The Cedar Mountain Formation was laid down between 140 and 94 million years ago, during the early to middle Cretaceous period. While it contains an exciting array of fossils, it's not much to look at from a distance. Drab gray and brown compared to the brighter rust red and bone white bands of the Morrison, which it overlays, it makes for dull viewing.
As we approach the camp, the bus leaves the paved road and rumbles along a dirt track, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake. On either side, high, bare hills rise, the geologic layers laid bare in horizontal ribbons across their rippled surface. To the casual observer, the landscape might appear barren and devoid of interest, but to an aspiring geologist, it's gorgeous: hundreds of millions of years of earth's history, waiting to be revealed.
It's evening by the time we arrive at the site, having been delayed at the airport by a piece of lost luggage and a misplaced phoneâneither of which, thankfully, were mineâand the sun is already behind the high hills that loom to the west. The dig site is some ways up the slopes, where a road leading to a quarry cut into the rock face and unveiled a rich bone bed. We won't get to see it until the day after tomorrow, though, after we've been through safety and field training.
The bus rolls to a halt and George leans over me, craning his neck to see out the window, but the camp isn't visible from the road. His scent, reminiscent of corn chips and red vines, washes over me, and I wrinkle my nose.
Hazel hadn't tried to sit with me again, and instead had taken a place near the front of the bus, this time befriending the blue-haired River and another person with closely cropped hair and an androgynous style. I'd ended up next to George again, who'd talked about the scientific probability of teleportation for most of the two hour ride. He seemed like a nice guy, and with a month of his company to look forward to, I did my best to follow along and at least pretend to be interested in the dangers of mirror-image molecules.
Now, as everyone stands and gathers their things, groaning and stretching after the long, uncomfortable ride, I watch with envy as Hazel laughs and jokes with his companions as if they'd been friends for years. I've never made friends easily, and especially not in such a short time.
He tried to be your friend, too, I remind myself as he bumps fists with a tall exchange student I'd heard introduce himself as Abdul. If you weren't such an awkward potato, that could be you right now.
Having sat in the furthest seat at the back of the bus, I'm the last to disembark, and reality hits me hard in the form of a strong gust of cold wind, which blows my hair into disarray, throws sand in my eyes, and plasters my shirt against my skin. It doesn't last long, but no sooner has it passed than another one hits from a slightly different angle.
"Gets blustery out here, especially at this time of day!" Professor MacDowell shouts as the ten of us stand in a straggly group, backpacks and bags on our shoulders. "There's not much to insulate the land, so it heats up fast and cools down just as quick! Lots of heat exchange, stirring up the air!"
He gestures vaguely at the sky and checks his watch, a frown creasing his sun-weathered face, then beckoning for us to follow him and gather on the leeward side of the bus, where we'll be protected from most of the gusts.
"Alright, listen up, folks," he says. "We've got less than two hours before full dark, and it will take some time to get all the gear up to camp. Unfortunately, this is as close as the bus can take us, and it's a quarter mile walk, so we're going to skip the planned ice-breakers and related exercises."
More than one look of relief manifests at this, mine included.
"Instead," MacDowell continues, "we'll unpack, get situated in our tents, and eat dinner. We've got a special surprise treat for tonight, so make the most of it, because it's camp food from here on out. Professor Yuan has your information packets, which include your tent assignments, schedule of camp duties, and a list of everyone's names and pronouns for reference. Take a look, then gather your things and proceed to the camp and your assigned tent. Once you're settled, join us at the dining area for further instructions."
The assistant professor hands out the packets, which consist of about ten pages of yellow paper stapled together with our names on the front. I open mine to the list MacDowell mentioned, and read through it.
Lead Researchers
Professor Robert MacDowell, Ph.D; he/him - Gastonia
Assistant Professor Xiaoming Yuan, Ph.D; he/him - Gastonia
Doctoral Researchers
Kaja Aachari, she/her - Hippodraco
Sebastian Ozols, he/him - Cedarosaurus
Student Interns
Michaela Dunn, she/her - Hippodraco
Charles Hill, he/him - Deinonychus
Riley Simmons, they/them - Deinonychus
Abdul Siraj, he/him - Cedarosaurus
River Wainwright, she/her - Hippodraco
George Winkler, he/him - Cedarosaurus
Camp Assistant
Hazelius MacDowell, he/him - Deinonychus
"What are the dinosaur names for, Professor?" George asks, looking up from his packet with a furrowed brow.
MacDowell points up a sloping, well-maintained trail towards the camp, the tents of which are just visible from where we stand. "As you'll shortly see, Mr. Winkler, these genera are among the most abundant at our site. Each tent has been named for one."
Looking back at my sheet, I scan the list and fail to restrain a groan when I see Hazel got Deinonychus, too.
"Ugh."
"Something the matter, Charlie?" MacDowell asks, as we all hoist our belongings on our backs and begin the trek up to camp.
I glance over at him. "Um... Are the sleeping arrangements final, Professor?"
He frowns and leans over my shoulder to inspect my list, as if it might somehow be different from his own. "Not necessarily, but this is the only configuration that fits everyone's preferences. You and Riley were the only two who selected 'no preference' with regard to single-gender or co-ed tents. Other than Hazel, of course. You could always ask around if anyone's willing to trade. I must ask, though, what exactly would prompt you to do so? 'No preference' for gender is assumed to include nonbinary and trans identities, too."
