Fall without Football

Watching college football is among my earliest memories, gathered around the black and white with my father and uncles, enjoying both the snacks and their beer-fueled banter.  Throughout high school and college, that pattern continued as I joined friends on Saturday afternoons to watch the games and indulge in our favorite beverages.

My wife and I have also honored that tradition over the years, enjoying the pageantry and the legendary announcers (Jackson, Lundquist et al.) as much as the games themselves; however, other than her devotion to the Wisconsin Badgers, we have not been avid fans of any given teams.  Long disturbed by serious injuries suffered in the name of school pride and big money, we have lost our enthusiasm for college football as the evidence of sports-related CTE (chronic traumatic encephalopathy) has become impossible to ignore.

Despite the enjoyment that college football has provided over the years, we can no longer lend our support by attending games or watching them on television.  This will be our first fall without football.

See also:  Modern Gladiators and Brain Trauma Season

The Delusion of Simplicity

Nothing of consequence in life is simple.  Surely, no one would argue that love or personal relationships are uncomplicated.  And who would suggest that parenting is simple or that their career has been devoid of complications?  To imply that there are simple solutions to our social ills or to the threats that we impose on natural ecosystems is exceedingly naive.

Indeed, life itself is highly complex, having evolved into a vast array of species over the past 3.6 billion years.  Despite our technologic advancements, we still do not fully understand the countless biochemical processes that support life and are far from eliminating the many diseases that threaten its existence.

Those who offer simple solutions to the problems that confront individuals, human society or our environment are delusional, seemingly unaware that all interventions have potential side effects and unforeseen consequences; most of these individuals are poorly educated and prone toward mysticism.  Our Universe, our planet, our civilization, our relationships, our bodies and our natural environment are far more complex and interconnected than most humans appreciate; there is nothing simple about them.

The Published Word

Published writing, whether in the form of literature, a news article, an essay, a blog post or an email, must be owned by the author.  After all, it will be a permanent record of that person's ideas, experience, convictions and philosophy.

Those in the business of writing (authors, journalists, bloggers, etc.) come to understand this fact and personally read and re-read their material before it is published.  Subsequent to that publication, their writing (and its implications regarding the author) will often be questioned or criticized and may become fodder for lawsuits or various forms of social persecution.  In that respect, the willingness to produce published content (whether fictional or not) requires a certain degree of courage.

Unfortunately, those who publish via email, text or tweet, do not often understand the permanence and potential consequences of their comments.  Then there are those who publish anonymously, refusing to accept personal responsibility for the content of their pronouncement.  Both of these scenarios are especially disturbing for those of us who respect the published word.

The Atlantic Comes Alive

After a slow start to the Atlantic Hurricane Season, a chain of tropical storms, hurricanes and tropical waves has developed in the past few days.  Of course, September is generally the peak month of the annual Hurricane Season (which runs from June to early November) and current atmospheric and oceanic conditions are favoring storm development.

Just yesterday, Tropical Storm Gordon made landfall along the Mississippi Coast and its flooding rains continue to fall near Pensacola and Mobile; in the coming days, that tropical system will inject copious moisture into the Midwest which will interact with a cold front to produce flooding from Arkansas to the Great Lakes.  Next in line is Hurricane Florence, currently a Category 3 storm in the Central Atlantic; its future course remains uncertain but it could potentially affect the entire East Coast of the U.S.  Behind Florence are three tropical waves, emerging from the West Coast of Africa every few days; since wind shear has currently diminished over the Atlantic and sea temperatures are in the upper 80s (F) off the Southeast Coast, the stage is set for potential landfalling hurricanes.

While the incidence of tropical storms and hurricanes will vary with a host of atmospheric and oceanic patterns, our warming climate will surely add fuel to systems that do develop.  Storms in the Eastern Pacific have dominated the headlines in recent months but the Atlantic has now come alive!

Visiting Coastal Colorado

After my recent travel to beaches and coastal wetlands of the Southeastern U.S., I thought I would visit Coastal Colorado today, a term I have previously applied to the lakes, gravel pits, sloughs and canals across the South Platte Valley of northeastern Colorado.

