New York Bans Foie Gras

Per a report in the New York Times, the New York City Council has voted to ban the sale of foie gras in the city by 2022.  Offered primarily in upscale French restaurants, foie gras is fatty duck or goose liver, produced by force-feeding a high-calorie mixture through a gastric tube for several weeks prior to slaughter.

As one might expect, French chefs and foie gras producers are not happy with the decision; others, myself included, wonder why such cruelty has continued in our "enlightened era" and why the ban will not take effect until 2022.  Our stewardship of the planet should certainly not include such a practice, however tasty (or lucrative) the product might be.

Of course, the great majority of Americans will not notice the unavailability of foie gras.  On the other hand, if they were to directly witness the processes involved in providing their beef, pork, chicken and veal, they might have second thoughts about eating meat altogether.  Animal cruelty and the mass production of meat cannot be divorced.

Belle Isle, Canada

Having discussed Landsat Island in my last post, I would be remiss not to mention the spectacular view of Belle Isle that we enjoyed farther down the Canadian Coast.  Named by the French explorer Jaques Cartier, this elongated island guards the northern entrance to the Gulf of St. Lawrence, known as the Strait of Belle Isle.  Geologically, Belle Isle represents the northern end of the Appalachians.

Oriented NE to SW, Belle Isle lies between the coasts of Labrador and Newfoundland; it is approximately 10 miles long and up to 3 miles wide.  While the Strait offers the most direct shipping route between the Great Lakes and Europe, its waters are characterized by treacherous, intersecting currents, strong tides and seasonal ice floes.  Since the mid 1800s, eight lighthouses have been constructed on Belle Isle, the latest in 1901 at its northeast tip; since the lights and foghorns are now operated remotely, the island has been turned over to its wild residents, naturally equipped to endure its harsh climate.

Our flight took us just east of Belle Isle and I snapped this photo from 30,000 feet.  Once again, when it comes to appreciating landscapes, there is nothing better than air travel.

Landsat Island

Returning from Scotland two weeks ago, I had a window seat on the right side of the aircraft.  Unfortunately, clouds obscured most of Scotland and Ireland as well as most of the North Atlantic.  As we approached Labrador, however, the cloud cover began to dissipate and my first sight of land was of a tiny island in the Labrador Sea.

Made visible by a white rim of waves crashing along its shores, the island was far off the mainland with no other islands in sight.  Based on research since returning home, I found that I had seen Landsat Island, the most eastern parcel of Canadian Territory.  About half the size of a football field, it was first discovered as recently as 1973, when the Landsat I satellite uncovered geographic details theretofore unseen.  Later verified by scientists arriving by boat and helicopter, the island remains uninhabited and its geology has not been assessed (though it is suspected to be a remnant from the rifting of Greenland from North America and Europe, some 30 million years ago).

Since the Labrador Sea is usually locked in ice during the winter months and since cloud cover is often extensive there during the warmer months, the tiny island had gone unnoticed until the era of satellites greatly enhanced our appreciation of Earth's surface features.  I was certainly very fortunate to catch a glimpse of that lonely speck of rock.  

A Warning from California

While global warming is a scientific fact, denied only by those politicians and industrialists who are threatened by its reality, how it will affect various regions of the planet remains uncertain.  There is no doubt that polar ecosystems will be dramatically altered and that sea levels will rise significantly, flooding coastal regions, but other effects are less clear.

Most climatologists seem to believe that the global rise in temperature will make dry areas drier and wet areas wetter.  Warmer ocean waters will augment the power of tropical storms and hurricanes and storms over terrestrial regions will drop more precipitation (in the form of rain or snow).  In other words, both drought and flooding will stress natural ecosystems and human civilization.

This week's wildfires in California, fueled by dry vegetation and intense Santa Ana winds, appears to be another warning that our delayed and inadequate response to human-induced climate change will have tragic consequences.  One begins to wonder where the safe zones will be as our climate continues to warm; flood-prone coasts and river valleys and fire-prone foothills and canyons seem to be most at risk but we will all be affected by the economic consequences.

Climate and Migration

Since returning to our Littleton farm earlier this week, I have noticed that our summer residents, responding to the solar cycle, have left for warmer climes; house wrens, broad-tailed hummingbirds, swallows and blue-gray gnatcatchers no longer grace the property and I have not observed any Swainson's hawks soaring overhead.  On the other hand, our winter residents are slow to move in, currently represented by only a dozen dark-eyed juncos and our lone Townsend's solitaire.

Down at South Platte Park this morning, the winter ducks are beginning to appear but the number of gadwalls, American wigeon, northern shovelers, hooded mergansers, buffleheads and American coot remains relatively low for late October.  Flocks of Canada geese should increase dramatically over the next two weeks but, in recent years, their arrival has been delayed.

