It was the Day of Archaeology last Friday. Unfortunately I didn’t get a post in, despite days of archaeology clearly including night sometimes as this photo shows. I had to check I hadn’t already chosen this as a photo of the week, because it’s one I keep coming back to. Usually the aim of a photo is detail, but here the silhouette of the diggers gives it much more drama.
It also reminds me of the dig at Tanis conducted by Prof. Henry Jones Jr. shortly before the Second World War.
“…the shovel is the trademark of archeology and perhaps its most indispensible tool.”– Heizer A Guide to Archaeological Methods (1949:32)
“Lucille, God gave me a gift. I shovel well. I shovel very well.”–The Shoveller, Mystery Men (1999)
When I was given the brief to write about archeological tools for ThenDig, my mind reeled. Like Ms. Morgan, whose post about boots inspired this issue, I have been a collector of regional tools and methods for as long as I have been a field archeologist (going on 25 years now).
Everyone has trowel stories (including stories of lost trowels recovered like the Silas Hurry post about archeological tools recovered in St. Mary’s City). I, however, have always been interested in the “coarser grained” archeology tools—shovels and their kin. One of my earliest mentors in the field of archeology kept his flat shovel razor sharp and could use it to make floors with a skill and cleanness that most of us only muster with a good trowel. In his hands, the shovel was just as good as a trowel. I will never be that good…but it did spark my interest and respect for the shovel.
At first blush this may seem like an innocuous topic. How different can shovels be? I do not claim a wide geographic experience—I have worked mostly in the southeastern US—but in the 13 different states I have worked, I have encountered a wide variety of shovel tools and techniques. Each of these is an adaptation to the local conditions, or products of the genealogy of intellectual traditions.
My old (1949) edition of Heizer’s A Guide to Archaeological Methods states that a “long-handled, round-point standard No. 2 excavating shovels are recommended. Spades, scoops, and square-point shovels are virtually useless owing to their inability to penetrate any but the softest dirt.” These shovels were clearly important and as recently as 2006 archeologists were combing the country (or at least advertising in some newspapers) for these shovels… The Nebraska State Historical Society was willing to pay up to $50 for True Temper No. 2 light-weight shovels in good condition.
Over the years, apparently, the archeological stance on flat shovels has softened a bit. The seventh edition of Field Methods in Archeology still uses Heizer’s introduction (and preference for snub-nosed round shovels), but it also reports that “square-point shovels are useful in excavating sandy deposits and many archeologists find them valuable for cleaning excavation unit floors in the search for post molds, rodent burrows, and other features” (Hester et al. 1997:70).
Despite Heizer’s recommendation, my personal motto for archeology and the use of shovels is simple—“round shovels for round holes, square shovels for square holes.” By this I mean that I prefer to use a sharpened spade to dig the small (30 to 40 cm in diameter), round shovel test holes that southeastern archeologists use to locate sites on survey, and a VERY sharp broad, flat shovel to dig 1×1 or 2×2 meter test units that are common in testing and full excavation projects. This maxim of mine has been fed by my original training in the Mid-South where we commonly dug in nice soft loams and loess soils. Things changed for me as I began to work in other settings.
In the Mississippi Valley the fine clays can be very difficult to deal with—when they are dry they are bricks and when they are wet they are a sticky mess. Two different shovel styles (springing from intellectual traditions) have evolved to deal with these soils (why do I suddenly sound like an environmental determinist?). First, there is the spade that has a “half-moon” cut out of the blade—these are the self-manufactured versions of Heizer’s shovels trimming the point off and filing the edge with a bench grinder. To the best of my limited knowledge this style comes out of the American Bottom region (or at least remains in style in that area). The “half-moon” cut out allows for a lot of strength in cutting through clay (and even burned daub walls). They do tend to make little ridges in the units floors, but if you were trained in this tradition you have probably become adept at minimizing this effect.