Unlike the Southeastern wetlands, those of the South Platte Valley are not characterized by lush, verdant vegetation.  Rather, in this semiarid climate, trees (mostly plains cottonwoods) are found only along the river, its primary tributaries or irrigation canals.  Since this summer has been especially hot and dry, the natural grasslands have browned, adorned only by clumps of prairie sunflowers and rabbitbrush.  Though I saw hundreds (if not thousands) of American white pelicans (especially at Barr Lake State Park), most avian species were limited in number; among these were Swainson's hawks, American kestrels, western grebes, cattle egrets, Franklin's gulls, American avocets and shorebirds that were too distant to identify.

I have been visiting this region in late summer for more than thirty years, enjoying the mosaic of shortgrass prairie, cropfields and ranchlands that surround the river, lakes and wetlands.  In recent years, however, fracking wells and oil storage tanks have begun to dominate the scene in some areas and one wonders what impact they will have on the quality of the water and the welfare of the aquatic ecosystems.

River Otter at Eagle Bluffs

On this pleasant morning in central Missouri, a friend and I headed down to Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area, on the Missouri River floodplain.  Bird sightings were far from spectacular though a large number of great egrets and great blue herons were encountered.  The highlight of this morning's visit was the sighting of a river otter, feeding in a channel at the south end of the refuge.

Nearly extirpated from Missouri in the early 20th Century, river otters have made a dramatic comeback due to a reintroduction program that began in the 1980s.  Now found in rivers, large creeks and lakes throughout the State, these large mustelids feast primarily on fish, crayfish and amphibians; the young are born in late winter and family groups may be found throughout the year.

Since river otters are primarily nocturnal, they are not regularly observed by the general public and are more abundant than most of us might suspect.  This morning's sighting was thus a special and unexpected treat; though I have encountered many mink and muskrats at Eagle Bluffs, this was my "first otter" after hundreds of visits to that fabulous refuge.

The Liberal Press

President Trump, like many other conservative politicians, often ridicules "the liberal media."  Of course, our narcissist-in-chief also refers to their reporting as "fake news" and openly suggests that they are the "enemy of the people."

While I despise almost everything that Trump does or says, I must agree that professional journalists tend to be liberal.  After all, they are well-educated, worldly individuals, students of history and well-informed on social issues.  Journalists are generally open-minded and tolerant, strongly devoted to free speech and human rights; more than most citizens, they are repeatedly exposed to the inequities in human society and understand the vital role that a free press plays in addressing those problems.

Unlike zealous politicians, who see the world in black and white, journalists appreciate the many shades of gray and work to uncover the truth, wherever their search might lead.  Truth, in turn, is the enemy of zealots and they fear (and thus denigrate) those who bring it to light.  Fortunately, the harsh rhetoric and threats that come from Trump and his admirers will not prevail in this country.

Spectacle at Dusk

On this cool, breezy evening in Columbia, Missouri, I went out to the back deck for a bird count.  After spending an hour in the lounge chair, I had seen a fair variety of birds, all common summer residents in our area.

As dusk progressed, I was about to go inside when a flock of common nighthawks appeared in the darkening sky; numbering 32, they were drifting to the SSE.  To my delight, this initial flock was followed by two more, all heading the same direction; the total count for all three flocks was 84.

Though large flocks of migrating nighthawks are not unusual in late August and early September, this evening's spectacle, unexpected and almost missed, was especially inspiring as the silent travelers passed overhead.  They are on their way to South America, always leaving well ahead of the autumn chill; unlike some insectivores (e.g. chimney swifts), which stick around until mid October, nighthawks do not risk any depletion of their prey (flying insects).  Feeding on the wing as they migrate, they will not return to the Heartland until early May.

Flashback Post X

Two days after visiting the Columbia Audubon Sanctuary, where (among other habitats) I crossed a restored prairie, I am experiencing an outbreak of chigger "bites."  Though I stayed on the trails, my preventive efforts were otherwise minimal, having ignored my own advice from June of 2016.

See:  Chigger Season

A Morning of Pewees

Back in central Missouri, I visited the Columbia Audubon Sanctuary this morning.  Though we are in the midst of another heat wave, it was relatively mild and breezy just after dawn but harassment by horse flies hastened my walk through the refuge.

While I encountered a fair variety of species, including pileated woodpeckers and a barred owl, eastern wood pewees dominated the scene, moving about in small groups and calling from every parcel of forest.  The most common and widespread flycatcher in the eastern U.S., these birds generally arrive in May and depart for South America by early October.  Throughout the warmer months, they are most often seen alone, perched near the tip of a dead limb from which they make repeated sorties to snare flying insects; they may also glean prey (insects or spiders) from the foliage.

