So, Doug's Archaeology has a new question up for January: What are your best blog entries?
My two most popular, in terms of page views, are Ancient Aliens - The Test! and Glenn Beck's Pseudo-Archaeology, Part 1.
The Glenn Beck entry is one of three parts, and is basically a by-the-numbers explanation of a pseudoarchaeological claim. I enjoyed writing it, but it's not one that really sticks out in my memory. The Ancient Aliens entry is more of my typical sarcasm-mixed-with-Socratic-Method type of writing, and I quite enjoyed it. That being said, neither of these are my personal favorite entries.
I have edited this to mention that the most popular entries among my circle of friends include an ethnography of assless chaps, and one discussing the use of cats to generate electricity. While I very much enjoyed writing these, they are not my favorite entries.
No, my personal favorites, or which I personally consider the best, I would say that those would be my Wild and Wacky Forest Adventure entries, which are here and here (incidentally, these are photos from the project area). These aren't necessarily the best written, and as can be seen, I was still getting the hang of formatting my entries when I posted the first one.
Nonetheless, I love these entries for two reasons. The first is that the events detailed within them are a large part of the reason why I started this blog. As I was going through these rather odd series of events, I kept thinking to myself "if only people knew that this is what archaeology is really like." So, I created the blog, and began writing these entries. The discussion of archaeology is largely missing in these entries, and that is because the project was not all that interesting from an archaeological standpoint. It was a fairly standard survey with exactly the sorts of results that one would expect given the project area. But the various weird-ass events that accompanied fieldwork were memorable, and are the sorts of things that typically don't get discussed with the public or with aspiring archaeologists.
You may have noticed that these are not the first entries on my blog. The reason for this is that other things sometimes seemed more pressing, and I often would go with something that was easier to write rather than the thing that I actually wanted to write. However, I kept text files with the nascent versions of these entries on my computer for several years.
One of the ironies of these entries is that, despite the events described in them being the impetus for me starting this blog, I have yet to complete the story. There is so much more to tell about that project, from the various personnel that I had on the project (and their often unsanitary or eccentric habits), to the weird people that we encountered in the forest, to the freak weather conditions, to the bizarre public relations issues surrounding it. If I continue to keep a blog, and increase my output at some point, I will have more to say about it.
But there you have it - my personal favorite entries are the ones that have little to do with archaeology and everything to do with the strangeness of field work.
Showing posts with label Field Work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Field Work. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Wacky Adventures in Career Archaeology
As you may have noticed (those three of you who look in here semi-regularly), I have been a bit busy lately and therefore not posting. It's the usual: baby prep, work business, family issues, etc. I am going to try to get back to posting 2-3 times a week, but it may take a while. In the meantime, I will try to post the occasional bit o' stuff when I get the chance.
At the moment, though, I had a few minutes to pause and reflect on the direction that my career has taken over the last six years. I have, at various points, considered changing careers, either to make more money (I'm doing okay, but I could do better if I went back into business) or to get away from the stress that my job can entail (significantly lower with my current employer). I have, however, come to the conclusion that while my job has both low and high points, at least I'm not usually bored for long.
It is difficult to conceive of other lines of work in which you are likely to be ordered by the county coroner to carry human remains in your trunk, run into a macrobiotic dieting cult in the middle of the forest, or discover that your required communications equipment is so poorly adapted to the environment that it literally creates a greater safety hazard than it could possibly solve.
Even at my job's worst, I have at least gotten good stories about running into grounded boats in the middle of deserts with no water around, being told by oil company executives that "the laws don't apply to people like us" (incidentally, turns out that they do apply), trying to find my way through a maze of improvised roads with no clear landmarks in dense fog, and had weird run-ins with drunk biologists who were tracking rats.
Kaylia, my fiance, has taken to describing my fieldwork as "field adventures." I would typically disagree with this - digging holes next to a highway in high temperatures is more of an annoyance than an adventure - but there is a degree of truth to it. When I was younger, I was very timid, and while my friends were out climbing mountains, skydiving, experimenting sexually, going to clubs, and generally finding ways to look for excitement, I was either at work or at home, and feeling a bit down.
Now, most of these friends have moved on, and have jobs in which they sit in an office all day, and go home to a fairly normal home at night. While there are elements of this that I find agreeable (indeed, I am actively working on the whole "fairly normal home" part of this), I must admit that I get a bit of enjoyment out of being the guy with the best stories when we get together: "Your boss wants that code finished before it's even possible? That sucks. Hey, did I tell you about the time that I learned how to chase off a charging pack of dogs armed with nothing but my voice?*"
While there are things that I would change about my career, I think that, on the whole, I've been pretty lucky.
*Yes, this actually happened.
At the moment, though, I had a few minutes to pause and reflect on the direction that my career has taken over the last six years. I have, at various points, considered changing careers, either to make more money (I'm doing okay, but I could do better if I went back into business) or to get away from the stress that my job can entail (significantly lower with my current employer). I have, however, come to the conclusion that while my job has both low and high points, at least I'm not usually bored for long.
It is difficult to conceive of other lines of work in which you are likely to be ordered by the county coroner to carry human remains in your trunk, run into a macrobiotic dieting cult in the middle of the forest, or discover that your required communications equipment is so poorly adapted to the environment that it literally creates a greater safety hazard than it could possibly solve.
Even at my job's worst, I have at least gotten good stories about running into grounded boats in the middle of deserts with no water around, being told by oil company executives that "the laws don't apply to people like us" (incidentally, turns out that they do apply), trying to find my way through a maze of improvised roads with no clear landmarks in dense fog, and had weird run-ins with drunk biologists who were tracking rats.
Kaylia, my fiance, has taken to describing my fieldwork as "field adventures." I would typically disagree with this - digging holes next to a highway in high temperatures is more of an annoyance than an adventure - but there is a degree of truth to it. When I was younger, I was very timid, and while my friends were out climbing mountains, skydiving, experimenting sexually, going to clubs, and generally finding ways to look for excitement, I was either at work or at home, and feeling a bit down.
Now, most of these friends have moved on, and have jobs in which they sit in an office all day, and go home to a fairly normal home at night. While there are elements of this that I find agreeable (indeed, I am actively working on the whole "fairly normal home" part of this), I must admit that I get a bit of enjoyment out of being the guy with the best stories when we get together: "Your boss wants that code finished before it's even possible? That sucks. Hey, did I tell you about the time that I learned how to chase off a charging pack of dogs armed with nothing but my voice?*"
While there are things that I would change about my career, I think that, on the whole, I've been pretty lucky.
*Yes, this actually happened.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Landowner Fun!
I am currently engaged in a project to evaluate the potential for changes to a transmission line to impact cultural resources. Translation: I'm walking along, underneath power lines*, looking for archaeological sites.
The thing about power line surveys is that they tend to take you across alot of privately-owned land. Now, to be clear, we are walking in existing easements, meaning that we are on land that the landowners knew was used by the utilities companies when they bought the land, so out presence shouldn't come as too much of a surprise. Nonetheless, these types of projects tend to produce some unpleasant interactions with land owners.
Note one thing - I am not going to talk about any interactions with landowners that I have had during this project. For a variety of reasons, this would be unprofessional, and I'm not going to do it. However, I can speak about past projects, ones now long-since resolved and where describing these interactions will not create a problem, provided that I don't actually tell you who (other than me) was involved, or where they occurred. Okay? Okay.
Actually, come to think of it, note another thing: I am actually sympathetic to the landowners. I'd be taken aback too if I saw strange people wandering on my land, even if I knew that the utlities company had an easement. It's a bit weird and alarming to see strangers in an area where you anticipate nobody that you don't know, and I get why they can be a bit irate. For this reason, I do a few things to try to make it clear that we are not sneaking onto their land or trying to get away with anything. I wear a bright-orange safety vest, and I make all members of my crew wear similar vests, so that we will be clearly visible. Whenever we pass near a building, I try to keep an eye open to see if there are any people out, and if there are, I at the very least wave to them, and if feasible, I'll walk over and talk to them, letting them know who I am and what i am up to. If our project area passes near a house's main entrance, I will try knocking on the door to let the land owner know that I am there. And, on rare occasion, when I have a phone number, I will call ahead of time to let them know that I am coming.
When we encounter landowners, there's, somewhat surprisingly, usually no issues. Most of them see that we are trying to be visible, and while they may not be happy about us being there, they understand that they did buy land with an easement**, they get that we are there because our bosses sent us there, and they are perfectly polite to us. Nonetheless, there is still occasional confrontation. Interestingly, the confrontation usually moves in a predictable way, almost as if it had been scripted ahead of time. Here's a common example:
Landowner: Why are you sneaking onto my property?
Me: Hello. We're not sneaking on, I apologize if this came off that way. We were told that [my client] had notified all landowners that we would be through here. Also, we are wearing safety vests to be visible to all landowners so that you can be sure that we are not deviating from the line's route.
Landowner: Oh, so [my client] thinks it can send people to sneak onto my land?
Me: As I say, to the best of my knowledge, [my client] notified landowners. I apologize if you did not receive notice...
Landowner: Nobody told me you'd be here!***
Me: Would you like us to leave?
Landowner: No...no, I guess you should finish your work.
It is, in my experience, always good to offer to leave when confronted by the landowner, as they will almost never ask you to - they know that the easement exists and they don't have a right to keep utilities crews off of the lines - but this puts them into a position where they can not honestly claim that you were rude, pushy, or otherwise troublesome. On the off-chance that they ask you to leave, it becomes the utility company's job to deal with them, and they utility company has more time and money (and ways to avoid firearms) to dedicate to it than you do.
In other cases, the landowner is indifferent to us doing our work, but they do not grasp that, as a contractor, I am not in a position of authority with the utility company, and complaining to me won't solve whatever dispute they have with the utility company.
For example...
Landowner: What are you doing out here?
Me: We're doing [appropriate-level description of what we're doing] on the transmission lines.
Landowner: What is [my client] planning on doing?
Me: They are [insert description of project that my client allows me to provide to people].
Landowner: Oh yeah? Well, last time YOU GUYS came through, you [thing that landowner blames my client for].
Me: Yeah, that sounds bad. I'm sorry that that happened, but I'm a contractor to [my client], not their representative. I don't know anything about what happened before.
Landowner: Really? So, then, how are you going to keep it from happening again?
Me: Like I say, I'm a contractor, I don't know anything about [bad incident], I wasn't around for that. I don't know why it happened. You'll need to talk with [client public contact for project].
Landowner: No, you are here now, you are part of [my client], you are going to answer for THIS!
Me: I am not part of [my client], I am a contractor. I am here to do [appropriate level of description of my task], and nothing else. I don't know anything about your concern, and can't help you, as much as I would like to.
Landowner: This is what's wrong with [my client] - you all want to kick the can to someone else!
Most people are perfectly capable of grasping the difference between a contractor and a company's representative. But every now and again, you'll get one of these people who either can't or doesn't want to grasp that yelling a single-service contractor about something outside of their service area is both futile and stupid.
Oh well.
There are also landowners who will try to challenge us on the utility company's need to have someone on their land - even though they will freely admit that they bought the land knowing that it had an easement.
These conversations go something like...
Landowner: What are you doing on MY land?
Me: We're contractors to [my client]. We're doing transmission line surveys for [description we're allowed to give].
Landowner: Oh, and so [my client] needs to be on MY land for that, do they?
Me: I don't know the technical specifications. As I say, I'm here for [appropriate description], and a construction person would need to answer your question. [client's point of contact] could help you out.
Landowner: So, you don't want to tell me what is going to happen on MY land!
Me: I can't tell you because I don't know. Like I say, a construction person could explain how they're going to [description of work] and where they'll need to be for it.
Landowner: Then why isn't a construction person the one out here?
Me: Because a construction worker can't do my job. I have to be out here.
Landowner: So, YOU don't want to answer my question!
Me: I did answer your question to the best of my abilities. You'll have to speak with [client's point of contact].
Landowner: So, [my client] thinks that they need to be on MY land to [project description, usually mangled].
