Sea Legs (6/14)

I spent the majority of my second week attending the Atlantic White Cedar conference, a triennial event that showcases current research and restoration efforts on this tree species. There were hours worth of talks based on different aspects of cedar growth, decay, restoration, and management. In fact, for a while the Great Dismal Swamp NWR had a rather impressive collection of cedar stands. However, Hurricane Isabel in '03 and the South One '08 and Lateral West '11 fires have all but removed the hard work of the refuge staff.

A small cedar and it's seeds at the Cavalier Wildlife Management area.

On Tuesday, I listened to the presentations, learning about soil conditions, herbivory, and a few restoration efforts in neighboring states. There were so many different perspectives-  some researchers look at the hydrology, some look at the soil, others still look at the planting method. The multidisciplinary aspect of the conservation field is something I really enjoy. It meshes all of these fields and all of these passionate professionals into one common goal. It was good to see.

On Wednesday we went on a field trip. We went to the Cavalier WMA to see how their cedar stands were coming up, we went to Dismal Swamp State Park to hear about their outreach and look at the trees that remained after Isabel. Finally, we hopped the road to the refuge and looked at what was left of what used to be an 80 year old cedar stand.

It was heart breaking and incredible to look at. I've mentioned the burn scar south of Lake Drummond before, but when you stand on the side of the road and look out while trying to imagine what was... it's hard to do. I can hardly imagine what it was like, losing all of those trees and all of the work the foresters had spent so much time.

The burn scar on Corapeake, where the Lateral
West fire of 2011 destroyed most of the cedars.

Today we wrapped up the Symposium with some more talks. My favourite talk was given by a chemical analyst, she was looking at turpene levels in white cedar in relation to browsing effects.
Turpenes are secondary metabolites produced by plants to fend off herbivory. The compounds made digestion difficult and therefore defer consumption. The presentation was heavy in organic chemistry, the research was conducted using gas chromatography and mass spectroscopy, two techniques I used this past year.

It was fascinating to see organic taken to the next level, to something a little more interesting and relevant than what I did in lab. I thought my lab experience would be on the useless side here, but I was glad to have found myself in familiar territory.

The 80 year old cedars of the Dismal
Swamp State Park in North Carolina.

Outside of the familiar, however, is my norm. After the symposium, my supervisor and I retreated into the depths of the swamp, to the northern section of Jericho ditch. I pulled on my hipwaders, rolling the tops down an inch or two so I would have full leg movement. These were the same ones that sprung the leak, but today they were all patched up! I had repaired them over the weekend.

This afternoon I felt more like a dwarf than a water person. I grabbed the mallet and a stake from the truck in case we needed to stake a spot for the cross section to go across the ditch. As I stepped down the slope after having crossed the railroad tracks, I felt like one of Snow White's dwarves.

I waddled across a small ledge, passing under the leaves and through a small tunneled gate to the observation site. As things normally do here, it felt mystic, and I entertained myself with fantastic daydreams to avoid the thought of tripping and falling into the vinegar waters.

The point of the trip was to take flow measurements again. We do this by setting up a measuring tape across the ditch ends. Then, using the flow tracker, we take measurements every half foot or foot. The flow tracker looks like an 80's calculator attached to a  measuring pole. The pole has a small sonar sensor at the bottom, and by keeping it level for 28 seconds, it gives us the velocity of the water in feet per second.

As I scrambled down the steep side down int to the ditch, I clutched the side shrubs as if I were climbing down an earthy ladder. I hesitated at the water's edge, concerned. Taking that first step into the water always makes me nervous, not because I'm afraid of the water moving- it's never that quick, but I fret because I can't see the bottom. The water is too dark and frothy for me to see where I step. I  cautiously stepped in, feeling my boots suction tightly around my feet. Trailing along the side, I inched to the site where I would tie  the tape. I tested every step after really getting into the water. I took my time, as Fred was checking the staff gage.

The feeling of water around waders is a curious one. I could feel the water slipping around my calves and the coolness of it as it rushed by. My feet sank in the soft, slippery ditch floor, into the invisible earth. There's something to say here- I know the water isn't deep. Rarely higher than two feet, but my footing is unsure as I maneuver, though I know with time I will step confidently.