"The Nefud cannot be crossed!"
So my first Biology class was on Tuesday, and it was rather interesting, to say the least. The classroom itself is literally crawling with animals, half of which are alive and the other half are stuffed. As I walked in the door I nearly tripped over a gigantic turtle, which spent most of our class hiding in a cupboard. Lord knows I probably traumatized the poor thing. At any rate, there are two Field Studies classes offered this quarter. I thought I had signed up for the one that goes up to (presumably) some part of the Olympic Rainforest, which would have been cool and pleasant and relaxing.
As it happens, I signed up for the one that goes through Northern California and South-Eastern Oregon. As in, the hot, dry, DESERT part of Oregon.
I'm going to fry. There's no amount of sunscreen in the world that will protect me from a desert, and I should know, having barely survived my last trip to California, and that was just San Diego. When I return, all of my freckles will probably have melted together and I'll look black or hispanic something.
My professors also seem to be under the impression that we're supposed to fit our tents, tarps, chairs, sleeping bags, eating utensils and all of our clothes and such into one duffle bag. As I am not, in fact, Mary Poppins, I hardly see how such a feat is going to be feasible. I do have a rather large, rolling duffle bag, but I also have a rather large, three-room tent. Fortunately Dad says he's willing to buy me a little dome tent for our trip, but still.
All complaints aside, I am really excited about it. I love camping, and desert or no desert, this will still be the most enjoyable way of earning eight science credits imaginable.
Now if images of Gasim crawling across the Sun's Anvil while dramatic music thunders and the sun looms menacingly would just leave my over-worked imagination, everything would be perfet...
As it happens, I signed up for the one that goes through Northern California and South-Eastern Oregon. As in, the hot, dry, DESERT part of Oregon.
I'm going to fry. There's no amount of sunscreen in the world that will protect me from a desert, and I should know, having barely survived my last trip to California, and that was just San Diego. When I return, all of my freckles will probably have melted together and I'll look black or hispanic something.
My professors also seem to be under the impression that we're supposed to fit our tents, tarps, chairs, sleeping bags, eating utensils and all of our clothes and such into one duffle bag. As I am not, in fact, Mary Poppins, I hardly see how such a feat is going to be feasible. I do have a rather large, rolling duffle bag, but I also have a rather large, three-room tent. Fortunately Dad says he's willing to buy me a little dome tent for our trip, but still.
All complaints aside, I am really excited about it. I love camping, and desert or no desert, this will still be the most enjoyable way of earning eight science credits imaginable.
Now if images of Gasim crawling across the Sun's Anvil while dramatic music thunders and the sun looms menacingly would just leave my over-worked imagination, everything would be perfet...