tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89622687432758425172024-03-12T21:05:38.112-04:00Nature Through NoahNoah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-62442460064909156132016-03-15T03:15:00.001-04:002017-10-17T02:37:45.454-04:00More home, less hike<i>NOTE: This post has been edited from its original version. It has been formatted to fit your relationship norms.</i><br />
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<b>I promised a friend </b>that we would go on a camping trip to the desert in my own vehicle the first weekend of March. I thought it might help me "get on with it" in terms of that "simple" American decision of car ownership. When it was clear that I was not going to have a vehicle in time, I panicked a little. Why can't these decisions be easier? I tried to remind myself that I was sticking up for my opportunity to be a leader in the energy infrastructure reformation, and that to do so would require a longer period of due diligence than even I could perhaps predict. Thus, the services of my friend's charming but plucky Mini Cooper were requested. It is a lovely 5-spd. that would be lots of fun in the desert, but hey I guess that's why I'm not driving it. Concerned the Cooper's clutch might not survive the steep cutbacks of the S22 (the park's western entrance), we opted to head up the S2 instead, outta Ocotillo in the south.<br />
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With others in the desert, I feel an anxiety that is blissfully absent when I go alone. This is because I worry they will drag too much from the anthroposphere along, instead of taking the opportunity to embrace their kinship with non-human Earth. It is wrong indeed to split 'wilderness' away legislatively... What bio-gerrymandering! But to be in a place where the inspiration remains, or the rawest area of destruction, is to be awake. I want to share as much of that animalness, that geographic belonging, that Earthiness as I can - and thus often prepare for ambitious overnight plans, plans that must be tailored when there are others joining you. As a former dive guide, I will always inescapably be thinking about the maximum safety and enjoyment of my guests. There is always a felt apprehension to see how the non-self human(s) along will experience nature's wavelengths. Sometimes it is a litmus.<br />
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Ceding (the illusion of) control over the expedition to the brave Mini, and this non-self human loved one along, it took my ego some time to accept that I wasn't there to summit Whale Peak or bike coyote canyon smelling wildflowers, but to share such sensations with another.<br />
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The following 20 photos are from our trip out there (the wild, wild EAST, to a San Diegan?) on the first weekend of March. We arrived around 9:00 PM Friday after an already forgotten blue-collar workday to shockingly strong winds - around 30 miles per hour. Having stopped at a Chevron for forgotten sporks, we chatted with its burly cashier, who smiled politely upon hearing our camping plans. A quintessential green sign of the American highway system could be heard creaking perilously, hundreds of feet away. Wind like that blew over water bottles, mandated shouting when only an arm's length apart, and sent tumbleweeds rocketing past as if fired from cannons. We were not deterred, and continued into the park, beginning our hike down a sandy unpaved road through the "Canyon sin Nombre." A new moon, the stars were our only audience, peeping down at our mortal souls with thoughtless gaze. Tired. Dark canyon walls rose around us with each footall, squelching the windy bellows of the open plain into whines and whistles and squeezing shut the eyes in the sky. We hiked for a mile or so, until the canyon began to open into the Carrizo Valley and our exhaustion set in. We made camp, although I couldn't resist the odd scorpion hunt. We found two small ones quite easily. I most certainly did not pick them up...<br />
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Saturday found us doing a little park driving, hemming, and hawing over our second camp site. We had originally timed the trip to coincide with the spring wildflower bloom, but after finding various cactus and wildflowers around us in season decided not to venture further north where the internet said more stunning arrays could be found. We thus headed to nearby Indian Gorge, as Torote Canyon was supposed to be a pretty hike - and short enough to not put too much of a strain on my buddy's cabeza, which had recently suffered from a soccer ball to the face. Concerned at burning out a clutch in the soft sand, we parked near the road and hiked the first mile across sandy plain towards the mountains, then into the gorge. Opting not to hike the last two miles up Torote Canyon with limited sunlight, we set up camp across from the trailhead. The wind continued, abated only slightly from the night before, as clouds whipped across the starry sky. The metal container I brought along to contain our fire - a park regulation in the dry, dry desert - provided our only light as we sat on the orange Mexican blanket I'd salvaged from the streets of Ocean Beach. To my delight, we were attended by a great host of different spiders, scuttling past our fire as if pushed by the wind. (In fact, the very first arthropod my we saw on our first night was a small Solifugid, or camel spider; a very good omen given its single sighting on each of my desert camping trips.) Of course, my friend and I shared opposing views on these creatures, and each eight-legged ambassador that made itself known in the firelight required them to perform the ritual 'spider dance' whereby their headlight was turned on and an odd prancing begun. I tried to console them by politely reminding them that they would only find more spiders if they went looking for them with more light and would be better served by the "out of sight, out of mind" aphorism... but you can imagine the response yourselves. We shared a large can of chili with added tomatoes and green beans reheated over a palm-sized alcohol stove. (250mL of Everclear made four meals and two coffees!)<br />
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Sunday found us leisurely hiking up Torote Canyon, with its gnarly alien Cholla sprouting from the hillsides, meditating on our trip. Thinking we'd one last chance to take in the views, we paused on the top of a small hill in the middle of the wide wash at the canyon's origin... Until I erupted a gurgle of laughter. My habit of teasing my friend trained the to immediately seek the cause of my laughter. You see, knowing that the deserts of southern California are home to a very particular charismatic arachnid, I had been searching for one all weekend. And even though my research told me they very rarely left their burrows, it began to dawn on my buddy that this hilltop was indeed a ritzy high-rise for tarantulas. Luckily for the both of us the brown fuzzy ball I'd spotted three feet behind us was dead - for my friend, to retain their dignity with a walking retreat; for me, to photograph. Was it a coincidence that this was the zenith of our explorations before the long trek back to San Diego? I wonder.<br />
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With a few beers under us at my favorite desert watering hole, sharing the knee slappers of just how venomous my photographed scorpions were, e.g., another desert trip came to a close - and another parishioner in my church of nature had heard Earth's sermon.<br />
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<br />Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-73362598701907703092015-12-12T18:33:00.002-05:002015-12-12T18:59:53.215-05:00SoCal: the NEW desert home<br />
<i>The following post is about a solitary desert adventure made in lieu of holiday merriment with friends or family. Enjoy the prose and occasional photographs and figures. Occasionally coordinates are mentioned; I encourage you to copy and paste them into your GIS of choice (e.g., the free online Google Maps) so you can follow along, so to speak.</i><br />
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<b>Trying to make a living in the U.S.A. again </b>has had its weirdnesses. For instance, I've spent years ignoring U.S. holidays - "American" holidays - due to the dearth of countrymen at hand for reminiscence. Yet last Thanksgiving weekend I found myself cloistered within a California beach apartment as my friends, family, and even roommate were off somewhere else for their own feasts. San Diego felt dead - is that even possible? - and I had a whole four day weekend to spend alone.<br />
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Palpable depression crept in. I sweated out most of the Day itself through gritted teeth and repeatedly chittered a tried-and-true "s'alright - just another day" mantra in between the requisite calls to absentee loved ones. (Why doesn't everyone just live here?! Oh, earthquakes, drought, and cost of living, you say? Hmm.) After I'd had enough anxiety and longing and regret, I planned an escape from that mental hell hole.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well, you COULD take the 15 to 67 to 78 to S2 to S22 to Borrego Springs...</td></tr>
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...And traded it for a geographic hellhole. No, seriously, "Hellhole Canyon" was on my list of hikes to investigate once I got my hands on the necessary topographic map. I decided to go back and visit Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, which I first explored two years ago on a west coast road trip. California's largest state park, Anza-Borrego spans some 60 miles north-to-south, from San Bernardino National Forest in the north to Ocotillo on the I-8 down south. It's the second-largest state park in the United States! The park covers and area about the size of Rhode Island!! Yup.<br />
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Back in 2013, I borrowed a friend's tent and sleeping bag for a night alone on one of the desert's mountains. I had been browsing around satellite pictures of SoCal looking for an adventure when I found it - and when I found out that it is one of the few parks in the U.S. where camping is permitted everywhere, I was hooked. At 2500' on the eastern slope of San Ysidro, I set up my tent for a balmy 50 degree Fahrenheit evening. Flash forward to Thanksgiving weekend 2015, much later in the year than my last trip, and with a large coast-to-desert rainstorm to start the weekend. Flash floods, anyone?<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyE-Iqc1cVd6zf-qkptdUNWRn5MH8P_sT0ht5B9ORhPvti00y_lKN2BNdZwUkEaEHdXlCqSu-MN2GTGR5xRlDTI6HQwDfonmMRKrIQH4itXUs44mO3i5wPCEEizX2_iD1toKzxfC7ymZt6/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-12-12+at+12.23.51+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyE-Iqc1cVd6zf-qkptdUNWRn5MH8P_sT0ht5B9ORhPvti00y_lKN2BNdZwUkEaEHdXlCqSu-MN2GTGR5xRlDTI6HQwDfonmMRKrIQH4itXUs44mO3i5wPCEEizX2_iD1toKzxfC7ymZt6/s400/Screen+Shot+2015-12-12+at+12.23.51+PM.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friday's Yaqui Pass campsite, with the Mescal Bajada to S.</td></tr>
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My first night, Black Friday, I made camp at Yaqui Pass (34.133883 N, 116.351204 W), a windy <br />
ridge at 1700' overlooking the Mescal Bajada and the North Pinyon Mountains to the south. Just coming to terms with that sentence is incredible. It is not that these named places are uniquely stunning, though they are, but that they are just so observable. Let me explain. As an ocean scientist by training, I have much more familiarity with the seascape. And bathymetric maps, the subsea equivalent of a topographic map, while useful, depict an area that changes quite regularly. The force of currents and tides and storms is more frequent than rain over a desert. Thus in the sea, the benthos (bottom habitats) are always changing; fifty-foot high kelp forests grow and disappear, cliffs tumble apart into sandy slopes, slopes collapse into canyons. Yet seawater conceals the ocean's breadth to human eyes, absorbing light quickly. In a desert, there are no forests to obscure the view of the bare rock of our planet, whose rubbly crust responds to gravity only when sporadically shaken or washed loose, wending its way down into piles of sand. It is the desert that smacks us with Earth's vastness and openness, where its presence can be acknowledged, questioned, and explored less mysteriously and more invitingly to our terrestrial souls.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEIGvcz2A-zjVfeeDYs971f_TytYCwkHRdjZ1EpcJm_96lG2Je7TbURDLiZDzrKmEpDm1PzCr5VagfMpAJ0C4BBZCANMRoa909nvCgrB1bGMB5R8SP5fFAnxOCtRdHRluTaKXF598VyOUw/s1600/IMG_2556.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEIGvcz2A-zjVfeeDYs971f_TytYCwkHRdjZ1EpcJm_96lG2Je7TbURDLiZDzrKmEpDm1PzCr5VagfMpAJ0C4BBZCANMRoa909nvCgrB1bGMB5R8SP5fFAnxOCtRdHRluTaKXF598VyOUw/s320/IMG_2556.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
Temperatures were forecast to drop to 39 F, so I stayed close to the road (a half mile) in case I misjudged the thermal capabilities of my body or this year's borrowed sleeping bag. The storm clouds that had covered the sky all that day unleashed heavy rain west of the mountains and the park's basin; continuing their drift eastward thinned them out over the barrier peaks, reducing their impact to a chill wind that rattled my un-staked tent all night and wheezed ice crystals across the landscape, through my tent's vents, and over my sleeping face. Overzealous hydration during the day (and a self-congratulatory libation in Borrego Springs before hitting the trail) found me frequently waking to urinate. Given the cold, this task would have been much less enjoyable had the dense clouds not blown away and exposed a brazenly full moon.<br />
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The midnight sun lit the landscape as artfully as a movie set; colors were easily discernible, tinted with blue and gold and black. I cursed myself for cutting my nicer camera out of my gear bag to save on weight - a slow-shutter would have given you 1,000 words, shortly. I basked in that eery glow, transfixed, while competing with coyotes to claim the land the old-fashioned way. My chest was heaving as I was drawn into my primal being. I silently scanned for the creeping shadows of mountain lions, chupacabra, or Gollum - snarling to myself, as "red in tooth and claw" as my surroundings. I howled. I howled again. I wanted to run, to hunt down the frail, but I knew I couldn't leave behind my water and warmth for a spiny cobble field to which I was no native. Instead I left my useless tent flap completely open to the moon above, inviting its power and any of the creatures it might embolden to come visit. Surely I've experienced far colder temperatures, but never so long relying on my own body heat as my sole source of warmth.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifg_NPbiH1_BpNv5uZ5Aa9qiA8mhbumVqm17TNJ6zELcJpWBcRzORaozCYIn0AWWAqTycOsf1_IpgpNs-sgNVbrtbvfmfBnDT2JSQ7zmTSuzeI2XryqGM5egyjnblMeCCagQ5fxiHbk1-9/s1600/IMG_2497.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifg_NPbiH1_BpNv5uZ5Aa9qiA8mhbumVqm17TNJ6zELcJpWBcRzORaozCYIn0AWWAqTycOsf1_IpgpNs-sgNVbrtbvfmfBnDT2JSQ7zmTSuzeI2XryqGM5egyjnblMeCCagQ5fxiHbk1-9/s640/IMG_2497.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My stagecoach. I'm eternally grateful for the friend that lent me her manual Mini; it shrewdly thwarted the spiny terrain.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlI9WnStj6XXZfBgz_FaQ10dDrTNT_nyhhiJfHw0qMPco0cLaGDJ1qjD2Y8Bm9x95DVia9qj-6uYHLbpiUuWZZPBHj42eVrpxCKQEfrHDmJ7TpSUPQu7mCa-GGp7QWUC6StO1HU05UZojG/s1600/IMG_2488.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlI9WnStj6XXZfBgz_FaQ10dDrTNT_nyhhiJfHw0qMPco0cLaGDJ1qjD2Y8Bm9x95DVia9qj-6uYHLbpiUuWZZPBHj42eVrpxCKQEfrHDmJ7TpSUPQu7mCa-GGp7QWUC6StO1HU05UZojG/s320/IMG_2488.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoInUUAqQpYMCXptvOebBSYDzKnOj_PO8CJqAlvDnD_wDFUqUIT4Daivkqyw6htXSXoPOxfYAsA34U5uCZsufaPMqYpHb9Hr851WzdFp40mcqlZV4-e2bTeNXNzEZ_JFlvw3CfKxkD-1Ui/s1600/IMG_2527.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><br />
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Empowered by the successes of the first night, I decided to carry out my more ambitious plan for the second night. Of course there were a bunch of adventures earlier in that Saturday as I, like the eroding sand, wended my own way around the park; for fun I stumbled down Yaqui Ridge when I woke up just to see how long it would take me to reach the sights I was seeing (25 leisurely minutes to the bajada road, SR-78, 0.5 miles and 400 feet of elevation gain). I also had to return to Borrego Springs to fill up with gas, cursing the lazy "city boy" disease I'd begun to contract that led to that oversight Still, it gave me a chance to tell the park staff I had indeed not died in the night, and to visit some of the sculptures littered throughout the Borrego Basin around the town. By late morning I was off, down the S3 out of Borrego Springs to the 78 to the S2 to Blair Valley, at which point I turned off road and drove seven miles to reach Smuggler's Canyon for my second night. For me the real event was the camping and the big Sunday hike out of the Blair Valley, so I've glazed over the human communities to return to that second night's campsite (33.014774 N, 116.344490 W).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7dHTNfHaGAhKqpKyY5m9ymyejhzHT_Wfsyqg-ToOOcod9cbr_KyPJZopJ9fZgM8ennI56oIITHiPz1zw7GOVyxbASTn1NYTjC_PyrNmtqq69m1LYCg7N3TiEY_uecRePL3PbmNsasPU-A/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-12-12+at+1.30.06+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7dHTNfHaGAhKqpKyY5m9ymyejhzHT_Wfsyqg-ToOOcod9cbr_KyPJZopJ9fZgM8ennI56oIITHiPz1zw7GOVyxbASTn1NYTjC_PyrNmtqq69m1LYCg7N3TiEY_uecRePL3PbmNsasPU-A/s640/Screen+Shot+2015-12-12+at+1.30.06+PM.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saturday's camp in Smuggler's Canyon, between Blair Valley to W and Vallecito Mountains to NE.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoInUUAqQpYMCXptvOebBSYDzKnOj_PO8CJqAlvDnD_wDFUqUIT4Daivkqyw6htXSXoPOxfYAsA34U5uCZsufaPMqYpHb9Hr851WzdFp40mcqlZV4-e2bTeNXNzEZ_JFlvw3CfKxkD-1Ui/s1600/IMG_2527.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoInUUAqQpYMCXptvOebBSYDzKnOj_PO8CJqAlvDnD_wDFUqUIT4Daivkqyw6htXSXoPOxfYAsA34U5uCZsufaPMqYpHb9Hr851WzdFp40mcqlZV4-e2bTeNXNzEZ_JFlvw3CfKxkD-1Ui/s320/IMG_2527.JPG" width="240" /></a>Blair Valley's higher altitude (3400') brought colder temperatures; the nighttime low as measured in Borrego Valley (~500' altitude) was an almost freezing 34 F. Without a thermometer, all I can note was that my water did not freeze. The park graciously allows campfires provided they are built within a metal container, and all ashes packed out. Thus curling my body around the trash can lid serving this very purpose, I burned a few slabs of untreated Ocean Beach alley lumber to stay warm and kill time before bed. Sunset brought the first licks of cold right at 17:00hrs. I had brought with me my scorpion hunting equipment, and attempted to go on a short walk as soon as it got dark with this purpose in mind, but after forty-five minutes of observing my own breath in the darkness (the moon did not rise until late in the evening), I decided I had best read more about scorpions and their seasonal cycles before expecting to bump into them as easily as in Baja or Bonaire.<br />
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Some people might think these conditions sound like a lot of work, or inhospitable. Yet I find the solitude solemnly engulfing; the desolation is an enticing challenge, a temptation to stay away from all our human failings forever, and the solitude is a means to focus on the non-self and non-society. I pondered these things for two more hours as I burned the last of my wood, hands too cold to play the scribe. I had a long day planned for Sunday.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3CCdhhEEln7wgCCZRjvUtrCGlNfwx9t_hSc9GX53W38_J_BbIQRyQEAQZei-1wx_GEjRDSdBVxVQ_C9G4rgcf7W6X8N08xEToItTGvNs__rbU6Nq5-j9BXpz7OqH5LniP-7JDvfjruVeN/s1600/IMG_2530.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3CCdhhEEln7wgCCZRjvUtrCGlNfwx9t_hSc9GX53W38_J_BbIQRyQEAQZei-1wx_GEjRDSdBVxVQ_C9G4rgcf7W6X8N08xEToItTGvNs__rbU6Nq5-j9BXpz7OqH5LniP-7JDvfjruVeN/s640/IMG_2530.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camping in Smuggler's Canyon; Vallecito Mountains rising in the NE.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_u6hE3fMBGSg_SjYImuLgMo0QLUbhP70E2aev1CKvi3b78dN6aF2B56fA47yS3h6z4BlO2MufrWrGe-lgvr5jdWHTI0wI7h5GSuoy8_3jJCrcx0uV7h5Znt_L_VSHZDh6nPkCzuGK47MU/s1600/IMG_2537.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_u6hE3fMBGSg_SjYImuLgMo0QLUbhP70E2aev1CKvi3b78dN6aF2B56fA47yS3h6z4BlO2MufrWrGe-lgvr5jdWHTI0wI7h5GSuoy8_3jJCrcx0uV7h5Znt_L_VSHZDh6nPkCzuGK47MU/s400/IMG_2537.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Writing on a hill saddling Smuggler's Canyon (left) and the Carrizo Valley.</td></tr>
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Arising around 07:00hrs, I hiked up a small hill just south of the tent (see right) to write. Using my topographic map, I made the final appraisal of my plan to summit Whale Peak (5,349'), the highest point in the Vallecito Mountains. It would be 2,000' of elevation gain over 2.5 miles, which I estimated from the day before to take me a leisurely two and a half hours each way, rounding it to three for mishaps given that this was all off-trail wandering. Recall that as camping is permitted anywhere in the park, the limits of exploration are solely up to the training, experience, and preparation of the adventurer. I packed up six liters of water and about 3,500 calories, wrote a note to leave behind with my tent should personal misfortune require a path of bread crumbs for park rangers to follow, and headed off to the foothills of the mountains to NE.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT-w-VGKgeqWeLnruczhtVbEdkGOekZMD1QFc2qfsrSXs5-VE4MPGSVqLVWLTUCHpkfQYckpQv4YIoDiDY5tVmmFliO17u8JI25hrG96fLiu3j2uUEnvI6dpE1VLb64CZ67isSj50zktJl/s1600/IMG_2544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT-w-VGKgeqWeLnruczhtVbEdkGOekZMD1QFc2qfsrSXs5-VE4MPGSVqLVWLTUCHpkfQYckpQv4YIoDiDY5tVmmFliO17u8JI25hrG96fLiu3j2uUEnvI6dpE1VLb64CZ67isSj50zktJl/s400/IMG_2544.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing Smuggler's Canyon for Vallecito foothills</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipehonypiMooBTeL0UpBJb2Me-l3ENrLAiAcAQDb1T13GCfyQ0oTrTCuHHJB5axzKXcURNOSGtrvM-SPZfF12trrHVMzvQFwECYMIkCgCxh6urpZzLwyj0WIpiB0JRebvmqhBcRLIeYLXo/s1600/IMG_2547.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipehonypiMooBTeL0UpBJb2Me-l3ENrLAiAcAQDb1T13GCfyQ0oTrTCuHHJB5axzKXcURNOSGtrvM-SPZfF12trrHVMzvQFwECYMIkCgCxh6urpZzLwyj0WIpiB0JRebvmqhBcRLIeYLXo/s320/IMG_2547.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The face of readiness! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7DCXAR5hDYcTXvWJKW3Fk-bzFBWeeYkscG8Ip9r00ii59foRBnRgbhmsLtOAjEoScNnrfY39z1fa6OM3NeMKNZZz_N1Mom8THmmxeU424XZmBeKichXZUg2T_Qz7HsvMqmFn1kbVna5Lr/s1600/IMG_2542.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7DCXAR5hDYcTXvWJKW3Fk-bzFBWeeYkscG8Ip9r00ii59foRBnRgbhmsLtOAjEoScNnrfY39z1fa6OM3NeMKNZZz_N1Mom8THmmxeU424XZmBeKichXZUg2T_Qz7HsvMqmFn1kbVna5Lr/s640/IMG_2542.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The note I left in the dirt outside my tent.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrck6N9P_hDdZQF5tUroh8DN7Nlha45qqbhmZA8WiooUnkNzgevVT3ad0EX48QIJQGGDeqb-0eZ3QEGN8OnQGAkv6HctYcT4aY9iUai4g34qeIzATvYof_Ing7xEoFi1ZuHFJ5fQUOukn8/s1600/IMG_2549.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrck6N9P_hDdZQF5tUroh8DN7Nlha45qqbhmZA8WiooUnkNzgevVT3ad0EX48QIJQGGDeqb-0eZ3QEGN8OnQGAkv6HctYcT4aY9iUai4g34qeIzATvYof_Ing7xEoFi1ZuHFJ5fQUOukn8/s400/IMG_2549.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At 4,000' looking down on my tent in Smuggler's Canyon</td></tr>
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After crossing the flat wash of Smuggler's Canyon, I began my ascent up the creeks that cut through the Vallecito Mountains. Temperatures heated up to a wonderful 68 F or so, and the rocky hills were tufted with my favorite desert plants - the teddy bear cholla, the ocotillo, and the mescal/agave/century plant that was so important to indigenous tribes - although these deserve their own post in the future as their appearance and lifestyles are endlessly fascinating. Of course, they are also very painfully spiny - the cholla (CHOY-ya) earning the nickname "jumping cactus" for the uncanny ability of its spines to leap onto/into skin and clothing with the slightest of touches. This requires one to be even more aware of one's footsteps than when hiking the forested east coast of my youth. After an hour of weaving my way up a single steep canyon, I had made my first ~600 feet of elevation gain and had earned myself a wonderful view of the Carrizo Valley to the SE - I could not see the vista from my tent or even the small saddle ridge I'd been writing on that morning; the height afforded the necessary angle. The S2 highway followed in this valley for at least 15 miles on its way to the I-8 down south.<br />
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After some sips of water, I pressed on - noting that the steepness I had initially regarded as 'manageable' was becoming a bit trickier. As mountains weather, water and wind cause materials to flow down them, eroding little concave canyons/valleys into the slopes between convex areas the water diverts around. As the canyons converge near the first ridge here, at 4,400', there were multiple paths to select, although their height precluded a full assessment of the strenuousness of their full ascent. It was here that my mind began to doubt, to remind myself that this was foreign territory - mostly literally, but also a little figuratively. Why not just traverse the mountain at the same altitude a bit first until I found a gentler route? I told myself it looked tough, but not impossible. Might as well continue.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfRwXWOJWUmuG_yw28yZp274eLuY4mZynM0Mpnx0hvGhlirhD1kJAwfbnQ-7sl60sUcKYaek1qwNzNj2CRp7myR2xXRhbm6ehyYu3eV9nSa7UQeJI5C9HXrNZBV58YCJdSF3S3ZBBWS_xK/s1600/IMG_2551.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfRwXWOJWUmuG_yw28yZp274eLuY4mZynM0Mpnx0hvGhlirhD1kJAwfbnQ-7sl60sUcKYaek1qwNzNj2CRp7myR2xXRhbm6ehyYu3eV9nSa7UQeJI5C9HXrNZBV58YCJdSF3S3ZBBWS_xK/s640/IMG_2551.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At 4,300' looking SSE into the Carrizo Valley; the Sawtooth Mountains on the horizon are seven miles away.</td></tr>