The second adaptive strategy in the Mississippi Valley is the use of a sharpened “rice shovel.” For those of you who have not encountered them, a rice shovel is a hybrid spade—with a snub nose and three holes in the blade. The shovel is somewhat flatter than a typical spade (more like a flat shovel) and the snub nose eliminates the pointy bit the way the cutting the “half moon” out of a pointed spade does. “Why the holes?”, you ask. The wet, sticky clays of the Mississippi River valley can often stick to your shovel blade with such suction that it can be very difficult to dislodge your soil matrix once you have shoveled it up. The holes break this suction insuring that you will be able to toss your soil into a bucket or screen.
But in the mid 1990s I left the lowlands and worked for a decade in the Ozark Mountains. This, again, radically changed my thinking about excavation. In the lowlands of the southeast I had been trained to keep floors and walls level and pretty…and my trowels and shovels sharp enough to cut string. In the rocky, uplands of the Ozarks all of this was nigh impossible. Most of the sites I worked on were 50%-70% gravel and as such it became very difficult (and pointless) to keep and edge on a trowel as you were literally mining the rocks out of a roughly 10 cm level in every unit. This environment made my favorite weapon, a sharp, large, flat-bladed shovel useless. I had three adaptive strategies for the Ozarks.
1) Entrenching Tool (or E-Tool): I am told that entrenching tools go back to at least the Roman period, but the ones I use have their roots in the folding spades of World War I and II—In fact, I literally prefer WWII entrenching tools—I have owned three different 1945 shovels manufactured by Ames for the US Army (this has lead more than one student to declare that my shovel “belongs in a museum”). I like to fold the shovel blade 90 degrees and use the shovel like an excavation hoe (or a large trowel). It works really well in the gravelly soils of the Ozarks, but I actually picked this tool usage up from a colleague of mine who worked in Texas and the southwestern US…so I am not sure of the origin of its archeological use…but it is not indigenous to the Ozarks.
2) Geologic hammer: This tool was actually great in the Ozarks for cleaning the rocks out of the corners of your excavation units and for better defining the wall/floor transition. Just like you would run your trowel along the base of the wall to create a right angle transition, you could use the pick end of the geological hammer to carve away the rocks to approximate a right angle…sigh.
3) Small-scale gardening spade AKA “The Lady Shovel”: Back to my maxim…using standard-size round spades to dig shovel tests was also difficult in the Ozarks as you were pounding through gravel. I found that a small-scale gardening spade was the best for digging shovel tests as it allowed you to “go around” rocks in the process of carving out the round hole. Unfortunately, many people (and some industry marketing) has given this tool the blatantly sexist moniker “the lady shovel” due to its frequent use in gardening (which apparently has become a gendered hobby). A word of caution, however, you cannot use the cheap, welded gardening spades you might find in discount stores for shovel testing in the Ozarks…you have to have a “real” thick gauged steel shovel…just scaled down from the standard pointed spade. The Ozark rocks would tear up one of the flimsy variety within a single shovel test.
In 2006 I once again fund myself changing geographical regions as I took up my new post in the rolling gulf coastal plains of southwest Arkansas—it’s called the Trans-Mississippi South by some researchers. I’m now working in the beautiful sandy soils at Historic Washington State Park near Hope, Arkansas. It’s beautiful—the ease of digging and screening sand, with just enough structure to hold it together and not collapse the way coastal sand does. There is dust on my entrenching tool these days…I’m back where I started with a sharp, flat, broad bladed shovel.
Seventy percent of all archaeology is done in the library. Research. Reading.
– Indiana Jones in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade
I have a confession to make. I don’t dig as much as I used to. The particular whims of my professional path have seen to that. As my duties have changed, the types of tools necessary to fulfill those tasks have also changed. I can think back to the tools and toys of my personal fieldwork era and wax all nostalgic about the various shovels and trowels that I’ve used, but I must admit that the tool that excites me the most is the one that I still use the most –my privately-owned professional library.
