Tales of the Mojave: We're Almost Ready to Go

The Road South:

Our story—the 1981 story of Allie and I doing recon down in the Mojave—began in Reno in the spring of the year and ended unexpectedly and abruptly in Needles before the end of June. I no longer remember exactly how long we spent in the east-central Mojave, but we looked at six different target areas—depending on how you count them—and we probably spent at two to five days in each area.

"A beginning is the time for taking the most delicate care that the balances are correct. ...
- from 'Manual of Muad'Dib' by the Princess Irulan"

-Frank Herbert, Dune, 1965

A Caravan Camper on a white truck
in front of a mine dump in eastern Nevada.

Allie and I left Reno in a dull gray, four-wheel drive Chevy pickup truck topped with a matching Caravan Camper, a type of heavy-duty metal camper shell with carpet kit, similar to the one I have now. We were equipped with an ice chest full of food, drinks, and ice; a 5-gallon water cooler or two; sundry camping gear; assorted tools; one spare tire (only one!); and all kinds of exploration equipment and supplies. We had sample bags and sample books, Estwing rock hammers and rock chisels, triplet hand lenses and little magnets on rawhide straps, and little plastic squeeze bottles filled with a 10% dilute solution of hydrochloric acid (HCl). The acid bottles were usually held tight in leather cases that could be slid onto belts. We also had a carefully stowed glass bottle of non-dilute HCl, so we could make additional dilute acid as needed. (HCl was easy to get back then, and the bottle came meticulously packed in vermiculite within a sturdy cardboard box.)

We had files of topographic maps, geologic maps, published reports, books, and copies of company reports in plastic file boxes that would help to keep everything organized while also protecting it from water and the pervasive Mojave dust. We had Brunton compasses in leather holders, ready to attach to our belts. And we had various mapping paraphernalia: mechanical pencils with black, blue, and red leads; colored pencils; pens and markers; and six-inch C-Thru® protractor-rulers of various scales: 10-50, 20-40, 10-20, and 30-60. We had field notebooks to hold notes and sketches, and we had aluminum clipboards that would protect our maps, air photos, and reports. We carried everything we needed for any particular day’s traverse in Filson® survey field vests[1], on belts, or in backpacks. A geologist, fully attired and field ready, is easily distinguished from desert rats, ranchers, and routine hikers.

We also had a pile of camping and cooking gear scattered in the back of the truck: pots and pans; plates, bowls, and utensils; a gas Coleman stove and fuel for said stove; sleeping bags and sleeping pads; a tent, which we didn't use while down in the Mojave; a tarp or two; and other miscellany. We may have rustled up some of the gear from a stash in the company warehouse—though had we not been timely in choosing gear (and we were late that year), we would have been out of luck. A certain person's name was used to describe what happened if you didn't grab your gear in time, or if you got stuck with second-rate supplies. Had his last name been Gibbs, it would have been called "getting Gibbsed." 

U.S. 95, looking south, just a few miles north of Beatty.

Before leaving Reno, we spent a little time pondering two particular questions: 1) should we take a thermometer and 2) should we abstain from beer and other alcohol? We debated back and forth about the thermometer and finally decided to leave it behind. Maybe we'd feel cooler if we didn’t see the expected 3-digit Fahrenheit temperatures!

If the creosote has bloomed, the field season is over.

Speaking of temperatures, when we got to our first locality, the temps we encountered didn't seem too bad, though it took a little time to adjust after coming from the higher and cooler elevations of Reno. We adapted. We devoured lots of fresh fruit. For lunch we’d have half avocados, their centers filled with Italian salad dressing, and we’d roll whatever else came out of the icebox in flour or corn tortillas.[2] We also prepared our own variant of south-of-the-border food, using lots of hot peppers, gobs of hot sauce, and unlimited spicy guacamole. We figured there would be something medicinal in mixing the spicy fire of the food with the scorching heat of the desert. And in fact, these were the only foodstuffs we could bring ourselves to eat in the heat. And throughout the day, from sunup to sundown, we drank gallons of water, juices, and sodas—and zero beers.

To be continued...

Notes:

^[1] It looks like the standard survey vest isn't being made anymore—at least I don't see it on the C.C. Filson website. Perhaps that's because so many geos are now wearing safety vests much of the time. I hope my current beige style-12 and orange style-8 vests will last indefinitely: I still use them on field trips, while hiking, and on most sampling and mapping excursions. My beige vest is partly held together by duct tape; a gaping hole in the lower right area developed after carrying a leaky acid bottle inside the inner pocket. (I really don't like having things hanging from my belt, though I did used to wear my Brunton that way. Now I stick it in one of the side pockets.)↩

^[2] This was called a "Bill Rehrig" lunch, although we didn't use that term until many years later.↩

Scribbles

There I was, preparing a few photos for posting in the ongoing Death Valley Trip – Titus Canyon series, doing my usual thing of marking up photos in MS Paint (I'm too cheap to buy any real photo programs), when I figured that I must have something around the house that might work better than either dragging the cursor across the screen with my trackpad or dragging my finger across the computer's touch screen. While trying out various things, including my laser pen, I ran across this diy article about items to use instead of buying a capacitive pen.

