The Study

We are set up and running the study at what looks like an abandoned airport. We have seen one plane, a little Cessna, land there, Tuesday afternoon. It taxi'd up to what used to be the reception building (it was torched at some point in recent years and has not been reopened). So far as we saw, no one got out or in, and the plane turned around and took off again.

We are on the far side of the landing field from that burnt-out building, at the top of the "north-south" runway, which until tonight we had been assured has not been used in years. The Cessna landed on the "east-west" runway. I use quotes because neither are true to their ostensible directions. The airport, which is made up of the two runways and a webbing of taxi-lanes between and around them, could be described as two toes of a duck's foot, extending out from a point roughly to the southeast. According to our participants, the airport was built during WWII, and was used then for Coast Guard planes, patrolling the Pacific. The pavement is 12 feet deep, I was told, and the "east-west" runway is long enough for a 747 to land and take off.

We were granted permission by the City Council to use the runway (the city gets a tidy sum of money), but according to some locals, the City Council does not have the right to rent out the space. While we cannot see any inhabited buildings from the runway, many people own 2-acre and 5-acre plots all around the landing field, and several of them view the airport as their own property.

We have had two extremely hostile people drive up and demand what right we have to be on the field. One woman was described by two independent participants as "that crazy lady in the Silver Dodge who lives right over there" immediately opposite where I hang out near the burnt out buildings. "She thinks she owns the place." She had taken pot shots at one young man when he and friends drove onto the runway with their "quads" (four-wheeled all-terrain vehicles, the modern go-cart). Another man complained that it was such a pain to have to stop and wait for the police when she'd approach his own group of friends on their own quads -- her rifle loaded -- that they, too, quit playing on the runway after a few encounters with her. And he is her next door neighbor.

She drove up and questioned me. At the time, I had heard one set of these stories, and I did not recognize that she was driving a Silver Dodge. But it was very clear from the start that she was not friendly. At one point in the brief and hostile (on her part) conversation, she turned away as if to pick up something from the front seat next to her -- and I would not have been astonished if she had produced a rifle. However, I can sometimes charm the ooze out of people (I am particularly good when feeling in danger), and I managed to turn her anger back upon the City Council who approved my illegitimate right to be on her turf, and leave us in the clear. Tonight I noticed the Silver Dodge drive slowly by the entrance to the airport as she checked us out again.

The other angry person was a pilot, who had not been informed by the Council that the study was happening. He said that when there is a stiff wind from the south, planes often land on the runway we're using, which, according to the City Planner and Land Use Lawyer, was supposed to have been abandoned. Angrily, the pilot told us to keep our lights on and hope.

Who knows how used the airport, or either runway, is? One man assured me it was only used by drug runners. Another man, one of those who lives alongside, said the drug runners use the ocean (only 12 miles away) and most of the drugs in the county are actually locally produced. The pilot indicated the airport is regularly used. We've been there for three nights and two days, and have seen one plane. We have a radio ostensibly tuned to the FAA frequency (given to us by the city, to use to make sure we aren't crossing the east-west runway when someone is landing) and even that one plane didn't break radio silence.

Here's the set up. I sit near this blue building (which is in use, by the way -- it is the high tech Forks, WA National Weather Service weather station. They let off a balloon a couple times a day, and have lots of expensive new equipment housed in a falling apart shell of a building). Beyond it, in this photo, you can make out the torched control tower. I sit in my car just to the right of the DO NOT PASS sign (which you can't see) on the other side of the fence, on the airport field proper.

My job is to meet-and-greet. I meet the participant, explain what we're doing and train him or her on the method of measurement we're using, magnitude of estimation. Which is jargony, but it's not interesting, or simple, enough to explain here. When we're done with training, I drive the person out to where the guys are. I leave him or her there, and drive back to wait for the next person, train him in, and then ferry him out to the guys, picking up the person who's just finished. And so continue all evening from sunset until the last person is through, usually after midnight.

The guys are working about half a mile away, where the darkness is complete. We have a car set up with a canopy to keep the rain off the windshield (which doesn't work -- the air is so full of water that droplets form spontaneously on the windshield). Around the car in a perfect arc are traffic cones, set 100 feet away, at 5 degree angles. After dark we insert a piece of white PVC pipe into the top of each traffic cone -- in each pipe is a smart chip and an LED, which emits a tiny spark of very bright light. Nate sits in the car with the participant and operates two computers and a camera during the study. The LEDs turn on and off from a signal sent from the computer, so Nate can light up any 5 degree point on the arc, or all of them, or none of them.

Glenn has the most boring job, the most uncomfortable job, and the most scary job. He spends the whole evening standing outside (rain or shine), wearing the garments we are testing. He is further from the car than where I was standing when I took the photo (I'm about half-way), well outside of the glow of the headlights. The task of the participants is to tell us when they see Glenn out there, as they watch the LEDs light up and turn off, in progress on the arc around the car (so their head is turning slowly around).

So it's boring, and it's cold. And it's wet. And it's dark. Very dark. The scary part is that several people have mentioned the cougar who lives in the woods right near where we're set up. One woman said, "Oh, you don't need to worry about the cougar. She follows the elk, and until the elk are here, she won't be anywheres near."

"When will the elk get here?" I asked.

"I saw them here a week or so ago for the first time this year. You'll definitely see them cross the field, if you are here for two weeks."

!!

Nate and I debated for some time about whether to tell Glenn, standing quietly alone in the rainy dark all night, about the cougar, and in the end we did. This morning, he bought a little radio/CD player for noise, and some hiking poles to use as 3 feet of weak protection. He looked at the machetes and the rifles for sale in the local Ace Hardware, and spent several quiet moments staring at the stuffed cougar -- 7 foot long and 175 pounds at the least -- mounted on the wall above the checkout stand, but opted to think positively and rely on the cougar's good sense in choosing a local dog rather than himself for a snack one of these nights.