If, at the Principal Investigator level, our roles have become “not to dig but to think great thoughts,” then our most important tool must be that which provides us the necessary background information to think those thoughts. An oracle of sorts, I consult my library to help inform my attempts to plan for an excavation, address issues that arise during that investigation, and interpret what we’ve found.
Consulting this library, and indeed any professional library, is an archaeology in itself. I need to dig in the right places to find the necessary data. What it shows me is the historical progression of ideas, the changing body of data, and the perceptions and interpretations associated with them. I am by necessity forced to discern the subtle changes in the seriation of understanding as types and definitions shift, are split, reunited, and remade into something wholly new or again into something very old.
My library, unlike any other professional library, is also an archaeology of me. The volumes were selected by me for myriad reasons. Some are remnants of classes I took in school. Some were gifts from friends who were leaving archaeology and had no need of their books. Still others were purchased for a specific end, focusing on a project-specific topic. There are those books that I purchased on the off-chance that they could prove helpful with some unseen future project. My favorites were obtained for the best reason of all. These are the ones that touch on topics that interest me. Ironically, these are the books that are rarely completely read. Personal interest must take a backseat to professional need, it seems.
I must confess, I love books. The look, feel, and smell of a physical library is something incomparable to digital files, though I have plenty of the latter as well. Each book is a treasure in its own right and finding the book I want, or even need, can be a challenge. Even with the Internet, tracking down a specific volume can take a large amount of searching. For certain long out of print volumes, that searching requires a large amount of patience. Setting up notifications on bookselling websites. Tracking down the original publisher. Searching through stacks of books in the book room at various conferences that I attend. Not all of these attempts have been successful; I still have a list of books that I want. Some finds were successful years after I needed them.
I’m starting to get more selective about additions these days, though. I’ve already collected, and hopefully read, the absolute must-haves of archaeological literature for my needs and interests. Some of what remains on my want list are a little less urgent. I’m also beginning to come to grips with the idea that I can’t possibly read everything that I want, let alone what I already own. Still, as new projects come my way and new interests are developed, my library will expand in directions I probably can’t predict. However my library changes in the future, whether I cull or add works to it, it will continue to reflect my interests and career. It will continue to be my favorite tool.
The photo isn’t merely beautiful, it’s about beauty. It comes from a talk by Denis Dutton at TED called A Darwinian theory of beauty. It’s chosen for the depth of field which puts the focus firmly on the handaxe and makes the presenter blur slightly in the background. The completely out-of-focus distant background is colourful, but serves to highlight the handaxe. It’s an imaginative way of having human interest in the shot without the human figure drawing attention away from the subject. Often putting a human in shot makes the photo about the person and not the artefact.
In the mid-1990s, Glenn Sheehan, Greg Reinhardt and I got a grant to excavate a site in North Alaska, on Point Franklin, named Pingusugruk. We had surveyed the site in 1986 for the US Fish and Wildlife Service, who were managing the area at the time as part of the Alaska Maritime National Wildlife refuge. Since then, the refuge has been reduced in size and the land turned over to BLM to manage. It was an interesting site, and the people of Wainwright encouraged us to come back and do an excavation. We got funding from NSF, and back we went.
We had a fairly big crew, lots of gear and a pretty complete field library, since the site is remote and we were going in via Twin Otter. We had no interest in excavating graves, and had seen no sign of them during the survey. The only human remains anyone knew of from the site was one skull that had been on the ocean beach for some years (far away from the houses we planned to excavate). It acquired the reputation of whistling at passersby, and had been removed to Fairbanks by Fred Milan at the request of Wainwright people many years before. I believe it has subsequently been repatriated and reburied. As a result, we did not bring any osteometric equipment.
So there we were, happily excavating the tunnel of a semi-subterranean house, when someone encountered some long dark hair. We decided we needed to be sure what we had before going to talk to the Wainwright Elders, so we excavated a little more and discovered it was a musk-ox skin. Great relief. Excavation proceeded.