And the conversation just spins in circles for a while until they get bored and/or figure out that I am neither going to feel intimidated by them, nor fly off the handle and give them reason to complain to my client.
Then, of course, there's the ones who mean well, and are perfectly polite, but who simply don't understand that you have a job to do, and it would be easier to do without them stepping into the middle of it. Oh, and these people also don't understand what it is that you actually do. Here's an example from my early days in archaeology, when I worked with one of the few remaining colleges that still sent archaeologists out to do basic CRM work...
Me: Hi, we're from Cabrillo College. We're here to do the survey.
Landowner: Oh, yes! So, what is it that you're looking for?
Me: Well, we're archaeologists, so we're looking for artifacts, bedrock mortars, things like that.
Landowner: Oh, so, are you going to be looking for earthquake fingers?
Me: What's an earthquake finger?
Landowner: Oh, you know. There's also some interesting rocks around back, they seem to be coming out of a layer in my garden, and I think they're unusual in this area.
Me: Oh! No, you're thinking of geologists. They study rocks and soils. We're archaeologists, we're just looking for evidence of past human remains - so the sites of old villages or hunting sites, stuff like that.
Landowner: Well, these rocks are interesting, and you might want to look at them.
Me: Do they look like they were made into tools?
Landowner: Oh, now, they're much older than people. But they look kind of volcanic to me, so someone in your line of work would be interested.
Me: Ma'am, as I said, we're not geologists. We're only interested in rocks is they have been modified by humans.
Landowner: Right, yeah, yeah. So, anyway, those rocks might be important. Also, I assume that you are going to be looking for earthquake fingers!
She proceeded to follow us around for the next hour, talking constantly about the damn rocks (which turned out to be old chunks of concrete) and "earthquake fingers" (which I believe was the mutant power of one of the X-Men). We could have gotten the work done in half of the time if she had left us alone.
Anyway, there you go, landowner encounters are fun!
*And, no, I am not worried that this will somehow cause me to get cancer, for I am scientifically literate and know how to look up studies to find out what claims are bullshit.
**Most of the easements that I have walked are for lines that are 70+ years old, so while there may be the occasional person who inherited land with the easement, the vast majority bought the land knowing full well that there was an easement.
***While I suspect that some landowners are sometimes not notified, I have often been holding a signed letter stating that we are allowed on the land by the person claiming that they were not notified. On other occasions, I have spoken with landowners on the phone the night before to make sure that they were okay with our presence, only to have them tell me the next day that they never received notice. In other words, while this is sometimes probably true, I have unfortunately learned that most people lie about not having been notified.
The thing about power line surveys is that they tend to take you across alot of privately-owned land. Now, to be clear, we are walking in existing easements, meaning that we are on land that the landowners knew was used by the utilities companies when they bought the land, so out presence shouldn't come as too much of a surprise. Nonetheless, these types of projects tend to produce some unpleasant interactions with land owners.
Note one thing - I am not going to talk about any interactions with landowners that I have had during this project. For a variety of reasons, this would be unprofessional, and I'm not going to do it. However, I can speak about past projects, ones now long-since resolved and where describing these interactions will not create a problem, provided that I don't actually tell you who (other than me) was involved, or where they occurred. Okay? Okay.
Actually, come to think of it, note another thing: I am actually sympathetic to the landowners. I'd be taken aback too if I saw strange people wandering on my land, even if I knew that the utlities company had an easement. It's a bit weird and alarming to see strangers in an area where you anticipate nobody that you don't know, and I get why they can be a bit irate. For this reason, I do a few things to try to make it clear that we are not sneaking onto their land or trying to get away with anything. I wear a bright-orange safety vest, and I make all members of my crew wear similar vests, so that we will be clearly visible. Whenever we pass near a building, I try to keep an eye open to see if there are any people out, and if there are, I at the very least wave to them, and if feasible, I'll walk over and talk to them, letting them know who I am and what i am up to. If our project area passes near a house's main entrance, I will try knocking on the door to let the land owner know that I am there. And, on rare occasion, when I have a phone number, I will call ahead of time to let them know that I am coming.
When we encounter landowners, there's, somewhat surprisingly, usually no issues. Most of them see that we are trying to be visible, and while they may not be happy about us being there, they understand that they did buy land with an easement**, they get that we are there because our bosses sent us there, and they are perfectly polite to us. Nonetheless, there is still occasional confrontation. Interestingly, the confrontation usually moves in a predictable way, almost as if it had been scripted ahead of time. Here's a common example:
Landowner: Why are you sneaking onto my property?
Me: Hello. We're not sneaking on, I apologize if this came off that way. We were told that [my client] had notified all landowners that we would be through here. Also, we are wearing safety vests to be visible to all landowners so that you can be sure that we are not deviating from the line's route.
Landowner: Oh, so [my client] thinks it can send people to sneak onto my land?
Me: As I say, to the best of my knowledge, [my client] notified landowners. I apologize if you did not receive notice...
Landowner: Nobody told me you'd be here!***
Me: Would you like us to leave?
Landowner: No...no, I guess you should finish your work.
It is, in my experience, always good to offer to leave when confronted by the landowner, as they will almost never ask you to - they know that the easement exists and they don't have a right to keep utilities crews off of the lines - but this puts them into a position where they can not honestly claim that you were rude, pushy, or otherwise troublesome. On the off-chance that they ask you to leave, it becomes the utility company's job to deal with them, and they utility company has more time and money (and ways to avoid firearms) to dedicate to it than you do.
In other cases, the landowner is indifferent to us doing our work, but they do not grasp that, as a contractor, I am not in a position of authority with the utility company, and complaining to me won't solve whatever dispute they have with the utility company.
For example...
Landowner: What are you doing out here?
Me: We're doing [appropriate-level description of what we're doing] on the transmission lines.
Landowner: What is [my client] planning on doing?
Me: They are [insert description of project that my client allows me to provide to people].
Landowner: Oh yeah? Well, last time YOU GUYS came through, you [thing that landowner blames my client for].
Me: Yeah, that sounds bad. I'm sorry that that happened, but I'm a contractor to [my client], not their representative. I don't know anything about what happened before.
Landowner: Really? So, then, how are you going to keep it from happening again?
Me: Like I say, I'm a contractor, I don't know anything about [bad incident], I wasn't around for that. I don't know why it happened. You'll need to talk with [client public contact for project].
Landowner: No, you are here now, you are part of [my client], you are going to answer for THIS!
Me: I am not part of [my client], I am a contractor. I am here to do [appropriate level of description of my task], and nothing else. I don't know anything about your concern, and can't help you, as much as I would like to.
Landowner: This is what's wrong with [my client] - you all want to kick the can to someone else!
Most people are perfectly capable of grasping the difference between a contractor and a company's representative. But every now and again, you'll get one of these people who either can't or doesn't want to grasp that yelling a single-service contractor about something outside of their service area is both futile and stupid.
Oh well.
There are also landowners who will try to challenge us on the utility company's need to have someone on their land - even though they will freely admit that they bought the land knowing that it had an easement.
These conversations go something like...
Landowner: What are you doing on MY land?
Me: We're contractors to [my client]. We're doing transmission line surveys for [description we're allowed to give].
Landowner: Oh, and so [my client] needs to be on MY land for that, do they?
Me: I don't know the technical specifications. As I say, I'm here for [appropriate description], and a construction person would need to answer your question. [client's point of contact] could help you out.
Landowner: So, you don't want to tell me what is going to happen on MY land!
Me: I can't tell you because I don't know. Like I say, a construction person could explain how they're going to [description of work] and where they'll need to be for it.
Landowner: Then why isn't a construction person the one out here?
Me: Because a construction worker can't do my job. I have to be out here.
Landowner: So, YOU don't want to answer my question!
Me: I did answer your question to the best of my abilities. You'll have to speak with [client's point of contact].
Landowner: So, [my client] thinks that they need to be on MY land to [project description, usually mangled].
And the conversation just spins in circles for a while until they get bored and/or figure out that I am neither going to feel intimidated by them, nor fly off the handle and give them reason to complain to my client.
Then, of course, there's the ones who mean well, and are perfectly polite, but who simply don't understand that you have a job to do, and it would be easier to do without them stepping into the middle of it. Oh, and these people also don't understand what it is that you actually do. Here's an example from my early days in archaeology, when I worked with one of the few remaining colleges that still sent archaeologists out to do basic CRM work...
Me: Hi, we're from Cabrillo College. We're here to do the survey.
Landowner: Oh, yes! So, what is it that you're looking for?
Me: Well, we're archaeologists, so we're looking for artifacts, bedrock mortars, things like that.
Landowner: Oh, so, are you going to be looking for earthquake fingers?
Me: What's an earthquake finger?
Landowner: Oh, you know. There's also some interesting rocks around back, they seem to be coming out of a layer in my garden, and I think they're unusual in this area.
Me: Oh! No, you're thinking of geologists. They study rocks and soils. We're archaeologists, we're just looking for evidence of past human remains - so the sites of old villages or hunting sites, stuff like that.
Landowner: Well, these rocks are interesting, and you might want to look at them.
Me: Do they look like they were made into tools?
Landowner: Oh, now, they're much older than people. But they look kind of volcanic to me, so someone in your line of work would be interested.
Me: Ma'am, as I said, we're not geologists. We're only interested in rocks is they have been modified by humans.
Landowner: Right, yeah, yeah. So, anyway, those rocks might be important. Also, I assume that you are going to be looking for earthquake fingers!
She proceeded to follow us around for the next hour, talking constantly about the damn rocks (which turned out to be old chunks of concrete) and "earthquake fingers" (which I believe was the mutant power of one of the X-Men). We could have gotten the work done in half of the time if she had left us alone.
Anyway, there you go, landowner encounters are fun!
*And, no, I am not worried that this will somehow cause me to get cancer, for I am scientifically literate and know how to look up studies to find out what claims are bullshit.
**Most of the easements that I have walked are for lines that are 70+ years old, so while there may be the occasional person who inherited land with the easement, the vast majority bought the land knowing full well that there was an easement.
***While I suspect that some landowners are sometimes not notified, I have often been holding a signed letter stating that we are allowed on the land by the person claiming that they were not notified. On other occasions, I have spoken with landowners on the phone the night before to make sure that they were okay with our presence, only to have them tell me the next day that they never received notice. In other words, while this is sometimes probably true, I have unfortunately learned that most people lie about not having been notified.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Manzanita Madness
Normally I would post a standard-length post on Friday, but this week is a bit chaotic (again). First off, I am in the field, fighting my way through poison oak as this post drops. Secondly, I have been preparing a talk for the Fresno County Archaeological Society (meeting at CSU Fresno on Monday, come by to hear the talk if you'd like), which has been eating up much of my time. Third, as you can probably guess from Wednesday's post, family stuff has been eating up alot of my time (family gatherings have been taking me out of town, and Kaylia's doctor appointments require me to juggle my work schedule around a bit). So, I've not had much time to write.
However, as I am writing this, I do have a little something to talk about: my fieldwork today.
I spent the day moving through dense manzanita. For those who are unfamiliar with this foul plant, it's a small shrub-like tree that grows in dense patches. The branches grow low to the ground and interlock with the branches of the neighboring trees, resulting in a dense, nearly impassable mess. The branches can sometimes be broken, but more often you have to either just push through it, getting thwacked, cut, and jabbed by branches as you go, or you get down on your hands and knees and crawl through the small 2 foot area where the branches are not quite as thick. It's miserable.
Today, my crew and I spent the entire day fighting our way through this crap. My clothes are destroyed, my equipment is a bit damaged, and I am covered in cuts and bruises, as are my crew. It was bad enough that a crew that can normally cover 10 to twelve linear miles a day spent most of the day fighting its way through a half mile of linear. When we finished, we found ourselves facing oak woodland covered in a sea of poison oak, and we were, honestly, relieved by this site.
It was terrible.
So why were we doing it? Well, there may very well have been sites in the area, but a combination of the dense manzanita and the duff (layer of dead leaves and small plants covering the surface) prevented us from being able to actually see the ground most of the time, and the dense manzanita also would have prevented any exploration with a shovel (there would, quite literally, have been no room to move the shovel or screen). So, there was no good technical reason for doing it.
