'Hey, Papa, sorry for missing your call, I was in the field all day,' I felt quiet satisfied with myself as I returned home, at 530, after a ten hour day. I was soaking wet and covered in sand, and pleasantly tired from my time spent in the sun.
'The field, huh? Now you're really starting to sound like a migrant worker.' Brought back to reality by one of the most clever things I've heard in a while. My family keeps me humble.
I was beyond nervous this morning. For a fleeting, childish moment I thought about calling in sick- for a brief period, my nerves were in fact, making me a bit green.
With my usual mental fortitude (read, whining) I hauled the equipment to the truck at 7am and went into the refuge office. The entire half hour drive there, I tried pumping myself up with my music.
It didn't work, so when I parked the truck I was actually shaking in my boots. I was nervous because
a) Fred is on vacation and I am utterly flying solo here
b) I have been deemed hydro project leader in his absence.
So, when I met with the biologist, I put on my best guise of confidence and leaned against the doorframe like it was made for me to lean on. Sipping my coffee like the lead in a movie, I asked if we were ready to go.
Sure, we were ready, but I really, really wasn't. At the first structure, it took me half an hour to string a line across the channel to pull the surveyor across. I clumsily filled out forms and keyed in buttons- all this after I had almost drowned.
Fine! I'm exaggerating, but my nerves coupled with the inability to stand in the water lead to a moment of acute panic. I was originally going to wade and measure with the tracker, because I feel more confident on that device. Though when I crawled in, I found the water was too deep for me to reach, in my attempt to touch my toes to the floor, water flooded my chest waders and I gripped the edge of the channel the way a child learning to swim does.
After my left foot was sucked into the narrow channel water was passing through, I quickly abandonded the endeavor and awkwardly did a surveyor measurement. Oh, well.
The next one was just as bad. This may have been site conditions over technique but I wanted to do well today. But there was magnetic interference and I don't think the data is useful.
Also at this site, we had to call the matainence guy to cut away the barbed wire around the structure. I get the impression that he doesn't like me too much, because when I thanked him for coming out to cut the wire he said, 'You don't have to kiss my ass.'
Uhh.
A few more exchanges like that and I retreated to the truck to grumble to myself as I rung my socks out and put my boots on.
Anyway, the fun part- the breach at high tide.
The water was high. Way higher than it had been when we marked out gps points last week. Eyeballing it and considering my luck, I decided against any gear. I cast the chest waders aside, because as I've said, I've had a lot of trouble staying dry.
Embracing the inevitable, I waded. I was wearing my knee boots, which I adore, which quickly filled. The water was frequently up to my waist, and the wading rod with the flow tracker was awkward and unwieldy.
How did you do it? You ask, How did those full boots not drive you crazy? I'll tell you-To keep my attitude keen, I did what anyone would do, I pretended to be a mermaid. Or Tom Hanks in Castaway, because every time I scrambled up the beach in my waterlogged boots I was mentally pretending to be a scraggly castaway.
You laugh and scoff at my childish line of thinking, but when you're sinking and toppling around like a baby on sea legs, you get used to laughing at yourself. The seasonal biotech and I sank to our chests on our way back, and each time we sank, we screamed 'Woahhh' and pedaled out of the mushy sand. We walked in circles getting as close as possible to the waypoints, so why not have a little fun with it? I know we looked positively silly.
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