Solder in the Bay

Summer of ground squirrels

2012-02-14T21:01:00.000-06:00

By all accounts, the summer of 2010 was a good one (though I waited until January 2012 to finish writing about it). My favorite count, though, is the number of species of ground squirrels I saw this summer: at least seven. I had the good fortune to travel to a number of places with new and different non-arboreal scurids this summer.

Why bother studying ground squirrels? The best reason is that they're adorable. The second-best reason is that their numbers and habits make them among the most readily observed mammals in North America. I could spend my whole vacation in a blind waiting for a monkey-faced disco hawk or some other rare bird or mammal to come into view for a few seconds, or I could take a short walk along a talus pile on a sunny day and see who pops up. I took all the pictures below with my Canon Powershot SX110 IS, a nice but not terribly expensive point-and-shoot with a 10x optical zoom.

1. California ground squirrel, Otospermophilus beecheyi

Lisa and I saw this little fella, formerly known as Spermophilus b., on a bay-front walking path in Alameda, California.

2. Golden-mantled ground squirrel, Callospermophilus lateralis

This handsome rodent, formerly called Spermophilus l., superficially resembles a chipmunk, but is distinct in that chipmunks' stripes extend onto the face. This guy was scampering among the rocks at a Donner Pass Road overlook in Nevada County, California, near the famous Donner Summit Bridge. The American Society of Mammologists species account describes its running gait as "clumsy" (ASM Report #440, Spermophilus lateralis, 1993), which seems unnecessarily harsh. Perhaps the authors had observed only pubescent ground squirrels going through that awkward phase - want to make fun of their cracking voices and acne, too? Not cool, mammologists.

We also saw a yellow-bellied marmot there; my mother-in-law almost ran it over (unintentionally), but he safely scampered away.

3. Belding's ground squirrel, Urocitellus beldingi

Despite appearances, this guy is not a prairie dog. Formerly known as Spermophilus b. (noticing a pattern here?), this squirrel hangs out in alpine meadows. His habit of standing bolt upright to watch for danger led early settlers to call him the "picket pin". There was a small colony of these guys in the summit resort area at Squaw Peak.

4. Yellow-bellied marmot, Marmota flaviventris

Mr. Chubby-Cheeks here was seen hiding in a landscaped rockpile next to the hot tub at the Squaw Valley summit resort area. Lisa pointed out that some of the teenagers in and around the hot tub probably thought I was being creepy, hanging around with a camera in hand. I don't care - this picture was worth it. Click to enlarge it - you can see the marmot's nose hairs!

5. Chipmunk, Tamias sp.

This handsome rodent was spotted on a talus pile at a Lake Tahoe overlook and could be one of three species:
Tamias amoenus - Yellow-pine Chipmunk
Tamias speciosus - Lodgepole chipmunk
Tamias quadrimaculatus - Long-eared Chipmunk

6. Thirteen-lined ground squirrel, Ictidomys tridecemlineatus

This many-striped ground squirrel was known as Spermophilus t. prior to taxonomic revision. Lisa and I saw this individual feeding on some spilled popcorn on the central mall at Brookfield Zoo, in the Chicago suburbs. Nothing like a good stretch while eating unpopped kernels of salty goodness, eh?

7. Woodchuck, Marmota monax

I saw this chunky 'chuck at a family friend's place in Waukesha County, Wisconsin, on Labor Day. I think he safely sneaks under the radar as the last official ground squirrel of the summer. In some parts of the country, it's socially acceptable to call this animal a "whistle-pig", which is awesome.

View Summer of Ground Squirrels in a larger map

My identifications were assisted by:

Squirrels of the West. by Tamara Hartson (Lone Pine Publishing, 1999). I stumbled across this book in a Forest Service visitor center and instantly knew I had struck gold. I also recently acquired Squirrels of North America by Tamara Eder, who apparently is the same person.
San Francisco State University - Sierra Nevada Field Campus species list
National Audubon Society Pocket Guide - Familiar Mammals of North America
American Society of Mammologists species accounts (#221, #440, and others); some of them are freely available

BWCA 2011: Day 3

2011-08-10T23:03:00.000-05:00

Boundary Waters Adventure with Lisa, Eric Z., Jessica H., and Kate S.

August 8-12, 2011

Day 3 - Back to Day 2 - On to Day 4

By dawn Lac La Croix had calmed from whitecaps to millpond. We had breakfast on the rocky point by the campsite and broke camp. We were sad to leave the site, but we could not in good conscience ask our hosts to share their site with us another night, so it was time to set sail in search of a new home.

Sunrise on Lac La Croix

Breakfast on the point

The first order of business was to find a campsite. We found an open site further north on Lac La Croix. It looked perfectly serviceable, but since it was before noon, we decided to look for another site, one that would be on a point more exposed to wind, such that it would keep the mosquitoes down. We posted Eric and Lisa with one canoe and a few bags as guards at the first site, and Kate, Jess, and I grabbed some other gear and went to check out the alternate site. We found the alternate site guarded by turtles but otherwise unoccupied. We set up some a tent to call dibs on the alternate site and went back to the first to give Eric and Lisa the good news.

Turtles guard the entrance to the bay on which we camped

With our new home established, we grabbed the day bags and went out looking for adventure. There are several well known sets of pictographs on a cliff face on the Canadian side of Lac La Croix. We spent a long time admiring them from the water, and then stopped to to have a snack.

Approaching the pictographs on Lac La Croix

We happened to encounter our Tuesday night campsite hosts at the pictographs. They graciously took a picture of all of us, and conscientiously returned the air mattress repair cement that Jess had lent them. We made a leisurely return to our campsite. I fished a bit (unsuccessfully) but saw a cool frog.

Some members of the party found other forms of amusement.

Then there was dinner, listening to loons, and bed.

Evening on the bay

Back to Day 2 - On to Day 4

BWCA 2011: Day 2

2011-08-09T23:02:00.000-05:00

Boundary Waters Adventure with Lisa, Eric Z., Jessica H., and Kate S.
August 8-12, 2011

Day 2 - Back to Day 1 - On to Day 3

I woke up just after dawn, watched the sunrise, and fished a bit.

Sunrise on Lake Agnes

Then I went back to sleep for about two hours.

When I got up - for realsies this time - the rest of the crew was having breakfast.

As I was taking down our tent, out of view of the lake, I heard a yelp and a splash. I ran to investigate and found Lisa, fully dressed in her jacket and rain gear, in the water on her hands and knees. She had been trying to rinse off her camp shoes when she slid down the rock into the water.I was tremendously relieved when I saw her stand and I knew she wasn't hurt, but my heart sank when she tried to stand and walk back to shore only to slip and splash again - the rock shelf that extended from our campsite into the water was just too slippery. Finally, Jess, Kate, Eric, and I formed a human chain extending from an area we could get a solid footing down into the water, and with a fallen branch to provide extra reach, we gave Lisa a solid handhold and she was able to make it to shore. Her arms and legs were soaked, but, critically, the core of her body was dry, and she decided a change of clothes would be unnecessary. Even more importantly, she was still smiling. Soon we were underway, heading north to Lac La Croix, along the Canadian border.

On Day One, Lisa and I were in one canoe and Eric, Jess, and Kate were in the other (the middle person in the three-person canoe did not paddle). For the sake of variety, and to share time in the non-paddling seat, we rearranged seating for Day Two: Eric and I were in one canoe, and Lisa, Kate, and Jess were in the other.

My journal entry for the day begins:

Awoke Tues am on L. Agnes. Broke camp in intermittent light shower. Paddled north to Boulder R., at north end of L. Agnes. Paddled/poled thru rocky section marked as "rapids" on Fisher map. No rapids per se, just big rocks with narrow channel between. Then two portages (23 rod and 69 rod) into Boulder Bay on Lac La Croix. Capsized the canoe while putting into Boulder Bay. All main packs fine - they floated - but day pack got wet. NOAA weather radio inoperable. Emptied canoe, repacked, and paddled across bay to an empty campsite to use the "biffy".

Rapids along Boulder River. I never get tired of scenes of water flowing over rocks.

Eric and I shook off the embarrassment of capsizing the canoe - in full view of the ladies! - while loading it. I was pretty peeved that the weather radio got dunked, but I had no one but myself to blame - inexplicably, I had stuffed it into a very non-waterproof day pack rather than a dry bag that morning. I should have taken it apart immediately to allow all the water to escape, but I didn't do so until we made camp that afternoon.

As we paddled out of Boulder Bay, it started to rain off and on. I think everyone's extremities were wet by this point, so we didn't mind too much. Critically, everyone's core was dry; otherwise, we would have stopped immediately. Still, I was really, really happy that, on a whim, I had decided to treat myself to a pair of neoprene paddling gloves when we made our last stop at the gear shop in Ely.

As we turned the bows of our canoes back toward Lac La Croix, the wind picked up. My journal entry continues:

North wind – which had been blowing all day – got stronger.Also rained on and off. Paddled along west edge of peninsula separating BoulderBay from Tiger Bay, straight into the wind. Then turned east to cross to a campsiteon a boomerang-shaped island we had heard was good. Waveshitting beam of canoe made for unpleasant ride. As we approached, saw that thesite was apparently occupied by just one man with no gear. Waited a moment tosee if he showed any signs of leaving, but we couldn’t linger as lake was gettingrougher. Decided to cross channel to another island with sitesat N and S ends. As we approached, saw that this other site was also occupied. North wind stronger and lakerougher, so beached on sandy beach just N of second site – out of wind in cove – toregroup.

After resting a moment, we decided to paddle into the lee of the island we had landed upon and check another potential campsite (in the BWCA, camping is permitted only in designated sites with a Forest Service pit toilet and fire ring). When we rounded the southern tip of the island, we saw another party waiting out the wind in the lee, and shortly thereafter we found the hoped-for campsite occupied. We decided to cross the open channel back to the boomerang-shaped island and look for a campsite in that area.

Paddled back to S tip of island with intention of making abreak to easternmost end of boomerang-shaped island. Crossing very rough.I steered one canoe (Eric in front), Kate steered the other (Jess in front,Lisa in middle). North wind now very strong and lake very rough. Taking waveson beam could have swamped or even capsized a canoe. Decided to paddle straightinto wind and waves for a bit, then turn sharply to go south toward boomerang island with quartering/following waves. Used lots of rudder tokeep canoe from being turned parallel to the waves. Took on water splashingover bow when moving upwind. Finally reached lee of boomerang-shaped island, alittle rattled by the crossing.

At this point I became convinced that Boreas, the North Wind, was out to get us personally. Perhaps the Her Majesty's government had summoned the wind to keep us away from Canadian territory on the other side of the lake.

Decided to go talk to the lone dude on point ofthe boomerang-shaped island to see what his plans were. Sent Jess to hike around islandto be our diplomat. Too rough to leave lee of island in canoes without goodcause. Jess returned some time later with the news that the site was occupied bya father and son that had set up base camp there and were planning to stay afew days, but that they would share the site with us if we could find no other– "come back if you can’t find anything else," they said. This would be ok per BWCA regssince there would be only seven people and three canoes all together [in the BWCA, a maximum of nine people and four canoes may travel or camp together]. Decided to checka few other sites. Decided to send Kate & Jess to check two sites onbigger island to E, since that area was mostly out of the wind. The returnedwithin three minutes, so we immediately knew the sites were occupied. In fact therewere so informed by a passing canoe so they didn’t bother to check. With this news, and the wind strong as ever,we decided to prevail upon the kindness of the duo on the boomerang-shaped island. We lined/walked thecanoes around the windward side of the island.

Walking the canoe into camp

Once we had introduced ourselves to the father and son and thanked them for accommodating us, we set up tents and clotheslines and set our wet gear out to dry.

Boreas, the North Wind, toyed with us while looking for a campsite on Lac La Croix. We walked/lined the canoes from east to west on the north shore of the boomerang-shaped island.

The clouds broke up and the sun warmed our faces and, with the still-strong wind, quickly dried our gear. We filtered water, had some snacks, and gradually discovered that we occupied what was probably the most beautiful campsite on the lake.

Looking north from our campsite toward evening

We discovered that, as a teenager, the father had gone on a Boundary Waters trip with the same summer camp that Kate had attended and later guided for. He also mentioned that before the previous evening's rain, the fly-fishing action for smallmouth bass on Lac La Croix had been outstanding. I had quit fishing on Lake Agnes earlier on that evening and, if the theories of the influence of barometric pressure on fish behavior are to be believed, missed the bite: Micropterus dolomieu 1, me 0. But as we watched the sun set and the stars appear over the rocky point at the edge of our campsite, I didn't mind too much.

Sunset on Lac La Croix

Back to Day 1 - On to Day 3

BWCA 2011: Day 1

2011-08-08T22:46:00.020-05:00

Boundary Waters Adventure with Eric Z., Jessica H., and Kate S.

August 8-12, 2011

Following last year's adventure, Lisa joined the crew for another Boundary Waters trip. We began our Minnesota adventure with a quick visit with Lisa's parents and friends in the Twin Cities. The trip started auspiciously with a meal at the world 's largest Culver's restaurant, in Edgerton, Wisconsin.

While Lisa and I were heading north from the Cities, Eric and Jess were passing through Duluth, where they made another pilgrimage to the Duluth Pack store and caught a view of the famous Aerial Bridge opening to accommodate an ore boat entering the harbor.

We all converged on Ely around dinnertime, meeting up with Kate who was already in town. We enjoyed a pre-trip feast and then got down to a frenzy of packing.

Day 1 - on to Day 2

We left Ely about 9:15 am and headed northwest on Echo Trail to BWCA Entry Point #16, Moose River North. The entry parking lot was packed, and a few small groups were entering and leaving the BWCA as we readied our gear.

It was a 160 rod (half-mile) portage from the parking area to the put-in. The weather was partly sunny and about 75 degrees. There was a sandy beach area at the put-in, nice for loading canoes. Just upstream (south) of the put-in, the river flowed through a rocky stretch. During high water, this was probably a rapids or small falls; in August, it was mostly rocks with a small stream gently flowing through. From the put-in north, we found the Moose River to be a slow-moving stream through a swampy lowland. The tannin-stained water was bordered by willows and other low brush.

The Moose River put-in

Downstream from the put-in, the Moose River was punctuated by a few small rapids and one old, very large beaver dam. We made short work of the 20 and 25 rod portages around these obstructions. Further downstream, we encountered two more beaver dams. We simply dragged the canoes over these. A third dam had been breached by flood or other activity, allowing us to paddle straight through. The Moose River emptied into Nina Moose Lake, and we paddled straight across Nina Moose Lake to its outlet, the Nina Moose River. We stopped for lunch at a small sand beach just west of the outlet. As we were crossing Nina Moose Lake, a south wind picked up. Maneuvering the canoes in the following waves got to be a little tricky.

Lunchtime on Nina Moose Lake

After lunch, we proceeded north along the Nina Moose River. Two small rapids - really just rocks, with very little water trickling among them - interrupted our paddling with 70 and 96 rod portages, respectively. We also dragged our canoes over another beaver dam. We saw a whitetail deer in the brush, a bit back from the water. This was to be the only large mammal we saw on the trip. The Nina Moose River seemed to go on for a long, long time. We had to push or pole the canoes through several shallow reaches. Finally, we reached Lake Agnes, where we planned to spend the night.

We grabbed the first open campsite on Lake Agnes, at the southwest end of the lake, just north of the mouth of the Nina Moose River. We had heard distant rumblings of thunder, so we set up camp quickly. The storm never passed near us, but we were treated to a rainbow over the north end of the lake anyway. We also discovered that some previous occupant of the campsite had assembled a rock windscreen around the Forest Service fire grate and fashioned a table out of some fairly substantial rocks. "Improvements" such as these are officially discouraged by the Forest Service; while we wouldn't build improvements ourselves, we had no qualms about taking advantage of someone else's handiwork.

Campsite on Lake Agnes

While setting up the tents on a grassy patch set back from the lake and our cooking area, we noticed that our footfalls made an odd hollow sound. We stomped around for a while and became convinced that the possible void beneath us posed no threat. Sure enough, we would sleep soundly atop this geological oddity.

We spent the remaining hours of daylight preparing dinner and defending it from the local ground squirrels. In keeping with tradition, our first evening's meal was the steaks that had been thawing in our food pack while we were paddling. Fry bread rounded out the meal.

First night's dinner: steak and fry bread

Toward evening, I made a few casts with the Scum Frog Tiny Toad. I fish with surface lures - floating plugs, poppers, sliders, dry flies - whenever possible, and it seemed to make sense to do my initial prospecting with a weedless floating lure, but I didn't get any strikes. Finally, just after sunset, we went to bed.

On to Day 2

45 N, 90 W

2011-02-03T19:35:00.000-06:00

GPS dorks (e.g., yours truly) think it's cool to visit points on the surface of the earth where imaginary lines of latitude and longitude intersect. These points are called "confluences" to make them sound more awesome.

It should be noted that latitudes are a lot less arbitrary than longitude: the latitude of a given point corresponds directly to the elevation angle of the North Star above the horizon at that point; the locus of points at which this elevation is a given number is a circle around the earth.

That's why crossing the 45th parallel is neat- you're halfway between the Equator and the North Pole. Of course, if you started from 42°N, as I did, it's less exciting. However, during the summer, those three degrees of latitude mean noticeably more daylight. This is important for one of two reasons: 1) like a reptile, I need to bask; or 2) like Kal-El, the last son of Krypton, I gain my powers from the Earth's yellow sun. Believe whichever of those you like.

I'm not the only one who thinks this is cool. The park district of Marathon County, Wisconsin, put up a sign on the confluence of 45°N and 90°W. According to the writeup at RoadsideAmerica.com, the very existence of this monument is the culmination of one man's personal quest.