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The next three hundred feet of elevation gain were much steeper, and it is with great humility I must force myself to admit my errors. I am greatly embarrassed to post such small numbers for such an otherwise manageable hike, but it was a battle to get myself to stop. In the above photo I am sitting on a rock with quite a steep rise below; behind me, the rest of the climb rises vertically. I had brought rope with me, so that I might hoist my pack up after making a free climb; but after testing the crumbling granite (an otherwise excellently firm rock to climb) and contemplating the results of a fall, I sat down to study the map, reflect, and write. Would I risk the hundred or so feet left of climbing to the ridge, knowing it could very well be a path I would have to come down? Perhaps there was another route that was gentler. Visually surveying the adjacent slopes revealed much of the same picture, and after studying the topo map I realized I had hiked into a trap of sorts. With a minimum 30 degree grade all around me, traversing around my chosen canyon to a ridge would have taken me about another hour. Unfortunately for me given the time of day, that would have meant my last hour and a half of hiking back to my tent, the steepest part, would be in the dark. I had a flashlight and adequate exposure protection; I was more worried about tripping over something in the dark and not being able to crawl down the grade between the cactus alone before the temperature dropped. There at 4,400', I had to stop. It took a lot of willpower and a lot of writing to not only acknowledge this, but also to accept it. I'll share some of my writing from that moment:<br />
<br />
<i>"DEFEAT implies that the only SUCCESS is the single stated goal, in this case the vertex of a summit </i>[Whale Peak]. <i>Because of how we speak, it is difficult to name this halting anything BUT a failure of that goal. But which stronger human passes me? I am alone. Which prize awaits me? Only my own. What utility does it have? Only a story in the past.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"...the reason that the true adventurer continues or stops is to address whether this is an acceptable final adventure."</i><br />
<br />
I am an ocean man. Whale Peak, though piquing my ocean scientist curiosity - how many whales are up there, e.g.? - was not the adventure I'd remember to tell my kids - but rather sails and dives to occur sometime other thank Thanksgiving 2015. I grudgingly began the hike back to camp - but now with hours and hours of extra time, I was able to lay out on the warm afternoon rocks and just meditate on the nature around me. In my silence, various birds lost their fear and approached, stealing seeds or such from nearby agave. I made friends with soaring crows cawing down to me; in answering them, they came closer and perched on rocks to listen to my excited monkey giggles. I imagined them as the spirits of ancient tribespeople, ever curious about the visitors to their lands.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkA_NyygZJbnoV4mfEoyQ9N6xEp7SYdR3O4_ugmqF0xAOapFYwf2ssGHQDIn-pLD0nHxdyXerTxprHiqzKgYBjJVFz2kp4TzGy1P7eu97JNE-hx5ANhSahXaWQqA51ZwEdteP19ovrj7Ra/s1600/IMG_2557.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkA_NyygZJbnoV4mfEoyQ9N6xEp7SYdR3O4_ugmqF0xAOapFYwf2ssGHQDIn-pLD0nHxdyXerTxprHiqzKgYBjJVFz2kp4TzGy1P7eu97JNE-hx5ANhSahXaWQqA51ZwEdteP19ovrj7Ra/s640/IMG_2557.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meditation site in a dry creek on my way back down the Vallecito foothills.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY8ZT_HNn0f-izzYADk9mws1FKSG_V_2H_uDWHdMKlL-6_iZKh8U6coppORzijbVUZ5PQhSz6cDgCqpEUn5AEwM3I4V8z3djpJ5lDYFSceQ-R5hbc3NjcTyqwqITNdltWym7RZficg_MYJ/s1600/IMG_2569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY8ZT_HNn0f-izzYADk9mws1FKSG_V_2H_uDWHdMKlL-6_iZKh8U6coppORzijbVUZ5PQhSz6cDgCqpEUn5AEwM3I4V8z3djpJ5lDYFSceQ-R5hbc3NjcTyqwqITNdltWym7RZficg_MYJ/s320/IMG_2569.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Libations @ the Lazy Lizard.</td></tr>
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From above Smuggler's Canyon I could see a couple souls wandering the trail to an overlook at the end of the valley, of which I have no photograph. When I made it to my tent and began packing it up, a woman walked by asking about the note. She had wondered about me and asked how it went. In my goofy fox hat and aviators, after such a pensive morning, I must have seemed quite strange; I met no other people over the entire weekend that were camping out of doors. I got in the car, drove down the S2 to Ocotillo, and prepared for the long drive west to San Diego. Fortuitously, a watering hole in the small town afforded me some weekend closure with a couple desert residents. I met a fairly senescent man who had won $10,000 in the local lottery and shuffled in to fill out a winnings form. Another with a formidable paunch came in for frozen pizza, taking a break from his services as a junk hauler for the community. It was calming and warm. From here on out, I have no further narration to recount to you aside from some loose photographs. I hope you enjoyed the prose reviewing the actions pursued by my drought-addled mind... The trip made any holiday woes obsolete, and left me with more leathery skin in the process. Thanks for coming with me on this journey, being the other that I write to and for, and enjoy.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeO8Shv0fiK8vxbhJXFjcCnkMroqIj63w-4wLWtZHDaCSXQrJwJPiz7yzY-VDXzoLfnkBwje8L0-pSvEfAr6lmGpu-loZr_FgNZT7QiAUSUFx4qlwx65hdgfamjMEMEio9cs_TBeAGqyAF/s1600/IMG_2469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeO8Shv0fiK8vxbhJXFjcCnkMroqIj63w-4wLWtZHDaCSXQrJwJPiz7yzY-VDXzoLfnkBwje8L0-pSvEfAr6lmGpu-loZr_FgNZT7QiAUSUFx4qlwx65hdgfamjMEMEio9cs_TBeAGqyAF/s640/IMG_2469.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exploring desert sculptures around Borrego Springs</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbk7u1ANtlsetGOgenPcPJTohXVz-7YRIIz6sX6gYbrf1MeG-GQT2sptXDLSppiIWaBlK0pHBG0L3DNN-Axao-QAEMmFxUbjEkDFSJyvKxsYrL0yCNv2yk-B2aS18BFvV2LAWdcz0JqjVD/s1600/IMG_2494.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbk7u1ANtlsetGOgenPcPJTohXVz-7YRIIz6sX6gYbrf1MeG-GQT2sptXDLSppiIWaBlK0pHBG0L3DNN-Axao-QAEMmFxUbjEkDFSJyvKxsYrL0yCNv2yk-B2aS18BFvV2LAWdcz0JqjVD/s640/IMG_2494.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spinosaurus, the baddie from JP2, waits eternally for a herd of Borrego (bighorn sheep)...</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja5RivSNmxyggfaYBNQo2oSPnzgkbVfw6HzjLI9daEqyr1F3EAu-nD342bDsWPkObfNy5nXjLso4MjWHxoQ2TpjgzLerzv84hE3hyP2FEo-1g-TaGaqXYmxB_8iFnDsL3wJEZl7yib-V7w/s1600/IMG_2520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja5RivSNmxyggfaYBNQo2oSPnzgkbVfw6HzjLI9daEqyr1F3EAu-nD342bDsWPkObfNy5nXjLso4MjWHxoQ2TpjgzLerzv84hE3hyP2FEo-1g-TaGaqXYmxB_8iFnDsL3wJEZl7yib-V7w/s640/IMG_2520.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't these petroglyphs in Smuggler's Canyon look like DNA strands? Wish I'd read more about their history...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFkjcXLQgVAeAP6ff_mv_5ZlD69IFfePwivQCbsq0ktUE-bidm-TtPPeB43wbdN9Iuksf4leq2UiBVzcxnLywW2pn4AzcPEPxOJZ-iGdUuQJXIMUlqYK50sMKB0SpEf2gX44CeKT4pEEq/s1600/IMG_2567.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFkjcXLQgVAeAP6ff_mv_5ZlD69IFfePwivQCbsq0ktUE-bidm-TtPPeB43wbdN9Iuksf4leq2UiBVzcxnLywW2pn4AzcPEPxOJZ-iGdUuQJXIMUlqYK50sMKB0SpEf2gX44CeKT4pEEq/s640/IMG_2567.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you spot the Mini? I'm parked on a ridge overlooking the Carrizo Badlands (off picture, left).</td></tr>
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IS THE DESERT EMPTY, LIKE A BARE CANVAS WAITING FOR OUR ATTENTIONS? DEVALUED WITHOUT OUR SKYSCRAPERS AND STRIP MALLS, WAITING FOR OUR DEVELOPMENT? OR ARE THEY THAT WAY DUE TO THE COST OF LAYING OUR WEIRD GLOBALIZED, CONSUMER COMMUNITIES ON TOP OF THEM? WE'LL WATCH AND SEE...<br />
<br />Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-87657083296099165682013-11-11T03:10:00.000-05:002013-11-11T03:10:03.962-05:00Seduction Arabia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<b style="text-align: left;">If you've read my posts in order, </b><span style="text-align: left;">in the life-chronicling format I never intended for this site,</span><b style="text-align: left;"> </b><span style="text-align: left;">you may have been wondering if I've gone the way of Lawrence... striding self-assuredly over hazy dunes, seeking secrets among the sands... For when I left you, nine months ago, I was on a train to a plane to fly back to that desert land, Saudi Arabia.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiCqxWeWzKf4QD7SoBhxA46q3Rd04AlGv_JGyHbPSXhRDgZt0SxGf_fDPjCTod8IJ7mCuW9Okv-0zBSnNSFBF0h5M0IqyL4zqxzpUoedWhdRVG8YdN6r6VJo5vFNd6YsbBSracTiRnE_Nm/s1600/IMG_4346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiCqxWeWzKf4QD7SoBhxA46q3Rd04AlGv_JGyHbPSXhRDgZt0SxGf_fDPjCTod8IJ7mCuW9Okv-0zBSnNSFBF0h5M0IqyL4zqxzpUoedWhdRVG8YdN6r6VJo5vFNd6YsbBSracTiRnE_Nm/s640/IMG_4346.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Out to sea, off a tiny island north of the Farasan Banks that drops to 700m.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQeZds0S3qYqhuZO5ibmqSwaUdAGy9zhHUZdsVhNBcNP5eLoQ9iLOXUg7kwA_pRQG6ucH3jrvJqnmUY21ZIwJusMHK5mJu-sAWnD1Xaq0Wfh4z8nV5Fr1gsAX2iWePq-Tkhfqat4RxSYqa/s1600/IMG_4551.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQeZds0S3qYqhuZO5ibmqSwaUdAGy9zhHUZdsVhNBcNP5eLoQ9iLOXUg7kwA_pRQG6ucH3jrvJqnmUY21ZIwJusMHK5mJu-sAWnD1Xaq0Wfh4z8nV5Fr1gsAX2iWePq-Tkhfqat4RxSYqa/s320/IMG_4551.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Processing Opisthobranchs collected from the Red Sea</td></tr>
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Survived? A sigh; but of course! Tempered by months back in my homeland's more civil clime (I returned to Massachusetts, USA from Arabia in early April), I must grudgingly recount that indeed I did not succumb to any of those dashingly fatal outcomes known to befall adventurers of yore. Personally, it is danger's very romantic appeal that makes the adventure worth having - and the story worth telling. But for my career, to interviewers and potential employers, the tale dries up from its gelatinous reality; time and professionalism subvert it to an account of pre-determined, calculated uncertainties, and finally, to a 12 pt Times New Roman list of achieved goals - as if there were never any difficulties to tackle in the first place. So it is now months afterwards that I am left dryly touting the bureaucratic successes and the value of the short visit to science, my career, and the public domain! A paper machismo; ha, and bully, and yawp!<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxeRyE9xksD9UEKNskoyCeLw18fDXpbtnqIVoUj5TMIMVCPqWWv60zmqD25U3Ge85vbVyleBUHjAeoAQL-1EaoxAsKnY5ddc7axuT4iIFk5KKCSjCn9UKrZhF4W_1A2d53bqwfxfbsBIWF/s1600/IMG_4242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxeRyE9xksD9UEKNskoyCeLw18fDXpbtnqIVoUj5TMIMVCPqWWv60zmqD25U3Ge85vbVyleBUHjAeoAQL-1EaoxAsKnY5ddc7axuT4iIFk5KKCSjCn9UKrZhF4W_1A2d53bqwfxfbsBIWF/s200/IMG_4242.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><i>Phidiana indica</i>, from Farasan Banks</td></tr>
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Nevertheless, attempts were made at more colorful summaries; if you'd like to know more about that trip, you can read my description of it (with pictures) on <a href="http://spinelessscience.blogspot.com/2013/04/sunken-secrets-of-bahr-al-ahmar.html">the Florida Museum of Natural History's blog, Adventures in Spineless Science; here</a>. For an executive summary of the field work I was responsible for on that trip,<a href="https://www.dropbox.com/s/bkq3x74z84cbtk2/Research%20Visitor%20Report.pdf"> click here</a>. Photos from the trip illustrate the rest of this post, though they are little more than a backdrop for my esoteric rant...<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbw_rCQNMDrQBOFJ-YC3gWES9wg4K7mCqRm4VQBLxnXrVmwSfFjvwDVc5uNxHK_iE-U_-IBkZNTcUdziPytQJvPOHyuWek627oev2yvQgO0p3gVlgWiB9NOg5JcgE1SlKOXDofBj1lV3fQ/s1600/IMG_4015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbw_rCQNMDrQBOFJ-YC3gWES9wg4K7mCqRm4VQBLxnXrVmwSfFjvwDVc5uNxHK_iE-U_-IBkZNTcUdziPytQJvPOHyuWek627oev2yvQgO0p3gVlgWiB9NOg5JcgE1SlKOXDofBj1lV3fQ/s200/IMG_4015.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A fascinating stowaway for a boatful of biologists</td></tr>
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<b>Back to the main thrust of this post, it should by now be evident </b>that what you hear about my adventures is a subsampled snapshot of the reality. Sometimes the process of sharing the story can dull my awareness to the events around me; storytelling forces me to acknowledge, contextualize, and arrange events into a more objective sequence as new experiences are whizzing past unexamined. I can only imagine what a roller coaster ride it is for my friends who receive the live, unfiltered stream of experiences and events via haphazard voice, text, and photo messages. Indeed, I can barely keep up with myself.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVLce9EGtjp0C16rLhySea3fkkfQsX9Vej4V7ddYKdrS_Jbco1nXsZHyDNYm0e7h3Am66DycuUxALMtbKlkCGgXqtt3V0plHhK1HeU8eUQ1ORIVnBqHNWcz59HTs62XVcuqKTKhzsGRfIb/s1600/IMG_4420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVLce9EGtjp0C16rLhySea3fkkfQsX9Vej4V7ddYKdrS_Jbco1nXsZHyDNYm0e7h3Am66DycuUxALMtbKlkCGgXqtt3V0plHhK1HeU8eUQ1ORIVnBqHNWcz59HTs62XVcuqKTKhzsGRfIb/s320/IMG_4420.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Slug spp. six pack: <i>Noalda</i>, <i>Odontoglaja</i>,<i> </i>& asst. Sacoglossans</td></tr>
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For this reason I feel I must pause mid-journey, as the toxic smog swirls outside my 36th floor apartment in Manila, and hammer down a disclaimer for the sake of my future stability and that of my writing before diving in (ha) to tales that catch up to my current location. In my humble experience, the secret to producing good writing is practice, regularity, occasional brutal honesty, <i>and a necessary distinction between the adventure and the self.</i> Compiling a tale of the self is easier accomplished by composing an anthology of the events, adventures, and teachings in one's periphery. To tackle the tale directly, narrating live autobiographically as the uncertain and frank protagonist, is dangerous, daringly public, overly deterministic, and grossly egotistical. When I attempt to turn my adventure writing towards a personal account of my destinations and decisions, I operate slowly - possibly for fear of solidifying one reputation from the many possibilities within the private sphere of fluid existence. Each of the meetings, hikes, buses, projects, etc. one encounters and attempts must have their worth carefully considered before their inclusion in one's public tale. We all know growth comes from failures, but their halting nature makes it difficult to sell stories and oneself while experiencing them.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgvgbfYxixjAbRN1criLa1oI33-xCtrLk4UNB3j7DMVbUa3ZXYKiBuHMB0JJDivOY3YhmP2-qhgvjdMp75qt0NdQizwX7LhCs8fRmtICqHufPkKoR8s9zy0EOnglf3yZtSej5OLcThr_G/s1600/IMG_4557.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgvgbfYxixjAbRN1criLa1oI33-xCtrLk4UNB3j7DMVbUa3ZXYKiBuHMB0JJDivOY3YhmP2-qhgvjdMp75qt0NdQizwX7LhCs8fRmtICqHufPkKoR8s9zy0EOnglf3yZtSej5OLcThr_G/s640/IMG_4557.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beauty of KAUST at night</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4uEgBfVN2vIqp8AEQKy8xtJtDzcSiDx17xoqQb91hNq7ekKYN_xb0MuNYU8X0gtEn93tdqQhuxWFowgqEUwXgeEiE9_1uMhShBTKzTnUr2n-lvMBLE52XmmRg5LziLoJzXL9BXhw8-E2/s1600/IMG_8542.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS4uEgBfVN2vIqp8AEQKy8xtJtDzcSiDx17xoqQb91hNq7ekKYN_xb0MuNYU8X0gtEn93tdqQhuxWFowgqEUwXgeEiE9_1uMhShBTKzTnUr2n-lvMBLE52XmmRg5LziLoJzXL9BXhw8-E2/s320/IMG_8542.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A larval Diodontid collected during my light trap sampling</td></tr>
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Regardless, returning to Saudi Arabia was such a refreshing re-awakening to the joy of doing natural science. After a few hours back in the Kingdom, surrounded by my fellow professional nature enquirers, I had responsibilities, meetings, collaborations, data collection, and writing to do. (I got so caught up when I was there, that on return to Massachusetts I thought the rain was a miracle. The desert bug bites hard!) It was thus unfortunate that the visit did not result in employment. While several very creative offers were stitched together for a PhD at KAUST, their outcomes failed to seduce me. Fully funded field work is a beautiful thing, but would I receive the education I wanted? After four years, would I be closer to my goals? I was concerned that I would not be sufficiently exposed to conservation and management initiatives, that I would not gain sufficient grant writing experience, and that I would not receive sufficient guidance during the process. Whether this was a deeper grudge with doctoral education in general, a complete misunderstanding of it, or my negative perception of some aspects of the KAUST environment, I could not say. (Certainly, being overly picky has burned me before; I bombed my chances at a Research Associate position at UMaine during my third interview in November 2012 because I said I "wanted to get back to the tropics at some point.") Still, would it be better to experience my current sense of loss before or after four years of fantastic field work and growth? I'd say before, because (and many friends insist I am mistaken in this assumption) I'd rather spend four years studying something I plan on using to achieve societal change, and I need to figure out where my outlet is for that change. Regardless, I was willing to stay on as a technician, to observe the progress of scientific inquiry around me while helping researchers answer their queries, but sadly my enquiries of several PIs on board the ship this past March (we lived on a boat for two weeks, recall) regarding such a position were answered with laments of insufficient funding - and no future postings in sight I could apply for. I did not wish to leave again, but there did not seem to be an opportunity for me to stay. Damn the American military budget!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset at PetroRabigh</td></tr>
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Returning stateside was once again painful; and just as in 2011, I came back asking myself where to go next. Applying for work and getting zero response gets taxing (what happened to etiquette?); eventually, I take whatever opportunity I have in front of me to survive and shrug at its uncertainties (doubtless a method by which many of my peers have chosen their doctoral programs, for which my snarky disdain has injured numerous friendships, despite being a method I use myself). Tackling the real world (i.e., the world outside academia's coddling) often means facing this uncertainty and feeling unprepared; the world does not offer opportunities based on your ideals unless your ideals align with the flow of money. Thus, risks must be taken and new directions explored until this intersection is found. But how can one know what new directions will be fruitful when they include unfamiliar territory, unknown industries, and an overextension of skills? <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PetroRabigh's eery Martian landscape; with natural gas spire</td></tr>
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This is why the blog halted after I wrote about leaving for Saudi Arabia. Returning to unemployment rather than a snazzy portrait of professionalism dead-ended the narrative I built my audience up for; I confused the tale of the adventure with the tale of the self. The purpose of this blog was originally to use my unique voice to share my perspective on the nature around me as I experience it, not to chronicle the risks I've made in chasing after those experiences. The overlap is tempting, but telling the story of self requires me to narrativize life, its moments both glorious and soul-sucking; an art form for which I am vastly unprepared and uninterested in tackling. (Remember: I am an ocean nerd.) Dwelling so much on this subject feels like so much narcissism - especially as the death toll in my new home is estimated over 10,000 today - but I believe closure to my past story will help me move myself and my image forward in this new land, which is why I'm telling the falling action of that adventure; I'm setting up the rising action of the next. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PetroRabigh, a decades older compound, has a beautiful beach</td></tr>
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So, to conclude - when making the boldest moves possible, is publicizing one's risk a necessary commitment to the path of success? Certainly business owners are familiar with this feeling; you have to commit all your resources, hopes, dreams, and even beliefs if you want to hope to succeed in redirecting the flow of money out of established channels and into new ones. Seduction Arabia was just a catchy title. The siren song is rather for adventure itself, a quality which Arabia possesses in amounts as vast as its dunes of red-orange sand, and probably the reason why I returned there instead of giving a local fish store more than a few months of a chance. Though I've never had to openly acknowledge adventure's fatalistic allure before, it makes sense now. After spending my summer working at a Florida nonprofit aimed at getting people outdoors and guiding them through nature, I've spent my fall preparing for yet another uncertain adventure overseas, whose outcomes are unknown, but for which I will be directing all my attention - or at least battling my psyche to allow me to.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">July after Arabia, teaching teens how to guide in Florida</td></tr>
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I call it my "last hurrah," which is a bit embarrassingly juvenile - but I perceive it as my last free chance at fulfilling my dreams by finally - and publicly - making the documentary film that has haunted my mind for six years. That's enough of a teaser for now, you'll have to wait for the next post for the details. But I will say that this morning, while running on a treadmill and looking out across Metro Manila through the glass panes of a 40th floor penthouse gym (don't worry, it's not costing me a penny thanks to CouchSurfing), that I had to consider whether or not I had really made progress towards life goals. Have I been selfish and ignorant of life's true meaning? Am I merely conniving my peers worldwide into enabling a farce? Am I further ahead than I was years ago? Have I just run away again, a prodigal scientist, opening myself up for change in a new land? For the first time, as I listened to Weezer and rocked out on my treadmill, I felt I may not have to change who I am; to allow my new home to alter my dreams. I may be able to instead come as I am. Nevertheless, I will certainly be aware; as a citizen of Earth, the point is to pick and chose. Mabúhay, Philippines.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sad that I'll be curtailing my personal details in future posts? <a href="https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10101026176880207.1073741827.10615358&type=1&l=eec5ac1b47">Click here for a photographic timeline of my journeys in America between my Saudi Arabian March and my move to the Philippines in November.</a></span></i>Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-79275343386840129112013-02-27T12:25:00.000-05:002013-02-27T12:26:17.890-05:00From captive reefs to Saudi seas, for sea slugs, & beyond!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't leave meeeeeeee!</td></tr>
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<b>Last night, I chased a train. </b>My sneakers, a thick boxy pair of skate shoes, greatly protested the inappropriately quick pace they were not designed to handle. So too argued my jeans, winter coat, laptop bag, half-eaten bag of pita chips, and frazzled mind. A tooting whistle signaled imminent departure; as I rounded the last bend, leaning into my own momentous curve, I saw the taillights at the platform. "ah-HeY!" I squawked awkwardly, a scrambling stork, dropping pita chip fragments - "YOO-hoo, HELLO? Wait!!" Disembarking passengers walked past, some with grins, urging me on; others with embarrassed grimaces; the worst with blank detachment from the comedy of life. As I stared at the burning red beacons of budget travel, I noticed the lights were not getting closer. I looked at my feet; they were still moving, crunching salt and ice crystals as they went. It was merely at the same rate the train was departing. A devil-on-the-shoulder thought grabbed my mind- "Sprint," it said; "grab the rear car; sprint, and make your athletic endeavour an unsung secret victory!" Whether it was maturity, prudence, sanity, or the anti-adventure shoulder angel, I stopped running, and watched the blazing red beacons burn away into the night. A pause. The mind reboots. With a shrug, I dropped all my belongings and heavy outer layers. I looked up to the heavens and let loose a barbaric yawp of primal frustration. And I called Tommy's Taxi for a more financially burdensome ride home. The night was an omen from an unseen shade; the spirit of travel. I was being welcomed back to the realm of adventurous uncertainty.<br />
~~~<br />
