Chapter 2. Basic Training.

NOCA. A Daily Testament of Youthful Discovery in the Wilderness.

“The birds I heard today, which, fortunately, did not come within the scope of my science, sang as freshly as if it had been the first morning of creation.” — Henry David Thoreau

May 7

I slept hard and the morning came fast. I heard the crew clanging around in the kitchen and could smell oats, apples and bananas. As Heather and I emerged from our room, I noticed everyone had bed-head and I realized that overnight, we had become a team. After a night all in the same house, we had formed a league of our own and I could only imagine how close we would become after a few months laboring in the confines of NOCA.

After a breakfast of cold pop-tarts and cereal, I volunteered to drive for our first group field trip. We headed to Rockport State Park, where we marveled upward into giant Douglas firs, keeping our ears open and ready. We heard the long eerie song of a varied thrush and Barry amazed us with his intimate knowledge of our feathered friends. We noted the high and wiry song of the golden-crowned kinglet and the familiar carol of an American robin. Later, we headed to Rasar State Park, which provided diverse habitat and great visuals of many birds. We saw golden-crowned sparrows, spotted towhees, Pacific-slope flycatchers, red-breasted sapsuckers, two species of chickadees, winter wrens, tree swallows, pine grosbeaks, black-throated gray warblers and a majestic bald eagle soared above the Skagit River. My mind was overwhelmed with birds and their songs. I knew it was going to be difficult to cram all that incredible knowledge into my head in such a short amount of time.

After the drive home with Barry, Gary and Heather packed into my Honda, I was exhuasted, but there was no pause for rest. I had to listen to bird songs like I was cramming for a final exam in college. Heather catnapped in the sun of our backyard, while I studied away.

While everyone was out, we snuck into our room to make love and afterwards, we happily headed out onto the lawn to lie in the grass, study birds and quiz each other. I wrote a letter to my mom for Mother’s Day. The weather was perfect and I shed my shirt.

When the rest of the crew arrived, frat boy Tom and I became resourcefully competitive. We found a flat basketball in the garage and created a “goal” with a motorcycle tire that we laid across two concrete cinder blocks. He and I played a game of PIG, which he won with a remarkable shot that traveled over a young silver maple and from a single bounce, went through the tire like magic. After that entertainment, I had lunch duty with Barry, the amazing birdman. We chopped potatoes, zucchini, broccoli, carrots, ginger root, avocado and asparagus to make a savory lentil stew. While we sliced veggies, we joked around and jammed out to the Grateful Dead. I heard Barry singing, “Driving that train, high on cocaine”, and I chuckled to myself. Our meal was well recieved by the tribe.

That night we hit it hard with a group study session that annihilated my brain cells. When I went to bed all I could hear was Clark’s nutcracker cackling between my ears.

May 8

Heather accidentally set our alarm for 3:30am instead of the already way too early time of 4:30am. So, we didn’t get much sleep and it seemed as if only a few minutes had passed and we were already jamming Oats n’ Honey down our throats and packing our lunch of bagels and fruit.

We drove into Sedro-Wooley and met with NOCA park biologist, Dean Driscoll. Dean’s appearance suprised us. His skin tone was pale-white and freckled. He had ivory colored hair and a sly demeanor like he was a spy of some sort. He took us to many of his favorite birding spots, most of which required very little walking. I had an excellent morning of bird identification, despite my utter exhaustion. The highlight of the morning was the American bittern that we alarmed as it crossed a levee. This gorgeous and tall bird stuck its long striped neck towards the sky and kept one weary eye on us as we stared through our binoculars. In all, we saw 34 species of birds that day. When we finally returned to The Bird House, I was too tired to process any more information and crashed for a long nap with Heather by my side.

That afternoon, we reviewed birds on a computer program and I felt as if I was slowly but surely picking up their songs by memory. The work was tedious and demanding for my cloudy little brain.

