Peter Lee's Notes from the Field

by Angela Ahn

  L.B. ran up to the statue and climbed it. She wrapped her legs around the neck of the poor Pachyrhinosaurus and yelled, “Look at me!” The sequins on her smiley-faced-emoji T-shirt reflected the sunlight.

  “Wow, scary statue!” Haji said, pointing. He looked at me and smiled.

  “The thing on top is even scarier,” I mumbled.

  “Let’s take a family picture!” Mom said.

  “Seriously?” I shouted. “Now?”

  “If not now, when?” She was completely oblivious to my desperate need to get inside immediately. She pulled out a selfie stick from her bag.

  I prayed she wouldn’t line us up by height.

  “Stand in front of the Royal Tyrrell sign, Peter.” She waved her hand at me and motioned me over. “L.B., get down!”

  “Mom!” I complained.

  “You will want this photo memory later, I am sure,” L.B. said to me as she swung herself off the Pachyrhinosaurus.

  “One picture!” I shouted. “Just one!”

  We shuffled into position while my mom pointed the stick high in the air.

  “Everybody say ‘T. rex!’ ” Mom said as she snapped the photo. I tried hard not to roll my eyes or blink.

  “Tickets! Now!” I said urgently and pushed everybody toward the building.

  The girl at the ticket booth greeted us with an enthusiastic, “Ni hoa ma!” Everybody in my family slouched and glared at her with either a blank stare or an evil eye. She switched gears, lifted up her laminated piece of paper that said “Greetings in 100 Different Languages,” looked the paper over and started to say, “Konnich—”

  Mom held up her hand and said flatly, “We speak English.”

  The girl looked embarrassed. “Oh, sorry.”

  When we finally walked into the museum, I was greeted by the powerful stance of an Albertosaurus with its ferocious jaws open. It took me a moment to gather myself and to finally appreciate that we were here. Dinosaur heaven in Canada. Before me, a cavernous museum filled with all things dinosaur. Life couldn’t get much better. I knew most of my classmates didn’t like dinosaurs anymore, or at least that’s what they said, but I had been in love from the moment I could say “Jurassic,” and the love had never died. I didn’t care who knew it.

  Because I was in the afternoon session of the Junior Scientist Dig, we had the whole morning to explore the museum. I could still hardly believe that I was going to go and dig for dinosaur fossils! An actual dig for real bones. It was true fieldwork. The thing I was most excited about was the prospect of using a hammer and chisel on ancient rock. Imagine how exhilarating it must be to be chipping away and then suddenly start to expose the distinctive edges of a fossil that had been hidden and obscured for millions of years. Soon I wouldn’t have to imagine it anymore, because I was going to do it.

  My excavation pit at home was just a very small warm-up for the real thing. I had been preparing and studying for this day for ages, maybe even my whole life. I was so excited; my intestines were quivering with anticipation. Or maybe that was the free hotel breakfast coming back to say hi.

  The collection was beyond all my wildest dreams. I spent the morning gawking at the immense scale of the fossils. When I saw the T. rex fossil they call “Black Beauty,” emotions overwhelmed me. I touched the corner of my eye and, I swear, it was almost wet. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. The body encased in rock, frozen in time. I loved the way the bones curved into an arc. So elegant, even in death.

  “Look at this one,” Dad said, reading the information next to the fossil of a large sauropod. “Hey, Peter, did you know that the Brontosaurus might actually be an Apatosaurus? Scientists are not sure if the early specimen they found and named Brontosaurus, like, over a hundred years ago, was classified correctly. But new research may suggest that the Brontosaurus did, in fact, exist?”

  “Yes, Dad, everybody knows that.”

  “Well, sorry, I’m not as well-read on the subject as you. Did you know that, L.B.?” He looked miffed.

  She glared up at him. “Obviously. It is one of the most well-known controversies in paleontology.”

  Dad didn’t read any more information signs to us.

