Snakes

When I first started telling people that I was traveling to Australia, many responded - Oh watch out for the snakes.  It is true that Australia is home to many of the world's most deadly reptiles, but Catherine assured me that the winter landscape is a benign land where all those things that bite, sting, and kill are tucked away deep in hibernation.  Catherine went on to assure me that in the four previous field seasons, she had never seen a snake.  In the last two days, her tally has now increased to two.  Apparently these serpents of the southern hemisphere do not always sleep for the entire winter.  

We were walking along, engrossed in the rocks and the fabulous clasts in the Elatina formation.  I noted an exceptionally large granite clast resting in the surrounding red rock.  "Catherine check out that clast."  Her response, "Oh my god!"  I thought that I may have found the clast of all clasts from the emotion imbedded in her response; however, OMG was quickly followed by "SNAKE!"  Without actually having my own visual of the beast, I screamed like a girl and tumbled backwards away from the clast and elusive snake.  

Once at a safe distance, we reassessed the situation.  The snake is an amazing animal easily disguised by the rock it sits upon.  It was over a meter long and coiled as it enjoyed the afternoon sun.  It was covered in brown spots that reminded me of a leopard's coat.  While I evaluated the snake and considered the possibility of other snakes emerging from the rock crevices, Catherine evaluated the granite clast and decided that in fact it was quite nice and would make an excellent photo.  Of all the Elatina in Australia, this clast was photo-worthy.  It was then a matter of positioning the rock hammer just under the snake's resting place in order for a scale oriented photo.  Couldn't the snake be used for scale?  Consistency - it must be the hammer.  The photo was taken and we moved much further down the creek for our lunch break.

Now, whenever I consider sitting down on an outcrop, I second guess how alone I in fact actually am and how difficult it is to awake a resting snake.

Prickles and Ripples

As I have been walking through the hills of Australia, I have had many different moments of dejavous.  Australia in my mind is a combination of many different places that I have traveled in the past.  

The vegetation reminds me of the deserts in the south west such as Joshua Tree and Death Valley.  The ground is hard packed sand and gravel that is sparsely covered with various scrubby plants that have stubbornly taken hold.   Many of them look innocent enough low to the ground with various hues of green and brown, but do not be fooled these plants are anything but innocent.  They wait for the chance bystander to step a bit too close and snag your sock with a thorn or barb of varying size.  Often times, the small poker remains elusive wedged somewhere between your sock and boot, but with every step you know it is there twisting itself into the perfect placement  to continually stab at your Achilles with a ridged prick.  Without fail, the hiker is forced to stop and contend with the unwanted prickle.  Catherine and her colleagues fondly nicknamed a particular hearty and plentiful strain of thorns the F***lettes.  There is no better name for this annoying plant although I am sure you will not find this genus next to the plant's picture in any identification book.    

As we traverse over rolling, barren hills, divided by ridges of rock outcrop it is reminiscent of Idaho.  I spent the summer after my junior year in high school building a barbed wire fence in Caters of the Moon National Monument.  It interesting because in the west fences are built with three strings of barbed wire while the top wire is smooth.  This is so the wild animals grazing can jump over the fence without becoming cut.  In Australia the bottom three wires are smooth and only the top wire is barbed.  While I have not seen it, apparently this design allows for the kangaroos and wallabies to jump through the fence unscathed.  Catherine says it is quite the sight to see a kangaroo cruise towards a fence, and then without changing its speed, it will torque its body sideways and slip between the wires. 

Australia is a vast country where it seems like yo can see forever.  There is no cover,  You can see herds of wild goats on distant ridges.  You can hear trucks motoring through side valleys, but never see them.  Distances are deceiving.  They are both close and unattainable at the same time.   Wind rips through the valley unhindered by any natural wind breaks.  Dave often complained about his distaste for wind after living in New Mexico.  I find it similar here.  I am excited on days where the air is still and my face and lips do not become chapped by the incessant wind.  

