Sunday, September 30, 2012

Nome Rocks!

Nome does rock, but it also has rocks -- and lots of them! This week I signed up for a geology workshop through University of Alaska Fairbanks, which has a small campus here in town. It was being taught by a grad student who is currently working for one of the gold mining companies, and consisted of an evening in-class session followed by a full-day field trip around Nome.

Basically, without getting too far into the details and vocab that I will probably butcher, the Seward Peninsula is somewhat of a geological phenomenon because it is made up of slightly different terranes (fault-bounded areas with distinct stratigraphy, structure, and geological history) than the rest of Alaska. Some theories even suggest that it might have started as a series of Pacific islands that attached themselves to the mainland. In essence though, the main rocks found here are granite, limestone, schist, and basalt, depending on where you are.

Our first stop was Cape Nome, about 10 miles east of town (where the polar bear was sighted a few months ago). Here we saw examples of granite, which, as a reminder, is the igneous rock with large grains indicative of slow crystallization of magma below the earth's surface.

While we were here, a truck randomly drove up and the driver said he was going to check on his beluga. That immediately piqued everyone's interest, and sure enough it turned out he was a whaler and had caught a beluga in a net strung out from the cape.

Beluga surfacing
It appeared there were 2 whales -- one caught in the net, and one swimming around it, although I couldn't tell if I was seeing the same one multiple times. It was kind of sad to see it caught, but knowing that it is simply part of the subsistence lifestyle here kind of softens the reality. Regardless, it was really interesting to see it so close (only about 30-40 feet  from shore).

Dorsal fin

Some of the geology class
Our next stop was further inland to check out some limestone. Unlike the granite, limestone is sedimentary and scrapes into a white powder when you scratch the surface, and can be recognized by its bedding, or layered structure here. Out here it can be a little harder to recognize from afar because of all the lichen that grows on it, making it appear darker and smoother.

Limestone face

Fragment of limestone

Brunton demo
We also got to learn about the strike and dip technique for measuring the orientation of a geological feature. Basically you use a brunton compass and measure the line that joins two or more points of a rock plane at the same elevation (strike), and then the maximum slope of the bed (dip), by turning it perpendicular to the strike.

Schist fragment
The third common rock found around Nome is schist, the course grained, flaky metamorphic rock containing quartz, mica, and amphibole minerals. We made two other stops on the field trip -- one to Anvil Peak, and another to the mining claim where our instructor works, to look at more schist and conglomerate formations. Here we also looked at basalt, mica, gneiss, quartz, and garnets. It was a lot information to remember, but overall a good refresher on geology and hopefully I'll be more useful in answering visitor's questions about rocks, next time at work.

And to finish off this post, I'll throw in a few more pictures from around town that have nothing whatsoever to do with geology, but they're pretty anyway. :) Enjoy!

Sunset over Anvil and the Bering Sea


Grass in the breeze

Nome sweet Home

Sunset behind White Alice

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Through the lens: Winter's coming

On Sunday my housemate and I rented a car from an extremely generous local in town (she wanted to let us use it for free, but finally accepted a few bucks!), which afforded us an opportunity to spend the day in the mountains. The forecast called for freezing temperatures and rain, but once we got out of town the precipitation turned to snow flurries and we found ourselves cruising through an early winter wonderland. 

With all day to spare, we took our time exploring the white-blanketed tundra until we were too cold to feel our fingers and faces, thanks the biting wind driving snow at us sideways. 

Frosty leaf

Brand new white carpet

Pippy Longstocking impersonation? Also getting pummeled
in the face by blowing snow.

We built a tiny tundra snow man

My snow angel

Ice formations on the grass

The cliched sideview-mirror-shot

Huge flocks of ptarmigan, beginning the winter molt

Ptarmigan

Ptarmigan freaking out

Beautiful roadside creek

Road to Woolly Lagoon becoming inaccessible
Eventually the road became too snowy for us to comfortably drive on, so we turned around and headed back to Nome, where autumn is still the predominant season.

Willow leaves

Remnants of an abandoned reindeer corral

Some kind of old scale

Water droplets in an old bucket

Nome's one and only tree, decorated year round
The signs of winter are all around now, from the noticeably dropping temperatures, to little snow flurries, to seeing fewer people in town. On the upside, I think I'm getting more used to the weather -- When I was walking home for lunch today, I was thinking the temperature didn't feel too bad if it weren't for the wind; then I checked the thermometer: 32 degrees. Ha.