I went a little nuts trying things out:

Most of the dark blue marks were made with various household items.

What worked best while also being comfortable to hold was the Hand stylus I happened to have lying around. I'm not sure what I bought it for, but on my Lenovo, in MS Paint, it works best when the spongy tip is wet (although it works passable when dry if I press very hard). Several other items worked: the blunt end of my Laser Pointer, the negative end of the batteries that came with it, a wet sponge (doesn't draw precise lines), a foil-wrapped pen (okay but semi-awkward).

The stylus had the best precision overall (although not perfect by any means), being somewhat more precise than using the airbrush (or spray paint) tool with a finger. For drawing free-form lines, the stylus works best with the regular brush tool. It's not really good enough—it's too spongy—to make nice, hand-lettered labels the way I did back in non-digital (ink) drafting days.

Here are a few hints of the geology to come.

Field Book Scribbles

Like Short Geologist, I'm unable to post much in the way of what I really write down in my field book, which usually consists of what I do every day (what I worked on or accomplished), who I talk to, phone numbers, ideas, things to do that I shouldn't forget, and other real miscellany. I prefer the kinds of Rite in the Rain® field books that have a grid on one side, title blocks on each page, page numbers, and lots of goodies in the back: these. Because I can't really get into who I've been working for in particular, or when, I've shown a typical title block as mocked up a little: location, date and weather (when a page has notes from more than one day, the rest of the dates and weather go farther down the page), client, and random comments or notes as desired. I don't usually use the scale portion; instead, I draw a scale with diagrams or sketch maps as needed.
On rare occassions, I fill out the table of contents at the beginning of the book. Here's my only "current" example.
I found a few pages here and there that I can photograph to show my general note scribbly-ness. I'm not nearly as neat and exacting as in my early field book years, when I filled them out like I was still in field camp and might get graded at any moment, using neat, small lettering, and very nice drawings. This one is from a field trip up in Alaska. I was obviously concerned about which way some fault or other moved, and am still not sure whether I got it right.
A little drawing of the North Window at Arches National Park, which goes with a photo I haven't digitized, and this watercolor.
Here's a few scribbles from a March, 1998, field trip to the Fort Knox gold mine near Fairbanks, Alaska: "low grade .013-.019 [ounces per ton]." I imagine the "low grade" is lower than that now.
Here's a little (and partial, I'm sure) story about the discovery of the Gold Bar gold mine from a May, 1998, field trip to several gold mines in central Nevada. "Lots of 'smoke' on range front." The underlined "picture rock" indicates that I took a photo and have a rock sample lying around somewhere, probably in a box in the garage.
In the back of my field books, you'll typically find some version of a calendar.
And scattered here and there, you might find doodles taken during some meeting. This one shows a horn of plenty (i.e., ore), on a table??, next to an evergreen tree.
My meeting notes (yes, I generally take meeting notes in my field book so I can find them later), often contain fairly elaborate doodles. Here's a mine adit on a hillside, or maybe it's a hobbit's home.
My field mapping notes, which are small and blurry in this photo by design, are often messier than this, and usually quite succinct.

Oh, and my field books are mine. They don't belong to the company I consult for, unless the company buys field books for me and requires ownership by contract, something I would strongly resist. Companies have a habit of losing things and getting rid of things after projects are over. I don't think I've had to give up any of my field books so far. I *have* left copies of field notes in company files when requested. It's good to know ahead of time that someone will want a copy; that way, I won't accidentally put extraneous notes from one company's business in the middle of pages that will go into a second company's file.

More of my field books can be seen here, at least from the outside.

Submitted to Accretionary Wedge #47: Field Notes.

Field Trip Report: Locked Out while Looking at Breccia

It was about a million years ago during the first couple years of my field geology experience, probably toward the end of a summer or maybe it was early fall. A field trip was concocted to show some of the immediate mucky muck types around a property I'd come to call my own — a huge claim block centered on one of the major Tertiary calderas (Tertiary then, Paleogene now) of central Nevada — although I wasn't on the ground or anywhere near it when the discovery was made (nor was I there when the caldera formed way back in the early Oligocene). The guys (all guys except for me) were mucky mucks to me at the time, although at least a few of them probably didn't think of themselves that way: my boss, my boss's boss, and some new guy with distinct mucky muck potential who would later go on to run exploration departments and such.

We drove up the main dirt road, with me leading in my burgundy Bronco, a company truck that had been assigned to me that year. At least one other field vehicle was following me, maybe two or three. The truth is, I ran more than one field trip up that same canyon over the course of three or four years, showing various people around the area for various reasons, and the many field trips blend together in my mind. Consequently, I don't remember exactly who was on which field trip, save for a key few people on a few key trips.

I was nervous; maybe the boss was riding with me, perhaps he was in his "Boss Mobile" (not exactly the phrase we used) behind me. I didn't want to go too fast or too slow. I didn't want to hit rocks or ruts, I didn't want to slide sideways around curves or in any other way look like a foolish or inexperienced young geologist.