  We slowly made our way through the displays. Each section had so many different vignettes, each telling its own story, and I wanted to read everything.

  “Come on, Hammy,” L.B. urged. Hammy had been sitting on a bench while we were in the terrestrial Paleozoic zone. It’s like she didn’t even care about the Dimetrodon. Probably because it wasn’t technically a dinosaur. It was a reptilelike mammal that predated the real dinosaurs. She went to grab Hammy’s hand.

  “Okay, L.B., Hammy just needs to rest.” She smiled wearily.

  It reminded me that I was pretty tired too. I glanced up at the clock and realized we had been wandering around the museum for hours.

  “I think now would be a good time for lunch,” Dad said.

  Who needed lunch? My eyes were feasting on dinosaur fossils, but I followed my family to the cafeteria anyway.

  12:10 p.m.

  I didn’t think I was hungry, but when I saw it on the menu, I had to have the Jurassic Snack Pack, which came in a paper box decorated with a dinosaur scene. Oh, sure, it was just a cheeseburger, apple slices and a small juice box, but I did get a free sticker. I didn’t realize how exhausted I was until I sat down to eat. The snack pack was just what I needed to give me the energy for the rest of the afternoon.

  “It’s almost time—come on!” I stood up.

  “Peter, we still have twenty minutes,” Mom said through a mouthful of salad.

  “I want to be first in line!” I waved the sheet of paper around with the instructions for dig participants. “Chop-chop!” I clapped my hands and ran around and cleaned up everybody’s lunch trays, even if they weren’t exactly done.

  The instructions outlined that we were to stand next to a classroom door marked “Laboratory 1A” a few minutes before one o’clock, and without even looking at a map, I just knew where to go. Not a soul was there.

  “Yes.” I did a small fist pump. “First in line.” I was obviously the most excited kid in the whole group.

  While waiting for the door to open, I started to have that antsy feeling in my legs, like I couldn’t stand still.

  Other kids started to gather the closer it got to one o’clock. I counted eleven others, all prepared with small backpacks and looking almost as excited as me. There was even one boy who spoke with an English accent! I nodded to him out of sheer respect. An international dinosaur enthusiast—he must have been hard-core. I noted proudly to myself that nobody else had professional gear like I did. The English boy gazed at my vest longingly.

  When the door to Laboratory 1A finally opened, I thought I heard music from the angels and I saw a heavenly bright light. The woman who opened the door was wearing just what I imagined she should be wearing. A wide-brimmed hat, check. A khaki-colored shirt with lots of pockets, check. Cargo pants that matched, check. Hiking boots, check. Clipboard in hand, check. She looked perfect. Scientific and professional in a casual, outdoorsy kind of way that let you know she did fieldwork.

  I barely said goodbye to my family and nodded vaguely when Mom said, “Meet you back here at four!” They fell away from my consciousness. I could think of nothing but dinosaurs, fossils, layered sedimentary rock, trowels and chisels. I had just walked into a scientific laboratory with a huge fossil encased in rock lying on a worktable. I sighed with satisfaction. This was everything I had been waiting for.

  Chapter 13

  FIELDWORK IS NOT FOR WUSSIES

  1 p.m.

  Conditions: Still hot…how do people live like this?

  “Who’s excited?” the well-dressed paleontologist asked.

  The twelve of us shouted, “Me!”

  “Hello, everyone. I’m Kendra. I’ll be your dig
leader today.”

  I wondered if this was the same Kendra who was to receive all the contest submissions.

  “Are you a real paleontologist?” the boy with the English accent asked her.

  She smiled. “Yes. Yes, I am. This is my third year working at the Royal Tyrrell Mu—”

  “What dinosaurs have you discovered?” some rude child interrupted.

  “Well, I haven’t discovered a new species or anything, but I have been involved in quite a few large excav—”

  “So, you’ve personally never found a fossil?” a girl asked.

  “No…I—” she started.

  “Hey!” I yelled. “Let her talk!”

