Fall brought some drastic changes to my life here in Carson City. The first time my gloves froze to my handlebars, I knew I was in for a dramatic couple months. In September, a tiny kitten, not more than 5 weeks old, moved into the space between the insulation and the floorboards of my house. After 2 days of quiet mewing echoing up through the heating vents, I decided that our new housemate needed to move upstairs. Andrii (another intern), Oksana (his wife), and I rent a prefab house on the eastern edge of town. We’ve loved this shabby little place since the very first day we moved in. Unfortunately, the house hasn’t really loved us back. A leaky roof, dripping pipes, hidden mold, ant infestations, fruit fly swarms; we’ve had it all. 2 weeks after we moved in, our kitchen mysteriously disappeared one evening. We got back from the field to discover our refrigerator was not where we had left it! And now it appeared that, to top it all off, we had a critter in distress somewhere below our feet. I donned my PPE (I didn’t take the DOI learn HAZWOPER course for nothing!) and army-crawled into the dust and grime. I made it out wheezy, sneezy, and clutching a new best friend. We called him Griffey or Kits, after the famous baseball player and the Ukrainian word for “hey cat!” He has quickly become accustomed to the pampered life of an adventurous kitten.

After such drastic changes in weather and family structure, a change in employment really shouldn’t faze me. But after 9 months living, tromping, and adventuring in the sagebrush and the sierras, it’s a shock to the system to consider leaving.

Carson City is where I learned to monitor fires, to assess riparian habitats, to identify great basin flora, and why the coyotes cry to the stars at night. My tent has been my home in the dunes of Death Valley, the granite slabs of Yosemite, the canyons of Dixie Valley, and almost everywhere in between. I’ve gawked and gasped at innumerable stunning plants, from the delicate blooms of the rare Webber’s ivsia (Ivsia webberi) to the ancient wisdom of the bristlecone pines (Pinus longaeva). “Oodles” doesn’t even come close to the amount I’ve learned and experienced.

I owe a tremendous debt to my mentor, Dean, and our fantastic team. Whether we were fixing flats, purposefully getting stung by fiddleneck (Amsinkia tesselata), or searching mountains for rebar and rare plants, they helped me maintain my positive attitude and appreciate every moment in the lovely landscape. When times got tough or the plants got feisty, these excellent people always had my back.

For Science!

Rebecca Mostow
Sierra Front Field Office, BLM
Carson City, NV

Last week, I climbed into my tent after a long day of fire monitoring. As I slithered into my sleeping bag, I heard a soft drizzle, much like the sound of a very full rain stick. I looked down to see seeds pouring out of my shirt. Months of seed collecting have honed my rapid estimation of seed quantity. So, I watched, amazed, as several thousand Sisymbrium altissimum seeds flowed out of my sleeves, my pants pockets, and the linings of my shoes. Further inspection revealed tumble mustard seeds had made it into my ears, under my fingernails, and were even stuck between my teeth (like that unfortunate poppy seed no one will tell you about).

To work in the field is to not only study but to interact with the plants that I so love. I don’t just read about the widespread weediness of cheatgrass, I feel its needle-like seeds scratching away at my ankles. I don’t simply learn how medusa head is spread, but have had my wool socks co-opted by this adventurous grass. Everyday I fight hard to avoid become a vector for the aggressive graminoids I so despise.

The more time I spend with invasive plants (and their super villain cousins the noxious weeds) the more my ardent hatred is replaced by a healthy respect and even admiration. These foul little plants each have suites of adaptations that allow them to spread rapidly, grow quickly, and, unfortunately, disrupt the ecosystems I am in Nevada to protect and study. That fact (and the blisters they are giving me) makes us sworn enemies. But I can’t help but admire these precocious plants.

I took a side trip to Yosemite to see the seeds of this very large, very native plant; Sequoiadendron giganteum.

For the past few weeks, the botany team and I have focused most of our efforts on fire rehab monitoring. Every wildfire that burns on BLM land in the Carson City District has to be monitored for 3 years to assess the recovery and health of the land. At the same site every year we take detailed measurements about the soil stability, plant density, noxious weed presence, and other parameters. This has grown into quite a daunting task as the number and severity of wildfires increases. The most frustrating and fascinating protocol is the nested frequency and perennial plant density measurement. To collect this data we carefully scrutinize a single square meter, identifying every single plant and plant-remain contained within it. Then we do it again. And again. 150 times. This kind of work takes a type of attention that is not often called upon in my day to day life. But it also allows me to get down and dirty with the plants we spend so much time talking about. While taking these measurements, I always encounter new wonders. A tiny Salsola tragus seedling, an antlion in wait, an obsidian shard. Even in the most scorched plain, there are new plants and new discoveries to be found. We just have to take the time to get down on our knees and look.

Rebecca

Carson City, NV

Back-roads on BLM land are the worst roads I have ever driven. Riddled with rocks (nay, boulders), slashed by streambeds, and marred by mud, they are an obstacle and an adventure everyday. 5 months of driving on these roads has taught me to be cautious, careful and to drive slowly. Really slowly. But, until last week, these Nevadan roads had not yet taught me how to unstick a truck from a muddy ditch.

The lesson began after a long day of fire monitoring. We were headed toward our second site (and the promise of dinnertime), up a mountain, around tight bends, over stones, when the front truck met her match. Sue, as we’ve taken to calling her, was stuck. A steep hill, a muddy road, and a deep ditch had proven too much for our trusty steed. After a bit of head-scratching, we hatched a plan. Before long we were grabbing supplies from the emergency kits, hauling rocks, digging out the tires, and building a ramp for Sue to climb out on. Then came the moment of truth. Two hands on the wheel and 14 on the tailgate, we shoved and steered Sue to safety.