May 9

We did our morning ritual; ate cereal, prepared a pack-lunch and got into the cars for another day of birding practice. We headed into NOCA and the wildness dazzled me. Immense Douglas firs, grand firs, Western hemlocks and black cottonwoods surrounded the highway. We curved east on Highway 20 and I noticed the Skagit River had faded in strength. That is when I saw Diablo Dam (the devil’s dam) that provides power to the Seattle metro. Even though NOCA appears untamed from the road, the dam and the power lines have stolen some of its perfection.

We traveled to the North Cascades National Park Visitor’s Center and watched a video presentation about the park and met some of the staff. When pioneers originally came to the Pacific Northwest they were anxious to begin cutting the immense forests for board feet. We witnessed outrageous photographs of settlers dancing on the stumps of giant tree trunks the size of ballrooms. To me, that is no better than killing your own grandmother.

“Man always kills the things he loves, and so we the pioneers have killed our wilderness. Some say we had to. Be that as it may, I am glad I shall never be young without wild country to be young in. Of what avail are forty freedoms without a blank spot on the map.” — Aldo Leopold

Human presence in NOCA goes back nearly 8000 years. The indigenous peoples of the region utilized the land for salmon fishing and berry gathering. The first Euro-Americans who traveled into the region in the late 1700s were fur traders. Alexander Ross made the earliest recorded crossing of the North Cascades in 1814. In the late 1800s, miners made efforts to extract gold, lead, zinc and platinum, but the steep landscape made profiting difficult. Logging developed in the North Cascades in the early 1900s and the electricity generating power of the Skagit River was taken advantage of between 1924 and 1961. There are currently still 3 dams on the Skagit River.

We stopped and birded along Highway 20, hiking into a few marvelous spots. We saw many species of warblers and the Western tanager looked as if it belonged in the tropics. The forest seemed to hold a spiritual power and teemed with life. From the highway, we spotted a black bear high on a mountainside foraging in a clear-cut area beneath the power lines that head into Seattle from the hydroelecrtic town of New Halem. The sight of that bear sent chills up my spine, it was the first one I’d seen in the wild.

May 10

Dawn is crisp and steam sprays from our lips as we speak about birds. I feel a chill in my bones until the sun eases over the mountain tops. As we listen to our feathered friends call in the morning light, I feel deeply attached to nature. It is as if Mother Nature is letting me in on her little secret. Each bird song seems to register on a deeper level, as if I can understand what they are saying. It is a wonderful gift to be able to step into the forest and differentiate the bird songs you hear.

We saw a blue grouse and a varied thrush along the ditches of Sauk Mountain Road. On either side of that road there is second and third growth forest emerging from old clear-cuts. Along some sections of the road we witnessed gnarled earth, tire tracks, gravel, exotic plants, iron cords, charred stumps, pitiful puddles of orange water and compacted soil; just a few of the ugly signs of clear-cutting. The practice of clear-cutting is so obviously harmful to the earth; I could barely stand being close to it. I sat for a while on a charred stump of Douglas fir and smelled death…I long to see the ancient forest reemerge into the heavens. The canopy would block out the sun for the shade tolerant sub-canopy plants, right down to the ground cover of moss. There would be trees dying a natural death of old age, decaying along the forest floor, becoming life once again. I am amazed that people have the heart to bring their massive machines and rip out a wooded grove to expose the forest floor to erosion, bright sunlight and to trample tiny forbs and ferns. There has to be other means of extracting timber. We can surely make everyone happy in the business of logging and tree hugging.

“It could be an opportunity for more jobs…the creation of a new labor intensive industry of protective logging — selecting, pruning, trimming, measuring and evauluating forests — looking at the trees — rather than the old machine culture of running amok, driving the giant Catepillar up the hill and into the dark forest, erasing it, and erasing jobs for the next generation.” — Rick Bass, The Book of Yaak

In my journal I scrolled…

Clear-cut

I have stood in graveyards of men, women and children, though I’ve never seen their spirits rise. I used to ride my bike on spring days in college, through an old cemetary. The carved marble seemed distant and cold. This morning, above the Skagit River, on Sauk Mountain, a thick fog settled at 2200 feet above sea level. I scanned eastward to see a stand of Douglas fir, but surrounding me was a graveyard, not of people, but of trees. A litter of spiritiless bodies strewn across the slope, not unlike pictures I’ve seen of the Holocaust. I saw lifeless, jagged stumps, graying in the mountain air. There were millions of gravestones. I felt the pain of a tormenting saw and God’s breath lifted the fog.