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<b>The night was my last </b>working for <a href="http://www.tropicisleaquarium.com/">Tropic Isle Aquarium</a>, my savior job since moving home, and it was a little frantic - like every work day. So it did not surprise me that, given my choices to fight the American norm by going car-less, I found myself farcically running an improperly-attired 1.9 mile gauntlet to the Framingham station to catch the P535 in 14 minutes. A little over two weeks ago, I informed the owner that I had gotten the rare opportunity to return to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia for a research cruise. <a href="http://reefecology.kaust.edu.sa/Pages/Berumen.aspx">Dr. Michael Berumen, director of the Red Sea Research Center's Coral Reef Ecology Lab,</a> where I had studied for my Master's, has known of my sea slug passions since <a href="http://www.naturenoah.com/2012/02/visiting-arabia-life-when-youre-little.html">the show I put on there last year</a>, celebrating little sea creature diversity. As a mentor, he would like me to consider continuing my studies in this field; and I have certainly thought of it. Indeed, I have found no stronger peace of mind and soul than exploring the reefs of the world, and I have been actively applying to career jobs that give me the chance to return.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The<i> Lybia </i>crab carries anemones for defense!</td></tr>
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You may have noticed I have not written much on this blog since I began the 40-hour week at the aquarium. While I am incredibly grateful to the job that allowed me daily interaction with ornate and ecologically fine-tuned Pom-Pom Crabs (<i>Lybia </i>spp.), flighty Palette Surgeonfish (<i>Paracanthurus hepatus</i>), and the always inquisitive Rockmover Wrasse (<i>Novaculichthys taeniourus</i>), it was mere life-support to the nature lover's soul. A business is not academia; as I often told people, we ran a zoo that we sold animals out of. I worked there because I wanted to learn more about the aquarium trade, for a story I have longed to tell so strongly that its become a personal mythological Siren, driving my life onto sharp rocks.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The <i>Oxynoe </i>sp. 4 I collected off Jeddah</td></tr>
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Though I hesitate to return to academia, where I have found solace in the sea but not solace in science, I cannot resist the chance to give it another look. Among the impressive names on the cruise are <a href="http://scientistatwork.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/06/01/why-nudibranchs-and-readers-questions/">Dr. Terry Gosliner</a>, Dean of Science and Research Collections at the California Academy of Science, as well as <a href="http://www.flmnh.ufl.edu/malacology/">Dr. Gustav Paulay</a>, a curator at the Florida Museum of National History, who I visited in Florida last year (and apparently failed to write about). These two giants of the invertebrate zoology world will be side by side, snatching up secret sea creatures left and right, and hopefully helping me write up technical reports on my own opistho discoveries - like the potential <a href="http://www.seaslugforum.net/find/oxynsp4">range expansion for the slug I found in Saudi Arabia last year</a>. In addition, I'll have time for some whale sharking and photography diving. As I am running out of time to write this story, let me just say that I will endeavor to document the story of the science we are performing over there; insh'Allah it will be invigorating more than just aesthetically. Let those who'd call my attitude juvenile, optimistic, flowery, flagrant, or perky be damned! This is nature through Noah, and it <i>will</i> be documented!<br />
~~~<br />
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<b>When I retun, I will be left</b> with choices once more on where to go next. Ah, the sweet anxiety; what is it I need? Richie, my taxi driver last night, called it "permission to leave," and was of the opinion that it is very hard to give it to yourself. He's a fellow American who has lived in Chile, driven from Boston to Tierra Del Fuego, and written for literary magazines, and he wanted to share with me three things after hearing about my imminent journey(s)... The first, to protect your spirit; the second, to not be afraid; and the third, to know that there is no ceiling in life. The $65 ride, paid after missing the $3.50 train, may have been fate's way of relaxing me before tomorrow's flight back to the land of Ibn Saud, to the still mysterious Red Sea, to search for the slugs of yesteryear and tomorrow, and other dream-creatures yet to be known...... I hear them calling as I sit in my parent's home, bags of scuba gear, photographic equipment, and a few articles of clothing piled up by the door, waiting for the airport limo to sweep me off my feet.<br />
<br />Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-20160888530630633252012-09-18T04:33:00.001-04:002012-09-18T04:33:21.772-04:00Tibet, New Hampshire<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgew6UkBZ9Gtx0GXHv0nx01HvLdbgHPXc-3YgjfidNMREmydieRKs7t93Pnll_wBL_NOjPr9VUdBhks8DuebAoAlAsvFaNzLHly6k_BfGSHxdSz1aAN8A33OEsSOEExhJNwWHxx-wcEdWgx/s1600/00.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgew6UkBZ9Gtx0GXHv0nx01HvLdbgHPXc-3YgjfidNMREmydieRKs7t93Pnll_wBL_NOjPr9VUdBhks8DuebAoAlAsvFaNzLHly6k_BfGSHxdSz1aAN8A33OEsSOEExhJNwWHxx-wcEdWgx/s320/00.JPG" width="320" /></a><b>Three hours from my central Massachusetts home, the Appalachian mountain range rises.</b> They're smaller than the Rockies, those beautiful white-capped crags of the central USA, but this is because the Appalachians are older; almost half a billion years old to the Rockies' 50 million. After being weathered down over all that time, the Appalachians are more like a series of high hills now. One particular hill in New Hampshire, Mount Washington, has a surprising reputation for a small mountain - it is ferocious! Though it is a "mere" 6,288 feet tall (Mt. Everest, the tallest on Earth, reaches 29,029 feet), the collision of various weather phenomena bring hurricane-force winds to Mount Washington on a regular basis; about a third of the year. In fact, the strongest winds ever observed by man* were recorded here - at 231 miles per hour. So I was no doubt excited to hike it when a friend mentioned it a few weeks ago.<br />
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Despite living nearby, I'd never visited; only vaguely heard about it from t-shirts, bumper stickers, and water cooler conversations. My hiking buddy told me that when she climbed last October, her group wore layers of winter clothing and were often too cold to take more than one photograph before looking for cover from the bone-chilling winds. Needless to say, being a fit, brave 25 year-old field biologist, I was excited to tackle the beast when we arrived in the morning. Fogs that hung over the morning landscape stoked the mystique of the coming adventure. We started up the Tuckerman Ravine Trail to the summit - a mere 4.4 miles that takes 4 hours to hike as it gains 4,000 feet in elevation over that distance. <br />
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Leafy green deciduous forest is the first to welcome us on the well-kept rocky paths. Dominating over evergreens at lower elevations and latitudes, these trees cast green and yellow hues on the trail, and pepper it with yellowed leaves during fall. Right away, you feel you are in deep wilderness. Though small towns are less than ten miles away, it is amazing what a distant world one can experience here. Located within the White Mountains National Forest, it is <i>not</i> the same as a National Park - extractive activities like logging are allowed throughout much of it. Yet about one fifth of this area is reserved for recreational and scientific purposes only - no logging. <br />
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As the altitude rises, deep-hued evergreens like pines and firs outcompete the broad-leafed deciduous trees. As the evergreens provide cover all year round, and precipitation is abundant, thick blankets of soft, spongy moss grow to cover the forest floor. It creeps even to the edges of the trail, and beckons to weary hikers looking for a comfortable place to nap. Many stretches of the trail weave so narrowly through this area that it becomes a sedate grotto - shielding the light, absorbing all sound but the occasional <a href="http://macaulaylibrary.org/audio/133965/tamiasciurus-hudsonicus-red-squirrel-united-states-new-york-michael-andersen">red squirrel's rolling chitter</a>, and maintaining a brisk humidity. As we pass the trees in silence, we breathe in a deep aroma of the Christmas holiday - the powerful fir tree's terpene-laden resin - which triggers distant childhood memories...<br />
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Eventually, not even the evergreens can survive the high-altitude climate, and we enter the alpine zone. Here, there are no more trees to paint trail-marking "blazes" on, and instead piles of rocks called "cairns" are erected to note the location of the trail. <a href="http://www.mountwashington.org/photos/galleries/?g=10">Fragile alpine flowers like bluets, azalea, and rosebay</a> bloom in this harsh area during the summer months, but as we've made the ascent in the fall, the majority of turf-like foliage between the rocks has turned hay yellow.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lapland Rosebay (<i>Rhododendron lapponicum</i>), exposed hillside</td></tr>
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It becomes hard to follow a trail as we approach the summit itself; it appears to be nothing more than a pile of giant granite boulders covered in chartreuse lichens, littered with occasional cairns. Though only tenths of a mile are left, the constant hopping and climbing seem to yield no progress. But we totter on, and arrive at the top with exhausted ankles, calves, soles, and backs.<br />
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...Of course there are other ways to reach the summit, including a road and the zealously-touted "cog railway," which uses gears instead of wheels to climb the steep mountainside. Immediately our meditative solitude is invaded by bikers, families with prams, and cheeky French Canadians. After hours of muscle work, hydration, and contemplation, it is unsettling to say the least; we take our "I was there" summit picture, and move on.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Motorcycle tourists at the top</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hydrating in a summit building</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tomentose Burying Beetle (<i>Nicrophorus tomentosus</i>)</td></tr>
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As you might expect, it wouldn't be Nature Through Noah without an animal encounter. On a windowsill in the summit building, I noticed this Sexton Beetle, or Burying Beetle (<i>Nicrophorus tomentosus</i>). About an inch long, with beautiful fall colors (my favorite season), it's as if this bug is pre-costumed for Halloween. And it's story is certainly haunting. Also known as "burying beetles," they locate small dead animals - like birds and mice - then proceed to bury them by digging beneath them. Beetles may remove fur or feathers at this time to line the new tomb. Once safely ensconced in the new crypt, the beetles excrete chemicals over their gruesome prize that slow its breakdown by fungi and bacteria. Beetles then use pheromones to tell mates that the macabre love nest is ready. When a partner arrives, eggs are laid within the chamber, where young ones will hatch and feast... Oh, and the genus? It means "death carrier." Muahahahaha.<br />
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<b>Our return journey </b>is even more surreal. We decide to take the Crawford Path down to the Davis Path to the Boott Spur trail. And the latter paths extend for a long way atop the alpine zone; a welcome spread of flat land to hike over that nonetheless feels like an alien landscape. Flaxen hay, white quartz-topped cairns, green lichens... And of course, our purple mountain majesties... When the trail dropped below the treeline once more, we had lost much sunlight. Navigating by shadows down endless cascades of yard-high boulders requires poise, and more breaks. We take our last snack at twilight on a mossy carpet, vision fading, reflecting on the day, before the last tenths of a mile take us to our car.<br />
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<b style="text-align: left;">This blog tries to show you nature through my eyes. </b><span style="text-align: left;">Yet to date, my gonzo journey across the natural world has been largely animal biased - and marine, at that. With all my background education in the marine sciences, this is no surprise. It was only when a fellow <i>marine </i>biologist brought spider babies into the lab once to look at under a microscope that I realized all life was peculiar. Yet this past Thursday showed me I've also been ignoring all those beautiful abiotic (i.e. nonliving) factors "nature" also implies; like landscapes. When you think of nature, what do </span><i style="text-align: left;">you</i><span style="text-align: left;"> see, readers? For many, the idea of "nature" is "untouched wilderness" - a portrait that includes a beautiful </span><i style="text-align: left;">landscape</i><span style="text-align: left;">. (This untouched wilderness idea is a point of contention I'll expand on some other day; it's folly. We're animals too, we're just playing house.) To date, I've shunned such expansive outdoor adventures in the United States; I've always felt that I can see America when I'm too old/xenophobic/responsibility-laden to explore new countries anymore. Thus I've rarely explored my own country, despite knowing that there is great beauty to be found here. I'm saving it, like a fine wine; and exploring abroad now. But a side effect is that I lose the connection with my home country, not realizing it can be this beautiful; as beautiful as the Tibetan plateau. Although this is a story for another time, I joined others for a three-day hike in the foothills of the Himalayas outside Kathmandu, Nepal back in April of 2011. And although we were staring off into the distance at some of the world's highest peaks (the Langtang range reaches 20-23,000 feet high), I couldn't help but recall that view when standing on the edge of Mount Washington's Tuckerman Ravine, surveying the skyline.</span>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Exploring the Langtang Range in Nepal with a Saudi friend in 2011.</td></tr>
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Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-50814599415308640062012-08-15T16:32:00.000-04:002012-08-15T16:32:20.532-04:00A surprisingly large spider...<b>I remember what it's like to be afraid </b>of swimming alone in the sea at night in deep water far from shore; or of walking on bare feet through the dense understory of wild rainforest. I remember because, while it may seem like I'm fearless now, there are occasional reminders! Bravery is the end result of two properties: courage, and knowledge. The courage is a gut curiosity that keeps you going, despite what your head tells you. The knowledge is the truth behind the courage that supports that curious strength. They play off each other. I had the courage to explore the woods, then gained the knowledge about the risks of Lyme disease from tick bites and what kind of wasps sting, etc., which bolstered my courage to go deeper, darker, thicker. To lay down among the rushes to photograph a strange spider, mite, toad, flower, or weevil.<br />
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Thus, though I was once afraid of being in a forest at night (I'm a <i>marine</i> biologist), I've learned more and trodden deeper, because I live here now. One of the tidbits of knowledge I'd picked up to make romping through the New England woods easier is that, being far from the tropics, I assured myself, there were no large and lethal monster arthropods that I could run into. Sure we've all heard of the Black Widow spider, but they are so rare! Even whispered common name terrors like the "Brown Recluse" spider or "Water Mocassin" snake don't occur up in New England. It is thus with great curiosity I reacted to a recent voicemail from my stepmother about a "huge yellow spider" in the backyard. Sure, sure. I lazily reached for my camera, thinking it would be just some curious 2-cm Salticid, or some such nonsense. I pushed face first through the arborvitae hedges and lilac bushes bordering my parents' houses and went to check out this mystery...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHj63m7zCx0_Aa6Awi6ypLV_i1W65ZJH6x3Zju3UECNrqWn9DyyLJNOaBQTU03-K08QIQcpeAzakxYxg3be_twbbrGdrw9Mm2NURy4O0aDiHpEtCdjhb3_lYWXRJ5lK9c_MILjqGtFAFsy/s1600/IMG_0835.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHj63m7zCx0_Aa6Awi6ypLV_i1W65ZJH6x3Zju3UECNrqWn9DyyLJNOaBQTU03-K08QIQcpeAzakxYxg3be_twbbrGdrw9Mm2NURy4O0aDiHpEtCdjhb3_lYWXRJ5lK9c_MILjqGtFAFsy/s400/IMG_0835.JPG" width="400" /></a>...and sweet Nancy Sinatra, she was not kidding!!! I realized the creature before me disagreed with everything I was previously sure of. Resting in a web a foot off the ground, a bright black and yellow spider with a body the size of my thumb stretched legs long enough to make the palm of my hand seem small. In Massachusetts, USA! A region of North America where life freezes over in wintertime. Staring at this huge yellow beast, I began to hear a steel drum playing in my head, like I was on a Caribbean island for an entomological expedition, warm breeze going by, rum drink in hand, diligently studying guidebooks with a fellow scientist to memorize the target species of the trip while getting sloshed. (This is often how science works.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrVwyxtF-bqWJoQrrpdT8NkZBbKxHU4qphIL431QecjdZu2HdbAjKg2Awn_HI7GTQO8226g6CnNR7J003bkSouRqxfVLPSYBIUCrvdpQtC28w9utOvqSOH8NuN10KijGiwhUR0MWfhiui/s1600/IMG_0848.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrVwyxtF-bqWJoQrrpdT8NkZBbKxHU4qphIL431QecjdZu2HdbAjKg2Awn_HI7GTQO8226g6CnNR7J003bkSouRqxfVLPSYBIUCrvdpQtC28w9utOvqSOH8NuN10KijGiwhUR0MWfhiui/s320/IMG_0848.JPG" width="320" /></a>What we'd found was <i>Argiope aurantia</i>, or Yellow Garden Spider (around here). It occurs throughout North America, from southern Canada southwards. Somehow, I don't recall seeing any of the 3 inch long (with legs outstretched) adult females from my boyhood days around the yard. Which is particularly surprising, as this female's web was right next to our swimming pool! One cool feature of their web is the thicker bunch of zig-zagging silk in the middle, called the <i>stabilimentum</i>, whose debated function might be to camouflage the spider, attract prey, stabilize the web, or act as the band-aid on the glass door (i.e., to warn large animals that there is a web in the way, please do not crash through it).<br />
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My favorite thing to learn about this creature was that, when disturbed, it will rock back and forth in its web like a baby in a jolly jumper, up and down, merely by flexing its legs. Perhaps to make itself seem larger? Or perhaps to make it a more difficult meal to pinpoint? Perhaps even a way to tangle up potential prey! Their eyesight is so poor that it's likely a bet hedging scenario - a useful behavior for a range of situations. But confusing to watch at first! I like to think she's saying "hello."<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/wiJgYdoyiOQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Like many arthropods, this female will not survive the winter. This far north, a life cycle is completed every year. Maybe this summer isn't your best; but for many creatures, it's the only one of their life. Enjoy it!Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-21145864161335377562012-07-26T02:46:00.001-04:002012-07-26T02:55:06.403-04:00Tip O New England To Ye! ...Maine nature love.<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Not every nature experience Noah has</span> <span style="font-size: large;">can be accompanied by scientific text. </span></b><span style="font-size: large;">In the busy New England summertime, the flow of beautiful experiences outpaces the ability to document and research every one of them...</span><br />
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This right-brain post is a slew of nature shots from a recent trip up to Windham, ME. Captions when necessary. And no worries, we'll have a more story-based post this weekend about blueberry picking, beermaking, and gardening!<br />
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- N<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A clever creature's freshwater clam midden atop sunken trunk island.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sun turtles doing what they do best.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Thank you for zzzzaving me from the water zzzurface!"</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;">mossy dreamscape a </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">mossy dreamscape b</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4H4mPePkOflD_mq40-LiUqG33SCF-cLdl4d4b-Fg_2-KY675W_P1kfidvv-0pvF1P-7LUgQTVlni4izKQ707h0FcL0Zgacsn7_Vpr3RtcKoFeZywhp2N3jwktFkdGlWNJf3S9iwzl6CPw/s1600/IMG_0381.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4H4mPePkOflD_mq40-LiUqG33SCF-cLdl4d4b-Fg_2-KY675W_P1kfidvv-0pvF1P-7LUgQTVlni4izKQ707h0FcL0Zgacsn7_Vpr3RtcKoFeZywhp2N3jwktFkdGlWNJf3S9iwzl6CPw/s400/IMG_0381.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">mantis are so perfectly beautiful... it's poise.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">toxic, pretty nightshade</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4O-yfdWZLBwrV39uRz1fs7MnUWqMTCsh0auYxzSrNyB_ajmdMEwqMwrn9h5Lun-uSClf4zr4xVtcDJmPCiiGYRmhMdC2JfKuvRFktXYZskWwVsn6h4G8CZREHp2r43zIO0qvjmfYseIsj/s1600/IMG_0445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4O-yfdWZLBwrV39uRz1fs7MnUWqMTCsh0auYxzSrNyB_ajmdMEwqMwrn9h5Lun-uSClf4zr4xVtcDJmPCiiGYRmhMdC2JfKuvRFktXYZskWwVsn6h4G8CZREHp2r43zIO0qvjmfYseIsj/s400/IMG_0445.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">gusano de incertidumbre</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYOdaXWme4mvd0lNEzH8L_yyZnOUrkGDAjAM-mxA0f41ukRxDRSH1m10pJLkZMOC16h2HTXixxrxP3ZLfIK9SAuoKbsYXfld4Zrhwqoyf_L7WMSStMaIKIL0sFc21tnkGrvfQBj11IRT1R/s1600/IMG_0448.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYOdaXWme4mvd0lNEzH8L_yyZnOUrkGDAjAM-mxA0f41ukRxDRSH1m10pJLkZMOC16h2HTXixxrxP3ZLfIK9SAuoKbsYXfld4Zrhwqoyf_L7WMSStMaIKIL0sFc21tnkGrvfQBj11IRT1R/s400/IMG_0448.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH8ir-f-JPlIkMPIICInCMGcRPS5Gju_MT3h4__YAWstvvHtVgs0_sScfmaW67dsu5n9E7c3OtFGnSSTVXq_FcFzS_wi9pL4wcdZYroaJrTwYEzPTQE3vPu4rn3f8oPEyGzEXa5LNC39g/s1600/IMG_0463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNH8ir-f-JPlIkMPIICInCMGcRPS5Gju_MT3h4__YAWstvvHtVgs0_sScfmaW67dsu5n9E7c3OtFGnSSTVXq_FcFzS_wi9pL4wcdZYroaJrTwYEzPTQE3vPu4rn3f8oPEyGzEXa5LNC39g/s400/IMG_0463.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeding, Fungus, Virus?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-661AeV1BUt9iGZ2_2kMU1ec3gkrpULTfWUWieZPQ8M0P4LdG-F8Qja43aEso_c0BL3nykC6tgOZsHygSzmk5Cs_uowbFd_BfcekC-g0ON_XEYASi3eu4HmKsM_RpgzAIiC2Sb1VbFDm/s1600/IMG_0474.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-661AeV1BUt9iGZ2_2kMU1ec3gkrpULTfWUWieZPQ8M0P4LdG-F8Qja43aEso_c0BL3nykC6tgOZsHygSzmk5Cs_uowbFd_BfcekC-g0ON_XEYASi3eu4HmKsM_RpgzAIiC2Sb1VbFDm/s400/IMG_0474.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tent caterpillars <i>Malacosoma americanum</i>, still young</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An easy mystery to solve... which butterfly chrysalis? ID correctly to claim a MAILED prize!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...that's all for now.</td></tr>
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<br />Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-5585649061263319202012-06-17T15:22:00.000-04:002012-06-18T00:01:09.325-04:00Mi Scusi, Scutigera! Will you terrorize my mother?<b>There is a list in my mind of rare, emotion-inducing creatures </b>(terror, awe, infatuation) for which I've not yet documented my experiences. This means that whenever one swoops across the yard during breakfast, swims past my face during a working dive, or skimmers over the floor when having a conversation with an old friend, all my current actions stop. (Skimmers is like 'skitters,' but lightly, quietly; like a rapid wafting.) The Noah you know as a civilized modern human dissolves, exchanged for instinctual <i>Homo sapiens </i>in hunting mode. So it happened a couple nights ago that I found myself breaking conversation with a high school buddy I've not seen in 7 years to vault over furniture and nimbly place an overturned glass on this monster, which I've only seen in our house three times in the last 15 years:<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Scutigera</i>! Aieee!!!</span></b></div>
<b>If you'd seen the name written </b>in a list of house-dwelling bugs, you might imagine it a potentially charming, dignified, Italian <i>paisano </i>of an insect; perhaps riding on a Vespa's handlebars and squeaking "Ciao!" While it is endemic to the Mediterranean region, it's been around North America since the mid-1800's. And unfortunately, after seeing its picture, no doubt I have to win you all back from your recoiled positions atop your favorite reading chairs. Indeed, mom's not happy at me for making her scream; I shrieked suddenly and grabbed at her when she leaned in for a closer look at the captured creature. Her fear was only skin deep, haha!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(I asked mom to make the disapproving face again so I could post it on my blog. This photo is not a testament to her acting ability; rather, she merely disapproved of me taking a photo of her to put on the internet. Thus, the disapproving face. I know, I'm a genius.)</span><br />
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Personally, I don't believe in using people's fear to build suspense; if I'm not afraid, you (usually) shouldn't be, either! Why would I want to encourage unnecessary fear? But I went that way with this post title because Americans get a tax credit for referencing "terrorism" in any form (helps the war effort). Gotta... pay... the mortgage? Politics aside, this cute "bug" is a type of centipede (Phylum Arthropoda, Class Myriapoda, Order Chilopoda), called a House Centipede (<i>Scutigera coleoptrata</i>). Like other centipedes, the front-most pair of legs is modified to inject venom used to kill prey. Exceptionally rare stings would be no worse than a bee's. Of course I wasn't certain of that yet when I was outside taking photographs (sometimes, research comes second). Thus, another terror for mom when I ran inside shouting "I need to check that it won't kill me before I go ahead and hold it."<br />
