In the summer of 2012, I led a research team (of me and two undergraduates) to the Rocky Mountains of Colorado to look at butterfly morphology, behavior, and thermal tolerance. It was my third field season and I finally had a good idea of what I was doing. I had mastered the art of camping the summer before, we decided to operate for the first month out of a more central location thereby cutting the driving time in half for most days (from 4 hours to 2 hours). Of course I had anxieties but it promised to be a good year.

On the drive out from North Carolina, we slept in a couple of terrible hotels and then camped the last night in Aurora, Colorado at a big reservoir. It was a beautiful campsite and we enjoyed our brief time there before heading the rest of the way to Gunnison. That was the last week of June. On July 20th, 2012 a movie theater in Aurora was the site of a terrible tragedy. A single shooter armed to the hilt and dressed in bullet “resistant” attire shot and killed 12 people and injured 70 more.

At the time of the attacks in Aurora, we were 3.5 weeks into a 7-week field season and I was constantly planning the next day, the next experiment, the next, the next, the next. The next day, we were to camp at the Black Canyon of the Gunnison in preparation for our experiments the following day. I was aware of what had happened but hadn’t really given it a second thought.

The Black Canyon is an amazing place with majestic vistas and a rushing river at the bottom of the steepest canyon (for its width) in the US. After we set up camp, we decided to go for a drive around to the lookouts. We ended up at one of the final overlooks (I think its called sunset point) at sunset. Not only was it a breath-taking sunset but there was an electrical storm out in the distance. So far away that you could see the lighting strikes without hearing anything. All three of us were sitting and watching this spectacular event when my 19-year-old female field assistant confessed that she was having a really hard time seeing the beauty in the world because of the shootings. My 21-year-old male field assistant admitted that he too was really struggling in part because we had, “just been there”.

I was taken aback both by their amazing compassion and by their distress.  I am old enough to have been in high school during the Columbine shootings. We talked a lot about shootings and had practice drills… Over the years, I had become “used to” this sort of thing and was just really grateful we were all safe.

So we talked about it for awhile. I offered what seemed like weak words of comfort. Finally, we returned to watching the apocalyptic landscape in front of us. The end of a blood-red sunset with black clouds and lighting strikes in the foreground. We had many more nights at that campsite and many more wonderful stories- like when a tent almost blew away in the middle of the night and the three of us held on to it for dear life or the night we went to the “night sky” presentation at the visitor’s center and upset the park ranger by laughing too much. But I will never forget that night.

(this was taken a few days later)

Every time there is a mass-shooting, or a terrorist attack of any kind in any country, I think about that night. I think about the fact that some of us completely tune it out while others empathize and others live the tragedy. It reminds me that we are all people first.

This week marked the 4th anniversary of the events in Aurora. In a few short months, it will be the anniversary of Sandy Hook , and the list goes on.

I am left wondering what is in store for the next few months.