I napped after a morning of birding and what a feeling it was to sleep. Soon thereafter, Tom and I had a crazy hacky-sac session in the front yard while a few cars trickled by on Highway 20. Later, we drank beers from Oregon and I had my first vegan dinner that Julia and Heather graciously prepared. I had been eating so many vegetables and drinking so much water, I felt renewed inside and out.

May 11

“Every morning was a cheerful invitation to make my life of equal simplicity, and I may say innocence, with Nature herself” — Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Another tired morn, yet I know what I have to do. A routine has settled upon me, but it is enjoyable. The same stinky clothes are upon my back, there is hot tea in my cup, cold cereal in my bowl and I have sleepy eyes and matted hair. I inhale the morning aromas of The Bird House: rasberry tea, toast, cold bagels and fresh fruit. I hear the crew say, “Good morning” and it is out into the pure cascadian air to learn bird songs.

There is something flawless about these mornings. I have the feeling that I am the first person on earth to inhale the sweet air. It is an unbelievable sensation that can easily be taken for granted. If you step from your vehicle and silently listen for birds, you become mindful of something very simple, yet essential. It feels good to be aware of your surroundings! Not only in the phyiscal sense, but also the more scientific. Name the things you can see and hear. You will begin to understand that you are not the all-important human; you are a guest, sharing the woods with the Wilson’s warbler and the tiny brown creeper.

People’s voices are commonly sung, but birds are constantly communicating with song. Each sound is like a note on the scale of their brilliant form of music. Each morning, I listen intently, like a child to its parents. When I close my eyes to sleep at night, I see birds bouncing through my head like tiny ballerinas. In the field, I am humbled; my ears are open to the enchanted flute of the hermit thrush. I am being trained as a naturalist and what a way to spend the day! Each crewmember is sharing bits of their knowledge openly, like an author to the reader. My mind fills with unique information as I learn the quiet act of birding with my field guide in hand. Never before have I experienced such a life; I am fulfilled by this structured vacation and I get a daily stipend. Shhh…did you hear it? A black-throated gray warbler’s buzzy trill. It amazes me that I care so much about the intricate details of the outside world, but there are many who go through their entire lives without yearning for this type of knowledge. It seems that this is nothing more than the opportunity for enlightenment of self, of our surroundings , of our beginnings, and of Mother Nature herself.

“To Touch and Feel is to Experience. Many people live out their entire lives without ever really Touching or being Touched by anything. These people live within a world of mind and imagination that may move them sometimes to joy, tears, happiness or sorrow. But these people never really Touch. They do not live and become one with life.” — Hyemeyohsts Storm, Seven Arrows

Heather and I strolled to the Skagit River and perched on a couple of round rocks to relax and talk. We had both been so wrapped up in our own personal struggles with the job that we hadn’t taken much time to be with one another. I snapped photos while we smoked some pot that Julia had given us, homegrown in Oregon. We softly kissed each other as the river rolled by. When we returned to the house, I concocted a salad and made my own dressing too, even though it never really developed a distinct flavor. Amity made a splendid pasta dish for dinner and after a great feast, Heather and I plotted survey points on topographical maps, which we’d be using in the field for our data gathering.

May 12

We practiced field methods, utilizing all of our new scientific gadgets. We had a clinometer to measure the slope of mountainsides and the heights of trees. We were trained to use a densiometer that would help establish the density of a tree canopy. We learned to gauge the diameter-breast-height of trees and did point counts and vegetative analysis, just like we’d be doing in the backcountry.

The focus of the job is called point counting. Point counts involve navigating to a designated starting point, which in the case of our work in NOCA, were randomly selected by a computer and then hand-plotted on topographic maps. Once a person navigates by compass and GPS unit to the specified point, he or she begins a 5 minute session of intense listening to all bird activity in the surrounding area. Each audible species of bird (common name only) and the estimated distance the bird is from the point, are documented in the provided data sheets.

