In many respects, these families are very similar. They live in the same country, face the same hardships, and make their livings in the same sorts of ways. This is a story about two families, and how, despite their similarities, each family managed to shape the course of one of my days, in very different ways.
On Tuesday morning I returned to work, dismayed that my five-day break seemed to have slipped by so quickly. Although I'd greatly enjoyed the time I'd spent with my mom, I felt almost cheated when she left, as if two and a half days should have been three, or four, or five. I spent most of my time Monday attempting to stave off the feeling of terrible loneliness, and trying to convince myself that two months really isn't all that much time.
Tuesday was an office day. I knew I needed to deploy bat detectors, as well as make preparations to begin vegetation surveys. I went through the list of the eighty sample locations for the upcoming vegetation surveys, frustrated to find that many were at or near places I'd already visited, doing raptor nest checks, prairie dog colony surveys, and setting out detectors. Had I know this beforehand, I might be well into the vegetation surveys already, and would not have to spend the time returning to those areas.
While I was digging through files and phone books writing down phone numbers for all the people I'll have to call before starting veg surveys, I made a point to find out who owned the land west of the two canyons I'd need to visit to deploy bat detectors. I'd noted earlier that the only way into the northernmost site was from Beaver Creek Road, which runs along a valley at the western edge of the Black Hills. I looked at a map to plan my route in, then checked to see who owned the land (and the roads) I'd need to cross to get to the BLM land along the state line.
There were just two families- the Vore family and the Davis family- which owned the routes into Kinney Canyon to the south and North Thompson Canyon to the north, respectively. I called both houses, and, somewhat surprisingly, spoke with someone at each house. It's not unusual for me to leave messages and never hear back from anyone.
At the Vore's house I spoke with Susan, quite obviously the matriarch, who was quick and perfunctory and wanted to make sure that I wouldn't be driving across their land, but rather on established roads. I assured her that I knew where the roads were, and wouldn't drive on anything that wasn't an obvious two-track or better. At the Davis's I spoke with Russell, hard of hearing and seemingly confused, who had to ask me several times to slow down and repeat myself. Our conversation ended awkwardly, but I felt okay, because I'd been able to speak with both landowners and was thus assured that I wouldn't be antagonized- after all, they knew I was coming.
Wednesday morning I set out from the office in good spirits with both bat detectors, a map, my GPS unit, and a plan to visit Kinney Canyon first, since setting up the detector would require a half-mile hike in from the road. I passed the Vore's house, noting that someone there was gearing up for a horseback ride, and continued on north of their house to the road I was supposed to take to get near the canyon. I pulled in and travelled a very short distance to a pile of old branches, logs, boards, and bits of what appeared to be a windmill. Then, the road disappeared.
It's typical for two-tracks to become hidden among tall grasses, especially if they're infrequently used. I parked the Durango at the pile and got out, walking uphill, to see if I could pick out the two-track from above. To my dismay, I couldn't see any sign of any kind of road leading away from the pile. I double-checked my map and GPS, aligning them with the landscape to try and decipher where the road should be, but I already knew that the road was gone. Since I was on private land, I knew I'd have to turn around and find a different way in.
As I drove back towards the county road, the Vores, in their truck with their horse trailer in tow, pulled up and blocked my exit. I assumed they wanted to make sure it was me out on their land, so I wasn't terribly concerned. A woman exited the truck as I approached, and I stopped and parked the Durango.
"Are you Susan?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"I'm Jax."
"And what? Are you lost?" she snapped.
At this I wasn't sure what to say. I wasn't lost, I just wasn't quite sure where to go. I pulled out my map and showed her the area I needed to visit, at which she bristled.
"You said you were going into Thompson Canyon."
"North Thompson Canyon, yes, but I also need to get into Kinney Canyon, here," I said, pointing to the map.
"Right now I'm on this road, but it ends right here," I added, pointing again.
"You can't drive there! That's our pasture!"
"As soon as I realized the road was gone I turned around. I need to find a different route in. Is this road," I said, pointing again to a route a little further north, "still there?"
