The Field

The Myrtle Spurge Scourge

It was still winter today near the Shanahan trail just above Boulder. The snow was light and powdery, unlike the wet, spring snow farther down. We opted to try myrtle spurge on Shanahan again today, hoping there would be less snow under the trees and it would be more visible than the med sage down on the plains. It wasn't, really. There was 1-2 inches on the ground, and only the larger plants were visible unless they happened to be uncovered by our probing feet. So we followed the GPS around to our points, stopping and carefully searched likely spots, looking for the long shape of its stems buried under the snow, or a few pointed leaves sticking out. Myrtle spurge, with its distinctive leaves that spiral around the stem and strange yellow flower heads is, like so many invasive weeds, is an escaped ornamental from people's gardens that's now mucking up natural areas, crowding out native vegetation. Plus, it has a wicked anti-herbivory defense -- the milky latex that pours from any wound is poisonous to animals that might eat it and causes severe irritation if it gets on your skin. And it must be hand pulled, because it will regrow from any root left in the ground, hence our rubber gloves. Later in the year we'll also have to wear safety glasses to counter its explosive seeds. Yes, the weeds can shoot at us now. All hail the frightening power of evolution.

It's hard enough to find every weed when you can see them; this was kind of ridiculous. But how often do you get to walk though a forest covered in fresh fallen snow? It was worth it. For a little while, the sun came out and shone on the frosted Flatirons. Walking into a densely wooded location, I noticed a bunch of deer tracks, and thought about mentioning them, but didn't. Then one of my coworkers said, "There's a lot of deer." Sure enough, the herd was just ahead. They turned their giant ears toward us and mosied along quietly as we did our work. Later, I found a number of the large, ovoid body prints in the snow where they had slept.

Our feet were getting wet and cold and conditions were not improving, so we called it off after only a couple hours and went home, which was nice because the snow had kind of made me hope that I wouldn't have to do very much work today hehe.

I'm getting paid for this?

That thought occurred to me more than once as I hiked up the snowy Chautauqua Park trail with the rest of the IPM crew, the trees wreathed with snow, the Flatirons frosted and topped with misty clouds, and as I sat down alone in the middle of a small stand of trees to complete my assignment -- 20 minutes of silent contemplation of my surroundings, open space, nature, etc. The snow on the bare branches surrounded me with a fractal maze of black and white lines. It was still but for the tiny sound of little, hard specks of snow hitting my jacket and birds occasionally calling in the distance, and the wash of traffic far down in Boulder. I'm getting paid for this!

Besides that, most of my first day was standard first day stuff -- orientation, introductions, and paperwork. Being around peers and watching a powerpoint on weed management made it feel strangely like an ecology class back at CU -- a class where the school was paying me instead of the other way around. The other three techs and the leader seem to share goals with me -- learning plant identification, GIS mapping software, and improving communication skills by speaking up more and asking questions when necessary -- so I think they'll be pretty easy to work with. There was only one guy who said he actually wanted to "tone down" his apparently overbearing extrovert personality. Hopefully there won't be any conflicts. Anyway, I'm really excited to get to work outside doing relevant ecology work, even if it does mean having to give up being a night owl so that I can wake up at 5:30 or 6:00 in the morning, a time I'd usually just be heading to bed.

Wind on the Coalton and High Plains trails

This has been the windiest winter!  Whitney and I went for a walk on the 13th, and we couldn't have picked a clouder, windier day for it. Really, the conditions were pretty unpleasant. Luckily for us, hiking in bad weather builds character, or something. It was a trail I've never seen, despite its nearness -- the Coalton trail in Superior, off of McCaslin Blvd. It was a few miles east of the trailhead for the Greenbelt Plateau trail that we hiked on Valentine's. It was a strange trail -- really more of an unpaved road -- that was broad and rocky with a wire fence on either side, and arrow-straight. The first mile and a half led through a large prairie dog colony and past it, climbing a hill and revealing a great view of grassland and mountains as it made a 90 degree turn south. The prairie dogs, protected from interlopers by the fencing, were mostly unconcerned with us, which made for some good up-close viewing of the highly social little fuzzballs, who are a very important part of the ecosystem and couldn't be cuter if they tried.

Atop the hill there was a view of the mountains I've never quite seen before in all my years of looking at these mountains -- the long crest of the hill sloped down into a grassy valley with a tiny, unnamed pond. More khaki, grassy hills rolled toward the mountains. It was as we continued down the trail that we began to feel an incredible amount of solitude. It was only a few miles to the cookie-cutter subdivisions on the other side of McCaslin, but we hadn't seen another human since we parked, nor could we hear any traffic noise despite relatively near highways. What we could see of the city looked very far away, and the only immediate sign of civilization was the high-tension power lines (or whatever they were) running parallel to the trail. But they represented the same sort of absentee civilization as empty office buildings, and didn't count. We were on a dirt road out in the country somewhere, alone but for the howling wind and the occasional appearance of a bird of prey, in a hilly sea of short brown grass.

I wore two hoods, more to keep the wind off my ears than for the cold. Persistent wind hurts my ears and dries out my eyes, and I hate it, but I think I'm finally getting used to it. Maybe the clouds were a blessing, since there wasn't a tree within two miles. Obtaining such solitude, with such open views is a remarkable thing when you're just outside a big city. Most of the land we explored is protected as part of the city of Boulder's massive open space green belt, and it's impossible not to be grateful to the people who had the foresight to preserve it, and it's amazing, humbling and extremely gratifying to think that come Monday I'll be working in places like this. I finally managed to get a job, as a seasonal Integrated Pest Management (IPM) technician with the City of Boulder Open Space and Mountain Parks department. "Pests" in this case are invasive plant species -- weeds -- that I'll be helping to control on open space lands.

Eventually, Highway 128 came into view, and the Coalton trail merged into the High Plains Trail, where the dirt road and fencing gave way to a narrow footpath with no fences, which was a nice change of pace even if it did make walking side by side more challenging. We wound around a few hills, crossed a little wooden boardwalk over a drainage, where there was at last a few trees, and then came to another, slightly longer little bridge where we stopped to rest and eat snacks and enjoy each other's company. We had the grassy plains all to ourselves, and the sun was peeking out.

We were already pretty tired, so it was a long walk back in the wind. When we reached the Coalton trail again, we finally caught sight of some humans -- one man running, four women with a dog, and one man on a bike. As we started down the final hill on the home stretch the ungainly subdivisions and offices of Superior and Broomfield lay suddenly ahead. I figure it was about a seven mile walk, all together. After four hours in the wind, it was nice to get in the car, where it was warmer and not windy at all.