It's worth noting that the marker was probably placed without benefit of GPS. Geographic nerdosity existed long before (artificial) satellites could tell us anything useful. GPS just helped. A lot.

Coordinates: (surprise!) 45°N, 90°W. There's a signed access road from Highway 29.

I visited the site and took this picture over five years ago. The current winter wonderland reminded me of stomping around in the snow to find the marker.

Sleepy badger

2010-11-20T21:20:00.001-06:00

Look at him, he's probably dreaming about mauling prairie dogs.

Sleep well, my ill-tempered friend.

Seen a while ago at the NEW Zoo, near Green Bay, Wisconsin.

Terrible ideas

2010-11-20T20:46:00.002-06:00

I'm looking for an artist to flesh out my concept for a children's show. It's a carnivorous South American catfish with a never-say-die attitude: The Can-Do Candirú!

Likewise, I want to write and illustrate a children's book on animal tracks and signs. It will be called Which Species Made These Feces?

I have a business plan for a drive-thru restaurant for vultures: The Carrion Carry-Out.

I want to print bumper stickers with this slogan: Fortune Favors The Bold, But Inertia Favors The Lazy.

Bears and minivans: a love story

2010-11-14T14:50:00.003-06:00

Bears love minivans. I stumbled across a recent (2009) paper in the Journal of Mammalogy which demonstrates this scientific fact:

ABSTRACT: Black bears (Ursus americanus) forage selectively in natural environments. To determine if bears also forage selectively for anthropogenic resources we analyzed data on vehicles broken into by bears from Yosemite National Park, California. We classified vehicles into 9 categories based on their make and model and collected data on use (2001–2007) and availability (2004–2005). From 2001 to 2007 bears broke into 908 vehicles at the following rates: minivan (26.0%), sport–utility vehicle (22.5%), small car (17.1%), sedan (13.7%), truck (11.9%), van (4.2%), sports car (1.7%), coupe (1.7%), and station wagon (1.4%). Only use of minivans (29%) during 2004–2005 was significantly higher than expected (7%). We discuss several competing hypotheses about why bears selected minivans.

Basically, the authors looked at the National Park Service database of bear vehicle break-ins in Yosemite Valley from 2001 to 2007 and broke down the data by the bruins' choice of vehicle type for each nocturnal breaking-and-entering session. Even though minivans represented only 7% of the vehicles parked overnight in Yosemite Valley, an astounding 28% of all ursine vehicular incursions were directed against minivans.

Read the article for yourself (not sure how long this link will persist.)

Why do bears love minivans so much? Is it the comfortable bucket seats, the generous cargo area, the convenient sliding doors, the "not great but really pretty ok for a big car" gas mileage? It is well known that bears enjoy all things automotive: outside Denver, a bear broke into a car, put it in gear, and crashed it into a tree. The car was a total loss. Back to minivans, though, it turns out that the convenient sliding doors and adjustable seats are part of the allure. One of the authors was quoted in a San Francisco Chronicle article on the study as saying that bears pry open the doors, tear out back seats, and pop open windows (rear side windows are apparently their favorite entry route) in their quest for people food stashed in minivans. Do the bruins favor vehicles with Stow-N-Go seating for easy removal of back seats? The results are unclear, but my thought experiments strongly indicates the answer may be yes.

In the end, the answer comes down to children. Not that the children are themselves food for the bears (really, only witches regularly consume children, though the occasional ghoul will take a child in opportunistic feeding situations), but insofar as minivans are likely to be used to transport children, who grind Goldfish dust soaked with Capri Sun into the upholstery. No matter how fastidious the grown-ups are about not leaving food in the van, the atomized food particles in the seats are sufficiently odorous to compel a passing bear to break and enter in hopes of scoring a pawful of Cheerios and a Sunny D chaser.

Sounds like folks across the Pacific are no better off. According to several reports, bear attacks are on the rise in Japan. Are Japanese bears smaller and more efficient maulers? That's unclear, but the Land of the Rising Sun has a storied history of bear attacks. The man-eater was probably just frustrated because minivans wouldn't be invented for another 70 years or so.

Reference:

Stewart W. Breck, Nathan Lance, and Victoria Seher. (2009). "Selective foraging for anthropogenic resources by black bears: Minivans in Yosemite National Park". Journal of Mammalogy 90(5):1041–1044.

Clean for half a decade

2010-11-12T20:53:00.001-06:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I have been clean for half a decade. I haven't had a Mountain Dew since October 30, 2005. I miss it every day. I have dreams about the golden nectar of sugar and caffeine. Having an addiction means being an addict for the rest of your days.

Picture stolen from Wikipedia

You see, Mountain Dew, it's not you - it's me. You got me through high school and college, and even into my first years of work. I remember driving to and from Arkansas to go fishing with my co-workers - for many hours in the car, you and beef jerky as my only companions. Remember that ridiculous rental car? Good times. When I went to the two-week bridge inspection training class, you were with me. One 20-ounce bottle at the beginning of class in the morning, and another one to ward off the post-lunch food coma. I'll never forget that, but you have to see that things are different now. I'm pretty sure that while I was working on my mechatronics project in college, I easily drank six Dews in a 24-hour period several days in a row. More than once, I had a bottle of Code Red Mountain Dew and a cold Pop-Tart for dinner on the way to the mechatronics lab. Same with my computer engineering senior capstone - especially since the vending machines in the main engineering building dispensed both original and Code Red in one-liter bottles. These are all treasured memories, but you and I have drifted apart, Mountain Dew. You have too much sugar, and your acids attack the enamel in my teeth. I wish I could say, "let's still be friends," but we both know it can never be. I wish you would tickle my innards again, but we'd only be kidding ourselves. Go on, Mountain Dew - don't wait for me. I really have a lot of "me" work to do. You're great. Really. Go find a nice teenager who will treat you right. You deserve it.

Habemus Papum

2010-11-05T19:36:00.004-05:00

My cousin Nancy has two sons. The older boy, Owen, attends a preschool hosted by the local Roman Catholic parish, where portraits of popes past and present are found on the wall. The younger boy, Joel, often accompanies Nancy on her trip to take Owen to school. As he toddles by each Successor to Peter, Joel likes to ask, "Who dat?" I like to imagine that the conversation goes something like this:

Joel:	Who dat?
Nancy:	That's John XXIII, dear. He was expected to be an insignificant stop-gap pope, but instead called the Second Vatican Council, which had far-reaching consequences felt yet today.
Joel:	Who dat?
Nancy:	Honey, that's Gregory XIII. He is best known for establishing the modern calendar in response to the increasing difference between the Julian calendar and the solar year, but also he founded many universities and supported the arts.
Joel:	Who dat?
Nancy:	My dear boy, that is Pius XI, remembered for his anti-Nazi encyclical Mit brennender Sorge, written in German, rather than the usual church Latin.
Joel:	Who dat?
Nancy:	My beloved son, that is Leo XIII. His encyclical Rerum Novarum was the first papal document addressing the conditions of the working class; it attacked both communism and unrestrained capitalism while affirming the right to private property.
Joel:	Who dat?
Nancy:	That's the water fountain, Joely. Your father's relatives in Wisconsin would call it a "bubbler."

So delighted is Joel with papal regalia that Nancy instituted a "Pontiff-fy My Son" contest on her blog. I had to give it a shot - if not because Lisa and I are the godparents of this would-be Bishop of Rome, then for the can of Old Bay seasoning promised to the winner.

My entry didn't win - it was bested by some very gifted Photoshop artists - but I stand by it:

Take heed, Pope Joel I: sic transit gloria mundi.

Flags: State of Nevada

2010-10-21T21:15:00.009-05:00

I'm in Reno for a conference, so this seems like an appropriate time to comment on Nevada's state flag. I like the choice of the cobalt blue field; it looks nice against the western sky and complements the national flag. In the corner is a logo (significantly, not the state seal, which is the vexillological kiss of death according to my state flag manifesto) with two sprigs of sagebrush (the state flower), a star, and a banner with the slogan, "Battle Born." The slogan is a reminder that Nevada joined the Union during the Civil War. The state's silver mines helped finance the Union Army. The flag loses some points by having the name of the state printed upon it - another state flag no-no - but overall I like it. It certainly looks like the flag of no other state.

The other symbols of the Silver State include some pretty awesome things. The state flower is sagebrush, as mentioned above, and its fragrance is unmistakable and delightfully refreshing.

Nevada has a remarkable state fossil: the ichthyosaur Shonisaurus, found near the ghost town of Berlin, was a 55-foot-long marine reptile from the late Triassic. This Mesozoic fish-eater is so totally sweet that it gave its name to a state park (Berlin-Ichthyosaur State Park) and a beer (Ichthyosaur IPA, from the Great Basin Brewing Company in Sparks/Reno).

When it comes to extant things aquatic, the Silver State does not disappoint. The official state fish is the Lahontan cutthroat trout, Oncorhynchus clarki henshawi, the largest subspecies of cutthroat trout. The Nevada Legislature describes its awesomeness and appropriateness:

The Lahontan Cutthroat Trout, a native trout found in 14 of the state's 17 counties, is adapted to habitats ranging from high mountain creeks and alpine lakes to warm, intermittent lowland streams and alkaline lakes where no other trout can live.

The Lahontan cutthroat narrowly escaped extinction due to overfishing and competition with introduced rainbow and lake trout. A relict population was found high in the mountains; through hatcheries, this population has reintroduced the species to some of its old habitats.

The state mammal (though the Legislature mistakenly calls it "the state animal") is the desert bighorn sheep, Ovis canadensis nelsoni a handsome beast with a smaller stature but wider horns than its Rocky Mountain cousin, O. canadensis canadensis, which coincidentally is the state mammal of Colorado (likewise, another subspecies of cutthroat trout is the state fish of Colorado). The state reptiles is the desert tortoise, Gopherus agassizii, a long-lived shellback found in the southern part of the state.

There are many other awesome things about the Silver State that I plan to write about later, so I'll stop here. One final note, though: the accepted local pronunciation is "Nuh-VAD-uh", not "Nuh-VAW-duh". Nevadans have publicly booed a sitting President on at least one occasion for deviation from the accepted local pronunciation of the state's name.

A former state archivist wrote on a Nevada State Library & Archives site that

Folks east of the Rocky Mountains defend saying “Nuh-VAW-duh” by claiming it’s the proper Spanish pronunciation. So why don’t they pronounce Florida, Texas, Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, and California by their Spanish pronunciations?

The state tourism office is so intent on settling this issue that they included pronunciation help on their promotional logo:

Ten things I love about Nebraska

2010-10-20T21:12:00.002-05:00

Nobody should write off the Great Plains as "flyover country." There's a lot of neat stuff to do, though I concede that it's a little bit spread out.

Here are ten of my favorite destinations in Nebraska, moving from east to west. Most of them are reasonably close to Interstate 80.

The Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha is a world-class institution. Among other things, it has the world's largest indoor habitat dome: desert at street level, "Kingdom of the Night" nocturnal critters exhibit in the basement. Like many zoos, they have a narrow-gauge tourist railroad running through the park - but this one is powered by a bona fide steam locomotive. Finally, I saw a monkey riding a tapir in the jungle exhibit, which rocked my world.

The Strategic Air & Space Museum (formerly known as the Strategic Air Command Museum), near Omaha. They have a B-36 and a B-52...in the same hangar. I was a bit rushed during my visit; I could have spent all day there.

The state capitol building in Lincoln is a significant piece of Art Deco architecture. It ranks with Baton Rouge and Honolulu as one of the most distinctive state capitol buildings (Huey Long essentially stole Nebraska's design for the capitol building in Baton Rouge. He was later shot in that very building, but that's another story). Nerds will enjoy the Classical-style floor mosaics of critters from the state's fossil record. Fiscal conservatives will appreciate that the building was paid off by the time it was completed - on time and under budget - thanks to pay-as-you-go financing.
The Nebraska Legislature which meets in the capitol is also remarkable. Nebraska is the only state in the Union with a unicameral legislature. Upon statehood in 1867, Nebraska had a typical bicameral legislature with a state House of Representatives and Senate. In 1934, however, the populace voted to amend the state constitution, dissolving the House and making the Senate the sole legislative body - largely as a Depression-era cost-saving measure. As if a single, more transparent legislative body wasn't fantastic enough, the legislature is completely nonpartisan! While legislators do have party affiliations, each of the 49 Senators effectively runs as an independent candidate and is expected to vote strictly based upon conscience and the will of the constituency rather than party platforms. Oh, and the constitution requires that they balance the budget before leaving each session. Yeah.
Fort Kearny Historic Site. This stopping point on the Overland Trail features a reconstruction of the stockade and blacksmith shop. To be sure that visitors are sufficiently confused, there's a similarly-named state recreation area to the north; also, the fort is spelled 'Kearny' while the county and nearby city are spelled 'Kearney'. Still worth a visit.

Pioneer Village. See "a history of man's progress" at this museum in Minden.

The UPRR Bailey Yard, the world's largest railroad classification yard, located in North Platte. There is a sweet double-decker observation tower (The Golden Spike Tower) from which to take in the action. You haven't lived until you've seen boxcars getting humped.

Chimney Rock National Historic Site. This needs no explanation to anyone who's played Oregon Trail. Somehow, the indigenous name for the pillar - The Elk Penis - never took off with Victorian-era settlers.

Scott's Bluff National Monument. Imagine traveling overland along the Platte River Road, heading west from the Missouri River over 400 miles of prairie. Then, out of nowhere, comes a giant freaking rock. ... Curiously, Scott's Bluff is slightly closer to the city of Gering than the city of Scottsbluff.

The Wildcat Hills area of the Panhandle is very beautiful.

Panorama Point. At 5410 feet above sea level, it's the highest point in the state. It's no towering peak - in fact, the "point" is a barely perceptible rise. However, it exemplifies the subtle beauty of the high plains. After Lisa and I returned to the car following the grueling summit trek, we were rewarded with the sight of wild pronghorn grazing nearby.

Honorable mentions go to the following places I have not personally visited but sound amazingly sweet:

Take a ride on the Fossil Freeway! This auto tour route (highlighted in red on my map) runs across the Nebraska Panhandle from the Colorado line north into the Black Hills country of southwestern South Dakota, with awesome science, nature, and culture destinations along the way. In Nebraska alone, you'll find (from south to north):
- The Wildcat Hills and Scott's Bluff, noted above
- Agate Fossil Beds National Monument, near Harrison, home to a great assemblage of Miocene fossils
- The Trailside Museum at Fort Robinson State Park, near Crawford
- Hudson-Meng Bison Bone Bed
- Toadstool Geologic Park, crazy rocks in the Nebraska National Forest, also near Harrison
Niobrara National Scenic River, near Valentine - according to the National Park Service, it is "not just the premier recreation river in Nebraska," but a "unique crossroads where many species of plants and animals coexist unlike anywhere else." Nearby Smith Falls State Park is home to the tallest waterfall in the state (at 63 feet high, it's no joke).
Ashfall Fossil Beds State Historical Park, near Royal - "The Pompeii of Prehistoric Animals" is maintained by the University of Nebraska-Lincoln as an active paleontological dig where all work goes on in full view of visitors. Truly, it is a living laboratory of giant dead things.
Carhenge, in Alliance, needs no explanation.
An enterprising family has turned a decommissioned Atlas E nuclear missile site near Kimball into a comfortable home - and it's for sale!. Tours available by appointment. Some lucky dude who got a tour has posted his photos of the site for the rest of us. Here's a video feature on the site from the Nebraska series "Next Exit".

On the map below, the ten sites I've visited are marked by blue pushpins, and the bonus sites are marked with green pushpins. The route Lisa and I took across the Cornhusker State a few years ago is marked in blue, and the Fossil Freeway in red - note that the routes overlap between Scottsbluff and Kimball.

View Ten Things I Love About Nebraska in a larger map

FULL DISCLOSURE: I am not on the payroll of the Nebraska Division of Travel and Tourism, but I am willing to be.

BWCA 2010: Aftermath

2010-10-13T22:07:00.003-05:00

A few post-canoe trip thoughts:

Our total distance traveled in the BWCA wilderness was about 26 miles. Of that, a little less than three miles consisted of portages. That's the one-way distance, not counting multiple trips on each portage. It was a bit underwhelming, then, to learn that our take-out was less than five miles (as the crow flies) from our put-in.
Our route was basically an arc centered between Wood Lake and Wind Lake with a radius of three miles, subtending an angle of about 300 degrees. Even though we were having an authentic wilderness experience - the only sign of civilization was the occasional airplane noise - we were never really that deep into the wilderness as the crow flies. It's worth mentioning, though, that we ain't crows - once you put a paddle in the water at the put-in, you're on your own. May it ever be so. We periodically checked our position against the Fifteen Minute Rule: if you can go 15 minutes without hearing anthropogenic sounds, you're in a truly special place. As often as not, places we visited passed the test.
The BWCA trip sometimes felt like Bizarro World on Opposite Day. We wore hiking boots while paddling and portaging, and accepted that our boots and wool socks would be wet basically all the time - and we kept our sandals dry for in-camp wear. Only on a canoe trip would one say, "Sure, let's go swimming - lemme go put on my boots."
Because our boots had been wet for a week, we tied them to the roof rack on Jessica's car for the ride home so they could dry out and hopefully not mildew. I guess it takes more than a roof rack's worth of soggy boots to get a second glance in downtown Ely.
I was pleasantly surprised with the comfort afforded by a the Duluth pack with tumpline (head strap). Granted, I wasn't expecting it to be cushy, but it got the job done without permanently deforming my spine.
I wish we had more time to spend in Ely after the trip. Next time, I want to check out the International Wolf Center, the North American Bear Center, the Dorothy Molter Museum, and eat at the Chocolate Moose Cafe. The Chocolate Moose is next door to the Piragis Northwoods Company store, a place where a boy and his credit card could get into a lot of trouble.
Finally, hoisting a canoe over your head for a portage is awesome. The key is to grunt while you do it.