Upon arriving in spring and just before leaving in the fall, eastern wood species, like many other birds, may congregate in favored locations where food is plentiful.  The cause for their abundance this morning is uncertain but their cheerful calls and "bug-control" services are always welcome.

The Threat of Provincialism

President Trump's election was, in large part, the result of his promise to enact policies that focus purely on the welfare of Americans.  Many of those who supported his populist message were looking out for their own welfare, placing it above the welfare of humans in general.

Such provincialism is especially strong in rural areas and small towns, where residents tend to be like-minded and where a distrust of the Federal Government is especially strong.  Though many rely on subsidies (e.g. farm supports) and turn to the Federal Government when natural disasters destroy their homes or threaten their livelihoods, they abhor the liberal politics of urban centers.

Were this provincialism limited to regional politics, it might be amusing.  But the welfare of our species and the health of our environment depend upon cooperation throughout our country and across the globe.  We cannot effectively deal with climate change, pandemics, poverty, environmental pollution and human rights by focusing solely on our local community and personal welfare.  Provincialism is selfish, close-minded and, in the long run, self-destructive. 

Crossing Mississippi

Mention the State of Mississippi and most Americans likely think of Delta cotton fields or beautiful Gulf beaches bracing for the next tropical storm or hurricane.  But most of the State is covered by forest and woodlands, a fact that I confirmed as we traveled through Mississippi yesterday.

Returning to Missouri, we entered Mississippi west of Mobile, Alabama, and exited the State just south of Memphis, Tennessee.  From the Alabama border to Hattiesburg, we undulated through the De Soto National Forest, crossing the Chickasawhay and Leaf Rivers, tributaries of the Pascagoula which enters the Gulf of Mexico.  Between Hattiesburg and Jackson, the terrain leveled out as we crossed the "pine belt" before reaching the Pearl River, which also flows to the Gulf.

North of Jackson, woodlands still predominate but are broken by small farms and ranches and by wetlands along the Big Black River and the upper tributaries of the Yazoo River (all of which flow westward to the Mississippi).  On both sides of the Coldwater River, the northernmost of those waterways, broad swamplands had attracted hundreds of great egrets, providing the natural highlight of our journey through the State.  

Tarkiln Bayou Preserve State Park

On our way out of Pensacola, Florida, this morning, my wife and I visited Tarkiln Bayou Preserve State Park, southwest of the city.  The Preserve's 4200 acres stretch east of Perdido Bay, occupying (and expanding) the former site of the Perdido Pitcher Plant Prairie.  Known for its orchids and carnivorous plants, the refuge is accessed via a network of earthen trails and boardwalks.

Short on time and de-energized by the heat, we settled on the Tarkiln Bayou Trail (1.5 miles roundtrip), which leads southwest from the parking lot on State Route 293.  This paved walkway first crosses a woodland of slash pine and saw palmetto and then snakes atop boardwalks where pitcher plants (primarily of the white-topped species) abound in the shallow wetlands.  The trail ends on the east shore of scenic Tarkiln Bayou, which is surrounded by tidal marsh and empties into Perdido Bay.

This State Park is named for tar kilns, locally used in the 1800s to process pine tar that was collected from southern yellow pines (commonly known as slash pines); the tar was used primarily by the shipping industry but also in the production of soap.  While the refuge is home to an excellent diversity of wildlife, we encountered only ospreys, red-headed woodpeckers and eastern towhees on this hot August morning.

White Beaches of Northwest Florida

The Florida Panhandle is known for its sparkling white beaches, a trait that results from their composition.  The "sugar sand" of this region is composed of fine, ovoid quartz crystals, eroded from the Blue Ridge Mountains and deposited in the Gulf of Mexico by the Apalachicola River.

Spread by currents within the Gulf, the quartz crystals are a primary component of beaches all along the Florida Gulf Coast but are least "contaminated" with shell fragments along the Panhandle.  In beaches along the Florida Peninsula and Keys, variable amounts and color of shell fragments alter the appearance of the sand; in some areas, the shell fragments predominate and the beach is gray, tan or nearly black.

Here on Pensacola Beach, the white sand is dazzling in the bright afternoon sun, squeaking beneath your feet and producing a sharp contrast with the clear, turquoise water of the Gulf.  As one might expect from the above discussion, shells are small, mostly white and far less abundant than on the beaches of Southwest Florida.