An experience that could have been stressful or scary was edifying and enriching. We learned how to unstick a truck. And, more importantly, we learned that we could.

Whooping, my team got back to work.

Rebecca

Carson City, NV

Last week the Carson City botany crew had the opportunity to work at the Pyramid Lake Youth Camp, an environmental education summer camp sponsored by the Piaute tribe. Dean lead lessons on vegetation mapping, traditional games, and native stars. Our role was to lead small groups on an exploration of the Hardscrabble Creek area they had just mapped in the classroom. I worked with two motivated young women with big plans for their futures. After a bit of wandering and plant talk, one asked what the colorful stuff all over the rocks was and I had the joy of explaining to a rapt audience the magic of lichen. “I’ve always wondered what that was, and now I know!” The chance to give someone an Ah Ha moment such as that is a rare and beautiful thing.

Carson City BLM

Camping near Sand Mountain during an SOS collection trip.

I’m not writing this entry from my usual spot in the intern cubicle, surrounded by herbarium specimens, dichotomous keys, and my 5 team-members. Instead, this entry comes to you from the Reno International Airport, my portal to Memorial Day adventures.

We just finished up another unusual and wonderful week in Carson. The entire Carson City botany team took a week-long training in Multiple Indicator Monitoring (MIM) of stream banks and streamside vegetation. MIM is a procedure for monitoring riparian systems specially designed for small streams impacted by grazing. We had classes at the University of Reno Nevada and practiced monitoring at three different streams around the area. I had a great time learning a brand new monitoring technique and getting my feet wet (literally). We also had the chance to meet professionals and students from all over the west hoping to use this technique in the future. If the diversity of the students in our class is any indicator, MIM is a widely usefully technique.

On our last day of field training we set up a designated monitoring area and took measurements from a stream in Balls Canyon. In the shade of Gayer’s and Lemmon’s willows we measured everything from stream bank stability to bank vegetation to pool depth. I was the only member of my group with non-leaky rubber boots so I volunteered to take the pool depth measurements. However, pretty quickly the boots were discarded and I was waist deep in silt and chilly stream water. By the end of the day I was soaked, grinning, and we had a very detailed description of a hundred meters of mountain stream. This morning our instructor told us that you can’t monitor streams affectively without wearing out some waders. Well I think I found a (admittedly chilly) way. A perfect conclusion to a fun and educational week.

Rebecca

Carson City, NV

Fellow intern Andrii exploring Centennial Park with Carson City in the background.

Balsamorhiza sagitata

Iva axillaris breaking through asphalt at the base of C hill!

Erythranthe carsoniensis

What a busy few weeks it has been! We’ve added another intern to our team, mapped the illusive and beautiful Webber’s Ivsia (Ivsia webberi), surveyed for rare monkey flowers (Erythranthe carsoniensis and Mimulus ovatus) and monitored drought conditions on grazing allotments. We also got the chance to help out with the Truckee River Environmental Education (TREE) day. This proved to be a welcome chance to play outside while doing something good for the planet on Earth Day.

TREE Day is an environmental education event for 4^th and 5^th graders from Reno, jointly hosted by the Nevada Nature Conservancy and the US Fish and Wildlife Service. It’s held at the McCarran Ranch, just west of Sparks, right on the Truckee River. About 250 kids came to rotate around the many interactive stations and learn about the ecosystem they were visiting. There was a water quality station, a meandering river station, and a wetland wildlife station complete with tadpoles and snakes. The other interns and I were responsible for two stations: a Botany Safari and an Invasive Weed Game. I took on the responsibility of editing and running the Invasive Weed Game and it quickly changed from a responsibility to my favorite pastime. I designed a race for resources meant to describe the competitive advantage that makes noxious weeds such a threat to native plants. When the game finally debuted, it was a hit! The kids were thoughtful and bright, energetic and ready to have fun. The game leaders fed off their energy and enthusiasm for nature and the station was a grand success! It was such a joy to hear 9 year olds shouting “Go Sagebrush Go!”

Who knows, maybe we met some CLM 2026 interns on TREE Day!

Happy Earth Day!

Rebecca

Carson City, BLM

Greetings from lovely Carson City, Nevada! My 3^rd week here at the Bureau of Land Management is in full swing and a few paragraphs can’t possibly sum up the wondrous ride I’ve been on for the past 17 days. The highlights: I had a crash course in the flora of the sierras and the great basin; I completed online courses on ethics, blood borne pathogens, defensive driving, and much more; I worked with the other 4 interns to make a dichotomous key of the flora in a single allotment; I explored Carson City, wild horse ranges, Reno, and miles and miles of sagebrush steppe.

Yesterday was by far my most exciting and interesting day thus far. The motley crew of botanical interns and our supervisor, Dean, spent all day in Canoe Hills, near Golden Eagle Regional Park. We were surveying for Medusahead (Taeniatherum caput-medusae), an invasive grass that has just started to make inroads into the allotment. It’s a fierce competitor and terrible forage for all grazers so there is concern about its spread onto BLM land. Additionally, there’s a proposal to build a new set of bike trails in this area that may or may not aide in the spread of this plant that thrives in disturbed sites. To conduct the survey, I spent my day hiking on established and proposed trails all over these stunning hillsides, scanning the ground for Medusahead’s distinctive spikes. Lomatium austiniea, Viola beckwithii, and Phlox lomatifolium are in bloom in small patches, lending splashes of color to the dusty olive brown. When I finished my weed survey, Dean sent me to survey the cliff sides for Golden Eagle nests. So I climbed (gingerly and carefully, of course!) from hillside to hillside, in search of raptor hangouts. At this point, I could no longer contain my enthusiasm. My job was to hike, gather crucial conservation data, and record my findings on a map. Quite literally a dream come true!

Viola beckwithii

Adventure is out there!

Rebecca