BWCA 2010: Day 5

2010-10-01T18:47:00.020-05:00

Boundary Waters Adventure with Eric Z., Jessica H., and Kate S.
August 9-13, 2010

Day 5 - Back to Day 4

Thursday night was remarkably uncomfortable. The air was hot, humid, and dead calm - too hot to sleep. I also managed to make my bed on a set of rocks spaced at exactly the right intervals to render my ground pad completely useless. I didn't sleep well, but neither did Eric - I'm told that while I was asleep, I shifted far enough around the generously-sized tent to kick him repeatedly. Friday dawned cloudy and cooler, with a welcome breeze.

On our way out through the southeast arm of Wind Lake, we paddled past an area of storm damage from the Big Blowdown of July 4, 1999. This storm created an intense straight-line wind (up to 100 mph) called a derecho across a large area. According to the National Weather Service report, sixty people were injured by falling trees and other debris; twenty of those had to be evacuated by floatplane. Miraculously, no one was killed, but many portages were blocked, and people who were in the BWCA during the storm had considerable difficulty getting out.

Storm damage on Wind Lake

In fact, Kate was leading a group of high school girls on a BWCA trip when the storm hit. They didn't know the extent of the damage until later - of course, they had no way of knowing.

We made one last 175 rod portage from Wind Lake to Moose Lake. Powerboats are allowed on Moose, so to maximize our remaining wilderness time, we took a scenic detour around some islands away from the main channel. We noticed that vultures were circling nearby, but tried not to take that as an omen.

Portaging from Wind Lake to Moose Lake

We took out at the Moose Lake BWCA access (47.98893 N, 91.498210 W WGS84). We sat around for a while, waiting for our shuttle (Kate's mom), and eating our leftover gorp and Twizzlers. Yes, we carried Twizzlers around for five days. It was Jess and Kate's idea, and I'll defend their decision with all my strength.

One last portage up to the parking lot

With that, it was goodbye BWCA. We stopped for several hours at Kate's family friends' place on a lake just outside the wilderness area. These kind folks had a hot sauna ready for us; after several circuits of sweating in the sauna and jumping in the lake, I felt human again. We also had some fun goofing around the lake with a rowing shell (tippy as hell!), stand-up-paddle surfboard (weird at first, but fun!), and a bona fide lumberjack log-rolling competition log (really difficult to stand upon!). Then we returned the rental canoe to the outfitter, bought a six-pack of Dorothy Molter Root Beer, and headed to Kate's family's cabin for the night before we went home.

BWCA 2010: Day 4

2010-09-29T19:17:00.022-05:00

Boundary Waters Adventure with Eric Z., Jessica H., and Kate S.
August 9-13, 2010

Day 4 - Back to Day 3 - On to Day 5

We got up around 5:30 and paddled over to a marsh on the northeast arm of Wind Lake, where we hoped to see a moose having breakfast. We didn't see any moose, but we did see this:

Sunrise over Wind Lake

My journal entry from Thursday, 8/12:

Camp 3 again: island in Wind Lake
48.01343 N, 91.53202 W (WGS84), 1370'

Wx: clear overnight, mostly sunny in morning, rained for ~20 minutes at 3:30ish, now (5pm) partly sunny. Hot and humid. Mosquitoes not bad, though many biting flies now.

We got up early (~5:30 am) and paddled over to the marsh on the northeast arm of Wind Lake in hopes of finding a moose. No luck. I read somewhere that moose numbers in northeast Minnesota are declining.

Had a big pancake breakfast after morning paddle, then lazed around camp for a while. Then paddled around and explored the southwest arm of Wind Lake. Saw a raven and an osprey.

Osprey (Pandion haliaetus) on Wind Lake

We had stopped in the middle of the southwest arm to filter water when tragedy struck: Eric's bandanna, which had been loosely wrapped around his neck, blew away and landed on the water just out of reach. This was no ordinary bandanna - it was printed with a map of the Grand Canyon, where Eric had found it while rafting the Colorado many years ago. Heavily laden with years of trail memories, it sank into the abyss before we could rescue it. The paddling gods give, and the paddling gods take away. Don't cry too hard - as we passed through Ely on our way home, Eric bought a bandanna with a map of the BWCA on it. Sooner or later, he'll lose it in the Grand Canyon, and the circle of life will continue.

Around this time, we started to notice biting flies. They seemed to especially like feet and ankles; I don't think one ever bit me above the knee. They followed us as we were paddling around the lake, seemingly hiding under the canoe seats and coming out to bite when the air was calm. Back in camp, where we tended to wear sandals, they bit our feet mercilessly. Fortunately, I discovered that my thick wool socks would defeat them. I chose to commit the fashion crime of wearing sandals with socks hiked up as far as they would go rather than submit to the painful bites.

My journal entry continues:

Went to a group of four unnamed islands just southwest of our camp. Had lunch and took group photos on one of the larger islands ("Lunch Island", 48.01242 N, -91.53674 W, WGS84), then landed on others briefly just for sake of completeness.

Returned to camp and fished. Tried 1/4 oz chartreuse Rooster Tail and a small floating Rapala with no luck. Switched to fly rod on a whim (not terribly hopeful after getting skunked at Camp 2). Got huge hit on chartreuse #4 popper, just as on Indiana Lake on Monday. Fish hit next to a mostly submerged log. Landed a nice smallmouth bass.

Smooches for a smallmouth

Later landed two smaller bass. Might try fishing again after dinner; might use floating Rapala on spinning rod to avoid backcast issues as it gets dark.

Mostly clear now with puffy clouds (5pm). Chance for more showers in early evening, then showers and storms likely after midnight. Took down hammock after brief shower around 3:30pm and didn't put it back up.

I spent a good while in the afternoon sitting around camp watching the aspen leaves dance in the wind and the ground squirrels quarreling with each other in the underbrush.

As dusk approached, I grabbed my spinning rod to and tried some other spots on our island where overhanging vegetation would have made fly casting frustrating. Since it was clear that the bass were hitting surface lures, I tied on my Scum Frog Tiny Toad Popper in anticipation of some explosive topwater bassin'. I got several absolutely savage strikes, but I could never set the hook quite right. The package sternly instructed me to wait two seconds before setting the hook, but I still went to bed without landing a fish on the Tiny Toad. Oh well; guess I just need more practice.

That night we were treated to a spectacular sunset.

On to Day 5.

BWCA 2010: Day 3

2010-09-27T21:04:00.002-05:00

Boundary Waters Adventure with Eric Z., Jessica H., and Kate S.
August 9-13, 2010

Day 3 - Back to Day 2 - On to Day 4

My journal entry from Wednesday, 8/11:

Camp 3: island in Wind Lake
48.01343 N, 91.53202 W (WGS84), 1370'

Wx: rained approx 2-7 am last night (while we were at Camp 2 on Basswood Lake). Rain quit at breakfast time. A few sprinkles as we were paddling.Now (1pm) clouds with a few patches of blue. Sun out enough to dry some of our gear.

Drying the tent fly at Camp 3

Paddled back through Wind Bay (part of Basswood Lake) to portage to Wind Lake. 130 rod portage, not too bad (i.e., it was relatively flat). Nice beaver dam at east end of portage. Immediately began search for campsite. Wanted one on a point, to maximize breeze. First choice was C1662, occupied. Grabbed C1664; seems very nice. Broad flat area for tents. Deployed hammock. Will sleep in hammock if weather holds. Campsite has broad views to the east and south; beach area affords north view too - will look for aurora tonight, since solar activity is high and it might be visible. Broad view of sky, too - might look for Perseid meteors, since the shower is supposed to peak soon. Just relaxing around camp now. Will go explore lake later. Might go for night paddle, depending on weather. Plan to stay here two nights. Then one long portage to Moose Lake and exit on Friday.

The local fauna really started to cooperate on Day 3. An eagle frequented a snag across the channel from our camp and buzzed us several times. A family group of mergansers was hanging around, too. Loons were never far away, and one of them put on a show for us.

Mergansers (Mergus sp.) running across the water

Flapping display from a common loon (Gavia immer)

We also encountered some painted turtles (Chrysemys picta). One at first...

He seemed to say, "I'm a painted turtle - who the hell are you?"

...and then a full-blown turtle convention.

My personal beliefs require me to take pictures of turtles at every opportunity, so I was glad these shellbacks were cooperative.

Mr. Eagle, did you just get out of bed?

This unkempt-looking bald eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus) sat in a snag across the channel from the turtle convention. It's worth mentioning that the "eagle" cry at the opening of The Colbert Report actually belongs to the red-tailed hawk. This is probably because eagle vocalizations tend to seem very...undignified.

Another eagle frequented the area around our camp, so we heard a lot of the squeaky calls. It's a lucky day when eagle calls start to feel almost like a nuisance.

I did some fishing around our camp. I tried the spinning rod first. I tried a 1/4-oz chartreuse Rooster Tail spinner first. I put a wire leader on in case the lure attracted a northern pike or other toothy fish. I firmly believe that a chartreuse Rooster Tail of appropriate size will catch anything that swims. However, I had no luck - I just got snagged on the rocks a lot. I eventually switched a small floating Rapala, mostly because I had one and floating lures are fun to fish. Still no luck.

Kate and Jess went for a sunset paddle around our island. I thought about taking a canoe out too, but the attraction of my hammock was too strong.

Jess and Kate go for a paddle on Wind Lake at sunset

Since the overnight weather forecast was clear, I slept in the hammock again. In the warm, still evening, I enjoyed the air circulation afforded by the hammock as much as the absence of rocks in my back. It was too warm for a sleeping bag - I just folded it up and used it as a pillow. I wrote in my journal and then stared into the sky. Kate and Jess did a crossword puzzle in their tent. I helped a little bit, yelling out answers from the hammock when I could. Eric was audibly snoring in the other tent long before the rest of us fell asleep.

Even six weeks after the summer solstice, it stayed light late. Only the brightest celestial objects were visible before 9:30, even though the moon was new. Twilight is delightfully long at these latitudes. I was hoping to catch some of the Perseid meteor shower, and maybe even the northern lights - due to high solar activity, the weather office in Duluth had reported that the aurora might be visible while we were on trail. I decided not to stay up super late waiting for full darkness to take effect, so I didn't get the full show. Still, I saw several meteors - two were very bright and seemed to light up the whole sky for an instant. The mesh on my bug net is fine enough to block out the view of dimmer stars, so I occasionally poked my head through the entry zipper to get a full view of the sky, including the Milky Way.

On to Day 4.

BWCA 2010: Day 2

2010-09-24T21:38:00.003-05:00

Boundary Waters Adventure with Eric Z., Jessica H., and Kate S.
August 9-13, 2010

Day 2 - Back to Day 1 - On to Day 3

The plan for Day 2 was to find a campsite on or near the Wind Bay section of Basswood Lake. We could then explore the islands along the Canadian border. We broke camp on Indiana Lake, paused for a few minutes in the middle of the lake to filter water (filters don't need to be cleaned of sediment as often when water is drawn away from shore), and then landed to begin what we thought would be a short 15-rod (one rod is 16.5', so about 85 yards) portage to Wind Bay and Basswood Lake.

Our campsite on Indiana Lake

I expected to see Wind Bay just a few steps down the portage trail. Instead, I saw this:

This lovely terrain is called muskeg - and the path through it was a lot more than 15 rods long. My GPS trail shows that it was at least 35 rods. Normally, that would still be a delightfully short portage. However, without benefit of a good trail, it was not so much fun. No hills, though. My pet theory is that the map reflects an old stream configuration that has been changed by beavers. I can't prove it, though. For all I know, it was done by Elvis and ancient Egyptians.

My journal entry from Tuesday evening, August 10:

Camp 2 - Basswood Lake, east of Norway Island
48.03178 N, 91.57750 W (WGS84), 1317'
Wx: partly sunny, high 85ish. Showers & storms predicted for tonight.

Broke camp on Indiana Lake and got on the water around 9am. Very short paddle to portage to Wind Bay, part of Basswood Lake. Portage was supposed to be only 15 rods, but we think the map was out of date. Took long portage through muskeg instead. Nice and flat, though. Got on narrow back channel of Wind Bay. Very near the end of the portage, there was an active beaver dam. Paddled up to it and stood up in the bow of the canoe to peek over the dam. A beaver looked right back at me. It was swimming near the upstream side of the dam with its head out of the water. Didn't get a picture of the beaver, though. Black files were out and Eric wanted to move toward open water to avoid them. The pool behind the dam was a good 4' higher than Wind Bay.

Beaver dam on backwater of Wind Lake (48.01150 N, 91.58423 W)

Paddled through long, narrow passage to get to open part of Wind Bay. Lots of wild rice. Started looking for a campsite right away because of forecast chance of rain in afternoon. Tried island in Wind Bay and a few others - all occupied. Saw the first eagle of the trip on our way across Wind Bay.

We had camp set up by noon. Had lunch and then went exploring on Basswood. Paddled to Christmas Island and Cabin Island, just over the Canadian border. Saw an old ranger cabin on Cabin Island. We brought a flask of Scotch on our invasion of Canada, and we toasted the Her Majesty the Queen when we landed on Christmas Island.Took group photos using mini tripod. Also found a camp pot holder that somebody left behind - it's Kate's now.

The beachhead in our invasion of Canada (48.04501 N, 91.56791 W)

Our conquest of the Northland complete, we returned to camp to relax for a while before dinner. We then prepared our meal on the gravel beach, right near the water. This was nice because it was pretty and also kept food odors away from where we would sleep.

Paddled back from Canada and cooked dinner on the beach. Kate made stir-fry with red potatoes, onions, carrots, and "textured vegetable protein." Quite good. Dessert was brownies made in the frying pan. Tried fishing with bead-head diving fly and later a chartreuse popper, but no luck. Motorboats are allowed on Basswood - I wonder if the extra fishing pressure from motorized fishermen made a difference.

After dinner, we set to the nightly task of securing the food pack. After considerable effort, we strung a rope between two trees, only to find that, due to stretching of the rope, we couldn't raise the heavy food pack out of ursine reach. Jess said it first: "We've made a bear piñata."

We decided to follow Kate's preferred method of food storage when suitable trees are not available: wrapping the food pack in a tarp, tying pots and pans to it, and stashing it as far out of camp as possible. The idea is that any critters who disturb the food will knock the pans loose, scaring the nocturnal interloper and awakening us to keep 'em away. A bear-resistant food container would have been better, but oh well. Next time, I want to get the 60-liter airtight barrel from Recreational Barrel Works, which I learned about while trolling some BWCA message boards after the trip.

It started raining about 2 am. At one point it was raining hard enough that Eric got up to adjust the ground cloth. A little bit of water wicked through our tent floor near my feet, but not enough to really bother anyone. I think the rain quit around 7am. I was a little disappointed - I was really enjoyed the sound of the rain on the tent fly. Anyway, we were able to shake some of the water off our gear before we hit the trail again in the morning.

Rainy morning at Camp 2

The fun continued on Day 3.

BWCA 2010: Day 1

2010-09-22T23:12:00.009-05:00

Boundary Waters Adventure with Eric Z., Jessica H., and Kate S.

August 9-13, 2010

Day 1 - on to Day 2

Let me begin by saying that the most hard-core, balls-out, badass mountain man I know is a five-foot-nothing female schoolteacher. More on that later. The trip started with an e-mail from Eric:

The downside to having an active girlfriend is that they want to do all sorts of 'crazy' activities. Generally this is fine, they leave for a week while biking around Lake Michigan. But sometimes they say "I want to do something together... with you..."

That being said, Jessica and her work buddy Kate want to do a Boundary Waters adventure in early August. So here are my (our) questions....

I'm not sure I would have sent such a message as this to a distribution list that included the lady in my life. Still, plans were made, Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness permits were arranged, and on Monday morning, I stood next to this mud puddle with Kate, who teaches with Jessica, who is dating Eric, whom I have known since we were four years old.

Inauspicious put-in on Wood Lake (47.96688 N, 91.59706 W)

My very first step toward loading the canoe led to my sinking ankle-deep into the mud. This was just as well, since it forced me to accept that trying to keep one's feet dry during a portage is futile. Yay wool socks, though. (It is best to wear boots and just get wet during portages rather than wear sandals or water shoes and risk twisting an ankle on uneven ground.)

Our fortunes improved considerably as we pushed and paddled away from the muddy put-in. Soon we were in the middle of Wood Lake, where we saw our first loons and beaver lodges. Before portaging to Hula Lake, we took a break on a rock which we named "Snack Island" to allow the party in front of us to complete their portage.

Snack Island (47.991130 N, 91.590820 W)

My journal entry from Monday evening, August 9:

Camp 1: Indiana Lake, north shore
48.01637 N, 91.59566 W (WGS84), 1332' elevation.
Wx: sunny, high 85ish, calm/slight breeze

Put in at Wood Lake access point on Fernberg Rd east of Ely. 180 rod portage from parking lot to put-in - no easy start for us. I portaged one of the canoes. Yoke pretty comfortable, though shoulder muscles sore from arms reaching forward to balance canoe. Later carried Duluth pack with tumpline head stream. Not too bad. Put-in very muddy. Sank ankle deep in mud right away. Good initiation to BWCA - must accept that feet will get wet at every portage. I'm wearing old work boots with wool socks. Pretty comfortable, but they hold water for a long time. Stopped for a snack on a small rock island [GPS: Snack Is] before portage to Hula Lake. 40 rod portage. I portaged a canoe again. Fairly brief paddle through Hula Lake. Very hard - steep and rocky with several hills - 150 rod portage from Hula to Indiana Lake. Opted to go to Indiana versus Hoist Bay on Basswood Lake to avoid motorboat traffic and in hopes of getting a campsite earlier in the day. We ended up racing another group to grab the only open site on Indiana. We got a head start and they conceded gracefully. After all, it was they who declared that the race was on in the first place.