A couple days later, a bit more long dark hair was exposed, but this time it was next to a human cranium. We stopped work, and one of us headed down the coast on our only ATV 30+ miles to Wainwright. After discussion with the people of Wainwright, it was decided that we should continue the excavation, since that part of the site was eroding quickly and the person could wind up in the ocean during the next big storm. We were to record and document as much as we could, but the individual was not to be taken off site, and instead reburied on Point Franklin at a location which did not seem to be eroding. So we continued the excavation. The individual was lying wrapped in a musk-ox skin in the lower of two entrance tunnels to a house which had been rebuilt. We recorded everything in minute detail. It took my brother John (who is an excellent field archaeologist even if he is an MFA in Landscape Painting) and I nearly a day to shoot the human remains in, with John lying on frozen ground most of the time to hold the peanut prism. Then we needed to document the individual.
Well, we all had taken human osteology, and I am a zooarchaeologist, so I’ve measured a lot of bone and so had Greg. We had copies of von den Driesch and Bass in the field library, and I had a pair of calipers (standard dial calipers I’d bought in Copenhagen), but they weren’t nearly big enough to do measurements on long bones. What we needed was an osteometric board. And we didn’t have one.
Fortunately Greg Reinhardt is a very handy guy, and we had hand tools, and fasteners. Wood, not so much, but Point Franklin catches a lot of driftwood. A bit of cruising the beach and Greg had several nice boards, including a 1×6. He cut an end off, made a solid wall held at a right angle with two corners sawn from another board (to get the 90 degrees) and sacrificed one of our tapes. It was attached and fastened down so we could measure up to about 55 cm, which seemed like enough. He folded up the rest of the tape instead of cutting it off, just in case we needed to salvage it later. He then made a second sliding board with right angle supports. Greg and I hauled out the books, and spent hours in the supply tent out of the wind, with Greg taking measurements and me recording them. We were able to tell that the individual was a woman, based on the shape of the pelvis, her worn teeth (from chewing hides) and other features. She was quite small.
After we were done, we had to arrange a reburial. The first thing was a coffin, which we obviously didn’t have among our field gear either. Greg had found enough boards to build a coffin for the small woman, but we had nothing to line it with. John had a towel he had apparently been saving so he’d have a clean one for his first shower when he got out of the field, which he nobly donated to the cause. We let the community know, and all three pastors came up by boat, along with about half of the other inhabitants, and a fine solemn funeral was held. It might have been her first, because people were not buried in entrance tunnels. We wondered if she had crawled into the tunnel of an abandoned house for shelter while traveling, or been left there by companions needing to press on or die themselves. It is highly unlikely anyone knew she was there when the house was rebuilt, because sand had built up over the years, and the upper tunnel to the upper house never got that deep. Traditionally people avoided dead bodies, and the idea that people were knowingly crawling over one every time they went in or out of the house seems pretty unlikely.
The board is still on the North Slope, and has even been used on a couple of other projects. The sliding part has disappeared along the way, though.
I don’t use it anymore, though. When we started the Nuvuk Archaeology Project, which involves excavating a large eroding ancient Thule cemetery (I am actually not interested in mortuary archaeology and would be quite happy if I never excavated another grave; I just keep working on eroding sites where one of the things that is eroding is graves, and people don’t want their ancestors falling in the ocean), we bought a good bit of very nice osteometric equipment, including all sorts of calipers, and a very nice folding osteometric board. The old board from Pingusugruk is now an artifact itself, part of the history of archaeology on the North Slope.
When pondering which of my archaeology tools are most important to me, I had a lot of choices (for example, I have used the same trowel since 1969). I admit that I get very attached to those digging tools that work well, but some have better stories than others. The tool that I have selected for this post is my set of “Perino picks.”
