Some people who have worked with me in the field or heard stories about fieldwork or my travel adventures know that I have a strange complex that’s become known as “Classic Steph.” It boils down to this notion that I’m not being tough or strong enough or that there’s more I can do. Its other form is that I’ve let the adventure of travel take control of the situation rather than following the “plan” I’d made.

A few examples:

(1) On year 2 at the Tutakoke brant camp, I worked on the north side of the river, so I boated across the river with Thomas (PhD student in charge) pretty much every day. Unless he wanted to leave me over there and have me shout across the river to camp for a pick-up, we needed to walk back to the boat together after we finished our nest checks. Thomas was nearly always ready to be done before me, which is why he’d have to come tell me to stop searching for more nests. And as I understand it, that’s part of why I got the nickname “Mad Dog.”

(2) The story of how I ended up at Mavora Lakes and my midnight hike along the lakeshore

(3) Earlier this season I spent 45 minutes trying to resight least auklet bands in mist, wind, and rain before finally convincing myself it was okay to abandon my post since I couldn’t effectively use my binoculars anyway.

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Today I smiled to myself when I heard a fellow field tech use the phrase as we were briefly chatting on top of High Bluffs. Those cliffs are about 1000 feet high, and they are essentially the home of fog on St. George. By the way, St. George is the home of wet fog, dry fog, windy fog, sunny fog, and sometimes no fog. What’s not to love?

Working in the fog isn’t very practical or easy, since our work entails looking through binoculars and spotting scopes at ledgenesting kittiwakes and murres to see if they’re sitting on eggs, chicks, or nothing. However, we want to catch hatch dates if possible, so sometimes we just have to test how thick the fog is and hope it will thin or clear. Since my murres seemed to be starting their peak hatch period a few days ago, I was itching to get back up to see how many new chicks would be present in my plots. Yet at the same time I wasn’t dying to struggle to see through the fog and rain.

Today Jason headed out the door on 3 different occasions thinking High Bluffs looked clear enough, but he returned before hitting the trail each time. I even backed my ATV out of the garage and into a rain cloud that hadn’t been there 5 minutes earlier, so I changed gears and drove back inside. Seriously, this island cracks me up.

When I stuck my head outside at 1500 and saw a clear First Bluffs and maybe 75% clear High Bluffs, I said to Jason, “I’m going for it.” I zipped down the road on my ATV, parked, picked a podcast to listen to for the ~ 45 minute hike, and hit the trail. Before I’d traveled 200 feet, I saw the fog line descending and felt the familiar misty rain. Of course.

But I didn’t care. I wanted to see those birds, and one of my plots generally didn’t have bad fog. So I carried on down the trail toward High Bluffs as I watched the fog take the bluffs from view. I knew Jason was planning on following me up, but I had a feeling he’d wait for the rain to stop since he has fewer birds to check up there and therefore needs less time.

By 1600 I was settled at my cliff edge observation point in my full Helly Hanson raingear, binoculars hidden inside for protection from raindrops. After a little while I was slightly surprised to notice Jason at his plot. Eventually he came over and said with a smile, “Classic Steph, dragging me up here in the rain.”

In my defense, it did kind of clear up in patches, and the mist wasn’t constant. Plus, we were both able to get our work done without too much of a hassle. I had a great evening!

Although having a grand view down to the water and across the island is fantastic (and very rare), I love the eerie atmosphere fog creates up there. Poppies in the grass glow like fluorescent markers, and foxes in their dens make the ground “woof.” Aside from the millions of birds on the hidden cliffs, I often feel like I’m the only one in my cloudy little world.