Category Archives: natural resources

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Who hates the snow? Honestly!

Every year, when snow is in the forecast, I hear murmurings (and read them on The Facebook and The Twitter) of “Oh, no, it’s going to snow. Oh, I hope it doesn’t snow!”

I always think, “Seriously? I loooove the snow. How can you not love snow?” Saying you hate snow is like saying you hate sunshine or rainbows. Maybe you hate driving in it, or you hate having to shovel the driveway, but those are just the effects of the snow, not the fault of those frosty diamonds from heaven. Same as, maybe I hate it when it’s really, really hot out, but I wouldn’t say, “I hate sunshine.”

Today is my fourth day at home with the doggies, with 7-plus inches of snow in places. It’s a brisk 25 degrees outside. While I’m looking forward to it warming up tomorrow, I will miss the glorious sparkling snow when it’s gone. We’ve been taking magical daily walks through the white woods. Moonlight reflecting off the snow-covered backyard makes it bright enough to play out there after dark.

On my walk today, I thought of my childhood in Los Angeles. My family had a cabin in Lake Arrowhead, and relatives in snowy places like Indiana and Michigan, so snow wasn’t a complete novelty. It was a source of entertainment we sought out deliberately. We all have fond memories of the Thanksgiving it snowed in Lake Arrowhead. What I don’t get is, when do children make the transition from “Yay! Snow! No school!” to “I hate snow”? Maybe those people grew up in places where it snowed in the late fall and the ground stayed iced-over until spring. Maybe they had parents who grumbled all the time about snow tires and chains and black ice.

I still take childlike delight in seeing those fluffy flakes fall and am thrilled when it’s cold enough for the snow to cover everything. But then, I’m lucky to be able to hunker down and wait at home until the roads defrost. I don’t have to go anywhere. Rob, on the other hand, has to work. He hasn’t been able to enjoy this snow at all during daylight hours, and I think it’s going to wash away by the weekend.

So, if you do have to drive the icy roads, or walk knee deep through the snow in frigid temperatures, and you hate snow … I am sorry. I hope you can find something to enjoy about the weather. Hot cocoa, perhaps?

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Oh deer

Our property is bordered along one side by a creek. The creek is bordered by thick brambles of invasive blackberry bushes, which effectively fenced in our dogs. The ones that we raised from puppyhood, anyway.

A few weeks after we got Mia, whom we believe to have lived a tough life on the streets, I was surprised to come home from a quick jaunt to Radio Shack to find the dogs sniffing around the front yard. Rob had left them in the backyard, but they’d gotten out. Impossible! We have a cedar fence on one side and those blackberries on the other.

Later, they were out back while I was getting something from my car and who should come trotting out from around the house, on the blackberry side, but Leo. Busted. I’m sure Mia was the one who showed Leo he could get out that way, but she was smart enough not to do it in front of me. They had created a little tunnel through the blackberries to the path along the side of the house.

We put up a few chain link panels to block the path, and were amused when they kept using the tunnel as a little hidey hole. Then, Leo, who does not swim, suddenly got brave and started going all the way down to the creek and splashing around in there. Probably he can’t get into too much trouble down there, but I worried because I couldn’t see him and would have a hard time getting to him should he need to be rescued.

One of many pathways to the creek the dogs have burrowed.

Emboldened, he started rustling around in the bushes in the northeast corner of the property, where a chain link fence separates us from the freeway. We put up a few more chain link panels to close some soil erosion gaps that a brave doggie could squeeze through and get himself schmooshed. My real concern though, is that he could wander north through a woodsy patch and then over the creek and off into some neighbor’s yard, and maybe to REI or the movie theater or something.

He’d disappear into that patch of bushes, but usually come back when I called him. I haven’t been worried at all about Mia running off, because she knows what a good thing she’s got going here. One night a few weeks ago, though, she kept racing into those bushes, and not coming back willingly when I called. I’d finally coax her out only to have her race back in. Figured there was some kind of animal in there tempting her.