I slowed down as the caravan I was leading approached our area of particular interest: a volcanic breccia, possibly a breccia pipe. I pulled over to the left side of the road; everyone else pulled in behind me. At that point, we all jumped out of our various vehicles, suited up with Filson vests (if we didn't already have them on), grabbed rock hammers from beneath seats or from backs of trucks, and crossed the main wash northward over to the cliffy bluffs exposing the breccia. It was quite an enlightening field trip for me, with lots of proclamations made about what should be found in breccia pipes as opposed to flow breccias, and gradually some determinations were forthcoming. The matrix of the breccia, highly siliceous, dark, and very fine-grained, was hot when the breccia formed. It had plastered itself onto the breccia fragments such that one could hardly separate fragment from matrix. Some possible sedimentation in the upper part of the main exposure was noted, leading thoughts towards more than one eruptive or explosive event, with some settling downward into the proposed pipe. Flows going outward from the vent or pipe were identified; a thick flow breccia near the vent thinned laterally to one main one and a couple or a few thin ones above it.

Samples were grabbed: hand samples of one of the best breccias in the world (well, in Nevada at least). Everyone wanted a large chunk of the breccia matrix, which contained small chunks of fragments grading downward to rock flour. Large chunks of matrix were hard to come by: all large chunks, when broken, revealed giant fragments only thinly coated with matrix. I'll dig up some pictures sometime, although my memory is much better than the pictures I took a couple years back, or maybe all the best samples are in personal collections made that day, or housed in unknown warehouses.

We walked back to the trucks. Oops! I had left the keys to my Bronco in the ignition and had locked the doors. (Many field trucks are left with keys in ignitions, windows rolled down, and doors unlocked just to prevent this type of occurrence, and because dirt roads in Nevada are generally considered safe, or were back then, from truck stealing.) I was quite flustered and embarrassed, and it looked like the boss thought I was a complete idiot. The new guy, who would become a longtime friend and colleague, and later an exploration manager, immediately started looking around the side of the road and wash area and, voila!, came up with some sturdy wire. Without saying a word, he walked over, bent the wire into the right shape, slipped it under the rubber of the driver's side wind wing, hooked it over the little metal pin that was designed to be used to open and close the wind wing from the inside, and pulled hard. That broke the mechanism that would keep the wind wing shut and in a "locked" position. The door handle or window crank could then be accessed; the the door was unlocked and opened.

Busting the wind wing locking pin made it impossible to get locked out ever again. One or two of the field trip participants admitted it was one of the first thing they would do upon getting a new vehicle: bust the wind wing locking mechanism. We don't have wind wings on trucks anymore for that very reason.

It was a lesson I never forgot: I sometimes busted the wind wing pin on new company trucks preemptively, even though I'm not prone to leaving keys in ignitions, and I always had sturdy wire easily accessible in the back of the truck. And yes, I have used that trick at least one or two other times, whether on my truck or on someone else's.

Related Posts:
Friday Field Photos #3
In the Field
Friday Field Photo #4
Drilling Stories: Getting Started at Northumberland
The Unlikely Gradational Stratigraphy

Highway8A Introduction I

April 16, 2001—Reno, NV
About to leave for Spencer Hot Springs.
Mostly sunny, cool, breezy.

I am a geologist, and these are going to be notes that I write in little journal books I carry around. ...a whole lot of them are going to lack any structure at all, but if you know a geologist, you know that that is the way he expresses things. Notes: there is no continuity in a geologist’s life, not in an active, busy one, anyway.”
—Rick Bass, Oil Notes

When I started this book — which I've variably titled Mojave Exploration or Highway 8A depending on which section I was writing — I wrote longhand on yellow sheets of lined paper, typed stream of consciousness on an old Mac powerbook, jotted shorter notes in spiral-bound journals, kept scribbled references from myriad phone calls on torn bits of paper, and penciled carefully in one or two of the little yellow field books that geologists are known to carry around out in the field. And so I sat, one blustery spring day, getting ready for a trip to the hot springs, while at the same time trying to get started on starting, trying to write some kind of introduction or prelude to a book consisting of scattered pieces. It was my idea at the time that I'd write every now and then, as though mapping in some field area, writing notes that might go with the stories that were already partly written, but which are even now incomplete. And so I began that day with a field book, a book designed to be carried securely in the side pocket of a Filson vest while out in the field — "the field" being that great beyond where we geologists go to do our fieldwork. And so I began....

---

This field book, the one I am writing right in now, is being written from the perspective of my future; it is being written by my future self, my self as an old woman — an old geologist — an old geologist with a long memory. My long memory has mixed the past, present, and future into one package the way some geologic rock formations have been pushed, shoved, and squeezed — even sliced and diced — into stratigraphic or tectonic packages where every resulting contact between individual rock formations involves some kind of geologic activity: deposition, mountain building, erosion, folding, and faulting. Because of my geologic memory — my intricate, enduring memory — most of the things I’m writing about happened long ago when I was young and clambered over the rocks and hills freely and easily: like a mountain lion or coyote, like a desert fox. Now I’m a silver fox with the long memory of an elephant, the memory of an ancient mammoth.