Anyone who ever knew or worked with Gregory Perino became fascinated not only with his encyclopedia-like knowledge of archaeology, but also with his ability to create the perfect archaeological tools. Having done much of my early field work in archaeology in the Lower Illinois River Valley and at Cahokia, hearing Perino’s name was a common occurrence (the man dug everywhere!), and I am delighted that I had the opportunity not only to talk with him, but to work with him at several sites. In particular, he visited me regularly when I excavated the Mississippian Moss Cemetery, and I had the opportunity to visit him in Tulsa when I incorporated the Mississippian Schild cemetery (which he excavated) into my dissertation, along with Moss. Greg always told me that his job was to find, excavate, and describe sites, but interpretation and fancy analyses were for students and academics. He was always happy to share.
Greg was an amateur archaeologist who trained himself to be a professional. He was astounding in his ability to find “cool” sites and artifacts, and his excavation pictures demonstrate his amazing ability to conduct beautiful excavations. He had his own little bulldozer, he created special sets of shovels and trowels and screens, and he invented the Perino probe, which was sprung steel with a little steel knob on the end. Greg used the probe to find sites and also to identify what he had found. Having been trained to use the Perino probe, I can attest that you can tell the difference between stone, ceramics, clay, bone, etc. Unfortunately, I’m sorry to say that I don’t own one.
Another tool I don’t own is one of Greg’s postmold cross-sectioners. It was an adapted shovel that was a little wider than 95% of any postmolds (or possible postmolds) you might find. With two cuts, he could cross-section the postmold, and determine whether it was real or a rodent burrow or something else. He loaned me the shovel for some work I had to do on a special project. It worked extremely well, and significantly sped up the process of excavation (we had about 100 possible postmolds to examine).
When I was excavating the Moss cemetery in 1972, Greg was visiting Kampsville from Oklahoma, and came out to the site one day and announced that I did not have the right tools for the job. He then gave me several “Perino picks.” A Perino pick is a piece of bamboo about 6-8” long that he cut to various thicknesses, then carved to have a nice blunt point on one end and a nice beveled scraping edge on the other. You can easily work around and expose delicate artifacts and bone without risking harm to the items. I love those picks, and still use them today.
But, after Greg left to return home, another visitor decided that my supply of Perino picks was too limited. That visitor was the late Eugene Gray. Gene was a wonderful person who was an avid amateur archaeologist. He was happy to share information with professionals, and he very much wanted to learn how to do things properly. Gene also worked with Greg whenever the possibility arose. In any case, during Gene’s visit to Moss, he decided that I needed a broader range of Perino picks, and besides, he was trying to improve his ability to make these tools. I happily agreed, and Gene made me a set of picks that are similar to Greg’s, but are thinner and have a GG on them so that they can be clearly identified as distinct from Greg’s. In case you are wondering, the reason everyone was concerned about my toolkit was because we were finding significant numbers of whole pots at Moss, and no one wanted them harmed due to excavation.
My set of bamboo picks was complete, and to this day, I use them proudly and I loan them infrequently. Not only are they wonderful tools, but every time I use them I think of the two terrific field men who created them for me. In the years since, I have shown students how to create such picks, but I would never trade a new set for my originals – they were made with much knowledge and love by two remarkable archaeologists.
I chose this as Photo of the Week because it fits the tools theme, and the scale of the points is extraordinary. If I were digging the site I’d be cheerfully trowelling away these without noticing them. Even if someone said “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” and pointed them out to me, I still think I’d be missing a lot of them. The other reason is that it gives me a chance to plug his blog at Old Dirt – New thoughts, where you can currently follow a dig in Minnesota.
In exactly 14 days time, the first ever Day of Archaeology will be in full swing, with contributions of blogs, videos, audio diaries and images from archaeologists from across the globe, including most of the States. We would love you to join us – especially if you’re from Texas. Or Kansas. Or Alabama. (no contributors from these states yet – where are you?) In fact, we welcome archaeologists, whether professional, amateur or student, from anywhere and everywhere in the USA and beyond.
