Through the Eyes of a Field Intern (Part Two)
Peter in front of a Beartooth Highway overlook, 2024. Image by S. Walker.
By Peter Rhynard, 2024 Field Intern
I collect things. Lots of things – bones, rocks, leaves, bottle caps, trinkets, weird instruments and each one tells a story about something I’ve learned. Most of them are on display in my room, organized to give the chaos an air of curation. The dinosaur shelf is predictable, as are my earring rack and my “adventure wall”, where I hang photos of the places I’ve been. I’ve even got a shelf where I keep my singing saw. Every wing of my personal museum details a part of my life, past or present, that guides me through my future.
A new collection of things from this past summer as an Elevation Science intern sits on the windowsill by my bed. There’s a Brunton compass, a tool used to measure the tilt of rock layers. I used it almost every day and even ended up teaching some of our field course students to use it. During the summer of new experiences, it was easy to feel lost. But this compass reminds me of how I learned to trust my instincts and those of my peers, forging a path even when the way seemed unclear.
There’s a pink shovel, an all-metal monstrosity that can burn your hand if left in the sun. It wasn’t used for work; Skye Walker and I used it while filming our infamous “Dirt Man” video. There’s a goofy stress toy vaguely shaped like a Tyrannosaurus that had me and the other staff exploding in laughter for days. These objects capture all the downtime and side quests that brought my new friendships to life.
There are a couple of shells from the ancient oyster Gryphaea found at our dig sites. As invertebrates, they were some of the only fossil animal remains we could collect and keep for ourselves. Invertebrates will always have a place in my heart. I grew up collecting them along the shores of the Great Miami River in Dayton, Ohio, and while we were digging for much bigger animals in Montana, finding Gryphaea was a reminder of the experiences that brought me to the present. I’ll always carry those first lessons, just as I’ll always carry the lessons from this summer.
I have a thank-you card featuring a painted landscape that was given to me by a participant. I had the opportunity to talk with people from all over the world: some were in academia, working on cutting-edge dinosaur skin research; others were lifelong adventurers looking to fulfill a childhood dream; some were young individuals just beginning to find their place in the world; and some became new old friends with whom I plan to stay in contact for years to come. I collected moments with everyone I could and held onto their words in my mind.
Peter posing at the M&M site, juvenile Allosaurus. 2024. Image by S. Walker.
The last thing on this shelf is my field notebook. It’s a collection in its own right, as it holds fossil data, daily weather reports, field technique procedures, critter encounter stories, coordinates of weird rocks from the wilderness, one-liners from the quarries, bone drawings, notes for presentations, journal entries, and the occasional piece of field tape. Nothing else captures the highs and lows, the adventures and challenges, or the places I saw and people I met quite as comprehensively.
They’re scattered, sure. Someone who sees the objects won’t immediately understand what connects them. But that’s how this summer was – a collection of vignettes in service of a larger story. One day, I jumped to avoid a surprise rattlesnake, then climbed a cliff to find a good lunch spot the next, and then snuck past a moose on the way back to my cabin the third. There was a day when we found Allosaurus claws in droves and days when the only new finds were mouse nests. Some weeks, I hung out with people from the other side of the world, and others I worked with people from just across my hometown.
Each token represents a lesson I learned during my time with Elevation Science. From the conversations to the fossils and everything in between, this collection of memories reflects not just a single season but also symbolizes the value of exploration. They remind me of the importance of embracing uncertainty in discoveries big and small. They celebrate the new and old connections that fostered my growth. I’ll keep them in my collection and use their wisdom to guide my future adventures. Who’s to say what I’ll add next?