The portage from Hula to Indiana was rough, so I rested for a while on the far end before going back for a second trip (we had to make every portage twice to get the two canoes and all our stuff). I sat on a rock and filtered some water from the lake to make myself useful while I waited to stop panting. As I was filtering, Kate came down the trail and said "Jump in the boat - we're going to race to grab the campsite." I did as I was told; Kate and I threw whatever we had at the far end of the portage into one canoe and paddled off, leaving the other canoe and the rest of the gear for Eric and Jess. I felt a little dirty grabbing the campsite out from under this other party, but they declared that the race was on.

Campsite nice. Good view of lake, nice beach of cobblestone-sized or slightly larger rocks. Arrived maybe 2pm. Had late lunch of cheese, summer sausage, and crackers, then went fishing. Wet-waded right off campsite and casted parallel to shore. Started with #8 chartreuse Miss Prissy popper (used 5-6 wt. fly road with weight-forward floating line). Caught small smallmouth bass next to a downed tree on very first cast. Followed shortly by nice bluegill. Switched to larger chartreuse popper to attract bigger fish. Caught another smallish smallie, then caught really nice smallie. Great fun on light tackle (4x tippet). Jess took several pictures.

The smallmouth bass (Micropterus dolomieu) is pretty much the greatest game fish in North America. Especially when they're biting. More generally, though, I'd have to say that the greatest game fish on whatever continent is the one that's currently being caught by me...which, at that time, was this fish. Yeah.

Around this time, Kate spotted some moose poop. Apparently moose are able to, um, produce both "pellets" and "pies." Mercifully, these were pellets. I hoped this would mean we might see a moose in the evening or morning, but it was not to be. Nonetheless, I dutifully submitted a moose sign report with GPS coordinates to the Moose in Minnesota project upon my return.

My journal entry continues:

Forgot to mention - hooked small smallie near downed tree; fish wrapped tippet around tree branches. While wading out to unwrap the line, saw big fish in water not more than 6' from my legs. Looked like big smallie. Took many pics with waterproof point-and-shoot camera. We'll see if any come out. Big fish was fearless - it just stared at me. Small fish had unhooked itself by the time I unwrapped the tippet.

This good-sized smallmouth bass looked at me with contempt.

Soon, it was time to think about dinner. Best to eat early and get everything cleaned up - and to secure the food bag against any nocturnal visitors - before dusk, when the bugs come out.

Per canoe trip tradition, had good meal at first camp. Jess & Kate made steak and red potatoes. Steak had been marinated and frozen the night before, then thawed in pack all day. Cooked on the Forest Service fire grate at the site. I started the fire with my Swedish firesteel and some lint. Made a few casts after dinner and caught a decent smallie.

Steak on the first night - it's all downhill from here.

Then it was time to bed down. Nothing to do after dusk except feed the mosquitoes.

Found two trees a good distance apart, so set up hammock with bug nut. Weather forecast clear overnight, so decided to try to sleep in hammock rather than in tent. Writing inside the hammock-bug fortress now. Observed very few bugs while paddling or portaging today; few in camp untili sunset. Darkness took full effect around 9pm, and bugs came out in force. I can hear swarms of mosquitoes outside my bug net.

Hammock with bug net deployed at Camp 1

Loon just called loudly. Kind of creepy in the dark. I'm a little nervous about being able to fall asleep with all the unfamiliar nighttime noises. Probably will put in earplugs to silence mosquitoes outside, anyway. 10pm now. I'm not super tired, surprisingly. Pretty seriously dark. Few stars visible due to tree cover and some clouds/haze/fog. Aside from skeeters and a few cicadas, the only noise is the occasional fish jumping. Too quiet. Mind plays tricks with every little noise. Hoping I can fall asleep and stay asleep through the night.

I fell asleep reasonably quickly. I woke up every few hours, but didn't have too much trouble falling asleep. Sleeping out in the hammock was a life-changing experience. I've never been so comfortable while camping. It was almost a religious experience. Amidst the wilderness sounds, I heard a "still, small voice" (1 Kings 19:12) - and the voice said, "Dude, nice hammock." AMEN.

Sadly, in the morning, I discovered a chink in my hammock armor: my left elbow had been pressed against the bug net during the night, and the skeeters were able to feast upon it. Oops. I made a note to use a stick to ensure that the bug net was fully spread away from my body next time. Still, I regret nothing.

My left elbow was the local Old Country Buffet for winged bloodsuckers.

Throughout the first day of the trip, the four of us had been jokingly keeping track of Mountain Man Points, which could be earned by fitting deeds such as mighty canoe portaging, brave acts of water filtering, and wrestling bears while eating beef jerky. Kate was quieter than the rest of us as we reveled in our wilderness communion and rapidly deteriorating odors. I don't know her well, so I figured she was just being shy. Well, it turns out that Kate, who is from St. Paul, Minnesota, spent many summers canoeing and camping on increasingly adventurous trips with the St. Paul YMCA. Eventually, in college, she canoed and portaged 500 miles across the Canadian territory of Nunavut, from Kasba Lake on the border with Manitoba, to Hudson Bay. When we heard that, we just gave up on keeping track of Mountain Man Points - no way we could compete with that. Even Eric's extensive canoe-camping and backpacking experience and Jessica's insane bike trips seem less impressive by comparison. Kate didn't rub it in our faces, though. That's not how she rolls.

And so Monday came and went. Though the trip was only a day old, I could say one thing with confidence: this was better than going to work.

Early evening on Indiana Lake

On to Day 2...

Badger vs. Wolverine

2010-09-12T21:47:00.000-05:00

Forget "Pirates versus Ninjas." Let's talk about a long-anticipated duel of Pleistocene relicts¹. A civil war in the family Mustelidae. A clash of famously bad-tempered North Americans who lead bizarre triple lives as angry carnivores, official state mammals, and Big Ten mascots. Let's talk about badgers and wolverines.

My interest in badgers, particularly the American badger (Taxidea taxus), is well known to anyone who can stand to be in the same room as I am for more than fifteen minutes. On more than one occasion, I have identified myself to zookeepers as a "badger enthusiast." While Eurasian badgers (Meles meles) tend to be social, American badgers are infamously cranky. They can barely stand each other long enough to mate.

The wolverine (Gulo gulo) is one of those interesting critters that enjoys a circumpolar distribution - that is, they are found at similar latitudes throughout Eurasia and North America. While they superficially resemble bears, they are actually overgrown weasels. Wolverines are legendarily badass. Its scientific name means "glutton." They have been observed chasing grizzly bears away from a kill.

The badger and the wolverine are the represented in the state nickname, official state mammal, and university mascots of Wisconsin and Michigan, respectively. In both cases, the reason for the affinity has little to do with the animal itself. The name "badger" for a resident of Wisconsin comes from the early days of lead mining in the southern part of the state, when miners would spend the winter living inside their tunnels². The miners' fossorial habits led to their being known as "badgers." Michigan became known as the Wolverine State during the Toledo War³, a boundary dispute between Michigan and Ohio over the Maumee Valley. The Ohioans reacted to the Michiganders' attempt to usurp territory by proclaiming that "Michigan is as hungry for land as a wolverine is for flesh." While there are wild badgers in Wisconsin, there are very few records of wolverines in Michigan in historical times⁴, and these are believed to have wandered in from Canada or been released as exotic pets which have outgrown their welcomes.

Returning to the question at hand, the Smithsonian Institution's National Museum of Natural History may have the answer: in the battle of badger versus wolverine, the winner is...the musk ox?

With that issue settled, I can finally sleep at night. Animal mounts above seen at the NMNH Hall of Mammals.

¹ Relict refers to a "remnant of a formerly widespread species that persists in an isolated area (M-W)." For example, pika populations at low elevations in the Great Basin are relicts of a period of cooler climates.

² Miners in the lead districts of northern Illinois, by contrast, traveled up the rivers to the mines in the spring and back down the rivers in the fall, mirroring the migration of suckerfish. Illinois is sometimes known as "The Sucker State" as a result, though most Cheeseheads are content to call us "Illinoyances."

³ In the end, Ohio held on to Toledo and the Maumee Valley, and for some reason, Michigan got the Upper Peninsula as a consolation prize. No wonder the Yoopers feel ignored by the government in Lansing and occasionally talk of secession.

⁴ A wolverine was sighted in the "Thumb" of Lower Michigan in February 2004. It was tracked by a devoted high school science teacher for several years until it died of natural causes in March 2010. It is believed to have been a released exotic pet.

Marmots with hard hats!

2010-09-02T21:41:00.001-05:00

I saw this at an exhibitor's booth at the International Society of Explosives Engineers conference last winter and it pretty much blew my mind. I shouldn't have been too surprised, though - it is well established by the work of many eminent rodent biologists that the yellow-bellied marmot (Marmota flaviventris) is very safety-conscious. Hard hats and steel-toe work boots are the rule around the burrow. These marmots score points with Lisa for practicing good aural hygiene, too, as they're wearing earplugs with at least a 29 dB noise-reduction rating. Shouldn't they be wearing eye protection, though? And what about dust masks? Oh well, Rodent OSHA will let them off the hook, I'm sure, on account of their fuzzy-wuzzy marmot tummies. Just don't do it again, guys. Seriously.

In case you were wondering, the marmots are hawking products to improve performance of "stemming," the inert material (crushed rock 'n' stuff) used to backfill blasting boreholes after the explosives have been installed at the bottom of the hole. The stemming prevents the pressure from the explosion from simply being vented out the borehole.

Triple-bacon pizza

2010-08-23T22:24:00.002-05:00

Four years ago this week, Lisa and I honeymooned along Minnesota's North Shore.

We took a gondola (the kind that hangs from a cable, not the kind that's poled along by a singing Venetian) to the top of Moose Mountain, where we ate a triple-bacon pizza (bacon, Canadian bacon, and prosciutto) with a view of Lake Superior.

I seem to recall that it was Lisa's idea to get the triple bacon. Did I mention that I love that woman?

Coordinates: 47.65490°N, 90.72825°W (WGS84)

View Larger Map

Four More Years! Four More Years!

2010-08-20T10:37:00.023-05:00

Our wedding date is easy to remember: August 20, 2006 was two days after the premiere of Samuel L. Jackson's magnum opus, Snakes on a Plane. Since four years have passed since Mr. Jackson declared he'd had enough with the scaly aviators, here are four things I love about my bride:

1. Smiles at brew pubs.

On our road trip to Arizona last year, we stopped for dinner at the Bricktown Brewery in Oklahoma City. In spite of a long day in the car, Lisa was smiling and looked nice. Her profile picture on Creepy Social Networking Site is a snapshot I took there while we were waiting for our food.

2. Kind to tiny toads; able to spot small lizards.

We saw this tiny toad on a path in a park near Lisa's parents' place in the Twin Cities. Lisa thought it was neat, and provided her dainty foot as a scale for this picture of the thimble-sized anuran. Likewise, when we visited White Sands National Monument in southern New Mexico last year, Lisa spotted this bleached earless lizard (Holbrookia maculata ruthveni) - a tiny white lizard on white sand - from tens of feet away. That's a quarter next to the lizard in the photo.

3. Crazy hair.

When Lisa was a teenager, one of the little neighbor girls told her, "You must have eaten all your bread crusts when you were little." Puzzled, Lisa asked how these were related. The girl responded, "My mom told me that if I ate my bread crusts, I would get curly hair like yours." I'm glad Lisa ate her bread crusts.

4. Smells nice.

Really, what more could one ask?

Flags: State of Washington

2010-06-24T19:04:00.011-05:00

According to the rules laid out in the State Flag Manifesto, the flag of the state of Washington is just plain lame: it's the state seal (a portrait of ol' George) on a solid green field. I'm disappointed in you, Evergreen State. I know you can do better.

Still, my mother taught me that if one can't say anything nice, one should keep one's fool mouth shut (not exactly her words). Let's focus on the things I love about Washington State, starting with my fantastic visit to their state capitol. I had the better part of a day between my arrival in Seattle and the opening session of my conference, so I rented a car and drove down to Olympia. I parked and walked across the capitol campus to the capitol itself (they prefer to call it the "Legislative Building", though the governor's office is in there too). I had paused for a moment outside the side door to check if it was in fact the correct entrance for capitol tours when I heard a female voice behind me: "Can I help you find something?"

I mumbled something about looking for the capitol tour. She said I was in the right place, and just needed to go up the stairs. Then she said, "Hi, I'm Mary Selecky, the Secretary of Health." I introduced myself and told her I had never before met a cabinet-level official on one of my thirty-odd state capitol visits. She gave me a business card and posed for a picture as documentation of the encounter. I told her I was in town for an engineering conference. She said something along the lines of, sure, we like engineers; we employ some in the water office. I found the capitol tour and went on my merry way. I don't know anything about Ms. Selecky's credentials or politics, but I am pleased to report that she is Nice To State Capitol Visitors.

My favorite Washington state symbol is the official State Endemic Mammal. First of all, props to the state for designating an official endemic species - one that occurs nowhere else. It's likely that some other state symbols are also endemic (looking at you, Hawaii), but I'm not aware that any other state has the "official endemic" category of state symbol. The Evergreen State scores more points, though, because it's official endemic mammal is a totally sweet ground squirrel: the Olympic marmot, Marmota olympus. As the name suggests, it is found exclusively on the Olympic peninsula. I'm trying to remember if we saw any when we visited Olympic National Park when I was in high school. Better go back and check the family photo album.

There's a bunch of other neat stuff on the official list of Washington state symbols: the state fish (steelhead trout, the anadromous form of the rainbow trout), the state vegetable (the awesomely named Walla Walla sweet onion), and the state marine mammal (the orca, which has also given its name to the Puget Sound unified transit fare card - One Regional Card for All), to name a few. I even have to give the flag at the top of this entry a little break: that's one of the originally-sewn flags, now on display in the governor's reception room at the state capitol. Betsy Ross it ain't, but that's still a neat piece of history.

Flags: State of California

2010-06-20T22:09:00.002-05:00

Part II of the three states in three weeks series

When Lisa's brother moved to California for graduate school, I asked him if he would have to swear allegiance to the Bear Flag Republic. Apparently, the answer is yes. Now that he's finished his degree and is moving on, though, he says that they had his fingers crossed behind his back during the oath. Good news for him - that bear looks serious.

The Bear Flag was the symbol of the 1846 revolt of settlers in the old province of Alta California against the Mexican government. At right is a photograph of a reproduction of the original Bear Flag, on display in the museum at Alcatraz. The rebels attempted to form a government in Sonoma, but then the US Army showed up and asserted control of the area (the United States was at war with Mexico at the time, though the news had not reached Sonoma before the revolt was underway). California was admitted to the Union as the 31st state in 1850, having never been organized as a territory. The state seal includes an image of the Greek goddess Athena, who burst forth, fully formed, from the forehead of Zeus, as an allusion to their direct admission to the Union.

I'm a big fan of the Bear Flag, and it seems that Californians are too, displaying it proudly throughout the state. And why not? Bears mean business. Ironically, the same settlers who make the California grizzly (Ursus arctos californicus, also known as the California golden bear) the symbol of their rebellion, and later their state, later exterminated it. The last California grizzly was shot in 1922. Thus, California has the dubious distinction of being the only state in the Union (known to me, anyway) whose official state mammal is extinct.

California miscellany:

State Symbols at the California State Library
Flags over California at the California State Military Museum
More on the Bear Flag Revolt from the Museum of the City of San Francisco
Some dude's thoughts on reintroducing grizzly bears to California

Nice marmot.

2010-06-15T21:16:00.003-05:00

And also, let's not forget - let's not forget, Dude - that keeping wildlife, um, an amphibious rodent, for, um, you know, domestic...within the city - that ain't legal either.

Marmota flaviventris seen at Donner Pass, Nevada County, California.

Flags: Commonwealth of Pennsylvania

2010-06-09T16:26:00.006-05:00

Summer travel is here, and I'm going to try to write three posts about the flags of three different states I will visit within as many weeks. I'm currently sitting in a hotel room in Pennsylvania, the first of those three states. It is also one of the four states of the Union that officially are known as commonwealths. Score +5 nerd points if you can name the other three.

In my State Flag Manifesto, I wrote that 23 of the state flags are totally uninspired, being composed only of the vexillological cop-out of plopping the state seal on a color field. Lame. The Commonwealth of Pennsylvania dodges that bullet - although just barely - by putting its state coat of arms, rather than the seal, on a blue field. The state motto, found in the banner at the bottom of the coat of arms, is "Virtue, Liberty, and Independence." I think the motto ought to be "Our Flag Has Horsies On It." Speaking of state seals, though, the Seal of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania is - oddly enough - ringed with the words "Seal of the State of Pennsylvania." Maybe the Keystone State would be better nicknamed The Identity Crisis State.

Still, Pennsylvania has some excellent state symbols. The state fossil is Phacops rana, a species of everybody's favorite Paleozoic arthropod, the trilobite. Apparently its bulging eyes reminded someone of a frog's, leading to the specific name rana. The state fish is the brook trout, Salvelinus fontinalis, a fine-looking resident of the Keystone State's spring-fed streams. The identity crises continue insofar as S. fontinalis is actually a species of char, not a true trout - but it's close enough for government work.

Best of all Pennsylvania has two official state locomotives, both formerly operated by the Pennsylvania Railroad: the steam-powered K4s (a 4-6-2 locomotive used to pull passenger trains), and the electric GG1 Number 4859, which hauled freight and wartime troop trains. Makes me want to visit Steamtown National Historic Site in Scranton, where the National Park Service runs a locomotive shop, excursion trains, and other steam railroad nerdosity.