  I got a couple of suspicious looks from the other kids, but Kendra looked relieved and said, “Thank you. Great vest, by the way.” She winked at me and my face flushed. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

  All of the kids eventually settled down and finally Kendra could talk without being constantly interrupted.

  “I thought we’d start our afternoon in this lab,” Kendra said. For some reason, as I looked around at the white cabinets, bright lights and large center worktable, I thought about L.B. and Dr. Stephanova’s lab. Finally, it was my turn to do something cooler than L.B.!

  “Fossil finds in the field will eventually end up here. For example, this specimen.” She pointed to the large fossil on the table. “We just found this hadrosaur skull fragment on the Alberta–B.C. border. We are not disclosing its location as we are concerned about fossil bandits.”

  Fossil bandits. Even sociopathic thieves with no morals thought dinosaurs were fascinating. Because they are.

  With everybody crowded in around her, Kendra pointed to the rock so we could see the outline of the fossil fragment, and we all appreciated its magnificence.

  “So, if you’re all ready, we’re going to head out on a bus to drive to our dig site. It is an active site that has yielded footprints. We think they may be part of a trackway but need to dig a bit more to find out definitively. At the same site, we have found several coprolites. Does anybody know what coprolites are?”

  Everybody’s hand flew up. An impatient boy who, based on his arrogance and rude behavior, was clearly a close cousin of Ryan’s, shouted, “Dinosaur poo!”

  “Fossilized dinosaur poo,” I corrected him under my breath. Kids who don’t wait their turn are the worst.

  “Yes,” Kendra said. “Fossilized poo!”

  The room fell silent. Kendra’s eyes scanned the group. “Do you think it’s time to go?” she asked.

  “Yes!” we all screamed.

  “Okay, make sure you have all your belongings before you board the bus. I’ll tell you more as we go.” Kendra and her assistant gathered bags filled with the equipment we’d need for the day. “Please remember, for the next three hours, you are junior paleontologists commissioned by the Royal Tyrrell Museum.”

  I took a slow, focused breath and adjusted my field vest.

  We filed outside of the laboratory area, using the back door reserved for paleontologists, to where a small bus waited for us. The driver opened the door and Kendra stood with her hand in the air, silently drawing our attention. It was noticeably hotter than when we had arrived in the morning.

  “Before you get on the bus, I’d like to give you all something.” She unzipped her backpack and pulled out a plastic bag filled with books. “They usually only give these to staff.”

  She smiled warmly as she walked down the line, handing each junior paleontologist a sturdy field notebook with the words “Royal Tyrrell Museum” embossed in gold lettering across the front.

  I reached out for mine and then held it tightly to my chest.

  “The paper is waterproof, because even when it rains, you still need to take notes in the field. Bad weather can’t stop science!”

  Waterproof paper. Imagine finding something so important that you needed to keep writing, even in a downpour. This was the most professional notebook I’d ever owned. My face was locked in a perpetual grin that wouldn’t quit. I tucked it carefully into my bag.

  I took a seat near the front so I could see everything and I tried to calm my nerves. We drove for about fifteen minutes before we reached our field study area. The ride was a bit bumpy and jarring. My teeth clomped together after the bus drove over a particularly large hole. The rough landscape bounced us around and we all had to hold on to the seats in front of us to avoid getting tossed. The tools in my vest clattered against my chest.

  Grateful when the bus finally reached its destination, we still had to walk some distance to our dig site. The layered sedimentary rocks proved to be hard terrain to walk on because of the slopes and angles. I caught myself slipping a few times. A lot of the kids had to use their hands to keep their balance. I pulled my sun hat from my backpack. There was small brushy vegetation, but none of it tall enough to provide shade. Also, it was hard not to notice the heat. It was beyond hot outside. After only a short while, the brim of my hat was drenched in my own sweat. I looked down at my chest and the dinosaur on my T-shirt looked like he was swimming in a lake entirely made up of my own body juice. I pulled my shirt away from my chest and flapped it for some air. It didn’t help. But that was okay; this was real, hands-on paleontology! Science is not a fair-weather activity. I tried to stay positive.

