The Door Swings Both Ways

We put together a barbeque for a select group of guests because, really, we had no choice. Honestly though, it was a nice way to spend some time with people who had shown us around various museums, taught us total stations, and the like over the course of the week, presumably Norm's whole reason for the barbeque. As it turns out I have mediocre skills at garlic bread. A non-skill, to be sure, as it doesn't take a lot of effort to make some garlic butter and butter some bread and grill some bread. But perhaps this puts me slightly ahead of a monkey in cooking skills?

I spent time chatting with Keni, a student from the Anth 144 field school, that will be working at Canyon City for a couple of weeks (the Anth 144 class was included on the invite class as we learned--or at least attempted to learn-- total stations with them and will get to see their site Monday). As it turns out, Keni is related to Iceman, which is pretty badass. For those unfamiliar with Iceman, just know that he's a big deal. 

Keni had some stories, as all people do, and fortunately also possesses the talent to tell them in a thought-provoking manner. At age 16, his father sent him out into the world but reminded him that the door to the house swings both ways. I never really thought of that. It is a straight forward, unsurprising comment, and yet I've always been stuck on the, "Whenever a door closes, a window opens." So a little philosophical stimulus for those of you who feel inclined to ponder.

                                                                                        Photo credit to fellow UofCalgary'er, Amanda

Number 5 is the number of my rented bike for group laundry and roaming around tomorrow. Am I the only one who thinks 5 is kind of a lame number? It's too mainstream, man. Nah, even though I am presently writing a blog, I don't think I'm that hipster. 

                                                                    But then again I've fooled myself before. 

The Pit of Despair

No, the title is not a metaphor for a great sadness. 

It's an actual pit at the archaeology site.  

And I may have been signed up to dig in it with a character named Colin. This may have been because we happened to be in proximity to Norm when the infamous Pit of Despair came up in conversation. He may have been kidding. However, there is a great possibility that Colin and I may actually be digging in the pit of despair. And I'm 100% cool with it. What's a little mud amongst friends?

Naturally, upon finding out that we may be a team, we decided to come up with the most clever team name. Naturally, we failed and just ended up combining our last names into Chrisniuk. (Please read with a Russian accent for the full effect).

That's the thing about names: They seem like a good idea at the time. Like Yukonic. I thought I was being reasonably clever but as it would turn out this name has been used for a wide variety of other things. You win some, you lose some.

Speaking of winning, my team (the second tallest team, as we were organized by height for practicality) is the quickest at setting up a total station. And then I kind of guess my way through it and press a lot of buttons. Chalk that up on the list of things that I will eventually master.

And now for a shameless plug: If you have more interest in the day to day activities of me or anyone else you know at the Yukon College Field School in Subarctic Archaeology and Ethnography, please like us on Facebook.
(As if I don't ask enough of all of you when subjecting you to my various ramblings.)

Days until field: ~3.4

For Your Soul

I’m not going to lie to all of you. Having to do school work the last couple of days is a bit of a buzz kill. Not that it’s not interesting information, because it is. I just wish I didn’t have the memory of a goldfish so I wouldn’t have to put so much effort into memorizing only to swim around my fishbowl once and forget where I am. In my next life, I shall have a photographic memory.

Bennett. Northwestern something. Something lake phase…honestly I just read and took notes on the Yukon temporal sequence today. That’s not even its name. I can’t remember its name. I heard the sequence just today. Heard the sequence just yesterday. But Mr. Norm Easton has called us to greatness. And greatness he shall have.

A paraphrase of something he said today:

If it seems like I’m disappointed in you it’s because I’m going to be disappointed in you.

If that doesn’t intimidate you, my friends, then you are far stronger than I. Or maybe you belong to an Italian mob or something and cannot be intimidated. I just have the paltry blade on my Swiss Army knife.  