Finally, the Keystone State scores major points for the mosaics in the rotunda of the state capitol. Among other things are a turtle (looks like a common snapping turtle, Chelydra serpentina) and a skunk (probably a striped skunk, Mephitis mephitis). Win.

DPRK Donuts

2010-05-24T23:00:00.001-05:00

I had a dream the other night that I was on a flight to Japan - a regular, scheduled commercial aviation flight. We had engine trouble, though, and due to the reduction in thrust, we were diverted...to North Korea.

Either I was coming from somewhere in central Asia, or my subconscious has a poor grasp of geography.

Anyway, following a safe landing at an unnamed North Korean airport, the other passengers and I were allowed to roam around the terminal until an aircraft became available to take us the rest of the way to Japan. At this point, I discovered that there was a Dunkin' Donuts in the terminal. I invited a few other passengers to sample its fare with me. I called it DPRK Donuts, which my subconscious thought was hilarious.

The donuts were acceptable. Better, though, was the box, which was covered in propaganda. We folded it up to take home, barely stifling our laughter in front of the very serious-looking donut man.

I think I need professional help. With chocolate frosting and sprinkles.

233 S. Wacker

2010-03-17T22:14:00.010-05:00

This building has been in the news twice recently. The tallest building in the world from 1973 to 1998, and currently the tallest skyscraper in North America, the building formerly known as the Sears Tower was recently renamed for some holding company. Many Chicagoans will forever refer to it by its original and proper name. I don't want to live in the past, so I'll just call it 233 South Wacker Drive.

Less infuriatingly, four glass "skyboxes" which peek four feet outside the walls of the 103rd-floor observation deck were added in January 2009. I had a chance to hear one of the project engineers speak tonight. He began his presentation with a picture of Ferris Bueller and friends with their foreheads pressed up against the windows so they could look straight down. The purpose of adding the skyboxes was to enable users to to get Ferris's view without getting forehead prints on the glass. Now, glass-bottom observation ports on tall structures are nothing new - the CN tower has 'em, for example - but the skyboxes at 233 S. Wacker are unique in that (1) they have no steel in the sight lines, and (2) they are retractable. Amazing! The glass floor is hung from an overhead steel frame by the glass walls alone! And, AND, it was a design requirement that the skyboxes retract to be flush with the rest of the outer walls such that they wouldn't interfere with normal operation of the building's automated window washing equipment.

Here you can see the one of the boxes from another box. All four boxes are on the western wall of the building. The steel tubes from which the box hangs are plainly visible at the top of the box.

The boxes deliver on the promised straight-down Ferris Bueller view, as shown below. Those are my feet there, with nothing but three panes of glass and 103 stories of air between them and Wacker Drive.

Finally, just for fun, a picture of downtown (looking north) and a long-exposure shot of the view to the northwest, including traffic on the Kennedy Expressway.

Do not poke the rattlesnake

2010-02-21T17:10:00.001-06:00

In June 2005, I had a run-in with a snake at one of my favorite places: the dells of the Wolf River in Menominee County, Wisconsin. Slithering about on the billion-year-old Wolf River basalts was this fellow:

The snake then coiled up and began to shake its tail in the underbrush, making a rattling sound. This got my attention, and I took several steps back to establish and more respectful distance. For the next five years or so, I bragged to my friends that I had stared down a rattlesnake.

In a recent visit to the Henry Vilas Zoo in Madison, Wisconsin, I learned that there are two species of rattlesnake in Wisconsin, and neither occurs anywhere near Menominee County, highlighted in blue on the maps below (range maps photographed at the Vilas Zoo).

This was confusing - I heard the snake rattle! I was traveling Lisa and her parents, so I had to come up with an explanation quickly. The answer came from the kids' section of the Wisconsin Dept. of Natural Resources web site - that's right, the kids' section. Turns out there are at least two non-venomous Wisconsin snakes that twitch their tails in the leaf litter to imitate a rattlesnake: the fox snake (Elaphe vulpina, also known as the pine snake) and the rare bull snake (Pituophis melanoleucus). Humbled!

When I got home, I checked the WDNR's excellent pamphlet, Snakes of Wisconsin, and determined that the handsome reptile in question was in fact a fox snake. The orange head is the giveaway. I'm no biologist, but I think being slightly out of focus is also a characteristic of the species.

While I hadn't faced a hyper-venomous death-serpent, I still consider myself lucky to have experienced this encounter with the herpetofauna of the Badger State. Meanwhile, I'm pleased to announce that I recently did stare down a timber rattlesnake (Crotalus horridus)...

...but this one was behind glass at the Vilas Zoo's reptile house. I'll close with some helpful advice from the good folks at the zoo:

Prufrock

2010-01-27T22:34:00.001-06:00

Let us go then, you and I,
To a deluxe apartment in the sky.

-T.S. Eliot meets The Jeffersons

SD-FO ought to STFU

2010-01-21T21:33:00.002-06:00

The next person who mentions the terms "structurally deficient" or "functionally obsolete" in my hearing will be punched in the mouth.

From talking heads on cable news to engineers and policymakers who really ought to know better, misuse of these terms has been rampant since at least August 2007. Let's set things straight with a healthy dose of facts and the not-so-subtle threat of violence.

Structurally deficient (SD) means that load-carrying elements of the bridge have been rated as "poor" or worse (4 or below on the National Bridge Inspection Standards scale of 0-9, where nine is brand-new and zero means the bridge has fallen into the river) or that the waterway opening provided by the bridge is inadequate¹.

Functionally obsolete (FO) means the bridge is inadequate from the perspective of roadway geometry issues¹ (traffic capacity, roadway shoulder width, and approach sight lines, for example).

Let's examine the abuse of these terms in detail:

First, and most importantly, SD and FO are planning, not structural engineering, terms. They do not necessarily reflect the safety or serviceability of a bridge. Bridges designated as SD or FO get higher priority for repair and rehabilitation. As a consequence of this, it can actually be good for a county engineer to have a bridge designated SD or FO - state or federal money may then become available.

Structurally deficient is not a synonym for "unsafe" or "near collapse." Recall that the SD designation is based upon a load-carrying element being rated 4 or below on the National Bridge Inspection Standards (NBIS) scale. 4 is basically the lowest rating at which an element can be left in place as-is. You have probably driven over a bridge with an element rated 4 within the last seven days. That doesn't mean your life was in danger.

Reporting the sum of SD and FO bridges is especially meaningless from a bridge safety perspective. I can't tell you how many presentations I've attended where the first words from the speaker's mouth were "Since X percent of the nation's bridges are structurally deficient or functionally obsolete..." - from a safety perspective, this is about as meaningful as saying "X percent of the nation's bridges are painted green." FO has absolutely no structural safety meaning. A bridge can be rated FO because its shoulders are too narrow, or because it has an old-style guardrail. That doesn't mean the bridge is going to fall down. One very common cause of an FO designation is that traffic has increased on the route carried by the bridge. A bridge can be deemed FO even if it has a good structural rating of 7, 8, or 9. So, while FO bridges ought to be upgraded or replaced to maintain good levels of service throughout the network, an FO designation doesn't provide any more indication of a bridge's safety or serviceability than the color of the bridge paint. If you're trying to make a point about structural capacity, don't inflate your numbers by counting FO bridges too.

The federal definition of a "bridge" is any structure with a clear span of at least 20 feet². That includes everything from the Golden Gate Bridge down to structures that are little more than oversized culverts. The SD and FO criteria may be applied to any structure in this spectrum. When we refer to the number of SD/FO bridges, an outdated bridge on a low-volume county road counts the same as the heavily traveled (and both SD and FO) Milton-Madison (Kentucky/Indiana) Bridge, a regionally important Ohio River crossing which, if out of service, necessitates a detour of 55 miles. Of the 600,000 or so bridges in the United States, the vast majority are "boring" bridges with relatively short spans and lots of built-in redundancy. That means that even if a structural member is deteriorated, there is still enough load capacity too keep the bridge in service.

Bridge collapses are shocking in part because they're so rare. Regular inspections in keeping with the National Bridge Inspection Standards help keep them that way. Yes, we should be sure that bridge maintenance and inspection is adequately funded; yes, research into improved methods for structure evaluation and testing should continue - but there's no reason to panic over big numbers with scary-sounding sames that ultimately have little meaning from a safety perspective.

^1. Federal Highway Administration: Bridge System Conditions - Explanation of Bridge Deficiencies

^2. United States Code: 23 CFR 650.305 (2009).

Flags: District of Columbia

2010-01-13T20:20:00.000-06:00

I am pleased to write about a flag that is doubly special: (1) it is the flag not of a state of the Union, but the Federal District, and (2) I am currently in this District. I love when my travel schedule aligns with my geographic nerdosity.

The authorization for a special federal district, not to be a part of any state, as the seat of national government was laid out in Article I, Section 8 of the Constitution, which grants the Congress authority

To exercise exclusive Legislation in all Cases whatsoever, over such District (not exceeding ten Miles square) as may, by Cession of particular States, and the acceptance of Congress, become the Seat of the Government of the United States, and to exercise like Authority over all Places purchased by the Consent of the Legislature of the State in which the Same shall be, for the Erection of Forts, Magazines, Arsenals, dock-Yards, and other needful Buildings;

Conveniently, the Constitution now spends most of its time in "such District." Now, I once thought that the creation of the Federal District was mandated by the Constitution, but the excerpt above suggests that Congress was allowed, but not required, to establish a seat of federal government distinct from any state. Anyway, the Federal District was established along the Potomac River, on land ceded from Maryland and Virginia - though Virginia got its cession back in 1846. Until then, the District of Columbia had been divided into two counties: the county of Washington on the north bank, and the county of Arlington on the south. Similarly, there were multiple municipalities in the District: until 1871, letters could be properly addressed to Georgetown, DC. The Organic Act of 1871 unified the City of Georgetown, the City of Washington, and the County of Washington into a single legal entity, the District of Columbia.

So, while DC as we know it came into existence in 1871, it wasn't until 1938 that it adopted its spiffy red-and-white flag. The banner is based on the three stars and stripes from the shield on George Washington's family coat of arms. I heartily approve - it is instantly recognizable, and simple enough for schoolchildren to draw. The citizens of the Federal City seem to dig it - it appears on non-governmental logos and is flown from non-governmental buildings throughout the District.

The official motto of the District - Justitia omnibus ("Justice for all") - and the license plate slogan, "Taxation Without Representation," are not-so-subtle digs at the governance of the Federal City. Citizens of DC have a non-voting delegate in the House of Representatives, and only won the right to vote in presidential elections in 1961, with the ratification of the 23rd Amendment to the Constitution (they didn't actually get to vote until the presidential election in 1964).

As far as I can tell, the selection of the wood thrush (Hylocichla mustelina) as the official bird, or the scarlet oak as the official tree, of the District carries no specific political message. Too bad.

Be brave, like prawn

2009-11-04T11:45:00.007-06:00

Menu boy no be coward, like shrimp; menu boy be brave, like prawn.
-The Simpsons, Episode CABF01, "Lisa the Tree Hugger"

I took a picture of this giant freshwater prawn (Macrobrachium rosenbergii) at the Smithsonian National Zoo in Washington, DC, specifically so I could make a motivational poster for Lisa. Having completed my mission, I'm now filled with rage - it turns out that Macrobrachium and many other so-called "prawns" are not true prawns at all: they are freshwater shrimp. Some helpful Australians have provided clarification:

...there is one sure way to tell them apart. In shrimps or carideans the side plate of the second segment of the abdomen overlaps the segments in front and behind. Prawns, most of which belong to the family Penaeidae of the group Dendrobranchiata, have all the abdominal side plates overlapping tile-like from the front. A more fundamental difference but one impossible to appreciate in a single specimen is that female prawns do not brood eggs but shed them into the currents where they develop independently. It would therefore make sense to call all member s of the Penaeidae "prawns" and members of the Caridean "shrimps" and this is what most Australians do....Confusion arises when we hear Americans refer to prawns as "shrimp".

So that settles questions of anatomy, but not courage. Is there any relationship between location of abdominal segmants and strength of character? I leave that to the decapod philosophers.

Katy didn't

2009-10-25T17:06:00.001-05:00

Lisa spotted this character at the front door to our building. It's a katydid. My best guess based on a minimal amount of half-assed research is that it belongs to the genus Microcentrum. When I saw it, I told Lisa it was a leafhopper. This was based on two critical observations:

It looked like a leaf
It looked like some kind of grasshopper

QED, right? Wrong. It turns out that a leafhopper is a completely different type of insect which hops on leaves, rather than resembles a leaf. Leafhopper are also really tiny. There goes my entomology career.

I can conclusively say, though, that...it is green.

Three-chambered peanuts!

2009-10-23T20:33:00.004-05:00

MARSHFIELD, WISCONSIN - My friend Aaron and I were sitting on his back porch eating peanuts and drinking beer. when something totally unexpected happened: one of us found a three-chambered peanut...and then it happened six more times. I know, right? Seven three-chambered peanuts in one bag - what a time to be alive.

Angry eagle law firm

2009-10-15T08:13:00.006-05:00

Do some aspiring attorneys dream of practicing angry eagle law, or does it just happen?

It happened in Tucson, Arizona, on Valencia Road, just west of the airport. Whether you need to sue over unlawful regurgitation or defend yourself against charges of kleptoparasitism, the Angry Eagle Law Firm has you covered. You can celebrate your assured victory across the parking lot, at the Happy Chicken restaurant.

Angry Eagle and Happy Chicken, staring each other down across the Arizona asphalt - I wonder if anyone at the zoning board chuckled when these building permits were issued.

Coordinates:
32.13412 N, 110.97922 W (WGS84)

You can see the avian showdown in Street View.

Why I hate Eastern Michigan University

2009-09-16T21:53:00.000-05:00

Rounding out my triad of sports-related posts, I'd like to announce that I have sworn eternal vengeance against Eastern Michigan University.

Founded in 1849 as Eastern Michigan Normal School, the Ypsilanti-based school bills itself as "an extraordinarily practical, supportive, accessible, affordable and quality learning and living environment," where a "distinct mix of comprehensive academic resources, strong community initiatives, focus on education first, and nationally recognized undergraduate student research achievements set it apart." I have no reason to doubt any of this. No, my undying hatred lies in their 1991 decision to adopt "The Eagles" as their nickname. Does the world really need another generic school mascot? Within the Mid-American Conference alone, you'll find such creatively-named teams as the Akron "Zips" and the Kent State "Golden Flashes." It seems that Eastern isn't even trying.

Now, there are a number of good reasons why EMU's previous nicknames are no longer tenable:

I can see why Normalites no longer works, give that the institution is no longer known as a "normal school" (that's old-timey talk for a teachers' college)
Likewise, in these enlightened times, Men from Ypsi would exclude women's sports, though I can't see why "Women from Ypsi" wouldn't work.
From 1929 to 1991, EMU athletes were known as Hurons - a name with local significance - but this name was dropped following a request by the State of Michigan that all schools in the state cease to use Native American names for mascots. Curiously, EMU's conference rivals, the Central Michigan University "Chippewas," ignored this request.
For a short time following the above decision, EMU athletes were jokingly called the No-Names. Wonder why that didn't stick.

Hopefully, students, administrators, and alumni will finally realize that the answer has been under their noses for years. EMU's mascot should be the Emu! This large flightless bird, Dromaius novaehollandiae, is everything an athlete should strive to be: fleet-footed, with high endurance, and prone to occasional violence toward humans.

Take heed, Eastern Michigan University - become the EMU Emus or taste my wrath...at least until I find something else to be angry about.

Northwestern needs a new mascot

2009-09-13T15:52:00.001-05:00

I have officially been at Northwestern University in various capacities - undergraduate student, staff member, and graduate student - for TEN YEARS. Yep, over one-third of my life has passed along Sheridan Road. That alone is a sobering thought - no question that ol' NU has been a good place to study and work, but ten years...wow.

Given the length of my own tenure on this campus, and the strong family connections (my father, uncle, and brother are alumni too), you might think that I would be an NU sports superfan, of the purple-bleeding variety, but I am not. This is for two reasons. The first is genetic - I come from a long line of sports-indifferent people, and, try as I might, I just can't get excited about college sports. The second reason, though, is a critical issue which I entreat the University to address for the sake of students past, present, and future: the mascot. Sorry, Willie - the wildcat needs to be replaced, for the following reasons.

First, let's look at the facts. The wildcat became NU's sports mascot completely by accident. Before the wildcat, NU's athletic nicknames included "The Fighting Methodists" and "Purple." I'm not a Methodist, but I'd be willing to be one on the field or in the stands. I don't know if the Wesleys were good at sports, but I'll give them the benefit of the doubt. Eighteenth-century theologians aside, "Wildcat" name comes from a sportswriter's description of a football team's tenacity in a 1924 game. It is indeed the accidental mascot.

Second, I, one who knows nothing about sports, can name three big schools who are also "Wildcats," and probably more fittingly so:

University of Kentucky
University of Arizona
Kansas State University

I've never been on the campus of K-State, but I can say with confidence that at least Kentucky and Arizona deserve the mascot more than Northwestern. The mountains around U of A's main campus in Tucson are home to bobcats and moutain lions. As far as UK goes, I don't know of any wild felids roaming the streets of Lexington, but I assure you that there are plenty of wildcats in the backwoods of the Bluegrass State. The closest thing that I've seen in Evanston are Lisa's four-legged hellions (which live off-campus) and the occasional skunk.

