Nuisance animals

Two days ago, we visited the Minnesota Zoo. I was snapping pictures of the wild boar (Sus scrofa) in the excellent "Russia's Grizzly Coast" exhibit, when I overheard a fellow visitor saying, "It's just like someone in Poland watching Canada geese." This was followed by some chatter between other members of that group in what sure sounded like Polish - and I've lived in metro Chicago long enough to know a Slavic language when I hear one. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself when I heard this, because she was absolutely right. In both the Twin Cities and Chicago regions, Canada geese (Branta canadensis) are a nuisance. They may even qualify as vermin in some areas.

In high school gym class, we played touch football - which, as you might expect, was touch football in name only - on the practice football field, out at the furthest corner of school grounds. Whenever it was not occupied by bellowing adolescents, the field was preferred grazing area for an apparently non-migratory flock of geese. It was there that I learned the true meaning of the expression, "like crap through a goose." I doubt there was a single square yard on that field that was completely free of green-and-white turd-cylinders. By the time gym class moved indoors for the winter, my gym shirt - which got washed once a semester, whether it needed it or not - had enough green splotches on it to qualify as military-grade camouflage.

The fouling of the world by these winged crap factories doesn't end there. Oocytes of such infamous nasties as Giardia and Cryptosporidium [1, 2], as well as possible human hazards in the Heliobacter genus [3] are transmitted in goose crap. Consequently, feeding geese is discouraged in many places, as evidenced by the sign at left, seen on the Minneapolis riverfront a few years ago.

The important distinction here is that the nuisance geese are so-called resident geese. Resident geese don't migrate in any serious way, preferring to stay year-round in the cushy environment of suburban office park ponds and other areas with mowed lawns and easy access to water. Officially, the US Fish & Wildlife Service "... identifies 'resident Canada geese' as those that nest within the lower 48 States in the months of March, April, May, or June, and that reside within the lower 48 States in the months of April, May, June, July, and August [4]."Migratory geese tend to fly to sub-arctic Canada and Alaska in the summer to nest and are found in the contiguous 48 States only in the spring, summer, and fall [5].

Significantly, US FWS notes that "Canada geese normally return to the same breeding areas and no evidence presently exists documenting inter-breeding between Canada geese nesting within the lower 48 States and those subspecies nesting in northern Canada and Alaska [4]." That makes the distinction easier. Migratory geese are not the problem, and should continue to be protected under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act. Resident geese are the ones who chase children in parks and turn sidewalks into little green minefields.

Likewise, in many parts of the world, wild and feral pigs (both are really same species, Sus scrofa) can be a nuisance, particularly in areas where they are not native. For example, feral pigs are currently wreaking havoc in such diverse locations as Hawai'i and Great Smoky Mountains National Park, as their rooting causes soil erosion. Nevertheless, I was surprised to see what handsome and interesting animals the wild pigs at the zoo were. They are also BIG - they must be at least three and a half feet tall at the shoulder. No wonder medieval European hunters were afraid of them.

They're not dumb brutes, though. Pigs are smart, and they seem to be social creatures, as evidenced by the spooning swine at left. They vocalize a lot, too, especially for ungulates.

The important thing, though, is that it's all about context. If I lived somewhere where feral pigs are a nuisance, I wouldn't be at all interested in these Russian boars at the zoo; they would be just like resident Canada geese - somewhere between "uninteresting" and "vermin."

A related topic for another time: the contrast in awesomeness between the closely-related Canada goose (Branta canadensis), my opinion of which is clear from above, and the nēnē or Hawaiian goose (Branta sandvicensis), which I hold in high esteem.

References -

[1] T. Graczyk, R. Fayer, J. Trout, E. Lewis, C. Farley, I. Sulaiman, A. Lal (1998). "Giardia sp. cysts and infectious Cryptosporidium parvum oocysts in the feces of migratory Canada geese (Branta canadensis)." Applied and Environmental Microbiology 64:7.

[2] H. Kassa, B. Harrington, M. Bisesi (2004). "Cryptosporidiosis: A brief literature review and update regarding Cryptosporidium in feces of Canada geese (Branta canadensis)." Journal of Environmental Health 66:7.

