The Yellowstone Pledge and how to be a considerate hiker (my list)

It's a new year and a new opportunity to make a personal commitment to eliminating some of your bad life choices. Along this line of thought, Yellowstone National Park has just proposed their "Yellowstone pledge," a list of commonsense bullet points no doubt inspired by the rough year the park experienced in 2016 (I'm sure we all remember the baby bison in the car, as well as various other selfie fails, rule infringements, and tragic accidents). Parkgoers are encouraged to sign the pledge and share it on social media to encourage all their friends to make similar good choices, such as Keep your food away from bears, Don't leave the boardwalk in thermal areas, and Practice safe selfies (no peace sign standing next to a grizzly bear).

I have been a hiker for most of my life, and although I've never had the privilege of visiting Yellowstone National Park, I would like to put forth this list of good choices that can be made in the woods anywhere (or the prairie, or the mountains, or whatever). Some of them I learned from sad experience, and some of them I learned from watching other people do stupid things.

1. If you don't know where you're going, bring a map and make a plan.
This sounds like something cheesy you learn in Scouts, as well you should. I just got back from a day hike where I neglected to bring a map (because I had been there before); neglected to evaluate the route beforehand; and neglected to pay attention to where I was going, until I realized I was lost. Then I attempted to bring up a map on my phone, at which point I realized that of course, since I was in the middle of nowhere, my phone was dead. Needless to say I've since made my way back to civilization and the Internet but my point is, don't get too big for your britches. You aren't too cool for a map. Take a second to check out where you're going before you get there. Tl;dr--better safe than sorry.

2. Do not bring a boombox in the woods.
Why this is even a thing? If your hike isn't complete without Kanye West, at least have the thoughtfulness to put your ear buds in.

3. Bring water.
Is it July? Is it December? It doesn't matter, because if you hike you'll be sweating and get dehydrated no matter the temperature. You might be inclined to think that you are some sort of superhuman individual who will be fine hiking a couple miles without water. You are not. Bring water.

4. Leash the dogs of war.
Nothing like a little self-examination. I'm a dog owner and I let my dogs off leash whenever I'm hiking anywhere that allows it. I realize that not everyone will appreciate this, and I've run into a lot of mixed feelings and different opinions on the matter. I do my best to be respectful of other hikers by not allowing my dogs to approach other people (unless they're fine with it) and keeping them within eyesight at all times. Both of my dogs are well-behaved off leash and aren't aggressive with other dogs, so I feel like I can somewhat justify letting them loose. My point here is, I guess, if you have a dog that's out-of-control or aggressive then please, please keep it leashed up. I would welcome any thoughts on the subject since this may be expanded into its own blog post in the future.

Even dogs should pack out. Also, pack out your dog.

5. Pack out what you packed in.
This is an obvious one, but always bears repeating. It seems like more and more parks, scouting groups, and other types of programming are introducing kids to Leave No Trace principles, which is awesome. Maybe in another couple generations we won't have to be picking up Propel Zero bottles at the tops of mountains.

6. Follow the rules.
Park rules are there to protect the resource or to protect you. All the coolest places are off limits, and it sucks. But even if you're respectful of sensitive ecosystems while venturing into closed areas, the people that see you and follow might not be. Even if you're careful with your fire during a burn ban, the people that come by the next day and use your fire ring might not be.

I'm sure there are lots more important things to keep in mind, but these are a handful of my top pet peeves and/or stupid things I've done that you shouldn't do. Feel free to add more in the comments, if there's something that especially grinds your gears. And of course be sure to take the Yellowstone pledge if you're heading out into the national parks this year.

A Black Friday Rant

*trigger warning for first-world problems*

I had seriously intended to return to this blog with a deep, reflective post about my continuing education, a wrap-up from Pennsylvania, migrating birds, etc. Instead I have been inspired by the time of year to instead write a post about blatant consumerism, how much I want to spend all my hard-earned money on outdoor gear instead of my electric bill, and why I haven't done that (and it's not because I'm mature and responsible).

