For the past two weeks I have had almost complete freedom to do as I please. There have been a lot of errands to complicate things certainly, and my search for a house has definitely occupied a greater portion of the month, but by and large I've had a whooole lot of free time. With which to watch previous episodes of The Office! It seems my one great accomplishment during this period of time was the further characterization of the relationship between free time and good times. It turns out that they are not always directly related. It seems that at a certain threshold of free time, a point I like to call "McBurney's point", the relationship becomes inverse such that greater free time leads not to more good times, but rather more idle lying around. Although I cannot prove it I would imagine each person has a different McBurney's point, but, wherever it is, I certainly crossed it sometime in the last fourteen days. I have obtained a level 40 home city for France on Age of Empires III, but when I'm playing the game three hours a day should I really expect anything less? No, I have become fat and lazy, or rather just lazy, and now I don't have much to say. I could discuss mortgages and new home buying, but I imagine that would be about as exciting as a lecture in economics. So instead I will briefly mention my one great discovery these past few weeks -- completely unrelated to my one great accomplishment.
It's History Comics by Kate Beaton at... well... whatever her Internet address is -- just follow the link. While I have an extensive list of comics linked on the right hand side of my page, most are admittedly rubbish and used only to feed the odd addiction that I seem to have acquired for these things over the years. History Comics, however, are different. Or at the very least they're the pure uncut heroin to the rest of my uhh... very cut heroin.... Anyway, each comic is generally about some random historical figure, frequently Canadian, and is at the very least amusing and informative if nothing else. I'd say it's both fun and educational, but I'm sure you've already thunk it.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Three Thousand Turtles a Square Mile
Population densities tell a lot about an animal and its environment. A typical square mile of temperate Ozark river basin can support about 600 gray squirrels, 68 raccoons, 24 mule deer, 2 bobcats, and .05 brown bear.* These figures can then be related to one another to determine predator to prey ratios, numbers which themselves also speak a great deal about different species and how they interact with their environment. Ectotherms, or cold-blooded organisms, for example tend to have very high predator to prey ratios as their slow metabolisms necessitate less calories and so less prey. Endotherms, warm-bloodeds, on the other hand tend to require larger quantities of food to keep their thermostats running, and so warm-blooded predators tend to be rarer and harder to find for a given piece of land. It is because of this correlation (and many others) that some believe dinosaurs were warm blooded as the fossil record has so far shown a relative paucity of dino-predators compared to dino-prey.
Turtles, having no natural enemies, befuddle this relationship as they are preyed on by no one and prey on no thing.** It raises the ecological questions, then, of why do they exist in such densities along the Buffalo National River? During our brief two day, one night survey of the river we encountered turtles stacked upon turtles all along the shoreline and in various fallen timber in the shallows. Although initial figures are only estimates it would seem that there are roughly three thousand turtles per every square mile along the Buffalo National River, more than eighteen times the national average for most rivers.*** This can only mean one thing. The turtles are up to no good. Could be invasion. Could be pillage. Could be simple loitering. Whatever it is, with the length of the Buffalo in mind Central Arkansas could shortly face turtles in the tens of millions. Thankfully, if their tendency to dive blindly into the water whenever more than stared at is any indication, we shall rise victorious. Nevertheless, I would like to be the first to put the national turtle terror threat level to orange. That's "high" people!
Our trip along the Buffalo River was admittedly not primarily about turtles, however, nor even about ecology in general. It was about floating in canoes, and that we did mightily. Having never canoed for more than five or ten minutes before and certainly not to any great extent in recent history in a river, things were admittedly rough at first. I believe the first one hundred yards Megan and I coasted through every low hanging tree and bush along both banks. This was partially due to a combination of ignorance and general confusion, but also due to the fact that my zig-zag navigational pattern gave us ample opportunity to visit each side of the river frequently. After a little while doing that, Rachel graciously switched out with Megan and the five of us (Paul and Drew included) continued down the river with much less fanfare. The entire first day was as such really, and it ended with a beautiful clear night sky, well constructed fire, delicious macaroni, cheese, and ham dinner, and almost perfect s'mores. It wasn't until the second day when the canoe mishaps continued.
The second calamity to befall us was not my fault. Or it wasn't at least according to Drew who was the official rudder of our canoe at the time, and who takes on probably far more guilt than is due. It was likely a collection of things that led to us floating canoeless down the river in our life vests on the second day. Culpability aside, the day itself began with the hurried closing of camp and packing up of canoes. Within a short while the first of a long series of showers and storms began and we became increasingly wetter and wetter. Thankfully once you're wet at all relative wetness becomes somewhat irrelevant and, accepting our dampness, we continued on down the river in mostly good spirits. After a few breaks here and there for food and to hide out from some of the bigger cloud bursts we approached one more of several dozen minor rapids. This one, like many of the others, was not terribly fast or rocky, but consisted mostly of a mild narrowing of the river, brief pickup of speed, and a lot of trees. Paul and Rachel drifted through with ease as they were want to do, and then it was Drew and I's turn. Mimicking my navigational skills from the day before Drew headed to the first tree and we were quickly forced to take evasive measures. For me that consisted of leaning back to avoid sticks to the face, and likely rotating to the right some to prevent any of the low hanging ones from grabbing a nostril. From what I hear this is the same course of action Drew chose, and, after our canoe abutted the tree at a quirky angle, we quickly went from deflecting branches to tipped over and under water.
