One component of our climate change research is detecting changes in flow and timing of snowmelt pulses in the river.  Across the West, the timing of peak stream flow in snowmelt-driven rivers is occurring earlier and earlier into the spring and appears to be correlated with rising temperatures.  What’s left to discern is whether this change is due to natural variability or human actions.  So, when word came through that a snowmelt surge was imminent in the San Joaquin we called in a crew from Yosemite to help us quantify the pulse.  Their machine utilizes acoustic doppler  to map the profile of the river bottom and also measures the velocity of individual water molecules to calculate discharge.

What sounds like a technical or challenging task in this job, however, is ultimately another opportunity to enjoy being outdoors:

I was also thrilled to operate a piece of equipment that comes with a $30,000 price tag:

Of course, rivers aren’t just meant to be studied.  They’re meant to be enjoyed during sweltering, all day bike rides through the mountains:

And the bike riding has been exceptional lately, as evidenced by the smiles:

and the destinations of rides lately:

But, back to the San Joaquin valley.  The cool thing about my new home, I’ve discovered, is all the stories that are written in the rock, waiting for someone to come along and read them.  There are stories of lava rivers flowing down valley, mountains rising and eroding, magma chambers building below the earth, and of glaciers advancing and retreating.  It’s all basically introductory geology subject material but when you see the products of those events right in front of you it quickly captures your imagination.

Some of my more recent encounters with these clues of the geologic past include this glacial erratic, carried miles away from where it originated and plopped down amongst foreign rock when the glacier melted:

and clutching this chunk of granite that began its life as a swirling, molten pool of magma that formed miles below the Earth’s surface:

Essentially, wherever you go the eastern Sierra has stories to tell and I’m definitely not done reading them.

I’ve recently been introduced to the eastern Sierra’s little Switzerland, which is now one of my favorite after work hangouts:

I was also introduced to a surprisingly well-organized and cold-resistant group of triathletes practicing for the upcoming June Lake Triathlon which I’ll be taking part in on July 10th:

Returning home from various adventures I’m always greeted by the famed minarets, which inspire adventures all on their own:

Attention recently turned to the mid-week opening of the park.  Usually, the road leading into the valley has long since opened by this point in June but this year’s snow has persisted longer than any year in recent memory, keeping would-be visitors continuously pulling u-turns at the front gate.

Fortunately the business of opening the park doesn’t concern our work group too much and we were able to continue focusing on our research.  A heavy schedule of field work, however, doesn’t keep the crew from having a bit of fun on our backyard crag after hours:

The view of the sunset over the Ritter Range hanging from the top of the route was yet another reminder of why I moved out here:

Even though our crew is often outside in the field all day, our superb surroundings usually convince us to trade in dinner for some form of weeknight adventure before the sun sets on the Sierra. Eating becomes an afterthought and is usually a group effort, concocted in moments of great hunger around 10pm, and devoured around a campfire.

On the bike riding front, this last week saw the return to the eastern Sierra of a favorite riding buddy after the conclusion of travels elsewhere in California.   Let’s just say we haven’t wasted any time finding the good trails:

and have put the legs to good use:

Look for more updates soon. Until then, enjoy the view of my valley:

Aside from the usual trainings and meetings typical of the first week on any new job, I became acquainted with our various research projects and am really impressed by my coworkers.  Over the summer we’ll be working to characterize the cold air pool that forms in the San Joaquin Valley most nights and consider the effects this might have on the local flora and fauna in a Sierra Nevada that is projected to become warmer and dryer over the next several decades.  The work required for the project I’ll discuss in detail later in the summer but for now I can tell you it’ll require long days hiking to ridge tops and scaling Lodgepole pine and Red fir trees to install temperature loggers.  All of our work will take place with this backdrop…

Between work hours I’ve endeavored to get outside as much as possible and do what I love best.  In fact just this morning I met up with a friend from Bishop in order to tackle the road from Crowley to Waterson Divide.  Around here it’s not hard to have one of the best bike rides of your life every time you throw your leg over the top tube.  Pedaling back toward Mammoth with eyes on the horizon is enough inspiration to carry you through an entire summer of riding bikes…

Overall I’ve found the Mammoth folk to be a welcoming and relaxed bunch.  I took in a bluegrass show on the shores of Mono Lake and we had a big pizza party last night with the various park rangers, researchers and interpretive staff where among other things I discovered that everyone here has a hidden talent or two.  Like fire twirling…

Wish I could write more but I’ve got to rush off now to June Lake to take a swim.  Write soon.