What is this day for? Well, have your friends and family ever wondered what your job, hobby or study actually involves? Do you wish you could could share more with the public about what you really do? Is your working life a cross between Indiana Jones and Lara Croft, or is it all just digging and filling in spreadsheets? Now is your chance to share your life as an archaeologist with the world! The Day of Archaeology 2011 aims to give a window into the daily lives of archaeologists. Written by the participants, it will chronicle what archaeologists all over the world do on one day, July 29th 2011, from those in the field through to specialists working in laboratories and behind computers. Day of Archaeology was born after a Twitter conversation between myself and a colleague, Matt Law, during the third annual Day in the life of the Digital Humanities in March 2011. We thought it would be interesting and fun to organise something similar for those working or volunteering in (or studying) archaeology around the world.
In our quest to reconstruct the life ways of past cultures we depend on the intact context of archaeological remains. The necessary irony of archaeological investigations is the systematic dissection of intact cultural deposits in order to study and preserve past cultures. Once these deposits are destroyed, the only place they are fully documented is detailed field notes taken by archaeologists.
Field notes are arguably the most important tool in the archaeological toolkit. Yet, they are often the most overlooked and under-appreciated (at least until they are needed during the artifact analysis or report writing stage). That said, there is no single best way to take notes (though some would probably argue otherwise). Pre-made sheets with blanks inevitably have fields that aren’t needed from project to project. Different phases of any archaeological project require different types of notes. The availability of different technologies open new avenues for documenting archaeological remains.
At some point in our archaeological careers we will be required to write an excavation report without the benefit of having been in the field for that particular excavation. Writing a report completely based on a set of field notes made me realize how critical these notes are to facilitating the later stages of a project and future visits to the project area. Having written reports from field notes at both sides of a continuum from non-existent to overly detailed, I’ve laid out several note taking philosophies that I have shared with several students during archaeology field schools.
Don’t put off taking notes.
You are in the middle of this feature excavation and don’t want to interrupt your work flow with note taking. You can remember that the initial fill stage was excavated as “Zone A”, a sample of a charcoal lens was taken and is contained in aluminum foil in the “Zone B” artifact bag, and a single diagnostic projectile point was recovered just beneath the charcoal lens.
Ok. Well what if a city bus suffers a mechanical failure, careens into your excavation unit, and squishes you. All of that information that you were going to write down is lost. The poor archaeologist that has to write up the notes on your excavation will probably get a headache trying to figure out how the charcoal and projectile point are related.
Sorry, not realistic?
Ok. You have your notes in your head. Get rained out of the field. Soaked, dirty, and grumpy you decide to have a few margaritas at the Mexican restaurant next to your cheap hotel. A Law and Order marathon is on television (again), but you get sucked in anyway. You wake up in the morning with your “Rite in the Rain” field book stuck to your face with a mixture of drool and 10YR 4/3 silty clay loam. Vital details about your feature may or may not have made it into your field book.
Locate your notes in space
This can be done in several ways.
Note the grid coordinates (Northing and Easting or UTMs) of whatever it is you are documenting (remember to note the depth below surface or below datum!).
Record the angle and distance from your location to several permanent landmarks. Road intersections, property markers, and building foundation corners are good. Porta-potties are not. You never know a city bus could suffer mechanical failure and run into the porta-potty and your spatial reference is gone.
Remember, someone should be able to locate the areas that you are writing about while relying solely on your notes.
Add some interpretations
Thinking about what you are excavating helps you catch details that support (or refute) your working hypotheses.
While not every interpretation will be correct, hypotheses will prompt you to record details that support your model and prompt you to change the interpretation when you encounter something that doesn’t fit.
Make your notes clear and make copies
Once you are in from the field, give your notes a once over. Annotate them in a different color pen so the stages at which the notes were places on the paper can be differentiated. Make copies or scans of your field books so a bus with mechanical problems doesn’t burst into flames and destroy your only copy.