[3] J. Fox, N. Taylor, S. Howe, M. Tidd, S. Xu, B. Paster, F. Dewhirst (2006). "Helicobacter anseris sp. nov. and Helicobacter brantae sp. nov., isolated from feces of resident Canada geese in the greater Boston area." Applied and Environmental Microbiology 72:7.

[4] US Fish & Wildlife Service. "Resident Canada goose management: Questions and answers." Division of Migratory Birds report. Retrieved from http://www.fws.gov/migratorybirds/issues/cangeese/Draft_EIS/Q&A%27s2.htm on December 28, 2008.

[5] US Fish & Wildlife Service (2002). "Resident Canada geese populations." Division of Migratory Birds report. Retrieved from http://www.fws.gov/northeast/migratorybirds/canada_geese.pdf.

My Christmas pheasant

A ring-necked pheasant (Phasianus colchicus) hen scampered through the in-laws' back yard in Hennepin County, Minnesota, on Christmas morning.

I know they're not a native species, but I still think they're neat.

It's pretty much my favorite lagomorph

This started as a run-of-the-mill "critters with which I'm obsessed" post, but that changed this afternoon at a gas station just west of Oconomowoc, when I got a "so much for global warming" lecture while standing at a urinal. This upset me for two reasons: first, the fact that the air temperature in Jefferson County, Wisconsin was hovering around 0°F does not disprove the notion of anthropogenic climate change, and second - and more importantly - I really prefer to be left alone while doing my business.

Anyway, following a family trip to Rocky Mountain National Park many years ago, I left with the perception that the yellow-bellied marmot (Marmota flaviventris, which pretty much literally means "yellow-bellied marmot" in Latin) was pretty awesome. These charismatic sciurids have an entertaining way of lumbering about the talus piles. The American pika (Ochotona princeps), a neighboring rodent seemed lame by comparison. What could they possibly do to be as interesting as marmots?

The answer, unsurprisingly, came from David Attenborough's The Life of Mammals. It turns out that pikas are totally sweet in their own right. First of all, these quarter-pound rodents are compellingly handsome, as shown in the National Park Service photo at left. The ears belie their kinship with rabbits (lagomorphs) rather than ground squirrels (sciurids), as one might otherwise expect.

More importantly, though, their habits are extraordinarily well-suited to the harsh alpine tundra. As Sir David points out, during the short alpine growing season, the pikas "literally make hay while the sun shines" - that is, they gather vegetation, let it dry in the sun, and then hoard it for the winter. But it gets better still: some plants are toxic, so the pikas hoard these plants such that they are available for feeding later in the winter when the toxins have (apparently) decomposed.

Here's where the guest lecture from Professor Urinal comes in: the pika's special adaptations may make it vulnerable to rising temperatures. Noting that pikas are really leftovers from the Pleistocene ice age, researchers at the US Geological Survey [1,2] have found evidence that pikas aren't so much mountain critters as they are cold-weather critters. Apparently, exposure to shade temperatures above 78° F for as little as six hours can be fatal to pikas, "if they are caged on the surface of talus and thus deprived of their behavioral mechanisms to avoid stressful temperatures [1]." 78 degrees! That's when people might unbutton their top buttons, but these little guys freaking die!

For this reason, coverage of the USGS report by The Guardian bore the grim headline "American pika doomed as 'first mammal victim of climate change.'"

The American pika isn't alone: a 2005 study by a Sino-Arizonan team found similar results for the Ili pika (Ochotona iliensis), which is native to the Tian Shan Mountains of China's Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region [3].

So, save the pika, and let me pee in peace.

References:

1. Erik Beever (2002). "Persistence of pikas in two low-elevation national monuments in the western United States." US Geological Survey Forest and Rangeland Ecosystem Science Center, Corvallis, Oregon. Full text retrieved from Yosemite.org.
   
2. Erik Beever, Peter Brussard, and Joel Bergera (2005). "Patterns of apparent extirpation among isolated populations of pikas (Ochotona princeps) in the Great Basin." Journal of Mammalogy 84:1.
   
3. Li Wei-Dong and Andrew Smith (2005). "Dramatic decline of the threatened Ili pika Ochotona iliensis (Lagomorpha: Ochotonidae) in Xinjiang, China." Oryx 39:1.
   