Because the vegetation is so minimal and the ground is so barren, this landscape is perfect for studying geology . . . and so we do.  The area that we have been working in has gone through major environmental changes throughout its lifetime and many of these variations are preserved in the rocks that we stand on.  The landscape is like Australia's family photo-album with moments in time preserved in the remaining rock layers.  It is our job to piece together this seemingly random collection of moments and interpret the story they create.   

Where we have focused our efforts for the last week or so is an hour drive from the town of Leigh Creek.  The area is dominated by three main types of rock: carbonate, siltstone and glacial diamictite.  The carbonate rocks form in a shallow warm sea where calcium carbonate creates solid rock. Often there are large fossilized structures created by algae mats called Stromatolites (more on these at a later time).  The red siltstones form in a deeper sea environment from the carbonates.  They are fine grained, sediments that dominate this particular area of Australia.  Diamictite is a rock consisting of two or more sediment sizes.  In the case of these particular rocks, the diamictite resulted from glacial ice gouging and ripping apart the bedrock it moved over millions of years ago.  The loose sediments are then transported miles and miles by the giant ice sheets - nature's greatest conveyor belt.  Once the ice sheet retreats, these clasts (chunks of transported rock) are deposited within a matrix of fine grained sediment.  We know that have traveled a long way because the clasts are made from rocks like granite which are not native to this area of Australia.

Diamictite - notice the larger clasts embedded in a fine-grained matrix

Looking at the patterns and positioning of carbonates versus silts versus diamictites, Catherine begins to write the story of Australia's past.  There is only one layer that has been dated at this time placing the rocks at roughly 635 m.y.a. (million years ago) - give or take you know a few million years.  

As I stand in the middle of the now desolate, barb encrusted, sunbaked, desert of the Outback, I try to imagine how this continental crust had once been covered by murky ocean water and then a shallow, warm, stromatolite rich reef, and then a massive sheet of ice and finally another warm water environment.  It is difficult to fathom what could have changed the landscape so drastically and so suddenly.

Ripple marks

Stromatolites 

Ostrich vs. Emu

I am not sure why, but I always thought that ostriches were native to Australia.  This is not the case; however, the Emu is related to the ostrich and is the oversized avian version of the ostrich in Australia.  As Catherine and I trudged back and forth across the Flinders mountain range, we would see groups of emus from afar effortlessly skipping along.   We fantasize about the possibility of harnessing an Emu and riding it across the valley.  We speculated that they would be difficult to direct and that we would not make it to our desired destinations, although we would make it somewhere at a very high speed.  

If we ever did hope to capture and domesticate one of these large birds our chance came one morning as we were preparing to head off for the day.  These normally skittish birds are generally viewed from afar as they blindly, sprint away from any noise or shadow; however, on this particular morning the Emu that visited our camp was a very curious bird.  He danced back and forth checking out the camp and seemingly sizing us up.  He would run towards us, and then whenever someone moved it would duck away, but only so far and momentarily he would return to our outpost.  For whatever reason, this particular bird was more intrigued than intimidated by our presence.  It was a great opportunity to look at this massive bird up close.

Noises in the Night

Prior to heading out into the field, Catherine received an e-mail from Jon with a succinct list of must have items before we left the comfort of Adelaide.  We immediately became weary when securing some mouse proof totes was at the top of the list.  A quick run to a Home Depot equivalent, provided us with a mouse proof arsenal of plastic products with quick click security.  This was not my first face off with rodents.  I was not scared.  They are small and timid and only after a good left over scrap dropped at your camp site.  For a complete account of the mouse encounters of Jon and Christine (poo on food canisters, vermin in tents, half chewed bags of oats) check out Christine's Blog .

Oodnapanicken Hut was our first stop of the field season.  Having kicked off early from the small town of Leigh Creek, Catherine and I arrived at the hut at 8 AM in the morning.  Jon and Christine were gracious hosts providing a cup of tea, a bowl of porridge (oatmeal), and stories of wild mice that are not intimidated by a group of soft Americans.  Jon in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, relayed how most recently he felt a mouse burrowing under his Z-rest sleeping pad as he lay on top of it.  My eyes shifted around the camp wondering if Jon's stories were an exaggeration, a fluke or a regular evening occurrence in Australia.  