Our first significant snowfall may force some mountain songbirds down to the Piedmont but the waterfowl will only come south if they need to (i.e. when lakes and wetlands freeze up north).  As our climate warms, their autumn migration will begin later in the year and, eventually, may shut down altogether. 

Winter Slides South

Since returning to Colorado, I have enjoyed a couple of pleasant, autumn days on our Littleton farm but a dose of winter is on its way.  As I write this post, gusty northeast winds have developed along the Front Range and bright sunshine has given way to a dense, gray overcast.

Rain is expected to develop by late afternoon, changing to snow during the overnight hours.  Since the leading edge of this atmospheric trough is moving rapidly to the south, our upslope flow will be rather brief and only a few inches of snow are expected in Metro Denver.  Dipping southward, from the Front Range to the Southern Plains to the Mississippi Valley, this pocket of winter will ignite thunderstorms along its southern and eastern margins, where it will clash with warm, humid air flowing up from the Gulf of Mexico.

As the trough moves off to the east, our winds will shift around from the southwest, bringing afternoon highs near 70 degrees F by the weekend.  Gyrations in the jet stream account for these rapid swings in weather; most common in the spring, they occur in autumn as well before a zonal flow allows winter to settle in across Temperate latitudes of North America.

Back to the Sixties

Faced with an impulsive narcissist in the Oval Office, one who is threatening stability on a global scale, we are in desperate need of the fervor that characterized the 1960s.  Having come of age during that era of mass demonstrations, I doubt that cyber-petitions will be nearly as effective.

As the Impeachment process continues to slog through Congress, perhaps destined to be shot down by Republican Senators, the rest of us must take to the streets to demand that Trump be removed from office.  He is a threat to our Democracy, to human rights, to the welfare of our environment and to the stability of our civilization.

We might laugh at the SNL skits and be amused by his ignorant Tweets but Americans, left, right and center, must join forces to remove this self-absorbed showman from the seat of power.  His presence is an embarrassment to our country and a dishonor to those who fought and died for our freedoms.

Pelicans Grace Eagle Bluffs

This morning, a friend and I visited Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area where large flocks of American white pelicans moved above the floodplain, congregating at a single pool.  We had counted 740 of those magnificent birds when other flocks began to arrive from the north, gliding southward above the Missouri River Valley.  We estimated that a total of 1100 pelicans visited the refuge on this sunny, cool morning, stopping to rest and feed on their journey to the Gulf Coast.

Were it not for the pelicans, our visit to Eagle Bluffs would have been disappointing.  The southern half of the refuge was chained off (reason uncertain) and other bird species were relatively limited in number and variety; only large flocks of red-winged blackbirds rivaled the pelicans.  Several double-crested cormorants dove for breakfast in the central channel, a couple dozen great-blue herons stalked the shallow pools and thirty-five great egrets moved about the refuge.  Shorebirds were limited to a dozen greater yellowlegs and a lone killdeer and raptors were represented only by kestrels and turkey vultures.  Canada geese and mallards were the only waterfowl that we observed, a rare lack of diversity for mid October; as discussed in an earlier post, I suspect that the extensive floodwaters upstream are disrupting the usual schedule of waterfowl migration this autumn.

Perhaps the large number of migrant pelicans will prove to be the vanguard of waterfowl migrations to follow.  Regardless, the sight of these graceful birds, flapping and gliding above the floodplain, was both welcome and inspiring.

Vikings in Scotland

During our tour of Scotland, we were shown a variety of Viking culture artifacts, especially in the Orkney and Hebrides Islands.  Indeed, the Norsemen occupied much of northern and western Scotland from 790 AD through most of the 12th Century.

Those of us who were born and raised in North America learned about Viking exploits across the North Atlantic, including their settlements in Iceland, Greenland and Newfoundland.  In fact, these skilled mariners explored coastlines as far south as Northern Africa, as far east as Russia and southward through the major rivers of Europe.  Contrary to their image as savage plunderers, the Vikings set up trade networks throughout their realm and dominated commerce in that region for 400 years.  Not inclined toward mysticism, their "pagan culture" eventually gave way to the expansion of Christianity (which brought far more brutality than the Norsemen ever did).

Visiting the National Museum of Scotland today, we saw a partial set of chessmen, carved from walrus tusks, that were unearthed on the Isle of Lewis more than 700 years after the Vikings left Scotland. What a fitting remnant from a time when those hardy explorers occupied the region and before religion-fueled wars raged across the country.

The View from Calton Hill

Calton Hill rises 100 meters above northeast Edinburgh; graced by an observatory and several monuments, it offers a panorama of the city and adjacent landscapes.  On this cloudy, cool morning, my wife and I joined throngs of other tourists atop this geographic prominence.