The next day, I tromped through the bushes with my doggies and discovered tufts of  brown and black fur in the blackberry thorns, and a clearing that would have been way fun to play in when I was a kid, or if I were a dog.

The clearing

Rob and I fastened the last four of our spare chain link panels across the opening to the clearing, knowing full well that the dogs could still get around them, but hoping at least to discourage them or slow them down.

Can you see the chain link?

How about now?

A few days ago, they didn’t come when I called, so I went up and found them sniffing around on the wrong side of the chain link. “You dopes, you figured out how to get out, but now you can’t get back in?”

Apparently, deer have the opposite problem. The other day, the dogs went bonkers at the back door because this guy was wandering around out there.

The chain link in this photo is the barrier to the freeway.

He walked around our studio building, then back toward the clearing, which I presume was the direction from whence he came. After Rob took the above picture, the deer walked up to the chain link, then barreled through, flipping the panels on their sides and running under them.

So, uh, what now?

I went up and righted the chain link this morning. Trying the same thing that didn’t work before. That’s the definition of insanity, isn’t it?

Dogs, if this were your playground, would you try to escape?

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Beyond Oyster Dome

During the past few years, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m just not that outdoorsy. And that’s OK.

Never mind that I live in the Northwest and that my friends and colleagues hike, kayak, climb rocks and sleep outside for fun. Sometimes I get to wade in rivers and brave the elements for work, and I enjoy the adventure. But it’s also OK when I find it challenging.

I like to read. And I like to nap.

I have chronicled a couple of the adventures that led me to this conclusion. They include a mountain goat survey for work. And the hike that made me realize that I would definitely hold Rob back if we were partners in the Amazing Race.

Here I am at the zenith of the Bat Caves hike of 2005:

I look proud of myself, don’t I?

Totally faking it.

Here I am last weekend, having hiked that same trail even higher to the Oyster Dome:

That’s genuine pride.

Rob had gotten it into his head to hike up to the Oyster Dome, spend the night and then do a TRX/portable kettlebell workout the next morning. I said, “Good luck with that. Enjoy.” But then he started acquiring all kinds of gear and it started to sound like fun. I said I’d go too, and we’d bring the dogs. Then I thought it might rain that night, and I chickened out. Then the weather was supposed to be really nice, and I was back in.

We got a tent, sleeping bags, camp food, headlamps, little reflecting things for the dogs. And I just committed to it. I was going to make it up there.

It helped that it was not too hot, not too cold, and we left in plenty of time to get to the top before sundown. Because we would have had a hell of a time setting up camp after dark.

In my 2005 blog post, I was very descriptive about each step of that agonizing hike. This time, I was prepared for Rob to take off way ahead of me, but he was pretty weighed down by his backpack full of lanterns and a 2.5 gallon jug of drinking water, so for most of the hike, we were together. We strapped a backpack on Leo too, with his food and two bottles of water. It was a pretty heavy pack and he did seem tired. We took it off him during our many rest stops and he’d plop down beside us, looking enormously proud of himself.

Each time we got up to go again, he’d stand, resigned to his duty, and let me strap that thing back on him. For the first half of the hike, he also had the burden of pulling me. As we got to the steeper parts, I unhooked Leo’s leash as well. That’s when I fell behind.

Mia was off leash almost the whole way, and would trot ahead, leading the pack, looking back at us frequently to make sure we were still with her. I worried the hike would be too strenuous for her, but she kept bounding ahead.

I don’t think I’m in such better shape than I was in 2005, although maybe I walk more often, because of the dogs, and I knew what to expect. We passed a couple of dry streambeds and I remembered how scary they were when they were filled with water.

The last part of the hike was no joke. Very steep. At one point, I could take only five to ten steps at a time. I’d stop, take a few breaths, and count out steps again. I made it to twelve a few times. Then back to five. My feet were unsteady because of the weight of the pack. I struggled to find my footing amid the roots. Rob and the dogs had climbed out of sight, but I didn’t have the devastated, abandoned feeling I had before. Even if I took only five steps at a time, I was going to get there.