First of all, I would like to state that I have a terrible weakness for outdoor clothing. If there was nothing holding me back, I would have the equivalent in half an REI store in my house by now. I can barely tolerate the grocery store for 15 minutes, but I will stand for an hour weighing the relative benefits of boot socks or hiking packs or all-weather vests even though I have no intention of buying any of those things. Give me a good pair of waterproof pants and I'll be showering the cashier with credit cards. However in my years of attempting to buy outdoor clothing, both for personal use and for jobs, I have repeatedly hit a frustrating wall.

I speak, of course, of the desolate wasteland of women's outdoor wear. This phenomenon grows more frustrating to me the longer I'm in the natural resource field. Of course, there are small oases in the wasteland, mostly online; stores like REI and Outdoor Research tend to have practical women's outdoor clothing (often with a heftier price tag) and mid-level chains have wider selections online than they often do in stores. But here is a broad generalization of what you find when walking into the women's department of your average outdoor store: Yoga pants. Pink camouflage hoodies. Pink camouflage yoga pants. Decent hiking boots that, inexplicably, are trimmed with pink. Tons and tons of jogging gear. And if you like pink, more power to you; but I don't, and I don't understand the need to have all our lady stuff denoted as such by color. Are companies afraid if they make the shoelaces brown I'll mistake them for men's hiking boots and not buy any? Will my feminine sensibilities be offended by olive green and grey?

Then there's the heartbreaking "almosts"--when you find exactly the article of clothing you need, but it only comes in garish colors that make you look like Barbie got lost in the woods. Check out Exhibit A below. A very typical example of this color issue, this is a nice fly fishing shirt from Gander Mountain.

Here we have the men's version. With his rugged jawline and practical clothing colors,
 this gentleman is ready to hit the streams.

And the women's. No wildlife watching for you, because every animal
saw this pink nightmare coming from a mile away.
Also, no one wears their hair down while fly fishing.

There are 10 color options for men, most of them fairly muted with a couple bright options thrown in if you're feeling adventurous. There are five color options for women, none of them outdoor-appropriate. I wanted to buy this shirt for working in Pennsylvania over the summer because it is genuinely a very nice, high quality, breathable shirt. However I was doing bird research, for which one generally tries to remain inconspicuous. "Limelight yellow" is not a good look for someone looking to fly under the radar.

I'm not trying to pick on Gander Mountain because I do think they have good gear in general, and also this issue with women's clothing occurs across almost all companies. There's no escaping the pink camo. (Who even came up with that idea? What's the point? Are there pink woods? Why do you have yoga pants in the hiking section? Do you realize what a decent patch of greenbriers would do to yoga pants? Why are the shoelaces on all the shoes pink?)

Why?

A lot of the times the best option is to buy men's clothing and improvise. Sometimes this works out all right; for example, I own men's gaiters, simply because there were no women's options available in my price range ($50ish). In all fairness, I had a Cabela's gift card, so I was limited to that store; note that you can go over to Outdoor Research and find a decent pair of women's gaiters (in black, no less) in that price range. So the options may be out there somewhere if you're willing to dig for them. I guess my hope is that one magical Black Friday sometime in the future, I'll be able to walk into a brick-and-mortar store and have a fairly-priced, practical selection of outdoor clothing in women's sizes, and none of it will be pink.

I've been everywhere (in Pennsylvania)

It's a bit of a shock to the system to wake up in your tent one wet and chilly morning and realize that both the year and the field season are halfway over, and in four more weeks you have to go back to being a normal person. For the past few weeks I've been hopping from car to field house to tent, moving around Pennsylvania covering field sites for my summer job, and I've certainly gotten the early morning, birds-eye view of Penn's woods. (And more bear backsides than I've ever seen put together.) I don't have a lot of time to write, so that'll be something to catch up on later; but for now enjoy Anna's Mediocre Photography 2.0: The PA Tour, Part I. Expect Part II when I have consistent electricity and a place to wash my socks out.

a red-eyed vireo doing his best leaf impression

Pine Creek near Jersey Mills, PA.

A tree swallow checking up on the kids outside one of the field houses.

Most mornings you have to bushwhack through mountain laurel to get to a site, but sometimes--happy day!--you come across a road going exactly in the right direction.

I can't resist these little family plots tucked away in the woods. The final resting place of  this Civil War vet was all decked out for Memorial Day.