The reason was regulatory. In order to get and keep the permits that they need for construction, our client has to be able to demonstrate that they made a good-faith effort to identify archaeological sites that might be impacted by construction. To this end, we, as the cultural resources contractor, have to actually make the good-faith effort, which often means that we go into places where there is little visibility and little reason to anticipate that our efforts will be rewarded in order to ensure that our client gets what they need.
Add to that the fact that, at this location, we have to deal with a particular office of a particular government agency where little things such as "there's no reasonable way to expect us to see anything" are not taken as an excuse for not looking, and you have the conditions under which I, an usually sane and reasonable man, will not only push myself through manzanita, but will push others through it as well.
Ahh, the glorious and exciting life of the archaeologist.
However, as I am writing this, I do have a little something to talk about: my fieldwork today.
I spent the day moving through dense manzanita. For those who are unfamiliar with this foul plant, it's a small shrub-like tree that grows in dense patches. The branches grow low to the ground and interlock with the branches of the neighboring trees, resulting in a dense, nearly impassable mess. The branches can sometimes be broken, but more often you have to either just push through it, getting thwacked, cut, and jabbed by branches as you go, or you get down on your hands and knees and crawl through the small 2 foot area where the branches are not quite as thick. It's miserable.
Today, my crew and I spent the entire day fighting our way through this crap. My clothes are destroyed, my equipment is a bit damaged, and I am covered in cuts and bruises, as are my crew. It was bad enough that a crew that can normally cover 10 to twelve linear miles a day spent most of the day fighting its way through a half mile of linear. When we finished, we found ourselves facing oak woodland covered in a sea of poison oak, and we were, honestly, relieved by this site.
It was terrible.
So why were we doing it? Well, there may very well have been sites in the area, but a combination of the dense manzanita and the duff (layer of dead leaves and small plants covering the surface) prevented us from being able to actually see the ground most of the time, and the dense manzanita also would have prevented any exploration with a shovel (there would, quite literally, have been no room to move the shovel or screen). So, there was no good technical reason for doing it.
The reason was regulatory. In order to get and keep the permits that they need for construction, our client has to be able to demonstrate that they made a good-faith effort to identify archaeological sites that might be impacted by construction. To this end, we, as the cultural resources contractor, have to actually make the good-faith effort, which often means that we go into places where there is little visibility and little reason to anticipate that our efforts will be rewarded in order to ensure that our client gets what they need.
Add to that the fact that, at this location, we have to deal with a particular office of a particular government agency where little things such as "there's no reasonable way to expect us to see anything" are not taken as an excuse for not looking, and you have the conditions under which I, an usually sane and reasonable man, will not only push myself through manzanita, but will push others through it as well.
Ahh, the glorious and exciting life of the archaeologist.
Monday, April 30, 2012
So, These Things Happen...
One of the local counties wants to build some structures near a neighborhood in a mostly agricultural area in the San Joaquin Valley. This was subject to CEQA* review, and so I was sent out to have a look and see what was what.
I drove for about an hour, got to the site, and discovered that it was nestled amongst a group of dilapidated, abandoned homes, and a few rather nice currently occupied houses. I got out of the car, and began walking the lots, looking for evidence of archaeological materials, when I heard someone call out "Hey, what are you up to?"
I looked up, and saw a middle-aged Latino man walking towards me. He stopped about ten feet from me, looked at my shirt (I was wearing a UC Santa Cruz T-Shirt), nodded approvingly, and then walked towards me and we introduced ourselves to each other and shook hands. He owned one of the neighboring houses, and seeing me nosing around, figured that he should find out who I am. This is perfectly normal, and it is rare that I have a bad interaction with someone who comes out to see what I am up to.
I explained that I was doing the environmental review for this particular project, with which he was familiar, and was just looking at the ground. He then began telling me about problems his brother had had with getting building permits with the county, and abruptly changed the conversation over to a discussion (or rather a spewing rant from him) about how the county of Fresno, CalOSHA, the local hospital, and the Sheriff's department are all part of a massive conspiracy to deny him workers comp coverage, and to kill off workers in local canneries. Oh, and he also told of how he went to court, represented himself, but channeled questions from THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY and used these questions to defeat his opponents in court, only to have the corrupt judge decide against him anyway (Note: The is why the Tea Party people are so worked up over "activist judges" - apparently judges can over-turn the decisions of the almighty creator of the universe).
I politely listened for a few minutes, and then told him that I needed to get back to work. He proceeded to follow me around for the next 30 minutes or so, repeating most of his story during that time, while also asking me what I thought of various points, and then cutting me off before I got more than 1.5 syllables into a response. Finally, he stopped ranting, and said: "So, I see that you went to college, so you're smart. What do you think that I should do?"
Two things surprised me: 1) usually, these days, when people find out that I went to college, unless the themselves did as well, they immediately assume that I am shiftless, lazy and arrogant, and that I need them to tell me about "the real world". So, I was a bit surprised to have someone assume that I was more intelligent than them. Mind you, I'm not sure that I am more intelligent than this guy, but I do suspect that I have a firmer grasp on reality and mental health; 2) I told this guy that I was an archaeologist, not a county employee, not a lawyer, not a media figure, so why the hell did he think that I could help him at all?
It was very strange.
So, after trying to dodge the question for a bit, I finally told him to contact the media. I figured that, on the off-chance that there was any truth to his story (I really doubt it, but corruption is not unknown in Fresno County government) then it would expose it, but, more likely, the media people would see him as a crank and blow him off. He responded that he had called the local TV stations but "they wouldn't touch it, they're afraid!"
Yeah...sure buddy.
So, I told him to contact national media (even higher chance of a crank brush-off, but at least he wouldn't be my problem, and I could get back to work). He thought about it, decided that this was a good idea, and asked "So, who do I call?"
I explained, again, that I don't work in the media, and didn't know. But that he could get email addresses and phone numbers and find out pretty easily.
His response - "well, yeah, but you know people who work for like CNN or the New York Times, or something, right?"
I had to explain to him multiple times that no, I do not know any such people, before he'd finally believe.
In the end, I had to get in my car and drive around the block, and then walk back to the project area in order to lose the guy. So it goes...
*California Environmental Quality Act
I drove for about an hour, got to the site, and discovered that it was nestled amongst a group of dilapidated, abandoned homes, and a few rather nice currently occupied houses. I got out of the car, and began walking the lots, looking for evidence of archaeological materials, when I heard someone call out "Hey, what are you up to?"
I looked up, and saw a middle-aged Latino man walking towards me. He stopped about ten feet from me, looked at my shirt (I was wearing a UC Santa Cruz T-Shirt), nodded approvingly, and then walked towards me and we introduced ourselves to each other and shook hands. He owned one of the neighboring houses, and seeing me nosing around, figured that he should find out who I am. This is perfectly normal, and it is rare that I have a bad interaction with someone who comes out to see what I am up to.
I explained that I was doing the environmental review for this particular project, with which he was familiar, and was just looking at the ground. He then began telling me about problems his brother had had with getting building permits with the county, and abruptly changed the conversation over to a discussion (or rather a spewing rant from him) about how the county of Fresno, CalOSHA, the local hospital, and the Sheriff's department are all part of a massive conspiracy to deny him workers comp coverage, and to kill off workers in local canneries. Oh, and he also told of how he went to court, represented himself, but channeled questions from THE LORD GOD ALMIGHTY and used these questions to defeat his opponents in court, only to have the corrupt judge decide against him anyway (Note: The is why the Tea Party people are so worked up over "activist judges" - apparently judges can over-turn the decisions of the almighty creator of the universe).
I politely listened for a few minutes, and then told him that I needed to get back to work. He proceeded to follow me around for the next 30 minutes or so, repeating most of his story during that time, while also asking me what I thought of various points, and then cutting me off before I got more than 1.5 syllables into a response. Finally, he stopped ranting, and said: "So, I see that you went to college, so you're smart. What do you think that I should do?"
Two things surprised me: 1) usually, these days, when people find out that I went to college, unless the themselves did as well, they immediately assume that I am shiftless, lazy and arrogant, and that I need them to tell me about "the real world". So, I was a bit surprised to have someone assume that I was more intelligent than them. Mind you, I'm not sure that I am more intelligent than this guy, but I do suspect that I have a firmer grasp on reality and mental health; 2) I told this guy that I was an archaeologist, not a county employee, not a lawyer, not a media figure, so why the hell did he think that I could help him at all?
It was very strange.
So, after trying to dodge the question for a bit, I finally told him to contact the media. I figured that, on the off-chance that there was any truth to his story (I really doubt it, but corruption is not unknown in Fresno County government) then it would expose it, but, more likely, the media people would see him as a crank and blow him off. He responded that he had called the local TV stations but "they wouldn't touch it, they're afraid!"
Yeah...sure buddy.
So, I told him to contact national media (even higher chance of a crank brush-off, but at least he wouldn't be my problem, and I could get back to work). He thought about it, decided that this was a good idea, and asked "So, who do I call?"
I explained, again, that I don't work in the media, and didn't know. But that he could get email addresses and phone numbers and find out pretty easily.
His response - "well, yeah, but you know people who work for like CNN or the New York Times, or something, right?"
I had to explain to him multiple times that no, I do not know any such people, before he'd finally believe.
In the end, I had to get in my car and drive around the block, and then walk back to the project area in order to lose the guy. So it goes...
*California Environmental Quality Act
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Everyday, Monitoring, Monitoring
I am in Los Angeles, monitoring work being done in the downtown area. Monitoring, that is watching construction or other work in order to ensure that no archaeological sites are impacted unnecessarrily. Most of the time, there is a clear reason for monitoring - the work is in or near an archaeological site, or in an area thought to be sensitive for archaeological sites, but where they have not been found for some reason (areas with a history of flooding and the resulting sediments are good examples).
I am currently monitoring in an area with a clear reason to suspect archaeological sites - there are many within the general vicinity, and the Los Angeles River used to flow on a meandering course through the area, meaning both that there was a clean source of water to entice settlement, and that there was a source of flood sediments to cover sites.
On the other hand, the work being done involves drilling with an 8" drill bit down to depths of 100 feet. The drill, by its nature, crushes most of what comes up, meaning that artifacts are reduced to small chunks, less than a centimeter across all dimensions, if they are not reduced entirely to dust.
So, this is an odd situation. I would have recommended monitoring had I been the contractor who wrote the EIR for the project. However, as the guy on the ground, I don't know that it's particularly useful. However, there is nonetheless also a possibility of hitting burials, and bone fragments would be visible during the drilling, so I suppose the monitoring is worthwhile. And, really, it's work, which is always welcome.
However, it's still really damn boring.
I am currently monitoring in an area with a clear reason to suspect archaeological sites - there are many within the general vicinity, and the Los Angeles River used to flow on a meandering course through the area, meaning both that there was a clean source of water to entice settlement, and that there was a source of flood sediments to cover sites.
On the other hand, the work being done involves drilling with an 8" drill bit down to depths of 100 feet. The drill, by its nature, crushes most of what comes up, meaning that artifacts are reduced to small chunks, less than a centimeter across all dimensions, if they are not reduced entirely to dust.
So, this is an odd situation. I would have recommended monitoring had I been the contractor who wrote the EIR for the project. However, as the guy on the ground, I don't know that it's particularly useful. However, there is nonetheless also a possibility of hitting burials, and bone fragments would be visible during the drilling, so I suppose the monitoring is worthwhile. And, really, it's work, which is always welcome.
However, it's still really damn boring.
Monday, January 30, 2012
On The Eventual Loss of Field Work
I have come to realize recently that my days in the field are likely numbered.
This isn't a shock, or even a gloomy outlook. quite the contrary, in fact. The next step in my career will likely be one of project management, which means more time dealing with management-level stuff rather than the day-to-day issues of field work and logistics. Now, this step is likely years off, and it is one that I could probably stall even longer if I wished to, but that comes to the fact that my partner and I are talking about having children, and I wish to spend more times with my nephews and nieces while they are still young enough to appreciate their eccentric uncle, which means a more stable weekly schedule, which, in turn, means less field work. So, even though the next step may be a few years off, I have no desire to hold it off any longer than necessary, and may even be looking for ways to make it happen sooner.
