Posts Tagged ‘fire hose’

This title worked equally well for both a thru-hike and grad school.  In a thru-hike, the last two hundred miles or so begin to feel weird.  As the end of the trail gets nearer, an odd feeling comes up; the long, epic journey will stop in its current form and change directions.  The body rallies, excited to sit on a couch and eat for a week to regain lost weight and allow muscles to relax, but the mind begins to feel unrest.

My feet begin to hurt for a new round, probably because I should replace my sandals but I am stubborn and do not want to only for the last little bit.  My hips have absolutely no fat left on them and I’ve cut off a chunk of my sleeping pad and duct taped it to the hip belt of my pack for extra cushion.  My legs and arms show a summer full of scratched mosquito bites, gashes, scrapes, and bruises.  My stomach growls even after eating 800 calorie meals.

The destination feels great, but the mind and the body thirst for more, just moved to a new place after some rest because the journey made the highlights of the trail in its own right.

In TSS, the capstone represents the final push toward graduation.  Most of our grad class works field education in Kelly split into three teams: one team of six, one of five, and one of four (but the team of four has adopted other members).  I am in the team of four which created a course on Sustainability and Leadership, or SNL for short.  The course spans for three weeks, has nine Summer Search high school students, has two weeks in Kelly, one week front-country camping in Yellowstone National Park and visits a farm.

In true TSS style, we also had a group to teach the week before our capstone course so we work for a month straight.  Many, if not all, of those days are 12+ hour days.  Free time does not really exist.  In my “free time” right now, I’m working on this synthesis homework project…

My brain has hurt for a month straight.  My room has papers scattered everywhere.  I found a book in my bed one night.  I cannot process words very well without yerba mate in the morning.  My “to-do” list never ends and usually covers an entire page.  Teaching has somehow become more relaxing than logistics.  I’m not drinking from the fire hose, I am the fire hose!

This summer has taken the term “flexi-pants” to a whole new level.

Rainbow in the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone.

Rainbow in the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone.

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In a thru-hike, after either my feet stop hurting or I become numb to their pain, I find myself studying trail maps.  The first two weeks of maps, I studied before I began hiking.  After that, I always needed to figure out the next few hundred miles of re-supply rations and where challenge points would show up.  Challenges to look for usually included a distance larger than 90 miles between resupplies, water gaps of 20 miles or longer, towns with no good resupply options, drastically changing terrain in terms of elevation, large river crossings, national parks or forests with special permit needs, etc.

By taking time to study not only the maps for the next day, but the larger overview gave me a better perspective on what would come soon and how I should prepare myself.  If I knew the terrain would have drastic changes in elevation, I would lower my expected daily mileage and therefore take more food out from town.  If I knew I would have two long stretches without water, I would grab an extra Gatorade bottle or two from the last town so I could carry more water.  If I knew a town would only have a gas station to resupply out of, I would usually have a mail drop of food to get more healthy calories.

In grad school, in order to prepare and understand the overview of the program, I had to listen to vast quantities of information and process it quickly.  At the beginning of our fall teaching practicum, our teaching team began to look overwhelmed from a mass intake of information and as one of our faculty, Matt said snickering, “It’s just like drinking from a fire hose!”  As if that was meant to make us feel better.

In order to teach effectively, we had to know the TSS systems inside and out to know where we would have difficulties and to know what we could and could not do with students.  At this point, I’d become numb to my brain hurting, and just began trying to continue absorbing more and more information.  No open toed shoes.  No swimming.  Stay 100 feet away from wildlife.  Then came the famous, “What would you do…WHAT would you do?” scenarios.  We had to constantly hear scenarios from past teaching situations and try to think about what we would have done in that situation, then find where it says what to do in the operations manual.  For example:

What would you do if you are in upper meadow and a thunderstorm rolls in?  You see lightning and heard thunder soon afterwards.  You have eight students and a chaperone.  Two students begin crying.  Where do you go and what do you do with the upset students?

TSS also took getting an overview to a whole new level.  Not only did we have to drink from the fire hose to learn how to teach effectively, we also had to juggle classwork on top of teaching.  We had to learn the local ecology, geology, fire regiments, glacial impacts, cultural history, and more.  To effectively teach students, we had to know the content inside and out.

The Tetons from the West, on our grad backcountry trip

The Tetons from the West, on our grad backcountry trip

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