By Marc Oxoby
I didn’t crash and I didn’t wreck anything.
In truth, there was little chance of either of these things happening under the watchful eye of GBI’s fleet management specialist, Nathan Brown-Silveira, who recently invited GBI staff to participate in a hands-on off-road driver’s training. This event, which started at the Rosewood Nature Study Area in Reno and progressed to the hills off of Mount Rose Highway, was comparable to the training that GBI provides to all GBI field personnel. According to Nathan, this was not only a great opportunity for GBI administrators to undergo the training, but also “to discuss how crews are trained and the nature of our training.”
Through extensive training, GBI seeks to deploy personnel well equipped to deal with wild and unpredictable conditions. Given the heightened risk that comes with vehicle operations in these places, hands-on off-road driving is given special emphasis. Training is conducted as needed for GBI’s programs, but a rough yearly breakdown comes to 3-4 classes for Nevada Conservation Corps (NCC) hires, 2-3 for our Ecological Monitoring Program, and 1-2 each for Basin & Range Forestry (BRF), Cultural Resources, Research Associates, and Community Outreach and Resource Education. According to Nathan, at least 100 people undergo this training every year. “Driver’s training presentations are required for all GBI drivers, not just those who drive off-road,” he further explains. “This training is almost universal for seasonal hires, so it isn’t uncommon for us to facilitate 70 driver’s training presentations in a single year for around 300+ field personnel. Some presentations are large classes hosted in person, while others are conducted one-on-one with remote crews or even individuals.”
Now many GBI admins, including those of the NCC and BRF program who were in attendance, manage field crews, so there’s significant value to understanding the kind of vehicular guidance those crews are given. But then there’s me. Let it be noted that I am a bit of an odd-man-out amongst GBI staff, something of the proverbial “pencil pusher”. In addition to writing for the GBI newsletter and blog, I contribute to grant management, particularly concerning the performance reports that we submit to our project partners, and I oversee other compliance requirements. I assist in developing grant applications and work on tools to identify funding opportunities and to track GBI performance measures. And I offer editorial services on a wide variety of writing tasks throughout the Institute.
One thing I don’t do is go outside.
Okay, I exaggerate. I enjoy the occasion hike, a bit of idyllic time in the natural world. But I’m not as enmeshed in these kinds of activities as my co-workers. (Check profile pic backgrounds on our website’s staff page for some evidence of this.) And I am no risk taker. My wilderness adventures are very tame, very safe, and unless something has gone very, very wrong in my life, you’ll not likely find me in the kinds of remote areas to which GBI deploys crews. I have used four-wheel-drive precisely once in my life to get over a snow berm at the end of my driveway.
This characterization might lead you to think I am disinterested in new experiences. Nothing could be further from the truth, so when Nathan’s invitation found its way to me, I jumped at the opportunity. Not without some trepidation, understand. As eager as I was to undergo GBI’s off-road training, I knew that in me Nathan would be getting someone far “greener” than the usual trainee.
This was born out immediately when we met up in the Rosewood parking lot. Nathan started the session by going over different kinds of gear that might be issued to vehicles, depending on a crew’s needs. “Has anyone here used Fix-a-Flat?” Me: “No.” “Plug kit?” Me: “Uh-uh.” “Traction pads?” Me: “Nope.” “Tow straps?” Me: “I don’t think so.” (A response unconsciously intended to ameliorate my ignorance. There was no “think”; of course I’d never used tow straps.)
Following this overview of gear safety procedures, it was time to climb in the trucks and hit the road. And the word “climb” is quite appropriate here. The vehicle I rode in with Nathan was GBI’s “recovery truck”, a massive Silverado which practically required crampons and a climbing harness to scramble into.
This beast is a cornerstone of GBI’s impressive fleet of vehicles, including twenty GBI-owned vehicles (the recovery truck, the Galena Creek van, a plow truck, and assorted staff vehicles), plus ten UTVs of all different makes and models (from 2-seater utility vehicles to 6-seater vehicles for moving entire NCC crews), thirteen trailers, and a boat. Wintertime is when GBI fields the fewest crews, but we’ll still be deploying approximately 48 long-term lease vehicles, mostly crew vehicles like Chevy Colorados, and renting additional vehicles, as necessary. Summertime, when GBI has peak field activity, is naturally when we see a huge influx of new rentals. Nathan provided a breakdown: “Last year we had more than eighty rentals for field personnel. This year we had slightly fewer rentals, but slightly more leases. Even that static doesn’t give a complete picture of the rental truck situation. For example, at present we have 47 rental vehicles, but over the course of this summer we have had 74 rental vehicles pass through our programs. Such is the nature of seasonal field work, with projects constantly spinning up and down.”
From Rosewood, we caravanned up Mt. Rose Highway to a spot Nathan called “the gravel pit”. Apparently, this plot, located on land managed by the U.S. Forest Service, was indeed where gravel was harvested, though no longer. The term “gravel pit” does not evoke the most pleasant imagery, but as it happens, the spot is quite lovely, in a very northern Nevada way. This tableau of rolling hills and ample sagebrush in the shadows of Mount Rose and Slide Mountain feels paradoxically both barren and fecund, and for those who are willing to embrace Wallace Stegner’s exhortation to “get over the color green”, it is beautiful. (A side-note: when it comes to northern Nevada, this ought to be amended to getting over certain shades of green; earthier greens are plentiful here.)