Saturday, September 22, 2012

The art of staying busy (and the interesting things that happen when you do)

Post-college life is an interesting force to be reckoned with. I thought it would be hard to get used to not having any homework or big responsibilities to contend with at the end of each day, but in fact I've hardly thought anything of it. And the little thought I have given to the matter has been more along the lines of: Oh hey, I can do whatever the hell I want right now!

So far this summer, that mindset has translated itself into a number of various pursuits: salmon fishing; hiking; biking in the mountains; berry picking; cooking; baking; walking on the beach; drawing; watercolor painting; writing; learning harmonica; reading; photography; and working out and running.

With the realization that I'm only 1/3 of the way through my internship and pretty much the rest of my time here will be spent indoors in increasing darkness, I've taken it upon myself to try to remain as physically active as I am mentally active.

I started running about 2 weeks ago, with one of my housemates and our mutual friend from town. It's worked out great because we're all at about the same running ability (that is to say, terrible!), but we're working off this Couch to 5K plan which builds up in intensity over 9 weeks. It's been pretty easy so far, and  our running route takes us down a nice, deserted road where not too many people will see us huffing and puffing and stumbling along.

Migrating sandhill cranes
Well, last week when we were running, we started noticing these massive lines of birds appearing over the mountaintops. First one group, then another, then more and more and more, all coming towards us. As they drew closer, we couldn't help but pause for a moment and listen -- sure enough, as soon as I quieted down my breathing I realized the air was filled with the deep rattling calls of hundreds and hundreds of Sandhill Cranes.

The incredible site made our run go by much faster, as I spent the rest of the time looking up at the sky feeling as if I was running with them, some passing close by right over us. Apparently some will travel as far as 350 miles per day!


As soon as we got back, we jumped into our friend's car and drove up to Anvil Mountain to see if we could see them from there. Of course, by the time we got there, no cranes were in sight. Nonetheless, the sun was out and getting ready to set, and the views were gorgeous all the way around.

Lens whacking
I took the opportunity up there to practice a new photography technique I learned, called "lens whacking" or "freelensing." It's the very simple concept of detaching the lens from the camera and allowing light to slip in from the side, giving the photo a vintage appearance, skewing the focus, or giving you these artsy streaks of light. I'm very bad at it, but it was fun to try.

Another failed lens whacking attempt

Gave up, and just went for a traditional shot with the 105mm
Well, long-roundabout-story short, the last week or so has kept me quite busy in spite of having a rather mundane work schedule, and seeing the massive sandhill crane migration was the icing on the cake.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Incredible weekend at Serpentine

Alaskan native tradition says the valley of Serpentine Hot Springs is the home of powerful spirits. I could see how those beliefs came about last time I visited in July, but the 3 days I spent there this past weekend were perhaps some of the most beautiful days I have ever been lucky enough to experience.

Beaver lodge and dam
It was a short trip this time to assist an NPS biologist in some water quality testing along Hot Springs Creek. Our task for the weekend was to install 3 data loggers in strategic parts of the stream, and assess the impact of the beaver colonies that have taken up residence around the hot springs.

Bunkhouse
Due to a combination of our high rainfall this summer and the increased beaver activity, the creek was significantly more flooded than it had been in July, to the point of coming almost all the way up to the bunkhouse.  Other things were different too -- unlike the rich green grasses and wildflowers of summer I saw last time, this time the valley was a vibrant golden spectrum of autumn hues.

Water droplets cling to grass beside the hot spring
The overall temperature was quite a bit colder too, hovering between the low-30s to mid-40s. Nonetheless, the hot spring remained at a constant ~150 degrees F, swathing the bunkhouse in a lovely sulfurous cloud of warmth.

We got to work almost as soon as we arrived around mid-day on Friday. Donning 2 layers of pants plus a huge pair of size 12 hip waders and about 4 layers of shirts, I joined the two other women in similar fashion to check the first data logger site near the bunkhouse. Although it wasn't far, it was a slow, laborious hike through extremely dense willows part way, and thigh-deep through a roaring 38-degree river the other part of the way, carrying a heavy pack, some rebar, and a small sledge hammer.

