Last night, I went to Nerd Nite #23 at the Rickshaw Stop. The features were brain chemistry, Humboldt squid, and piracy (although I did not stay for the last). I followed the brain chemistry talk fairly well - certainly the conclusions made sense to me, although I did start out with a bias against the mixture of Buddhist terms and neuropsychology. East and West, never the twain shall meet! It's the same feeling I get whenever scientists talk about the "God particle" - one shouldn't mix scientific and religious terms without precise definition (a precision which both chemistry and theology demand).
The second talk, on Humboldt squid, was my favorite. At this point, I should remind the audience of three things: first, that Humboldt squid are not giant squid; second, that Humboldt squid are named after the Humboldt current, not Humboldt county; third, Humboldt squid are not made into calamari. The cute marine biologist spoke about the "squid invasion," which has extended to Canadian waters from Mexican shores, and whether the squid were marauders or colonists (the difference is the presence of squid babies). Researching the answer proved challenging, since to find anything in the middle of the ocean, much less watery translucent squid eggs, is nearly impossible. Unlike some Nerd Nite presentations, this one left me with a few questions I want to e-mail to the researcher, such as the following: since bear-borne salmon guts are an important source of nitrogen for inland forests, do bear-borne squid (who have already eaten the salmon the bears would have) have the same nitrogen-movement impact as bear-borne salmon?
Showing posts with label biology. Show all posts
Showing posts with label biology. Show all posts
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Birthday Trip
It's been five days and I have the pictures, so I suppose I should write about my birthday trip.
This year the whole family, minus the younger brother, headed down the hill into the desert towards Pyramid Lake. There was some trouble along Mount Rose, so we went down via Truckee instead, past the old power plant. Once we headed north from Reno, we began to enter the real Nevada and it was easy to see why the region had been settled by family bands rather than larger units. The destruction of the pinyon trees and the consequent desertification of the landscape did no good, either.
We reached Pyramid Lake and I was astonished at the shade of blue. I was assured that it was a frequent color for desert lakes. The eponymous Pyramid, an island-rock, lay next to Anaho Island on which the pelicans (I was initially surprised that Washo had a word for them) lived with many other breeding colonies. I had to indulge my inner anthropologist and take notes on the information sign. The simplistic and inaccurate orthography of the sign, pandering the linguistically illiterate, somewhat annoyed me, but the sign did provide substantial detail for the size of its font. Each Paiute band (since Pyramid Lake was Paiute rather than Washo territory) was centered around a water source and named after a characteristic food. In the case of Pyramid Lake, that food was the cui-ui, an archaic-looking indigenous fish, which was stranded there as the enormous glacial lake evaporated. Puff, who had been somewhat listless from the heat, found the environment of Pyramid Lake congenial, and wanted to explore the doubtless rattlesnake-infested bushes. There were groups of people day-tripping by the lake (which requires a permit from Nixon) and the the road north abruptly degenrated into bone-jarring rocks. I do mean rocks, not gravel. So we turned around.
We went through the surprisingly charming town of Nixon (headquarters of the Pyramid Lake Reservation) and headed east towards Fallon. The towns were conspicuously greener than the surrounding desert, but the area near the road showed evidence of water. It was not deep desert. Before we reached Fallon, we headed back towards the Lahontan Reservoir. It was larger than I had realized, but the outskirts of the adjacent town had a shabbiness typical of Nevada towns. On the way to Carson City - which is the capital of Nevada, not Reno or Las Vegas- we passed the Kit Kat Ranch and the Bunny Ranch, since Nevada is a land where many bad habits can be indulged without fear of prosecution. Dad expressed an urge to take the now-completed railroad line from Carson City to Virginia City. That would be fun, but it will have to wait until next year. Carson City itself is quite charming, and illustrated the virtue of having separate commercial and capital metropoleis. It would be worth a day visit. We returned to the mountains, and celebrated at home in the evening.
This year the whole family, minus the younger brother, headed down the hill into the desert towards Pyramid Lake. There was some trouble along Mount Rose, so we went down via Truckee instead, past the old power plant. Once we headed north from Reno, we began to enter the real Nevada and it was easy to see why the region had been settled by family bands rather than larger units. The destruction of the pinyon trees and the consequent desertification of the landscape did no good, either.