With no more than this passing thought, the group split up and headed into the field for a day of work.  The days are short in Australia this time of year as it is the southern hemisphere's winter.  The light does not start to turn grey until a little after 6:30 AM and shadows begin get long by 5:30 PM.  Our field work is limited by the daylight hours and so we found ourselves back in the camp for the evening.  The four of us compared notes of the day and relaxed around the campfire until exhaustion overtook us and we all retired to our tents.  I was still feeling the affects of jet lag and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow (well actually it was my fleece jacket balled up).  There is nothing more restful than a cool night camping in the middle of nowhere.  The air pushes you deep into the folds of your sleeping bag, while the peaceful surroundings lull you into a complete sleep that is impossible to replicate in any civilized environment.  

Such was the scenario, my first night in the Outback of Australia.  At 6 AM the following morning, I was awoken by the banging of pots and rustling movement in the area of our stoves and campfire.  I was impressed with Jon's industrious nature and contemplated extracting myself from my sleeping bag.  While appreciating my last few moments of warm comfort, something large moved right outside my tent.  Sitting bolt upright mummified in my sleeping bag, I consider the chances that Jon was walking around my tent.  That was when something rammed the side of my nylon shelter.  Despite my desire to exude a tough edge, I let out a girly squeak that Catherine later confided that she heard.  I fumbled at my sleeping bag zipper and scrambled for my headlamp unsure how light was going to rectify my situation.  The second assault occurred, and this time, I would define it as a definite body slam against the thin fabric over my head.  I swiveled around with my beacon of light flashing uselessly against the white interior of the tent.  Whatever it was that was taking a fancy to my tent was far larger than any mouse I had ever experienced.  Jon had not mentioned that the mice were not only gutsy and plentiful, but mutant, gargantuan and seemingly possessed.  

I turned to the door of the tent preparing myself for battle or at the least a quick escape.  That is when the light of my headlamp pointed straight into the face of a small cat.  I shouted at him, "Go away."  I assumed this feline must be wild, rabid, and starving.  I wanted him out of my space immediately.  He stared at me undeterred, yellow eyes reflecting my own light back at me.  I smacked at the side of the tent and repeated my request for him to leave in a louder more authoritative voice.  He slinked under the vestibule only to reappear on the other side.  I again flexed my strength and voice through the netting and he slipped away, but not without one more bat at the side of my tent.  I quickly dressed and got out of the tent to inspect the scene.  Once I was outside, I saw the cat, striped, and displaying markings very similar to my own lazy cat back in Vermont.  Now with me standing at my full height, the cat took one look and retreated into the edges of our camp's darkness. 

Once everyone else was awake and moving about, I retold my encounter.  Jon commented that he had seen the yellow eyes previously, but did not want to alarm anyone and so had kept the observation to himself.  It was decided that the cat needed a proper name.  All of the camp mice had been named after various villains, and so I decided that our camp cat, despite his unsettling introduction, needed a hero's name . . . and so Frodo became him given name.  Over the course of the next week, we spotted Frodo on a number of occasions.  Since my first encounter, all sightings were fleeting - yellow eyes blinking in the darkness, him scamping across our path, a face peering around the old scrap metal in the camp.  It is amazing how the fear of the unknown can so quickly be erased with a name.  No longer was this feline a beast to be feared, rather he was our camp pet Frodo that we hoped would visit each night.

Setting the Stage

Before beginning getting to deep into this blog about my experiences in Australia, I feel that there is a need to outline some parts of the trip.  

Location: South Australia.  Primarily the Flinder's Mountain Ranges in Central South Australia.  

Plot: We are investigating/mapping/sampling rocks found in/near/around the Trezona Formation.

Time: Six weeks (Updates will be posted whenever we are near an Internet connection)

Characters:

Erica Wallstrom (aka the author of this blog - me) is a Carleton College, geology graduate, former wilderness ranger, currently employed as  a high school earth science teacher.  I feel as though I have been thrown back into a former life of camping, hiking, and field work.  While all of these skills may be compared to riding a bike, I feel as though my bike may be a tad rusty and do well to have a bit of a tune up.  