Vegetative analysis goes hand in hand with point counting while in the field. As one field biology intern conducts point counts, the other surveys the plant life present in a 50 meter circle of that point. The designated “veg-person” travels in 10 meter increments and stops at each one, documenting all plant life existing in a small imaginary cylinder at the toe of their last step. That cylinder reaches towards the sky and anything touching it is recorded by Genus Species in the correct height category. All information is logged onto field data sheets.

While practicing our veg-surveys in the mountains surrounding Marblemount, we observed ravens in a cliff nest. The entire clan of them cawed at us with raspy voices. We also heard the silence shattering blasts of gunshots in the Skagit Valley. We soon discovered our neighbor shooting paint cans with a monstrous 44 magnum. He told us that he often had to scare bears from his backyard (that we were incidentally trespassing on) by firing shots into oblivion. He said he had seen yellow canaries in the area. Surely, this was somebody’s house pet on the loose, though many people mistake American goldfinches for yellow canaries. He seemed to have a tendency towards narrow-minded thought and violence, but he was fun to talk to.

May 13

Mother’s Day. I turn to NOCA and see adventure. To navigate the wilderness by map and compass, with bravery and wit, by my instincts and a pack filled with the essentials for survival. Our study crew is a pioneer group for bird surveys in NOCA and we will be going into the wilderness to encounter all it is willing to offer. We are establishing base-line data for plants and birds for all future studies to be based. We feel like guinea pigs of science, testing theories and forging new paths. I am filled with confidence at some moments and am petrified the next. I try and remain positive and stay strong, but keep envisioning myself being mauled by a bear.

It rained heavily and fog rolled over the mountains. The intense greens of the place became vivid. The Skagit was on the rise and it turned olive in color. The clear-cuts on the mountains surrounding Marblemount clearly stood out. We saw a Swainson’s thrush and focused on its strange call note that sounds like a leaky faucet…Drip! We practiced orienteering skills, the compass and GPS. There was much to comprehend and the backcountry waited.

May 14

More rain. It’s becoming apparent that we are in the Pacific Northewest. As I rise from bed, I hear the variant song of the American robin playing in the Skagit corridor, just outside my window. Everyday, I wake to hear new birds and slowly I process the information they’re singing, searching for the image of the bird inside my mind’s eye.

Work was postponed because of the rain and lack of birds singing, so we slept in until 7:30am. Sadly, I was more tired after a couple more hours of sleep. We threw on our purple Patagonia rain gear, went birding and the rain gear remained on the entire day. While we worked, my skin felt like dank rags, but the clothes under my gear stayed amazingly dry. My Danner boots took the brunt of the torrent.

The road trip to our practice site was annoying. Gretel and Amity were in the backseat of my Honda. Heather was in the front seat, acting nerdy along with the two in the back. Their conversations got under my skin and I couldn’t wait to get out of the car. It seemed like Heather was having troubles relating to the other girls, which wasn’t too hard to fathom, as everyone was fairly eccentric, including myself. I think we were all still working on our human relations and I was feeling a little burnt out from the intense schedule and training deadline.

I am fed up with science! We quantify and calibrate everything we see. Each time I catch a glimpse of a bird, I suffer through the laborious task of identification and the thrill fades into a glob of scientific theory. I am enamoured by the faint song I hear from the golden-crown kinglet in a fir tree and the sight of a precious fairly slipper under my feet. I am not enamoured by turning these things into data on a spreadsheet. We try and classify everything and have developed these awkward systems and databases for the kingdom of life. The mystery is what makes it worth experiencing. It surely has to come to this; in order to save something, we must fully study it first. It saddens me when I feel frustrated in nature. We pace through giant stands of Western red cedar and Douglas fir and sometimes we forget to ponder their magnificence. I am sure everyone on the crew appreciates what we are witnessing, but it feels the science part of this experience is clouding my vision.

Cascadian Daydreams

Beneath salal berries the moss grows thick. With every step, I tear the soil and feel the cringe beneath my weight. Everything is perfect here, but me.