Most geologists have long memories. We have to. It’s not just so we can retain enough brain cells to survive the beer, gin and tonic, and tequila sunrise nights that so often go with being a geologist, though it does help to have enough brain cells to begin with so enough will remain later. The long memories most geologists have are primarily concerned with knowing how to delve into what has been called Deep Time.

Most people think the past is gone — that it is not present, that it is not now. This now, however, becomes past before I can even say “now,” and so maybe there is no present. Whatever. What I know to be true, is that the past is not gone, at least not all of it. It’s preserved in the rocks and in the landforms of the earth. And the past will be written in future rocks and landforms that haven’t yet been born. That’s the thing about the past — or maybe that’s the thing about the “now,” or about time — it’s all present, right now, in the present. If you’ve got a long memory like I do, all of time is here now: all the time that was past, all the time that is now, all the time that will be future, and all the time that has been imagined or envisioned as future but has not yet, and maybe never will, come to pass (see Dark Side of the Moon).

Geologists routinely work with the long, well-written, though sometimes buried, obscured, offset, or even truncated memories of the earth. Geologists work with all of geologic time: past, present, and future. For example, because of my particular geologic knowledge and experience, I could write a book called Ore Deposits of the Near and Far Future, the way some geologists write about earthquakes or volcanic eruptions yet to come. Instead, I’m writing these field notes about that long ago past. I’m writing them because I dreamed of doing so one summer day in the early 1980’s while I was driving south on Nevada Highway 8A — south from The Frontier, a place that no longer exists, toward a cabin in Kingston Canyon, where I no longer live — driving on the longest north-south straight stretch of paved Nevada road, on a highway that no longer bears its original number. On that long-ago day I dreamed of this book, and so it has come to be: that long ago past is present now, just as this now was present then.

---

And that's the way I began back then, in the spring of 2001, in a fit of fancy.

Related Posts:
Why Highway 8A
Single Digit Highways
A Bit about License Plates
Highway 8A: The Cutoff from Cedarville to the Winnemucca-to-the-Sea Highway

Related Asides:
A Geologist's Field Book
Deep Time
Dark Side of the Moon
Wedge #15: Ore Deposits of the Future

A Geologist's Field Book

A geologist's field book is often a yellow or orange, bound or spiral book about 4⅝ by 7½ inches in size, with lined, columned, or gridded paper, often waterproof. The first thing a geologist writes in his or her field book on any given day is the date. The second thing a geologist writes is the place — town, mountain range, mining property, reconnaissance target, township and range (or UTM coordinates if you are using an up-to-date coordinate system), country, county, river, sampling area, name of the field trip you are on — whatever is the most relevant and identifying locality title or place name for that current subsection of your notes. The third thing a geologist usually writes (at least if you were taught back in the 1970’s or earlier) is the day’s overall weather.

Related Geoblogospheric Posts:
Tools of the Trade
Field notebook for the office
Stack of field notebooks
What to Buy a Geologist for Christmas

Links: On Field Geology

These selected field geology links from the geoblogosphere are listed roughly in chronological order, with a few related posts grouped together. There are numerous other posts about being in the field, doing field work, photos from the field, and reports on field trips scattered all over the geoblogosphere: don't get the idea that this list is by any means all inclusive!

The Accidental Geologist: Highly Allochthonous, Chris Rowan, Sep 2007

Testability: teaching conceptual models: All of My Faults are Stress-Related, Nov 2007
Testability in Earth Science: Highly Allochthonous, Nov 2007

Data, interpretations, and field work: All of My Faults are Stress-Related, Apr 2008
On Field Geology: christie at the cape, Apr 2008

toolkit: Short Geologist, Aug 2008

off-roading: Short Geologist, Oct 2008

hotel warrior: Short Geologist, Feb 2009
hotel amenities: Short Geologist, May 2009
hotel amenities 2: Short Geologist, May 2009
Field Vehicle Amenities: Green Gabbro, May 2009
Field Pack Amenities: Highly Allochthonous, Anne Jefferson, Jun 2009
the backpack: Short Geologist, Jun 2009
One Reason to Have a High-Clearance Vehicle: Looking for Detachment, Jun 2009

pocket problems: Short Geologist, Feb 2009
A geologist fully equipped for fieldwork: The Lost Geologist, Mar 2009
The Fully-Equipped Geology Student: Geotripper, Mar 2009
What-we-carry-around-in-the-field-meme: Johannes Lochman, Mar 2009
This is what (some) geologists look like: All of My Faults are Stress Related, Mar 2009
The Geologist: Fully Equipped for the Field: Looking for Detachment, Mar 2009
Fully Equipped Geologist: Hypo-theses, Mar 2009
In the field, "Geologists wear gray and khaki": Magma Cum Laude, Apr 2009

Where do geoscientists get their ideas? All of My Faults are Stress Related, Aug 2009

Two Years Ago Today: Things in My Truck: Looking for Detachment, Feb 2010
truck organization: Short Geologist, Mar 2010

Geology Field Work and Weather Monitoring: Reading the Washington Landscape, Nov 2010

The wonders of winter geology: Pore Space, Jan 2011

Fieldwork Friday series at Dinochick Blogs, spring and summer 2009
Gear label at Short Geologist (ongoing)
Friday Field Photo series at Clastic Detritus (ongoing)
Sunday Sands series at Through the Looking Glass (ongoing)

Rig Sitting in General

I've been in the field recently — in an unspecified location — and every now and then I think of things to write for the blog, or photos I could post, but it's often been either too windy — or sometimes too snowy, or too windy and too snowy at the same time — to write anything down. I am able to write field notes in my field book: field books don't blow away, and Rite in the Rain books don't run or get messy, especially if one uses a Rite in the Rain pen. In fact, it's been mostly too windy to work on the field-based cross sections I've started.