We reached Pyramid Lake and I was astonished at the shade of blue. I was assured that it was a frequent color for desert lakes. The eponymous Pyramid, an island-rock, lay next to Anaho Island on which the pelicans (I was initially surprised that Washo had a word for them) lived with many other breeding colonies. I had to indulge my inner anthropologist and take notes on the information sign. The simplistic and inaccurate orthography of the sign, pandering the linguistically illiterate, somewhat annoyed me, but the sign did provide substantial detail for the size of its font. Each Paiute band (since Pyramid Lake was Paiute rather than Washo territory) was centered around a water source and named after a characteristic food. In the case of Pyramid Lake, that food was the cui-ui, an archaic-looking indigenous fish, which was stranded there as the enormous glacial lake evaporated. Puff, who had been somewhat listless from the heat, found the environment of Pyramid Lake congenial, and wanted to explore the doubtless rattlesnake-infested bushes. There were groups of people day-tripping by the lake (which requires a permit from Nixon) and the the road north abruptly degenrated into bone-jarring rocks. I do mean rocks, not gravel. So we turned around.
We went through the surprisingly charming town of Nixon (headquarters of the Pyramid Lake Reservation) and headed east towards Fallon. The towns were conspicuously greener than the surrounding desert, but the area near the road showed evidence of water. It was not deep desert. Before we reached Fallon, we headed back towards the Lahontan Reservoir. It was larger than I had realized, but the outskirts of the adjacent town had a shabbiness typical of Nevada towns. On the way to Carson City - which is the capital of Nevada, not Reno or Las Vegas- we passed the Kit Kat Ranch and the Bunny Ranch, since Nevada is a land where many bad habits can be indulged without fear of prosecution. Dad expressed an urge to take the now-completed railroad line from Carson City to Virginia City. That would be fun, but it will have to wait until next year. Carson City itself is quite charming, and illustrated the virtue of having separate commercial and capital metropoleis. It would be worth a day visit. We returned to the mountains, and celebrated at home in the evening.
The shade of blue in this photo is slightly darker than
in real life.
You can see the Pyramid to the left of Anaho Island
Not a desert dog, but happy nonetheless
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Saturday Morning Hike
On Saturday morning I went on a hike in Meeks Bay with my brother and Olive, his 7-month-old half-lab, half-heeler. Dad and I had tried to reach the first stream of the trail earlier this summer before his feet gave out, and it's a trail we know well from taking the late springer spaniel along it - he, of course, found the destination incredibly exciting. Olive, however, had not yet grasped the idea of an outdoor activity which did not involve throwing anything, so she bounced along the trail, stopping only to stare at us with genial confusion - this behavior explains, if not excuses, the lack of pictures with this post. When strangers were near, she displayed the peculiar attitude of youngsters, in which bravery extends to a point just before the moment contact. When we reached the stream, which was low from summer evaporation, Olive was more interested in splashing than drinking.
The Meeks Bay trail lies between a waterlogged meadow on the left and a series of stony ridges on the right, leading up to the aptly named Desolation Wilderness. The meadow is a favorite spot for bears seeking berries. On either side of the trail grew clusters of wildflowers, purple and white and blue and yellow, but the soil is not fertile, since it is primarily composed of granite sand, and the clusters were farly widely spaced. Most of the water which finds its way into the valley comes from a cluster of lakes high above, descending via the stream which was our destination.
The Meeks Bay trail lies between a waterlogged meadow on the left and a series of stony ridges on the right, leading up to the aptly named Desolation Wilderness. The meadow is a favorite spot for bears seeking berries. On either side of the trail grew clusters of wildflowers, purple and white and blue and yellow, but the soil is not fertile, since it is primarily composed of granite sand, and the clusters were farly widely spaced. Most of the water which finds its way into the valley comes from a cluster of lakes high above, descending via the stream which was our destination.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Parks and Propositions
On Thursday, there was an article in the Chronicle (which I still read in the old way, in a café with a coffee) which said that the continuing state budget crisis might force many of the state parks to close their gates. The connection of this unprecedented action with the abject failure of the propositions on the recent ballot is clear enough, but these closures would cripple the outdoor activities of many Scout troops and districts.
