DAY 83: Sunrise on Ivanpah

Morning in the desert is never as warm as one thinks.  Ron shivered as he saw the first rays of light escape the horizon.
He had come here on assignment with his team, searching for ways to shut down the power plant.  From his vantage point, he could see the outline of the Primm Valley Golf Club, who had no public umbrage with the plant.  Some members, in fact, saw the plant's development as an inroad, for development in the hitherto-overprotected desert acreage.  Other members had no interest in a sandtrap with over 50,000 mirrors in it; anonymously, they had set inquiries in motion about Ivanpah's impact on the environment.
The desert tortoise was a big focus; the plant had built a $50 million dollar fence, just to keep it out.  Payne had two assistants counting every turtle that was a week's crawl away.  But Ron was the bird guy; his assignment was to tally all the birds that had burst into flame flying overhead.  If he could find one on California's protected wildlife list, that would be game-set-match.
Two weeks in the desert, and he had little to show for it.  The folks at the club had started out nice; the debriefing had taken place on the course, over beers.  But after the first week, they weren't allowed back without satisfactory results.  Likewise, the folks at the plant had started cooperative, providing documentation, videos, and even the remains for perusal.  But their access lapsed after a week, and their calls weren't being returned.  But why would they?
He didn't have anything; anything that would expedite the investigations already being conducted, or slow down the project.  Nothing that would get him off the field, and running a department.  Nothing that would give him a life that would convince Norma to move back in.
He had managed a final walk onto the premises in the afternoon, to receive the last nice rejection he could expect on this trip.  But instead of leaving, he had stayed in the shadows overnight.  Ron stared over the valley that spread beyond the tower below; the sunlight would reach the mirrors soon. He took out a waxwing carcass from his jacket pocket.  It would have been nice if it had been a yellow warbler or one of those song sparrows.  But it was too common to do anyone any good.  He let it loose, into the morning.



Inspired by Discover Magazine article, "Giant Desert Solar Plant Powers On"