Susan grabbed the map from me, and as she turned to go back to their pickup, I could hear her husband from the driver's seat yelling angrily, "What the hell does she think she's doing out there? Doesn't she have a GPS?!"
I was now very uncomfortable, and sat nervously in the Durango while Mr. and Mrs. Vore argued over my map in their truck. Some number of minutes later, Susan returned, and said, sharply, "Just past the next cattle guard is a road into Thompson Canyon. Take that road in. STAY ON THAT ROAD."
"Okay. So these roads south of that canyon, they're not in use, or they're gone?"
"If you drive up that way you'll be driving through our pasture. That's OUR pasture. STAY OUT OF OUR PASTURE! Stay in the canyon. You can park somewhere there and walk to wherever you need to be. I guarantee you it'll be a long, hard walk, though."
"Alright," I agreed. "It's nothing I can't manage."
"Those bats must be pretty damned important," she spat, and stormed off to rejoin her husband waiting impatiently in their truck.
They backed up their truck and trailer and motioned for me to pull out in front, then proceeded to tail me until they were assured that I was going to take the proper road into Thompson Canyon, at which point they tore off and sped away to the north.
I was a little disappointed that my planned route was gone, but it was nothing compared to the sting I felt at the obvious displeasure of the Vores. I've become accustomed in the past few months to planning routes only to find that roads no longer exist, and although the road into Thompson Canyon was much farther north of Kinney Canyon than I'd intended, the detour would really only add an additional mile and a half or so to my hike in. Setting out the bat detectors was the only thing I'd planned for the day, so I wasn't short on time. But all the time in the world wouldn't erase the fact that two people I'd never met in my life were likely permanently soured to both me and (possibly) the BLM, simply because I'd driven up what I thought was an easy route in.
I was uneasy the rest of the morning. As I climbed up the southern ridge of Thompson Canyon and then carefully picked my way down several drainages into Kinney, I felt more alone and on edge in the forest than I had since my very first few days in the field, more than a year ago, when I'd started in on my thesis research. I kept looking behind me, with the eerie sensation of being followed, and every time I'd stop to work out the easiest path down a difficult route, I'd think of the cold glares of the Vores as they sped off, clearly inconvenienced by my ineptitude.
After the trek down into Kinney to set up one detector, I trudged back out, not looking forward to returning to the county road and then continuing northward to set the other. As I pulled up to the entrance road into my second destination and got out to open the gate, I checked the Davis's house closely... it didn't appear that anyone was home. Still, I was on alert, never knowing if and when I might run in to Mr. Davis out on his pasture. Just how clear was I on the phone the day before? Did he really know I was coming?
I made it into North Thompson Canyon easily enough, set the detector near the road, and drove out without being noticed. It seemed the Davis family really was out for the day. As I drove back southward and passed the Vore's ranch, I crossed my fingers that they, too, hadn't yet returned home.
Last night I slept poorly, dreaming of returning to retrieve my detectors to find that the gate into the canyon was locked, or that Mr. and Mrs. Vore were standing guard in Kinney Canyon, or that they both were waiting in Thompson Canyon to make sure I stayed on that, and only that, road. Even worse, I then dreamt of angry phone calls made to the BLM, complaining of my incompetence, that I'd trespassed on land on which they'd forbidden me to drive, that I'd ruined their good pasture.
I got up early this morning, not looking forward to returning to the area. The Vores were already gone by the time I passed their house. I was relieved, but not completely. It wasn't until I drove up into Thompson Canyon, parked, and started hiking back into Kinney Canyon that I felt I could let my guard down. I tried my best to release the unpleasant feelings that had been plaguing me since the previous morning. It was a good morning to be out, especially in the canyons, where the high walls cast shadows all day long, keeping the canyon bottoms cool.