The smell of organic matter fills my nose. A varied thrush sings a mystical song and I am silent, walking a sidehill through duff and tangled trees; shaded from the sun by a giant canopy.

I stop and scan my map…Horsetail Creek is ahead. I hike east with the guidance of my compass. Beside the waterfall, I get wet with mist. It hurls from above and crashes upon stair-steps of rocks and moss. A cedar, bends and flops with the weight of the fall, waving at me as I squat on damp undergrowth and listen to the infinitesimal drum of life.

Crystal water swirls blue and ruffles white onto red rocks as the water disappears.

May 15

We were told to prepare for rigorous work and a night of camping. Julia and Gary hopped into Barry’s truck with the camping gear in back and the rest of us loaded into Dean Driscoll’s government issued van. We headed into the park to do some practice fieldwork.

In a miserable rain, we primed our distance estimation skills for birds and navigated to randomly selected points in the forest. We trudged through thick tangles of fallen trees and became saturated with every step. After a few practice points, we headed back to the vehicles. As we emerged from the woods, the crew looked around and realized we were short one person. Amity had somehow gotten lost on our excursion, so we jumped into action. Heather and Julia blew their bear whistles as Tom and I screamed for Amity in the dense copse. I visualized her having fallen into a deep crevasse or having been slain by a mountain lion that had pounced on her from a tree. Maybe she had gotten off track while on a pee-break from the rest of the group? Or she decided to sit down for a rest and then lost track of us? We were all yelling and a panic was developing, when finally Amity emerged onto the gravel road, pale faced, after being discovered by Barry. She claimed she was more concerned about us, rather than her own safety and that she was prepared to live in a log if she had to, foraging from roots and herbs. She didn’t act grateful for our search party and our desperate calls. Amity had recieved wilderness survival training at some point, so she would never admit she was lost or afraid.

We moved onto another site to investigate some points in order to calibrate a standard level of difficulty and feasibility depending on steepness and other safety factors. We did a lot of orienteering and map reading practice.

Later, we drove over Washington Pass to the drier, eastern slope of the mountain range. There, we found a different habitat from the western slope. The eastern forest was composed of Ponderosa and Lodgepole pine, for the most part. We also saw many new bird species, such as the calliope hummingbird (North America’s smallest hummingbird), red crossbills, mountain chickadees, red-breasted nuthatches and chipping sparrows.

We made camp in Klipchuck Campground and nightfall snuck up on us…We are exhausting ourselves every single day and I am learning more about NOCA, myself, Heather and my crew members. I feel a bit alienated and different from the group, and I wonder if Heather and my relataionship is setting us apart from the rest of the group?

May 16

We woke to hear the Western tanager saying “kadadit”. We spent the early part of the day on the eastern crest where bushwhacking was considerably easier than the western slope. There were fewer downed trees and no vine maple around to trip us up; perfect for easier fieldwork.

When we returned to Marblemount, I was tired of cramming the names of trees, birds and plants into my head. At the end of our 12 day training session, we were to be tested to see if we were capable field biology interns who could be depended on to gather data for the organization. In order to be successful, we had to eat, sleep, breath and shit birds and plants. I loved the work, I just needed a break, a little beer drinking…I want to see my family and my dog back home. HOME. I want to be comfortable, to chill out, I am exhuasted. Science has overtaken my soul and I want to tear my clothes from my body and dive into the Skagit River and wash it all away.

May 17

We conducted point counts in small groups. I was teamed up with our young prodigy birder Gary, the park biologist Dean, and John a guest professor from Western Washington University. I did well under the pressure, but still had a few species I was struggling to identify. I felt awkward working with the park biologist of NOCA, yet proud that I was picking up on some birds that he couldn’t. He was quite the colorful individual and he acted half his age. He seemed to enjoy nature and being out with young folks. It appeared that he had a strange side about him and I didn’t think I wanted to know what it was. Something about those tiny hands. He talked slowly and was a heck of a storyteller. We came to understand that Dean had a reputation for open-ended deals and wasn’t always reliable.