On the one hand, I understand why the park service needs money, but I have learned the history of propositions in California and no longer can regard their current use as a substitute for responsible government action as acceptable or worthy of my support. The propositions and initiatives, as originally conceived, were an emergency measure for times of crisis, and had they remained restricted to such times, their use in the current crisis would conscionable. The transformation of the proposition and the initiative into substitutes for governance has not only allowed the government in Sacramento to evade responsibility, but also deprived Californians of a valuable tool by dulling the blade so that the axe is useless when it is most needed. In nineteenth century Portugal, one of the factors in the stall of the national economy (other than the exponential imbecility of the monarchy - read Royal Babylon: The Alarming History of European Royalty for more information) was the cumulative effect of pious gifts to the church; a third of the land in the entire country was the property of the church, the world’s longest-lived legal person . A similar process happens when pressure groups incite well-meaning citizens to vote for propositions and initiatives that create mandatory uses and set-asides; the individual propositions may or may not add up to an extensive sum, but the cumulative effect is to diminish steadily the amount of flexibility that the state government can practice.
The more immediate effect the closure would have on my way of life would be the sudden and catastrophic deprivation of camping and hiking sites for Troop 14 (my troop) and other troops around the Bay Area. I am sure that we will find new venues or new activities if the closure should happen, but the focus within Troop 14 on camping and hiking (since some troops have a different focus, and I do not presume to know the activities of all other troops in the Bay Area) makes it an area of particular concern.
The effects of closing the parks would be in the main undesirable. Modern buildings, unlike the sturdy stone structures of my academic background, are not designed to weather well without maintenance, and many years of repairing the troop’s traditional campsite at summer camp has taught me that it is more expensive to repair delayed maintenance than to maintain the structure in a regular manner. The population of the parks, too, would change. The absence of both rangers and visitors would encourage an influx of homeless (which might not be altogether bad, if they consumed some of the ubiquitous mule deer and provided a predatory niche whose lack has encouraged the explosive overpopulation) and pot-growers. I should be clear here: my concern in this essay is not the legality or legitimacy of the weed farmers, but rather the displacement of the native flora. I may blog on my thoughts on homeless and potheads on a separate occasion.
I find it exceedingly difficult to write conclusions, and this is my blog, so I feel no obligation to do so.
On the one hand, I understand why the park service needs money, but I have learned the history of propositions in California and no longer can regard their current use as a substitute for responsible government action as acceptable or worthy of my support. The propositions and initiatives, as originally conceived, were an emergency measure for times of crisis, and had they remained restricted to such times, their use in the current crisis would conscionable. The transformation of the proposition and the initiative into substitutes for governance has not only allowed the government in Sacramento to evade responsibility, but also deprived Californians of a valuable tool by dulling the blade so that the axe is useless when it is most needed. In nineteenth century Portugal, one of the factors in the stall of the national economy (other than the exponential imbecility of the monarchy - read Royal Babylon: The Alarming History of European Royalty for more information) was the cumulative effect of pious gifts to the church; a third of the land in the entire country was the property of the church, the world’s longest-lived legal person . A similar process happens when pressure groups incite well-meaning citizens to vote for propositions and initiatives that create mandatory uses and set-asides; the individual propositions may or may not add up to an extensive sum, but the cumulative effect is to diminish steadily the amount of flexibility that the state government can practice.
The more immediate effect the closure would have on my way of life would be the sudden and catastrophic deprivation of camping and hiking sites for Troop 14 (my troop) and other troops around the Bay Area. I am sure that we will find new venues or new activities if the closure should happen, but the focus within Troop 14 on camping and hiking (since some troops have a different focus, and I do not presume to know the activities of all other troops in the Bay Area) makes it an area of particular concern.
The effects of closing the parks would be in the main undesirable. Modern buildings, unlike the sturdy stone structures of my academic background, are not designed to weather well without maintenance, and many years of repairing the troop’s traditional campsite at summer camp has taught me that it is more expensive to repair delayed maintenance than to maintain the structure in a regular manner. The population of the parks, too, would change. The absence of both rangers and visitors would encourage an influx of homeless (which might not be altogether bad, if they consumed some of the ubiquitous mule deer and provided a predatory niche whose lack has encouraged the explosive overpopulation) and pot-growers. I should be clear here: my concern in this essay is not the legality or legitimacy of the weed farmers, but rather the displacement of the native flora. I may blog on my thoughts on homeless and potheads on a separate occasion.
