HAVE YOU EVER HAD stage one frostbite? Shannon Babb asks. Your skin tingles and turns white and then you lose all sensation. “Try getting it on the bottom of your feet sometime. It feels like you’re walking on blocks of ice.” Frostbite is one of the risks of trudging up and down a river bank in knee-deep snow at 4 a.m., collecting water samples. The iced cobblestones beneath the snow could be frozen willows for all you know until you’ve lost your footing and offered your porous right wader as a sacrifice to the River Gods of humility.
The treacherous dunking occurred on an outing on the Diamond Fork River around the mountainous bend from her Highland, Utah, childhood home in the American Fork River bed. Shannon Babb knows her rivers like other girls her age know their horses and their temperaments, talents and idiosyncrasies. She’s surveyed four of the rivers that flow into and out of Utah Lake, the largest freshwater lake in the state—playground for native boaters and motherland of the endangered June sucker. According to Babb’s research, every river in her study shows signs of pollution. “The Spanish Fork is in the worst shape, which surprised me at first because only 12 miles upstream from my monitoring site, the river appears healthy as it travels through Spanish Fork Canyon.”
Her commentary would rivet the listener even if lecture notes had to be consulted. Not that she would need them if she were a guest science class speaker, like she has been in the recent past. Instead of teaching youngsters about water quality protection, she is walking across campus, assessing the logic and feel of an unfamiliar place. At the moment she’s the only student staying in the Greaves Hall wing for natural resource college majors. The upperclassmen haven’t arrived yet. They don’t have to be back on campus until later in the week.
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Although she’s just a freshman, and it’s too soon to declare her major yet, Shannon Babb sounds like she’s ready to defend her thesis in watershed science. |