And why would I even have time for writing? Whether an in-field, drill-sitting geo has time for cross-sections, paperwork, mapping, air-photo mapping, report writing, or other writing depends on the setup of the drilling program. For some types of projects, the drillers don't fill little twisty-tie sample baggies for me, nor do they always make chip trays. When they do, I can examine the contents of the baggies filled with rocks, chips, or other material at some distance from the rig, or I can log the chip trays on the tailgate of my truck (or in the cab, not really preferred unless the weather is completely nasty : or in a core shack or office). There are some advantages to watching the drilling as it goes down (so to speak), especially on a smallish project or a project where one is still feeling out the sampling methods or drilling company. If I'm present, I can observe the drilling recovery first hand, for example, rather than relying on the driller's reports (daily logs).

Because of the logistics of the current project — which I won't describe — I'm unable to sit in the cab of my truck at some distance from the rig, away from the noise and diesel exhaust. Consequently, I'm wearing my PPE, which includes ear plugs, hard hat, and boots. Retreating from the rig to some distance is my preferred method of sitting a rig, if indeed a rig needs sitting. Not all rigs do. They generally need to be checked on now and again, and samples need to be picked up (by techs or geos), and occasional troubleshooting or budget watching is usually necessary — but those things don't always require full-time rig sitting.

Two Years Ago Today: Things in My Truck

Two years ago today, I was on my way to work one early and frozen morning, having the usual things in my truck: coffee mug with hot coffee in a nearly worn out turquoise "cool cup;" old bottle found somewhere in the field; plastic acid bottle with white lid; bright orange and yellow safety vest with multiple pockets; a "Life is Good" bag filled with miscellany including an extra fleece overshirt; a blue day pack, hidden behind the LIG bag; and brown winter jacket, long and warm for cold days. A roll of duct tape sits around the shift lever. An inverter lies part way under the seat, easy to reach from either side of the truck. Binoculars are in the glove box. A small ice chest carrying my lunch is on the floor below the glove box. Extra shoes and boots, a folding chair, a fire extinguisher, and a first aid kit all live behind the seat. My hand lens is probably dangling from the rear view mirror. There are untold, countless items in the back of the truck, enough things to camp with for a couple days if need be.
When I got home that night, two years ago today, I felt like fiddling around with colors and came up with these two versions of part of the early morning interior view.

The Geologist: Fully Equipped for the Field

No, I'm not going to add a picture here, although The Lost Geologist did; his picture details everything he carries when fully field ready. Maybe I'll add a photo of myself later, but right now my field gear is strewn all around my bedroom and all through the front and back of my truck. That's often what happens when I come in from the field. So I'll more or less follow checklists, which - for this impromptu geo-meme - can be found at Geotripper and Johannes Lochman. Update: I didn't see Kim's entry at All of My Faults are Stress Related when I wrote this. And now, Hypocentre has one up, also.

Hair: Mine is pulled back and up in a clip, and always completely hidden by a sunhat or baseball cap. I gave up on any kind of ponytail a long time ago.

Sunburned Peeling Nose: I generally avoid this one, with sunscreen rated 35 to 50, if at all possible. I already had way too much sun exposure when growing up in the baby-oil suntan lotion days.

Beard: Thankfully, none at all. It would look strange with my female body!

T-shirt and Logo: When wearing T-shirts instead of long-sleeve, sun-proof, breathable shirts (or winter gear and layers), my T-shirts are usually devoid of logos anymore and often have pockets. Pockets are so essential.

Vest: I wear a vest, often a beige Filson (or a bright orange one for hunting season), but more recently a larger, fluorescent orange safety vest, like this one.

Things in the Vest: For me, the vest is designed to carry almost everything that I carry, because I try to avoid having a backpack (only if sampling big time). The back vest pocket (or two), can carry as many as four or five 5-pound rock samples. The back pocket is also a handy place to put hand samples, the rock hammer, and clothing taken off when de-layering in cool-cold-rainy-snowy weather. That's also where I put my water bottle and sometimes my lunch. A few sample bags belong inside the back pocket.

Front inside pockets hold my Brunton compass, any safety papers I need in a plastic baggie, toilet paper in another baggie, any cheat sheets I think I need, extra map scales, my field book, GPS, sample book if needed, flagging, topofil thread and hip chain if needed, extra markers, extra GPS and digital camera batteries, and sunscreen.