It may have poured rain the entire day the crew camped here, but Leonard Harrison State Park (the "Grand Canyon of PA") may take the prize for prettiest sightseeing (and nicest bathhouses).

After an evening thunderstorm at the PA Grand Canyon.

Historic coal tipple at the heritage park in Renovo, PA

View over the northern PA farmland. A long haul up that hill to get to this site.

My first-ever (state-endangered) Wood Turtle

He really didn't want to come out from behind that leaf. Why does every picture of an animal I take have a leaf in front of its face.

Aaaand it's not technically in Pennsylvania, but we couldn't pass up the Mecca of birding--Cornell Lab of Ornithology's Sapsucker Woods in Ithica, New York

Wiker does stuff

It's been a rough winter for the Bluegrass. A foot and a half of snow and ice in the middle of February effectively closed my entire city for a week. Watching the South's ineffective efforts at grappling with snow was a sad, sad thing. Thankfully it melted soon, flooding the streets until the following week when the temperature again dipped below freezing and turned the entire city into a skating rink. That was followed by another foot of snow. I stood in the ghost town of Krogers, watching a hollow-eyed woman load nine gallons of milk onto her cart, and was silently grateful for growing up in Ohio, a land of diverse and terrible weather. We Ohioans know how to hunker down and survive off saltine crackers and ranch dressing for however long we need to.

But it seems like spring is finally here. The roads are flooded again and there's a pothole like a tiny Lake Erie in front of my house. Whitlow grass, hairy bittercress, and spring beauty tied for first place as the first flower up. Every farm pond is crowded with ducks. The salamanders are on the move, and the spring peepers are singing. I've been making some changes too.

First off, I am an ex-student no longer. I'm now a half-semester into my Bachelor of Science from Eastern Kentucky University. It's been an interesting transition; most of my wildlife credits transferred from my Associate degree, and what I'm mostly lacking now is the general education requirements. So even though I transferred in as a junior, I'm still in freshman classes like Lifetime Wellness 101 (also known as How Not To Make Bad Choices and Eat Only Twizzlers for Dinner Because This is the First Time You've Lived Away From Your Parents). But it's okay--the end goal is to get that degree and from there move on to the next end goal.

Second off, the professor in charge of the aquatic macroinvertebrate lab at Eastern has graciously agreed to let me volunteer to gain some experience in a laboratory setting. The goal for that one is by the end of the semester to be ready to take the taxonomic certification offered through the Society for Freshwater Science. Macroinvertebrates are mostly unfamiliar territory for me, so we'll see how it goes; but it's something to work towards anyway.

Thirdly off, I transferred parks to be closer to school. So now instead of 25 acres, I'm working on 700ish acres of deciduous forest adjacent the Kentucky River. Lots more to explore, and lots more in terms of species diversity.

Fourthly off, I got a job in Pennsylvania for the summer, on a field crew looking at how oil and gas development affects birds. It looks to involve lots of hiking and camping and early mornings and bears, so that's exciting. I've been pretty sedentary in Kentucky for the past year and a half or so and it feels good to be on the move again. Plus, who can complain when your actual job is to look at birds? (And possibly get chased by bears).

After that--well, it would be an exaggeration to say I have a game plan for what's going on next, but I guess that's part of the fun.

A foggy morning in the Kentucky foothills--March 2015

Pleasant View Farm at Battlefield Park--camera time

The old Pleasant View Farm is located at Battlefield Park, part of the site of the 1862 Battle of Richmond in Richmond, Kentucky. The area was originally settled in 1801 by a Joseph Barnett. Eventually I'll make a better post about this very neat little park, but for now here's some pictures.

Barnett family burial plot on the old farm site, a remnant from the early settlement days of Kentucky.

Joshua, a servant of the family who "died by a stroke of lightning."

The interpretive sign states that these box-tomb style grave markers were unusual for early settlement Kentucky and were possibly a carryover tradition from the British Isles. However, I have seen similar box tombs in graveyards around Kentucky and eastern Ohio so I don't know whether it was really that uncommon, or maybe common in areas where Europeans of certain descent settled. Something to look into, anyway.

Possibly a servant's grave?

The old farmhouse, finished around 1824

Detail of stained glass above the front door

View from the front porch

Back side of the house

The slave quarters