The Badlands

There was a time not so long ago when I would rise up early and go to the land surveying office to teach a class in Basic Surveying Computations. The survey crews gathered at eight in the morning to assemble gear and head for the field.  About forty people in six crews, mostly low pay workers who pounded stakes, pulled chain, held rod, or flagged traffic.  If one of them showed promise, he or she could become note-taker.  But the six crew chiefs reigned over them and made the big money.  They did all the calculations and turned all the angles with theodolites. 

I arrived at seven, so that anyone could learn to calculate like a crew chief.  They did so on their own time and my own time.  It was not part of my job. 

All this was before computers eliminated the need to know trigonometry, traverse closure, corrections for the earth’s curvature and for the atmosphere’s refraction.  Computations were done with handheld calculators which contained the trigonometric functions to eight decimal places, a big improvement from the books I used to use.

Reward came, not in money, but in thanks from a few who made the effort, learned, and were thereby closer to promotion.  But reward was not the goal, reciprocity was, and still is.  I have received so much from the world—its people, its plants, animals, and rocks—that a little sacrifice feels appropriate.

Beware the Jabberwock

Today I give you the Badlands of Death Valley, a name having two dismal-sounding words.  To the credit of the stewards of this low and hot place, hiking trails extend into the worst parts of the national park along with the best.  I hiked some of them and bring you pictures for your adjudication on the badness and deathness of this place.