Moving into the land of opinion, nothing about NU really says "wildcat" to me. Why not pick something that taps into our history? Failing that, why not pick something unique or maybe a little off-the-wall? One needn't look far for inspiration. Consider some of the other school mascots out there. In the Big Ten alone, we have Badgers and Boilermakers. West of the Mississippi, you'll find Jayhawks, Cornhuskers, and Sooners. On the west coast, we have the Oregon Ducks, the Oregon State Beavers, and two gems from the University of California system - the Anteaters (UC Irvine) and, my favorite, the Banana Slugs (UC Santa Cruz). With the notable exception of the Anteaters, all of these tap into local history, culture, legends, or remarkable fauna. UC Irvine gets special dispensation because anteaters are pretty awesome even if they're not native to southern California. The bottom line is that there's no excuse for overusing sports mascots. I'm watching you, Spartans, Eagles, Tigers, Hawks, and Bears.

In the spirit of constructive criticism, I offer some suggestions for a replacement mascot.

The Purple Monkeys
The Jaywalkers
The Flying Frances Willards¹
The McLean Stevensons²
The Prophets of "See, in 1851, this was considered the northwestern frontier, get it?"
The Fighting "Steven Colbert is an alumnus and that makes us all a little cooler by extension"-s

Join me in writing the board of trustees on this critical issue. The time is now. Go U Purple Monkeys!

¹ Founder of the Women's Christian Temperance Union, one of the leading forces behind Prohibition. Probably a real party animal.
² Alumnus McLean Stevenson played the fictional University of Illinois alumnus Lt. Col. Henry Blake on M*A*S*H.

Announcing my new favorite sports team

2009-08-06T21:45:00.001-05:00

My new favo(u)rite sports team is the Salmonbellies lacrosse team of New Westminster, British Columbia - a suburb of Vancouver.

How did this happen? Hypertext!

Dances with Wolves was on AMC the other day. I thought I recognized one of the actors from Northern Exposure. A quick search showed that I was correct (it was Floyd Red Crow Westerman, who played the recurring character "One Who Waits"). That should have been satisfaction enough, since I'm genetically impaired in my ability to recognize actors. Since I never know when to stop, though, I moved on to an article on Mr. Westerman's Northern Exposure cast-mate Elaine Miles, who played the doctor's secretary. That article contained a link to the Native American name controversy, which, in the section on Canadian terminology, linked to an article on Chinook jargon, the lingua franca of the old Pacific Northwest. Chinook jargon contains the word "hyak" or "hyack," meaning "fast" or "hurry," which became the nickname of the fire department of New Westminster, British Columbia, which is home to the Salmonbellies, one of Canada's oldest prfessional lacrosse teams.

But the greatest link of all came from the 'Bellies web site, where they link to their sponsor, Canadian Beaver Buzz Energy Drink. Nothing says "energy" like a scowling aquatic rodent with pupil-less eyes.

It's also worth noting that the New Westminster Fire Department "Hyacks" set off a 21-anvil salute every May as part of the Victoria Day festivities. Let the anvils ring, eh?

It's the Minnesota pickle

2009-08-03T22:41:00.002-05:00

This is all Lisa's fault. The first time she sang a few bars of the Gedney pickle jingle, I was confused - Gedney brand pickles are not distributed here in the former Blagosphere. The second time she sang it, I became obsessed.

Dancing Pickle Warning: do not listen to this dumb song.

Gedney,
It's the Minnesota pickle.
Get me a Gedney
It's the Minnesota pickle.
Bring out more Gedney,
It's no ordinary pickle.
You betcha, Gedney -
It's the Minnesota pickle.

Buy them in New Ulm,
St. Cloud, Duluth, and Montevideo,
Rochester, Blaine, and even
Waaaay up in Warroad.

Gedney
It's the Minnesota pickle
They're good to...Gedney
It's the Minnesota pickle.
They taste good, Gedney,
It's no ordinary pickle.
You betcha, Gedney -
It's the Minnesota pickle.

The Gedney jingle contains a pickled road trip idea. Just for fun, let's have a look at how that trip might proceed from New Ulm, in south-central Minnesota, to Warroad, on Lake of the Woods, only 35 miles from the northernmost point in the conterminous United States. For the extra briney bonus factor, let's visit each place in the order in which they are mentioned.

It's interesting to compare different routing algorithms. The total length of the routes suggested by Google Maps and Microsoft MapPoint are within 75 miles, or about 6%, of each other. Away from the Interstate system, Google seems to prefer US highways while MapPoint seems biased to state roads.

For example, both direct us from Blaine to Warroad via Duluth, but the Google Maps route sends us north on US-53 through the Iron Range to International Falls and then west, while MapPoint directs us on state roads past Upper Red Lake to Rainy River. In this case, I think my preference would be to follow Google through the mountains.

Likewise, both algorithms suggest traveling between Montevideo and Rochester via the Twin Cities, but Google suggests US-212 over MapPoint's preferred SR-7. Personally, I have to side with MapPoint on this one, because Lisa and I were married just off SR-7 in Excelsior.

Oh, and take note: Stop #4 is pronounced "Monta-video." Video, as in Betamax. Observing the local pronunciation will avoid a faux-pas, which, after all, would put you in a real pickle.

Two snippets from work

2009-07-23T22:21:00.000-05:00

1) The new accounting assistant goes by "Stacy," but her full name is "Athanasia." Avoid, avoid, avoid making jokes about the Arian heresy until I get to know her better.

2) Yesterday, several of us were eating our lunches together in the conference room while watching Arrested Development on Hulu. Professor D. walked in just as Jeffrey Tambor's character said, "The doctor said there were claw marks on the inside of her womb!" referring to the reluctant entry of Tony Hale's character into the world. Awkward.

Angry eagle taxes

2009-07-21T17:55:00.002-05:00

This one's for Cousin Nancy:
Mr. Angry Eagle wants to do your taxes.

In this case, "angry eagle taxes" refers to tax preparation by an angry eagle, not taxation of angry eagles. I'm not aware of any state or federal taxes on disgruntled raptors. If there were, I imagine somebody would organize a mass bird-drowning in Boston Harbor, and that just doesn't seem right.

Seen in Shawano, Wisconsin. Sadly, the sign is not visible in Street View. You'll just have to trust me.

Lake Superior catnip

2009-07-19T12:11:00.001-05:00

Work recently took me to the twin cities of Hurley and Ironwood, in Wisconsin and upper Michigan, respectively. We finished the job in the allotted time (important because we depended on the others' equipment for a substantial part of the job), so to celebrate, we ate an enormous dinner and drove a few miles north to a beach on Lake Superior. One member of the team suggested it would be fun to build a fire on the beach, and thanks to the availability of driftwood and partially burned logs from previous visitors' fires - and my new Estwing Long-Handled Camper's Axe (best purchase ever) - we soon had a cheery blaze. It was that fire that led to our meeting Jay.

As the fire crackled under twilight skies, a young man approached us and said, "Hi there, mind if I utilize your fire?" as he produced a can of Bush's Baked Beans from his bag. I wasn't sure what he meant by "utilize" our fire, but we assented and invited him to sit. After all, anyone who carries baked beans with him couldn't be all bad.

The bean-bearer, who identified himself as Jay, announced that he had just pedaled ninety miles from Tomahawk, Wisconsin to the beach we now shared, and that he was on a journey around the Great Lakes with no destination in mind. His journey had begun somewhere in Tennessee, and he had been wandering northward, alternately working as a farmhand and traveling by bus, train, or bummed rides. The bicycle, he said, was a "recent acquisition."

As the beans warmed, Jay sat down and took out some smoking materials and rolling papers. Before I realized what he was doing, he preemptively assured me, "It's not what you think - I mean, it's not the herb that you think it is." He lit the rolled product from our fire and continued: "It's not weed. It's, um...catnip. Yeah. It gives you a real mild buzz."

That's right - catnip. I chucked and said, "Well, it seems to work on cats," but he quickly corrected me, pointing out that "cats take it in a different way." Indeed. He offered the catnip joint to anyone who wanted to experience it. He seemed slightly disappointed that there were no takers. One of our group asked if smoking-grade catnip tastes like cat-grade 'nip smells. The answer was a definitive "no," without any elaboration.

By this time, the sun had set and the beans were out of the fire and the can cool enough to hold. Jay grabbed his beans, thanked us for the use of the fire, and disappeared into the darkness with his catnip stogie.

Happy trails, Jay. May no one harsh your mellow.

World's largest badger statue

2009-07-17T19:42:00.009-05:00

On US Highway 45, just north of Birnamwood, Wisconsin, there lies a force of unspeakable power.

That's right - the world's largest badger statue. Look upon my unblinking mustelid zombie eyes, ye mighty, and despair!

I first chanced upon this beast last June while driving through western Shawano County in a driving afternoon rainstorm. Due to the weather and the threat of being run down by a speeding log truck, I didn't stop to take a picture.

Ok, that was a lie: I didn't stop because I was afraid it would eat me.

This time, I was emotionally prepared and blessed with favorable weather. I also did my homework: according to the writeup at RoadsideAmerica.com, the statue was constructed by the owner of the Badgerland Gas Station which previously occupied the site. In its glory days, the badger was 40 feet tall. Now, the Badgerland Gas Station has become the Northern Exposure strip club, and the badger's body is gone, leaving only disembodied head and menacing claws lording over the signs promoting exotic dancers and a "full liquor bar."

Coordinates: 44.99043°N, 89.20450°W (WGS84)

View Larger Map

Advice from Kenny Rogers

2009-07-08T22:23:00.002-05:00

You probably know these lyrics to the well-loved Kenny Rogers song, "The Gambler":

And the night got deathly quiet,
And his face lost all expression.
Said, if you're gonna play the game, boy,
You gotta learn to play it right.

This is a lesson in the importance of proper use of commas. Without the comma after "game," the listener might think that The Gambler was admonishing the narrator (and, by extension, us) to train himself in the proper use of Nintendo's vintage-1989 handheld game console. That is,

...if you're gonna play the Game Boy,
You gotta learn to play it right.

I thought I'd be clever and cobble together a picture of Kenny Rogers playing Tetris, but a quick search revealed no fewer than five pages already dedicated to this line.

Humbled! And by the Internet, no less! Bah.

Things I did before noon today

2009-07-03T12:42:00.004-05:00

1) Got pooped on by a garter snake (Thamnophis sp.)

Don't give me that look, snake. You know what you did.

Jobs I want: bison tranquilizer-er

2009-06-28T18:43:00.006-05:00

Here's another job inspired by television. I'm watching a show on Animal Planet about the bison of Yellowstone National Park. The program follows a crack team of National Park Service biology commandos as they study bison migration in and around the park. I couldn't find a photo of an NPS warrior-biologist in action, so I stole the image at left from Parks Canada¹. Part of the study involves attaching tracking collars on the animals. This requires the following five-part plan:

Locate bison.
Shoot bison in ass with tranquilizer dart.
Take blood samples and attach collar, all while watching for curious four-legged passers-by.
Inject bison with wake-up juice.
Run.

I'm pretty sure that the person who pulls the tranquilizer dart gun trigger is called a tranquilizer-er. As best I can tell, the appeal of being a bison tranquilizer-er is fivefold:

Self-reliance. Ain't nobody going to help you in the case of mechanical failure or repeated gorings. It's just you and your hand-picked team of stone-cold, hard-core, devil-may-care wildlife biologists against 1500 pounds of groggy bovine.

Development of dart gun sniper skills. Now that I think about it, the combination of cross-country skiing and precision shooting might appeal to Lisa's Finnish heritage.
Note to self: book non-refundable winter travel tickets and investigate dart gun license requirements.

Having The Handbook of Wildlife Chemical Immobilization on your bookshelf and not having to explain it. I love obscure how-to literature.

SCIENCE! Come on, what is biology if not poking and prodding large wild animals? Put your microscopes away, kids; we're going to learn something even if it kills us by goring and trampling.

Clarity of purpose: shoot bison in ass, do science, run away. That's the best reason to get out of bed this side of averting alligator attacks.

¹ Stolen from this article on a Parks Canada wildlife veterinarian. Read it in French if you prefer.

Caption contest: Mr. Toad

2009-06-28T14:24:00.002-05:00

Mr. Toad (Bufo americanus) invites you post a caption for this photograph in the comments.

Capea

2009-06-26T07:57:00.000-05:00

Remember that time that Alex and I totally fought a bull?

Salamanca province, Spain - June 26, 1998.

Mr. Hogan

2009-06-21T21:36:00.006-05:00

When I was a sophomore in college, I went on my first overnight field trip with the engineers from the lab where I worked (and still work, though fortunately my job description has changed since then). I traveled to far northern California with two engineers, both named Dan, to repair and update instruments on two scour-endangered bridges. We flew to San Francisco, where we were to catch a turboprop commuter plane to Medford, Oregon, where we would rent a car and drive back across the California line to the bridge, which was outside the city of Yreka (pronounced "why-reekah"). I write "would" because things didn't quite happen as planned.

We arrived at SFO without incident. After the Dans and I enjoyed a lunch of the airport's finest clam chowder, we took the shuttle bus to the commuter terminal to await our flight to Medford. About five minutes before the flight was to begin boarding, Dan Hogan announced he was going to go to the bathroom. Dan M. and I looked up from our books and nodded. Five minutes passed, and boarding began. We began to wonder where Hogan was - was he ok? Jumping to the worst likely conclusion, we wondered if he had a horrible allergic reaction to something and passed out in the bathroom, so Dan M. went to check the bathroom while I waited by the gate to see if Hogan came out to board the plane. When the final boarding call came, there was still no sign of Hogan anywhere. We asked the airline gate agent if Hogan had boarded the plane, but she was apparently prohibited by law from telling us who did or did not board. At that point, the plane pulled away from the gate.

We were now zero-for-two, having both lost an engineer and missed our flight. Since there was no sign of Hogan anywhere in the terminal, we concluded that he somehow sneaked past us and boarded the plane for Medford. Dan M. and I decided to take the next available flight to any point north and proceed from there. We flew to Chico, California, rented a car, and drove north to Yreka. Eventually, we were able to make contact with Hogan by relaying calls through University Travel Services (back in the dark ages, cell phones didn't travel all that well - remember roaming?). He had in fact boarded the flight to Medford, exactly as planned, and while we had cursed Hogan for ditching us, it became apparent that it was we who had screwed up by not getting on the plane. In the end, the three of us converged on Yreka and the rest of the trip was generally successful.

The remarkable thing about all this is that Hogan had managed to sneak past Dan M., who had gone to check on him, and then past me as I was watching the gate area. Mr. Hogan was not a man who moved quickly, ever. To this day, I don't know how this was possible.

The final outcome of this episode was the establishment of our lab's Permanent Rule Number 1: if there's a plane, get on it. Every man for himself. While it applies everywhere, and to modes of transportation other than commercial aviation, it applies doubly at San Francisco International.

Mr. Hogan passed away on Friday after a short illness. He was 66 years old. His last official activity with our lab was leading a student group on a tour of some major transportation infrastructure projects...in San Francisco.

May God bless Mr. Hogan's memory, and give us all the wisdom to get on the plane.

De-motivational thought for the day: June 17

2009-06-17T18:32:00.004-05:00

Dwight:	I can't do this.
Michael:	That's because you're incapable of doing it, because you don't know how, because you have no skills.

"Dwight's Speech," The Office, season 2, episode 17

Dare to dream: banjo

2009-06-03T21:50:00.003-05:00

I wish I could play the banjo. I can't, so here's a bunch of banjo-related stuff instead.

The BBC just ran a story on the banjo's west African roots. In less enlightened times, the origins of the instrument were deliberately obscured for racially-motivated reasons; finally, the nameless folks who brought this angels' instrument into the world are getting some credit.

Dilbert (September 27, 1994) postulated that one can determine one's rank in an organization by what the boss does while making you wait.

This has happened to me; though, to be fair, it should be pointed out that my boss at the time was already an accomplished banjo player.

I love the sound of clawhammer banjo found in bluegrass music. I wondered, though, how some of Bach's works for unaccompanied string instruments would sound on the banjo. Now I know. Thanks, Internet!

Prelude: moderato from Suite #1 in G major for solo cello

Prelude from Partita #3 in E major for solo violin (starts in earnest at 1:20)

Double: presto from Partita #1 in b minor for solo violin

Badinerie from Suite #2 for flute & orchestra

Good advice

2009-06-01T22:48:00.003-05:00

Seen in Boulder, Colorado, February 2009.

Baseball

2009-05-29T23:37:00.004-05:00

My family has been utterly apathetic about sports for three generations, and I'm largely faithful to that tradition. However, I began to follow baseball in 2003 thanks largely to my then-roommate's interest in the Chicago Cubs and their exciting but ill-fated pennant race of that year. In listening to many games and attending my share of games at Wrigley Field, The Metrodome, Fenway Park, Miller Park, Busch Stadium, and The Great American Ballpark, I've concluded that the following have no place in baseball:

Booing a pitcher for trying to pick off a runner. No matter which team is pitching, this is not cool. In fact, booing in general should be reserved for only the most heinous on-field crimes, or maybe off-field events such as a player's moving to a rival team due to free agency.

Corollary: booing any player on your own team is not ok, unless he just ate a puppy on the field or something similarly awful. A batter repeatedly chasing bad pitches or two outfielders colliding and dropping a routine fly warrants a disappointed "ohhh" or an aggrieved "come on, man," but not booing.

The Wave. It looks stupid in a diamond-shaped ballpark. Leave it for European soccer hooligans. This counts doubly for the ancient temples of baseball such as Wrigley Field and Fenway Park, where The Wave ought to be grounds for immediate expulsion.

The words "offense" and "defense." I believe the words you're looking for are "batting" and "fielding." "Pitching," too. Admittedly, I'm no authority in the subject, and "offense" and "defense" aren't strictly wrong, but they just seem ill-suited to baseball.

Jumbotron messages telling the crowd to "make some noise" at critical moments. If you were paying attention to the game, you'd know when extra cheering is appropriate. If you're not paying attention to the game, why are you there?