We arrived back at The Bird House early. I fixed bacon, eggs and corn on the cob for Heather and myself. We slurped dark beers, studied and crashed out like we had died. The days of fieldwork practice were coming to an end and I hoped to pass the test.

Soon, I’ll be in the backcountry, spending night and day amongst the trees. I’ll be immersed in the sounds of the forest, surrounded by wild animals that live differently than I have lived up to this point. Somehow, now I will be living a life similar to them…traipsing through underbrush, eating, finding shelter, napping under the sunshine. I can only guess how I’ll be affected by this summer of science and nature immersion. All the oncoming hardships, the struggles to overcome and the rapture will hopefully form a state of Nirvana within me; never to matched again. Who knows, maybe I’ll become a madman, or a Buddha, or a hermit, or a professional naturalist, or maybe discover my true self.

May 18

Evaluation Eve! We have crammed our brains chock full for 12 days straight. We rose at 5am rain or shine, hiked, worked, trained, climbed slopes of dense vegetation and tuned into the calls and songs of birds.

I bombed the practice review. I tuned out many of the songs because I felt fed up; many of the bird calls just didn’t register. I felt blocked. My first thought was to give up, go home and quit this scientific bullshit and go back to my comfort zone.

I understand why it is so important for me to succeed at this job. It is my duty as a field biology intern to learn the bird songs and to be able to survive in the backcountry. I know someday I’ll look back on this and smile, recollecting all the difficulties I overcame. I can survive in the wilderness! I can carry all of my belongings upon my back, while fearing for my life. At times, I feel nuts for taking this on; it is so different from anything I have ever experienced. For me, this is change in the greatest sense of the word. I am a field biology intern! I am digging this concept of purity in nature, in wilderness. I am into life and the power one possesses while in the throes of youth. I am a boy, a child and a man all in the same skin. I am caught up in mental battles and spiritual tests every day. I am in search for something larger than I have ever known. This is who I have become, in this town, in this small white-walled room. Here lay all my components — body, soul and spirit. I am jumping headfirst into a pool of doubt and swimming to the shore with confidence. I respect my crew, I respect Barry as our leader and I respect Heather for joining me on this adventure. NOCA has overwhelmed me with it’s wildness. The bears, the cougars, the wonders and the fears all affect me. The grandeur of the Pacific Northwest has lured me in and abducted my mind. I hope I can find peace here and be accepted by the animal and plant kingdom. I want to be a part of NOCA for this small window of time. I want to be free of society and at peace with myself. It seems as if human beings should not dominate the earth. We are temporary visitors and our footprints will someday be swept away.

May 19

We woke to a deluge of pouring rain, but knew we didn’t have to face it if we didn’t want to. Heather and I stayed in bed and listened to our bird tapes. We came in and out of consciousness like napping Canada geese. It was awesome to be warm and dry inside. In the afternoon, it rained off and on and we played amongst it all. We relished in the sensation of rain on our bare skin and the feeling of sun to dry us.

Late in the afternoon, we took our Final Exam and I crammed hard beforehand. Going into it, I felt confident. I wanted to pass more than anything, but I did not. I was incredibly bummed, but it felt great to get it over with. I missed two more birds than I was allowed to miss. In fact, Gary and Amity were the only two members of our crew to pass on their first try. Barry said the rest of us would have a second chance in a couple of days.

Immediately following the botched evaluation, the crew started drinking. We polished off some Red Hooks, Butte Porters and some Skagit River brews. Everyone gathered and sang folk songs. We were also blessed by the presence of another set of birders involved in a Master’s thesis study in NOCA; Rob, Kurt and Andy. Rob was a 23 year old dude with the soul of an old wise man. He had a scruffy beard and donned a well worn wool sweater, polyester pants and Chaco sandals. He shared epic stories of 100 kilometer trail runs. Kurt was a tall and slender dude and an adventurer at heart. He wore reckless blonde hair and a blonde beard. He looked like he belonged on an Alaskan fishing boat. Andy was the intelligent, sluggish, beer drinking, wooly mammoth of the crew. He had a scraggy black beard that grew well down his neck. His mustache hung over his mouth. When he drank beers, he would suck the leftover head from his long mustache. Andy was working on his Master’s Degree and had hired his two pals, Rob and Kurt, to help him drink the beer. To me, those three men were the epitome of what wildlife biology could be, becuase the science would be much more informal with them in charge. It is possible that nothing would ever get done, but we might gain a better understanding of laughter, laziness, adventure and life itself.