So, the loss of fieldwork is still a ways off, and I am not gloomy over the eventual loss of field work as a regular part of my life. But, I will admit, I will be a little sad to see it go.
This was not always the case, however. Back in early 2007, I had worked for companies that had large local clients, and therefore field work consisted of going out for the day, and coming back home at night. I rarely had to stay overnight anywhere, and then never for more than a four-night stint. I then went to work for a company based in Santa Cruz (the town in which I had wished, and still do wish now that I have left it, to settle). This company had very little local work, and so we spent at least 30% of our time away from home (the rest of that time was spent writing reports, preparing for field work, doing lab work, and handling our few local projects). And so I was thrust into the much more common world of the field archaeologist - travel and hotels.
I didn't like it. I have long been a creature of habit, and I had developed a life for myself where I had my daily and weekly routines in which I reveled. I liked my weekly gaming group, my nightly walks, and the three to four nights a week that I walked down to the local coffee shop to either write or read (in fact, most of the blog entries on this site dating to before December 2008 were written in the Coffee Cat in Scotts Valley, CA). I did not like having my habits interrupted, and being sent out for field work felt like an interruption. I disliked being sent away, and the entire time I was out, I longed for my return home.
But then some things happened.
The first is that I began to realize that fieldwork, even at its most miserable, tended to provide fodder for great stories that I could tell later. When my friends in the tech industry would talk about difficult situations at work, I could always contribute a story about nearly being stampeded by cattle, or driving on a road that appeared to be in danger of collapsing into a canyon, or having to learn how to stop a pack of dogs using nothing but chutzpah. I found that I rather enjoyed being the "guy who has the best stories", never having to embellish the stories.
I also began to get a bit into the spirit of adventure that was inherent in the work. Archaeology is an infinitely more sedate field than movies would lead one to believe, but there is always the possibility that some strange thing will happen (as evidence by many of the stories on this blog), and even if it doesn't, you spend time going to enough different types of places that nobody else has quite the same breadth of experience as you do. There are stretches of boredom, and even longer stretches of basic routine work, but these are punctuated by weird occurrences, funny events, and exciting discoveries. I am not risking life and limb on a regular basis (provided that I follow my safety plan), but I still get to see and do some exciting things.
Later, my partner Kaylia and I moved in together. I very much liked this, but co-existing with someone else meant everything was shared (space, money, time, etc.), which was a bit difficult for me as I had lived as a single man into my 30s, never having cohabitated. In truth, Kaylia was encouraging of me maintaining my own hobbies, habits, etc., but it took me time to understand this, and so I found that fieldwork allowed me time and space of my own in which I could think, work out my own issues, and sometimes just engage in my own hobbies or habits without having to worry about upsetting someone else. I would look forward to returning home at the end of the job, but I nonetheless enjoyed my time away as well.
And so, while I preferred being at home to being on the road, I did develop a bit of a taste for traveling to fieldwork. In fact, when I hadn't gone out recently enough, I would sometimes begin to get a little stir crazy, waiting for the next expedition out of the office.
At the same time, when I was out of the office, I usually counted the days until I returned home, as I did prefer home to the field, even when fieldwork was at its best. What's more, even some of the events that provided me with great stories could become more grief than they were in any way worth - spending seven months of 2009 in Taft with a hostile and imbecilic client who expected me to work 16-hour days and who was sufficiently dim to not look up our contract to see what the actual amount allocated to our work actually was (hence she constantly claimed that I had gone "well over budget" when I wasn't even 25% of the way through our budget) was enough to make me seriously consider going back into the tech industry.
And so, I find myself pondering a future in which my fieldwork will eventually start to become more limited, eventually vanishing. It's not a bad future at all, the pay will eventually go up, my time at home will allow my relationship with Kaylia to improve (and it's already pretty good), if we have children, then I will no doubt want to spend more time with them.
At the same time, there is a bit of melancholy in knowing that my wild and wacky adventuring days will eventually be over. Still, it will be better if they are over when I still enjoy them than for them to continue into a future where I start to go a bit nuts, like some of the older field techs that I have worked with.
This isn't a shock, or even a gloomy outlook. quite the contrary, in fact. The next step in my career will likely be one of project management, which means more time dealing with management-level stuff rather than the day-to-day issues of field work and logistics. Now, this step is likely years off, and it is one that I could probably stall even longer if I wished to, but that comes to the fact that my partner and I are talking about having children, and I wish to spend more times with my nephews and nieces while they are still young enough to appreciate their eccentric uncle, which means a more stable weekly schedule, which, in turn, means less field work. So, even though the next step may be a few years off, I have no desire to hold it off any longer than necessary, and may even be looking for ways to make it happen sooner.
So, the loss of fieldwork is still a ways off, and I am not gloomy over the eventual loss of field work as a regular part of my life. But, I will admit, I will be a little sad to see it go.
This was not always the case, however. Back in early 2007, I had worked for companies that had large local clients, and therefore field work consisted of going out for the day, and coming back home at night. I rarely had to stay overnight anywhere, and then never for more than a four-night stint. I then went to work for a company based in Santa Cruz (the town in which I had wished, and still do wish now that I have left it, to settle). This company had very little local work, and so we spent at least 30% of our time away from home (the rest of that time was spent writing reports, preparing for field work, doing lab work, and handling our few local projects). And so I was thrust into the much more common world of the field archaeologist - travel and hotels.
I didn't like it. I have long been a creature of habit, and I had developed a life for myself where I had my daily and weekly routines in which I reveled. I liked my weekly gaming group, my nightly walks, and the three to four nights a week that I walked down to the local coffee shop to either write or read (in fact, most of the blog entries on this site dating to before December 2008 were written in the Coffee Cat in Scotts Valley, CA). I did not like having my habits interrupted, and being sent out for field work felt like an interruption. I disliked being sent away, and the entire time I was out, I longed for my return home.
But then some things happened.
The first is that I began to realize that fieldwork, even at its most miserable, tended to provide fodder for great stories that I could tell later. When my friends in the tech industry would talk about difficult situations at work, I could always contribute a story about nearly being stampeded by cattle, or driving on a road that appeared to be in danger of collapsing into a canyon, or having to learn how to stop a pack of dogs using nothing but chutzpah. I found that I rather enjoyed being the "guy who has the best stories", never having to embellish the stories.
I also began to get a bit into the spirit of adventure that was inherent in the work. Archaeology is an infinitely more sedate field than movies would lead one to believe, but there is always the possibility that some strange thing will happen (as evidence by many of the stories on this blog), and even if it doesn't, you spend time going to enough different types of places that nobody else has quite the same breadth of experience as you do. There are stretches of boredom, and even longer stretches of basic routine work, but these are punctuated by weird occurrences, funny events, and exciting discoveries. I am not risking life and limb on a regular basis (provided that I follow my safety plan), but I still get to see and do some exciting things.
Later, my partner Kaylia and I moved in together. I very much liked this, but co-existing with someone else meant everything was shared (space, money, time, etc.), which was a bit difficult for me as I had lived as a single man into my 30s, never having cohabitated. In truth, Kaylia was encouraging of me maintaining my own hobbies, habits, etc., but it took me time to understand this, and so I found that fieldwork allowed me time and space of my own in which I could think, work out my own issues, and sometimes just engage in my own hobbies or habits without having to worry about upsetting someone else. I would look forward to returning home at the end of the job, but I nonetheless enjoyed my time away as well.
And so, while I preferred being at home to being on the road, I did develop a bit of a taste for traveling to fieldwork. In fact, when I hadn't gone out recently enough, I would sometimes begin to get a little stir crazy, waiting for the next expedition out of the office.
At the same time, when I was out of the office, I usually counted the days until I returned home, as I did prefer home to the field, even when fieldwork was at its best. What's more, even some of the events that provided me with great stories could become more grief than they were in any way worth - spending seven months of 2009 in Taft with a hostile and imbecilic client who expected me to work 16-hour days and who was sufficiently dim to not look up our contract to see what the actual amount allocated to our work actually was (hence she constantly claimed that I had gone "well over budget" when I wasn't even 25% of the way through our budget) was enough to make me seriously consider going back into the tech industry.
And so, I find myself pondering a future in which my fieldwork will eventually start to become more limited, eventually vanishing. It's not a bad future at all, the pay will eventually go up, my time at home will allow my relationship with Kaylia to improve (and it's already pretty good), if we have children, then I will no doubt want to spend more time with them.
At the same time, there is a bit of melancholy in knowing that my wild and wacky adventuring days will eventually be over. Still, it will be better if they are over when I still enjoy them than for them to continue into a future where I start to go a bit nuts, like some of the older field techs that I have worked with.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Tools of the Trade: The Crude Tools
I have had a number of experiences lately in which the people with whom I'm speaking seem shocked at the tools that we use - the popular view of archaeology being that excavations are carried out with brushes, trowels, and dental picks. There is, of course, some truth to this. When you are excavating features (things such as hearths, old posts for holding up long-vanished buildings, etc.), then you want to use very fine tools to make sure that you don't lose something important. Likewise, there are places where the archaeological materials that you may encounter are fragile enough to make very fine-controlled tools necessary.
But, most of the time in North American archaeology, larger, more "crude" tools are actually perfectly appropriate for excavation. When you are digging into a midden or a flake scatter, the goal is to get the materials out of the ground and into a screen where you can separate them from the surrounding soil and natural rock. To do this, cruder tools than what is usually thought of work just fine.
So, to that end, here's the first part in a short series on the types of tools that we actually use, as opposed to those ones that people usually assume we use. This first part is the blunt instruments or crude tools that we use on a regular basis.
The Shovel
Okay, no surprise here. If you're digging holes, you need a shovel. However, we need a few types of shovels. First off, there are round-nose and square-nose shovels. The type you use depends on whether you are digging a square or a round hole, and on how hard is the soil through which you are digging - hard-packed dirt is easier to dig with a round shovel, and if it's a square hole then you use the square shovel to clean it up before finishing your unit level.
There are also different handle lengths. A long-handled shovel works great when you are at the surface, digging a shallow hole, or digging a deep hole that it too small for you to enter. However, when you are more than a meter down, maneuvering the long-handled shovel can become a bit of a pain, and the short-handled shovel is pretty useful. The shorter handle shovel is also easier to control if you are having to exercise more caution than normal.
The Breaker Bar
Okay, this one is probably the most shocking ot the non-archaeologist. Hell, it surprised me the first time that I was asked to use one. However, it is a very useful tool.
The breaker bar is a steel bar approximately six feet long (though some are shorter), with a chisel tip on one one, and (usually) a spike on the other end. This is used to break up hardened soil (and occasionally to dig through pavement...which I can assure you is not fun).
We don't like the breaker bar. It is the definition of a crude instrument, looking more like a medeival weapon than the tool of a scholar. You run the risk of breaking artifacts, and in some contexts creating false flakes that resemble the remains of making flaked stone tools. However, when you are stuck with dense, hardened clay to dig through, there is no other practical way to do it. You use the breaker bar, and be as careful as you can.
The Mattock, Pick, Chipping Hammer, etc.
So, these are similar to the breaker bar, but are not quite as crude. Nonetheless, they are basically spikes, axes, or other blades mounted on wooden or fiberglass sticks of varying lengths, and they function in much the same way as the breaker bar: cutting through hard-packed soils. The objection to using these is pretty much the same.
The Screen
The screen isn't really a crude instrument, but it is used in conjunction with the crude instruments. It's basically a wooden box lacking a top, and with a bottom made out of wire mesh, usually 1/8 or 1/4 inch. Basically, you put the dirt from your hole in here, shake it (and sometimes break up dirt clods), and then sort through the gravel and rocks left over to try to find artifacts.
Okay, so those are the most common crude tools. A later post will desscribe the fine tools.