During the last stretch, I knew we were almost there. I could see sky between the trees. The trail was uphill, but smooth. No roots to trip me up. I made it.

Rob wanted to set up the tent right on the rock face, looking out at the bay. We found that spot to be a little too windy, so we moved the fully assembled tent to a spot nestled between the trees. Still with a water view. We had tethered the dogs to a tree and left them there while we moved the tent. They cried and moaned.”You didn’t bring us all the way up here to leave us tied to this tree, did you?”

No one else camped up there with us, although we did see a guy carrying a wiener dog when we first reached the top. Carrying his dog, I think, so Leo wouldn’t eat it. “So this is the dome?” he asked. It was very near sunset and I didn’t envy him having to make that downward hike in the dark.

Our dogs slept with us in the tent, and let us snuggle them more than usual. Mia makes an excellent pillow.

I highly recommend a headlamp for late night bathroom trips in pitch black woods. Rob slept like a rock, as usual, but I barely slept, which was not entirely unexpected. I frequently have trouble sleeping in new places. Add to that the extreme physical exertion, and yeah, I’ll confess, I was in a great deal of pain. Too bad we both brought first aid kits with Band-Aids and Neosporin, but no ibuprofen. My legs ached. Not just in the muscles, but deep in the bones and joints. I couldn’t get comfortable even just lying there. Everything hurt. I remembered a similar feeling in my arms following an overzealous kayaking adventure in 2006. I also remembered it would not last.

In the morning, I felt better, and Leo was antsy. I tethered him to a tree and tried to let him wander outside the tent. He kept winding himself around trees, and a few times tried to take down the tent by circling around it. I’d bring him back in the tent, hoping he’d settle down, but he wouldn’t, so I’d let him out again. Finally, after he was quiet for several minutes, I thought he’d just settled down outside. I gave the tether a gentle tug and felt its slack. I reeled it in, still slack, until I had in my hand, like a scene from a horror movie, the chewed-off end of a leash. “Leo chewed through the tether!” Rob didn’t even wake.

I slipped on my hiking boots and said, “Mia, go find Leo.” Oyster Dome is basically a rock formation surrounded by cliffs. A dog could easily slide, jump or fall off one of them. I called Leo’s name a few times and he finally bounded toward us, romping with Mia through the trees until I clamped a leash back on his collar.

Leo was duplicating his usual morning routine. He doesn’t want us to stay in bed all morning. He’ll start tearing at the bedsheets until I get up. But if I relocate to the couch, he’ll hop up on the chair across from me and go back to sleep. I grabbed my sleeping bag, leashed both dogs, and lay down on a nice slanty rock with a view of the bay. Rob woke up and started putting on his shoes to come join us, but we were interrupted by Leo’s territorial bark. Some rotten people had gotten up at the crack of dawn and summitted the Oyster Dome already. By this time, Leo considered the rock to be our new house, and he was going to protect it. Sorry, folks who thought you would experience a peaceful morning atop the dome. Sorry my dog ruined it for you.

So we didn’t get a picture of me snuggled in my sleeping bag on the rock.

We stretched with our TRXs, ate a leisurely breakfast and walked the agonizingly steep trail home. It was murder on the knees.

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Dogs in the graveyard

Early in Isis’ behavioral modification efforts, our trainer suggested we meet at the local cemetery. I thought it a strange place to take one’s dog, but was surprised to see a lot of people walking their dogs there. It’s near an official trail, so people naturally consider the graveyard to be a logical extension of an off-leash area, because there’s lots of grass and very little vehicular traffic.

I wasn’t really for it, but nor was I against it and hey, everyone was doing it.

The people that bothered me were the ones riding bicycles and even driving cars through the cemetery with their dogs running loose alongside them. A recent Bellingham Herald article points out that such use is disrespectful and not allowed.