Off to the Northern Gulf

Since the red tide was worsening on Longboat Key, we decided to head to the Northern Gulf Coast and settled on Pensacola Beach, an area that neither of us had visited.  The seven hour drive was uneventful, rather devoid of interesting wildlife; an exception was a huge number of cattle egrets on ranchlands to either side of Interstate 10, just west of Interstate 75.  Also of note was the change in character of the rivers, from the clear, tea-colored water of the peninsula (flowing through limestone and sandy soil) to the muddy water of the Panhandle rivers, draining the clay soils of the interior.

Nearing Pensacola, we cut south on Route 281, crossing the broad east arm of Pensacola Bay to Gulf Breeze before continuing out to the narrow barrier island of Pensacola Beach.  As is typical of the Northern Gulf Coast, Pensacola Beach boasts a scenic strip of white sand, backed by modest dunes and hotels.  While it is surely a delightful location for sun worshipers, surfers and boaters, it did not immediately appeal to this naturalist.  We did encounter a fair number of brown pelicans on the bay, but only a handful of sanderlings and laughing gulls were observed on the beach.

We'll be here for a couple of days and I'll surely have more to report before we leave.  Stay tuned!

A Pelican Roost

For the first time since we purchased our condo on Longboat Key, a group of brown pelicans has established a roost on a mangrove island, some 50 yards off our seawall in Sarasota Bay.  Common local residents, these marine birds breed along both coasts of North America, from Southern California and the Mid Atlantic States, southward.

Brown pelicans generally nest and roost in colonies, preferring offshore islands where they are relatively safe from predators; here in South Florida, mangrove islets are most often used.  Once their breeding season has ended, some wander northward as far as British Columbia and New England, returning to more southerly latitudes in the fall; vagrants may even turn up along major river valleys, especially in late summer.

Comical looking but highly skilled as fliers and divers, brown pelicans usually feed by plunging into schools of fish, using their bill pouch to snare their prey.  Often observed at fishing docks, looking for handouts, they are one of the most recognizable marine birds along southern coasts and are more than welcome on our inlet of Sarasota Bay.

Inspecting the Dead

Wanting to get closer to the red tide destruction, my wife and I visited Whitney Beach this morning.  Stretching along the northwest edge of Longboat Key, it is both the most scenic stretch of sand and (in my opinion) the best birding location on this barrier island.  As expected, the beach was littered with dead fish, eels, rays and horseshoe crabs and the variety of birds was far below normal.

Wandering among the dead, we endured the nauseating stench of rotting sea life.  While a couple of yellow-crowned night herons and a dozen shorebirds (black-bellied plovers and ruddy turnstones) scoured the beach, they stayed clear of the victims; brown pelicans and large flocks of laughing gulls passed overhead or lounged far offshore.  Except for a lone hunter with his metal detector, we were the only humans on that popular beach.

Though the algal counts have waxed and waned along Florida's Southwest Coast, the red tide is expected to persist until a tropical storm or cool autumn weather invades the region.  There is trouble in paradise and, this morning, we bore witness to its wrath. 

Benefits from a Red Tide?

This past week, the Governor of Florida declared a State of Emergency along the Southwest Coast, responding to the natural and economic damage wrought by the toxic algal bloom.  Many marine species have been killed and both the fishing and tourist industries are taking a hit.

But could there be a natural benefit from these algal blooms?  Could they be important in marine ecosystems, thinning out populations, releasing nutrients and "re-setting" the regional web of life?  After all, many other natural phenomena are deemed to be harmful or cruel from the human perspective.

On a selfish note, the red tide has cleared out much of the human population on Longboat Key and we almost have our condo complex to ourselves.  Then again, one cannot help but wonder if this bloom, like those that occur on inland lakes and coastal bays, is aggravated by human activity.  We pump a huge amount of nutritious effluent into our rivers and human-induced global warming will surely enhance algal blooms in the future.  All of these issues are food for thought and it is best that we concentrate on protecting all natural ecosystems from pollution and climate change.

Encountering the Red Tide

Since we had a wedding to attend in South Carolina in mid August, we decided to spend the second half of this month at our condo on Longboat Key, Florida.  Unfortunately, in the weeks leading up to the wedding, we learned that a severe and persistent red tide had developed along the coast of Southwest Florida.  Nevertheless, we decided to investigate for ourselves.