Leaving early if your team is losing. Maybe it's okay to leave early if your team is being crushed and it's raining really, really hard. Worse yet, some people leave early even when their team is winning - presumably to "beat the rush." Why did you bother coming to the game at all?

Crying. There's no crying in baseball.

Lest this be solely a series of complaints, I'll conclude with my favorite baseball moments.

Once, at the Metrodome, Lisa kicked another fan in the head while getting into her seat. The kick was an accidental tap against the noggin of a gentlemen seated in the row ahead of us, and she apologized profusely. He laughed it off and joked, "now you owe me a beer." Later, Lisa actually did buy him a beer, and the surprised gentleman tipped his cap, his faith in humanity no doubt restored.

The Miller Park Sausage Race is the best break-in-the-action entertainment ever. Grown men wear costumes representing various meat products and run around the field.

Any time the Cubs play a night game on the west coast while Lisa and I are driving to Minnesota. Thanks to the joy of AM radio propagation at night, we can pick up WGN all the way to the Twin Cities. Regardless of the team's performance, Cubs radio broadcasting is top-notch. Also, Lisa loves Ron Santo.

Mini-possum

2009-05-17T22:30:00.000-05:00

Lisa and I saw this yesterday while walking down a residential street in Evanston.

It's a baby opossum, Didelphis virginiana! This minuscule marsupial was just a few inches long - note the blades of grass for scale. We heard some rustling and a strange whistling or squeaking sound under a bush near the sidewalk, and there it was. Perhaps surprisingly, 'possums are pretty cute when they're little.

When I was about ten, a 'possum briefly took up residence in our garage. It relaxed on the workbench, apparently confident that its scrofulous visage and toothy jaws glistening with methatherian drool would keep most anyone at bay. The beast eventually left the premises on its own.

Amazingly, there are at least two non-profit organizations dedicated specifically to 'possums: The National Opossum Society and The Opossum Society of the United States. The web site of the latter features an animated GIF of a 'possum wagging its tail; they also sell 'possum earrings. Too bad I learned about this right after Lisa's birthday.

Whoa.

2009-05-12T21:18:00.001-05:00

Rex tremendae majestatis,
qui salvandos salvas gratis:
salva me, Fonz pietatis.

I crack myself up.

Strong men also cry

2009-05-09T22:08:00.004-05:00

Two summers ago, I got misty-eyed when I saw a Johnsonville Brats commercial on television. I was really excited for a trip Up North, and, as best I can tell, the televised sausages brought with them the knowledge that summer's consummation was nearly at hand: soon, I would be savoring Sheboygan County's best-loved pork product as loons wailed in the distance.

I feel no shame in weeping tears of joy over broadcast bratwurst. Strong men also cry, Mr. Lebowski; strong men also cry.

Ne plus ultra

2009-05-05T08:50:00.004-05:00

So that's what Shel Silverstein was talking about.

A slippery slope

2009-04-25T23:45:00.001-05:00

That I am at least mildly obsessed with natural history is well established. I relish opportunities to watch the various types of macrofauna I might encounter, whether in the wild or at a zoo.

Lisa's fear: "Honey, I'm afraid you're becoming a birder."

I'm not a birder, I'm a guy who likes to watch birds. But I acknowledge that I'm on a slippery slope.

I now own two books which cover the identification and basic natural history of the birds of the Hawaiian Islands (more on the book problem later)
I may start to attend Chicago Audubon Society meetings - this is because they help manage the Forest Preserve site where I work
The prospect of starting a "life list" of critters I've seen in the wild has crossed my mind more than once

I recently bought a new camera (a Canon Powershot SX110 IS) and I'm completely in love with it. The optical zoom is fantastic. The photo at left shows the result of my first opportunity to play with the new camera: a northern cardinal (Cardinalis cardinalis) high up in a tree. I estimate the base of the tree was about 50 feet from me.

The picture was taken in late March at the Dwight Perkins Woods, a Cook County Forest Preserve District parcel in northwest Evanston. It's less than two miles from my home, but I had no idea it existed until very recently. Anyway, the Perkins Woods is a remnant of the "Big Woods" that once stood throughout Evanston.

Just last weekend, I went a little crazy at the Chicago Botanic Garden. I got a few fantastic pictures of a common grackle (Quiscalus quiscula) and an American robin (this familiar passerine is saddled with the unfortunate binomial Turdus migratorius).

Am I doomed to slide from "a guy who watches birds" to to "a birder?" Unless the City of Evanston establishes a slothpital or some kind of municipal tapir sanctuary, it seems likely that birds will become the primary source for my natural history fix. I'm going to write my alderman about that.

Math agnosticism

2009-04-19T20:46:00.000-05:00

Here comes another rant inspired by a Calvin and Hobbes strip - this one ran on March 6, 1991.

I'm not a math atheist, but I am a math agnostic: math may or may not exist, but there's no way to know, and it doesn't affect my daily life.

Perhaps surprisingly, this attitude has only rarely impacted my engineering career thus far. When something comes up that I don't understand - which occurs often - I'm often willing to accept it as a deus ex machina solution that magically brings everything to a tidy conclusion. My father, a man both smart and wise, pointed out that this is indicated on process flowcharts by the symbol TAMO - "Then A Miracle Occurs." Sounds good to me!

Maybe that means that rather than adopting a systematic math theology, I, like so many others of my generation, identify as "spiritual, but not religious."

Arboreal skunks and other surprises

2009-04-17T23:07:00.000-05:00

Three things blew my mind while watching "Is that Skunk?" on the PBS program Nature.

Spotted skunks (Spilogale spp.) commonly climb trees to forage and hide.
Skunks are not members of family Mustelidae, the weasels, as was long thought. Apparently skunks compose their own family, Mephitidae.
Skunk spray is highly flammable. Significantly, this was reported by an organic chemist rather than a field researcher.

Bonus: "For these orphaned skunks, Jerry is acting in loco parentis. However, many would call him just plain loco." Oh, Omniscient PBS Narrator, you're so clever.

Pi

2009-04-07T18:01:00.005-05:00

My algebra teacher gave extra credit to students who would memorize pi to one hundred decimal places or some other ridiculous precision. This Toothpaste for Dinner cartoon pretty much says all that needs to be said about that.

Knowledge brings fear

2009-03-17T19:03:00.000-05:00

Before I took classes in soil mechanics, I wasn't afraid of liquefaction. Before I took a materials science class, I wasn't afraid of creep - there was no such thing as deformation under constant stress; if it was holding now, it would hold forever. I knew the concept of fatigue¹, but I didn't lose sleep over it before I understood the effect of stress concentrations and stress corrosion.

I wonder what else I'll learn to fear during my engineering career.

¹Don't let anybody tell you that bending a paper clip back and forth until it breaks is an example of metal fatigue. When the paper clip is bent that way, it deforms plastically; by definition, fatigue occurs within the elastic region.

Muskrat Love

2009-03-06T20:27:00.004-06:00

My skills as a critter enthusiast ("amateur naturalist" sounds way too pretentious) have finally proven useful to humanity. At work yesterday, one of my colleagues got a report from his wife that there was an unusual critter swimming in the creek next to their home. She thought it might be an otter. I decided that a river otter (Lutra canadensis) in a shallow Chicagoland creek would be highly unusual, though not inconceivable¹, so I asked if she could send me a picture². This is what she sent:

It's a muskrat! Oh, excitement!

The muskrat (Ondatra zibethicus) is one of my favorite local critters. Curiously, muskrats are not closely related to beavers, in spite of the superficial resemblance and similar habits. While they are both rodents, muskrats are most closely allied with voles and lemmings, while beavers' closest relatives are the pocket gophers and kangaroo rats.

I learned only yesterday of the song "Muskrat Love," made popular by The Captain and Tennille in 1976. It seems elicit strong reactions in people - it was a Top 40 hit, but was also placed high on CNN's list of the worst songs in popular music. Apparently you either you love it or it. At this point, frankly, I'm just confused by it.

The utility of muskrats, however, transcends even the music of the mid-seventies. According to the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Detroit, muskrat is considered "fish" rather than "meat" for the purpose of observing meatless Fridays during Lent. Legend holds that this custom dates back to a priest ministering to trappers in southeast Michigan during the early 1800s who found that trappers' families were going hungry without meat during Lent. The priest reasoned that the aquatic muskrat could be considered "fish" and not "meat," allowing the faithful to obtain needed protein without breaking their Lenten vows. A 1987 opinion by the bishop of Lansing held that this "immemorial custom" was acceptable under canon law; perhaps more importantly, the bishop was unimpressed with the gastronomic value of muskrat, declaring that "anyone who could eat muskrat was doing penance worthy of the greatest of the saints."

¹In December 2007, commuters leaving Union Station in downtown Chicago saw otters along the South Branch of the Chicago River.

²Sending a picture of a critter for me to identify constitutes implied oral consent for me to redistribute the picture. This means you, Major League Baseball!

Flags: State of Colorado

2009-02-10T21:23:00.009-06:00

My ridiculous travel schedule has afforded another opportunity to reflect on the flag of the state in which I am currently sitting - this time, I'm even sitting in the state capital.

I like to think that the prominent C flying over the state house in Denver represents not only "Colorado" but "centennial," since the state entered the Union during 1876. While Colorado is widely known as the Centennial State, the notion that this figured into the flag design is pure conjecture. Still, the flag is attractive and distinctive. It's even featured in the design of the state highway signs - the only state to do so, though Alaska and New Mexico incorporate elements of their flags into their highway markers.

Colorado's official animal symbols - living and extinct - are superb; they're so fantastic, in fact, that I'll forgive the legislature for using the word "animal" when the mean "mammal." With that in mind, let's start with the official state mammal, the Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep (Ovis canadensis). In addition to their spectacular head-butting ability, I admire the ability of an animal weighing up to three hundred pounds to balance on precipitous slopes.

The official state fish is the greenback cutthroat trout (Oncorhynchus clarki somias), a beautiful subspecies of the cutthroat trout (so named for red slash marks on the lower jaw) found from the Rocky Mountains west to the Pacific. The Centennial State is not alone in its admiration for these handsome fishes; the Lahontan cutthroat trout (Oncorhynchus clarki henshawi) is Nevada's state fish¹. Anyway, it seems that the once-common greenback cutthroat was severely affected by human activity and was feared extinct until intrepid biologists found relict populations in a few backcountry streams in Rocky Mountain National Park. There are plans to reintroduce the greenback to waters in its former range.

Colorado is lucky to have one of the best-known dinosaurs as its official state fossil. Stegosaurus lived in Colorado during the Jurassic Period, before the rise of the Rocky Mountains for which the state is now famous. One prominent specimen was discovered by high school students from Cañon City, west of Pueblo. Moving on to scaly critters with us yet today, the state reptile is the western painted turtle (Chrysemys picta bellii), a handsome shellback found throughout the state.

There are many more awesome things about Colorado, from the subtle beauty of the high plains in the east, to the sudden rise of the Front Range, to the blooms of the short alpine summer, but these will have to wait. Read more about Colorado state symbols from the state's Department of Personnel & Administration web site.

¹ When I checked the list of Nevada state symbols to confirm my suspicion, I found that Nevada's official state mammal is the desert bighorn sheep (Ovis canadensis nelsoni), closely related to the Rocky Mountain bighorn sheep of Colorado. I don't know who's copying whom, but it's a good thing that Utah separates the Centennial and Silver States, preventing them from bickering like siblings in the back seat of a station wagon.

Gummi lobsters, or how I know my mommy loves me

2009-02-07T08:34:00.007-06:00

Last Christmas, my mother gave my brother a bag of - I'm not making this up - gummi lobsters, which she found on a business trip to Boston. I freaked out, because, come on, gummi lobsters! But alas, there were no sugary crustaceans in my stocking. I was visibly upset by this trivial omission.

Fast forward twelve months. On Christmas morning 2009. I unwrapped seven ounces of gummi lobsters. To accommodate my year-old thirst for gooey red arthropods, Mom had paid more for shipping than the candy itself cost. Moreover, she upped the ante by also leaving a package of gummi penguins and 1.9 pounds of Swedish fish under the tree. Inspired by her example, my brother and his lady friend gave me gummi centipedes, imported from Hungary. Who knew? Clearly the work of the finest Magyar gummi artisans.

It doesn't end there, though. In 2004, I drove to Colorado with my mother and grandmother to see my aunt and uncle. At some point, my mother found a bag of elk jerky. Then - then - she hid the elk jerky for SIX MONTHS so I could open it up on Christmas morning.

And that's how I know my mommy loves me. Happy birthday, Mom!

Nihil sine nomine

2009-01-28T20:49:00.000-06:00

...that is, "nothing without a name."¹

We name things in order to be able to speak precisely. Often, names themselves tell as a little bit about the item in question. Sometimes, names are just names. Sometimes, the meta-information contained in a name can be downright misleading, whether through a somewhat-arbitrary naming process, misuse of a term, or another mechanism.

Biology is an area where many names are helpful but others are misleading. This goes back to the basic rules for naming something. Essentially, in the understanding of this non-biologist, the first published name for a new species sticks forever. This is why we have a species of ancient whale named Basilosaurus, ("king lizard," saurus meaning "lizard"), which is in fact not a lizard at all but an marine mammal. For that matter, the word dinosaur ("terrible lizard") is a little misleading, because modern understanding shows that dinosaurs are distinct from lizards (who, with snakes, form the clade Squamata, which I think comes from the Latin word for "scales"), as they diverged in the Permian period, 299-251 million years ago. Since the dinosaurs at least superficially resembed lizards, thought, I'm willing to forgive that.

Likewise, vertebrate paleontologists and dinosaur enthusiasts of all ages are stuck with the division of dinosaurs into the clades Saurischia ("lizard-hipped") and Ornithischia ("bird-hipped") based on superficial resemblances of the pelvic structures. Confusingly, though, birds - themselves extant dinosaurs - are descended from the "lizard-hipped" line. I understand that we have to follow the rules of nomenclature (i.e., first published name sticks), but...arrg! This is when a biologist will tell you, "It's just a name."

It doesn't end with biological nomenclature, though.

In the spirit of sweeping generalizations, I will state that all of my early difficulties with algebra can be traced to quadratic equations. "Why is an equation with an x² term called quadratic?", my young self wondered. "Quad- means 'four!'" Since I couldn't find a satisfactory answer, I (foolishly) rejected further study of the matter².

In spite of my difficulties with math, I pursued a career in engineering. One might expect engineers to be as precise with language as they are in technical matters. If so, one will be disappointed. Some sub-disciplines are better about this than others. For a variety of (mostly historical) reasons, geotechnical engineering is one of the worst offenders. The use of terms and symbols is so inconsistent among different authors that a common textbook, An Introduction to Geotechnical Engineering by Holtz & Kovacs dedicates several pages to variations in nomenclature.

What really grinds my gears, though, is when engineers (and others) refer to particular quantities and factors by their commonly-used symbols rather than by name. "Estimate E based on N," I've heard. Come on, man - these things have names for a reason. Use 'em. "Estimate Young's modulus based on the standard penetration test blow count." That may sound dirty, but at least it's precise.

Sometimes, usage causes the original meaning of a word to be distorted. "Bilingual," for example. A person who is bilingual speaks (at least) two languages. Bi- means two. Increasingly, though, I hear "bilingual" used to describe persons who don't have a good command of English. In reality, those individuals may be monolingual, bilingual, trilingual, or know even more languages - just not English. For that matter, Lisa has worked with children with language delays in whose homes languages other than English are primarily spoken. These children will, hopefully, grow up to be bilingual - but right now, these children may not have a good command of any language or languages.

It seems that the commonly accepted term for persons (especially schoolchildren) learning English as a language other than their first is "English language learners." Fine - that seems straightforward enough. But don't use "bilingual" to describe someone who doesn't speak English. In addition to being inaccurate, it's awfully anglocentric, especially in a country that has no de jure official language.

I better stop here before my name becomes "whiner" or worse.

¹ Not to be confused with Nihil sine numine, "Nothing without Providence," or "Nothing without the Divine Will," the state motto of Colorado. In the mineral-rich Centennial State, this is also sometimes heard as "Nothing without a new mine."

² I have since learned, albeit from a non-authoritative source, that the name "quadratic" for second-degree polynomials comes from the Latin quadratus, meaning "square", because the variable is squared.

On the human condition

2009-01-23T18:10:00.000-06:00

A few weeks ago, some friends and I watched the 1996 classic Beavis and Butt-Head Do America. It was then that I was reminded that Beavis's caffeine-fueled alter ego, The Great Cornholio, neatly - nay, poignantly - summarizes the human condition.

Cornholio constantly seeks T.P. for his bunghole. Yet, by his own admission, Cornholio has no bunghole.

Are you threatening me?

Flags: State of Maryland

2009-01-10T14:32:00.004-06:00

I'm going to take advantage of a special opportunity to write about the flag of a state in which I am currently sitting.

The flag of the State of Maryland is one of my favorites. It features the combined arms of the Calvert and Crossland families, ancestors of the Lords Baltimore, for whom the state's most populous city is named. I like the flag because its is distinctive, instantly recognizable, and steeped in the state's history.

A glance at the listing provided by the state archives reveals that Maryland has an awful lot of state symbols. Sure, many states have an official bird, mammal, or song, but the Free State has an official crustacean (the blue crab, Callinectes sapidus Rathbun), dessert (Smith Island Cake), exercise (walking), and horse (Thoroughbred). Oh, and did I meantion that the official state sport is jousting? How sweet is that? The Old Line State was the first to adopt an official sport, and they picked a doozy. I have yet to meet a Marylander who practices the state sport, though, so let me know if you know one. If it were up to me - and most citizens will probably be thankful that it is not - close gubernatorial races would be decided by a winner-takes-all jousting match.