It interfered with my particular use of the area for dog training, because we were deliberately looking for places to work with Isis that had minimal distractions like loose dogs and bicycles.

I confess, I did use the fenced area near the Jewish cemetery as a place to work with Isis on a long lead. Not on top of the gravestones, but on a grassy area next to the graves. Like the article says, it felt like a protected area, and since my trainer had recommended it, I didn’t realize that it was an inappropriate use of the cemetery. I stopped going there once I found out. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.

Interestingly, this issue was brought up in a book I just finished called Oogy (which was otherwise not at all thought-provoking). The author discusses the controversial use of a cemetery as an off-leash dog park and says it’s actually beneficial to the graves, because the presence of dogs discourages gophers. So, uh, you’re welcome, all those graves that we may have stepped on during Isis’ dog training. May you rest in peace.

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Climate change

This is some real end-of-days shit.

First of all, North Carolina. And of course, Japan.

Closer to home, we’ve had such unpredictable weather the last few days. On both Saturday and Sunday, the sun came out long enough for me to sit outside and read while Leo romped. He doesn’t do Isis’ springtime bug trot, but that probably would have just bummed me out.

Also on both Saturday and Sunday, it got cold enough for me to wear my North Face parka, which is supposed to be retired for the season by now.

It’s April 18, and I don’t know even know which color tulips are blooming in my yard, because they’re still buds.

This picture was taken in early April last year.

This morning, I saw a few minutes of hail that turned to rain. On my drive south from Bellingham to Mount Vernon, it snowed. Really snowed. I don’t want to oversell it, but the phrase “whiteout conditions” came to mind as I drove through it. Snow flocked the trees and iced the bumps between lanes and stuck to the ground on either side of the freeway.

No snow in Mount Vernon, just rain. Enough rain that I left a ream of recycled paper in the car rather than get it wet.

And now? It’s sunny. I had to take off my jacket because I was too warm when I drove to the co-op for lunch and I’m worried about the produce I left in the hot car.

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Pet therapy

I’m lucky to live in a region where it is socially acceptable to bring your dogs everywhere. Even if you can’t take them into a store or restaurant, no one looks at you funny if you leave them in the car.

My workplace also is a fairly dog friendly place. I’ve been on salmon spawning surveys with dogs that tromped through the creeks, and didn’t necessarily come when called. One natural resources department has a dog as an unofficial staffer; He even has his own reflective construction vest to wear on habitat projects.

Last Wednesday, the day Isis died, I had Leo with me. We went to a couple of restored estuaries to take pictures. While officially, perhaps I’m not “supposed” to take my dog to work, I couldn’t help thinking that no one would blame me for taking Leo along. We had a wonderful day taking long scenic walks, but boy, would it have been boring without him.

Three different times during the day, I had flashes of something terrible happening to Leo. What if the tailgate of the SUV opened and he went flying out the back of the car on the freeway? What if a hunter accidentally shot us? What if one of those barking dogs broke through its wooden fence and attacked us?

 

Anyway, I have a feeling no one would blame me for bringing Leo to the office now, either.

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Inertia and the killer whale

I’ve invoked Newton’s law on this blog before. A body at rest tends to stay at rest. Even if she’s had a really boring day at her desk. She might learn of an opportunity to get away from the desk and think, “Nah, I’d have to wake up early to do that.”

She might need a good kick to the head.

In the middle of a boring day last Thursday, a biologist e-mailed me some photographs of a fishery. Decent-sized, well-composed photos. I actually thought to myself, “Good. Now I don’t have to go out on a boat tomorrow to take pictures.”

I mean, it would be Friday. The weather was supposed to be divine. I had not one single thing on my behind-the-desk to-do list. The last thing I wanted to do was go on a boat ride.