I find it exceedingly difficult to write conclusions, and this is my blog, so I feel no obligation to do so.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Phoenix Preserve
Recently I read this article
(http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090515/ap_on_re_as/as_indonesia_bird_beach_3)
on the maleo, a bird native to Sulawesi, which put me in mind of the mythical phoenix. The maleo is mostly black, but has prominent pink plumage, yellow facial skin, and red-orange beak color. Both of these colors would lend themselves to the idea of flame, especially in climes where the birds are generally less particolored than in tropic lands. Even the black back of the maleo could be attached to the idea of flame, by way of ash.
The female maleo lays her remarkably large egg in volcanic sand or soil and wanders off. This is not a species where a hen and her brood troop gamely through the forest! When the egg hatches, the young maleo is ready to fly and forage. A full-grown bird emerging from the hot sands would indeed appear to be self-generating. There's no particular association of the maleo with spices, such as the frankincense with which (according to Herodotus) the phoenix immolates himself, but spices came from a wide area of the ancient world, and I am not arguing that the legend of the phoenix reflects biology with full accuracy (see Pliny the Elder for particularly egregious examples). I am, however, convinced that reports of this remarkable bird contributed to the myth of the phoenix.
(http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090515/ap_on_re_as/as_indonesia_bird_beach_3)
on the maleo, a bird native to Sulawesi, which put me in mind of the mythical phoenix. The maleo is mostly black, but has prominent pink plumage, yellow facial skin, and red-orange beak color. Both of these colors would lend themselves to the idea of flame, especially in climes where the birds are generally less particolored than in tropic lands. Even the black back of the maleo could be attached to the idea of flame, by way of ash.
The female maleo lays her remarkably large egg in volcanic sand or soil and wanders off. This is not a species where a hen and her brood troop gamely through the forest! When the egg hatches, the young maleo is ready to fly and forage. A full-grown bird emerging from the hot sands would indeed appear to be self-generating. There's no particular association of the maleo with spices, such as the frankincense with which (according to Herodotus) the phoenix immolates himself, but spices came from a wide area of the ancient world, and I am not arguing that the legend of the phoenix reflects biology with full accuracy (see Pliny the Elder for particularly egregious examples). I am, however, convinced that reports of this remarkable bird contributed to the myth of the phoenix.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Book review: Superdove: How the Pigeon Took Manhattan, Courtney Humphries
Book review: Superdove: How the Pigeon Took Manhattan … and the World, Courtney Humphries
Most of us think of the rock dove (aka the pigeon) as merely an urban pest, on par with rats and Woody Allen; this book fleshes out the history of the pigeon. In religion, the rock dove has fallen from the status of a divine bird in the walled cities of Sumer to the feathered equivalent of a noxious weed. Many factors contributed to this descent; including the careful word selection of the Bard and the decline of doves as a food source. The biological history of the rock dove involves an unusual course of domestication, in which the rock dove’s homing ability negated the need for secure pens and inderctly allowed them to survive better than other feral species. I don’t want to spoil any more of this book, insofar as science books have spoilers, so I will say this: reading Superdove has made me appreciate to a much greater degree this inevitable avian companion of mankind.
Most of us think of the rock dove (aka the pigeon) as merely an urban pest, on par with rats and Woody Allen; this book fleshes out the history of the pigeon. In religion, the rock dove has fallen from the status of a divine bird in the walled cities of Sumer to the feathered equivalent of a noxious weed. Many factors contributed to this descent; including the careful word selection of the Bard and the decline of doves as a food source. The biological history of the rock dove involves an unusual course of domestication, in which the rock dove’s homing ability negated the need for secure pens and inderctly allowed them to survive better than other feral species. I don’t want to spoil any more of this book, insofar as science books have spoilers, so I will say this: reading Superdove has made me appreciate to a much greater degree this inevitable avian companion of mankind.
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