Around the reservoir in two ways

I had deserved some fresh air. On Saturday I had worked almost a full day. The evening was for the shameless debauchery with the assorted human geographers cum suis. And when I woke up on the Sunday, all early and fresh, I was quite pleased with myself. A day of hard work and something that easily could have turned into heavy drinking, and the next day left intact! And after a Saturday like that I deserved to not work, and I craved some exercise and fresh air.

On Sunday Neil routinely runs that ludicrous distance of twice around Burrator reservoir, and I figured I had managed to keep my alcoholic intake limited to such an extent I could give it a try. The last time, though, my knee had been somewhat less amused, which had lead to me going up and down the stairs to the lab like an old woman on Monday morning, so I didn't know if it would count as wise to do the entire distance again. Neil, however, had been running around that water body about a hundred times during the week, and his knees had started to protest as well, so he might only do one round as well.

We started running. It was another beautiful day. But after half the distance I could feel the knee again. Being on a bit of a wisdom trip I decided to chicken out after one round. Neil didn't, of course, so he just stopped running for long enough to say bye, and then he vanished again in a cloud of dust. I changed into my hiking boots, got my backpack, and went for another round; this time one that's not so detrimental for the knees. I walked up Sheepstor, which so far had been serving as a scenic backdrop for our runs, but which I would now submit it to closer scrutiny.

My knee seemed to much prefer this activity. And it was a beautiful day! And you can walk a large loop around the reservoir that has much to offer. I did notice I had not stopped a meter too early, though; some downhill stretches were a bit of a challenge. But I got back to the car, properly refreshed! It had been a nice Sunday afternoon. Sometimes being above ground in your spare time actually is fairly enjoyable...

Booze cupboard

The first thing that happened after the Norway fieldwork was that Federico, one of our new lecturers, invited me over for an evening of gin and tonics. An excellent welcome!  And I figured by now the time had come to reciprocate. So I invited those who had been present there, being Federico, his wife Ella, and Jon, over for a night of emptying my drinks cupboard, which had been experiencing accommodation problems for a while.

Jon happens to be social velcro and rarely appears alone, so he had announced to bring his trusted companion John. And when I was telephonically flagging him in (none of my guests managed to find my house in one go; that’s what you get when you invite social scientists) there were three shapes staggering up my garden path. The third shape turned out to belong to a German collaborator of Jon’s, who had been paying a professional visit, and had another night to kill before flying back. Or flying somewhere random. This meant the food was not as plentiful as I had intended it to be, but the internationality of the company was. With a German Brit, a Luxemburg German, a Chinese American, a British Italian, a germanophone Brit, and me, it was a nicely varied bunch.

What I had been slightly afraid of indeed happened: all these people were either very polite, or very afraid there wouldn’t be enough alcohol, so while they were invited for making room in the drinks cupboard they brought in a bottle of Plymouth Gin, a bottle of grappa and a bottle of menta, and an unknown quantity of beer. As a tasting session it was quite a success!

The melee of the evening also allowed for all sorts of intercultural talk. And language discussions. I even learned some English! Though I might not want to repeat what I learned on the blog. But at some point Ella was yawning, and John was falling asleep in all sorts of uncomfortable poses, so it was time to do the British thing and call cabs to get all these people home. And I probably have to do this again! My drinks cupboard is overflowing. Next time I should only invite people who promise not to bring anything themselves...

The devastation afterwards

How long will this last?

Dutch politics have their quirks. It wouldn't surprise me if we're the laughing stock of Europe. And we've done it again. In June we had elections, and the liberals, labour and Wilder's extreme right wing party won. Now four months later we have a coalition. Of which parties? The liberals, labour and Wilder's extreme right wing party? No, of course not, that would make sense. So what do we have? The liberals, the christians and Wilder's extreme right wing party. Of course. The christians heavily lost in the elections. And they should know better than to form a coalition with Wilders, in my eyes. But here we are.

How long would this coalition last? I give it six months. The christians hardly support this construction themselves. Anything can disturb this fragile balance. Oh well. If we have to go back to the polling station in a while we either get a better coalition, or something that's so strange it will be most memorable. I'll keep my fingers crossed!

Copyright BBC

Small cave enjoyed extensively

This week we would do a small cave. And we were already on our way when we realised how small it would be! Half of it requires a rope or a ladder. And Dave would bring these, but his workload at the moment is enough to drive anyone mad, so it was miraculous enough he made it to the cave, but he had forgotten the kit. So that would restrict us even more. But would that mean we would not have fun underground? Of course not!

We crawled in, and spread out. Richard had soon found the part where you need ropes and gadgets and the likes, and had a try at how far one can go without these. Coming back down proved a bit of a challenge, and we had something to do because of it; Lionel provided guidance, and sent me up and down the slope bringing unnecessary karabiners and carrying Richards bag. The Daves below offered verbal support from a distance.

And beside Richards scurrying around, we also observed creatures with equally long legs, but more of these, negotiating the rocks. And they were willing to pose!

After that I explored a crawl somewhere. I reported a dead end, but Lionel thought it was hilarious to assure me the passage continued. And I didn't buy that, but Lionel took his words further, and started clearing out some rubble in order to assess if that passage indeed could lead somewhere, provided one made some effort. It looked like it could do so...

Richard then scared everybody by pursuing another high road, while Lionel took a low road which proved more interesting. Within no time all three of us were down there, upon which Richard figured out there was a narrow gap that snakes could pass through, and end up back at the Daves. So he did! And I tried it too. And managed. Lionel saw me struggle and doubted if he could follow, but he made a brave attempt anyway.

Lionel in a narrow gap. Picture taken vertically down.