That’s all well and nice, but the road, if you even want to call it that, leading to the pit is not so pretty, though it must certainly stoke the excitement of off-road enthusiasts. Once we reached the head of this unimproved (to put it kindly) road (to put it kindly), Nathan hopped out of the driver’s seat and it was my turn to tackle what Nathan cited as an example of the “average worst terrain” that our crews might be expected to face. What I take from this is that we absolutely expect our drivers to be able to navigate these conditions should they be encountered. Though it’s true that our crews might encounter unpredictable conditions in the field, this is the worst that they are likely to face and GBI takes great efforts in training crews to surmount the challenges the “average worst” presents, and to avoid any “above-average worst,” if at all possible. Crew safety is GBI’s top priority and the Institute has maintained an excellent record, largely due to the care that goes into training.
Forward I crept, across the chasms and precipices that made up this path. Hmm, I think I may be exaggerating again. But I’m not overstating to say that this was the roughest road I’d ever had to auto-motively traverse, wildly uneven with deep ruts that threatened to bottom out the truck. So how did I do? Fine. Just fine. In all honesty, I did better than expected. Certainly, I didn’t expect this expedition to end in a tragic conflagration, but I wasn’t unworried about missteps that might damage the vehicle, or worse, embarrass me in front of Nathan. But he seemed perfectly calm as I slowly and carefully selected trajectories that would avoid the most uneven parts of the road. I also have to give credit to the truck. This thing’s built for rough conditions. Far more than I am.
Once in the “pit”, Nathan ran us through a number of exercises designed to demonstrate to our drivers the importance of being attentive to their surroundings and of registering potential risks before they become actual risks. One exercise involved the seemingly simple task of backing up. I back up my car all the time, right? So this should be a piece of cake. Not so. The number of things that can impede visibility is considerable, the unevenness of the terrain and the size of the vehicle being foremost among these. Historically, most damage-causing incidents have occurred as the result of backing up, so GBI always requires the use of a spotter. Simply put, one crew member operates the vehicle while another provides guidance with a combination of verbal and hand signals, helping the driver avoid large rocks, foliage, holes, and other obstacles. For the uninitiated, such as he who writes these words, both roles can be harrowing. One key is working out a system of communication ahead of time, particularly a consistent vocabulary of hand signals. Another challenge is ensuring that the spotter stays in a spot where they can see the truck clearly and remain visible to the driver. Easier said than done, when a spotter has to walk backwards across rocky ground, through thick foliage, all the while keeping a close eye on the vehicle. Ultimately, with Nathan’s advice, we all passed this test admirably, though one maligned sagebrush bush might have something to say regarding my backup abilities.
When we got to our next obstacle, Nathan cheerfully announced, “this part gets better every year.”
“And by better you mean worse?” I asked.
“Yes!” Quite sensible really. The more Nathan can put GBI drivers to the test during training, the better equipped they’ll be to safely meet challenges in the field.
In this instance, we were looking at a slope, the steepness of which was considerable but not too distressing. The catch was that this slope had been worn away, that it consisted of deep ruts and two high berms precisely positioned to accommodate the tires of our vehicles. Miss the alignment, fall into the ruts, risk a stuck truck. Going up this slope was an easy task, the path clear as day. Going down was another matter. The entirety of the slope vanished below the hood of the truck. The field of flat terrain lay further ahead, and I could certainly see how an inattentive driver might overlook a hazard surface immediately in front as they looked forward to the safe-haven. The lessons learned, then, were less about this specific obstacle than they were about (1) assessing terrain before entering, and (2) the use of the ever-handy spotter to provide the visibility that the driver has lost.
All told, my successful completion of the exercises had me feeling pretty good about myself, brimming with confidence, ready to tackle whatever the landscape might throw at me. That’s when Nathan took us to the base of a path that shot up into the air at an angle of approximately 90m degrees. (I confess that I’m not particularly good at geography, so this might be an overstatement. I’m willing to downgrade this assessment to 89 degrees.) And he asked the question, “Do you think this truck [the Silverado] can make it up this?” I was dubious, despite the fact that the very presence of the trail suggested that people had made it up. The answer is “yes,” but not without an important qualifier: “in the hands of a very skilled driver.” My confidence is checked. I may have felt pretty good going though Nathan’s exercises, but I’m a long way from even attempting this kind of incline.
And that’s what it really comes down to. GBI drivers training is certainly about developing proficiency behind the wheel, but perhaps more about understanding and observing the nature of the terrain, and about understanding one’s limitations and accommodating these appropriately.
As for my own limitations? Make no mistake, they remain plentiful. But thanks to Nathan and this session, I’m a little more confident and a little bit more inclined to venture down a bumpy road in order to view some of the hidden pristine spaces that surround me here in the West.