Notes are a serious matter, they are often the only record of an intact archaeological deposit. While they don’t have to be works of art, they do need to be clear and accurately reflect what you excavated.
If others can’t understand what you worked on, then what makes you different than a looter?
When I was younger, I was a soccer player. I wasn’t the greatest, by any measure, but I was really fast. My coaches always tried to get me to wear shinguards, but I refused, because they were uncomfortable and slowed me down. This all changed in college, when the other team had no qualms about hacking at my unprotected shins. Lucky for me that they didn’t know that I wasn’t wearing a cup!
Pardon the rather light-hearted introduction to a very serious topic: safety. Archaeologists pride themselves on their eagerness willingness to work in the meanest terrain, and under the harshest conditions, in order to get the job done and have a story to tell over beers. We know we can count on our keen eyes to spot danger, and besides, “That never actually happens!”
Well, let me tell you, snakebites do happen. According to Juckett and Hancox (2002), approximately 8,000 venomous snakebites occur annually in the U.S.A., with no more than 12 fatalities. Apparently, this is outdated information according to the abstract of Gold et al. 2002, as the total is down to 2,000 (and yes, those are my attempts at having actual citations in this blog post). While many bites are dry, any venomous snakebite is dangerous as a major infection risk. After all, they’re eating live, wild rodents and other animals!
I first learned about snake guards in 2003, while I was attending the Programme for Belize Archaeological Project field school as a 31-year-old master’s student. I knew the jungle would be full of wild animals, but I never thought about poisonous snakes, much less the fer-de-lance (warning: graphic image!), perhaps the most dangerous venomous snake in the Western Hemisphere. I certainly never expected to kill one coiled between the feet of two colleagues and myself!
Needless to say, when I told my family about this and all the other snake encounters we had during my two-month stint, they were a bit worried. When I mentioned returning for the spring 2004 session, my mother insisted on buying me a pair of snake guards to wear in the field! As it would turn out, I ended up loaning them out to someone else who was doing serious jungle survey, as my site was only a short walk from the camp (sorry Mom).
I started working as a Cultural Resources Management field tech in May 2004, after returning from Belize, and true to my word I wore those snake guards whenever I was on a survey. That is, except when it was cold, as the snakes are hibernating. Of course, this would come back to bite me…in the ankle.
Since that day, I have always had my snake guards on while surveying, except in the dead of winter. I’ve grown accustomed to them to the point that I feel weird when I’m in field clothes and not wearing them. Not only that, but I’ve certainly come across myshareofvenomous snakes in the field, and was always glad to know that I was protected from all the ones I didn’t see. They also work very well at protecting my lower leg from briars, cacti, sawgrass, and all the other pricky/pokey/pointy things I have to walk through to do my job.
Here’s where it gets serious again: if you work in an area where there’s a serious threat of venomous snakes (and I’m no herpetologist, but I assume that’s a lot of places at least part of the year), you should consider investing in some form of snake protection, be it snake guards/gaiters or snake boots. Even better, if you work for a CRM firm, see if you can get your employer to buy some for the staff. A lot of the big-money clients are putting a heavy emphasis on company safety records, and a major recordable is a big strike that might cost a chance at a fat contract. One of my company’s largest clients has made snake protection a required part of the personal protective equipment, as a form of incident prevention after numerous “near hit” reports during the survey project.
And just in case you still think that what happened to me was something that almost “never happens”, or that I’m just unlucky (which isn’t entirely untrue…), I know two other people in Texas who were saved from snakebites by their snake guards! In both cases, neither person was even aware that they were being struck repeatedly until they wondered about the weird tapping sound/feeling on their leg.
I no longer have my original pair of snake guards, as they became too broken to be effective or comfortable. But the pair I currently have, similar to the ones I’m modeling above, go with me on every project. They’re currently sitting in my cubicle at work, ready for action. And they’ll most definitely be along for the trip to Turkey when I’m surveying for the Maender Archaeological Project!