Adam Maloof is a good friend, fellow Carleton grad, and Professor at Princeton University.  I never knew Adam at Carleton even though our tenure overlapped by two years.  Instead, I met him one summer a few years ago  on Isle au Haut.  He always shares stories about the unusual and foreign  places he visits during his field research.   I would get snapshots of his adventures through the colorful stories and exotic olive oils he brought back as gifts.  Last year, while a group of us were kayaking through the Penobscot Bay in Maine, I asked Adam if he ever needs field assistants.  I like to think that he was as excited about recruiting me, as I was about being recruited.

Catherine Rose (Croser as she is called) is the spunky British, pHD student that I have had the great fortune of working with in the field.  She never ceases to surprise me.  She is a self proclaimed foul mouthed, negative, unemotional, meat eating, Brit.  While there may be some truth to this identity (she does swear quite a bit, but it is so endearing with the British accent), I have found her to be a wonderful teacher that is incredibly supportive and helpful as I bumble through the geology and pull from knowledge I have not thought about for over a decade.  As far as the meat eating bit, she has turned a new leaf and has joined me in trying out the Vegan lifestyle.  

Jon  Husson is another pHD student entering his third year at Princeton.  While he is working on his own field work, we have overlapped quite a bit and camped in the same area.  Jon is very easy going and makes you feel so welcome.  While he works lick clockwork until the last hours of winter sun is available in the afternoons, he takes a relaxed attitude in the morning as we start the day with a fun (if not skill challenged) round of hacky sack.  

Christine Chen is working as Jon's field assistant.  She is a soft spoken, junior, under grad from Princeton.  She is the perfect match for Jon as she too is laid back and easy going.  In the field, you know Christine is coming because she sings to herself as she walks.  Her laugh is contagious and she is always game for anything.

Catherine, Jon, me, Christine
Last day at the group campsite

The American and the Brit celebrate Independence day with Captain America in Australia

My trip began smoothly with hardly any travel glitches.  I left the hustle and bustle of Rutland's International Jetport on Saturday July 2nd (I do not think it is actually international and jetport is a stretch as well) and arrived in Adelaide, Australia on July 4th.  As you can imagine, the 3rd is a fuzzy blur mixed in the middle of layovers, salty fry chips (no peanuts on Qantus) and the International Dateline.  Regardless, I arrived in time to celebrate my nation's day dedicated to our independence and freedom.  There were no fireworks, flags, small town parades.  There were no barbecues, afternoons at the beach, cheesy car commercials with the jaws' of our founding fathers flapping.  Remarkably, in Australia July 4th is no different than the 3rd or 5th . . . or at least that is what I assumed.  What I did not know was that even thousands of miles away from my homeland, Captain America was with me.  Now as I sit here and write this, having begun my jet lag recovery after a night of sleep, I am beginning to wonder if my encounter with Captain America was in fact a delusion driven by cabin pressure changes, dehydration, and lack of sleep.  Regardless, I will recount the events as I remember them.  

Catherine and I went to a local pasta restaurant for an early dinner before crashing for the night.  As we awaited our carbohydrate fix, a small boy, no more than five, approached our table wearing a golden chariot helmet and a t-shirt with a large letter A on the front.  He stood there staring through his cut out eye holes as his mother whispered in his ear.  There was a hesitation.  Mom whispered again.  Catherine and I stared unknowingly and curious.  "Happy Independence Day.  I'm Captain America"  After that initial introduction, it was like the flood gates opened and he chattered away about his costume and school and other topics I could not distinguish - partly because of his accent, partly because he was so young, and partly because the mask was muffling his speech.  Regardless it was the sweetest, cutest conversation of the evening.  Thank you Captain America for making an ordinary July 4th into the Fourth of July for me.

Ready to Go

My bag is packed and I am ready to go . . .  Space was not as big of an issue as weight limits.  Note the scale in the bottom left hand corner.  Staying under 50 lbs. is a challenge when toting rock hammers and hundreds of sample bags.