Wednesday, July 29, 2020

Continuing Success

 by
Tim Homan

        The North Carolina Wildlife Commission has restored a fast and wild ferocity-a taut arrow, feather fletched and set free on the wind-to the state's Southern Appalachian skies.  The commission accomplished this feat by bringing back the perfect aerodynamic form of the fastest being on Earth, the Peregrine Falcon (Falco peregrinus).  With a moderate amount of luck, you can claim witness to the striking sight of this raptor on the wing, to the fluid grace of its spear-fast flight.  With even more luck and more time spent atop mountains open to the high blue, you might witness this falcon turn warlord if another large bird-Common Raven, Turkey Vulture, or Red-tailed Hawk-ventures into peregrine airspace while the proprietor is on high-altitude patrol.  Then this predator may tuck its dagger-tipped wings into one of the Earth's most exquisite expressions of form and function as it dives toward the intruder.
 

FINE Things July 22-29

FINE = Fun, Interesting, Novel, Exciting
or
FINED =
Fun, Interesting, Novel, Exciting, Depressing

Emily suggests this piece about the age of ancient diseases.

This NY Times piece tells you everything you might need to know about dealing with yellow jackets and their relatives.

Genes tell us where slaves came from and now, what happened to them after their arrival.

Before industrialization our climate wasn't unchanging. Many forces interacting together determine our climate. Here is an article that will help you understand how they work and interact.

Eugenia recommends this article about how farming practices can be changed to protect pollinators.

Emily recommends: A recently published study shows that US crops are already seeing a decline in production due to pollinator decreases. The Guardian has the story.

Another paper shows a decline in bee-plant pollinator interactions over the last 125 years.

Wednesday, July 22, 2020

FINE Things July 17-24

Fun, Interesting, Novel, Exciting Things
Invasive earthworms are in the northeast and they are here in Georgia too! Emily and I found a strange worm on our daily walk yesterday. It looked and moved like a small snake. I think it was a Crazy Worm, Amynthas agrestis. See the link above for a photo. Here is a video of one of these worms. Notice the snake-like movement as it attempts to escape.
 
Do you like podcasts? And plants? Then you will enjoy this source of podcasts about things botanical. Scroll through the various offerings and you'll be sure to find something that piques your curiosity. In Defense of Plants Podcasts

Here's another compilation of podcasts from the Royal Botanical Garden in Australia.


How can migratory birds can find their destination? Scientists think they can sense the earth's magnetic field. But how? Find out here.


Want to know how viruses evolve?


I know a lot of Ramblers are bird watchers and many can identify birds by their vocalizations. But the "Old Sam Peabody-Peabody-Peabody" call of the White-throated sparrows may soon be a thing of the past.


Coming up next month: a Webinar on Snakes of Georgia, August 14, 2020; Noon to 1 PM; to register email: uge3039@uga.edu

What If?

by Tim Homan

June 8, 2014, our first day camping in California's Kings Canyon National Park. (1)  After supper sitting right beside the South Fork Kings River, its shallow water clear as dew on a window sill and flowing fast, Page and I walked the Zumwalt Meadow Trail.  A short, 1.5-mile-lollipop loop, Zumwalt Meadow is a nature trail, an interpretive trail with informative pamphlet that corresponds to numbered posts.
        We crossed the bridge over the South Fork and began the flattened loop portion of the route around but not in the green and grassy meadow.  Along the rock-bound southern side of the loop, the pamphlet taught me that what I had been calling talus for years was actually scree. (2)  The north side of the loop closely paralleled the edge of the opening through young conifers, trees that had reclaimed part of the meadow in the absence of fire.  The evergreens and a few clouds to the west darkened the trail corridor just enough for female mosquitos to begin their crepuscular blood patrol.  We walked past a double brace of black-tailed deer (3), all does, two about 10 yards out in the clearing, the other two a few feet inside the forest.

Wednesday, July 15, 2020

FINE Things July 9-16

FINE stands for Fabulous, Interesting, Novel & Exciting.

 
A female Velvet Ant; males have wings.
(photo by Don Hunter)

This is the time of year to look for Velvet Ants – wasps that look like large, fuzzy, red and black ants. But in the Mojave Desert some Velvet Ants look like the seeds of creosote bush. Why?

How a beetle evolved to look (and smell) like an ant.
 

How predictable is evolution? An ant-loving beetle holds answers. (A longer article about rove beetles)

When danger threatens, use your head


Like the poker-playing dog that drew to an inside straight, sometimes you have to be amazed that it is done at all, even if done imperfectly. A Flying snake video. And an article about flying snakes.