We’re going to a place of the world like no other. Pawel is here from Poland for his third time of the field school. There’s nothing like the Little John Site. It’s the most important site in Canada at the moment. All things said in good faith this evening.

I don’t fear that these things will turn out untrue.

I fear that I’ll never want to leave.

           

Missing Teeth

Missing Teeth

I am missing three teeth. No they are not from my mouth, they are from my comb. Apparently “controlled falling” (as I cannot jump) down a cliff into the sand below will result in enough dirt in your hair to result in such a travesty.

Mastodons eat more spruce than mammoths, which have a diet of mainly grass. So while this gives mastodons shearing scissor teeth and mammoths a grinding platform, in the end they both have honking big teeth.

These honking big teeth can be seen amongst other megafauna bones at the Yukon Heritage Branch, where Greg Hare works. This is because he works with a palaeontologist, a collaboration that commonly occurs in the Yukon due to an importance of Beringia. I suppose this means I should not be so disheartened by people thinking I am in palaeontology. It’s just that Ross was the absolute worst character in Friends. And we all know it too.

Other treasures we got to see today: 780 +/- year old moccasins, a carved caribou scapula, and the scariest bone point you ever did see. Amongst many, many other things.

Treasures found today: fossilized limestone.

And we haven’t even left Whitehorse yet. But I know we’re all just waiting. To get out there. To the ever (or at least for now) illustrious field. 

Bacon Rations.

We are planning our meals for out in the field. Apparently our reserves of bacon may become depleted quite quickly.

Take me home. Now.

But in all seriousness, I'm concerned about this whole cooking thing. I have no skills. Poor field school kids who have to deal with my occasional turn at the grill. That's how I get voted off the island.

Things learned thus far: quit while you're ahead. At the Beringia Museum, we had the chance to throw atlatls. For non-archaeologist types, this is the technology between thrusting spears and bow and arrow (which apparently weren't adopted here--in the Yukon, in case you forgot where I am--until 1000 years ago, much later than most elsewhere).

My first throw went surprisingly well, I hit the sabre toothed tiger wood cut out. Peaked early in my atlatl career and managed to get progressively worse. I believe in beginner's luck.

This throw hit a camel. Pretty impressive stuff. Please note this is not me. I have never once in my whole life looked this graceful.

 This is a giant sloth, to the right. Also giant beavers, the stuff of legends, were a thing.

The sleeping bag I brought up, with a measly 5 degrees celsius rating, somehow managed to pass gear inspection this morning. I talked it up, I can wear layers, Mr. Norm, I can wear a toque. Nah, he was chill about it but perhaps I will later regret that when I too am chill. Chilled and with my teeth chattering in my tent.

Today a local joined our group. She will be participating in the field school with us and was nice enough to serve as tour guide for the group. A steep set of stairs later will get you to the cliffs and a view like no other. This is Whitehorse.

Welcome!

Welcome to the Yukon.

I didn't really think of doing a blog while up here. Except then another girl in the field school, Sarah (Sara?--who knows with that) was talking about doing one. And then I met up with some relatives and one of them suggested it to me. And then my phone decided to glitch once more and decide to forget how to charge and so match made in heaven, this will keep you all up to date with my adventures and misadventures. Probably more of the latter than the former.

But at least there are no mowers to get stuck in bunkers. For those of you who haven't heard that story, long story short. I'm really bad at my job. Good thing I get to be here instead of there. Who's going to call long distance to fire me? Hope Mr. Boss man never finds this. Don't want to put ideas in his head. 

Back to the Yukon. The important happening right now stuff. 

The river is pretty. The house we're staying in is 100 years old and buildings are generally fun coloured. And you are able to see scary bald eagles live here . Those fellas are big. You probably all know how I feel about birds...

So yes, I will try to blog if given Internet access. However, this whole technology thing isn't going too well for me. But yes, blogging. Even though that makes me more hipster. 


But after all, I did bring my ukulele, Yuri, so I should just embrace the way I am.