Flags: State of Arizona

I'll begin the state flags series with my favorite, the copper-colored banner of the State of Arizona. According to the Arizona State Capitol Museum web site, the thirteen alternating red and yellow rays represent the original thirteen colonies, the red and yellow flag of the Spanish conquistadors, and the western sun. The copper-colored star reminds us that the Grand Canyon State is the nation's leading producer of copper. Finally, the bottom half of the flag is the same shade as the union on the US flag.

More importantly, though, it just looks good. It's distinctive, visually appealing, and it complements the national flag nicely.

The awesomeness of Arizona's state symbols doesn't end there, though:

• The state mammal is the ringtail (Bassariscus astutus), also known as the ringtail cat or miner's cat, a small raccoon-like creature which can rotate its ankles over 180 degrees.
• The song of the state bird, the cactus wren (Campylorhynchus brunneicapillus), has been described as similar to an automobile engine turning over. It's uncanny. Have a listen at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology library.
• The official state neckwear, the bolo (or bola) tie, reminds me of my grandfather, who became fond of them upon retiring to the Valley of the Sun.
• Petrified wood, the state fossil, is both beautiful and scientifically interesting.
  

...and I didn't even mention the Apache trout, ridge-nosed rattlesnake, and Arizona treefrog! Maybe my expatriate Arizonan cousins will have something to add.

Roadkilled porcurpines, or another reason I love my wife

On September 24, 2005, over five months before we were even engaged, Lisa let me pull over on a county road in northeast Wisconsin to look at a roadkilled porcupine (Erethizon dorsatum). She didn't even flinch when I whipped out my multitool and pulled a few quills to take home.

We were both saddened by the untimely demise of this individual, but it was really cool to see a porcupine up close. They are, after all, totally weird and cool. Nigh-impregnable lumbering cavimorphs! They climb trees and eat ax handles!

But perhaps the lesson here is not about dead rodents, but the nature of love - which. apparently, means looking the other way while your significant other stops to examine roadkill. I'm a lucky man.

State flag manifesto

As with many of my activities, this rant started with angry comments while on a road trip. I'm a fairly civic-minded individual, and as such I noticed that the state flags of my home state and some of our Old Northwest neighbors consisted only of the state seal on a solid field of some color, typically white or blue. I was miffed by this, thinking that surely the great states of Illinois, Wisconsin, and Michigan, to name a few, deserved better...but this required examples of what I consider to be excellent state flags.

The inevitable question, however, is "who cares?" Why are state symbols important? Federal powers expanded tremendously during the 20th Century. We see ourselves as citizens of the United States of America first, and state identity is less important. However, it was not always so: for the Founding Fathers, state identity came first. This persisted through the Civil War. The United States was founded on the idea expressed in the Illinois state motto: "State sovereignty, national union."

State flags and other symbols are important because they connect us to the principles of states' rights that are the foundation of our country. They provide a sense of pride in one's home and a connection to these places. Federal power is important (as indicated by the warm fuzzy feelings I get from the Interstate Highway System), but we shouldn't forget the importance of state identity.

To begin, I'd like to point out that the flags of 23 states fall into the same basic category - lame. These are the flags that are simply the state seal on a solid field. It seems that nearly half of the states in the Union didn't even want to try. State seals are swell, but it's hard to rally around a flag that is only recognizable by reading the fine print.

My home state is one of the many flags that are sort of lame. However, the Illinois state seal is more interesting than most, and more importantly, we have a fantastic state fossil. The Tully monster (Tullimonstrum gregarium), a swimming creature from the Pennsylvanian period which is found only in the Mazon Creek formation near Joliet. Also, the state fish is the bluegill (Lepomis macrochirus, or "sunnies" if you're from Minnesota), which is also pretty sweet. A mature male bluegill has a beautiful copper-colored patch below the gills and is tons of fun to catch on a 4-weight fly rod.

Because everyone needs to know my opinions on inconsequential things, I plan to post some thoughts on some state flags later.