Did you ever recite a little ditty as you watched a Ladybug fly from your hand? 
     "Ladybug, ladybug
      Fly away home
      Your house is on fire
      And your children will burn"
If you watched it fly away you might not have noticed where the wings appeared from. In case you didn't, here is the amazing secret.


Wonder and Fear Way Down Upon the Suwannee

by Tim Homan

     Upper Suwannee River*, early November, 2015.  Six of us—Bob, Brown, Gary, Linda, Page, and I—launch two canoes and two kayaks at the US 441 landing just south of Fargo, Georgia.  If the weather is good, you automatically feel lucky on the first day of a trip down a Deep South river.  You know that your maneuverable island of paddlecraft and packs glides between the boundaries of blackwater and blue sky and flanking green forest.  And better yet, you know that you are riding piggyback atop the flow of the Earth’s circulatory system—the hydrologic cycle, the round river—down the conveyor belt of a stationary streambed, your speed the sum of your will and gravity’s invisible grip.

Wednesday, July 8, 2020

A Newfound Wildness

 By Tim Homan

        Mid-June, 2008, first few days of our 120-mile canoe trip down the Green River in Southern Utah.  Page and I had launched at Green River State Park and would be picked up at Spanish Bottom, a short distance downstream from the Green's confluence with the Colorado, and easy walking distance to the first standing-wave water sculptures: powerful movement flowing through stationary form, wild-river waves that neither roll nor break.  The first half of our trip would wind through the deeply entrenched meanders of the mostly BLM (Bureau of Land Management)-owned Labyrinth Canyon, part of our nation's public commons.  The second half would run below hundreds of photogenic hoodoos and towering red cliffs of Wingate Sandstone, sheer and smooth and cowboy-western scenic, in Canyonlands National Park's Stillwater Canyon.
        Due to conflicts with our work schedules, we paddled at the wrong time of the year.  The latte-colored Green flowed high and freighted with silt from snow-melt mountains far to the north.  The fast-moving sediment ticked audibly against our paddles with every stroke.  The cloudless days were hot as a firecracker in hell, especially in the side canyons, and the mosquitos were troublesome near the bottoms, where the river had risen into the lower ends of the side-canyon washes, creating warm, slack-water conditions just right for a wriggler-larvae factory.  But the Green's cold current offered instant relief from both mosquitos and sweltering sun.
       Each day Labyrinth Canyon grew higher, more complex, and more richly colored.  Each day the sightlines to the rock rims rose to a sharper angle while the wedge of visible sky narrowed.
       First three days the Green's curving brown ribbon sliced deeper and deeper into the primeval chaos that had metamorphosed-through the Earth's ancient alchemy of long heat and compaction-into today's color-coded geology, writ large and layered within Labyrinth's river-carved canyon.  Each day the river cuts deeper and deeper into that chasm of time known as the Jurassic Period, which lasted from approximately 200 million to 145 million years ago (plus or minus 2 million years).  And now all this ancient tumult and violence lies silent and still in the dinosaur-track cemetery to either side of your paddlecraft, the peaceful stasis of the scene a trick of perspective, an illusion compressed through the lens of a baseline not yet a week old.