My new home lies in a breathtaking and unique landscape.  It is, without doubt, a place of extremes, with the highest point in the contiguous United States and the lowest point in North America.  It is frequently one of the hottest or coldest places, depending on season, one can find in the Golden State.  But it’s also a rejuvenating and relaxing place to find yourself thanks to countless hotsprings, a scarcity of traffic jams and urban noise, and an abundance of people who’ve wizened to the way of a slower life.

To characterize the uniqueness of the Eastside, by necessity, you must begin with its geography.  One of the more comprehensive accounts of this geography comes from Verna Johnston, author of Sierra Nevada: A Naturalist’s Companion.

An excerpt from her appropriately titled chapter, In the Rain Shadow:

“The winds that carry Pacific Ocean moisture to the Sierra Nevada drop most of it on the upper ponderosa pine-red fir forests of the western slope.  What is left whitens the summits, leaving only a token for the east side.  The lower eastern slope is consequently arid, its foothills and valleys merging inseparably into the Great Basin desert that stretches nearly a thousand miles across eastern California, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, and Wyoming to the Rocky Mountains.

This high desert, varying from 4,000 feet to 6,000 feet at its Sierran border, hot in summer, cold in winter, is a wide-open land from which you can look up much of the year to nearby snow-covered peaks and, eastward, to tawny rounded mountains.  Dominating the rolling expanse of space and clear dry air is the low sagebrush scrub plant community.  Composed of several species of silvery-green sagebrush, grasses, allied shrubs, and wildflowers in season, it clothes the Sierra’s eastern flank for most of its four-hundred-mile length.  In the deep, pervious soils, big sagebrush, the largest form, reaches heights of seven feet or more.  All the way to 9,500 feet or higher, this tough, aromatic shrub carries the imprint of the desert up the eastern slope, crossing over in places onto the west side of the range.

As the raven flies it, this valley-to-mountaintop distance is not very far.  For the eastern escarpment is so steep in its southern section around Mount Whitney that there is a two-mile, almost vertical drop from alpine meadows to desert flats.  It is this proximity of desert valleys and snow-capped peaks, with all the variety of plant and animal life packed between them in the short distance, that gives the eastern Sierra its uniqueness.

The eastern slope, with a gradient in places ten times as steep as the western gradient, compresses into approximately six miles plant communities whose counterparts may spread out over sixty miles on the west.  This makes the east-side zonation much more compact and less distinct.  Plant communities sometimes jam together, or are missing altogether.  Variations in local topography, moisture, exposure, temperature, slope, and history determine the actual configuration.

The rivers that cascade down the east-side canyons, following paths once filled by glaciers, have cut through glacial moraines at nearly every bottom.  Side roads now wind alongside many an old glacial path, each approach distinct from the others as it leads across the mountain’s sagebrush shoulder into the foothills and forests above.  From road’s end trails zigzag upward to lakes lying in minaret-rimmed basins, to green meadows, snow-filled cirques, and jagged peaks of the high country.”

There are few places that have captured my imagination the way the Eastside has.  From the moment I set foot in its desert sagebrush and alpine streams I had a hunch I’d call it home at some point down the road.  Turns out that point is now.  Adding to the excitement of living “In the Rain Shadow” is the fact that I was fortunate enough to land a new job doing climate change research in one of the most wondrous corners of the eastern Sierra Nevada, in a park known for its unique geology.  Needless to say, I’m thrilled for the summer ahead.

The entries found here will detail my adventures on the Eastside and hopefully shed some light on what it is that gets me really excited about this place. I do have some theories.

Is it the epic bike rides (and I do mean epic):

the calm of the desert:

the temperature of the hotsprings:

the people:

the grandeur of the mountains:

the sunsets:

or the coffee:

We’ll find out soon enough.

Please comment if you feel so inclined.  It’ll be a great way to stay in touch with those of you holding down forts elsewhere. Comments such as “Great pics!”, “That backpacking trip looked great, where is that trail?” and “This post totally sucked, don’t quit your day job” are all appreciated.  And if you’re in the area, give me a ring.  We’ll go climb some mountains together.