Everyone celebrated, pass or fail…forget about it. We prepared for the next big happening; the Hawaiian theme party that the NOCA trail maintenance crew were throwing. As it turned out, there ended up not being a Hawaiian theme at all. When we arrived, no one was wearing hula skirts or leas, except for the members of our entourage. Tom sported Julia’s flowered shorts that were grotesquely too small for him. Barry donned fresh picked white flowers poked into his beard and a bright Hawaiian shirt. Rob wore a homemade hula skirt with nothing underneath but his manhood. The rest of us were less thematic, but ready for a good time all the same.

At the party, we discovered an ideal setting tucked way back in the woods. There were sunset intonations of Swainson’s thrushes and a pleasing forest to swallow the murmur of drunken folk. Candles lit the way down a long stretched lane to two backwoods homes that had no electricity. These were rustic handmade cabins with a quaintness I’ve never before experienced. There was much to take in and enjoy. We listened to Celtic music being played by an incredible gray bearded man wearing a lumberjack shirt of red and black flannel. He seemed to be a real northwest genius, who strummed the guitar ferociuosly, like his ancestors must have.

As the fire glowed heavy, Barry and I spoke to each other in broken Spanish. We shared amusing stories about our lives. Barry told me about his grandfather, may he rest in peace, and he seemed to miss him immensely. Barry even gave me the honor of torching a sacred straw hat that his grandfather had given him and I felt incredibly honored. The ashes flew a los dios. We both watched the flame engulf the hallowed hat, creating a glow of energy that dissipated into smoke as it rose to the heavens.

After a while, Heather, Julia and I drifted off into the forest and the sounds of the twilight filled our ears with magic. The stars glowed above the canopy like a soothing night light in a child’s darkened room. The three of us giggled with joy as we returned to the party; good vibes passed through everyone. I had a similar feeling the first time I glanced into the Skagit River; an acceptance and a reassurance that I was in the right place at the right time.

After the bash, I drove us home, but not before Barry attempted to ride home in the trunk of my Honda Accord. He dove headfirst into the boot and smiled, rolling around like a drunken madman, a little leprechaun. He was wasted, but content. We coaxed him into the front seat of the car and when we arrived safely at The Bird House, we had to help him out and he stumbled to lean against the house to vomit as if he’d earned it; I guess he had. He spent much of the night shivering on his own outside the house, not wanting to come inside.

May 20

We had a full day off, so Heather and I drove into Bellingham, WA. We struggled with the traffic and missed the quiet voices of the crew and the calm atmosphere of The Bird House. I felt an intense longing for the dense vegetation, the moisture and the organic feeling of the woods.

It was a gorgeous day and we spent quite bit of money in REI, Haagen and at the gas station. We returned to Marblemount with supplies and were ready and raring for the NOCA backcounty experience.

May 21

We prepared for our first extended trip into the backcountry and we recieved our bear boxes. A bear box is a small cylindrical barrel made of plastic bear proof material that opens at one end, so you can stuff your food safely inside. You seal it up to keep the bears out of your stash while deep in the wilderness. The volume of the bear box seemed pretty small when I looked at all the food I had purchased.

Heather and I took a break from packing and studying for our next exam and did some pleasure birding at Colonial Creek Campground. After a couple of hours, we returned to Marblemount for laundry duty. The sun was bright and while our laundry spun, we played frisbee. Back at The Bird House, we waterproofed out tent, laid out in the sunshine, studied birds and scrambled around the kitchen, packing and preparing for our first big outing.

Read Next…Chapter 3. Fieldwork’s Firsts.

Previous…Chapter 1. The Journey to NOCA (forward and backward in time).