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What many people forget about "wild animals" (another weird term to me) is that the tools they use to <i>attack</i> are not always what they use to <i>defend</i>. <i>Scutigera</i> defend themselves by being nocturnal, living in narrow places, and detaching legs if they are caught. The venom is for catching prey. Thus, when staring down a human, the threatened <i>Scutigera </i>will scoot away as fast as it can, towards dark shadowy places. It will not attempt to bite its way out like an outlaw gunslinger shooting up a wild west canteen when the sheriff arrives. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't you see the <i>cuteness</i> now that you're not scared?</td></tr>
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Though these may live for seven years, they never get larger than a couple inches body length. The 15 pairs of legs do make them look longer, to be sure; perhaps a whole hand's length! But it's the length of the last pair just acting as camouflage; by looking like long antennae, the creature looks larger and disguises which end is its head. You would do much better than squishing them by leaving them be, perhaps even offering a courteous little bow when you see these specialized hunters running through your house. They are there only because it is moist, unfrozen (in seasonally frozen northern states, they <i>only</i> live in houses) and there are lots of other bugs to eat (which they catch by jumping on them or lassoing them with their long legs). And if you're not gonna drop your fear of bugs, know that this little scooter - or "snallygaster" as one internet nature lover recalled their grandfather's term for it - is your ally, hunting down the spiders and carpenter ants and beetles that (may) also annoy you. Something for everyone!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">*A </span><i style="font-size: small;">Scutigera </i><span style="font-size: x-small;">spreads preening fluid from maxillary glands over its cuticle. I.e., it's Windex-ing it's legs to stay fast and clean. Like waxing a fancy Ferrari to increase performance - visual, aerodynamic... Being the best this bug can be.</span><br />
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...And that's why to remain respectful, I always release creatures back where I've found them (see video, lower). Especially for northern snallygasters, where I know they will not survive the winter outside! Just nobody tell my mom, OK?<br />
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</div>Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-72192487312124519002012-06-08T23:51:00.000-04:002012-06-08T23:57:46.470-04:00Little Purgatory's Secret Salamanders<b>Having traveled much and judged little, I find </b>myself with many interesting friends. T is a close friend from my Saudi Arabian alma mater who was often by my side when pushing the limits of legality and safety for the sake of incredible nature adventures. The photo of us in snorkel gear below may not look like much, but it was taken our first month on campus; high fences with barbed-wire blocked all access to the beach, which was strewn with construction waste. It was T who was willing to join me in creatively circumventing the "red zone" to discover the local sea creatures. <br />
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As risky adventurers are wont to do, T decided to take a spontaneous trip from Taiwan (where he lives now) back to his home country, specifically up to New England to visit... me! He has never been to this region of the USA, so I knew I had to take him to some special places. <a href="http://www.mass.gov/dcr/parks/central/purg.htm">Purgatory Chasm in Sutton, Massachusetts</a> seemed right. It's a granite bedrock hillside that appears to have been split apart, forming a deep gash with rock walls 70 feet high in some places. <a href="http://www.nichols.edu/departments/purgatorychasm/index.htm">It may have formed when a geological fault stressed the rock to crack, which was later exploited and pushed apart by glacial action</a>. </div>
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I have been to Purgatory many times before with many people; I enjoy climbing the tallest rocks overlooking the chasm and conversing with my guests in the shady cover of adjacent pine and hickory canopies. Red squirrels (<i>Tamiasciurus hudsonicus</i>) and chipmunks can be seen running among the rocks, and wild wintergreen plants (<i>Gaultheria </i>sp.) growing on the outer perimeter of the chasm offer the achy hiker a tingly and mildly pain-relieving treat to chew on. The area is excellent for spotting wildlife; some of the rarer of Massachusetts' 10 freshwater turtle species (6 of which are endangered) could be found here, as well as the Lady's Slipper (<i>Cypripedium acaule</i>), a beautiful temperate orchid, which blooms in late spring.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx_b0_bdX0i8OG6MW1JLH1_2oRkqeN4Kpp34mtOz2igjnFYVKHw4gLskg_OyY5bwN1PTgVflVKMw4FETIM9DroESduI1q85op5jbh7Sj1uoBSXPohBaNre8q3LUFOI-wrWFy6bBd72sKc6/s1600/wintergreen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx_b0_bdX0i8OG6MW1JLH1_2oRkqeN4Kpp34mtOz2igjnFYVKHw4gLskg_OyY5bwN1PTgVflVKMw4FETIM9DroESduI1q85op5jbh7Sj1uoBSXPohBaNre8q3LUFOI-wrWFy6bBd72sKc6/s320/wintergreen.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/4a/Cypripedium_acaule_-_Sasata_edit1.jpg/682px-Cypripedium_acaule_-_Sasata_edit1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/4a/Cypripedium_acaule_-_Sasata_edit1.jpg/682px-Cypripedium_acaule_-_Sasata_edit1.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOqW_R1t9wGf87SwcWYnwQTGbSEAL6UcggN4Kbg5AyvUOLvJVvC2WuLB7fzHvEodFFd4ueYZ-PYJ1BhhU-r2gQZo6KGQoxxEkOXZxRpHKxiK4M8bWWK0x_cfk2NNLCjosDwFpsvfl9EWy8/s1600/sala1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOqW_R1t9wGf87SwcWYnwQTGbSEAL6UcggN4Kbg5AyvUOLvJVvC2WuLB7fzHvEodFFd4ueYZ-PYJ1BhhU-r2gQZo6KGQoxxEkOXZxRpHKxiK4M8bWWK0x_cfk2NNLCjosDwFpsvfl9EWy8/s400/sala1.jpg" width="400" /></a>We were neither pushing our limits nor searching for creatures with scientific intensity. Just enjoying ourselves and catching up in the kind of environment we have always preferred. The entire chasm seeps a somber, ancient, instinctual feeling; even on the hottest of days, it is a cold shady grotto. The huge boulders forbid too much sunlight from entering the chasm, and shadows lead the way around rocks so thickly covered by soft green moss that our modern mind must make an active decision not to curl up atop them for a nap. Out the back of the chasm, a trail leads to a smaller outcropping of rocks called "Little Purgatory." A brook bubbles over the rocks here, accumulating in pools too shallow and small for any fish. Such a location is a haven for smaller aquatic creatures, and when T and I arrived we counted nearly a dozen frogs warming themselves in the sun. A life of studying underwater creatures meant I could not resist a closer look. Discovery came when a brown silhouette on the brown silty bottom materialized into a recognizable shape - a salamander!</div>
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I was immediately agog. I had not seen a wild salamander before, but I remembered how badly I wanted to find these mystical creatures when I was a child; my true-to-life plastic salamander replicas were among my favorite toys. How ironic that I'd forgotten all about them since becoming a fully-developed nature hunter... Salamanders are from the amphibian order Caudata, with 600 species worldwide in 10 families. There are <a href="http://www.mass.gov/dfwele/dfw/wildlife/facts/reptiles/herp_list.htm">11 species known from Massachusetts</a>, including 5 representatives of the Plethodontidae, a lungless group that gets all their oxygen by diffusion across their moist and thin amphibian skin! Though I try not to interfere with wildlife out of respect, I am also a curious, experienced, and very gentle wildlife biologist. I decided to catch the creature so I could share its story with you all. <br />
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Having decided to capture it, I realized I had neither the intuition about salamander behavior nor any collecting equipment. It was a cold stream, and thus a cold-blooded creature submerged in it could not be too fast, right? I decided to sacrifice my Red Sox hat to the cause, and go with the tried-and-true method of approaching slowly but smoothly (without stopping). I got on my hands and knees on a tiny rock island in the pond, leaned over, and submerged my hat. I brought it as close to the head of the motionless amphibian as I dared, then used my other hand from behind to gently urge the creature into my now motionless hat. To my chagrin, it did not dart but rather slowly trundled forwards until...</div>
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Success! I danced a jig on my tiny island while my hat dripped pond water and T fished out his camera. T shot close-ups while I lifted the wet salamander into my hands, taking care to drip water on him occasionally. Dark red spots dotted the skin we'd initially thought was a plain brown. Careful as a card-house architect, I rolled the little dragon to expose his hidden underbelly, a blazing yellow with black stippling. A minute after capture, we were recording him trundling off my hand back into some submerged debris.</div>
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Back at home, I identified the find as a Red-Spotted Newt (<i>Notophthalmus viridescens</i>), of the family Salamandridae. Despite their diminutive size (5 inches max), this species lives 12-15 years in the wild! Although the brown, aquatic adults live in tiny pools (especially ones like this devoid of fish and turtle predators), bright yellow juveniles (called "efts") spend the first 2-3 years of life boldly wandering the moist and leaf-littered forest floor for new pools to colonize. Many salamander species migrate at some point in their life cycle; either to breed or to find new habitat. Coupled with the fact that at least one of their life stages is spent in water, this leaves them highly vulnerable to human-caused mortality. Cars squish adults or juveniles that migrate across roads, while pollution and acid rain render aquatic habitats uninhabitable. Hence the threatened status of a third of our local species. I always hope my stories do their part to foster your imaginations and tug on your heart-strings; I want you to fall in love with (and hopefully choose to protect) these creatures. Thus, I've saved the best for last...</div>
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You see, the Red-Spotted Newt has a couple super-power abilities they rely on to survive that we "more developed" humans lack... 1) As to be expected from the bright coloration, they can secrete an unpalatable toxin that deters predators, and, perhaps more impressively, 2) they make informed decisions when migrating using a hybrid navigation system that couples data on the direction of polarized sunlight together with the orientation of <i>magnetic</i> <i>iron particles embedded within their body! </i>If only we human hikers had this ability... </div>
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Perhaps it was my friend T's Taiwanese chi that attracted these local water dragons to us. Does everything happen for a reason? Either way, it made our day - and fulfilled one of my long-forgotten childhood dreams.</div>
</div>Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-53029434590218332392012-06-05T14:52:00.002-04:002012-06-05T14:52:27.569-04:00Author's Note:<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; color: #b45f06;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left;"><i>The next two posts on <u>Nature Through Noah</u> are about the American Shad, </i></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: left;">Alosa sapidissima<i>. I wanted to tell a story about this fish in two different styles; my usual wordy, scientific style - and an experimental style - a photo essay. As with all my writing, both posts are meant to entertain </i><span style="font-style: italic;">and </span><i>instill an appreciation for wildlife. I would love to hear your feedback on these two different styles - was it easier and more fun to browse the photos? Or did you prefer to have prose and the factual details? E-mail any opinions to njdesrosiers@gmail.com.</i></span></span>Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-36356946722713940582012-06-05T14:52:00.001-04:002012-06-05T15:02:58.185-04:00Shad Season = Dad Season<b>"<span style="font-size: x-small;">So, you know, I told Tony th-</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">FISH ON!</span>" </b><br />
A conversation ends abruptly as my once calm fishing pole becomes a bouncing switch, it's convulsions the result of an aggravated silver fish that has just snatched the pointy end of the line.<br />
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<b>zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZzzzZZZzzz<i>ZZZ</i>zzz<i>ZZZ</i>zzz<i>ZZZZZZZZZ</i>!</b><br />
Fishing line whizzes off my reel as the queen of all herring species, the American Shad (<i>Alosa sapidissima</i>) pulls against the drag in a determined effort to free herself.<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">THUD</span>.... thud....<span style="font-size: large;"> thunk</span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>whir-whir-whir-whir-</i></span>thud-thunk...<i>-<span style="font-size: xx-small;">whir-whir-whir-whir-whir...</span></i></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">RAT-ATTLE-</span>tattle...</b><br />
There's a commotion on our tiny boat; I step over tackle boxes, around my family, and down into the metal hull; my sister reels in her line to get it out of the way; my father reaches for the aluminum net and accidentally drops it in the boat, causing a clatter.<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">FLOSH-shlosh.</span>.. </b><br />
As I bring the fish close to the surface and my father's net, it's tail splashes water around at the surface;<br />
<b>zzzzzzz<i>zzzzzzZZZ<span style="font-size: large;">ZZZ</span></i>!<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> whir-whir-whir-whir... whir-whir... </span>splash... <span style="font-size: large;">spli-<i>splish</i>!</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></b><br />
Seeing us, the queen of the herrings dives, fighting my drag, and I must lift the pole up and reel in line as I lower it down in order to bring her back to the surface...
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">SLOSH! </span></b><b>Slappety-slappety, slap-slap!</b><br />
When my father has a clear view, he plunges the net in the water, and lifts the flipping, dripping fish out on to the deck. We quickly remove the hook from her jaw, and lift her up for a quick photo together, as if she were a beautiful sculpture in the art museum of a foreign country...<br />
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Having caught all the fish we want to eat (2 for each of us, though we're allowed 6 <i>each</i> by Massachusetts state law), we say our thank-yous to the fish for its fight, and release the milky-silver river queen back into her domain. We all hoot and holler and smile as we cast our lines out for another go, wondering which of us will hook-up next. Shad season is dad season.<br />
~~~<br />
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American Shad are the largest of the herring species (family clupeidae). Adults are around 2 feet long and 3 pounds, though the roe shad (females) are larger than the bucks (males). During the month of May, my father and sister and I drive to Holyoke, Massachusetts to catch them. We put our boat in on the Connecticut River just under the <a href="http://www.hged.com/html/hadley_falls_fish_lift.html">Holyoke Dam</a> to intercept them on their spawning run. See, shad are "anadromous" fish, meaning that they live their adult lives in the ocean, but swim back up coastal rivers in order to reproduce. (Sound familiar? You've probably heard this before about salmon, another anadromous fish!) Shad that leave their river homes as juveniles at 1 year old may swim thousands of miles away to feed on oceanic plankton, but adults return to and spawn in the same river where they were born. As soon as these rivers reaches 58 degrees Fahrenheit in the springtime, adult fish journey upstream past natural and man-made obstacles to reach their spawning grounds. This means that the "shad run" starts first down around Florida, and ends last up in Canada. By May, they are running up the nearby Connecticut River, and I pray I am stateside with my father for a great bonding activity and a seasonal gourmet treat. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gonads from a female <i>Alosa sapidissima </i>(i.e. shad roe)</td></tr>
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Of course the Connecticut River is <i>the </i>primo place to find American Shad, all the locals would have you believe. And why not? Each year, between one quarter and one half <i>million </i>American shad swim past this one area in just a few weeks. They don't feed when they are running, but they see our<i> </i>"darts" (special little lures used for just this purpose) and snap at them, annoyed. They provide us with a great fight, as they are struggling for the chance to reproduce. But being foodies, we also harvest a few females for their "roe," the hundreds of thousands of unfertilized eggs stored in the female's paired gonads. Cooking the gonads in butter and parsley yields a delicious meal tasting like a lighter lobster, as my father likes to say, as the eggs are full of energy-rich oils and proteins. But I digress. I said the Connecticut River was the best place to <i>find </i>the shad; I didn't say you ought to join in the slaughter! Recall that shad have obstacles to pass on the journey upstream - like the Holyoke Dam. Often, we aid the anadromous fish migrations with fish "ladders," pools of water that climb like steps over the dam. But at the Holyoke Dam, there's a much more unique approach. A fish elevator! That's right; every shad that moves over the dam will be lifted by an elevator that runs continuously during the shad season. A box of water closes at the base of the dam full of shad confused at the wall blocking their path. Then, they are lifted up to the level of the dam, and poured through a long tank called a raceway. The clear acrylic wall of one side of the raceway <a href="http://www.hged.com/assets/images/2012/Fish%20Counts/Holyoke%20weekly%20report,%2003JUN2012.jpg">allows computers (once, scientists with clipboards) to tally exactly how many of each species of fish is passing through</a>. It also allows curious nature tourists to see the shad face-to-face as they are making their natural (well, in a compromise with mankind) migration upstream. And it's totally free, so put it on your calendar of great seasonal activities and <a href="http://www.hged.com/html/hadley_falls_fish_lift.html">check it out!</a> Makes a great pre-father's day activity!<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">There are no good videos of the Hadley Falls Fish Lift in action; you'll have to see it in person!</span></div>
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For the further curious... The shad's ecological importance (as defined by us) is primarily as an energy coupling. They feed on the tiny crustaceans adrift in the sea (copepods and mysids), and are in turn eaten by our charismatic megafauna - the creatures we know and love - eagles, seals, tuna, sharks. Planktonic creatures are too small a meal for these large animals (with a few exceptions, like <a href="http://fishbase.org/summary/Cetorhinus-maximus.html">the Basking Shark</a>), but the shad are an ideal food source. Their relatively short life spans and high "fecundity"<i> </i>(great number of eggs) mean their population growth rate is high, and thus many can be harvested without severe damage to the population. (Sharks, in contrast, have a very <i>low </i>fecundity, and a very late age at maturity - their populations tolerate very little harvest, and that's why shark species worldwide are becoming endangered so quickly from the massive<a href="http://www.stopsharkfinning.net/"> shark finning industry</a>.) Even so, the power of human predation has resulted in the reduction of shad landings <a href="http://www.asmfc.org/speciesDocuments/shad/shadProfile.pdf">from 50 million tons in 1890 to 2 million tons today</a>. No, they are not endangered - but they are not as plentiful a food source for our favorite predators as they once were. And considering the other problems that these creatures face with pollution, finning, and habitat destruction, who knows how long our favorite species will be with us?<br />
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I remain uncertain as to whether or not various Earth creatures will survive the next few generations of mankind's oft-cruel attentions. But by keeping my energy use low and sharing these wildlife traditions with my father and others, I fight for their existence; and I retain a living memory of any species lost in honor of their time spent struggling with us in our mutual battle to achieve modern ecological harmony on this planet.Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-35014253491183273442012-06-05T14:52:00.000-04:002012-06-05T14:52:15.569-04:00Shad Season = Dad Season, take 2<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Launching the Launch on the Connecticut River, Holyoke, MA, USA</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Father hooks up first...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...with sister on the net...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and she proves a helpful herring hefter!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sister's turn to fight - "FISH ON!"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTX9YAK_vZAWRzPhdGygP567V5OUQGRPBAlyUQ39DsW47Zb22Usn3zH3qxZr0-pphTV7ijIJGzZ7y5nTVYzD6NMZH572qnKG8-dq4cxrJzWLtQP2n_3pY2ODMBsWmKvzzEuov6QofL5v3v/s1600/06.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTX9YAK_vZAWRzPhdGygP567V5OUQGRPBAlyUQ39DsW47Zb22Usn3zH3qxZr0-pphTV7ijIJGzZ7y5nTVYzD6NMZH572qnKG8-dq4cxrJzWLtQP2n_3pY2ODMBsWmKvzzEuov6QofL5v3v/s640/06.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This time father does the netting...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG3yQN1ML-dauCKUwlg3_69LBv5J21hDmMvXQ2UQiufSxp4KZlP1c8D8obNyFw41R6FHgcrg_Sd3JbB8_e2ChL6ueWY8ez3__9ZQIYNBUIz_9hBFhzJLnTn-QUmwtEKYrU5ulkwGKFhfXo/s1600/07.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG3yQN1ML-dauCKUwlg3_69LBv5J21hDmMvXQ2UQiufSxp4KZlP1c8D8obNyFw41R6FHgcrg_Sd3JbB8_e2ChL6ueWY8ez3__9ZQIYNBUIz_9hBFhzJLnTn-QUmwtEKYrU5ulkwGKFhfXo/s640/07.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and now it's fish on deck!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihL_N6aG-bONa6BrFFdqCSISP6VqLZU8d1ML9ZZXhelpfxEHWGNJkcyxIghjO5kATXGJdKRsvgf41zmWJ7BCn-rByGtqDtTGIKNkV7r-Jvu5ELO07MsnpYhoeuRDLteoE3FLQiRwf6rC5s/s1600/08.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihL_N6aG-bONa6BrFFdqCSISP6VqLZU8d1ML9ZZXhelpfxEHWGNJkcyxIghjO5kATXGJdKRsvgf41zmWJ7BCn-rByGtqDtTGIKNkV7r-Jvu5ELO07MsnpYhoeuRDLteoE3FLQiRwf6rC5s/s640/08.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Father helps with hooks; a doctor with a patient milky-silver patient.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEdrEBdAt72cr0azi8940sTXRXvWCNfQWtcxfail8-iPKUUhKO_keel_U2YccKMNT52Q4bL_VL6jcts-CnKY2vjrQ1e12wnPAOqwMvKK3dvdxhtRjqhR6BeRYGkhmGqpsItU8ydwAEJa2/s1600/09.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBEdrEBdAt72cr0azi8940sTXRXvWCNfQWtcxfail8-iPKUUhKO_keel_U2YccKMNT52Q4bL_VL6jcts-CnKY2vjrQ1e12wnPAOqwMvKK3dvdxhtRjqhR6BeRYGkhmGqpsItU8ydwAEJa2/s640/09.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shad season is dad season... we will let this one go.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn_3CMuqj_vbsJFCXemgPezNzNYIiVWNnCjpZvwJ_bBmf2PhQVm9MDJqgUFynSC0Ly8exkuT38SvzA5lYc5thj67j8UJVU1EB00HKaq3bb5ZYt2K5nLNy2T1lHs7nllPHYwCu5amOhwg7_/s1600/10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn_3CMuqj_vbsJFCXemgPezNzNYIiVWNnCjpZvwJ_bBmf2PhQVm9MDJqgUFynSC0Ly8exkuT38SvzA5lYc5thj67j8UJVU1EB00HKaq3bb5ZYt2K5nLNy2T1lHs7nllPHYwCu5amOhwg7_/s640/10.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Your humble author gives thanks... what a strange son!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKoJtzTVe3HkPczqdaE4lvSGd4SsPbLan3Bf2W7vtKWP3oQkCAZ78Zps_pTsLnuH7BqyAK2osxn0pxFfC8oP55nf21esTh4ZjFu47Hc0eHvTWrOiuHarbtdpsuv9MrD5aaoqLDW_AcR_5/s1600/11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKKoJtzTVe3HkPczqdaE4lvSGd4SsPbLan3Bf2W7vtKWP3oQkCAZ78Zps_pTsLnuH7BqyAK2osxn0pxFfC8oP55nf21esTh4ZjFu47Hc0eHvTWrOiuHarbtdpsuv9MrD5aaoqLDW_AcR_5/s640/11.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fire up the New England kitchens!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ7JomLcI7Qp28WMIha4mDH4W_aFD12tv1h0FO-RU2daBr6MJzWOvm4b71AlunOpPg_emSti0JylBgFxS9fCyDDcKgv1-VgIZrUkS3O3-Q7othrmHAisImIwVHIl8-AWv2W550hyphenhyphenKkhzYh/s1600/12.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ7JomLcI7Qp28WMIha4mDH4W_aFD12tv1h0FO-RU2daBr6MJzWOvm4b71AlunOpPg_emSti0JylBgFxS9fCyDDcKgv1-VgIZrUkS3O3-Q7othrmHAisImIwVHIl8-AWv2W550hyphenhyphenKkhzYh/s640/12.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The last duties of a battle-weary gourmand.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcopA815B2fuq80kS_jWnTelMR6x-tUEAZzS4Ls2ERowTVleWJsmFhwZRsitP3bxej78zK3JqxnM_faxdif7OglHnHuKl8S47hvDvaDolEjBYUVQX4sYhwHYHOntys0jCc5GbUItaUjvgH/s1600/13.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcopA815B2fuq80kS_jWnTelMR6x-tUEAZzS4Ls2ERowTVleWJsmFhwZRsitP3bxej78zK3JqxnM_faxdif7OglHnHuKl8S47hvDvaDolEjBYUVQX4sYhwHYHOntys0jCc5GbUItaUjvgH/s640/13.JPG" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SHAD ROE DINNER: An American Tradition</td></tr>