But, most of the time in North American archaeology, larger, more "crude" tools are actually perfectly appropriate for excavation. When you are digging into a midden or a flake scatter, the goal is to get the materials out of the ground and into a screen where you can separate them from the surrounding soil and natural rock. To do this, cruder tools than what is usually thought of work just fine.
So, to that end, here's the first part in a short series on the types of tools that we actually use, as opposed to those ones that people usually assume we use. This first part is the blunt instruments or crude tools that we use on a regular basis.
The Shovel
Okay, no surprise here. If you're digging holes, you need a shovel. However, we need a few types of shovels. First off, there are round-nose and square-nose shovels. The type you use depends on whether you are digging a square or a round hole, and on how hard is the soil through which you are digging - hard-packed dirt is easier to dig with a round shovel, and if it's a square hole then you use the square shovel to clean it up before finishing your unit level.
There are also different handle lengths. A long-handled shovel works great when you are at the surface, digging a shallow hole, or digging a deep hole that it too small for you to enter. However, when you are more than a meter down, maneuvering the long-handled shovel can become a bit of a pain, and the short-handled shovel is pretty useful. The shorter handle shovel is also easier to control if you are having to exercise more caution than normal.
The Breaker Bar
Okay, this one is probably the most shocking ot the non-archaeologist. Hell, it surprised me the first time that I was asked to use one. However, it is a very useful tool.
The breaker bar is a steel bar approximately six feet long (though some are shorter), with a chisel tip on one one, and (usually) a spike on the other end. This is used to break up hardened soil (and occasionally to dig through pavement...which I can assure you is not fun).
We don't like the breaker bar. It is the definition of a crude instrument, looking more like a medeival weapon than the tool of a scholar. You run the risk of breaking artifacts, and in some contexts creating false flakes that resemble the remains of making flaked stone tools. However, when you are stuck with dense, hardened clay to dig through, there is no other practical way to do it. You use the breaker bar, and be as careful as you can.
The Mattock, Pick, Chipping Hammer, etc.
So, these are similar to the breaker bar, but are not quite as crude. Nonetheless, they are basically spikes, axes, or other blades mounted on wooden or fiberglass sticks of varying lengths, and they function in much the same way as the breaker bar: cutting through hard-packed soils. The objection to using these is pretty much the same.
The Screen
The screen isn't really a crude instrument, but it is used in conjunction with the crude instruments. It's basically a wooden box lacking a top, and with a bottom made out of wire mesh, usually 1/8 or 1/4 inch. Basically, you put the dirt from your hole in here, shake it (and sometimes break up dirt clods), and then sort through the gravel and rocks left over to try to find artifacts.
Okay, so those are the most common crude tools. A later post will desscribe the fine tools.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Back to the Frozen Wastes
So, I'm sitting in my office, waiting for my crew.
As the frequent readers know, I have been routinely getting sent up into the mountains to do boundary testing on sites near a linear project. This project should have been done no later than the fall, when there was no snow on the ground and the ground itself wasn't frozen. Now, it's difficult to get to the sites due to snow and ice covered roads, and the ground is frozen making digging difficult and screening soils very difficult - to the point of being occasionally impossible. As a result, each time we have gone up, there has been at least one site that we have been unable to reach, and we have one left. I had figured that it would wait until Spring, as there is no practical reason to go after it now - it will cost more than is necessary to get to it and to dig into it.
However, my client is a large corporation, and the archaeologist that works for my client is under pressure to get things done even when impractical. And so, on Monday, I received instructions to go back into the mountains to try to reach the last site, even though impractical. It is very cold up there right now, so I am decked out in my cold weather clothes, and there is a fair chance that we won't be able to get to the site at all, so this trip might be a waste anyway.
So, here I am, up earlier than normal, very tired, very grumpy, and possibly not even going to be able to get to the site to which we are headed.
Joy!
As the frequent readers know, I have been routinely getting sent up into the mountains to do boundary testing on sites near a linear project. This project should have been done no later than the fall, when there was no snow on the ground and the ground itself wasn't frozen. Now, it's difficult to get to the sites due to snow and ice covered roads, and the ground is frozen making digging difficult and screening soils very difficult - to the point of being occasionally impossible. As a result, each time we have gone up, there has been at least one site that we have been unable to reach, and we have one left. I had figured that it would wait until Spring, as there is no practical reason to go after it now - it will cost more than is necessary to get to it and to dig into it.
However, my client is a large corporation, and the archaeologist that works for my client is under pressure to get things done even when impractical. And so, on Monday, I received instructions to go back into the mountains to try to reach the last site, even though impractical. It is very cold up there right now, so I am decked out in my cold weather clothes, and there is a fair chance that we won't be able to get to the site at all, so this trip might be a waste anyway.
So, here I am, up earlier than normal, very tired, very grumpy, and possibly not even going to be able to get to the site to which we are headed.
Joy!
Monday, January 2, 2012
Field Work Hotel Wackiness Photos
Last week I wrote about the hotel in which I was staying for my recent fieldwork. On the one hand, it was only the latest in a long line of very odd hotels that I have stayed in. On the other hand, unlike some of those hotels, it was actually a pleasant place to stay, if odd. So, here's a few photos of the place, to give you a taste of the sometimes pleasant oddities that can come with field work.
The place is called the Snowline Lodge, and is...well, "quirky" isn't quite the right word, but it's the closest that I can find. We checked in here on Tuesday, not knowing anything about it other than that it was within the price range allowed for lodging by our client. When we arrived, we saw the front, and noticed that the porch had all manner of odd objects on it, including a piano that did not appear to be in working order.
And then we noticed the hallway with graffiti in it from various visitors, further making us wary.
It wasn't until later that we realized that all of the graffiti were positive and from people who seemed to like the place.
A sheep (which I was unable to get a photo of) was running about the place, acting very much as if it were a playful domestic dog. Indeed, had I not heard it "baaaa"-ing when I first saw it, I might have initially mistaken it for a weird looking dog until I got close.
A fellow missing all but one of his top teeth checked us in, and proceeded to, for reasons that weren't entirely clear to me, try to convince my crew and I to take a room with multiple beds rather than taking the three separate rooms that we had actually reserved. He also tended to talk far more than necessary, and his wife yelled at home from another room most of the time that we were talking with him. He informed us that he and his wife lived in one of the many trailers that were parked around the hotel, though from what we could gather they had spent most of their time in various rooms of the hotel itself.
Suffice to say, we were nervous as the the quality of this establishment. But, we need not have worried as it turned out to be nice, if odd.
The place was originally built as a bar, and later had rooms added on so that it might be used as a hunting lodge. The bar area now functions as a lobby and common room - yes, a common room in very much the "Medieval inn" sense: it was a room that remained open 24-hours a day, which had tables, couches, and stools on which the patrons might relax. There are drinks available, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic, though this isn't really a bar or restaurant of any sort. There is a piano, and atop the piano is a mannequin, as you can see:
Then, there's the nude photo of Marylin Monroe on one wall, accompanied by a portrait of John and Jackie Kennedy, a line of baskets allegedly from Africa, and a Bible where one would expect the sheet music to be on the piano (and I checked, this isn't a Bible with a hymnal appendix, so it's presence in the sheet music location is decidedly odd).
And then there was the back room, a secondary common room, with couches, a fireplace, a television (one of only two in the hotel), and a seriously mishmashed collection of old books available for anyone to read. Oh, and for no apparent reason, there are children's bunk beds in this room.
The hallways that led to our upstairs rooms rather reminded me of the Shining, but the rooms themselves were pleasant.
All in all, the Snowline Lodge was a good place. The only downside was that there was no food on-site, and no fridges or microwaves in the room, so that we had to drive a good 15 miles in either direction to eat. But we slept well, the staff turned out to be both efficient and friendly, and I would be happy to stay there again, which is not something that can be said for most of the hotels in which I have stayed for work.
The place is called the Snowline Lodge, and is...well, "quirky" isn't quite the right word, but it's the closest that I can find. We checked in here on Tuesday, not knowing anything about it other than that it was within the price range allowed for lodging by our client. When we arrived, we saw the front, and noticed that the porch had all manner of odd objects on it, including a piano that did not appear to be in working order.
And then we noticed the hallway with graffiti in it from various visitors, further making us wary.
It wasn't until later that we realized that all of the graffiti were positive and from people who seemed to like the place.
A sheep (which I was unable to get a photo of) was running about the place, acting very much as if it were a playful domestic dog. Indeed, had I not heard it "baaaa"-ing when I first saw it, I might have initially mistaken it for a weird looking dog until I got close.
A fellow missing all but one of his top teeth checked us in, and proceeded to, for reasons that weren't entirely clear to me, try to convince my crew and I to take a room with multiple beds rather than taking the three separate rooms that we had actually reserved. He also tended to talk far more than necessary, and his wife yelled at home from another room most of the time that we were talking with him. He informed us that he and his wife lived in one of the many trailers that were parked around the hotel, though from what we could gather they had spent most of their time in various rooms of the hotel itself.
Suffice to say, we were nervous as the the quality of this establishment. But, we need not have worried as it turned out to be nice, if odd.
The place was originally built as a bar, and later had rooms added on so that it might be used as a hunting lodge. The bar area now functions as a lobby and common room - yes, a common room in very much the "Medieval inn" sense: it was a room that remained open 24-hours a day, which had tables, couches, and stools on which the patrons might relax. There are drinks available, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic, though this isn't really a bar or restaurant of any sort. There is a piano, and atop the piano is a mannequin, as you can see:
Then, there's the nude photo of Marylin Monroe on one wall, accompanied by a portrait of John and Jackie Kennedy, a line of baskets allegedly from Africa, and a Bible where one would expect the sheet music to be on the piano (and I checked, this isn't a Bible with a hymnal appendix, so it's presence in the sheet music location is decidedly odd).
And then there was the back room, a secondary common room, with couches, a fireplace, a television (one of only two in the hotel), and a seriously mishmashed collection of old books available for anyone to read. Oh, and for no apparent reason, there are children's bunk beds in this room.
The hallways that led to our upstairs rooms rather reminded me of the Shining, but the rooms themselves were pleasant.
All in all, the Snowline Lodge was a good place. The only downside was that there was no food on-site, and no fridges or microwaves in the room, so that we had to drive a good 15 miles in either direction to eat. But we slept well, the staff turned out to be both efficient and friendly, and I would be happy to stay there again, which is not something that can be said for most of the hotels in which I have stayed for work.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
The Rush Continues...and There's a Sheep
Back in September, I wrote about the tendency for projects to get rushed through in the fall, before either winter snow blocks off access to project areas, or winter rain makes it impractical to slog through the mud to get to locations or dig in them.
Then, last month, I wrote about how one of these fall rush projects had become a "freezing-your-ass-off-during-the-winter project" in which we broke shovels while trying to dig through frozen ground in an attempt to ward off frostbite. At that time, I had believed that once we had completed what work we could, we would be done until spring thawed the ground and melted the ice off of the roads, and then we would return along with the warmer weather to finish the job.
Oh, was I naive.
See, our client really needs this project done ASAP, though I am at this point not exactly clear on why anymore. So, Tuesday afternoon - what was supposed to be a day off - I was contacted by the client and my boss and asked to put together a crew to head out Wednesday morning. I busted ass, calling everyone I could think of, finally managing to pull a crew together, arrange for a vehicle, and get lodging for the crew by Tuesday night.
So, on Wednesday morning, we all met at the office, headed to the storage unit to get our field equipment, and headed out. We arrived in the field late morning, and were a bit surprised. We had, based on both weather reports and on previous experience in this location, expected to be very cold, and expected to encounter frozen soil that we would have to chunk out with breaker bars and chisels. Much to our surprise and delight, we found that the weather was actually warm. We quickly discarded our heavy coats and wool hats, and within 45 minutes were down to our t-shirts. Moreover, the ground had thawed a bit, and digging and screening were both absurdly easy. We completed a site in a few hours, giving us time to scout some of the roads that had been blocked by ice and snow a few weeks earlier. We found that all but one of these roads, while still frozen over in parts, were passable.