A toxic algal bloom of Karenia brevis, a red tide results in extensive fish kills, littering the beaches with rotting fish; a neurotoxin released by the algae may also kill dolphins and manatees and, this year, the corpse of a whale shark washed ashore.  In addition, particulate debris from the abundant algae wafts in on the sea breeze, causing eye, throat and lung irritation for those humans who do not abandon the region altogether.

We arrived to find that the dead fish odor was indeed strong along the beaches but that the wind-blown irritants were rather mild.  Though we will likely depart earlier than planned, we'll limit our beach walks and focus our activities on the bay side of the island, which seems to be less affected.  Of note, the Mote Aquarium, in Sarasota County, has developed a method to kill the algae by injecting ozone into the water; now used to protect their tanks, they will try this method in canals before experimenting in the open Gulf.  On the other hand, since a bloom of Karenia brevis is a natural phenomenon, one wonders whether such treatment will have unintended consequences.

See also: Red Tide in January

Crossing the Eastern Divide

Yesterday morning, we left Knoxville, driving eastward through the foggy Tennessee Valley.  After crossing the Holston and French Broad Rivers (which join to form the Tennessee), we climbed into the Blue Ridge Mountains, following the course of the Pigeon River.  Leveling out west of Asheville, we crossed the divide between the Pigeon and the French Broad Rivers, encountering the largest concentration of tent caterpillars that I have ever seen.

At Asheville, we angled southward on Interstate 26 and crossed the Eastern Divide just south of Hendersonville; this Divide, which snakes north to south through Eastern Canada and the Eastern U.S., separates the watersheds of rivers flowing to the Gulf of Mexico from those flowing toward the Atlantic Ocean.  South of the Divide, we soon arrived at the edge of the Blue Ridge Mountains and were treated to a spectacular view of the Southeastern Piedmont.

After undulating across the Piedmont, hemmed in by a pine-broadleaf forest, we crossed the Fall Line at Columbia, leaving the Precambrian bedrock of the Blue Ridge and Piedmont and traveling across the flat, sandy soil of the Coastal Plain.  We'll spend a few days along the South Carolina coast before heading south to Florida.

Road Trip to the Southeast Coast

On our way to a family wedding in South Carolina, my wife and I left Columbia this morning and drove eastward across the Glaciated Plain of Missouri.  After crossing the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers in St. Louis, we angled southeastward across Illinois, eventually fording the Wabash River (a major tributary of the Ohio) before climbing across the Shawnee Hills of southern Indiana (capped with Pennsylvanian sandstone).

After crossing the Ohio River at Louisville, we drove eastward through the Bluegrass Region of northern Kentucky (underlaid with Ordovician Limestone), crossing the Kentucky River near Frankfort and again south of Lexington; the Kentucky flows northward to joint the Ohio.  At Berea, we climbed onto the Appalachian Plateau (a layer cake of Carboniferous sediments) and crossed the Cumberland River (another tributary of the Ohio) in southern Kentucky.  Entering Tennessee, we climbed across the Allegheny Front, the high, western edge of the Appalachian Plateau, and then dropped into the Ridge and Valley Province, crossing the Clinch River (a major tributary of the Tennessee) before reaching Knoxville.

We'll spend the night in Knoxville before continuing our journey to the Coast.  Tomorrow we cross the Eastern Divide.

Perseids from the Sky

On my regular flights between Colorado and Missouri, I am usually focused on the ground, studying the topography and rivers; should it be a night flight, I watch for city lights, observing the sequence of towns and cities that I have come to memorize from my numerous road trips.

But tonight, as I fly from Denver to Columbia, Missouri, I will be watching the sky.  This is the annual peak night for the Perseid Meteor Shower, produced by remnant debris from the Swift-Tuttle Comet.  As the Earth crosses the comet's path around the sun, the dust particles collide with and ignite in our atmosphere, producing numerous meteors.  The Perseids are often abundant and are expected to increase in coming decades as the comet's path more closely aligns with the orbit of our planet.

As I write this blog from Denver International Airport, sunset and our takeoff are still two hours away but the radar shows that precipitation is minimal between here and Columbia, suggesting that high clouds will not obscure my view.  Though the meteors are best observed after midnight, I hope to see many from 30,000 feet, far removed from the "light pollution" on the ground.