To the north, the wide Firth of Forth stretched out toward the North Sea while the River of Leith Valley was evident to the west.  To our south, the higher ridge of Holyrood Park rose toward Arthur's Seat, a scenic backdrop for the Palace of Holyroodhouse and the ruins of its 12th Century Abby; the Palace, the residence of Mary Queen of Scots in the 1560s, is now the Scottish home of British Royalty.  Stretching west from the Palace is the Royal Mile, leading to Edinburgh Castle atop a volcanic stump; most of that road is now lined with cafes, pubs and tourist shops.

Indeed, Scotland's capitol city, like many tourist destinations across the globe, has become a mix of historic structures, parks and tourist-related amenities, the latter including endless lines of sight-seeing buses that wind through its central corridors.  The relative solitude atop Calton Hill was appealing but I already miss the spectacular, open landscapes of the Highlands, where sheep far outnumber the humans.

A Visit to the RBGE

Having evolved since the late 1600s, the Royal Botanical Gardens of Edinburgh was formally established in the 1870s and has occupied its current location ever since.  Free to the public (except for access to its Glass Houses (greenhouse exhibits), the gardens stretch across a hilltop in north Edinburgh, offering broad views of the historic city.

Its 70 acres, accessed by a fine network of paved, graveled and grassy paths, are adorned with plants from across the globe and from every major ecosystem on our planet.  Almost equally diverse are the visitors, arriving from many countries to enjoy the history and public amenities of this attractive city. We were fortunate to explore the gardens on a mild, sunny day (seemingly rare in Scotland) and were pleased to learn about the cooperative research that the RBGE conducts with more than 40 other countries across the globe.  In this era of climate change and ongoing habitat destruction, that commitment is especially important.

If I were to offer one suggestion (as I am inclined to do), I would label the plants with their common names, secondarily identifying them with their scientific Genus and species; at this Gardens, scientific labeling was primarily utilized.  Since most visitors have had no formal training in botany, they would likely be more appreciative of the fabulous diversity of plants if their common names were known.  After all, public support for the complex work of conservation organizations is vital and it is best if visitors are not overwhelmed by the scientific terminology.  Just my opinion.

The Hebrides

The Hebrides, an archipelago off the west coast of Scotland is comprised of two groups of islands.  The Outer Hebrides are bounded by the Atlantic Ocean to their west and The Minch (Strait) and the Sea of Hebrides to their east; the Inner Hebrides are bounded by The Minch and Sea of Hebrides to their west and a complicated network of sounds, firths, lochs and bays to their east, separating them from the Scottish Mainland.

A few days ago, we caught a ferry from Ullapool, in western Scotland, to Stornoway, on the northern portion of the Outer Hebrides; while it is one land mass, this region is divided into the Isle of Lewis, in the north, and the Isle of Harris to its south.  Much of the former is characterized by extensive peat bogs, still used to heat homes and to infuse Scottish whisky with a smokey flavor; traveling through Lewis, we also encountered spectacular seascapes, visited an early settlement in Arnol, explored a Neolithic stone circle at Callanish and learned that the Gaelic language and culture remain dominant throughout the Outer Hebrides (as they are in many Highland regions of Scotland).  The Isle of Harris is more mountainous than the Isle of Lewis and harbors pristine beaches; its southernmost region is a "moonscape" of rock-studded grasslands.  As in almost all rural areas of Scotland, sheep grazing is extensive and this island is home to the famous Harris tweed.

A second ferry took us from Tarbert, on the Isle of Harris, to the Isle of Skye, the largest island of the Inner Hebrides.  Known for its resort towns, fabulous scenery, rocky beaches and towering sea cliffs, this island is accessible via a bridge from the mainland and is thus a popular destination for residents of Scotland's urban centers.  After two nights in Portree, we have returned to Edinburgh for the remainder of our visit to Scotland; it has certainly been a fascinating journey through this scenic and history-laden country.

Northwest Scotland

The main route that leads NE to SW through northwest Scotland is a one lane road; regular pull-offs allow oncoming cars to pass one another, sometimes at an alarming speed.  The scenery, on the other hand, is spectacular.

Numerous lochs, firths and rivers dissect the landscape, which is composed of rolling hills, low ridges and taller ranges.  All of these uplands are adorned with rocky grasslands, reminiscent of the alpine zone of North America's western mountains.  Of course, unlike the latter alpine ecosystems, which usually bask in brilliant sunshine, these Scottish highlands are subject to the effects of the North Atlantic and rapidly changing cloud formations enhance the beauty of the region.  Sheep are everywhere in this open-range territory, often grazing along the road and oblivious of the vehicles that speed past; indeed, their presence augments the tranquility of this remote landscape.