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<br />Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-60820189212262890312012-05-21T21:30:00.001-04:002012-05-21T21:39:15.220-04:00Ten Fun Tidbits (Roughly) About PICKEREL!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4HKmI7NuIH4ByR5APU7ABxlQJnT1IshOHOQHxg5BsYvoDHrgFVh9LrHIr_ZrFzwopyoN3Z0boBbtVFFS3O68IxwYCcH9M7h6l7lV8HY0wWYyRc3TT6C7m2yAqlVrxi4hnXWkVfT4CPWPJ/s1600/pickerel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4HKmI7NuIH4ByR5APU7ABxlQJnT1IshOHOQHxg5BsYvoDHrgFVh9LrHIr_ZrFzwopyoN3Z0boBbtVFFS3O68IxwYCcH9M7h6l7lV8HY0wWYyRc3TT6C7m2yAqlVrxi4hnXWkVfT4CPWPJ/s320/pickerel.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The chain pickerel<i>, Esox niger</i></td></tr>
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10. The Chain Pickerel (<i>Esox niger</i>) is a freshwater fish that lives in the warm, weedy ponds of the eastern USA and Canada. If a chain pickerel is very lucky, it might grow three feet long, weigh eight pounds, and live for 9 years - but the ones you usually see/catch recreationally (and release!) are only a foot (30-40 cm).<br />
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9. Pickerel are from the family Esocidae, called pike-fish by the English because they are long and pointy like the eponymous weapon! There are five species from the family Esocidae from the eastern USA and Canada. One species, the Northern Pike (<i>Esox lucius</i>), also naturally occurs in Eurasia - one of the few freshwater species to occur naturally on different continents!<br />
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8. In Canada, "pickerel" refers to <i>Sander vitreus</i>, a species we call walleye, or wall-eyed pike. Of course, both names are misleading because <i>Sander vitreus</i> is simply not a pike (i.e. not a member of the family Esocidae)! Thus, the problem of common names!<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m00jum7zFM1rnqc74o1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="204" src="http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m00jum7zFM1rnqc74o1_500.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In reality, a frog would rarely see this grass pickerel coming.</td></tr>
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7. Pickerels and pikes are like freshwater barracuda! While juveniles eat bugs and crayfish, the adults are piscivorous (fish-eating) ambush predators! Thanks to their sharp teeth and quick bursts of speed, they can also eat nearly anything they can fit in their mouth - including frogs, small mammals, and even birds!<br />
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6. Pickerel survive icy northern winters by moving from shallow weedy areas to deep waters that won't freeze over. Because their metabolism slows down, a pickerel that might normally need to feed every day can last nearly two weeks without a meal in winter!<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUp2DjJjZ8Ytxump5xEbdqF9WkojQpjskTFWpZAb_FDarJcopcsoATnlN-spqqEFnF0nIRlD3eZpjuhgrs3XtSwFi6FK5yobF-DXQsb97sW6KTbDZxJYxx8mWLTJkkOmLAy4SrNWmxTXch/s1600/boston+esox.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUp2DjJjZ8Ytxump5xEbdqF9WkojQpjskTFWpZAb_FDarJcopcsoATnlN-spqqEFnF0nIRlD3eZpjuhgrs3XtSwFi6FK5yobF-DXQsb97sW6KTbDZxJYxx8mWLTJkkOmLAy4SrNWmxTXch/s320/boston+esox.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now THIS would be a team... The Boston Esox.</td></tr>
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5. Pickerel are "dioecious," meaning they have separate sexes as determined by their genetic makeup; they are born either male or female, and stay that way (like humans). (Yes, this is <i>not</i> true for all animals!) When the springtime comes, they move up from the deep water back to weedy shallows where the females can attach thousands of sinking eggs to the plants, and the hatching young will be able to hide and hunt plant-eating prey.<br />
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4. A "Tiger Muskie" is a cross between two pickerel sister species - the Northern Pike and a Muskellunge (<i>Esox masquinongy, </i>from the Algonquian tribes' words for "great pike-fish," or "ugly pike-fish"). Like most hybrid species, they are infertile. This means that wherever they occur naturally, they are not members of a long, proud line of pure heritage, but rather the beautiful offspring of chance passion between distinctly different parents. Were they confused, these parents? Lame creatures, merely misled, fooled by each other? Or were they passionate risk takers, chasing a biologically forbidden love?<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.crowwing.com/images/Pike%20fingerling%20Jul%205%202010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://www.crowwing.com/images/Pike%20fingerling%20Jul%205%202010.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking species management in our own hands (<i>Esox lucius</i>)</td></tr>
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3. Pickerel have mostly escaped our insatiable hunger because of the work it takes to get a meal out of them - they are small, have many little bones, and must have their poor-tasting skin removed (Westerners are very picky eaters). But pikes, muskies, and tiger muskies are trophy fish, and can be good eating; thus, our attentions often extirpate (i.e. eliminate) them from their lake and pond homes. Also thus, they are often grown in government hatcheries and stocked in our lakes and ponds so they can survive despite lethal doses of human attention! We even grow tiger muskies, despite the difficulty in recreating the rare event. Stocking may seem like species imprisonment, but we're just trying to pay for what we take. Wild stock (and thus wild DNA) still exist, and this is what we are really protecting.<br />
(baby tiger muskie pic)<br />
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2. The larger <i>Esox </i>(pikes and muskies) are not native to Massachusetts. In 1950, hundreds of 12+ inch northern pike adults were brought up from Lake Champlain in New York and released around Berkshire country in that year in hopes of establishing reproducing populations, mostly for sport. I wonder what it was like to drive that payload! <br />
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and of course....<br />
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wait for it...<br />
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<i><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">1. PICKEREL ARE SO CUTE!</span></b></i><br />
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<img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNwYpdA491U1iDHmfRX9NuMVL2mf5sgsIYP7gSi70J5VnfMB74sPwH1QN-gYjvfvEjOXAxDV7mIQ7AzqGxnXOWkOTNzPgBbQ2-GabjTy9ZJ-MWyCfbJMrBk2VtZKTBlqmrLV0jkMRulEGw/s640/pickerelkiss.JPG" width="640" /></div>Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-7747798900793822502012-05-10T22:46:00.001-04:002012-05-10T22:46:31.425-04:00Phyllobius intrusus: a pre-pickerel post<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwKoJBJThsflXeF8-XRLyU0nl-Zf9tOjHHmjaiWxXp8kO-4pLyvTs409chcksxu4si4QU1y5P9kkI_-QNfzq8hg2pq7A5OQ-Fsz4NxM60SISmjGCo1EHrRzVjU0PZ_O8HL4ia3cIti5-P8/s1600/phylloposter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwKoJBJThsflXeF8-XRLyU0nl-Zf9tOjHHmjaiWxXp8kO-4pLyvTs409chcksxu4si4QU1y5P9kkI_-QNfzq8hg2pq7A5OQ-Fsz4NxM60SISmjGCo1EHrRzVjU0PZ_O8HL4ia3cIti5-P8/s400/phylloposter.jpg" width="270" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maybe someday?</td></tr>
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<b><i>Phyllobius</i> (fil-OH-bee-yus). </b><br />
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Say it with me. <i>Phyllobius!</i><br />
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<i>Phyllobius, </i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Phyllobius,</span><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;">Phyllobius intrusus!</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(From <u>Advanced Hexes for Hogwarts 5th Years</u>)</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<b>I was running between mom and dad's house again,</b> which they don't like because there's no path. I just crash through a garden and then a row of defensive shrubs. Don't try this at home kids; your parents (might) kick you out! The shrubs were "Arborvitae" (<i>Thuja occidentalis</i>), a beautiful American evergreen. Shortly after crashing through, a crawling on my calves signaled arboreal stowaways! Eek! I reached down, let the unseen bugs crawl onto my hand and brought them to my eyes for a closer inspection - and I discovered they were fantastic mossy bronze Arborvitae Weevils (<i>Phyllobius intrusus</i>)! <i>AND WEEVILS ARE SO CUTE!!!</i></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZC9YRRcMVmaOl3nHI9c3-kCevWdbB8kFYriIg6yr6j0iy4xIm8gaMwXBntokprt_zP743sGSQtxuyMcolfFH4FlduhLo63toV4WtoA7dxpLtl7JqVZXQl5iFCvO8zQMcIXaXj7OUsogR_/s1600/Phyllobius_intrusus3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZC9YRRcMVmaOl3nHI9c3-kCevWdbB8kFYriIg6yr6j0iy4xIm8gaMwXBntokprt_zP743sGSQtxuyMcolfFH4FlduhLo63toV4WtoA7dxpLtl7JqVZXQl5iFCvO8zQMcIXaXj7OUsogR_/s640/Phyllobius_intrusus3.JPG" width="479" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An Arborvitae Weevil (<i>Phyllobius intrusus</i>) considers the day's challenges.</td></tr>
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<b>Weevils, also called 'snout beetles,' are insects from the family Curculionidae, </b>the world's <i>most speciose animal family, with 60,000 species<b> </b>known worldwide</i>! They don't sting or bite; they are herbivores, and many rely exclusively on only one species of host plant! Thus many famous crop "pests" are weevils, just trying to carry out their lives on a host plant that humans happen to be cultivating. If there are enough living on/in the host plant, the plant may wither and die, or just be too unsightly to sell to other humans. I can understand disliking them if your crop is ruined, but if you find them at home in your pasta, don't throw it away in disgust! It's extra protein! And who knows, maybe you'll get super weevil powers by consuming them!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.deviantart.com/download/196608016/weevil_knievel_concept_by_redpaints-d391zps.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="288" src="http://www.deviantart.com/download/196608016/weevil_knievel_concept_by_redpaints-d391zps.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You might become a regular Weevil Knievel!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(I wish I could have been the first to think of that pun, but the world's a big place. See <a href="http://bugunderglass.com/gallery/insect_art_files/weevil-knievel.jpg">a real diorama of a Weevil Knievel here</a>; or listen to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XmojSKZEVmc">Weevil Knievel, the UK rock group</a>!)</span><br />
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Since there are so many species of weevils, it's tough to work out a species-specific adventure story like I do with the other creatures I post on the blog. You must dig through mountains of old books in a musty library in some prestigious university (Harvard would be a good start) before you find the primary source account for your chosen weevil, written by a <strike>crazy person who has watched wild weevils for hours</strike> scientist. ...Which explains why after taking photos, I went back and stared at weevils for a little while, hoping to catch their story. It's peaceful to obey your curiosity and just watch. Standing tall, a weevil waves his antennae, sniffing out dilute pheromones wafting on the spring breeze. Then spreading his tarnished copper elytra apart, his wings lift him away in search of a choicer perch...<br />
...<br />
But there was more to the Arborvitae than the weevils.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBXrP0Obq70V6jukyP20JQ68b8UggsNAxiKGT73nYgUJuAGIeVmQlbzIxnNKSi5Z3zCg6fWrNMonX8SnRnhgS9kLswVYYua-3wQwPVYx-gZ5q55cxSqHlfLaEhr3TqO2zsfRwRd6ycu2Re/s1600/arborvit+creatues.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBXrP0Obq70V6jukyP20JQ68b8UggsNAxiKGT73nYgUJuAGIeVmQlbzIxnNKSi5Z3zCg6fWrNMonX8SnRnhgS9kLswVYYua-3wQwPVYx-gZ5q55cxSqHlfLaEhr3TqO2zsfRwRd6ycu2Re/s640/arborvit+creatues.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Citizens of the Arborvitae Treecosystem</td></tr>
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You see, while on my knees in the rainy mud photographing the tiny beasts, I noticed many other creatures - flies, spiders, and even a slug! Until now, I'd ignored this tiny forest in my backyard; I'm a coral reef snob. But through the lens of a camera I can discover ecosystems as intricate as any coral reef's algal turf... To critters this small, a shrub is a city; a community of different species of various sizes, shapes, jobs, eating habits, and population sizes. And at least for <i>Phyllobius intrusus </i>on the Arborvitae<i>, </i>the only city it will ever know. I've decided to call it a "tree-cosystem." I encourage you all to go find out who lives in one of the treecosystems near you!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmQRjyRhgRY61vuq1wWcV6Ur7wJy_VfCgkCeeA31G2TszALSfjQHBqJ1zjdLyEOIJJ2iTsNS0O65moX5vGWR4pcXmlcNh34hQxks2j_7Cf-b3Lf6I8m653IzqMw03imHfNxrGSVwbDM1nu/s1600/weevil+moon+party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmQRjyRhgRY61vuq1wWcV6Ur7wJy_VfCgkCeeA31G2TszALSfjQHBqJ1zjdLyEOIJJ2iTsNS0O65moX5vGWR4pcXmlcNh34hQxks2j_7Cf-b3Lf6I8m653IzqMw03imHfNxrGSVwbDM1nu/s640/weevil+moon+party.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...I wish.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-24844956303849807662012-05-05T10:44:00.001-04:002012-05-31T13:57:41.522-04:00Diving Blue Heron Bridge (Riviera Beach, Florida)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2R1hVvU3Q6f3Y1ojLdLZ2jGuTws4jdIHzi6gQ4GK-ztd9-FB9xW6dk_y4EA9gkVK6GsaU9XdnGl82CdZ3ifbG3gAfaVqKdN1MKMcvqj-susmIN3We84uF-1KhVZI70ILmLhJeWpA-Ct0/s320/blue+Heron+Bridge.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Blue Heron Bridge," Riviera Beach, Florida</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx2R1hVvU3Q6f3Y1ojLdLZ2jGuTws4jdIHzi6gQ4GK-ztd9-FB9xW6dk_y4EA9gkVK6GsaU9XdnGl82CdZ3ifbG3gAfaVqKdN1MKMcvqj-susmIN3We84uF-1KhVZI70ILmLhJeWpA-Ct0/s1600/blue+Heron+Bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><b>This will be a confusing story. </b>I'm writing about an event a week past, and one that came together with minimal planning. If it sounds zany... Just keep reading! So... My mother has a second house on Florida's west coast; Fort Myers. Twice a year she migrates - down in winter, up in summer. Last week she invited me down to see her winter home and help her with the drive back north. I flew down on a one-way ticket - with all my dive gear and camera equipment, just in case! When I arrived, I negotiated use of the car for a few days of <i>adventure</i> (huzzah!). I wanted to dive, but I wouldn't be able to make it to the Florida keys - I had already planned to visit friends in Melbourne, which was the opposite direction. Dive, or reconnect with friends? In my frustration, a dive site name floated from my subconscious - "Blue Heron Bridge," aha!<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XxlZH36Y4Qxzu0HjyCBovGsLtpT8v33Yte0ohAUc-Ngr1ms8xwj6HkHQsrhUevKJai5qJoSD1-Goi_AsjSi3BUtoGmsJt1LRDuZAusmnhNwTtqw4Xj5vMFPVzcFoFmaMJKBC5D8e8gUH/s1600/bridge2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XxlZH36Y4Qxzu0HjyCBovGsLtpT8v33Yte0ohAUc-Ngr1ms8xwj6HkHQsrhUevKJai5qJoSD1-Goi_AsjSi3BUtoGmsJt1LRDuZAusmnhNwTtqw4Xj5vMFPVzcFoFmaMJKBC5D8e8gUH/s320/bridge2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What wonders await in the water under the bridge?</td></tr>
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Riviera Beach, the bridge's home town, was only a slight detour from my journey to Melbourne across the Florida peninsula, so I could dive <i>and </i>see friends! I'd first heard about the bridge a few months ago; diver/filmmaker Stan Waterman was presenting a documentary about it in Boston at a scuba diving convention. Though I didn't get to see the film, it described the water under the bridge as a "world class dive," home to "remarkable macro life." ("Macro," though from Greek origin meaning "large," oddly refers to tiny creatures; this is because special long lenses like mine enlarge the critter's size on the camera's sensor, making them look larger than life.) Testimonies to the uniqueness of this site are scattered all over the internet diving community; <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EzTK9o72ZUc">YouTube videos</a>, <a href="http://www.scubaboard.com/forums/florida-conch-divers/386645-blue-heron-bridge-trolls.html">forum posts</a>, <a href="http://fishid.com/marinelifeblog/floridas-exotic-critter-capital-the-blue-heron-bridge/">blogs</a>, and <a href="http://www.wadespage.com/D800DS06RF01.shtml">websites offering maps, tips, and species identification guides</a>. Being a fan of tiny creatures, I had to dive it! I had to look for slugs there!<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNgj4sVwYNtbQNAJC4JpCAExbFdSVStDwED1vSA4NIoP2XWD1oni31yTVDwJ3FqBMVKrcZkgfvM8TQXXoXCHgpOwKOAzqklgmaxGQwoSEcuQqC5_nbkQl7BYae3C7iuN1BcEjppndF5cmE/s1600/Lantern+Bass+Serranus+Baldwini.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNgj4sVwYNtbQNAJC4JpCAExbFdSVStDwED1vSA4NIoP2XWD1oni31yTVDwJ3FqBMVKrcZkgfvM8TQXXoXCHgpOwKOAzqklgmaxGQwoSEcuQqC5_nbkQl7BYae3C7iuN1BcEjppndF5cmE/s320/Lantern+Bass+Serranus+Baldwini.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lantern Bass (<i>Serranus baldwini</i>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One problem, I thought to myself the night before leaving: I had no dive buddy. Ah, but why not go have a look? I already brought all my gear. Maybe I'd find a buddy there! <i>FOR ADVENTURE!</i> The next morning found me speeding out mom's Florida driveway at 7:30 AM, fueled by excitement and mushroom omelette. Three hours later, I rolled up to Force-E Divers in Riviera Beach with a bug-splattered windshield (that's crossing Florida, for ya), ready to rent some air and find a buddy. I even arrived perfectly on time to catch high tide at 11:30 AM. See, slack high tide (the peak) has the clearest and slowest water; when the tide is running, visibility drops to a few feet and the current will drag you right out from under the pilings. I didn't find any divers to buddy up with hanging around the shop, but for the sake of adventure I rented a tank and dive flag and hoped there'd be others at the bridge. My watch said 10:50, I thanked the dive shop staff and sped over to Phil Foster Park, the entry area for the dive. <i>FOR ADVENTURE!</i><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ommK7SlBKhhIR8l_mVlrV_dyNtNZjrfx6jF-ENKWE-Jt6T_QAwtOkbI_JBKMGBBmK9CCYLUex-1JcdsOxvfyOY1kN7KRKcFg04xed0iZ2uAOdj4S1Us3gID4wJwZAD1jK0L7oY8RDARj/s1600/IMG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ommK7SlBKhhIR8l_mVlrV_dyNtNZjrfx6jF-ENKWE-Jt6T_QAwtOkbI_JBKMGBBmK9CCYLUex-1JcdsOxvfyOY1kN7KRKcFg04xed0iZ2uAOdj4S1Us3gID4wJwZAD1jK0L7oY8RDARj/s320/IMG.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Artist's rendition of the frantic unloading...</td></tr>
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Phil Foster Park is one of the reasons this is such an excellent dive - ease of access. The park is halfway across the Indian River Lagoon (OK, so the "Blue Heron Bridge" dive site is really two bridges with an island in the middle; it's to the right in the first photo on this blog). The park has a picnic area, playground, fish cleaning station, charcoal grills, freshwater showers, a walk-in sandy beach entry right under the bridge, and <i>free parking! </i>I wasted no time when I pulled into a space - I leapt from the driver's seat and dragged my gear out after me. I'd assembled and double-checked my camera the night before, so I could just plop it on the car's roof while assembling the scuba equipment. It was only when I had one wetsuit arm half-on that I noticed a neoprene-clad couple eating bananas and staring at me in the next parking space. I must have seemed such a madman! I followed their eyes to my fancy camera, to my scuba gear, to me jumping into my wetsuit - and suddenly I realized I looked like a very serious diver, indeed. I had to laugh at myself - I <i>am </i>a serious diver, look at that! Ha! When did that happen? We spoke for a bit, but they were only snorkeling, no dive buddies there. I put on my tank, grabbed my camera, and headed to the beach - 11:15. <i>FOR ADVENTURE!</i><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRZLm0QIqd7WgrUXbEYQB9FaluSBe5HQhchh1UgHdywzAPh_BR84TErG3gj8VxOlX8tnbev57XT3X4zNe4aXO7hYSuYeskJFZXU6eRUIgV7CsXWq9u1fnIpbFnheGgA9F4c_PmTHsfHCCI/s1600/blenny.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRZLm0QIqd7WgrUXbEYQB9FaluSBe5HQhchh1UgHdywzAPh_BR84TErG3gj8VxOlX8tnbev57XT3X4zNe4aXO7hYSuYeskJFZXU6eRUIgV7CsXWq9u1fnIpbFnheGgA9F4c_PmTHsfHCCI/s320/blenny.JPG" width="240" /></a>As fate would have it, several divers had flocked to the water's edge for the high tide. Where had they come from? I introduced myself to a couple of med students - Jason and Byron - who were also having a photo dive. I realized that it would be impossible not to be within sight of at least one diver while under, and the whole site was only 10-15 feet deep at the maximum. I decided to dive; I wouldn't be alone. I put in my regulator, grabbed my camera, and let my dive weights pull me to the underworld. The clear water brought by the high tide revealed what beauty had been masked only minutes before. Wrasses danced in the bouncing light just outside the bridge's shadow, while brooding predators lurked and plotted just within it. The pilings loomed out of the shadows like skyscrapers of life in a forgotten sunken city, residents peeking out curiously at the unidentified swimming object drifting down their boulevards. How rich in life! When I was shooting a shame-faced crab, <i>Calappa </i>sp., it actually walked right over the back of a small flounder! Unfazed, the flounder posed for my camera - but the flash startled it and it swam into an arrow crab's den (<i>Stenorhynchus </i>sp.)! Normally, these creatures require a bit more of an eye to find - they don't just swim into each other's company! These normally "hard to find" critters were everywhere! I lost count of the beautiful boxing shrimp (<i>Stenopus hispidus</i>) that were in every crack and crevice, crustacean apartments. I had to watch the bottom to avoid the spines of countless decorator urchins, sunken city soldiers wielding broken shells and rotten seagrass atop their tests like shields. Young lobsters filled holes where <i>Stenopus </i>did not. And of course, among the algae and the rubble, there were even a few opisthobranchs, the rare gems of the city!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6_CqTJ1mLXOhvu9OD_f-OHKJdeC-MuXIIcmtmyDxLlYogXGySyoqmCn1hmwtANpEqnTrVa0sfkA-RFqllcrG_Rx_oMRGus030vxGrDjltP75aIvC_8x86mXCphDzanX9NUrhB2fMHvYp/s1600/Calappa2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6_CqTJ1mLXOhvu9OD_f-OHKJdeC-MuXIIcmtmyDxLlYogXGySyoqmCn1hmwtANpEqnTrVa0sfkA-RFqllcrG_Rx_oMRGus030vxGrDjltP75aIvC_8x86mXCphDzanX9NUrhB2fMHvYp/s320/Calappa2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shamefaced Crab (<i>Calappa </i>sp.)</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOUL5Ud9RAtrrZQu6hxvsiUIbP1AR0K6NVH-vdeIH6eOw5dXMXXW160IanS0gEMjpbJnGjlbxqK4ExYP6bgR8WFeamYrTgGsWnuSDOKnQYp9VydF4cOKdbHbnvkivqnkj_DcljMgp4ZL1/s1600/arrow.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOUL5Ud9RAtrrZQu6hxvsiUIbP1AR0K6NVH-vdeIH6eOw5dXMXXW160IanS0gEMjpbJnGjlbxqK4ExYP6bgR8WFeamYrTgGsWnuSDOKnQYp9VydF4cOKdbHbnvkivqnkj_DcljMgp4ZL1/s320/arrow.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arrow Crab (<i>Stenorhynchus </i>sp.)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLIZXp4b1nlUyeyKeTPg9d3xXP2dSaHoqmmpPZzrqzzgSwRRlyLJG25SU9-XAtqwqaVt6aapH2OX3WDNv5ExQvlDuQ9d-fwZfVUuxO_9VEcY-GlT7i2QalSP360ggMn9cTdVqDQYoXp-ru/s1600/urch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLIZXp4b1nlUyeyKeTPg9d3xXP2dSaHoqmmpPZzrqzzgSwRRlyLJG25SU9-XAtqwqaVt6aapH2OX3WDNv5ExQvlDuQ9d-fwZfVUuxO_9VEcY-GlT7i2QalSP360ggMn9cTdVqDQYoXp-ru/s320/urch.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An urchin defender, with many swords and shields!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was in the water for an hour and a half, but it was not enough time. My long camera lens forced my eyes down into the rubble to find little critters, but the realization that it was my first dive there made me glance up every so often. What a dive it would have been with a fellow photographer - or even if I'd left the camera at home. At one point I had to untangle my dive flag from the bridge's concrete pilings, so I put my camera down. When I returned, two plate-sized filefish were swimming over it, staring at their reflections in the lens! If only I'd had a second camera. I accompanied Jason and Byron to lunch after surfacing, and they showed me their pictures of a seahorse, a massive stingray, and a frogfish - all of which I'd overlooked during my slug hunting. I myself had only seen one seahorse and one frogfish in all my dive adventures to date! They told me more about their dive over a few drinks, and I realized I'd been away from the Atlantic's wonders for too long. (Another diver I met afterwards sent me <a href="http://ximenaoldsphotography.plioart.com/portfolio/usa-blue-heron-brigde/">a link to her bridge photos</a>, too - wow!)<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlxaK0s8WQ4JihDHwARELfn9DbbLTcXfd31siLmxoVO8R_aliT6rxTacEivQ4P3AAniSw7EqNuOBvN_u5YlNBlFvBvq2mPMRzCKZo0W4ri8_PXz3vkben8M2NRZjNMP51yyXR-NWtpdWQ4/s1600/highhat.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlxaK0s8WQ4JihDHwARELfn9DbbLTcXfd31siLmxoVO8R_aliT6rxTacEivQ4P3AAniSw7EqNuOBvN_u5YlNBlFvBvq2mPMRzCKZo0W4ri8_PXz3vkben8M2NRZjNMP51yyXR-NWtpdWQ4/s320/highhat.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Juvenile High-Hat (<i>Equetus acuminatus</i>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Why was this one site such a a hotspot for tiny, uncommon critters?</b> There are many possible reasons; primarily those associated with its location in an estuarine lagoon adjacent an oceanic inlet. With every incoming tide, eggs and larvae of countless sea critters that have been carried up the coast from the Caribbean drift into the inlet. These offspring pass around the dozens of concrete pilings that lift the Blue Heron Boulevard over the Indian River Lagoon. The massive structure acts as an artificial reef, providing lots of surface area for algae and even some corals to grow. These forests provide food and shelter for the little creatures. With every outgoing tide, lagoon water is pulled out to sea past the bridge - sometimes saltier due to evaporation, sometimes fresher due to rain and runoff. Surely the lagoon water also carries nutrients from terrestrial runoff; nutrients that are normally depleted on offshore reefs. So the bridge is a large habitat in a protected lagoon exposed to currents of incoming sea babies and tempered by fluctuating salinity and nutrient levels. It helps that the bottom composition is rubble - large broken shells and pebbles provide more hiding places and camouflage for creatures than sand alone. In addition, prevailing turbidity (i.e. low visibility) might mean that little critters cannot be easily hunted by visual predators. Certainly the sheer abundance of juvenile High-Hats (<i>Equetus acuminatus</i>) would support this!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fRDaG2lV4nYxTZ_PNNiBI94OyHYT1XZ69oU-hoE2IrLHRGPyJCni4rIrySJB9xcVYV2jE7S9pN10anNN8Rfp7oYTa0IB0IO6RtxCC0n8uki3KWaGkaAi3bbVsH0Zqn0YvLfinaW_qjN7/s1600/dardstory.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2fRDaG2lV4nYxTZ_PNNiBI94OyHYT1XZ69oU-hoE2IrLHRGPyJCni4rIrySJB9xcVYV2jE7S9pN10anNN8Rfp7oYTa0IB0IO6RtxCC0n8uki3KWaGkaAi3bbVsH0Zqn0YvLfinaW_qjN7/s320/dardstory.jpg" width="219" /></a>I don't regret the adventures I had after the dive that day, but I could have - <i>should </i>have - spent days under that bridge. I felt like a newborn there; completely unprepared for the world around me, with so much yet to learn. Hopefully I'll return someday to find more fascinating "macro" life!<br />