  When Kendra, who was leading from the front, finally stopped, we all gathered around her. Her assistant dropped her bag on the ground and started to unpack.

  I was handed a small pick, a brush, a hammer and a chisel.

  “I have my own,” I told Kendra’s assistant. I pointed to my vest.

  She looked impressed and passed the set of tools to the next kid, who was not nearly as prepared as I was.

  “Now open your field guides,” Kendra said. “I’d like you to take a minute and observe your surroundings. Environmental observations are vital for good fieldwork. Take notes. Sketch a picture. Look at where we are. Think about the landscape and the space. Imagine—dinosaurs once roamed right where we are.”

  We all sat quietly and let it sink in. Some kids started writing right away, while others stared around at the rocks. Kendra and her assistant walked around and patiently watched us work.

  I started drawing. It felt good to get my pencil going and I drew the landscape as best as I could. I wrote:

  This is Drumheller. Where dinosaurs once roamed.

  After a few minutes, Kendra spoke again. “Now that you’ve spent some time reflecting on the landscape and your surroundings, the next step is planning.”

  Some kids moaned, impatient to start excavating.

  “I know, I know, you’re eager to get going. But we have to stop and ask ourselves some questions. What is our purpose here today? Where will we work? What tools will we need? What is the best approach? Asking questions and finding answers are key components to being a good scientist. Thinking about what you’re going to do is important. Take a few minutes, then I’ll be ready to show you where you’ll be digging!”

  I wrote down my thoughts:

  Being a paleontologist requires deep thought and patience.

  Slow and careful.

  Look around.

  Pay attention to all the details.

  I put my pencil down and waited for Kendra.

  After a few more minutes, Kendra finally stood up and said, “Are you ready?”

  “Yes!” we all practically shouted.

  We broke into smaller groups and were led around a small outcropping of rocks. There, hidden from view from where we’d stopped to take notes, was the live, active excavation site. For a second, I forgot how to breathe. There were grids, just like the one I had at home, placed on the ground. Fresh piles of dirt and a few leftover tools made the site seem so real.

  Kendra and her assistant showed us how careful we had to be. It was my first time using my chisel on r
eal rocks, and it was hard work. Exposed and layered sedimentary rock is considered one of the softer kinds of rock, much softer than metamorphic, but it may as well have been a solid diamond boulder. Chipping away at an area required laser-like focus and much more force and energy than I had anticipated. The initial buzz was wearing off. I was suddenly very tired. My shirt was still sticking to my back, making me uncomfortable.

  The work was more tedious than I thought it would be. There was a lot of chipping, but no fossil finding. My muscles started to ache. I had to be so precise and couldn’t just hack away at the rock, and Kendra and her assistant were watching us closely.

  We became surrounded by dust the more we chipped away, and it started to mix with the dry, desertlike air. There was no breeze and the dust hovered visibly. I got a tight feeling in my chest and coughed. I stopped working and squinted up at the sun that was beating me down into a wet pulp. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. I suddenly longed for the lush air of Vancouver, filled with the sweet taste of the ocean. I imagined myself standing at the edge of Kitsilano Beach, waves lapping at my toes, gentle breezes filled with briny ocean water. It didn’t help.

  I started to feel wheezy. I put down my tool and reached for my bag with my water bottle. It was empty. I didn’t remember drinking all my water. I coughed some more.

  I patted my right pocket. Nothing. I patted my left pocket. Nothing. I patted all my pockets. My inhaler wasn’t there. I’d been so excited this morning I couldn’t remember if I had packed it and it had fallen out somewhere or if I had just plain forgotten it. Suddenly, as if somebody had smacked the back of my head with a sledgehammer, I knew where my inhaler was. It was exactly where I had left it the last time I used it—on the sofa bed in the hotel room.