I made a relatively quick hike in and out to get the first detector, then returned to the county road and started heading north to retrieve the other. I noticed immediately that, today, the Davis's house was occupied. What's more, when I got out of the truck to open the gate, I glanced over my shoulder to see someone crouched down alongside the barn. I entered the pasture, then got out to close the gate, when the figure stood up, and saw my car. I thought the best thing I could do was acknowledge that he saw me, so I gave a quick wave and got back in the truck and drove slowly off. I was only slightly comforted when the wave was, seemingly reluctantly, returned.
Once I reached the summit of the south ridge of North Thompson Canyon, I relocated the second detector, took it down, and stowed it's various pieces and parts, then turned and made the trip back down to Beaver Creek Road. A group of horses had been turned loose in the main pasture sometime after my initial visit, and I slowed on my way out to introduce myself to a curious buckskin, who quickly lost interest when she saw I didn't have anything tasty to give her.
As I neared the gate, I saw that the man was no longer next to the barn, but rather standing stock in the middle of his driveway, staring straight at me. I kept my composure, but was silently pleading, Please, not a repeat of yesterday, please... I opened the gate, drove through, and stopped and got out to close it, all the while acutely aware that the man was still staring. Once the gate was closed, I decided to give a final wave. My wave wasn't returned... this time, he beckoned me to come across the road. I nervously got back in the car and drove down the driveway, stopping next to him.
"Now, you must be Jax," he said, and, smiling, shook my had warmly.
"Mr. Davis. It's really nice to meet you."
"Did you find your way up there alright?"
"Yes, it was no trouble at all. You have some really pretty land."
"Well, come on over and sit a while. It's a gorgeous day."
I parked the car, turned it off, and got out, following Mr. Davis to the yard in front of his house and a bench swing underneath an ash tree. As I sat down, Mrs. Davis came out of the house to move a sprinkler, introduced herself as Loraine, and told me she hoped I was having a good afternoon, before returning inside.
We sat on the swing for more than an hour, talking. I quickly found myself with a cat in my lap, purring loudly while I scratched her ears and chin. Mr. Davis asked where I was from, what I did for the BLM, how long I'd be in the area. When I told him I was a wildlife biologist, he regaled me with stories of all the pronghorn, elk, turkeys, and all manner of other creatures he'd seen on his land over the years, of elk getting into his good alfalfa one winter, of the sharp-tailed grouse that had long since disappeared.
We talked about this summer's grasshopper plague, and the controversy over the wolf hunting season that just opened in Idaho. He told me about his children, nieces, and nephews that lived in the area, about trips to Yellowstone and encounters with bears in the park back before it became illegal to feed them. I listened to it all, enjoying the purring cat, the shade of the tree, the wonderful breeze through the yard, and Mr. Davis himself, who simply radiated friendliness.
When the two of us finally came to the consensus that it was time for us to return to our respective work, he wished me well, and told me that if I was ever back in the area to feel free to stop by. I told him again that I was glad to have met him, genuinely, and walked back to the car. As I unlocked the doors, a woman pulled into the driveway, quite obviously related to Loraine. She, too, greeted me happily, wished me a good afternoon, and told me cheerfully that I should feel free to take some grasshoppers with me. I promised that there were already several in the car, and that quite a few more were certain to hitch a ride on my way out, and we both laughed. As I drove off his property, I waved a final time to Mr. Davis, who waved back, smiling.
Two days, two detectors, two ranches, two families, and two very different outcomes. I'll likely never understand why the Vores were so angry. Perhaps they'd fought that morning, or had trouble with the government before. Perhaps they'd had issues with trespassers in the past, or didn't trust someone so young. Perhaps they were just unhappy people, taking it out on whomever crossed their path. All I can say with any certainty is that the Vores were unnecessarily aggressive, cold, and unforgiving, and my encounter with them soured my entire day, whereas the Davis's were warm, open, and friendly, and left me feeling great about myself and the world.
Never underestimate the influence you may have on a complete stranger. A single negative gesture, comment, or reaction may leave someone you've never met reeling, starting a domino effect which could very well lead to many unhappy people. Something as simple as a smile, on the other hand, even if you're not really feeling up to it, can have a much nicer results.
: )
No comments:
Post a Comment