Jobs I want: Everglades backcountry volunteer

I just saw a program on the National Geographic Channel about the Everglades. There was a brief segment on a couple who lives on a houseboat in the middle of the Everglades backcountry for six months of the year, rescuing lost paddlers (and getting lost themselves: they said the key was to get lost first thing in the morning so you have all day to find your way back). For a number of reasons, this lands high on the list of Jobs I Would Love To Have, Though Perhaps Only For A Short Time, for the following reasons:

• Critters. Birds with fun names like "roseate spoonbill". Turtles. Gators. Fish. Manatees.
• Isolation, with a twist: any people you meet are likely to be really happy to see you. I bet the wilderness houseboat volunteers have some great stories about the people they meet and the circumstances in which they meet them.
• Man skills. If it breaks, you better fix it: ain't no callin' a plumber or electrician. If it can't be fixed with hose clamps and duct tape, you probably didn't need it.
• Clarity of purpose. Every morning, there are clear-cut reasons to get out of bed: first, to take necessary measures to avoid being eaten by alligators, and second, to rescue disoriented wilderness paddlers from a similar fate.
• Science. I don't know if the volunteers are specifically asked to make scientific observations (weather & water levels, critter counts, or other surveys), but it would be cool to contribute to the understanding of the area.
  
• The enveloping beauty and weirdness of the whole Everglades environment. I can't help be fascinated by a place where flowing water is disguised as a prairie. I don't think I can adequately describe how totally weird the 'Glades are.
  

More descriptions of south Florida weirdness at www.nps.gov/ever/.

More words that make me yearn for the days of grunts and hand gestures

Here are a few more words and expressions that seem to actually impair communication, presented as a follow-up to "Verbing weirds language."

• Use of "2.0" outside the concept of version control

  The worst offender here is the ghastly phrase "Web 2.0". My understanding is that the phrase is used to broadly describe web sites and web applications based on user-generated content. However, this does not represent a version change. It's not a major upgrade in the sense of version control. It may be an important change in the way people interact with each other via electronic media, but the analogy to a software or hardware upgrade falls apart. I challenge the world's linguists, programmers, and technology writers to come up with a better description - and don't you dare call it a "paradigm shift."
  

  In 2004, a Holland, Michigan couple gained press for naming their son with the suffix "2.0" instead of "Junior" or "II". It may be cute now, but imagine the beatings this poor kid will get in high school. Also, I question whether anything that regularly craps its pants can be considered a major upgrade.

• It's really aggravating when the word "technology" is used strictly to mean "electronics" or "computing". "Technology," from the Greek techne, "art" or "skill," is any invented device or system that does something. I won't even limit the definition by saying "does something useful." If I use a rock as a pounding device, that's a technology. If I build a device that transmutes goat urine into gasoline, that's also a technology (pat yourself on the back if you caught the Blues Brothers reference). Clean drinking water is a technology; so are sanitary sewers. I don't think it's much better to use "high-tech" to refer to computers and electronic devices, either. Herein lies another challenge for wordsmiths.

• "Blogosphere." This word should be used only to refer to the personal space bubble around the governor of Illinois; furthermore, that should be spelled "Blagosphere." See below:
  
  
  



• Excessive/inappropriate use of the word "hack."

  I just saw an article suggesting that a new first-person video game "is the first game to hack your proprioception." Proprioception is, loosely speaking, the sense of the position of your body in space. The writer was presumably trying to convey that the gameplay was so realistic that it made him feel as though his body was moving. That is indeed remarkable. But how is it a hack? It's not a modification beyond an intended design, nor is it an ungraceful solution to a problem, nor is it a clever prank, in the sense of the "MIT hacks." Surely the players' proprioception was not somehow "rewired" by playing the game. Although, if it were, maybe it would take the form of synesthesia - wouldn't it be neat if playing the game enabled one to suddenly taste or smell where one's hand was in space? Ok, maybe not.
  

  Incidentally, the same article confused "retch" (verb, to vomit) with "wretch" (noun, a miserable person). That makes me (a wretch) want to vomit (retch).

Of tapirs and monkeys

On a visit to Omaha's Henry Doorly Zoo in the summer of 2007, I was fortunate to see some of my favorite critters in action. Imagine my surprise, though, when I saw a monkey (I don't know what species) climb atop a Baird's tapir (Tapirus bairdii) and go for a ride. Yes, A MONKEY RIDING A TAPIR. I almost peed my pants.

The sociable simian went on to (apparently) groom the tapir.