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<br /></div>Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-73979394664043850252012-02-16T09:54:00.019-05:002012-02-16T11:42:04.078-05:00Visiting Arabia: Slugwatching 201<div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Searching for slugs among seagrass. Does science make my butt look big?</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><b>My name is Noah DesRosiers, and I am a slugaholic. </b>No, I don't consume them. To do so would be to invite severe physical discomfort, as many of the marine forms I crave are toxic and all are slimy. (Not sure how a diet of sea slugs would affect my <i>mental</i> wellbeing; I did lick a live <i>Thysanozoon </i>flatworm on this trip, which was minding its own business atop a coral head, but oh they are so cute, that one can't help but get ideas sometimes - for example, to taste them. Point being, I think I was sufficiently mentally ill beforehand; no need to worry about increased effects.) Rather, I am addicted to <i>finding</i> these little creatures, understanding them, and telling stories about them to those who listen intently/politely, depending on the situation. I finally admit it, folks - I have been a naturalist out of control, forsaking friends and food for further <i>Phyllidia </i>finds. This past trip to Saudi Arabia helped me realize this. So, "Slugwatching 201" is a reflection on my gritty slugaholic past - how it started, why it's so fulfilling, what I was doing wrong - and the insights that are helping me evolve from recovering slugaholic to avid slugwatcher. The post is peppered throughout with slug biology, conservation concerns, and photographic/hand-drawn illustrations. Enjoy!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5hyphenhyphenaFkvb4IBQjfbw0zBks7qKGc3L_Ee9eJw6aass2qRwFwrkNwRLAeasMzhyuNXIBWfueslOZvNgxg6oEdyZQHjIN3IGdKxyEBTzdvZjhxlqM4Waf6DQ5Y1-tukqZoMGXwv2flOpGK1Wf/s1600/kaustbieach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5hyphenhyphenaFkvb4IBQjfbw0zBks7qKGc3L_Ee9eJw6aass2qRwFwrkNwRLAeasMzhyuNXIBWfueslOZvNgxg6oEdyZQHjIN3IGdKxyEBTzdvZjhxlqM4Waf6DQ5Y1-tukqZoMGXwv2flOpGK1Wf/s400/kaustbieach.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">KAUST beach at sunset.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>"Sea slug," at the term's most complete interpretation, </b>refers to animals of the Phylum Mollusca, Class Gastropoda, Subclass Opisthobranchia. About 6,000 species have been described; from the rabbit-like, red ink-squirting sea hares (Order Anaspidea) to the flamboyantly colored Nudibranchia. I always knew they totally rocked (like most marine life), but my <i>obsession</i> only developed in early 2011, as a stress-reducing hobby. At that time, I was locked up at home typing my Master's thesis. Graduate students around the world cringe at the memory of their thesis-writing anxiety; keeping strange hours, sleeping stranger hours, and only allowing yourself the occasional meal. After a particularly fervent multi-day typing session, during which I lost all track of time, place, and undergarment freshness, I hobbled out of my apartment like a mummy from a crypt, seeking physical and moral nourishment. Could I do this science thing for my whole life, I asked myself? Could I endlessly analyze and coldly quantify the sea's mysteries? Normally, I'd fight this feeling with a party, but I was too worried about the dangers of a hangover to my writing ability, which I'd need to use again all too soon. So instead, I grabbed a bottle of water and a banana, strapped my snorkel fins to the back of my motorcycle and accelerated towards the sea, that vast blue source of all my inspiration and love. Whipping winds on my face and sunlight on my outstretched arms thawed the tension in my mind as I zoomed towards the campus beach. When I arrived, I groggily dismounted and began to approach the water the way a person dying of thirst approaches an oasis, donning snorkeling gear as I went. (Er, read another way, that suggests that all people dying of thirst typically don snorkeling gear as they approach an oasis, which is probably still something I would do.) At the water's edge I collapsed to my knees and splashed over forward into the undersea world. Though it was only a muddy algae field three feet deep, it felt like that first hug you get from a lover you've not seen in months. I hovered there for<i> three hours</i>. Knowing I would have to return to work soon, I was determined to maximize that experience. Seaweeds that had once passed underfoot unnoticed now received my full attention. While turning over algal fronds and broken seashells, my vision adapted to a one-centimeter world... and I began to notice them. The little mystery creatures. Few I'd ever seen before. Many of which were slugs; purple, blue, yellow, rainbow. That day, it was as if they wanted to be found. My eyes went wide and my stress drained out of me like urine through a rental wetsuit. I was hooked.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Little creature photography studio; <i>Chromodoris charlottae </i>pictured.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>This new activity became my thesis survival tool; a short, refreshing, and intimately solo endeavor, away from the prying questions of... er, an advisor. A couple times a week, I'd visit a new stretch of campus shoreline and bring back any tiny mystery creatures to my apartment. I'd put on the blues rock music, crack open a beer, light the hookah, bust out a camera, and shoot away into the night until that perfect psychedelic slug shot materialized amid the smoky haze of my mind...<br />
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To the concerned parents, allow me to apologize for romanticizing such destructive behavior; one should <i>never</i> remove marine life for one's own personal pleasure. Fellow divers and nature enthusiasts will emphatically agree; don't touch wildlife! If you don't know what it is, you might kill yourself, or the organism - and that's no fun for anyone. Of course, I'm a marine biologist, I had told myself. I know what these creatures are, and gosh darnit, if it might be a new species, who better to investigate than me? (Aside from reputable, published sea slug biologists, or opisthobranchologists, as their business cards might say. But this logic does not work with the infatuated.) When I finished my thesis and left Saudi Arabia, the bad habit came with me to subsequent seaside dwellings around the world. In Malta, Costa Rica, and Seattle I told myself that I was allowed to take them home because I lived so close to the sea, and I'd let them go. Just allow me some detailed photographs, and I'll only pickle the critter if it can't be identified, right?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hotel ashtray as makeshift studio for <i>Hypselodoris agassizii, </i>from a tide pool in Montezuma, Costa Rica, 2011.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Thuridilla hopei</i>, Malta, 2011.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>Well, wrong.</b> <b>Despite my most noble intentions,</b> sometimes these creatures died on me. You see, tiny invertebrates are fragile; especially the little soft-bodied sea slugs. In the wild, they crawl freely through oxygen-rich waters, their mucous-y membranes exposed to the sea's particular bacterial fauna, over patches of widely dispersed tiny foods on which they need to feed often. Sometimes I wouldn't be able to release these creatures back into that environment until the next day, yet signs of stress were obvious almost immediately. Compare the colors of these <i>Thuridilla hopei </i>from Malta (left, upper), captured not an hour before the photograph was taken, with a photograph of the same species in its natural environment (left, lower). Massive color fade! When I brought home aeolid slugs, they would sometimes autotomize (selectively amputate) their cerata (tentacles). One time I even woke to find myself a midwife, as a captured <i>Chromodoris britoi </i>had laid eggs overnight in a bottle (below photos, click to enlarge). Out of scientific curiosity and guilt I desperately tried to care for these doomed offspring without the appropriate technology. With various bottles, some tubing, and a lighter I managed to MacGyver a passable slug egg incubator in my bathroom. Of course I could never hope to feed the near microscopic larvae after the eggs hatched. And despite my obsessive curiosity, I had not published any scientific observations or new species descriptions. Thus, removing these found creatures became an increasingly unjustifiable bad habit.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaJYk-dpiZa0TY43ciT3lJhFQTTi_1ZGLrvaYzrwCsBRJ5oHIoYh36tpg605XhaBcyTCVn8zQ4mNBCO1R9Z11DJgMez_1W9mJ_hQsrD5OoFIQlLHk2am-UrcV9Nbz2lEIjAFkdNdUqmxFz/s1600/Cbritoi1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXWjAcNbx4H5dUK-i2jsLiSwGjSkXbeooReTvVJAkaCCbZkqQkxeZ09Tne6yHyJ7-_pK8aDm5p8RGZ3OyvU4614JuODbWv06zMPBB5NA4qKxvEVtU4pO6QMryQchD2baWYtt1OrkXX-OOj/s1600/Cbritoi+Larvae2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXWjAcNbx4H5dUK-i2jsLiSwGjSkXbeooReTvVJAkaCCbZkqQkxeZ09Tne6yHyJ7-_pK8aDm5p8RGZ3OyvU4614JuODbWv06zMPBB5NA4qKxvEVtU4pO6QMryQchD2baWYtt1OrkXX-OOj/s320/Cbritoi+Larvae2.jpg" width="320" /></a><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaJYk-dpiZa0TY43ciT3lJhFQTTi_1ZGLrvaYzrwCsBRJ5oHIoYh36tpg605XhaBcyTCVn8zQ4mNBCO1R9Z11DJgMez_1W9mJ_hQsrD5OoFIQlLHk2am-UrcV9Nbz2lEIjAFkdNdUqmxFz/s320/Cbritoi1.jpg" width="213" /><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDEnewVWdivqhRNec2jxgVjN965icMeVWyG__g9zsg_I-GSxhVEi-j60COLIPUcBhXGQmnOGPjHEBYSMMcj86XjCD28SFg4rUhUc5wkeExpqdoOOsZKhdVkksu8Vfalsoxvi0gQDAdZjG9/s1600/tritonloww.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDEnewVWdivqhRNec2jxgVjN965icMeVWyG__g9zsg_I-GSxhVEi-j60COLIPUcBhXGQmnOGPjHEBYSMMcj86XjCD28SFg4rUhUc5wkeExpqdoOOsZKhdVkksu8Vfalsoxvi0gQDAdZjG9/s320/tritonloww.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unidentified (suborder Dendronotina), KSA, 2012.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>You might think it's no big deal for me to remove a couple slugs, </b>either because you think one individual doesn't matter or because you think that slugs themselves don't matter. To address the first possibility, consider that almost all the slugs I've photographed were only seen once despite hundreds of hours searching for them underwater. In addition, I've noticed that I find different groups of species on otherwise identical coastal reefs only 50 km away from each other. These observations, plus the fact that most slugs live for only a year, suggest that slugs may be exceptionally rare on the reefs and sensitive to disturbance. The death of a few might alter the species abundance on a reef for generations.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh19L_FU6Cmml2ZoQJ1Ekm69t8hpknnVVALBc2MW-_gBlqaVF-2-Kwop47BCQ59KImb4MOoUgGd64b5r2lZgz7IIUGIlijKk4J1fujGWnKT-vreeGDflo0OqOMqZAB4Um47QHYK_Xe9KGtj/s1600/Pteraeolidia+drawing+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh19L_FU6Cmml2ZoQJ1Ekm69t8hpknnVVALBc2MW-_gBlqaVF-2-Kwop47BCQ59KImb4MOoUgGd64b5r2lZgz7IIUGIlijKk4J1fujGWnKT-vreeGDflo0OqOMqZAB4Um47QHYK_Xe9KGtj/s320/Pteraeolidia+drawing+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>And if you think slugs themselves don't matter? Well, a critter has a measurable lifespan with or without humans, but asking if it "matters" changes with human whimsy. Our assignment of "value" to a species reflects what service we think it provides to human wellbeing - usually as a food source or an important factor in the food production system. I shyly admit that while we know all life is interconnected and we understand little about the role of slugs in a marine ecosystem, it is possible that their low abundance, occasional toxicity, and minimal prey consumption make them an insignificant variable (or even a dead end) in the food web. But we <i>do </i>find them to be breathtakingly beautiful, and that <i>does</i> matter to us, even if it doesn't benefit our species' survival. (Of course, sea slug photos are<i> my</i> way of wooing women - I tip my hat to you, Darwin.) It matters because those of us hypnotized by such beauty are stimulating the global economy with the purchase of fancy camera equipment and plane tickets to tropical destinations. Yep, slugs create wealth - as plenty are discovered every year, so too does the potential inspiration grow for artists, photographers, scientists, divers. Slugs have earned respect, and that means no removal by a hairless monkey dreaming of scientific glory unless the sacrifice is truly justified. Perhaps when I get a grant. (As a last point about a slug's worth, I can't resist wondering what a slug would say [if not a ridiculous premise] about a <i>human's</i> purpose?)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIop922ioDm59mA4HT0qybaL23NBO8BYGuWeZ55IlKojexm-SALdYcMMLKya8__RF_H4zpxdpqQzPcd1-KFWv-nLxq1pJCiBYqJ4Ztgu16AMmBHjrVTRwDPu8AYdzyK1-nBHmtT_60m7RW/s1600/Chelidonuralow.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIop922ioDm59mA4HT0qybaL23NBO8BYGuWeZ55IlKojexm-SALdYcMMLKya8__RF_H4zpxdpqQzPcd1-KFWv-nLxq1pJCiBYqJ4Ztgu16AMmBHjrVTRwDPu8AYdzyK1-nBHmtT_60m7RW/s320/Chelidonuralow.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Chelidonura livida </i>use sensitive oral bristles to track prey!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>These insights are evolving the way I interact with slugs. </b>I have admitted my wrongdoings to show you this perspective shift. On my January 2012 visit to Saudi Arabia, I finally had the opportunity to take photographs with a highly specialized underwater camera system. I had gained the ability to get quality images without disturbing these creatures; note that the later slug pictures in this post are set in the natural environment. This ability, coupled with the slug biology research I did for my Saudi show and the heady pride I felt after that performance from the compliments of stunned audience members, made me feel like part of something large and legitimate. I was probably becoming somebody's role model, and I was also beginning to see that I had some truly special talents that deserved to be developed to their fullest potential. Perhaps I realized that my interaction with slugs and other little creatures, even when in its most formalized scientific expression, was meant for the benefit of society, not just my human career. Choosing to secretly investigate these creatures in destructive ways, especially since I was one of the only people to ever witness them, was endlessly selfish. I recovered from the haze of Slugaholism and enrolled in Slugwatching 201. Now that I had developed a knack for finding and identifying these wonderful creatures, how could I take this raw skill and passion and carve it into an efficient, fulfilling machine for discovering, recording, and sharing them for the benefit of society, science, and my wallet? <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh57AkFvlEXwlugkFf_HYRCgp603h3svYIBLkkz7IWBYko57jEp_HZ2zTxra1fx_N_dVJg6d7zll06CMuRQWgtDM0hWvbKCXFmVvqS7H7XSnYKF7WWN0UhMnHMmvrKSHOQ0ME9lBB9Dtbu3/s1600/Dermatobranchus_January2012_DreamsBeach_OnSand10m_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh57AkFvlEXwlugkFf_HYRCgp603h3svYIBLkkz7IWBYko57jEp_HZ2zTxra1fx_N_dVJg6d7zll06CMuRQWgtDM0hWvbKCXFmVvqS7H7XSnYKF7WWN0UhMnHMmvrKSHOQ0ME9lBB9Dtbu3/s320/Dermatobranchus_January2012_DreamsBeach_OnSand10m_2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Undescr. <i>Dermatobranchus </i>sp., KSA, 2012.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>One of the directions I took this train of thought was to figure out what scientific questions I could be answering. I'd already been in communication with Dr. Bill Rudman, curator at the Australian Museum in Sydney, about many of my sluggy discoveries. A couple of my finds are potential new sightings for the Red Sea. So how do I report this appropriately? I asked several zoologist friends from Germany and the USA about writing species descriptions. I am learning that modern zoological research must address genetic relatedness to similar species, and that several individuals of the proposed new species must be collected in order to ensure that any unique physical characteristics described are not chance mutations. I <i>have</i> collected a couple individuals of scientifically undescribed species I'd found on this trip, but I've come to the relaxed conclusion that there is no need for more collection until I learn how to scientifically describe these species. For now, I can rest easy with in-situ photography and later identification of found creatures. Now, when I rock out to the world of slugs, I'm processing photos, writing stories, or reading papers instead of making martyrs of innocent rarities. I have plenty of options ahead of me to develop; I'm excited to jump in and see where they take me.<br />
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
I invite the rest of you to the hobby of slug<i>watching</i>. Here is your Slugwatching 101. You can find these creatures as easily as I have, if you want to!<br />
<ul><li>When diving/snorkeling, adjust your view to the world of the tiny creature; remember a hole you can't even fit your finger into can be an apartment complex to a slug. </li>
<li>Get yourself an underwater camera so you can photograph what you find; most of these creatures are so fragile they will fragment upon contact, so don't repeat my mistakes by collecting them! </li>
<li>Identify your photos later using wonderful resources on the internet (<a href="http://www.seaslugforum.net/">http://www.seaslugforum.net</a>), or dozens of immensely useful wildlife identification guides (e.g. Nathalie Yonow's <u>Sea Slugs of the Red Sea</u>, 2008, 304 p.). </li>
</ul>Sure, it will be slow at first because you won't know an Aeolid from an Anaspidean. But you can start by Googling "<your slug's color>," "Red Sea," and "seaslugforum.net" before resorting to just random species name clicking (<a href="http://www.seaslugforum.net/specieslist.htm">there are ~3,000 listed on the forum</a>). With every positive ID, you're building a nature framework to refer back to that will make all future inquiries easier. Good luck, and maybe someday we'll be at a trendy New York City hotel snobbily discussing the day's finds from the mundane algal muck of Manhattan's Upper Bay.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Opisthobranchs from the January 2012 Saudi Arabian Red Sea excursion</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-qF572TMAwB94Ej5CJKKqkcWHcLKKVuWU6ycDR8eqW5xsMlxBZnYrx95V061DtVGZwO9f2_1t6bCCELrvhtOl-P7IZtXpUeDT_Obzxk5_U4u0_TM3ETguriFGtrLoN07xfdHUsnc5yWB9/s1600/Oxynoe_sp4_January2012_ObhurCreek_TurfAlgae3mDaylow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-qF572TMAwB94Ej5CJKKqkcWHcLKKVuWU6ycDR8eqW5xsMlxBZnYrx95V061DtVGZwO9f2_1t6bCCELrvhtOl-P7IZtXpUeDT_Obzxk5_U4u0_TM3ETguriFGtrLoN07xfdHUsnc5yWB9/s640/Oxynoe_sp4_January2012_ObhurCreek_TurfAlgae3mDaylow.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">One of this trip's new discoveries -<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><i>Oxynoe<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>sp. 4, previously only known from Micronesia!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqMYj6DWWVSrarpFgEZvotOjDikZ1Js4QTah-pY-o_ZFOeF9X4vwQTacKTJ71bijr6I85yHYSk7yJIufG5XX4cBmiLkgo-FZTNgp2JDNEt1Jwc6kuL-uNK6g6rgjcZ7VS710EUq-38kRrU/s1600/Thorunna_africana_January2012_DreamsBeach_BareRock5mChannelNight.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqMYj6DWWVSrarpFgEZvotOjDikZ1Js4QTah-pY-o_ZFOeF9X4vwQTacKTJ71bijr6I85yHYSk7yJIufG5XX4cBmiLkgo-FZTNgp2JDNEt1Jwc6kuL-uNK6g6rgjcZ7VS710EUq-38kRrU/s400/Thorunna_africana_January2012_DreamsBeach_BareRock5mChannelNight.JPG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Thorunna africana</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDlmpjmUIABR0wWpj7eFUms4j72qiJZCEws0MAPtCodclpuPsJYdk5K2DJHO2Y7lDAzVax682M5RYPSExY9Jw1I4_qdQZ4GQJKt_s0-rHfux2ixW3Zzw9B1GcyUR0zv5SlY9KtOHi3oP2/s1600/Flabellinalow.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDlmpjmUIABR0wWpj7eFUms4j72qiJZCEws0MAPtCodclpuPsJYdk5K2DJHO2Y7lDAzVax682M5RYPSExY9Jw1I4_qdQZ4GQJKt_s0-rHfux2ixW3Zzw9B1GcyUR0zv5SlY9KtOHi3oP2/s400/Flabellinalow.JPG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Flabellina bilas </i>- with socks on cerata?!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvFiPd0XyeHYoSdVo1odGKlNbYqF6zF3jKgoD0-pRPe_AHVsojr5vOMJZqWD7fnYmKN2NYyvM0a-eKvZXlJnJe_iC3lJlVTeS_KZUthAOlN3SaJdzRekCg480rw35HYwICnvzIl5cmJym/s1600/Bulla_ampulla_January2012_DreamsBeach_nightseagrass.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvFiPd0XyeHYoSdVo1odGKlNbYqF6zF3jKgoD0-pRPe_AHVsojr5vOMJZqWD7fnYmKN2NYyvM0a-eKvZXlJnJe_iC3lJlVTeS_KZUthAOlN3SaJdzRekCg480rw35HYwICnvzIl5cmJym/s400/Bulla_ampulla_January2012_DreamsBeach_nightseagrass.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Bulla ampulla </i>- with isopod sidekick in the water above its eyes!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsg6zdcLD3JKM7gtGLx9EhF7duDKF8qBdjIGInyLDlVwxCjyBRhTbzMe2y5qqpdMe-ldDqjYQCA7zEQgb8qctwSoNAksg220I_LU439Uk17KRfwHCi6LrRR9yRaRtOdvQVwv1G0Mp_TNM/s1600/Glossodoris_pallida_January2012_PetroRabighSouthBeach_UnderClamShell.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgsg6zdcLD3JKM7gtGLx9EhF7duDKF8qBdjIGInyLDlVwxCjyBRhTbzMe2y5qqpdMe-ldDqjYQCA7zEQgb8qctwSoNAksg220I_LU439Uk17KRfwHCi6LrRR9yRaRtOdvQVwv1G0Mp_TNM/s400/Glossodoris_pallida_January2012_PetroRabighSouthBeach_UnderClamShell.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Glossodoris pallida </i>mating on the bottom of an overturned rock.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCmC65WSSf5nVdL4DTiDLwzlJY77J2TcG2ORny8l4bP5xtDf1DPCuyIVZv82yqLDsCYy6akmZSWlwV-a-cLeuYYqwLWO-uQW0ul-NvwcK937mjTM7N_1XU3qPhJWU4UNSgHyiuYiPb4AAr/s1600/UnkPhylidiidae_January2012_PetroRabigh_TurfRock6mDay.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCmC65WSSf5nVdL4DTiDLwzlJY77J2TcG2ORny8l4bP5xtDf1DPCuyIVZv82yqLDsCYy6akmZSWlwV-a-cLeuYYqwLWO-uQW0ul-NvwcK937mjTM7N_1XU3qPhJWU4UNSgHyiuYiPb4AAr/s400/UnkPhylidiidae_January2012_PetroRabigh_TurfRock6mDay.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A tiny unidentified Phyllidiid nudibranch (wart slug) cruises the algal turf.</td></tr>
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</div>Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-70744021108457089312012-02-02T12:12:00.001-05:002012-02-02T12:28:09.174-05:00Visiting Arabia: Life When You're Little<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis2DgroU4vsKfc22JtLYIjd1IaRPH2bOBTRAHYXeXaGqBgmJWjd2tmsk557XrsLRrPK4xV8bZFaHxLhyphenhyphenZQHibYrGx7eXwLbhHEPlZScFP_YJJEQUOuBwTk4My3Vll5pMAu63Fo1dA5EikR/s1600/DesRosiers+WEP+Small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis2DgroU4vsKfc22JtLYIjd1IaRPH2bOBTRAHYXeXaGqBgmJWjd2tmsk557XrsLRrPK4xV8bZFaHxLhyphenhyphenZQHibYrGx7eXwLbhHEPlZScFP_YJJEQUOuBwTk4My3Vll5pMAu63Fo1dA5EikR/s320/DesRosiers+WEP+Small.jpg" width="320" /></a><b>I recently returned from a three-week visit to Saudi Arabia, </b>where I had been invited to give a talk at my alma mater, the King Abdullah University of Science & Technology. The two-act scientific performance, entitled "Life When You're Little: The overlooked world of marine invertebrates," aimed to invite viewers into a world of nature appreciation via energetic dramatization of the lives of little local creatures from their own campus' beaches. Costumes, live creatures, vivid photos and videos, and scientific storytelling complemented a characterization of the local marine habitats, for the benefit of all who would find themselves longing to explore by the end of the talk.<br />