The official state reptile is the diamondback terrapin (Malaclemys terrapin). This noble testudine is perhaps best known as the mascot of the University of Maryland College Park. I'm endlessly amused that Maryland fans often abbreviate "Terrapins" as "Terps." I also enjoy their "Fear the Turtle" athletic campaign.

Maryland is a land of geographical oddities, both natural and artificial. The state has no natural lakes, largely because it was not reached by the Pleistocene glaciation (see the Maryland Geological Survey lakes and reservoirs page for more information). West of Chesapeake Bay, the state is bounded on the north by the Mason-Dixon line and on the south by the Potomac River, except for a small section where the District of Columbia lies in between. As the Potomac snakes northward near the town of Hancock, the northern and southern borders converge until the state is less than two miles wide. Road nerds will also note that Hancock is the eastern terminus of Interstate 68.

Today, while visiting my cousin and her family in Calvert County, I was pleased to eat a rockfish sandwich. Rockfish (Morone saxatilis), known in other parts of the Union as the striped bass, is the official state fish. It is also delicious.

Flags: State of Alaska

2009-01-03T12:00:00.007-06:00

"Alaska’s flag–to Alaskans dear,
The simple flag of a last frontier."

In honor of the 50^th anniversary of Alaska's admission to the Union today, let's have a look at its fine flag. The "Eight Stars" exhibit (PDF) of the Alaska State Museum will tell you everything you need to know, but here's an executive summary: The flag was designed for the Territory of Alaska in 1927 by a 13-year-old boy named Benny Benson. His entry was the unanimous winner of a territory-wide competition among schoolchildren in grades 7-12. The eight stars represent the constellation Ursa Major (a.k.a. "The Great Bear" or "The Big Dipper") and the North Star. The blue background represents the northern sky and the forget-me-not, an Alaskan flower.

Details: Historically, Alaska struggled to find its place in the United States. After the purchase of Alaska from Russia in 1867, Alaska was designated as a military district. It wasn't until 1912 that Alaska became a United States territory with an elected legislature. Even then, the United States Congress had the right to override the actions of the territorial legislature. Due in part to the federal government's ignoring of Alaska, the territory fell into an economic depression in the 1920s while the rest of the country was relatively prosperous (though we all know how that ended).

During a 1926 visit to Washington, DC, territorial Governor George A. Parks visited the Post Office building, where the Postmaster General pointed out that Alaska was not represented in the display of flags in the building's rotunda because the territory did not have a flag. In response, Parks arranged for the American Legion to organize a flag design contest for the territory's schoolchildren. 142 entries were submitted, and Benny Benson's elegant design was selected unanimously; fortunately for Benny, his design was not disqualified due to his misspelling of the word "strength" in the narrative submitted with the design, as he had feared it would be. The flag later inspired the poem "Alaska's Flag" which later was set to music to become the official state song.

Alaska's flag is one of my favorites because of the elegant simplicity and powerful symbolism of the design as well as the compelling story of its origins. The flag is beloved by citizens and played a role in the Territory's quest for statehood, which was finally realized with President Eisenhower's signature on January 3, 1959. However, the sweetness of Alaska's state symbols doesn't end there. The state's Office of Economic Development site describes them all; I will comment on a few below.

The official state bird is the willow ptarmigan (Lagopus lagopus), a member of the grouse family. Legend has it that the founders of the town of Chicken, Alaska wished to name the town after the large numbers of ptarmigan observed in the area. However, they couldn't agree on how to spell it, so they named it "Chicken" to avoid embarrassment.

Alaska is so big it has to have two official state mammals. The state land mammals is the moose (Alces alces). I'll save my moose-related comments for another post, but my own encounters with Alaskan moose were pretty fantastic. The state marine mammal is the bowhead whale (Balaena mysticetus). Apparently the walrus lobby wasn't very strong in Juneau. The bowhead makes lots of interesting noises, though.

Speaking of Juneau, Alaska is the only state in the Union without some kind of official-looking state capitol building. The state legislature chambers and the governor's office are in the former Federal and Territorial Building, an Art Deco office building completed in 1931.

Nuisance animals

2008-12-28T16:52:00.002-06:00

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

2008-12-26T18:40:00.005-06:00

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

2008-12-22T23:22:00.002-06:00

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:

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.
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.
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

2008-12-19T23:38:00.000-06:00

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

2008-12-18T21:48:00.002-06:00

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

2008-12-16T19:42:00.001-06:00

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

2008-11-27T22:36:00.012-06:00

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

2008-11-20T21:52:00.002-06:00

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

2008-11-17T23:41:00.001-06:00

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

2008-11-15T16:38:00.005-06:00

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

2008-11-10T11:01:00.012-06:00

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

2008-07-28T21:49:00.003-05:00

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

2008-01-08T12:11:00.001-06:00

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

Manatee salad

2007-11-26T23:25:00.005-06:00

In June 2007, I was fortunate to see some manatees in the manatorium* at the Lowry Park Zoo in Tampa, Florida. This manatee was going to town on a head of lettuce- some kind of manatee salad.

* I totally made up the word "manatorium.". A better word might be "Sirenium", from the Latin name of the manatee family, but it's just not as mellifluous.

Listen for the manatee music in the video (best from 0:20 to 0:55 or so).

Tonight at 11: When Manatees Attack British Naturalists.

Look out, Sir David!.

Another day, another walrus

2007-10-02T10:33:00.000-05:00

Best headline ever: Another day, another walrus in B'klyn

Spotted in amNY, New York City's answer to the Red Eye, on Friday, September 28. The text of the article is available on their web site, but, to my disappointment, the headline was changed.

Seems a walrus was born at the New York Aquarium. According to the aquarium's press release, "This historic occasion marked the first birth of a walrus in New York City."

Walrus enthusiasts rejoice: http://www.nyaquarium.com/babywalrus

If it flies, it dies

2007-08-26T20:48:00.002-05:00

Last week I realized my lifelong dream of visiting a Nike missile site. The Nike system was a surface-to-air missile designed to shoot down squadrons of Soviet bombers as they approached US cities. Nike sites were spread all over the country and concentrated around major industrial areas. In the Chicago region, there were Nike missile installations at Jackson Park, Montrose Point, Wolf Lake, Fort Sheridan, and the Skokie Lagoons, to name a few [1]. The only restored Nike missile site in the country is Site SF-88, located in the Marin Headlands just north of San Francisco.

Behold the sweetness in my photo album from the site or from the official National Park Service site (the Marin Headlands are part of Golden Gate National Recreation Area).

I learned from the friendly NPS volunteer that the guardian of the Nike missileers is the Oozlefinch, a featherless bird usually often shown wearing an artilleryman's helmet and either grasping a Nike Hercules or crushing a Soviet aircraft in its talons. The Oozlefinch has no eyelids to disrupt its constant vigilance, so it flies backwards to keep dust out of its eyes. Worthy missileers were inducted into the the Ancient and Honorable Order of the Oozlefinch and then awarded various Oozlefinchling degrees as they merited. The motto of the Order is "Quid ad sceleratorum curamus," which may be loosely translated as "What the hell do we care?" [2]

The History Channel's "Weird US" series did a segment on the Nike program which they have kindly posted on YouTube.

[1] Ed Thelen's Nike Missile Web Site
[2] History of the Oozlefinch by Errol Porter

Bonus: NBC 5 Special Report: Chicago's Nuclear Missile History

Visit to the Zollman Zoo

2007-07-17T22:17:00.001-05:00

The Zollman Zoo of Olmsted County, Minnesota is home to a variety of native Minnesota wildlife, including two very fat badgers.

Also, they have the finest river otter waterslide I've ever seen. See for yourself via their Otter Cam.

Wolf River rapids, again

2007-07-17T15:56:00.000-05:00

When we rafted the Wolf River this June, the water levels were higher than we've seen in a long time (see Wolf River rapids, August 2006). It was glorious.

First-person video recorded with the Rocklobstercam Mk II; props to Scottie Z. for the third-person video.

Indiana's Waffle House Coup

2007-07-16T13:35:00.001-05:00

Waffle House is familiar to anyone who has traveled through the Southeast. I used to think there were no Waffle Houses northwest of the Ohio River. Turns out that in Indiana, at least, they were just hiding. When WH sought to expand into the Hoosier State, they found that there was already a restaurant chain by that name in Indiana. The Georgia-based hash-slingers were undeterred, however, and named their Hoosier restaurants "Waffle & Steak" instead. Now, however, the original Indiana Waffle House has changed its name, and Waffle & Steak is Waffle House. Last week in Jeffersonville, Indiana (across the Ohio River from Louisville, Kentucky), I dined at a Waffle House where shadows of the old "Waffle & Steak" signage remained visible after the installation of the more widely known Waffle House logo.

Until recently, Indiana seemed to be the last remaining champion of strange state's rights: in addition to the "Waffle & Steak" standoff, Hoosier timekeeping also presented a stumbling block to outsiders - hence the "What time is it in Indiana?" web site. However, in April 2006, the Indiana Legislature put an end to that. What's next for this Old Northwest bastion of state's rights? Will they finally reveal to the rest of the Union exactly what a "Hoosier" is? Only time will tell - eastern daylight time, that is, except in the ten or so counties on Illiana time

Indianapolis Business Journal - January 23, 2006

Waffle and Steak is now Waffle House. Well, the local diners have always technically been Waffle Houses, but the Norcross, Ga.-based company didn't have the legal rights to the name in Indiana. Hence, Waffle and Steak. Now that the company has acquired the name-after a fight dating back to 1974-it plans to dump the old Waffle and Steak signs and start putting up its traditional yellow and black marquees statewide.

Hot Brown

2007-07-16T13:04:00.000-05:00

On Tuesday night, July 10, I realized my dream of eating a Hot Brown at the Brown Hotel in Louisville, Kentucky.

Here's the official description of the dish from The Brown Hotel:

In 1923, The Brown Hotel drew over 1200 guests each evening for its dinner dance. In the wee hours of the morning, the guests would grow tired of dancing and retire to the restaurant for a bite to eat. Bored with the traditional ham & eggs, Chef Fred Schmidt delighted his guests by creating The Hot Brown - an open-face turkey sandwich with bacon, pimentos, and a delicate mornay sauce.


The Hot Brown was made in 1923
Here in Kentucky, not in Tennessee.

-The Hot Brown Cheer

The screaming hose-nose

2007-06-25T00:14:00.000-05:00

Tapirs are neat for a number of reasons. This encounter (May 2007 at the Minnesota Zoo) leads me to propose that the Malayan tapir Tapirus indicus be given the revised common name "screaming hose-nose."

More interesting taphonomy

2007-06-25T00:05:00.000-05:00

This articulated skeleton was awaiting burial in fluvial sediments.

Seen in June 2007 in the upper Wolf River, Langlade County, Wisconsin

The Florida Lawnmower Fire of '05

2007-06-14T14:45:00.000-05:00

You see what happens, Larry? You see what happens? This is what happens when you flip your riding lawnmower.

Witnessed by yours truly on April 20, 2005 in Highlands County, Florida.

Crurotarsan taphonomy

2007-06-12T11:02:00.001-05:00

ABSTRACT: Taphonomy is the study of the processes that occur as an organism decays and, in some cases, is fossilized. A novel process of taphonomy was observed in an extant crurotarsan in the cypress swamp of the southeastern lowlands of the United States. Described herein are the methods by which the carcass was disarticulated and scavenged by therapod fauna.

Nothing says "welcome to Florida" like a bunch of vultures feeding on a roadkilled alligator.

Verbing weirds language

2007-06-12T10:21:00.002-05:00

Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson - January 25, 1993

I've had enough of this. Even if dictionaries such as Merriam-Webster have conceded defeat, I stand my ground: "access" is not a verb. Neither is "leverage."

"Access" is a noun. It's a thing. "Do you have access to the bear pit?"

Soul-sucking: Let me access that file.
Better: Let me get/find/fetch/look up/obtain that file.

"Leverage," too, is a noun. The suffix -age is a good indication of this. Leverage is the the term for the mechanical advantage gained by using a lever, such as Archimedes proposed to apply to the earth if given a place to stand. The verb referring to the use of a lever to pry or otherwise apply a force is, perhaps confusingly, also "lever."

Soul-sucking: We should leverage this new technology in building our robot army.
Better: We should exploit/take advantage of/apply this new technology in building our robot army.

Before anyone calls me out on this, yes, I enjoy verbing words when speaking or writing informally - but I do this only when I know my audience will understand and find it amusing. This isn't about English snobbery - it's about speaking precisely and making oneself clearly understood.

Also, programmers take note: the opposite of "stateless" (as in "HTTP is a stateless protocol") is not "stateful." "Stateful" is a adjective describing, for example, an event replete with pomp: "The representative of the Crab People was greeted with a stateful reception." The opposite of "stateless" is persistent. That is, the state of the transaction persists between sessions.

Soul-sucking: HTTP is a stateless protocol. My proposed method is stateful.*
Better: HTTP is a stateless protocol. My proposed method is persistent.

* This, however, would be acceptable if your proposed method were full of pomp and vainglory.

More on the death of language to come.

Ride the walrus

2007-05-17T14:22:00.001-05:00

I propose that the walrus (Odobenus rosmarus) and the elephant seal (Mirounga spp.) fight to the death to determine which is rightfully King of the Pinnipeds.

Elephant seals are certainly mean when they're hauled out; however, anecdotal evidence from Inuit kayak hunters suggests that walrus are mean pretty much all the time. Maybe both species respect and avoid each other, and as such divided the world's oceans at a time immemorial: the high Arctic belongs to the walrus, while more temperate oceans in both hemispheres are the domain of the elephant seal.

Attempts at satellite tracking of walrus migration by a Danish research time suggest that walrus value their privacy.

The BBC seems to have a walrus fetish. Consider the plethora of walrus journalism from the UK:

* This also wins the award for "Nature photo most closely mimicking the way I look when I eat pudding."

Walrus much?

Atomic Tourism

2007-05-04T16:33:00.000-05:00

It has come to my attention that a number of Cold War sites are now open for tourism. Road trip, anyone?

Nuclear explosion sites

The Trinity site in New Mexico is open two days a year
Nevada Test Site

Aircraft and missiles on display

The B-29 Enola Gay is on display at the Smithsonian's National Air & Space Museum Udvar-Hazy Center at Washington-Dulles Airport*
The B-29 Bockscar is on display at The National Museum of the US Air Force at Wright-Patterson AFB, Dayton, Ohio*
The Kansas Cosmosphere, Hutchinson, Kansas, has an outstanding collection of Cold War and Space Race artifacts from both the US and Soviet programs; they also have both a V-1 and a V-2 on display.*
Strategic Air & Space Museum, Omaha, Nebraska

ICBM Silos and Nike Batteries

Minuteman Missile NHS, outside Ellsworth AFB, South Dakota
Titan Missile Museum, Tucson, Arizona
Nike missile site SF-88, Golden Gate NRA, Marin County, California (update: I was there in August 2007 - see my post "If it flies, it dies.")*
Chanute Air Museum, Rantoul, Illinois, has a nice collection of aircraft as well as a genuine USAF missile silo maintenance trainer.*

Other atomic tourist sites:

Atomic Tourist
This dude from Milwaukee has been to several of the above sites and has kindly posted his pictures and narrative: Trinity, Minuteman Missile NHS, and the Titan Missile Museum.

* denotes that I've been there and it's totally sweet.

Closing thought, from the journal of one of The Mighty Rando's lab-mates:

The U.S. government has a huge stockpile of nukes. Somewhere between 10,000 and 30,000, although no one--not even the government--knows for sure. Those beautiful engines of destruction were lovingly crafted out of pure taxpayer greenbacks, and by golly, they owe us. I say the government ought to be forced (either by popular vote, or because I damn well told 'em to) to set off one nuke every year at the Nevada test range, on the ground or in the air, just so dads all over the country can pile the family into the pickup or camper and drive out to the desert to see a little fireworks display, USA style. It would be good for all of us. To remind us that nukes exist, that they exist for a reason, and that we Americans are going to be their most important stewards forever. Because we built 'em first, we built the most, and they are not going to go away, no matter how much we might wish that they would. Hell, we ought to invite foreign dignitaries, too. I think that certain terrorist-coddling Middle Eastern heads of state could learn a lot from seeing a few square miles of desert instantly turned into glass.

Ask Doctor Vector: The Star-Spangled Incredible Hulk

Find-A-Species

2007-05-01T15:38:00.000-05:00

This is neat: The International Species Information System has a find animals service by which one may search their member zoos and aquaria for a species by common or Latin name.

Other zoo/aquarium items:

The Association of Zoos and Aquariums has a find a zoo or aquarium tool
The World Association of Zoos and Aquariums also has a worldwide directory of zoos and aquaria

Snakes on a lake

2007-04-30T11:35:00.000-05:00

We took some time on the way back from Cleveland to tour the Lake Erie shore. We visited Marblehead Light, the oldest continuously operating lighthouse on the Great Lakes, and the we took the ferry to the town of Put-in-Bay on South Bass Island. It was totally sweet. Then, as if visiting Perry's Victory/International Peace National Memorial wasn't sweet enough, we got a herpetological treat at the ferry terminal back on the mainland: an encounter with a number of Lake Erie water snakes Nerodia sipedon insularum that were basking on the riprap. Any snake encounter is likely to be awesome, but I was especially jazzed because these snakes (and the slightly crazy snake biologists who love them) were recently featured on the Discovery Channel show Dirty Jobs.

Sorry, Sam Jackson, but I've far from had it with these snakes. Check off another enounter with a critter on The Awesome List.

The Ohio DNR's guide to reptiles of Ohio points out that the Lake Erie water snake is a subspecies of the northern water snake found only among the Lake Erie islands. It lacks some of the banded coloration associated with other subspecies.

Update December 2007: the Respect the Snake web site has everything you need to know about the Lake Erie water snake.