The fishery started at 5 a.m. and I’d heard it could take four hours to get to the fishing spot. I hadn’t exactly been invited to sleep aboard a fishing boat, although had I been, surely I would have said no, thank you. I love almost every single thing boat-ride related, except that I’m usually the only woman aboard and there’s no bathroom. Holding it for several hours is not fun. Also, sometimes in this job, boat rides are damn cold.

Cry me a river, right?

A co-worker talked sense into me. I made two calls and found some enforcement officers who weren’t leaving until the civilized hour of 8 a.m. They happily took me with them.

It was the best day ever. They even made a bathroom stop for me. They didn’t make fun of me when I napped on the way back to the marina, and I’m sure my mouth was hanging wide open.

The morning fog made way for sunshine, but I kept on my fleece jacket the whole day and was pretty comfortable.

Ten hours on a dry speedboat, taking pictures of fishermen, capped off by a little whale watching. My only regret is that I didn’t get a shot of this guy’s face.

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I just love a happy ending

I really thought I’d nailed this whole pest control thing. I solved the mouse, nay mice, in the car problem with a thorough cleaning and scented dryer sheets.

About a week ago, I discovered mouse turds on the kitchen counter. No problem at all. We’ve been here before. I set a trap.

The next morning, the peanut butter had been licked from the trap, with a little pile of mouse poop next to it, mocking me. The trap had not snapped.

I set it again, this time with almond butter, since that’s what we’ve been eating. Oh my gawd, is it delicious. I just want to eat a whole jar of it with a spoon. (Incidentally, we don’t pay $17.99 for it.  Fred Meyer sells it for $3.99)

The next morning, the trap was licked clean.

I set a second trap and tried to position the two strategically so the mouse couldn’t get to one without snapping the other. Upon the advice of a coworker, I replaced the almond butter with cheese. For two more nights, the mouse nibbled the bait from the trap and left taunting little turds beside it.

Last weekend, we awoke in the night for whatever reason, and I saw that cheese had been nibbled from only one of the traps. I moved an electronic trap, which so far has never caught a mouse, next to the two traps in a formation I was sure would lure the mouse to his snappy demise.

A short while later, we heard a great clang.

“Go get it, go get,” I told Rob.

“No, no, it’s freshly dead,” he said.  “You have to let the rigor set in.”

“Go look at it, go look at it,” I told him.

From the kitchen, I heard, “Aaah, Kari, come here, come here, come here!”

Evidently, the mouse had been lying on his back, looking dead, when it and the trap suddenly started scooting back behind the oven. I wondered later if the mouse had a buddy who was trying to save him.

When I arrived, I saw the trap turned over, with a little tail sticking out. I checked back later and I couldn’t see the tail. I reached for the trap which had a little foot in it, but when I pulled, the little leg stretched, and then the mouse was gone behind the oven.

A few more nights of cat and mouse went by and last night, Isis woke me up acting very strangely. She wasn’t whining, but I could tell she was really freaked out about something. I’m highly attuned to this dog; I knew a trap had snapped.

Indeed, one of the traps was upside-down on the stove top. The other was nowhere to be found. Rob pulled out the oven this morning and didn’t see anything.

I resigned myself to get a glue trap. Sure it’s unseemly and inhumane to have to deal with a live mouse stuck to one of those things, but enough is enough. It’s him or me.

However, they didn’t have glue traps at the store. At the very least, I decided we (and by we, I mean Rob) should climb behind the oven and fill the space around the gas line with that expanding foam stuff. No more mice will get in and eventually I’ll get a glue trap and the ninja mouse can die a slow, painful death.

As it turned out, Rob hadn’t looked carefully enough this morning, because when we pulled the oven out, the little sucker was just hanging out by the hole in the floor, with a trap stuck to his tail. (You can see how the trap blends with the color of the floor.)

This was no ordinary mouse. He either really deserved to live, or really deserved to die.

We chose life, and set him free in our neighbor’s yard.

His right hind leg looks a little funky. I wonder if that’s the one that I pulled the other day. He’s probably not long for the woods anyway, but at least I didn’t kill him.