The water was, not surprisingly, freezing. Combine that with the surprise of instantaneously being thrown into a river and there was a brief panic. The obvious solution to me, after getting myself from out underneath the canoe, was to right the craft back to its original state. This would somehow solve all the problems, we could climb back in, and be on our way. Well, I righted it, and we then had a floating canoe full of water. As Drew and I regrouped we climbed atop the canoe to figure out what the best course of action was. After about a minute or two and a quarter mile of floating we decided to swim to the nearest shore with the canoe in tow while Paul and Rachel picked up our debris in their own still properly floating canoe. We did this without much difficulty and were soon standing ashore, shivering and cold, but with only a few sandals and a pancho missing. We dried off, changed clothes, repacked, and headed on down the river. As much of our gear and food were soaked we decided to call it a trip and paddle on the rest of the way to our pickup point a day early. Everyone was tired and wet, and I was without footwear, but we were rewarded with the surprise guest appearance of the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile in Conway, AR.
In closing let me say that Drew ate three pecan waffles at the Waffle House and only refrained from a fourth because of a rightly placed fear of what people would say about him. As a friend of mine once said, "I'm not so surprised that he ate three oranges, but that after the second he thought to himself, 'hmm... I think I'd like an orange.'"
*These numbers are completely made up. Any similarity to the actual figures are entirely coincidental.
**I am pretty sure this is a whole string of lies.
***Uhm, maybe?
Turtles, having no natural enemies, befuddle this relationship as they are preyed on by no one and prey on no thing.** It raises the ecological questions, then, of why do they exist in such densities along the Buffalo National River? During our brief two day, one night survey of the river we encountered turtles stacked upon turtles all along the shoreline and in various fallen timber in the shallows. Although initial figures are only estimates it would seem that there are roughly three thousand turtles per every square mile along the Buffalo National River, more than eighteen times the national average for most rivers.*** This can only mean one thing. The turtles are up to no good. Could be invasion. Could be pillage. Could be simple loitering. Whatever it is, with the length of the Buffalo in mind Central Arkansas could shortly face turtles in the tens of millions. Thankfully, if their tendency to dive blindly into the water whenever more than stared at is any indication, we shall rise victorious. Nevertheless, I would like to be the first to put the national turtle terror threat level to orange. That's "high" people!
Our trip along the Buffalo River was admittedly not primarily about turtles, however, nor even about ecology in general. It was about floating in canoes, and that we did mightily. Having never canoed for more than five or ten minutes before and certainly not to any great extent in recent history in a river, things were admittedly rough at first. I believe the first one hundred yards Megan and I coasted through every low hanging tree and bush along both banks. This was partially due to a combination of ignorance and general confusion, but also due to the fact that my zig-zag navigational pattern gave us ample opportunity to visit each side of the river frequently. After a little while doing that, Rachel graciously switched out with Megan and the five of us (Paul and Drew included) continued down the river with much less fanfare. The entire first day was as such really, and it ended with a beautiful clear night sky, well constructed fire, delicious macaroni, cheese, and ham dinner, and almost perfect s'mores. It wasn't until the second day when the canoe mishaps continued.
The second calamity to befall us was not my fault. Or it wasn't at least according to Drew who was the official rudder of our canoe at the time, and who takes on probably far more guilt than is due. It was likely a collection of things that led to us floating canoeless down the river in our life vests on the second day. Culpability aside, the day itself began with the hurried closing of camp and packing up of canoes. Within a short while the first of a long series of showers and storms began and we became increasingly wetter and wetter. Thankfully once you're wet at all relative wetness becomes somewhat irrelevant and, accepting our dampness, we continued on down the river in mostly good spirits. After a few breaks here and there for food and to hide out from some of the bigger cloud bursts we approached one more of several dozen minor rapids. This one, like many of the others, was not terribly fast or rocky, but consisted mostly of a mild narrowing of the river, brief pickup of speed, and a lot of trees. Paul and Rachel drifted through with ease as they were want to do, and then it was Drew and I's turn. Mimicking my navigational skills from the day before Drew headed to the first tree and we were quickly forced to take evasive measures. For me that consisted of leaning back to avoid sticks to the face, and likely rotating to the right some to prevent any of the low hanging ones from grabbing a nostril. From what I hear this is the same course of action Drew chose, and, after our canoe abutted the tree at a quirky angle, we quickly went from deflecting branches to tipped over and under water.
The water was, not surprisingly, freezing. Combine that with the surprise of instantaneously being thrown into a river and there was a brief panic. The obvious solution to me, after getting myself from out underneath the canoe, was to right the craft back to its original state. This would somehow solve all the problems, we could climb back in, and be on our way. Well, I righted it, and we then had a floating canoe full of water. As Drew and I regrouped we climbed atop the canoe to figure out what the best course of action was. After about a minute or two and a quarter mile of floating we decided to swim to the nearest shore with the canoe in tow while Paul and Rachel picked up our debris in their own still properly floating canoe. We did this without much difficulty and were soon standing ashore, shivering and cold, but with only a few sandals and a pancho missing. We dried off, changed clothes, repacked, and headed on down the river. As much of our gear and food were soaked we decided to call it a trip and paddle on the rest of the way to our pickup point a day early. Everyone was tired and wet, and I was without footwear, but we were rewarded with the surprise guest appearance of the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile in Conway, AR.
In closing let me say that Drew ate three pecan waffles at the Waffle House and only refrained from a fourth because of a rightly placed fear of what people would say about him. As a friend of mine once said, "I'm not so surprised that he ate three oranges, but that after the second he thought to himself, 'hmm... I think I'd like an orange.'"
*These numbers are completely made up. Any similarity to the actual figures are entirely coincidental.
**I am pretty sure this is a whole string of lies.
***Uhm, maybe?
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