Front outside pockets hold my acid bottle in its leather case, protein bars, and my digital camera (or does that go on the inside?). Because my acid bottle is in a pocket, my vest is sometimes adorned by duct tape where acid has eaten through the vest material. Acid bottle and sunscreen have to be kept away from any paper like maps and field book, and from batteries and food. Sunscreen and acid have to be kept away from GPS and digital camera, as does any water or other liquids.

Upper left pockets hold pens, pencils, a few colored pencils, a couple markers, and map scales. I'm currently putting my hand lens and magnet, which are on a nylon cord and are designed to hang from my neck, into the upper right pocket, but I may remove the velcro that closes that pocket - then I will be able to hang the lens and magnet from my neck, where they will rest in that de-velcroed pocket while hanging.

I've probably left a couple things out; one usually figures those things out after the first day or two.

Belt and Buckle: I wear a sturdy, nylon webbing belt, and try to avoid carrying anything on the belt, including hammer, acid bottle, or Brunton. Instead, the hammer is in my hand or in the large back pocket of my vest; the acid bottle is in one particular front vest pocket; and the Brunton is in some other particular front pocket. The only thing I attach is my pocket knife, which is tied to a belt loop by an extra boot lace. It's attached to me that way because I've left it behind after lunch way too many times.

Pockets: Keys, ear plugs, sun-proof chapstick, maybe some lysine ointment in case I develop sun-caused fever blisters, maybe my data stick if I've been to the office - these all go in the two front pockets, the keys in a zipped pocket if I have one. Any motel keycard I happen to have will be in a zipped pocket or in my truck with my wallet, well hidden. Sometimes my camera will fit into a front pocket. My cell phone goes in a zipped pocket on the side, down above the knees - or in the field vest in a zipped or velcroed pocket.

With all the pockets available on pants and vest, I have managed to take and carry several samples after running out of sample bags (or once when I forgot them). One has to be careful when sampling this way to make sure there is no contamination already present in the pockets (ha!), to label the samples somehow, and to get a large enough sample size. This method of sampling is not recommended, and is usually only good for a few, small samples.

Rock Hammer: As Geotripper mentioned, a rock hammer is useful for things besides whaling away at rocks and outcrops. For one thing, hammers are good for hammer-throwing contests. Many kinds of contests have been devised, and new ones can be invented if the old standard ones get boring. Be sure not to hit the back of one's head when winding up for a good hammer throw (this happened in one particular throwing contest that took place the western Mojave north of Tehachapi).

Hammers are also good for defending oneself: from rabid bobcats, for example, and from coyotes (I thought about it once when I looked up and three were staring at me from across a 20-foot-wide sand wash), and also from potentially bad-ass people, who are sometimes found in locations south of the Garlock Fault or anywhere in the vicinity of the Panamint Range.

I sometimes carry a 2.5 pound sledge hammer with a long wooden handle that doubles as a walking stick on steep sidehills. It's also good for aiding with balance.

Hands: I will carry my rock hammer, map case or large map board, and GPS. A map case will fit in the back Filson or vest pocket; a hammer will fit there, also. I look at my GPS almost constantly when mapping.

Legs: I'm with Johannes on this one. I have rarely worn shorts in the field - to avoid sun and scratchy or thorny bushes - so my legs are not tan, and they are hidden under pants. Are they muscular? Who knows?

Pants: These are the things that cover the legs, and which add pockets to the list of many pockets above. I wear loose cotton jeans with a carpenter or painter style for extra pockets - or, more recently, nylon pants with extra pockets. These are thin, light-colored pants which can double as exterior winter pants to keep out rain or snow when used with long johns for warmth. If it's too cold, overpants and lined pants are required, sometimes diminishing the number of available pockets. But winter is a special case where staying warm trumps number of pockets or how much one can carry.

Shoelaces: These are indeed sometimes knotted to preserve their useful life, and also because I can never remember what length to buy.

Socks: It's nice if one's socks match the rest of one's outfit, but if not wearing shorts, matching becomes non-critical. Sometimes thin under socks are required.

Boots: Recently, my best (most comfortable) pair of field boots has been an ugly black pair, a composite safety toe variety, with pseudo-Vibram soles.

Ironclad Bladders: "For 300 mile drives to geologic localities without stops," per Geotripper. I have met a few geologists with "itty-bitty-bladders" who were always needing stops out in the middle of nowhere, where the largest cover is the truck. Thus developed a long-standing rule: men use the front of the truck, women use the back, and everyone has to get out of the truck or van and go to their places. That's so all men are in front of all truck mirrors. I have met a few men who would prefer that I walk miles to find cover rather than them get in front of the truck while I use the back of the truck as a potty - but these men have, thankfully, been rare, and I never listen to them. It can seem a little uncomfortable ordering one's boss to the front of the truck, but - hey, you do what you gotta do!

Another characteristic is required for one's bladder in desert or other non-cover areas: speed. Speed is needed when the only place to stop is the side of a straight stretch of dirt or paved road. Exceptional speed is needed when the road curves and you can't see around the curve.

Brunton Compass: Yes - see above. These can be used on rare occasions for signaling to wayward helicopters, but don't expect them to see you. These can also be used for checking into mine adits to see how far into the hill they go.

Eyes: Sunglasses are often worn; ones that change from light to dark can be useful. Always be on the look out for - everything.

