hour to get up the nerve to call into dispatch the first time.
I guess this is how I know my supervisor and I are combatable. He was entirely fine with me discussing the gear of everyone we ran into as well as ogling over the dogs in camp. Plus, he only made fun of me for a day for my radio shortcomings. On the flip side, I put up with his smelliness and persuaded him into some pretty sweet adventures.

Highlights of the trip:
-I bet my supervisor that Antigua is a tropical island so whenever we are together he will use the radio instead of me
-Climbing to the top of a ridge hooking up with the PCT and being able to see for miles… Best 4th of July ever

Lowlights:
-Forgetting my uniform on the PCT

Shooting a gun and summer goals

Yep, I fulfilled my first summer goal. I got to shoot a gun and I loved it. When I let my supervisor know that I had never really shot a gun, he was appalled that I never took the constitution up on the second amendment. He took Sarah and me into the backwoods with his shotgun and we threw clay pigeons and shot them. Sarah went first and missed the pigeon by a good 12 feet. When it was my turn to go I asked if they could make a human shaped, non-moving target instead. We settled for a beer can and a bottle of robutussin. I missed both times but looked like a badass doing it. I hope we get to do this again.
Yeah, I like my 2nd amendment, but I have definitely found that around here people emphasize the fact it is the 2nd amendment and not some random one down the line. Weren’t they just inserted chronologically? Therefore it might have been important back then but not so much now so who really cares that it is 2nd in line. I personally enjoy the 19th and the 26th amendment a lot more than the 2nd amendment and they aren't at the head of the class. They didn’t even make the top ten. My summer goal is to reorder the amendments.