We spent several hours in the river. We stretched a transect line from one bank to the other and tested water pressure and velocity every 12 inches. The hardest part was probably working in the intense flow of the river; it was strong enough to push my feet along the bottom if I stood still. Nonetheless, I hammered the rebar in and we attached to it a data logger (which, unfortunately had to be done by hand, reaching into said 38-degree water -- think pins and needles all the way up your arm!).

Biologist feeling the hot spring temperature
The same day we also hiked to Arctic Hot Springs, another hot spring some ways down from Serpentine. Here we did the same procedure: clamber through willows until we found the right GPS coordinates for where the data logger should be, set the transect, hammer in a rebar, test the water velocity, attach the data logger, try not to freeze to death, and hike back.

Epic rainbow
Just as we got back to the bunkhouse at the end of the day, a rainbow started forming over the tors. As we drew closer, it formed into a full-on, all-the-way-across-the-sky rainbow, totally mesmerizing. It was impossible to capture the beauty and all the colors in a photo, but I think I came pretty close. :)



Fall colors on the tors
Bathhouse windows
To top off the day, I sat for a while with my feet in the hot tub.
The (somewhat sketchy) bathhouse

View of the valley
The next day was quite busy as well. Same routine, except this time we headed the opposite direction, to go upstream of the beaver activity.
Testing the water along the transect
Fortunately, now that we'd had some practice, the procedure went much smoother and the water levels even seemed to be down a little. After spending a little over half the day doing water tests, the interpretive ranger and I spent the rest of the time hiking in the tors and taking photos.


Bearberry turns BRIGHT red in the fall

Northern Harrier
The only wildlife I saw the entire weekend were some Northern Harriers and Rough-Legged Hawks. However, there was an Alaskan Air pilot staying in the bunkhouse for the weekend to do some hunting, and he reported seeing 3 grizzlies and a herd of caribou while he was out and about.

Taking a break on the tundra

A quiet moment on the tors

Bunkhouse and tors
Having too much fun :)


Snowmachine marker
There is one recognizable trail in Serpentine, and it's carved out for snowmachines in the winter. Once there's adequate snow cover, villagers will come from 50-100 miles away to visit the hot springs. I can't imagine what that must be like!
Pretty incredible picture by Ranger Katie 
After another long day I took a full soak in the hot tub, watching the sun set through the windows. As it got lower in the sky, at one point it sent shafts of brilliant golden light came through the chinks in the walls, shining through the steam across the water. I wish I'd had my camera, but in some ways it was more special just to experience it alone without trying to capture the moment.

The next morning we had to get up somewhat early to call our pilot. When the biologist came back inside from talking on the satellite phone, she announced "It snowed last night!"

Fresh fall snow
I threw on a few layers of clothes, grabbed my camera, and ran outside. The sun was just about to rise, and all around from the distant tors to the Continental Divide, a fresh dusting of snow blanketed the landscape.
Snow on the Continental Divide
It was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen: The fall colors with a backdrop of pure white and a pink sky with clouds beginning to part for the sun.
Fiery sunrise


Snow falling in the distance
It was such a quiet morning too. No roaring tundra wind like usual. Just the gentle sound of the creek, and the crunch of ice under my boots as I hiked to the top of the hill. I found a spot on top of a tor and sat down to watch.
Sunrise over the bunkhouse

Sunbeam
As I sat there on that rock with no one else in sight, watching the sky change colors of pink and orange over that awe-inspiring landscape, snow began to fall gently all around me. At first I thought it was rain but then I realized they were bunches of snowflakes sticking to my hair and boots and clothes.

Before I knew it, snow flurries were coming down and dancing in the pink sunlight, a symphony of colors and light choreographed to an orchestra of wilderness. It was the most beautiful thing the world.

Snow falling
Eventually I hiked back to the bunkhouse for breakfast and to help finish with the last of the water quality testing. All morning, snow fell in little flurries.

We were still out in the field heading back from our last stream sample site when we heard the bush plane coming to pick us up. We hurried back to the bunkhouse (as fast as one can hurry in gigantic hip waders), changed into our flight gear, loaded the plane, and just like that, our time in Serpentine came to an end.

It was a short excursion, but packed with so many new experiences it was the trip of a lifetime. It's days like these that make me so glad I chose the life path that I have, and so fortunate to have the opportunities that I've had.