Brain: "Dehydrated, half-baked, freeze-dried, poisoned, but always plotting the next trip," also per Geotripper. Indeed. And sometimes thermally altered by too much sun or too much beer.

Hat: Worn to protect said brain - see "Hair" above.

Backpack: When I carry a backpack, in addition to all of the above things, I will for sure have an emergency kit including snake-bite kit, more water, toilet paper, lunch stuff, lots of extra sample bags, moleskin, extra glasses, and waterproof matches wrapped in ziplock baggies.

My backpack often has other miscellany leftover from hiking trips; I don't always know what these things are or when I decided they were useful. For example, spare change for phones and dollars for cabs are rarely needed. Whereas I have seen pay phones in the middle of nowhere, these are getting rarer and rarer: a phone booth once located near Cima Dome, CA, was taken out in 2000 because it became too popular in the 1990's. Another in-the-middle-of-nowhere pay phone still exists, as far as I know, to the east. I used this other pay phone as early as 1983, before Cima Dome became popular and inspired a movie.

As far as cabs go (ha!), I have seen them deliver people down miles of terrible dirt roads to places as far away from a city as The Pyramid on the east side of Pyramid Lake; however, if you need a cab when already out in the middle of nowhere because your truck broke down or because your field partner forgot to meet you at the end of the day, one will rarely drive by on whatever dirt road or sand wash you happen to be stuck in. In fact, I've never seen a random cab go by anywhere out there.

The Short Geologist at Accidental Remediation has numerous posts relating to field gear of all kinds, including clothing and tools for your field vehicle.

What I Do: Previous Post Links Version (PPLV)

This post is another attempt to show what I do, again, partly in response to Phizzle Dizzle's question, WTF do you do? What I've done here, is to link to already created posts that address this question at least in some way. This also organizes some of my posts in a format useful for me and maybe for others.

• Field work: Field Camp.
• Field work: Finding a thesis area, part 1.
• Field work: A bit on helicopter work.
• Field work: A few rules of the desert.
• Field work: Getting stuck and unstuck in mud.
• Field work: A bit about field schedules.
• Field work: An old field camp and a bit on people.
• Field work: A 'lost' gold mine.


• Geology Tools: My first Brunton compass.
• Geology Tools: At work and in the truck.
• Geology Tools: Just standing around.


• Exploration: Is this mineral a guide to gold?
• Exploration: How to find gold in Alaska - ha!
• Exploration: The people and the companies.


• Drilling: Some old drill sites.
• Drilling: A little bit on getting drill sites ready.
• Drilling: More on getting drill sites ready.
• Drilling: Logging rotary cuttings or chips.
• Drilling: A stuck rig.
• Drilling in winter 1: Too much snow.
• Drilling in winter 2: Very cold.


• Close encounters 1: Two mountain lions.
• Close encounters 2: One snake.
  

Boots #1: Just Standin' Around

Well, I didn't have that much to write about (actually I have tons of things to write about, and tons of things to do), so I thought I'd just post a few pictures of geo-types standing around out in the field in their favorite footwear (oh, maybe that should be a friday footwear foto thingy). Mostly these are field boots or hiking boots, but some are tennies or lightweight hiking boots. As you can see, the geos are all standing on outcrops, which is one place geo-types like to be. The outcrops, all in Nevada of all places, are of 1) silicified rock, 2) unknown rock, 3) oxidized rock, 4) white tuff.

Line and Azimuth

Every now and then, I go out to the drill site and "line out" a drill hole or two, which means that I mark lines on the ground to show the drillers which way to orient their rig when they are drilling an angle hole. Large, oil-type rigs don't require this sort of thing; I think they have built in directional devices.

There are several ways to line up a drill rig up on an azimuth. (Ya have to know which way to aim the rig unless you're just a random sort of geologist.) One way is to be there, Brunton in hand, sighting on some part of the rig as they line up in the general orientation of your chosen azimuth, which you perhaps mark simply by standing where you want them to point. Then you wave: a little to the right, a little to the left - it's a slow and clumsy way of doing things, IMO. Be sure to stand as far away from the rig as possible so your compass won't get pulled by that vast amount of metal known as the drill rig.

Another way involves biodegradable marking paint - often a fluorescent orange color - which will spray a line on the ground while you hold it upside down.

Humboldt Range with the south Florida Canyon area on the far left, looking northeast from I-80

The first time I was introduced to this kind of spray paint was several years ago while working outside the Florida Canyon Mine area in western Nevada [the ownership of Florida Canyon Mine is sometimes in flux, so some of these links may not remain current].

Area of drilling interest south of Florida Canyon, as seen looking east from I-80.

Instead of just using flagging tied to trees or bushes to mark the way to the next drill site, it can be convenient to spray paint LARGE arrows on the ground for the drillers to follow. It still can be a good idea to either show them the site first or to check up on them during their rig-up phase to make sure they are drilling the right site, but if signals are worked out in advance, that can become unnecessary.