So, I am looking forward to getting this project our of the way. We have two more sites that we can get to. Both of them are in areas which are likely to still be frozen, so I don't think that the next couple of days will be as easy as today...but they will be easier than they were.
And then, we finished up our project, and came to our hotel. None of us had stayed in this hotel before. It appears to have been an old hunting lodge converted to a hotel. There are motor homes parked all about it, every one of them apparently having been here for quite some time. The lower room of the hotel, a true common room, is open 24 hours for whoever wishes to use it. It has a piano, numerous couches, several shelves of ratty paperbacks, a moose head mounted to the wall, a nude photo of Marylin Monroe on another wall, and a mannequin dressed in a short sundress sitting atop the piano. Wandering about the hotel grounds is the pet sheep - yes, you read that correctly - which, despite being a sheep, behaves as if it were a dog (replacing the barking with "baa"-ing).
The hotel rooms, however, are rather nice, and this is a pleasant enough hotel...if a bit odd.
Anyway, the rush to get this done this week has again disrupted my attempt to write entries on a regular schedule. However, I will try to load some photos of this place by early next week...it really does need ot be seen to be believed.
Then, last month, I wrote about how one of these fall rush projects had become a "freezing-your-ass-off-during-the-winter project" in which we broke shovels while trying to dig through frozen ground in an attempt to ward off frostbite. At that time, I had believed that once we had completed what work we could, we would be done until spring thawed the ground and melted the ice off of the roads, and then we would return along with the warmer weather to finish the job.
Oh, was I naive.
See, our client really needs this project done ASAP, though I am at this point not exactly clear on why anymore. So, Tuesday afternoon - what was supposed to be a day off - I was contacted by the client and my boss and asked to put together a crew to head out Wednesday morning. I busted ass, calling everyone I could think of, finally managing to pull a crew together, arrange for a vehicle, and get lodging for the crew by Tuesday night.
So, on Wednesday morning, we all met at the office, headed to the storage unit to get our field equipment, and headed out. We arrived in the field late morning, and were a bit surprised. We had, based on both weather reports and on previous experience in this location, expected to be very cold, and expected to encounter frozen soil that we would have to chunk out with breaker bars and chisels. Much to our surprise and delight, we found that the weather was actually warm. We quickly discarded our heavy coats and wool hats, and within 45 minutes were down to our t-shirts. Moreover, the ground had thawed a bit, and digging and screening were both absurdly easy. We completed a site in a few hours, giving us time to scout some of the roads that had been blocked by ice and snow a few weeks earlier. We found that all but one of these roads, while still frozen over in parts, were passable.
So, I am looking forward to getting this project our of the way. We have two more sites that we can get to. Both of them are in areas which are likely to still be frozen, so I don't think that the next couple of days will be as easy as today...but they will be easier than they were.
And then, we finished up our project, and came to our hotel. None of us had stayed in this hotel before. It appears to have been an old hunting lodge converted to a hotel. There are motor homes parked all about it, every one of them apparently having been here for quite some time. The lower room of the hotel, a true common room, is open 24 hours for whoever wishes to use it. It has a piano, numerous couches, several shelves of ratty paperbacks, a moose head mounted to the wall, a nude photo of Marylin Monroe on another wall, and a mannequin dressed in a short sundress sitting atop the piano. Wandering about the hotel grounds is the pet sheep - yes, you read that correctly - which, despite being a sheep, behaves as if it were a dog (replacing the barking with "baa"-ing).
The hotel rooms, however, are rather nice, and this is a pleasant enough hotel...if a bit odd.
Anyway, the rush to get this done this week has again disrupted my attempt to write entries on a regular schedule. However, I will try to load some photos of this place by early next week...it really does need ot be seen to be believed.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Mountains, Cold, Regulations, and Fieldwork
So, in the last week, I have been out in the field, in an isolated location, twice,been to a mini-con in Oakland, and just generally been everywhere except next to a computer. Hence my lack of posts.
Still, I am back now, at least for a little while, and the last week's work has got me thinking about some of the strange timelines that being a consultant rather than an academic forces on one.
See, we are contracted to do the archaeological work for a large utility company. They have facilities, including some underground utilities, in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, at altitudes between 7,000 and 8,000 feet. Changes to these utilities may damage near-by archaeological sites, so we have been tasked with determining the boundaries of the sites in order to figure out whether or not the work on the utilities will impact the sites. Normally, this would be a pleasant, even fun, task.
However, it is December. While much of the world thinks of California as a giant beach that is warm year-round, this is only slightly true of small parts of Southern California (and even there, it gets cool enough in December and January that you're more likely to wear a sweater than a bikini). In the Sierra Nevada, it's fucking cold. Okay, not Wisconsin-level cold, but we haven't even gotten hit by the full force of winter yet and tempuratures are dropping to 25 degrees below freezing at night. The Sierra Nevada has glaciers for fuck's sake! There are 497 glaciers in the Sierra Nevada. Yeah, next time you think of California as nothing more than a giant beach filled with silicon-injected bimbos and meatheads lifting weights on the sand, look up how many glaciers your state has, and if it's less than 400 I don't want to hear you even try to describe my state.
This is a road in California. Note the lack of beach.
But I digress.
The point I was getting at is that it is cold in the Sierra Nevadas in December. Cold enough that the ground is frozen. Cold enough that we broke shovels attempting to excavate sites. Cold enough that we routinely mistook chunks of ice in the screen for pieces of quartz (a common stone used to make tools in the area). Could enough that we would scoop the dirt that we had just broken up and taken out of a unit into a bucket, only to have it freeze to the bucket minutes later, requiring us to use the shovel to get it out of the bucket and into the screen.
Years back, a friend of mine told me that his grandmother had died in Maine in January, but that they waited until March to bury her. I didn't comprehend why one would do such a thing at the time. I get it now.
So, yes, if you're willing to be frustrated and actually have tools break under stress, you can excavate in the Sierra Nevadas in the winter. It would, however, be better to wait until Spring, when the soils can be easily dug and screened, and when you don't have to bundle up like Ralphie's little brother in A Christmas Story in order to work.
But this isn't possible.
See, our client needs to actually begin working on the utilities in the Spring. Because of the delays and details involved in getting a cultural resources report written and accepted, that means we have to do the work now. We would have been able to start the work earlier, when the ground was not yet frozen, but the Forest Service, who is responsible for the land in question, has it's own consultation duties that must be carried out before they can issue us the permits to do the work. The timing is bad, but it's really nobody's fault, it's just the way these things go.
So, there we are, bundled up and looking more like a cross between the Michelin Man and WWII-era Russian sniper than archaeologists, digging in the frozen earth, trying very hard to maintain feeling in our extremities.
But we got the job done, on-time and on-budget, dammit!
Quick note: all of the photos in this post were taken by me in the general vicinity of our project area, but none of them are of sites or client facilities in the project area.
Monday, December 12, 2011
The Value of a Good Crew
I am doing a whirlwind tour of California - Sequoia National Forest yesterday, Oakland today, back to Fresno tomorrow, and then back out to Sequoia on Monday.
So, as described in my previous entry I described that we were anticipating freezing our posteriors off while doing fieldwork in the mountains. The mornings were cold, though the afternoons weren't bad. Some of the roads are covered in snow and/or ice, and we are staying in lodgings that one would compliment by comparing them to the Bates Motel.
And yet, it has been fun.
I have written before about the trouble of finding good crew, and it can be difficult. But when you have a good crew, it makes life good. Currently, I have a young archaeologist, someone who is just getting his feet wet, but is a fast learner, has an excellent attitude, and is excited enough about the work that he infectiously gets our spirits up. I have an army veteran who finds that archaeological field work is somewhat therapeutic, is a hard worker, and is full of amazing stories. And I have the son of one of my bosses who has never used the "my dad's the boss" excuse, is a hard worker, extremely smart, and is willing and quite capable of being the right-hand-man of the supervisor.
My boss's son, in fact, is heading to graduate school soon to earn the credentials to become a supervisor himself. He will be excellent, of that I have no doubt.
All of these guys know their job, all can provide good suggestions that can change our strategy, but all understand the basic chain-of-command so that I don't find myself having to argue with them to get things done. It is a pleasure to have these guys in the field.
Anyway, a potentially miserable situation has become an enjoyable one. I am very grateful for this crew.
So, as described in my previous entry I described that we were anticipating freezing our posteriors off while doing fieldwork in the mountains. The mornings were cold, though the afternoons weren't bad. Some of the roads are covered in snow and/or ice, and we are staying in lodgings that one would compliment by comparing them to the Bates Motel.
And yet, it has been fun.
I have written before about the trouble of finding good crew, and it can be difficult. But when you have a good crew, it makes life good. Currently, I have a young archaeologist, someone who is just getting his feet wet, but is a fast learner, has an excellent attitude, and is excited enough about the work that he infectiously gets our spirits up. I have an army veteran who finds that archaeological field work is somewhat therapeutic, is a hard worker, and is full of amazing stories. And I have the son of one of my bosses who has never used the "my dad's the boss" excuse, is a hard worker, extremely smart, and is willing and quite capable of being the right-hand-man of the supervisor.
My boss's son, in fact, is heading to graduate school soon to earn the credentials to become a supervisor himself. He will be excellent, of that I have no doubt.
All of these guys know their job, all can provide good suggestions that can change our strategy, but all understand the basic chain-of-command so that I don't find myself having to argue with them to get things done. It is a pleasure to have these guys in the field.
Anyway, a potentially miserable situation has become an enjoyable one. I am very grateful for this crew.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
On Freezing One's Ass Off
So, the end-of-year fieldwork rush is finally concluding with a literal last-minute trip into the Sierra Nevadas. I was notified this morning that I will be heading up tomorrow morning to lead a crew doing boundary testing at several sites in the Sequoia National Forest. I may only be gone two days, or I may be going back up again on Monday, depending on weather.
This is not the best time of year to be doing Sierra Nevada fieldwork. There is the ever-present chance of snow, closed roads, and associated logistics problems. There is the fact that many facilities available during the warmer months are closed in December. And then there's the cold.
The damn cold.
The weather report states that we will have high temperatures below freezing while we are out there. Below fucking freezing. Yeah, some smart-ass archaeologist from Wisconsin is reading this and laughing at my wimpiness, but they can go screw themselves. It's cold in the Sierra Nevada, in December, at 8,000 feet. Not good fieldwork conditions.
The last time that I worked int he Sierras in the Fall, and this was mid-October, not nearly as cold as it's going to be, it looked like this:
However, our client, for various reasons, needs this project taken care of ASAP, and as cold as it will be, we're not looking at snow in the next couple of days, so the roads should stay open. We would have done it sooner, but the federal agency with which we are working is constrained by consultation requirements with Native American groups, who are in turn constrained by political realities within those groups, all of which led to us being delayed by a couple of months. So, it's off to the frozen highlands with us. Yipee!
I'm not sure how much writing I am going to be able to get done over the next week, so it may be fallow here for a bit.
This is not the best time of year to be doing Sierra Nevada fieldwork. There is the ever-present chance of snow, closed roads, and associated logistics problems. There is the fact that many facilities available during the warmer months are closed in December. And then there's the cold.
The damn cold.
The weather report states that we will have high temperatures below freezing while we are out there. Below fucking freezing. Yeah, some smart-ass archaeologist from Wisconsin is reading this and laughing at my wimpiness, but they can go screw themselves. It's cold in the Sierra Nevada, in December, at 8,000 feet. Not good fieldwork conditions.
The last time that I worked int he Sierras in the Fall, and this was mid-October, not nearly as cold as it's going to be, it looked like this:
However, our client, for various reasons, needs this project taken care of ASAP, and as cold as it will be, we're not looking at snow in the next couple of days, so the roads should stay open. We would have done it sooner, but the federal agency with which we are working is constrained by consultation requirements with Native American groups, who are in turn constrained by political realities within those groups, all of which led to us being delayed by a couple of months. So, it's off to the frozen highlands with us. Yipee!