       Late in the afternoon of day three, after our canoe passed a dozen kayaks hauled out on river-right, we noticed a small sandbar sheltering shallow still-water between the bar and a relatively low cutbank.  Finally, after 26 fast-flowing miles for the day, we had found an easy and safe landing leading to a memorable camp: a low-cliff alcove for sheltered cooking, a wide open and flat site on the rim of the first bench back from the river for the tent, and an easy scramble up boot-gripping rock to a high perch with a great view of the Green up and downstream.  We immediately agreed on a layover day, so we could slow our trip down and dayhike up Twomile Canyon, its mouth only a few hundred yards downstream on river-right, first thing in the morning.
        After supper, while we were sitting in the cooling breeze well above the pale brown river, a muscular and tattooed young man of medium height climbed the rock up to our sunset spot and began chatting us up.  He was from the kayak camp over 300 yards upstream, and he was a reluctant participant in one of those wilderness outreach programs for troubled teens: backcountry boot camp for juvenile offenders, hoods in the woods.  He had punched out his high school football coach during his senior season back home in Colorado.  Now he was supposed to be spending the night alone at least a mile from camp on "a solo, soul-searching, bullshit quest sort of thing."  But as we quickly discovered, his most immediate quest was to find out if we had a couple of cigarettes he could buy for a dollar.  We didn't.  Page had wine, and I had whiskey and some bare-bones cheap cigars, but we weren't about to let those three cats out of the bag.  He quickly moved on to meet up with a couple of guys from his group.
        Early the next morning, we climbed the jumbled-rock rise behind camp and quickly picked up a path leading toward the entrance of Twomile.  Less than 100 yards from our tent, we spotted the fresh and well-defined parallel lines of large and unfamiliar tracks also following the path toward the canyon.  We stopped and closely examined the footfalls deeply imprinted into the register of the path's soft soil.  The tracks were round and four-toed with no claw or toe-nail marks, a little over 3 inches in both length and width.  They were roughly the same in size and shape, showed long stride, wide straddle.
        Page asked what I thought.  I translated the wild script of last night's silent wandering; it was an easy call.  The large, round, and perfect footprints belonged to an apex predator with retractable claws: a cat, and only one candidate has feet large enough to fit.  Here, right at our toes, a mountain lion, a cougar, had recorded its passage upon the land.  The loose soil was no longer just loose soil; it was soft lion-tracked soil.  The path was no longer just a convenient way to Twomile Canyon; it was the route of a big and long-tailed feline, the first of its species we had ever seen, a lucky find.
       Page placed our compass beside a paw print for size perspective, then took a few photos.  I sketched several tracks in my small notebook.  We talked through a quick process of elimination just to make sure our excitement was warranted.  Black bears are rare or absent from the dry, rugged, and frequently rock-bound terrain just north of Canyonlands National Park.  Besides that, bears have five-toed feet conspicuously different front to back and would leave obvious claw marks in soft soil.  Nope, not a bear.
        No wolves roam southern Utah, and all canids including dogs and coyotes mark their travels with tracks showing toe nails poked into loose soil.  Bobcat tracks are even smaller than coyote tracks, which are the size of medium-sized dogs and far too small to match the signature heel pads and the oval-shaped toe pads at our feet.  This spoor marked the nearly effortless travel of a cat, a big-footed and long-bodied cat.  That narrowed the possibilities to one again.  We were definitely trailing the tracks of a mountain lion, the ambush predator with legendary leaping ability and short-range speed, mythical stealth, strength, and flowing grace closing in on the kill.  This same wild cat is so well adapted to its primary prey that the gap between its long-fang canines fits lock-and-key tight to either side of a deer's neck vertebrae.
        Up close from our knees, we noticed slight size and shape differences in the tracks which we attributed to slight anatomical differences between the cougar's front and back feet.  All of the tracks exhibited a slight concavity scalloped out in the front of the pad, and the two indentations in the heel dividing it into three shallow lobes.
        We followed the obligate carnivore's backtrack for close to 100 yards to where it had stepped down onto tattle-tale soil from higher and much rockier land upslope.  Page and I followed the footprints forward from where we had first noticed them.  The cougar sign continued straight ahead for another 120 to 130 yards before veering to the right and up toward Twomile Canyon at a higher trajectory than we wanted to take.  The lion's stride length remained evenly spaced throughout, a slow and unhurried pace, no distortion of the prints from hurry or sudden changes in direction.
       Before we left the lion path, I knelt down and traced the outlines of one of the large tracks with my forefinger.  A second-hand touching of its strength and stealth, its predatory prowess?  Pleistocene ancestors-who live full-blooded in our genome-wanting to know more about the animal, to touch its spirit?  I don't know.  I touched and traced without forethought.  But having slid my finger around all parts of the paw print, the simple act felt like it satisfied some unknown urge, some ancient curiosity still crouched close to the bone.
       The two of us entered the lowest end of the side canyon.  We didn't see anyone else or any more tracks larger than a rodent's except for a few pointy-hoofed mule deer tracks higher up Twomile.  We thought we might find some water and the lion's tracks again further up, but we found neither.
        The spare country of brown river and red rock had come alive.  The cougar tracks had given the landscape graceful ferocity to accompany the novelty of its layer-cake geology.  The seemingly empty country had filled up with a newfound wildness, become more formidable knowing a sleek and powerful predator had passed us by in the starry night and entered the canyon we were exploring.  The deep shadows now hid fangs and claws that could clamp and rip at the deadly end of a spring-loaded leap.  The lion made us more alert, made us search for more large round tracks, made us keep a sharp eye out for tawny movement up ahead.

FINE Things July 1-8

FINE stands for Fabulous Interesting Novel & Exciting.

Don't miss Dr. John Knox's explanation of a weather pattern that causes storms from the west to split around Athens.

Linda recommends the following two link related to Corvid-19:
A Scientific American article that shows how the coronavirus works. The graphics are outstanding!
 - and -
Professor Kimberly Prather, PhD, Distinguished Chair in Atmospheric Chemistry at UC San Diego explains the role of aerosols in the spread of Covid-19.
Linda says: "If you get impatient, scoot forward to minute 12 where she starts talking about masks."

