wideeyedfunk

Tag: field life

  • Return from Rat Islands

    “Get in the shower Robinson Crusoe, you aren’t in the field anymore,” the WideEyedSpouse sounded a little snarky.

    “I’m still cleanish,” I whined. So what if I didn’t feel it necessary to shower for the third day in a row. “You know,” I told the Spouse, “you can be too clean.” The Spouse looked me over, “yeah, well, you aren’t.”

    I took a shower.

    I’m now two weeks back from living in a remote field camp and running a multidisciplinary research program. I am remembering to flush the toilet regularly and I don’t wake up wondering where I am anymore.  I have been warm, dry, and well-rested for days.

    I miss the field.

    The aching beauty of the landscape.

    Corvie Bay North.
    Corvie Bay North, Kiska Island.
    Tiny, higher elevation young delphinium.
    Tiny, higher elevation young delphinium.
    Segula.
    Segula.

    Uncomplicated comforts.

    Bathing with a view. Corvie Bay Camp.
    Bathing with a view. Corvie Bay Camp.

    The pure joy of a job to do, unencumbered by conflicting imperatives.

    Heading home.
    Heading home.
    WideEyedFunk in 40 degree wind and rain in a cliff edge archaeological feature. I love my job.
    WideEyedFunk in 40 degree wind and rain in a cliff edge archaeological feature. I love my job.

    But my gardens here in Buffalo are in bloom . Hamish the Corgi and Miss Tibbit the Useless Little Black Dog are here. And the WideEyedSpouse once again has my back against the world’s troubles. Home is good too.

     

     

  • I think I’m doing adventure wrong. Or at least wearing the wrong clothes.

    A spring Orvis catalog came in the mail yesterday. Usually print catalogs are trash carefully delivered to my door – from the mail carrier’s hand to my recycling bin. This time the economically-advantaged adventure vibe sucked me in. Vests with useful pockets. Ripstop trousers. Manly jewelry that signals rugged adventuresomeness. I’m trying to decide if men buy that for themselves or receive it as gifts.

    Okonijima Game Reserve as pictured in Orvis March 2014 catalog, page 16.
    Okonijima Game Reserve as pictured in Orvis March 2014 catalog, page 16.

    Page 16 stopped me dead. Above the expedition pants and vintage military belt there’s an evocative picture of a luxury lodge at a game preserve in Namibia. I can’t take my eyes off of it. I can see a comfy bed, white pillows, chairs, reading lamps and I think I see a bathroom tucked discretely in the back. I bet there’s staff, too.

    I live in the wilds for weeks to months most summers. My expedition pants are ancient Carhartt’s (because I think they stopped making women’s work pants) and WideEyedSpouse’s old khakis. My belt is the same leather belt I’m wearing right now, but soaked with eucalyptus oil so that pleasant smells waft from my always-on rain gear.

    My lodge is a battered Eureka bombshelter tent. It has a thin insulated air mattress, a cleanish sweatshirt as a pillow, a flashlight, and no toilet. My lodge does have a spider bat – my trusty halibut knocking stick that’s like a tiny baseball bat. I use it to take out the monstrous subarctic spiders. On rat infested islands it is also the rat bat. Unless they chew through my lodge floors I consider the rats to be warm companions, but sometimes the squirming and squeaking gets annoying and I need to administer warning knocks in the vicinity.

    I am sitting here at my kitchen table staring at this lodge picture. Staring at the fancy pants. Thinking.

    Dear Orvis, I am writing to ask if you are interested in sponsoring…