I'm not sure how much writing I am going to be able to get done over the next week, so it may be fallow here for a bit.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Fall Rush
The last month has been chaotic. I have not known from one week to the next where I would be, and I have been doing alot of very hard work. I've been slogging through fields covered in deep silty dust, I've been digging holes in Granitic sands in Yosemite, and I've been trying to find the boundaries of a huge-ass archaeological site in a vineyard in the southern San Joaquin Valley.
It's the fall rush.
Every company that I have worked for has had this mad dash that begins around September and ends in late October. There's usually field projects that, for various reasons, didn't get started when they should have - paperwork didn't get filed, permits weren't issued, clients delayed on giving the go-ahead, etc. etc. And now, here we are, heavy rains will start within the next couple of months in the valleys and on the coast and snow will begin to make work in the mountains, and the client and/or agencies with which we are dealing realize that if the work isn't done now, and I mean now, then it won't get done until the spring.
And so it is that every fall, I find myself running around like the proverbial chicken with its head cut off, heading off on one project after another with usually very little time between in order to recover from one project or to prepare for the next.
In some ways it's exhilarating. In the last few weeks, I have been in vineyards, mountains, forests, and near-desert environments. I have surveyed, excavated, and recorded sites. I have worked with historic-era sites, late Holocene prehistoric sites, and found artifacts that, based on their state of degradation, are likely thousands of years old.
I have seen some fantastically cool things, but I have also had to put other things on hold (reports to be written, personal tasks to accomplish, doctors appoints rescheduled) to accommodate it. It's stimulating, but I don't want it to stretch on until it becomes aggravating.
It's the fall rush.
Every company that I have worked for has had this mad dash that begins around September and ends in late October. There's usually field projects that, for various reasons, didn't get started when they should have - paperwork didn't get filed, permits weren't issued, clients delayed on giving the go-ahead, etc. etc. And now, here we are, heavy rains will start within the next couple of months in the valleys and on the coast and snow will begin to make work in the mountains, and the client and/or agencies with which we are dealing realize that if the work isn't done now, and I mean now, then it won't get done until the spring.
And so it is that every fall, I find myself running around like the proverbial chicken with its head cut off, heading off on one project after another with usually very little time between in order to recover from one project or to prepare for the next.
In some ways it's exhilarating. In the last few weeks, I have been in vineyards, mountains, forests, and near-desert environments. I have surveyed, excavated, and recorded sites. I have worked with historic-era sites, late Holocene prehistoric sites, and found artifacts that, based on their state of degradation, are likely thousands of years old.
I have seen some fantastically cool things, but I have also had to put other things on hold (reports to be written, personal tasks to accomplish, doctors appoints rescheduled) to accommodate it. It's stimulating, but I don't want it to stretch on until it becomes aggravating.
Monday, October 24, 2011
So Long, Maricopa...Good to See You in my Rear-View Mirror
One of the members of my current crew often likes to talk about
"archaeology as adventure". I usually roll my eyes when he begins going
off on the subject, but as he's probably the happiest person on the
crew, maybe I should take his attitude more seriously. However,
Maricopa is making that difficult.
Maricopa is the town in which we are currently staying. It is south of Taft, and is, in fact, Taft's evil, twisted little brother. The one who was locked in the attic, who subsists on whatever vermin it can catch with it's teeth and mis-shapen bare hands, and of whom the family doesn't like to speak. Taft was filled with meth-heads. Maricopa, on the other hand, is a town full of people who would only become meth-heads if they suddenly developed a sense of decency.
Think I'm exaggerating, do you? Okay, quick, go to Maricopa's Wikipedia page. Seriously, go there, here's a link. Go down to the bottom of the page, to the portion mistakenly labelled "Public Safety." Down there, you will see a description of the police department's problems with racism and good ol' corruption, which includes the following delightful quote:
To protest the police corruption, a trailer with signs painted on it is frequently placed at the town's gas station parking lot. The trailer has signs on both the right and left signs requesting that the people of Maricopa start taking their police department to task for its misbehavior. On the front and back, the signs plead for all reading them to "pray for our troops" as they "defend the right to freedom of speech" which means that the sign is simultaneously co-opting the language of both right and left wing politics, which is kind of interesting.
The people are even more colorful. On a daily basis I see men around town wearing t-shirts that should, in a sane world, prevent them from ever having the opportunity to talk to a woman. There's the fellow who walks about town with his shirt featuring the phrase "don't stop till the panties drop" alongside an image of an anorexic-looking nude woman, and the Hustler logo below it. He walked into the local sandwich place with someone who was either his wife or girlfriend, and who appeared to be so worn down by life that she didn't find it embarrassing to be seen holding this man's hand. Or the fellow who walked into the hotel, wearing a "I love dirty whores" t-shirt, who then succeeded in chatting up one of the women who works here. That these imbeciles would have any success with women would seem odd, until you see the local women. I have noticed a large number of local women have tattoos on their upper chests/lower necks which are occasionally abstract designs, but usually are words to the effect of "Property of Steve" or "Woman Belongs to Glenn" or some other such up-lifting message. Then there's the woman who apparently declared her independence by getting a message that did not brand her as the property of a man, but rather as a "White Trash Bitch" - yes, this woman wanders about with these words tattooed to her lower neck. And she's probably not on her meds.
The people of this town could make Cormac McCarthy decide that his opinion of humanity is too sunny and optimistic.
The sandwich shop that I saw Mr. Hustler in? It's in the local gas station. I have gone in there a couple of times for sandwiches, as it is one of only two places in town where food can be procured at hours known to the public, and the staff always seems annoyed that you are trying to give them money. Now, I should note that the staff of the Sandwich shop, a Subways franchise, is separate from the staff of the gas station, who are always bizarrely chirpy and happy. I am guessing that the two crews have different qualude/barbituate preferences.
Anyway, I'll be leaving tomorrow. But this is just yet another one of those places that I have ended up thanks to archaeology. On the off-chance that you ever find yourself thinking that my job is full of adventure, think of Maricopa.
Maricopa is the town in which we are currently staying. It is south of Taft, and is, in fact, Taft's evil, twisted little brother. The one who was locked in the attic, who subsists on whatever vermin it can catch with it's teeth and mis-shapen bare hands, and of whom the family doesn't like to speak. Taft was filled with meth-heads. Maricopa, on the other hand, is a town full of people who would only become meth-heads if they suddenly developed a sense of decency.
Think I'm exaggerating, do you? Okay, quick, go to Maricopa's Wikipedia page. Seriously, go there, here's a link. Go down to the bottom of the page, to the portion mistakenly labelled "Public Safety." Down there, you will see a description of the police department's problems with racism and good ol' corruption, which includes the following delightful quote:
In mid-2011, American Civil Liberties Union lawyer Jennie Pasquarella is quoted as saying, "Maricopa has been a shining example of impoundments gone wrong," and "They're essentially creating a racket to steal people's cars."Yeah, that's Maricopa for ya'.
To protest the police corruption, a trailer with signs painted on it is frequently placed at the town's gas station parking lot. The trailer has signs on both the right and left signs requesting that the people of Maricopa start taking their police department to task for its misbehavior. On the front and back, the signs plead for all reading them to "pray for our troops" as they "defend the right to freedom of speech" which means that the sign is simultaneously co-opting the language of both right and left wing politics, which is kind of interesting.
The people are even more colorful. On a daily basis I see men around town wearing t-shirts that should, in a sane world, prevent them from ever having the opportunity to talk to a woman. There's the fellow who walks about town with his shirt featuring the phrase "don't stop till the panties drop" alongside an image of an anorexic-looking nude woman, and the Hustler logo below it. He walked into the local sandwich place with someone who was either his wife or girlfriend, and who appeared to be so worn down by life that she didn't find it embarrassing to be seen holding this man's hand. Or the fellow who walked into the hotel, wearing a "I love dirty whores" t-shirt, who then succeeded in chatting up one of the women who works here. That these imbeciles would have any success with women would seem odd, until you see the local women. I have noticed a large number of local women have tattoos on their upper chests/lower necks which are occasionally abstract designs, but usually are words to the effect of "Property of Steve" or "Woman Belongs to Glenn" or some other such up-lifting message. Then there's the woman who apparently declared her independence by getting a message that did not brand her as the property of a man, but rather as a "White Trash Bitch" - yes, this woman wanders about with these words tattooed to her lower neck. And she's probably not on her meds.
The people of this town could make Cormac McCarthy decide that his opinion of humanity is too sunny and optimistic.
The sandwich shop that I saw Mr. Hustler in? It's in the local gas station. I have gone in there a couple of times for sandwiches, as it is one of only two places in town where food can be procured at hours known to the public, and the staff always seems annoyed that you are trying to give them money. Now, I should note that the staff of the Sandwich shop, a Subways franchise, is separate from the staff of the gas station, who are always bizarrely chirpy and happy. I am guessing that the two crews have different qualude/barbituate preferences.
Anyway, I'll be leaving tomorrow. But this is just yet another one of those places that I have ended up thanks to archaeology. On the off-chance that you ever find yourself thinking that my job is full of adventure, think of Maricopa.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Meth Shacks and Other Aspects of Fieldwork
So, as noted, I have been working on archaeological surveys in Kern County, southwest of Bakersfield*. The land parcels we are surveying range between 200 and 600 acres in size, and are in relatively isolated locations in this rural area. This area is notorious for, amongst other things, a large degree of methamphetamine manufacture and use. So, it is no surprise that, hidden adjacent to one of our parcels, there is a set of shacks and old trailers that appear to still be used as shelters, have a worn chain-link fence surrounding them, and numerous large dogs - mostly dobermens and German shepperds - as well as what appeared to be a well beaten and chewed dummy on a rope.
We don't know what it is, but very likely it is a meth manufacturing facility. Which, frankly, means that it is also likely to be a place populated by paranoid people with firearms.
Yay?
This is not the first time that I have encountered a meth lab in the field. And I will deal with this the same way that I have dealt with other meth labs: never go to the location alone, be near the vehicle at all times, make sure that everyone has cell phone, and make sure that our employer knows exactly where we are and what our concerns are.
Still, it's a bit unnerving.
Nor are meth labs the only trouble spots that we sometimes encounter. My colleagues who work in and around Humboldt County, as well as a few other choice locations around the state, often encounter marijuana farms - which doesn't sound too bad until you realize that they are often run by embittered ex-hippies and/or paranoid "bussinessmen" who like to booby-trap their crops in order to inure any who might come upon them - with the booby traps including everything from explosives to fish-hooks hung at eye-level.
Next time you toke on a doobie, consider that the plant you are about to take in might have been watered with the blood of an unaware environmentalist.
Likewise, there are many landowners who dislike environmental workers, who will allow you on their land with the intention of spraying you with a crop duster, or firing a shotgun at you.
Then, there's always the more subtle threats of the white supremacist who will let you on their land to work while simultaneously trying to figure out if you are fit for membership in their "gun club"; the people who are watching for a chance to get you to join their religious cult; or the ever-present evil of zombie macrobiotic dieters.
Most of the time, my job is much less exciting and adventurous than most people seem to want to make it out to be. Most of the time it's a bit of a grind. However, on occasion, it can get exciting. And by "exciting", I mean "unnerving and frightening."
Still, I have no doubt that we'll be fine. But just in case, would anybody mind calling my cell phone every 15 minutes or so.
*Hence the fact that I am, once again, not posting much right now.
We don't know what it is, but very likely it is a meth manufacturing facility. Which, frankly, means that it is also likely to be a place populated by paranoid people with firearms.
Yay?
This is not the first time that I have encountered a meth lab in the field. And I will deal with this the same way that I have dealt with other meth labs: never go to the location alone, be near the vehicle at all times, make sure that everyone has cell phone, and make sure that our employer knows exactly where we are and what our concerns are.
Still, it's a bit unnerving.
Nor are meth labs the only trouble spots that we sometimes encounter. My colleagues who work in and around Humboldt County, as well as a few other choice locations around the state, often encounter marijuana farms - which doesn't sound too bad until you realize that they are often run by embittered ex-hippies and/or paranoid "bussinessmen" who like to booby-trap their crops in order to inure any who might come upon them - with the booby traps including everything from explosives to fish-hooks hung at eye-level.
