Yaquina Head Outstanding Natural Area in Newport, OR.
The designation of various ‘types’ of park rangers introduced me to the idea of interpretation and the puzzling concept of a variety of park ranger.
In the fall of 2017, just after the moon’s shadow made landfall at the same location just north of Newport, Oregon, I climbed the steps of the Yaquina lighthouse and combed the shores far below. I did this daily as a temporary park ranger, an operations park ranger.
After serving in the Air Force for six years, thru-hiking 2,186 miles from Georgia to Maine on the Historic Appalachian Trail, then working as a backpacking guide for the University of Texas at Austin while completing my undergrad there, I decided to pursue a career in the park service for two reasons. One, I knew it would be satisfying. And two, I could add federal employment to my military experience for a retirement stipend. My wife and I also weaved a mobile RV lifestyle into this plan. I go into that more in an article I wrote for Winnebago here, Life as a Mobile Park Ranger.
Even though my primary duties were focused on maintaining the park for visitors, I took many opportunities to capture moments and develop ways to share it with the public.
I quickly developed routine correspondence with the Oregon state Bureau of Land Management social media manager and the article I wrote for Winnebago was picked up and shared nationally by the Department of the Interior.
There was a strange delineation at this site between operations and interpretive rangers. It was an awkwardly passive aggressive rift, a mindset block between presupposed skills and background without much communication between the two. Operations rangers were not provided any interpretive training (besides the files I found on the shared drive) or truly allowed to join the interpretive mission, and interpretive rangers were not permitted to help maintain or clean—they were however, the only ones allowed to work the entrance gate, which I was thankful for. There were of course exceptions and the younger staff members did often express desire for more collaboration or simply collaborated.
While I interjected myself as much as possible into the interpretive mission, I also kept my eyes open to the amazing resources at the site, me, and my camera. The historic lighthouse, the basalt cliffs, whales, seals, birds of prey, small sea life, powerful storms, and the ever-crashing waves.
Here’s the thing about park operations, they took me all over the park all the time.
I was able to be present to capture moments like the full moon setting into the Pacific next to the light house before another human was in the park. Or assisting an inspector repelling from the lighthouse. Having site personnel with a background in interpretation put on operations occasionally to do ‘rounds’ would allow them to observe the resources in a different light. Then providing some basic training in media production (photos and video) would allow a whole new avenue of interpretation and outreach.
Can you imagine if any staff member could grab that DSLR camera, go out to that special thing that is happening right now that no one expected and take usable photos or video?
Or even with their phone?
I did forget my camera one day—the day a rehabilitated seal was released in our park. I took my phone out and did what I could.
Having a team capable of basic interpretive and media capabilities can add a new level of interpretive service and outreach to any site.
Regardless of the underlining awkward tension at the site and the dark Oregon winter,
Yaquina Head Outstanding Natural Area is where the idea of resource interpretation settled in the back of my mind. When I started my graduate studies, I understood that my past behaviors and interest had always aligned with the profession. It was a revelation like the end of The Sixth Sense.