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Lucky for me, KAUST graciously provided an HD video technician to record my talk, or rather, show. I should receive that file soon, which I will attempt to upload. Many of my friends and colleagues were in attendance, so there are at least some photos to share:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNnSlr5m4pygAGDgXIo6HVj3aQcOwMFVj8YeQctY3iG7FqLRqABenz6wtCjuIbmSXYFo6DKEKPrOkmuMjLdwBT8qlhED7HwGWcvcMfk8vzGPeQksw_nl0N_9Q0cyRoAiEUmsBJ_LVKH9fY/s1600/Set.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNnSlr5m4pygAGDgXIo6HVj3aQcOwMFVj8YeQctY3iG7FqLRqABenz6wtCjuIbmSXYFo6DKEKPrOkmuMjLdwBT8qlhED7HwGWcvcMfk8vzGPeQksw_nl0N_9Q0cyRoAiEUmsBJ_LVKH9fY/s320/Set.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvRqrS3zkmZLqYZsZq_LMFIGvWfakoZ-hxkKDiqzPs5ZIy7ItyDuBTQWrMT6Mu44YDvqNF5tJCfTATD3fW_lWiA59csC7H2HZS_wcl1x0JRpKksYr4-AIuKVLXhaACAdDXooobyv_csR0d/s1600/crab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvRqrS3zkmZLqYZsZq_LMFIGvWfakoZ-hxkKDiqzPs5ZIy7ItyDuBTQWrMT6Mu44YDvqNF5tJCfTATD3fW_lWiA59csC7H2HZS_wcl1x0JRpKksYr4-AIuKVLXhaACAdDXooobyv_csR0d/s320/crab.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhppgTpSYVUy4KyrIkOlCmnPUTB0Amkq20TiIIZSOhyoNlNO1PHckTAwUHbMT-aR3GuP_IBkZt06k_8hn7G4emKdwYMmsz0ZzwjwecPVF1Zv61rr93i5yTou8UoEKaweWgsHurECSeCoCn9/s1600/cuttle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhppgTpSYVUy4KyrIkOlCmnPUTB0Amkq20TiIIZSOhyoNlNO1PHckTAwUHbMT-aR3GuP_IBkZt06k_8hn7G4emKdwYMmsz0ZzwjwecPVF1Zv61rr93i5yTou8UoEKaweWgsHurECSeCoCn9/s320/cuttle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>My show was part of KAUST's 2012 Winter Enrichment Program, which attempts to broaden the graduate learning experience with numerous lectures and workshops outside a student's field of study. As I needed time in country to finish some costumes, build a set, find live animals, and rehearse, it already needed to be a long trip. But I also wanted to explore the Red Sea while I was visiting, to have more inspiring nature experiences that lead me to more great stories and insights. So when logistical issues delayed my talk by four days, my Red Sea exploration time was reduced to 1 day of diving. KAUST gladly agreed to extend my trip for another week in exchange for an abridged encore of my show at the on-campus high school. It was a fantastic encore; it was clear by the number of eyes following me while in costume and the number of questions afterwards that I had inspired many minds, and that is such a great feeling.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZjrZIr2LZMQv8slFUTwPsJmn5eT1YkWguMxjLfs5QWHHmSALXYQCMYgvMr-JRSL8oGyfg2diAE_VTD2w966ePhOIa81zL3BFyscGaWtThDJH35Z7XjbcI62pOex-UIetFNuQ1_lDMOeYk/s1600/Noah+DesRosiers++DSC_1941.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZjrZIr2LZMQv8slFUTwPsJmn5eT1YkWguMxjLfs5QWHHmSALXYQCMYgvMr-JRSL8oGyfg2diAE_VTD2w966ePhOIa81zL3BFyscGaWtThDJH35Z7XjbcI62pOex-UIetFNuQ1_lDMOeYk/s320/Noah+DesRosiers++DSC_1941.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting a closer look at <i>Chelidonura flavolobata</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>After the high school show, I had a week of free time. I love all of my friends in Saudi Arabia, and without their lent homes, dive gear, vehicles, and patience I could not have done this trip. But I had a limited time to consort with the sea and my brand new underwater camera, and thus I set off to explore. In five days, I went on 12 scuba dives and took hundreds of pictures. If it is my energy, passion, and stories that people love, then I was out collecting fuel for that love. Now that I am back in the USA, I will use that fuel here to tell the stories I was too tired or busy to share while on my short trip. I hope my friends will feel better reading the inspired Arabian nature narratives I can now carefully record here. So, keep checking for more stories in this "Visiting Arabia" series of posts. My next topic? Ethical slug hunting, my evolving culture of zoological discovery, featuring the opisthobranchs found on my January 2012 visit. Until then, cheers!Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-12391974999820209672011-12-16T18:14:00.001-05:002011-12-16T23:44:35.060-05:00Kindred souls in Costa Rica<b>"BRUUURP.... BRUUURP.... BROH-UHRP!" </b><br />
A tall, dark-haired 40-something Tico farmer creeps into foliage, listening.<br />
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"BRUUURP.... BRUUURP.... BROH-UHRP," he calls again for a creature of the night, waiting. He whispers to me while gazing into the foliage, "He's close...."<br />
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Suddenly, a brave little "broh-uhrp" chirps back from behind some banana leaves. Our farmer, who doubles as a wildlife guide, moves swiftly. My travel buddy and I peer into the thick green. Where did he go? We've only just met this man, with whom we'd organized a nighttime nature walk after arriving tired to our hostel in La Fortuna, Costa Rica. In the less than ten minutes we've known him, we've lost him in some overgrown bushes aside a soccer field. We were feeling worried, apprehensive, and skeptical of this guy, our arms crossed and our eyes peering into the leaves, when he appeared behind us.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3WUnI_5KN_T8IcbxD0g5-SHN9ZFrb5HUh7UKv2XSdxrNHR81A6Y4pCZnuOmCs19UTG_7ge1TEW9SBM3eicTCTShp5D7vhvfMWsWCVhkbxLtBEf2r1x9WCAi2StiMlL8ttf-jjHpgUqN7z/s1600/IMG_4768.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3WUnI_5KN_T8IcbxD0g5-SHN9ZFrb5HUh7UKv2XSdxrNHR81A6Y4pCZnuOmCs19UTG_7ge1TEW9SBM3eicTCTShp5D7vhvfMWsWCVhkbxLtBEf2r1x9WCAi2StiMlL8ttf-jjHpgUqN7z/s320/IMG_4768.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A startled Red-Eyed Tree Frog (<i>Agalychnis callidryas</i>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>"Here, get a picture," our guide said, as a Red-Eyed Tree Frog, <i>Agalychnis callidryas</i>, crawled off a held stick and onto a banana leaf. We were stunned. And then my camera shutter started clicking. The stare from this beautiful Central American endemic, a popular and immediately recognizable <a href="http://magazine.nature.org/features/60th-anniversary.xml">symbol for rainforest conservation</a>, dredged up childhood memories of rainforest dreaming. Bright, orange feet, blue flanks and legs, and red eyes dazzled us, which is what they're meant to do. See, the frog covers all these colors up when sitting on a leaf; it sits on its orange feet, it pulls its legs against its body, and it closes green eyelids. When resting, it appears to be a green blob. Should a predator investigate the green blob, the non-poisonous frog resorts to its "startle coloration" for defense - the frog opens its eyes, flashing the enemy with color before making an escape. This potentially freaks out their predators. Of course, that means great photos for us crazy nature tourists! Sure, flash me, frog - better for the camera! They can live to 5 years, and will vocalize to attract mates or warn off other males (competition is intense - males get a free ride on the female's back during mating). It was one of these brave males that fell for our guide's deception, countering with its own defiant "broh-uhrp." It was the defiant "broh-uhrp" rebuttal that solidified Geovani Bogarín's legitimacy as a fantastic wildlife guide that night.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOePU8ywx_Z-VBOZKz6WzfY0q9HR9exXJ1I3KWURfridGfiHqFIoHym4D5DyMF4rOAPoT6RvQk596vaIYdqeudX6SvWCSemCE27yy1gMJkLlQfWQGe3kRC1-rXIRRr0L33wGWBrS1nMXYY/s1600/IMG_4830.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOePU8ywx_Z-VBOZKz6WzfY0q9HR9exXJ1I3KWURfridGfiHqFIoHym4D5DyMF4rOAPoT6RvQk596vaIYdqeudX6SvWCSemCE27yy1gMJkLlQfWQGe3kRC1-rXIRRr0L33wGWBrS1nMXYY/s320/IMG_4830.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A terebellid flatworm navigates the fungal forest under a log</td></tr>
</tbody></table>You can learn about Sr. Bogarín's 20 year history as a wildlife guide in La Fortuna from <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/01/sports/othersports/01outdoors.html?fta=y">the New York Times article written about him in 2008</a>. I'd rather share what the article glossed over - his respect for all species. You see, a person doesn't "memorize" 850 species of birds, as the Times author wrote - or 50 species of frogs, or hundreds of species of trees, orchids, and mosses - in the same way that you don't "memorize" the names of your family and friends. You know their names because they play a role in your life; you see them and interact with them, laugh and cry with them, perhaps share a meal with them. I understand this, too; from all my time underwater in the Red Sea I have "memorized" hundreds of fish, crab, snail, slug, and worm species that were part of my life then. Geovani knows these birds, lizards, frogs, ants, and bats because he lives in the forest and pays attention to it. His "house" is just a wooden deck supported ten feet off the forest floor by large posts. Corrugated steel acts as a roof to keep out the rainforest's eponymous weather. A propane camping stove rests on a table in one corner - the kitchen. A hammock is stretched between two supporting posts on the other end - the bedroom. He leaves bananas out for the raccoons that like to visit sometimes. And at night, he rocks in his hammock and listens.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3-uJSdylw7GcorpromyaCsB25gkg95PDbyOPckHlM-kN5oIG3L-KB0vQZSWWIK4o3h98wbA0v836LRdaqedd2eK8f3mKhmYC63BHMumNZ0K6uGYyJyHQtdAlTJpAMZyTChxcIOXIy6vT/s1600/IMG_4793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3-uJSdylw7GcorpromyaCsB25gkg95PDbyOPckHlM-kN5oIG3L-KB0vQZSWWIK4o3h98wbA0v836LRdaqedd2eK8f3mKhmYC63BHMumNZ0K6uGYyJyHQtdAlTJpAMZyTChxcIOXIy6vT/s320/IMG_4793.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue-jeans frogs <i>Oophaga pumilio </i>secrete unpalatable toxins</td></tr>
</tbody></table>For the past 10 years, Geovani has been developing a trail through that parcel of jungle right off the main street in La Fortuna. Here he challenges his ecotourists, "make a list; what species do you want to see?" He's calling it the "Parque Natural Los Niños," and 20 years of wildlife guiding means he knows what we want to see, and that he can find it among these trees. "So many people come here and they don't see what they're looking for - I heard about some German girls a few days ago who paid $65 for a wildlife hike and they didn't even get to see a sloth," Geovani said, shaking his head. (The sloth, "oso perezoso," literally translated to "lazy bear," is one of the most well-known residents of Costa Rican forest life - just look high up in the <i>Cecropia</i> trees and you'll see one sooner or later!) Of course, Geovani's observation can be interpreted a few ways - the larger, federally-sponsored national parks where most wildlife tours are conducted have high standards, more land to maintain, and more stakeholders to please, services which all must be paid for. And you can't guarantee wildlife sightings, right?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGUWHEmMbcc1tNILVOdB7l9XWoXrcVsJT_3bLveFnEzukEFBNDEl5tiv-INXgXJTIHvPSH0zVetL1wuBoN8WdMMyEgPWKKmE1CUqS3V3ySFkA99LkMivDehzXb2moyVs0FIz67z0nCrUhp/s1600/huntsmand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGUWHEmMbcc1tNILVOdB7l9XWoXrcVsJT_3bLveFnEzukEFBNDEl5tiv-INXgXJTIHvPSH0zVetL1wuBoN8WdMMyEgPWKKmE1CUqS3V3ySFkA99LkMivDehzXb2moyVs0FIz67z0nCrUhp/s320/huntsmand.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A large brown spider (Sparassidae?) camping out on bananas</td></tr>
</tbody></table>But with his comment, I see Geovani shares my lament - while many have become acquainted with nature, few understand it. With understanding comes guarantees for cool creature spotting. Nature is a system; except for modern humans, all life obeys rhythms. The annual shift in the angle of the sun's rays on Earth lead to weather (wind, evaporation, rain) and seasonality, which control the abundance of various plants. These factors act with others, like the phases of the moon, to trigger significant events in the lives of animals and support their growth. When frogs give birth, for example. Or when dragonflies take flight. Or how many larval instars of huntsman spiders will survive until adulthood. Or if the mot-mots or oropendulos will decide there is enough food or absent predators to justify leaving for the annual migration to a low-valley avocado tree instead of a high fern in the cloud forest. When we lived in nature, as a human species, we noticed such cycles and made decisions using them as well - they told us about our surroundings, about the weather, about our food. Sure, today Geovani's understanding of the call of a lusty frog or the location of a mother sloth with child brings him direct monetary income - and indeed perhaps the only way to understand so deeply is to make it your full-time job - but in the past these things would have been the pulse of our friend, the forest, the land we live on.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu4qMeFUUV1m3ugUWALdPBQ3qdwIrdHVSqMkIJrkcY2NupeNM-iPS6R0voh5uOj1OPkhmdqBiiMd0a2XAC3INJJs4ReKWTuJYpxnBTNkrvvELuhAAHab78wzA3ryPAOsXcfDZlVpK-4ib5/s1600/IMG_4847.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu4qMeFUUV1m3ugUWALdPBQ3qdwIrdHVSqMkIJrkcY2NupeNM-iPS6R0voh5uOj1OPkhmdqBiiMd0a2XAC3INJJs4ReKWTuJYpxnBTNkrvvELuhAAHab78wzA3ryPAOsXcfDZlVpK-4ib5/s320/IMG_4847.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Polydesmid millipedes may excrete cyanide to deter predators!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>As Geovani and I discussed these truths, as we lamented modern society's ignorance or apathy towards the one "philosophy" that has the power to support humanity because it provides food and shelter just by existing, my travel buddy watched the fireflies blink on and off in haphazard loops, merely awaiting the moment when the hippie talk would end and the newfound camaraderie would be celebrated with beer. After all, our modern society runs on lawyers and iPhones and barbie dolls and Burger King, and we are products of our upbringing - beer was surely forthcoming (for those of age)! But it is these rare glimmers of mutual understanding I occasionally find in random others that remind and confirm to me that I am a member of the human species, a creature with a role and a long history in this system.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9VPF6GCJl1S4Kfuan9GVF7GXsj7nSqbgh7CoepfGiEgXSTl5wNH_l5O48RbyqEMAq1rOHkaWlNX8pCUjpwoGh68nD48oxZ0evubrsNBA65RixaGhkEnRjExAJOCR6ZLc50hS86_L1nUKg/s1600/Millipede+Battle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9VPF6GCJl1S4Kfuan9GVF7GXsj7nSqbgh7CoepfGiEgXSTl5wNH_l5O48RbyqEMAq1rOHkaWlNX8pCUjpwoGh68nD48oxZ0evubrsNBA65RixaGhkEnRjExAJOCR6ZLc50hS86_L1nUKg/s320/Millipede+Battle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An insect undeterred by millipede defenses!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>If you go to La Fortuna </b>and want to hang with Geovani Bogarín, try calling him at 86269348, or just ask any of the locals. They all know him, and really seem to like him, too.Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-74004231818055273702011-11-30T10:40:00.000-05:002011-12-17T01:14:44.345-05:00Remembering Malta<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWIP0w0zyxQHOLv-nuo0hQoIea11hSIyJtfQu6i_4W_KQED42y4ZYobMq0siXCPNxB35vur1jQxiQUB8p-aY2jLm6FkG9avflKwzGR0e7-dMR8RQj1Rh3KKvQNueeZ-HblpdNhNetc__-a/s1600/IMG_0413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWIP0w0zyxQHOLv-nuo0hQoIea11hSIyJtfQu6i_4W_KQED42y4ZYobMq0siXCPNxB35vur1jQxiQUB8p-aY2jLm6FkG9avflKwzGR0e7-dMR8RQj1Rh3KKvQNueeZ-HblpdNhNetc__-a/s320/IMG_0413.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beautful, highly-developed Maltese coastline</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b>The country of Malta, </b>where I lived during the summer of 2011, was a crowded place. On an area a bit <i>smaller </i>than the Massachusetts islands of Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket combined lived 417,000 citizens, speaking their own language and with their own fierce culture. I lived in the hugely overdeveloped tourist district, the town of San Giljan (St. Julian's). Road ran directly along the perimeter of this whole northeastern coast, with hotels and "lidos" (beach clubs) every block, all more or less attached to each other the whole way. And lapping at the limestone just below the road or sometimes the tiny adjacent bedrock seashore was the blue, blue Mediterannean.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXCkdSusXy9Grz00RfGI0rmsMua6kotJHHkWoHBv9z61KPNOaBfj0QMJD_mpkgEp_sMUUN9b5cesRcABWeFiJYQceOSTIgCwHUtbX89lNu7Il33N-JNa1GVX-kJ5jOErorvuoyHl3_Qag4/s1600/P1140579.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXCkdSusXy9Grz00RfGI0rmsMua6kotJHHkWoHBv9z61KPNOaBfj0QMJD_mpkgEp_sMUUN9b5cesRcABWeFiJYQceOSTIgCwHUtbX89lNu7Il33N-JNa1GVX-kJ5jOErorvuoyHl3_Qag4/s320/P1140579.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you spot the goby amid the diverse algal forest?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>No rivers flow into the sea here, nor is the tiny island close enough to any continent for there to be significant coastal pollution. You can see into the water for perhaps 30 meters when you are not in a major population area, like where I was living, but even then you could see 10 meters deep! To celebrate the fact that our apartment was a mere hundred feet from the sea, which, as a marine biologist, I love, I jumped in every day. I would go for a run to get my exercise and really overheat myself so that I could stay in the sea longer. I carried my snorkeling gear in a bag on my back, and ran in my bathing suit! After the run, I'd walk down to my beach of choice (anywhere I hadn't yet explored along the coastal stretch), take off my shoes, put on my mask and snorkel, and jump in holding my house key! The water was warm in summer, 27 C / 80 F, so with the added heat of the run I could stay under comfortably for hours.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg1YyhD84WvR3w3u6x-FALMNN4692NaZ8jCbcA86HGaCIut3lL6obcknZBH7OHzQR3pQs1DXOQ1SGnYWctbb5FXVszSz9Zp64qBuzfdZg3nv4mHcXOpyBiWf17gL_Bfd-c4ciN8xWREPfY/s1600/Calmella_cavolini_August2011_StJuliansMalta_pairedOnAlgae10cmdeepWithCratena.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg1YyhD84WvR3w3u6x-FALMNN4692NaZ8jCbcA86HGaCIut3lL6obcknZBH7OHzQR3pQs1DXOQ1SGnYWctbb5FXVszSz9Zp64qBuzfdZg3nv4mHcXOpyBiWf17gL_Bfd-c4ciN8xWREPfY/s320/Calmella_cavolini_August2011_StJuliansMalta_pairedOnAlgae10cmdeepWithCratena.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Calmella cavolini</i>, a Mediterranean aeolid nudibranch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The benthic (i.e. bottom) habitat of the Mediterranean has no coral, but rather a forest of hundreds of different species of marine algae. These wild red, green, and brown multi-textured growths are kept neat and trim by dozens of species of herbivorous creatures, particularly sea breams, that snack on the algae every day. The resulting short, trimmed, underwater bonsai forests are thus the perfect habitats for me to hunt for the minute sea creatures that often bring so much wonder - nudibranchs, tectibranchs, pycnogonids, caprellids, harpacticoids, isopods, turbellarians! I'd search through them with glee, and occasionally find a creature I'd never spotted before. I'd run home to look it up, or bring it with me for a photo - giggling like a schoolgirl all the way, sometimes skipping dinner. (Although I would always return the creature where I found it.)<br />
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Some of my favorite creatures were the octopods. Yes, that is the plural of octopus. The octopus is more common in the Mediterranean than any other sea I'd been in. I can guarantee you an octopus while snorkeling right off the tourist beach. In tiny holes, cracks, and crevices, they occur every hundred feet or so underwater, watching the world. I used to love to interact with them. They all had unique personalities! I usually carry a single wooden chopstick with me to move around algae without having to use my fingers. The first time I came across an octopus while snorkeling after a run, it reached out of its cave and wrapped its tentacles around my chopstick! Surprisingly strong, the octopus wrestled the chopstick from my hands and I had to fight to get it back! Curious whether or not this was a common behavior, I approached an octopus I saw on another day with my chopstick, only to have it flee from its cave squirting ink at me as it jettisoned away! Yet another octopus lazily aimed its siphon at my hand and tried to blow the chopstick away from its lair with the jets of water pulsed out of its mantle.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic__iR-KW3sqPP7O9mH80U383XWsrvGiKX7TXJ3EueGa5ORfF24lHpQmeIha4z65qTTneoD65KdBsmUOab9L5bgmGE-li4JxhiV8xNbxFZXv9h5TlXINfr0MLh4awxIS01NKP0ZqjhzgkD/s1600/slm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic__iR-KW3sqPP7O9mH80U383XWsrvGiKX7TXJ3EueGa5ORfF24lHpQmeIha4z65qTTneoD65KdBsmUOab9L5bgmGE-li4JxhiV8xNbxFZXv9h5TlXINfr0MLh4awxIS01NKP0ZqjhzgkD/s320/slm.jpg" width="320" /></a>Of course in every place where people live near the sea, there are people that love the sea. Some of my time in Malta was spent volunteering with a non-profit shark conservation organization, SharkLab Malta, a subsidiary of a UK group. With them I helped to lead snorkeling tours and collect data about sharks at the local fish market (at 3 am, an early business worldwide). As a trained PADI Rescue Diver with lots of research diving experience, I also joined in on coastal dive surveys to, well, look for unrecorded species around the island. We would go wherever we figured we'd find unique habitats, taking a tiny boat and SCUBA gear to sand patches, dropoffs, <i>Posidonia </i>seagrass meadows, and submerged limestone caves. Among our many discoveries - which is what we call a trained mind attaching more importance to something than other observers - was the Bull Ray (<i>Pteromyleus bovinus</i>), swimming in 20 feet of water over a sandy bottom off a popular beach. Though a Mediterranean species, it wasn't known from Maltese waters. Malta is an isolated island, so finding species there known from elsewhere in the Mediterranean still means a lot; it means they had to get there somehow, at some point in their ancestral history.<br />
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I met many good people in Malta, made many good friends, had a lot of adventures, made a lot of memories. The dives I have done there were magnificent. If you want to see Mediterranean marine life, stop by Malta. It's a magical little country!Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-73757117383223664902011-11-13T20:17:00.005-05:002011-11-14T00:38:54.058-05:00The Fisher (Martes pennanti)<b>Seeing my hometown of Grafton, Massachusetts, USA </b>as more than just my youthful stomping ground has been difficult. I grew up in this area; every street and landmark has some connotation to me that no visitor would see. It is funny that while traveling I desperately seek that "local" feeling to truly understand a place, while at home I wish to discard the "local" feeling and look at my surroundings with unbiased eyes! But I'm finding that these "local" connotations skew my knowledge of what Grafton, even Massachusetts, has to offer. Today I stepped outside my "local" knowledge by exploring one of the <a href="http://www.graftonland.org/">Grafton Land Trust's</a> properties, the <a href="http://www.hassanamesit.org/">Hassanamesit Woods.</a> Despite the fact that the entrance to this excellent conservation land is only two miles from my front door, I had never visited in my life! Here was a new location to view Massachusetts wilderness objectively. Despite the fact that it's November, and most of the leaves (and even branches!) of the trees have fallen due to an early snowstorm, it was still a beautiful afternoon walk. Meandering around from 2-4 PM, the last thing I expected to see was a giant, black-furred mammalian predator on the prowl! But that's what appeared in front of me - perhaps a hundred feet away down a long stretch of trail among the white pine forest, what I at first thought was a black dog turned and peered back at me - probably because I shouted "WHOA, WHAT IS THAT?!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMVyeNyXLvwHwXWZ-iLhpMz0C80M2032Vx2-r5Vl5I8eDqcIb5rxVcfWBbfx1_RrLHgNeG8GuhQLgkT3g3FOvz6WymjJQ783Oe3pqeF8wrF8uHkn5Bvx7mm-qBkhzmn21TnHTkAa2HgbWu/s1600/Fisher.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMVyeNyXLvwHwXWZ-iLhpMz0C80M2032Vx2-r5Vl5I8eDqcIb5rxVcfWBbfx1_RrLHgNeG8GuhQLgkT3g3FOvz6WymjJQ783Oe3pqeF8wrF8uHkn5Bvx7mm-qBkhzmn21TnHTkAa2HgbWu/s320/Fisher.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The missing link! ...Or just a startled fisher.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I know, I know - my picture looks as legitimate as the photographs of the <a href="http://www.loch-ness.org/surfacepictures.html#surgeon">Loch Ness Monster</a>. But a friend put me on the right path with her guess - a fisher! These amazing creatures, which live for a maximum of 7-10 years in the wild, are one of the largest representatives of the Mustelid family (the taxonomic order containing skunks, weasels, otters, ferrets, etc.). They can get to three feet long and weigh up to 12 pounds. They are endemic to North America, and more common in the northern part of their range (Canada). They actually were pushed to local extinction in the late 1800's to early 1900's due to excessive hunting (for their fur) and intensive logging activity that destroyed the dense pine forest habitat they need to survive. Thanks to a reduction in logging and a moratorium on hunting in the 1930's, the fisher population began to recover and expand their range. Now fishers are known throughout Massachusetts, and even a bit further south into Connecticut. Hunting activities resumed in the 1950's, though heavily regulated. In fact, this is the middle of the<a href="http://www.eregulations.com/massachusetts/huntingandfishing/trapping/#pelt"> Massachusetts fisher season</a> - trappers can catch them (with licenses) from November 1st to November 22nd! (Don't worry, <a href="http://www.iucnredlist.org/apps/redlist/details/41651/0">they're not endangered</a>.)<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.fs.fed.us/pnw/olympia/wet/local-resources/images/fisherkits_raley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.fs.fed.us/pnw/olympia/wet/local-resources/images/fisherkits_raley.jpg" width="306" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Young fisher kits!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Fishers are more famously known for their terrifying but fascinating screams, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_10eXj0SmIc&feature=player_embedded">which sound like a person being attacked!</a> If you're near a large, heavily-wooded pine forest, you might hear one calling for a mate on a cool April evening. Although fisher copulation (which can last for 7 hours, how about that) results in fertilized embryos in April, the female fisher doesn't actually implant the embryos in her uterus until the following February - 10 months later! (This fact confounded fur farmers that thought they could grow this species just like other furbearing mammals - the impatient farmers couldn't figure out why the females didn't seem to get pregnant!) After a gestation period of 50 days, the female finds a nice hole in a tree to give birth and raise her 1-4 "kits." After about 5 months, she kicks them out and the young fishers must begin their solitary lives.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i960.photobucket.com/albums/ae83/SpicyWeasel/Genus_Martes___Pekan_or_Fisher_by_s.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="244" src="http://i960.photobucket.com/albums/ae83/SpicyWeasel/Genus_Martes___Pekan_or_Fisher_by_s.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Pekan" is an indigenous name; don't try to make pie with one.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Another awesome fisher fact - they are the prime enemy of porcupines! Apparently other predatory mammals in the region are too "tall" to attack a porcupine - getting only a mouthful of quills! But fishers are low enough to the ground to coordinate an attack to the face of the porcupine. And what an attack! It may take half an hour for a fisher to kill a porcupine this way - circling the porcupine and repeatedly biting at the face! Afterwards, they dodge the quill problem by flipping the dead porcupine over and dining on the soft underbelly. These warm-blooded carnivores are active all year round - no hibernation - and need to eat the equivalent of 1-2 squirrels per day to keep their energy up! (They also eat snowshoe hares, mice, shrews, and carrion of larger animals).<br />