Confused, I give the list yet another look and trip on a rock when I see that Riley, the only person in the group to use they/them pronouns, has also been assigned to tent Deinonychus.
"Oh! No, noâthat's not it at all!" I say quickly. "It's just..."
I can't very well tell him it's his own son I want to avoid, so I say the first stupid thing that comes to mind.
"It's just that I really love sauropods, so I was hoping I could be in Cedarosaurus, is all."
The professor gives me a look that clearly says, 'Are you five?' but thankfully lets it pass.
"Ah. Well, fear not, Charlie. If you can bear to sleep beneath the flag of a dromaeosaur, you may rest assured that plenty of sauropods await. I wouldn't be surprised if you stumbled upon Cedarosaurus more than once. In fact, a sauropod femur was the the first fossil I ever found as a student, myselfâlong, long ago in a distant time known as 'the nineteen eighties.'"
Warming to his topic, he waxes nostalgic and professorial the rest of the way to camp. By the time we reach it, I'm wheezing and in need of my inhaler, while he's barely paused for breath between sentences. I escape as he's distracted by Professor Yuan, and head towards the tents.
A huge fire pit ringed by log benches occupies the center of camp. To one side of this, an enormous shade pavilion, tied down with thick ropes, covers an open-air kitchen and dining area. Beyond, four large, military-style canvas tents with peaked roofs stand in a line. From the front apex of each roof, a brightly colored flag flies, each depicting a different dinosaur in silhouette.
Gastonia, a sturdy, armored ankylosaur; Hippodraco, a bipedal herbivore; Cedarosaurus, a long-necked giant; and Deinonychus, which looked more like the Velociraptor in Jurassic Park than real Velociraptor did.
Grudgingly, I head for Deinonychus.
Riley and Hazel are already inside. Riley looks up and gives me a friendly wave and a bright, "Hi!" but Hazel is sitting on his cot and glowering at his packet. He looks about as unhappy as I feel.
"This is bullshit," he grumbles. "He knows I hate this."
"Um..." I clear my throat. "He said we could trade, if we wanted."
He looks up at me, brow furrowed in confusion. "Names?"
"What? No, tents."
"Why would I wanna trade tents? That's the only good thing about this."
He smacks the back of his hand against the packet, making me jump. At the same time, an unexpected relief eases the tightness in my chest. Even though I don't want to share a tent with him, knowing he didn't want to share one with me would have been a million times worse.
I drop my pack on the only empty cotâthere are three, each against one internal wall, and I get the one across from Hazel with Riley along the back. "What's wrong with the rest?"
"Hazelius," he groans.
"That is your name." Professor MacDowell speaks from the open tent flap, startling me. "I should know, seeing as I gave it to you."
Hazel sits up and scowls at him. "Yeah, and you should know I never use it."
"You may introduce yourself however you wish," MacDowell says. "Everyone's name appears as listed on their student records."
"Yeah, well I don't have a student record. And why am I the 'camp assistant?' You might as well call me a janitor."
If Professor MacDowell had a sternness dial, he'd have turned it up to the max. "And if I had? Janitorial staff do extremely important work and deserve full respect. Janitors are among the most interesting people I've ever met, and you should know better than to suggest such a position is beneath you."
Surprised and chastened, Hazel blinks at his father. Riley and I remain frozen in place, afraid to move.
"I didn't meanâ" Hazel begins, but MacDowell cuts him off.
"As for why you're listed that way, grant funding is an extremely bureaucratic process, and we're up for renewal. If we want this program to continue, we need to dot every T and cross every I, and account for every expense. The money paying for your presence is allocated for a 'camp assistant,' so that's what you are."
Scowling, Hazel rises and tosses his packet on his cot. "Fine. At least no one can accuse you of nepotism, Dad."
MacDowell sighs. "Hazel, no one would be more delighted than myself to list you among the students. You know that, butâ"
"Save your breath," Hazel snaps. "I got what I wanted; you got what you wanted. We're good. Forget it. Just don't call me Hazelius. I fucking hate that name."
Exiting the tent, Hazel smacks the flap aside and brushes past his father, clipping his shoulder as he goes.
In the silence that follows, MacDowell rubs the back of neck and laughs quietly.
"Well. This isn't awkward at all, is it? I hope you can forgive that little display. My son and I don't always see eye to eye. Anyway, I am glad you're here, Charlie. Hazel is right, and I think you'll make a splendid addition to the team."
Smiling, he leaves, and leaves confusion in his wake.
"What's he talking about?" Riley asks. "What team?"
I shrug. "No idea."
Had Hazel told him something about me? Maybe something about my dedication to my work? Something that influenced his decision to choose me for the internship?
Huh, I think, as I follow Riley towards the dining area, where Professor Yuan and the two grad students are unloading trays from insulted bags. Maybe my unlucky day at the beach wasn't so unlucky, after all. Maybe Hazel is the reason I'm exactly where I want to be.
Given how unhappy he seems about being here, the least I can do is be a good tent-mate, and maybeâif I don't screw it up againâa friend.
***
Author's Notes
Here are some images to help with the location and dinosaur parts. All these images are from Wikipedia. You don't need to know any of this, it's just for the curious and to help with visuals.
Location of Utah and the Cedar Mountain Formation in the United States:
Location of the formation within Utah:
What the formations might look like at various locations:
Gastonia, a genus of ankylosauridae:
Hippodraco, a neo-ornithischian
Cedarosaurus, a sauropod:
And Deinonychus, a dromaeosaur