As far as lining a drill rig up on an azimuth to drill an angle hole, another way is to draw a nice and tidy line on the ground with the above-mentioned spray paint. Because the paint is biodegradable, you can't do this too far in advance of moving the drill rig to the chosen site, especially if the monsoon is in town or if you happen to be expecting a snow storm or ground blizzard. Either one of these circumstances might require a modification of the spray paint method by the addition of using stakes along the laid-out line.

Stand at the location of the drill collar - where you expect them to drill - or just a little to the right or left of that. Mark the ground (with paint) where you are standing or put a painted stake in the ground. Move down azimuth in the opposite direction. That is, if the azimuth is 180 and you expect them to angle due south, move to the north. They will have to line the rig up in front of the drill collar, and so your line will have to run from the drill collar to the north. After making sure you aren't too close to large metallic objects such as pickup trucks, water trucks, drill pipe, or drill rigs, take a bearing on the stake or spot on the ground until you have lined up at the perfect azimuth. Then mark that spot on the ground or with another stake. Two or three spots farther and farther away from the original one are ideal for making the perfect bearing line, but two can do if you have a tolerance of a degree or so. Then, somehow, make a perfect line between your points using the spray paint.

One way to make a perfect line is to take some rope or string and tie it between the two end points, pull it taught, and paint the rope or string, along with the ground at the same time. Topofil string is ideal for this because it was designed for surveying purposes - it's lightweight, stretches so you can pull it tight even in a wind, and its also biodegradable. Wrap it around the stake at both ends of the line, around the stake and a rock you place on the ground, or around two rocks placed at both ends of the proposed line. Then, carefully paint the string, forming a line similar to the one seen below.After that, have the drill rig move on to the site and let them line up with their tires on your painted line, or with their tires at some equal distance from the line. If you want, you can be present while they do this. If they are good at lining up, you might not need to be there.

My First Geology Tool

I'm finally getting back to the first Brunton I ever used, an old K+E given to my dad by my mom when he graduated from college with his geology degree.

Brunton on eastward-dipping Cambrian-Precambrian Prospect Mountain Quartzite (or possibly it's part of the Precambrian McCoy Creek Group).

Case for said Brunton sitting on the same outcrop. Coconino, what do you think - Prospect Mountain Quartzite? Anyone else have an opinion?

The same Brunton resting parallel to lineations in mylonitic quartzite within 100 feet of the previous outcrop.

A more photogenic picture of the same Brunton sitting on a nearby quartzite outcrop.

Location of the last two outcrop photos, on the whitish eastward-dipping quartzite seen in the foreground, with Wheeler Peak in the background.

Days Off Are Here!

It's been a long work week - that is, more than ten days, less than twenty. Yesterday was my last day at work for this shift, and now I'm on days off, and I'm lucky enough to be off for the 4th of July this year. MOH will be starting his days off soon, so our days will totally overlap this time.

It's early summer here, or at least it's acting like it with blue, cirrus-filled skies in the morning and mid-day, which sometimes give way in the afternoon to thunder-poppers. Winds will sometimes pick up a bit in the afternoon, but overall not that much. The monsoon has yet to move in on a regular basis. Temps in the valleys are reaching the mid to high 80's, and it has been difficult to really cool our little house down at night using our tiny window AC. If it's cool enough outside, I'll leave the bedroom window open a crack, but sometimes it's too warm for that.

Sounds of summer, so far this year, are a nearby church bell that chimes the quarter hours, and the local historical train giving touristy train rides. The train excursions increase during the summer.

Any visitors [link not currently available] from colder climates are encouraged to bring T-shirts, a couple long shirts, and a jacket or sweatshirt in case it suddenly goes cold on us. This is Nevada, after all.

When I leave my little office for days off, I clean the dust and any loose rock chips off the desk, and put all my logging and geology tools in order. These tools include spray water bottles, an acid bottle, a coffee cup, a couple magnets, and various scratching devices for testing mineral hardness. Also, a streak plate is handy to have at hand.

Nearby, I have my rock color chart, a mineral percent estimating chart or two, a sand grain sizing gauge with pasted-on sand particles, and a pocket knife. All kinds of miscellaneous other things are lying around here or there, some buried in plastic boxes, others under piles of paper or journal articles: color pencils, marking pens of various sizes, extra flagging of a couple different colors, extra sunscreen in case I run out, a pocket stereo viewer that I rarely use, extra boots, extra vests, extra hats, extra field books, extra, extra, extra... And some old, stale Swisher Sweets, which I really should throw away: they're probably awful by now, and I haven't had any desire for a (good or bad) cigar in a couple years.

The back of my truck, now, that's another story. It's organized and disorganized, depending on where or how deep you look. Where I should have the requisite 5 gallons of water per my own desert rules, I've got a bunch of rocks - can you imagine that? And that's in the back of the truck. I've also got rocks under both sides of the front seat, and one rock hammer under the driver's side, and another rock hammer under the passenger's side. The rock hammers belong in the back, unless I'm getting in and out of the truck a lot. The rocks belong outside the truck. Most of them are so old that I'm not sure I will be able to tell where they are from, although several have numbers on them, numbers that no longer mean a thing to me.

I used to be much better with organization, with labeling rocks and keeping them in places where I might actually look at them again. Oh, well.