Note that this was a Baird's tapir, native to Central and South America, not to be confused with the distinct, but similarly compelling, Mayalan tapir (Tapirus indicus) featured in my 2007 post, "The screaming hose-nose."

Apparently these behaviors are not uncommon, at least in zoos; for example, this fellow observed a gibbon apparently grooming a tapir. These observations in monkey-tapir interactions are strangely comforting to me - that is, I'm glad to know that I'm not the only primate who finds tapirs so compelling. Let the record show, however, that I do not aspire to ride or groom tapirs myself. Even David Attenborough kept a respectful distance from a tapir in the "Plant Predators" episode of The Life of Mammals - apparently they can be rather vicious when they feel threatened (tapirs, that is, not Sir David, though I honestly can't be sure about the latter).

I'll post a movie of the monkey-tapir interaction when I get around to it.

State Capitol #30

About a year ago, I visited my 30th state capitol (Carson City, Nevada). Unless something truly unexpected occurs, 2008 will pass by as the first year since 2004, when my capitol quest began, in which I did not visit a state capitol I hadn't visited before, though, to be fair, I did visit the national legislature in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Below is a map of my quest thus far. The states in which I completed the capitol visit ritual (i.e., doing a little dance on the capitol steps, getting a GPS lock, taking appropriate photos) are colored blue. The green states are those in which I have visited the capital city but not actually taken care of business, as it were. Photos of the 30 state capitols (plus one Canadian provincial legislature building) are up on the web album.


Here are some highlights:

My personal favorite overall: Madison, Wisconsin (capitol visit #20). The capitol is the center of downtown, on the isthmus between Lakes Mendota and Monona.

Assorted capitol tales:

• In Topeka, Kansas (capitol visit #22), the capitol tour takes you all the way to the top of the dome. I highly recommend it.
• The state house in Annapolis, Maryland (capitol visit #7) served as the Federal capital for a time.
• In Tallahassee, Florida (capitol visit #25), the new capitol complex was built around the Classical-style old capitol. The old capitol is now a museum.
  
• In Carson City, Nevada (capitol visit #30), the state legislature doesn't meet in the capitol building. Only the executive branch uses the capitol.
  
• Only five state capital cities are not directly served by the Interstate highway system (and no, Honolulu is not among them):
• Dover, Delaware (capitol visit #8)
  
• Carson City, Nevada (capitol visit #30)
• Jefferson City, Missouri
  
• Pierre, South Dakota
• Juneau, Alaska
• When I visited Montgomery, Alabama (capitol visit #26), I couldn't go inside: it was closed for Jefferson Davis Day, a state holiday.
  
• There is a statue of Abraham Lincoln on the capitol grounds not in his hometown of Springfield, Illinois (capitol visit #3), but in Charleston, West Virginia (capitol visit #19). Lincoln signed the enabling act admitting West Virginia to the Union on December 31, 1862.
• Finally, should you visit the capitol in Montpelier, Vermont (capitol visit #13), remember that the mugs outside the chamber are personal property of legislators and not for public use:

Of coastlines and cervids

I went to a conference in Seaside, Oregon earlier this month, and I was fortunate to have an afternoon off to explore the Oregon coast. That alone would have been sufficiently awesome, but, as if to increase to the sweetness to unbelievable levels, I encountered some elk in the early phases of the rut. The bulls were bugling and sort of circling a group of cows, but the bulls seemed to still be tolerating each other. Elk bugling is surely one of the most distinctive and awesomely weird sounds in nature.

Oregon Coast photos, including scenery, elk, and tidepool critters, are up in the web album.

In other news, the whitetail deer here in Cook County are gearing up for the rut and for winter. They're increasingly fearless - I must have seen a dozen individuals (including the fine specimen at right) along the North Branch bike trail last weekend, chowing down in broad daylight, mere steps away from the busy trail. I also saw three individuals in a residential neighborhood in Evanston yesterday, two blocks from the Northwestern campus: one spike buck, one mature buck, and a doe.

Loon Awesomeness

I experimented with taking photos through my spotting scope this July during a visit to Eric Z's lake place in northeast Wisconsin. I got some good results courtesy of a cooperative loon. See the album at Loon Awesomeness.

More thermite on a frozen lake

This time, we ignited three pounds of thermite on the frozen lake.