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Souls of many mice

I’ve come a long way since my first murder. About once a year, usually around February, we find evidence of a mouse in our kitchen, trap it and kill it, and don’t see another until the next year.

I’m more comfortable with the traps, and even will dispose of the carcasses myself. Killing one mouse a year hasn’t weighed too heavily on me.

We had two or three inside the house this year, actually, but they were spaced out enough that it wasn’t too traumatic for me.

However.

A few weeks ago, I reached for a bag of dog treats I had in my car. Little shreds of the foil bag rained on my lap like confetti, and for a moment, I thought Isis might have chewed through the bag herself. Then I found the turds.

I don’t know why it took me a few weeks to set traps inside the car. I stupidly thought the mouse would just leave on its own, despite the fact that I knew I had a ton of spilled kibble under the seats. (Since I started feeding raw, I use the kibble as training treats.)

After the discovery of more turds, I smartened up and set a trap on the passenger seat. The next morning, I was startled to see a dead mouse riding shotgun.

I set another trap under the back seat and a few days later, got another one. I’m surprised it took that long.

Yesterday, I Shop-Vac’d the hell out of my car, getting rid of all remnants of dog treats and kibble-colored turds. I looked around for any sign of their lair, or live mice, and found none.

Set a trap anyway, and goddammit if I didn’t find another little carcass this morning.

I don’t eat mammals. I feel very bad about killing all these little mice, meaning no harm. They haven’t done anything to me except creep me out. It’s my own fault for creating such a wonderful buffet.

But I need to keep them out! And kill the ones who refuse to leave.

Update (April 12): No new mice have been killed since I cleaned the car and have been covering the vents with scented dryer sheets at night. Apparently, mice don’t like the smell.

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Spawning thoughts

I’ve decided to do Nanowrimo again.  Apparently this is an odd-year thing, like pink salmon runs. I did it in 2005 and 2007, writing a 50,000 word novel in the month of November. I had pretty good ideas both years, and yet, each time struggled just a little to make my word count. The first year, I took excerpts from news stories I’d written. It’s not cheating if I wrote it, right? I mean, I wrote more than 50,000 words that month, it’s just that most of it was for my job. It’s not cheating if the stories actually fit into the plot of the novel, right?

The trouble with the novels of 2005 and 2007, along with my first novel, the only one that’s “complete,” is that they’re far too derivative from my actual life and I get scared about having anyone read them. Defeats the purpose a little.

I’m determined to get my writing juices moving again. So do I write something that is again so personal I don’t want anyone to read it, just to get the words flowing, or do I really make an effort to write fiction this time?

Because so far, what I’m thinking is a story about a woman building an enormous shop in her backyard.

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Speaking of pink salmon, I watched some spawn yesterday in a creek that is the focal point of a restoration project. While taking pictures of the site, I glanced at the stream to see if there were fish, assuming there wouldn’t be because someone would have mentioned it if there were. I heard a splash or two and didn’t see them at first, but sure enough, the creek was loaded with pinks. Steelhead too, I think. It’s tough to get good pics of spawning fish and I trudged through the sludge back to the car to get my polarized filter. I shot about 100 photos of fish. (and slightly fewer than that of the construction work I was supposed to be shooting.)

It was wonderful. No rush to be anywhere. I had a chance to enjoy the view without self-consciousness. I love this part of my job: “reporting,” getting out there and observing something, seeing something that I wouldn’t have otherwise. Appreciating something. Documenting it. Attempting to create art out of it. And I did wind up with a few photos I like.

I hadn’t seen pinks spawn before. Chinook and coho yes. I liked that I was able to identify them definitively by the humps on their back. I watched them nuzzle up against each other and whiz around and I tried desperately to get a shot of one with its head out of the water.

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I succeeded but didn’t know it until I got back to the office to view the files.

I could have stayed all day if I’d had more photo cards on me and if I hadn’t gotten really hungry for lunch.