Next time you toke on a doobie, consider that the plant you are about to take in might have been watered with the blood of an unaware environmentalist.
Likewise, there are many landowners who dislike environmental workers, who will allow you on their land with the intention of spraying you with a crop duster, or firing a shotgun at you.
Then, there's always the more subtle threats of the white supremacist who will let you on their land to work while simultaneously trying to figure out if you are fit for membership in their "gun club"; the people who are watching for a chance to get you to join their religious cult; or the ever-present evil of zombie macrobiotic dieters.
Most of the time, my job is much less exciting and adventurous than most people seem to want to make it out to be. Most of the time it's a bit of a grind. However, on occasion, it can get exciting. And by "exciting", I mean "unnerving and frightening."
Still, I have no doubt that we'll be fine. But just in case, would anybody mind calling my cell phone every 15 minutes or so.
*Hence the fact that I am, once again, not posting much right now.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Back in Taft
So, those three of you who have read my blog for more than a week may recall that a couple of years ago I spent seven months working through the summer in Taft. I had thought I would never have to return once I finally escaped. Well, not "thought" so much as "hoped"...and yet here I am.
The up side is that I am only here for three weeks, and not seven months as before. I am also working with a very good client and not with someone who is actively trying to sabotage the environmental team. I also have a small crew of good workers instead of a large crew that is a mixed bag. So, on the whole, things are greatly improved. Also, the temperatures will be in the 80s all week, and not 110+ as was the case the last time I was out here.
One of the more interesting aspects of this particular project is that we are working in the bed of a now-empty oscillating lake - that is, the lake would grow or shrink depending largely on rainfall in a given year. As a result, the majority of the area is unlikely to hold archaeological sites, which is a bit disappointing, as it somewhat negates the reason for us being here. However, int he unlikely event that we encounter a site, there is a fair chance of the site being something particularly important as this would have been a semi-stable body of water in a generally arid area - meaning that both water and animals and plants that use the water were present, providing resources for the people of the region to use.
At any rate, we have no real expectations of finding anything in particular, but if the weather continues like this, at least it will be an easy project. And if it ceases to be easy, it is likely to become interesting, so that's all ot the good.
The up side is that I am only here for three weeks, and not seven months as before. I am also working with a very good client and not with someone who is actively trying to sabotage the environmental team. I also have a small crew of good workers instead of a large crew that is a mixed bag. So, on the whole, things are greatly improved. Also, the temperatures will be in the 80s all week, and not 110+ as was the case the last time I was out here.
One of the more interesting aspects of this particular project is that we are working in the bed of a now-empty oscillating lake - that is, the lake would grow or shrink depending largely on rainfall in a given year. As a result, the majority of the area is unlikely to hold archaeological sites, which is a bit disappointing, as it somewhat negates the reason for us being here. However, int he unlikely event that we encounter a site, there is a fair chance of the site being something particularly important as this would have been a semi-stable body of water in a generally arid area - meaning that both water and animals and plants that use the water were present, providing resources for the people of the region to use.
At any rate, we have no real expectations of finding anything in particular, but if the weather continues like this, at least it will be an easy project. And if it ceases to be easy, it is likely to become interesting, so that's all ot the good.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Getting Crew
I am currently in the process of trying to assemble a crew. This is not always an easy task. Good field technicians are a precious commodity, and tend to be snatched up by companies as soon as they are available, which means that you have to either have eerily good timing to have a crew of entirely good technicians, or else you have to keep tabs on the good technicians that you know so that you know as soon as they are available and can get them in your snares.
One of the problems with getting good field technicians is that many really good field technicians are older, more experienced, and preparing to go over the edge. Most of these folks don't have steady jobs, but travel from project-to-project. They may have a permanent address, but they rarely see their homes, have tenuous family connections and friendships, and, while in the field, drugs and especially alcohol take up a large part of their non-work hours. As a result, while they are often very good at their jobs, they are also prone to sliding into severe alcoholism* and depression, and this can lead to obvious problems in the field. I have watched many a middle-aged field technician go, in the space of a year, from being a fantastic worker with an excellent skill set to becoming a depressed, permanently drunk or hung-over, unreliable liability. It is extremely sad to watch, and it is rare that they get themselves back upright after slipping over. It should be said that there are some older technicians who manage to remain solid professional workers, and they are usually a pleasure to work with (I learn a good deal just from listening to them talk), but as time goes on, I know fewer and fewer of these folks.
Younger technicians tend to be less likely to slip into depression, and they are better able to physically take the late-nights drinking and still be able to work in the morning. Moreover, they haven't grown frustrated or disillusioned and tend to view the work as an adventure, improving morale. However, they also lack the experience and knowledge of their older counterparts, and often have not had to do some of the more onerous tasks of field archaeology (digging in a poison oak thicket, walking through tick-infested grasses, wading through stagnant water and hoping that you don't get leaches on you), and are often less ready to do the work that needs to be done.
So, the trick is to find someone who is young, but smart enough to learn and willing to do what it takes to get the job done, or else an older technician who has managed to keep their sanity and is not so far in the bottle that they have become unreliable. It's a tough trick, though my current employer has many people fitting both descriptions in its orbit. The problem (and I suppose that this falls into the category of "the types of problems you'd like to have") is that we are really damn busy, and as such having the field technicians available is a bit of a problem - the good ones have largely been assigned, and now I am trying to find other good ones who, by some miracle, haven't been picked up by another company yet.
Still, I have some good leads, and things look promising.
*Drinking is a very large part of the culture of field archaeology. For most field archaeologists, opening a six-pack or heading to the bar as soon as you get back from the day's work is a huge part of the field experience. Supervisors, such as myself, may drink, but we usually have more work to do when returning from the field, and as such either forgo drinking or get a later start and stop earlier than the field technicians. We also tend to have stable jobs and (relatively) stable home lives, which require both our money and our energy, and as a result tend to have less impetus to drink heavily. Not to say that it doesn't happen, but seeing a hung-over supervisor int he morning is unusual, while seeing hung-over field technicians is not uncommon.
One of the problems with getting good field technicians is that many really good field technicians are older, more experienced, and preparing to go over the edge. Most of these folks don't have steady jobs, but travel from project-to-project. They may have a permanent address, but they rarely see their homes, have tenuous family connections and friendships, and, while in the field, drugs and especially alcohol take up a large part of their non-work hours. As a result, while they are often very good at their jobs, they are also prone to sliding into severe alcoholism* and depression, and this can lead to obvious problems in the field. I have watched many a middle-aged field technician go, in the space of a year, from being a fantastic worker with an excellent skill set to becoming a depressed, permanently drunk or hung-over, unreliable liability. It is extremely sad to watch, and it is rare that they get themselves back upright after slipping over. It should be said that there are some older technicians who manage to remain solid professional workers, and they are usually a pleasure to work with (I learn a good deal just from listening to them talk), but as time goes on, I know fewer and fewer of these folks.
Younger technicians tend to be less likely to slip into depression, and they are better able to physically take the late-nights drinking and still be able to work in the morning. Moreover, they haven't grown frustrated or disillusioned and tend to view the work as an adventure, improving morale. However, they also lack the experience and knowledge of their older counterparts, and often have not had to do some of the more onerous tasks of field archaeology (digging in a poison oak thicket, walking through tick-infested grasses, wading through stagnant water and hoping that you don't get leaches on you), and are often less ready to do the work that needs to be done.
So, the trick is to find someone who is young, but smart enough to learn and willing to do what it takes to get the job done, or else an older technician who has managed to keep their sanity and is not so far in the bottle that they have become unreliable. It's a tough trick, though my current employer has many people fitting both descriptions in its orbit. The problem (and I suppose that this falls into the category of "the types of problems you'd like to have") is that we are really damn busy, and as such having the field technicians available is a bit of a problem - the good ones have largely been assigned, and now I am trying to find other good ones who, by some miracle, haven't been picked up by another company yet.
Still, I have some good leads, and things look promising.
*Drinking is a very large part of the culture of field archaeology. For most field archaeologists, opening a six-pack or heading to the bar as soon as you get back from the day's work is a huge part of the field experience. Supervisors, such as myself, may drink, but we usually have more work to do when returning from the field, and as such either forgo drinking or get a later start and stop earlier than the field technicians. We also tend to have stable jobs and (relatively) stable home lives, which require both our money and our energy, and as a result tend to have less impetus to drink heavily. Not to say that it doesn't happen, but seeing a hung-over supervisor int he morning is unusual, while seeing hung-over field technicians is not uncommon.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Monitoring
Monitoring is, easily, one of the least appealing tasks in standard field archaeology. A monitor watches construction or other ground disturbing activity in order to ensure that no archaeological materials are disturbed. At best, the job is mind-numbing boredom while you watch construction workers and equipment move about the project area, and find nothing. At worst, it's an exercise in frustration and resisting intimidation as you stop construction work because something has been found, and the foreman fails to understand that you are just the messenger and that if he wishes to negotiate with someone about continuing work it will be someone higher up the food chain than you. Depending on what kind of work you are doing, you may also have to dodge heavy equipment that moves at relatively high speeds while putting up with veiled (and sometimes not-at-all veiled) threats from construction workers who have got it in their heads that you want to stop them working.
Five years ago (it was five years ago this week that I complete my Masters degree!), I had thought that having an MA meant that I never had to do this particularly form of drudgery again. In fact, the first project I was on after finishing my degree involved me supervising (that is, sending out and receiving reports from) monitors without me ever having to do it myself.
However, I was soon disabused of the notion that I was free.
Most of the time, I am sent out because we have a people shortage - the field technicians are all away on other projects and we need someone to monitor right now. Other times, however, I am sent because an agency has decided that all monitors will be required to have an MA - which is unnecessary and tends to result in qualified people without degrees losing out on work.
The last two times I have monitored, it has been on ground that not only has no known archaeological sites, but (for various reasons) can be confidently said to not have any sites. In one of these cases, I had to monitor construction on fill soils imported from elsewhere - in other words, no intact archaeological deposits were even possible. In this latter case, most of the people with whom I came into contact A) knew that it was fill soil, and B) therefore assumed that I had somehow managed to force my client to hire me (how I would do this was never explained) and did not believe that my presence was an agency requirement that I would have been happy to not have fulfilled, and as such I had to put up with the daily asshattery as people made comments insinuating that I was just some gold digger along for the ride.
And all of this is a long winded way of saying that I am currently monitoring yet again, and that is why I am not writing as often as I would like. I will hopefully be writing on a regular basis again soon, but it looks as if the flood gates have been opened, and I will be quite busy, so please understand if I am not as prolific as normal.
Five years ago (it was five years ago this week that I complete my Masters degree!), I had thought that having an MA meant that I never had to do this particularly form of drudgery again. In fact, the first project I was on after finishing my degree involved me supervising (that is, sending out and receiving reports from) monitors without me ever having to do it myself.
However, I was soon disabused of the notion that I was free.
Most of the time, I am sent out because we have a people shortage - the field technicians are all away on other projects and we need someone to monitor right now. Other times, however, I am sent because an agency has decided that all monitors will be required to have an MA - which is unnecessary and tends to result in qualified people without degrees losing out on work.
The last two times I have monitored, it has been on ground that not only has no known archaeological sites, but (for various reasons) can be confidently said to not have any sites. In one of these cases, I had to monitor construction on fill soils imported from elsewhere - in other words, no intact archaeological deposits were even possible. In this latter case, most of the people with whom I came into contact A) knew that it was fill soil, and B) therefore assumed that I had somehow managed to force my client to hire me (how I would do this was never explained) and did not believe that my presence was an agency requirement that I would have been happy to not have fulfilled, and as such I had to put up with the daily asshattery as people made comments insinuating that I was just some gold digger along for the ride.
And all of this is a long winded way of saying that I am currently monitoring yet again, and that is why I am not writing as often as I would like. I will hopefully be writing on a regular basis again soon, but it looks as if the flood gates have been opened, and I will be quite busy, so please understand if I am not as prolific as normal.
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