Arriving in Ullapool last evening, we will spend a day in this port on Loch Broom, a marine inlet of the North Atlantic, before taking a ferry out to the Hebrides.  That excursion will begin tomorrow morning.

Escorted by Gannets.

This morning, after visiting a sea cave on the Orkney Mainland in driving sleet, we caught the ferry back to the Scottish mainland, crossing the turbulent Pentland Firth.  Oblivious of the roiling sea and gusty winds, a small flock of northern gannets escorted the ship, veering off at times to dive for fish.

Scotland is home to 40% of all northern gannets; indeed, the gannet rookery on Bass Island, in the Firth of Forth (near Edinburgh), is the largest on Earth.  On this brutal morning in Northern Scotland, it was inspiring to watch these large, hardy seabirds and I certainly appreciated their company.

Once we reached shore, the sun broke through the clouds and the winds died down.  Our journey across the Northern Coast of Scotland was both scenic and pleasant as we crossed several rivers and firths before angling southwest through Northwest Scotland, perhaps the most spectacular region of the country.  More on that landscape in tomorrow's post.

The Orkney Mainland

The Orkney Islands are an archipelago of 70 islands and islets off the northeast coast of Scotland; the largest of these is known as The Mainland and it is that island that we explored today.

Famous for its collection of Neolithic "architecture," including stone circles, a burial chamber (Maeshowe) and the remnants of a village  (Skara Brae), all dating back to 3000 BC, as well as Viking engravings (at Maeshowe) from the 12th Century AD, the island's pastoral, rolling landscape is pleasing to the eye.  A large, natural harbor (second only in size to that of Sydney, Australia) stretches across the center of The Mainland while several saltwater bays, freshwater lakes and low ridges disrupt the hayfields and grasslands.  Massive cliffs of granite rise along the western coast, lashed and sculpted by monstrous waves from the North Atlantic.

During our tour of the island, we also encountered large flocks of greylag geese and a large number of swans (primarily whooper swans migrating from Iceland and perhaps some Bewick's swans, arriving from Siberia to winter in Scotland).  Tomorrow we leave the Orkneys to travel across the northern Scottish mainland as we head toward The Hebrides, another archipelago off the western coast of Scotland.

Northward through Scotland

Yesterday morning, we left Edinburgh, Scotland, in a light drizzle, heading northwest across the rolling hills of the Central Lowlands, quilted with hay fields, cattle ranches and sheep pastures.  Just beyond Callander, we crossed the Highland Boundary Fault and climbed into the scenic Scottish Highlands, eventually dropping toward the North Atlantic through the spectacular Glen Coe Valley.

After enjoying lunch in Fort William, we traveled northeastward through the Great Glen, its floor lined with a series of four lakes (called lochs in Scotland); the last (most northeast) of these is the famous Loch Ness, claimed by some to harbor a prehistoric plesiosaur.  We spent last night in Inverness and then headed northward along the North Sea Coast of northeast Scotland, crossing several large firths and enjoying scenic ocean vistas before reaching the lighthouse just northeast of John O'Groats, the most northern town on the Great Britain mainland.

A ferry carried us across the choppy, wind-driven Pentland Firth, which connects the North Atlantic and North Sea, to the Orkney Islands; there the economy is sustained by agriculture, ranching, fishing, tourism and distilleries.  We are spending the night in Kirkwall and will explore the main island tomorrow; though the weather has been cloudy, cool and breezy, we have been spared any significant precipitation since leaving Edinburgh.  More on our tour of Scotland in coming posts.

Into the Chill of Scotland

Having left 94 degrees F in Washington D.C. last evening, we arrived in Edinburgh, Scotland, this morning, greeted by cool, cloudy weather; the temperature was 34 degrees F and gradually climbed into the upper 40s throughout the day.

Sandwiched between the North Atlantic and the North Sea, Scotland receives less of the warming effects from the Gulf Stream than does Iceland and cool, cloudy, damp weather is common throughout the year.  Indeed, thick clouds covered the ocean as we approached from the west and the first identifiable geographic feature was Solway Firth, well south of Glasgow; the word "firth" applies to large bays and estuaries.  Curving northward, our flight took us near the North Sea Coast of southern Scotland and then into Edinburgh over the Firth of Forth.

Since our tour does not begin until tomorrow, my wife and I spent the day walking about that historic city, including a climb to Edinburgh Castle, its most prominent and well-known landmark.  The chilly weather was invigorating but rain is forecast to begin tonight and, unfortunately, is forecast to hang around for most of the week (thanks to the remnants of Tropical Storm Lorenzo).