<br />
Outside the mating season, fishers are solitary creatures that establish habitats of about eight square miles, with little overlap for individuals of the same sex. This means that in the whole Hassanamesit Woods area of Grafton, you might only see a single male and a single female! See if your local New England pine forest has fishers around. They spend most of their time on the ground (NOT in trees) and are most active during the "crepuscular" hours - sunrise and sunset. To learn more cool facts about fishers, check out the <a href="http://www.science.smith.edu/departments/Biology/VHAYSSEN/msi/pdf/i0076-3519-156-01-0001.pdf">"Mammalian Species" journal article</a> that I got most of my information from and an <a href="http://www.mass.gov/dfwele/dfw/wildlife/living/pdf/living_with_fisher.pdf">info pamphlet on fishers from the Massachusetts government</a>. Of course, Google and YouTube have great stuff too!<br />
<br />
What a great day in the woods. Maybe I'll go again soon, wait with coffee and an MP3 player, and try to get better photos. The experience just goes to show how close new experiences are to your own home!Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-42885275843906854482011-11-07T13:34:00.007-05:002011-11-07T15:32:02.943-05:00Misadventures with the Pacific Yew (Taxus brevifolia)<div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><b>I thought I was going to die today,</b> but rest easy for I will not. I received no comfort from Messrs. Alden and Paulson, harumph! But I am getting ahead of myself. See, it all started weeks ago on my edible wild foods walk at the <a href="http://www.massaudubon.org/Nature_Connection/Sanctuaries/Oak_Knoll/index.php">Oak Knoll Wildlife Sanctuary</a> in Attleboro, Massachusetts. Russ Cohen, author of <u>Wild plants I have known... and eaten</u> and our guide for the walk, was sharing useful beginner's wisdom about wild foods. "If it tastes bad, don't eat it," he offered helpfully. I oversimplified what he shared with us that day because this was the most useful statement I heard. Russ did helpfully add, "that's not to say you should go around tasting everything," but I had already begun finding the hidden fruits of the forest and begun tasting them with reckless abandon. If the suspected "food" wasn't delicious, I spit it out. It didn't bother me that I spit out nearly everything I had never seen in a supermarket before; trying these forest fruits made feel hip and dangerous. I survived the nature walk that day.<br />
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</div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"></div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoZrWJ_cYHYkaRC0drLoO5ajUZvynlzZIcPYgn4MOQMXCIl2gAzFVPffio39G6QSiFnqzKRNcR9-Vkfoa4ufZTGPgjmnmHd46Wz_jwQNTxsmdLnrFOLDFDIVJJntHwS0Vc4zc9gBt7A49h/s1600/IMG_3367.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoZrWJ_cYHYkaRC0drLoO5ajUZvynlzZIcPYgn4MOQMXCIl2gAzFVPffio39G6QSiFnqzKRNcR9-Vkfoa4ufZTGPgjmnmHd46Wz_jwQNTxsmdLnrFOLDFDIVJJntHwS0Vc4zc9gBt7A49h/s320/IMG_3367.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snowberry (<i>Symphoricarpos</i> sp.) - Pretty, but mildly poisonous!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Now I'm in Seattle, visiting a friend. While walking in Lincoln Park, a beautiful stretch along the Puget Sound in southwest Seattle, I realized there were wild blackberries everywhere. Joy! I happily leaped for the tall berries others couldn't reach. While chewing, I remembered the wild foods walk I had survived weeks ago in Massachusetts, and decided to resume my "taste first, ask questions later" approach to Pacific Northwest plants. The next time I saw a strange plant, I popped a few of its snow-white berries into my mouth and chewed. Disappointed at the complete lack of flavor, I spit them out. I took a photo (see picture), and we later identified them as snowberries (<i>Symphoricarpos</i>), which are mildly toxic; you'd have to eat a lot to get sick. This approach to wild berries made me a mini-hero to my friend, a computer geek who is always surprised to see trees outside of the zoo. Now I felt like Survivor-man, and thus began my wild food foraging in the great wilderness of Seattle's parks and suburbs. I should have reminded myself that my foraging experience was limited to a single lecture about Atlantic Coast plants, and that none of what I'd yet found was actually food...</div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Nevertheless, this is how I found myself chewing on a small red berry (or <i>aril, </i>in technical terms) that I'd plucked from a needly evergreen shrub next to a Seattle bus stop. The fruit had a slight sweetness over the snowberry. So I had a decision to make. I could spit it out like I did with the snowberry, which was neutral on the is-it-bad-or-good scale, and was only mildly poisonous anyway - or I could swallow it and see what happened. Because I thought it was funny, I decided to eat only half of the berry. </div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.cas.vanderbilt.edu/bioimages/t/wtabr2-cofemale42577.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.cas.vanderbilt.edu/bioimages/t/wtabr2-cofemale42577.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Pacific Yew tree (<i>Taxus brevifolia)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>When I got back to my friend's house I reached for the National Audubon Society's <u>Field Guide to the Pacific Northwest</u>, by Mr Peter Alden and Mr Dennis Paulson, to look up the strange red berry. (I had bought him this book as a way of getting him to discover what nature Seattle had to offer beyond the bugs in his programming code.) To my delight, I found the berry on page 102. This is what the authors wrote about the Pacific <span class="il" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #ffffcc; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">Yew</span><i> </i>(<i>Taxus brevifolia):</i><br />
<i>"Shrub or tree with broad crown. Bark brown, purple, and red; smooth, flaky. Needles soft, flat, in 2 rows. Fruit (aril) tiny, red, cup-shaped, berry-like, juicy. CAUTION: Fruit deadly poisonous."</i></div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
Excuse me?</div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I began to sweat. </div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Nervously, I checked my mental and physical state. </div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">How many berries does it take to kill a man? </div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">In a mild panic, I turned to Google.</div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">According to a document I found, the <span class="il" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #ffffcc; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">yew</span> berry (or <i>aril, </i>as I corrected myself while awaiting possible death) <i>"contains toxic amounts of the cardiotoxic alkaloidal fraction named 'taxine.' 'Taxine' causes death from asphyxia due to cardiac and respiratory failure."</i> <br />
Was I having trouble breathing?! I read on.<br />
<i>"<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>The Pacific Northwest of the United States has actually only been ‘civilized’ and ‘settled’ for a little over 100 years. Most of the people that ‘settled’ this country were of European or Asian decent. They recognized the yews when they got here..."</i> <br />
Hm, so I was going to die because my ancestors immigrated to the Atlantic Coast, found no yews, and didn't think it would make a useful tradition to pass this knowledge on through the generations in case the shrubs should be found elsewhere on the new continent. I was particularly worried, and ready to start dialing the local Poison Control Center. But I really like to read, so I kept going, still scared I might die:<br />
<i>"...and mistakenly assumed they were poisonous like the yews in their homelands."</i></div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
Excuse me again?</div><div style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.917969); color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I realized my throat wasn't tight. Continuing with the text:<br />
<i>"The Pacific </i><span class="il" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #ffffcc; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-style: italic;">Yew</span><i> (</i>Taxus brevifolia<i>) got a bad rap due to guilt-by-association and that is why many websites, encyclopedias and botanical publications list Taxus brevifolia as poisonous. There are no documented instances of poisoning in humans or animals with </i>Taxus brevifolia<i>." </i><br />
<br />
"#$%^&*!," I shouted to the authors of my Audubon guide, with a sigh of relief. I do not feel like I am dying. But I wished they had checked their facts! Still, it is my fault for mis-interpreting advice from a wild foods forager. In today's information age, where positive identification can be made in mere minutes, it is irresponsible to taste anything in the wild you don't recognize. But it did add some thrill to my afternoon!</div>Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-34445991805298285852011-10-13T10:14:00.114-04:002011-11-14T12:33:35.100-05:00Fish that use tools!<b>Jane Goodall shocked the world </b>in the 1960's when she reported the use of tools - that is, the manipulation of an inanimate object to more efficiently alter the position or shape of another object - among chimpanzees. The belief that this was an exclusively human behavior had been debunked. Since then, reports of animals that use tools come from all over the animal kingdom - though usually among the more highly-evolved species in each group.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.malawicichlidhomepage.com/other/GJR_8627_m_t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="204" src="http://www.malawicichlidhomepage.com/other/GJR_8627_m_t.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Orange-spotted tuskfish, <i>Choerodon anchorago</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>In September, <a href="http://www.springerlink.com/content/x032079j86426647/fulltext.pdf">an article in the scholarly journal Coral Reefs</a> caught my eye. Dr. Giacomo Bernardi of the University of California' Long Marine Lab was on a trip to Palau when he noticed and filmed an orange-spotted tuskfish (<i>Choerodon anchorago</i>) smashing a clam against a rock to break it open (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=awHj5EiiXIg">video link</a>). To the eyes of a trained ecologist, that rock was an 'anvil,' a tool being used by the wrasse which would otherwise have a very hard time getting a large bivalve shell open. It is not the first report of tool use among fishes - indeed <a href="http://www.marbee.fmns.rug.nl/pdf/coyer/Coyer1995%20BMS.pdf">a report from the Florida Keys</a> describes the same behavior in a yellowhead wrasse (<i>Halichoeres garnoti</i>) as early as 1995. In addition, the use of a stationary rock as an 'anvil' may be stretching what is classically considered tool use, since the fish doesn't manipulate the tool. But Dr. Stéphan Reebs of the Université de Moncton <a href="http://www.howfishbehave.ca/pdf/Tool%20use.pdf">points out that there are a couple other interesting examples of "tools" manipulated by fishes</a> - such as a damselfish species (<i>Stegastes leucoris</i>) that cleans algae off a rock for egglaying by spitting sand at it, and a freshwater cichlid (<i>Bujurquina vittata</i>) that lays its eggs on a leaf and will carry the leaf with it when fleeing a potential predator. Studies of tool use are important because the behavior may indicate a higher form of intelligence - a somewhat subjective biological concept - and thus give us clues to the evolutionary history of cognition. <br />
<br />
Of course, your heroic author had also seen this behavior in the wild. On one of my last trips in the Red Sea before graduating with a Master's degree, I was diving about 30 feet deep on a beautiful sandy patch of reef. I was helping to fence off a clean, square sand patch for an experiment and had to move a rock out of the way. As soon as I moved the rock, a scallop darted away. (Scallops do have eyes, and they can close their shell in rapid succession to effectively jettison themselves backwards, away from potential predators.) Of course, a tiny red scallop swimming over a white sandy bottom instantly signaled a feeding opportunity to motion-wary fishes nearby, always hungry on the coral reef. Perhaps wrongly, I decided to sacrifice the scallop for science to see what behaviors it would elicit among the diverse community of fish species waiting to attack. Much to my surprise, a checkerboard wrasse (<i>Halichoeres hortulanus</i>)<i> </i>immediately darted in for the meal - despite the fact that it was far too large for this fish's tiny mouth! To my further surprise, it swam around with the scallop in its mouth and began striking it against various rocks, likely to break it and make it smaller to eat. Lucky for me, I caught it on video (watch it full screen to catch the anvil use)!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwngGDZ0cQBPJBcadJZnh3RtUkgQzvqFz1xNWaqLj36WB7xeDDByJwGn76tpp0Ur7VLCoXqVxYZ8pYpukua_g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>When I saw Dr. Bernardi's article, I wrote him and discovered that this was potentially the first observation of this behavior for this Red Sea wrasse. These wrasses do not regularly feed on scallops, yet this individual was behaviorally prepared to accept the challenge. Would it need to learn this technique? Clearly it made the choice to do something about the large size of the scallop instead of just rejecting it outright. And if smashing food on an anvil is not a regularly used behavior, when would the fish have learned how to do it? It is amazingly difficult for scientists to record these rare behaviors since air supply and funding limit our underwater observations to mere snapshots of time in the lives of these wild creatures.Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-5095839933708327162011-10-08T17:57:00.002-04:002011-11-13T22:01:54.697-05:00Finding Nature Around You: The Hickory Tussock Moth<b>Moving back in with your parents </b>to work from home means that there are always domestic projects they can find for you, the perceived new help. Today I had to change the lawnmower blade and cut the grass. I had just removed the blade from our <a href="http://www.neutonpower.com/">electric mower</a> and was walking back into the basement with it when a white and black fuzzy furry caterpillar started wriggling across the path in front of me - right by my basement door! It seemed on a mission - it was moving very quickly for a caterpillar. Fascinated, I dropped to my knees and coaxed it to crawl on the mower blade I was carrying (so I wouldn't lose sight of it - it was moving ever so fast for a caterpillar). I then ran into the house to find my camera, cautiously watching the caterpillar to avoid dropping it. (I also did not want to touch it - the <i>setae </i>of caterpillars, marine worms, and other "furry" invertebrates tend to break off in skin and itch, like fiberglass.) This was a very interesting situation for my mother, who was entertaining a house guest. I am curious to know what they must have talked about when I asked her to hold the lawnmower blade and watch the caterpillar while I ran upstairs for my camera!<br />
<div><br />
</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgavO_840ufknFnaMjI2fI96QXQ9z31otltlfpFu2WNxrRWqTlmhegHWGaSq3aOHJb3kJDZ9q8dawzgQsEQDPK59pS1UxXqNH1sM72D_DJbf0fFdY_ydcrBbo-kP_i6b3wlBnS967a_GeyD/s1600/tussock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgavO_840ufknFnaMjI2fI96QXQ9z31otltlfpFu2WNxrRWqTlmhegHWGaSq3aOHJb3kJDZ9q8dawzgQsEQDPK59pS1UxXqNH1sM72D_DJbf0fFdY_ydcrBbo-kP_i6b3wlBnS967a_GeyD/s320/tussock.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>With camera in hand, I returned the caterpillar to where I found it on the ground outside my basement door. I then flopped down on my stomach and started shooting. I purchased my camera for the purpose of photographing wildlife, mostly for identification but also to try to capture some unique and emotive shots. But unique and emotive are not always at your control, especially if you've decided to not manipulate your subject. I didn't think it right to capture this creature; it clearly had somewhere to be! So I did the best I could as it crawled towards me, pattered through the garden, and trudged through a miniature forest of grass.</div><div><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMw3-rhhC7MYj8NQz7wFnxueFx6fzCOCjh9U9B_POGBkg1QY24RQH_Csl2cwagEAng_rXwJesLG1FcVYO8W2lrnJMxYzYuVbJYRhi2dRt0kl-pHP7Vquy8kT2OSMmVBBZ5ANz4kNYdsgIL/s1600/tussock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMw3-rhhC7MYj8NQz7wFnxueFx6fzCOCjh9U9B_POGBkg1QY24RQH_Csl2cwagEAng_rXwJesLG1FcVYO8W2lrnJMxYzYuVbJYRhi2dRt0kl-pHP7Vquy8kT2OSMmVBBZ5ANz4kNYdsgIL/s320/tussock.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This little caterpillar is not afraid of my hand!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>After it had crawled off into the bushes and I lost sight of it, I ran inside to identify the beast. This can be a very tricky task, requiring your memory, photographs, the internet, field guides, or a biologist with local expertise. Google is my first starting point - not because it is the best, but because I am impatient. Lucky for me, the first (non-advertisement) link Google returned for "caterpillar identification guide Massachusetts" took me to an excellent <a href="http://www.discoverlife.org/20/q?guide=Caterpillars">caterpillar guide on DiscoverLife.org</a>, where I could search for caterpillars that had certain identifiable attributes. Noting that this caterpillar was "yellow/white" in main body color and had "hair pencils" or "lashes" of hair (tight groups of longer setae that look like eyelashes), I cut down the pool of potential species to a few and by looking at pictures quickly identified the beast as a hickory tussock moth caterpillar, or <i>Lophocampa caryae. </i></div><div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3yXwJskFzhKKQ8AC3wsyDp2xqfnwYbiEw7qwRjncOBNhqf9mv2h6P7OKDF_ICYMH9lf8Dgb34a4z1w6vuNiTTPvBiYA2WvCCCvhEUAd1tEGoAMbThoy9li5As4uNMdAElqrUbbk60LAW/s1600/adult+moth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA3yXwJskFzhKKQ8AC3wsyDp2xqfnwYbiEw7qwRjncOBNhqf9mv2h6P7OKDF_ICYMH9lf8Dgb34a4z1w6vuNiTTPvBiYA2WvCCCvhEUAd1tEGoAMbThoy9li5As4uNMdAElqrUbbk60LAW/s320/adult+moth.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The adult moth.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>Using the scientific name like a key for unlocking a wealth of knowledge, I re-searched Google (ah, so that's where "research" comes from?). The species is named after its preferred food - hickory tree leaves - and its hairy groups of setae, or "tussocks." It is also known to feed on walnut and butternut trees, as well as beech and oak. These fascinating creatures complete their life cycle in a single year! Adult moths take wing, mate, and lay eggs from May to July. The developing caterpillars are out and about from July to late October, when they start looking for a place to "coccon" overwinter and metamorphose in the spring. And perhaps statistical probability explains why I had the fortune to come across one, for this year <a href="http://bangordailynews.com/2011/08/30/news/state/entomologists-beware-of-hickory-tussock-caterpillar/">appears to be a boom year for this species.</a> Indeed the paradox of nature is that it is in constant fluctuation - wars waged between predators and prey means species may be rare some years or decades but common the next. What a system all the non-human species must still contend with!</div><div><br />
</div><div><div>For those of you that think you don't have time for nature or that you could never see such creatures that I run into, I maintain that the majority of times I see these wonders when I am least trying to find them. After all, the hickory tussock moth caterpillar wasn't a yard from my door! This does not make me special or unique - what wonders lie in front of your door? Instead, discovering the nature around you is more like playing a musical instrument, where practice makes perfect. One skill involved in this is noticing subtle movements. Generally, if some object is moving of its own free will, it might be alive. So once you've gone <i>looking</i> for lots of wildlife and start getting used to spotting moving creatures, those same subtle movements will catch your eye when you are <i>not </i>looking but are still in the right place. We all share the ancestral tradition of hunting, we have just forgotten how. Re-awakening your spotter instincts brings with it a very fulfilling sense of belonging to your wilderness, even if you only noticed a caterpillar that wouldn't make a good meal! ;)</div></div>Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-52636746927815497762011-10-03T16:29:00.051-04:002011-11-14T12:31:48.209-05:00Wild edibles of New England<b>Today I visited </b>the Oak Knoll Wildlife Refuge in Attleboro, Massachusetts for a combination talk plus walk about edible wild foods. Finding food in the wild, or 'foraging,' is an activity many Americans do, though it is easily overlooked. If it sounds strange, consider that hunting and fishing are really just foraging for animals - and that all of our farmed foods were once exclusively wild. (And we once exclusively foraged.)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Russ Cohen sharing wild food knowledge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Russ Cohen, author of <u>Wild Foods I Have Known... and Eaten</u> guided our three hour adventure. He brought along with him some fruit "leather," an all-natural snack he makes by simply mashing the berries of the autumn olive (<i>Elaeagnus umbellata</i>) and drying the pulp in thin (1/4") sheets in the oven. No other ingredients needed! And you can feel good about eating them to extinction - <a href="http://www.newfs.org/docs/docs/wfn98.pdf">they are an invasive species</a>!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sheep sorrell (<i>Rumex acetosella</i>), a lemony salad green!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Russ introduced us to many other wild edibles that day, including boletes, chanterelles, and sulfur shelf mushrooms, sheep sorrell (excellent tangy salad greens), black walnuts, hickory nuts, strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, grapes... It was hard for me not to start tasting everything at random! There are plenty of wild plants that do not make good foods so I would suggest getting a guide to foraging in your area, like Russ' book, before cooking up some lethal mushrooms. Although the talk cost me $18, it all went towards wildlife conservation and I had a great time!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEcZYJftj9s2iSJewgeE69j-Y0QvM8tJHUziL6KUhKVhCmliamgDbw9HcgYcTmJiSDQ5VCcpMJltwkpmQckiLbYyy8v55D06UfFYYVMpvJcww2x3WXhuaKXA9EQOD5-mhldLkTQ03zvRF-/s1600/inedible.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEcZYJftj9s2iSJewgeE69j-Y0QvM8tJHUziL6KUhKVhCmliamgDbw9HcgYcTmJiSDQ5VCcpMJltwkpmQckiLbYyy8v55D06UfFYYVMpvJcww2x3WXhuaKXA9EQOD5-mhldLkTQ03zvRF-/s320/inedible.jpg" width="279" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some beautiful but INEDIBLE wild mushrooms</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8962268743275842517.post-31469901090502649272011-09-22T11:24:00.002-04:002011-11-14T11:53:55.324-05:00Finding Nature Around You: The Praying Mantis<b>I was late for work</b> so I was running out the door and down the steps of my Grafton home's back porch. And I nearly smushed a beautiful praying mantis, a winged insect of the family Mantidae. Unlike their closest relatives - grasshoppers - the mantids are exclusively carnivorous, actually "preying" on other insects. (Although the "praying" name comes from the way they hold their forelegs in an almost reverent position.) Did you know that the female mantis will often devour the male after - <i>or even during - </i>copulation? Yep, apparently a beheaded male can still get the job done. Despite their formidable looking clawed forelegs, these creatures are harmless to humans. I picked this one up for some photographs, which was probably exhausted from the torrents of water ripping through its habitat from a rainstorm the previous day. After the pictures, I put it back in some tall grass under some trees, hoping to hide it from hungry birds. Truly a beautiful creature!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmnprmNpC8SlSaCjhFxPPk6NLYqJhDpOpgGe0xmA3ZOZ4ct6uL1PndtRVwzsfoPLPa0363eOruTJyPPVyQSMsh6Luh7d2N586bMJ1GexlGxKgGJK1y4wOwHNaeQ9ofT1qYPfhIIblIuVuK/s1600/IMG_2735.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmnprmNpC8SlSaCjhFxPPk6NLYqJhDpOpgGe0xmA3ZOZ4ct6uL1PndtRVwzsfoPLPa0363eOruTJyPPVyQSMsh6Luh7d2N586bMJ1GexlGxKgGJK1y4wOwHNaeQ9ofT1qYPfhIIblIuVuK/s320/IMG_2735.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Noah J.D. DesRosiershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07533501674298528505noreply@blogger.com0