Heather posted this on July 16, 2010, a time when we had probably 13 readers so apologies to all 13. She’s referring to a post Ann wrote about being dead wrong about some science. She also testifies to the physically horrifying life of an archeology writer.
Yesterday, my colleague Ann Finkbeiner fessed up to one of the great travails of being a science writer. So today in the spirit of full disclosure I thought I’d fess up to another pitfall, one that I should have anticipated before I became an archaeological writer, but didn’t. So here’s what I’ve learned the hard way: tagging along with scientists in the field often requires fortitude, real fortitude–not to mention pretty good footwork.
Before I give you an example, let me put all my cards on the table. I’m not a particularly athletic person. I rarely go hiking for recreation and I loathe camping. (I like my beds comfortable with at least two good pillows, please.) I don’t like spiders, scorpions, centipedes, leeches, cactus spines, stinging nettles, or poison ivy, all of which I have encountered in the field. And I cower when it comes to bears and poisonous snakes. I don’t relish squatting to pee in the woods: I hate doing it in the desert where there is no cover. And I completely lack essential survival skills. I have no sense of direction whatsoever, and I never learned how to read a compass.
In other words, I am an archaeologist’s worst nightmare. But I never let on about any of this, maintaining what I imagine to be a kind of “hail fellow, well met” manner. After all, I love seeing archaeology on the ground and wouldn’t trade my job for anything. And most days my bluffing works. But there are moments when I can’t quite rise to the occasion, and the carefully constructed mask comes a little unglued.
Ok, now the example. On Tuesday, I was out in the field with a small archaeological crew at an ancient hilltop fortification site, a two-hour-drive away from my British Columbia home. The site is immense and drop-dead gorgeous: it’s liberally draped over a very steep bluff and carpeted with acres of slippery moss, tall ferns and lots of towering firs and cedars. To reach it, one must cross a tumultuous stretch of the Fraser River, where 19-foot-long sturgeons have been known to lurk. The site itself has its own resident bear.
On Tuesday, I spent all morning and the early part of the afternoon tagging along with members of the crew, bushwhacking through thick brush along a steep talus slope in order to get Global Navigation Satellite System points along the perimeter. After a few hours, I was bagged and would have happily called it quits for the day. But I still needed to interview an aboriginal elder working on the far end of the site.
Unaware of my directional dyslexia, the crew pointed vaguely into the woods where my interviewee could be found and suggested I head off there on my own. And not wanting to look stupid, I set off down a narrow winding trail alone, gamely hoping that I could pull off this solo trek. To my dismay, however, the trail soon narrowed, then vanished, and I found myself surrounded by undergrowth in steep unfamiliar terrain. As I stood debating what to do next, I heard someone from the team waving arms frantically and shouting up at me. “Bear!”
Instinctively, I turned on a dime, poised to beat a hasty retreat. But as I pirouetted, I began slipping on mossy rock, losing my balance and toppling down the slope backside first–human tumbleweed clad in green hiking pants. When I finally came to rest many meters below– bedraggled and bruised–I noticed that several crew members were gazing up at me with a mixture of concern, amusement and bewilderment. We all had a good laugh. How had I gotten so far off course? What was I doing trundling off to the bear cave? (That’s what they had been shouting: “bear cave,” not “bear”.) And worse still, why hadn’t I followed the sound of the chainsaw that my interviewee was using to clear away some of the undergrowth?
I was so focused on not getting lost, it seems, that I hadn’t heard a thing. When I confessed all this to my husband later that evening, he grinned. Then he suggested that I consider a new reality Tv show: Survivor Woman.
Heather– I am delighted to know that there is
another person who feeels about the ‘great outdoors´as I do. And yet I have trudged alone
to many of the Maya sites in Mexico, Guatamala, and Honduras, and seen wonders that
I never imagined I would ever see. Glad to know
there is another like me. I enjoy your articles. Sallie
Sally: Glad, too, to hear that others share this predicament. Fears, phobias, etc don’t mean staying home: they’re just the chili pepper on the tamale.