By the time he gave up he was faced with the challenge of coming back out the way he had come. He eventually did, of course, which cleared the way for Richard the Tireless who wanted to try it in the other direction as well; he found out the hard way that rock faces can actually perform "wedgies" on people. He needed a few minutes to recover from that, mentioning some involuntary amputations. We have faith all parts of Richard made it out of the cave, though.

We felt we really had enjoyed this cavern to the max when we walked back to the cars. Climbing, digging, squeezing, wildlife observing: check! And now we were even in for a bonus: Mike and Jenny would be waiting for us in the pub. They had not wanted to come out with us, but Mike was needed for maintenance on Dave's light. And a cool pint brought this evening to a rather splendid end!

Nitpicking for diehards

Think of someone who spends their working life bent over very small objects! Who rummages around in very small containers. Whose eyes are focussed on the smallest of entities. Are you thinking of a micropalaeontologist now? If so: makes sense! If not: what WERE you thinking of? Not of a tephrochronologist, by any chance?

I just found out today it gets much more nitpickier than what I am used to. And I am used to quite something. My work tends to be based on thousands and thousands of thingies about one quarter of a millimetre in size. But today things got beyond that level. I ended up sieving samples for tephrochronology.

The sieves I use for sieving my samples for foraminifera analysis

Tephrochronology boils down to the use of volcanic ash (tephra) layers for the dating of sediments. One of my field sites is on Iceland, so there’s ash galore. And now I’m specifically trying to find the ash from one specific eruption, to provide a dating point in my stratigraphy. So I took peat samples, burnt them down, and then tried to separate the volcanic ash from the organic ash (the peat I had just burnt) by sieving over a 25 μm mesh. 25 μm! And the sieves (I used a 63 μm sieve as well, to get rid of “large” particles) were so cute! I suddenly feel like micropalaeontology is for big, muscular, coarse brutes. Man, these tephra people must have some patience! And some fine motoric skills...

The sieves I now use for sieving out tephra

Running taken further

“I didn’t know you ran!” “That’s because I didn’t!”

The desire to get some exercise seems to overcome more people. Last Friday I had lunch with Neil. A rare chance to catch up with a busy lawyer. And to my surprise he mentioned actually having time for running. Running? Neil running? That’s new. But then again, I came up with the reciprocal confession. And one thing leads to another: Neil would run around Burrator Reservoir on Sunday. Twice. And we decided I’d give it a go and join.

Underneath a scenic leaden sky a familiar car punctually pulled into the car park, and out came the newest version of Neil. Soon it would be evident the days were over that when a caving trip would include an uphill walk I would be mocking unfit lawyers. I doodled around while Neil did a warming up (I’m not good at such responsible things) and then we were off. And at what speed!

My faithful car on the parking lot where we started. Still with the Virtuous Lady roofrack on top!

The speed was one thing. Then the road was flooded. Suddenly I realised I had forgotten to bring dry socks. But what can one do. I just kept on running.

After a while it became clear Neil was more the impulsive than even type of runner. That mad speed of the beginning faded, but came back at unexpected moments. But I managed to keep up. At some point Neil asked what the longest distance was I had ever run. My mind raced back decades. I couldn’t think of anything further than Baarn-Hilversum, back in the days! And that’s 10 km. “This will be more” was the response. Blimey! Would I really outrun myself of half my present age?

I'm not much of a photographer while running

This time I had brought my camera. I’m not going around an entire reservoir without a camera. And during several runs with Ferret I had regretted not bringing it. We tend to run in Plymouth, but sometimes you run underneath such amazing pink evening skies it screams for documentation. This time I’d be prepared! And I can’t keep my hand steady while running, but Neil can.

Before I knew it we left the road to struggle up a water-logged dirt track. Almost halfway! I sneaked a sip of water out of a bottle in the boot of my car and on we were again. I felt confident doing the next half. And on we went, again through the flooded bits, past all the dog-walkers, past Sheepstor, over the old mossy bridges, and what have you.

 Again, before I knew it the dirt track popped up from behind a bend. Neil charged up like a bull. I was starting to feel the 135%  personal record, and followed at a saner pace. But I made it! I actually have outrun my 17-year old self. And that 17-year-old biked 30 km per day. Now I’m glad to make 3.

I personally think we look remarkably fresh for people who have just run ~13.5 km

We took a victory picture, and did some stretching and additional exercise (that is, Neil did), and did a cool down walk. Lastly, Neil did his Neil thing and enthusiastically pulled all sorts of things to show out of his car, even the CD he was looking for (he got me listening to Iggy Pop), and then we were off! And home I would realise how hungry this had made me. Dinner was followed by a proper after-dinner-dip until the first nutrients reached my blood stream. And the wet socks had resulted in a blister. But it was good! He does this every week. Who knows, I might join again next time...

It even ended in the sun!

From trousers to cats

After rescue training I noticed my phone wasn't in my trouser pocket anymore. Nothing new; it tends to slide out and end up in my bag or in my shoe or somewhere like that. I just went home, confident I would find it somewhere. But didn't.
I had a bit of a flashback to the day I lost my camera in comparable circumstances. I was afraid it may be lying in the woods, but it was found under Dave's car seat. So I was a modern woman, and placed a request to Dave on Facebook, asking him if he would phone me. If his car would start ringing the search would be over. And it did!
So I jumped onto my bike to go and get it. I arrived somewhat wet, and Dave invited me to come in and sit down for a bit. And that allowed me to admire his two cats I hadn't met before. They were oriental shorthairs. Never come across the likes of these. Beautiful big-nosed creatures with amazing voices! This way I'll never learn to keep my stuff in my trousers...