Over 300 reindeer were killed by lightning. Then what happened?

Sue suggests that you visit the Rosalynn Carter Butterfly Trail website. 


Sue also mentions that one of our ramblers, Katherine Edison, has a beautiful sun garden full of native plants in her front yard (corner of Southview and Ag Drive). There's a sign posted near the sidewalk that says her garden is part of a Rosalynn Carter Butterfly Trail.

What makes a tree a tree? A longer article from Knowable magazine tells us.

Gross-out of the week:

Parasites frequently have complex life cycles, spending time in two or more hosts. Getting from one to another can be difficult. Watch how a parasitic worm gets from a snail to a bird, the next phase in its life cycle.

Why Thunderstorms Split Around Athens

Following is an email sent to the Friends of Five Points listserve by Dr. John Knox, Josiah Meigs Distinguished Teaching Professor at UGA. Dr. Knox is a meteorologist.

Dr. Knox wanted you to know that "it is an off-the-cuff, from-memory explanation.  I didn't refer to the research literature while writing it, so it's not authoritative."
 
Dear Five Points friends,



Several people have contacted me in the past couple of days about a weather question.

As I understand it, the question is: why does it seem like storms approach Athens from the west, split in two and go around the city, and then sometimes rejoin once they are past Athens?



Thanks for asking!
As many of you know, I'm a meteorologist on the faculty at UGA.  So here's my take on the question:



What you see is real--for once, this isn't a selective-memory situation where you remember the one time it does happen and forget the 100 times it didn't.  
The most likely reason for the examples that have been mentioned to me, with west-to-east-moving storms, is the urban heat island (UHI) effect.



You will be proud to know that UGA professors Tom Mote and Marshall Shepherd, and some of their graduate students, have been leaders in UHI research for the past 20+ years.  Along with other researchers around the world, Tom and Marshall have detected and quantified the impact that the bubble of hot air around cities on storms both upwind and downwind of the cities.  Go Dawgs!
Let me explain a little more about the UHI:

The urban heat island is an invisible bubble of hot air that is a dome over cities.  The bigger the city, the bigger the dome.  It can go up thousands of feet (but not all the way up).  But even small cities--even towns!--can have some UHI effects. 

This bubble of hot air originates from both heat retention and heat production in urban areas.  Asphalt absorbs sunlight and gets really hot; buildings put out heat; at night, the buildings block the asphalt from cooling off to the sky, because you can't even see the sky from the ground in a big city!  So, as many of you know, downtown Atlanta can be quite a bit warmer than, say, Peachtree City or Lawrenceville on a lot of nights.  The effect is also sometimes noticeable during the day, but it's a noisier signal (lots going on during the day).  But, the bottom line is this: imagine that there is a dome of warmer air, proportional to city size, over every town and city larger than, oh, 10,000 people.  Which puts Athens firmly in the category of having a UHI.  (You can quantify the UHI at the ground in Athens; my son did so in middle school for a science project!  But the important thing here is to conceive of the invisible-but-real dome of air above Athens.)

OK, so now you're visualizing these bubble-domes over cities.  These domes are just air, but they have a kind of inertia/integrity to them.  They are invisible, but they are also a bit immovable as well.



Which means: when smaller-scale weather systems approach these domes, they don't just push the domes out of the way.  Bigger systems do; a cold front, a mid-latitude cyclone, a hurricane--they are big enough to temporarily remove the UHI, before it regenerates a day/night or a couple of days/nights after the big weather system moves through.  But thunderstorms are comparably sized to the UHI of Athens, and frankly even smaller than the big UHI over Atlanta. 
So, smaller-scale winds and weather systems like thunderstorms and low-level winds perceive a UHI as a kind of invisible mountain.

What do wind and smaller, moving weather systems do when they encounter a mountain?

They either go over it, or go around it.

Those are the two choices.  Can't go underground.  Can't stop.  
Going over a mountain, visible or invisible, means you fight gravity.  Gravity is a powerful force.  That is not the Nature-preferred option.

Going around is energetically much easier to do.
You may have now figured out where this argument is headed.  Here's the scenario and explanation for what y'all have reported seeing:



  1. Line of thunderstorms approaches Athens from the west.  
  2. Know that thunderstorms are forming from rising air.  This is important.
  3. Line starts encountering the west edge of the Athens urban heat island.
  4. The air with the line of thunderstorms splits and goes around the UHI, on the left and on the right. 
  5. This splitting of the wind leads to surface-level divergence near and in Athens.  We teach our freshmen in Intro to Weather and Climate that surface divergence = downward motion from above.  
  6. The part of the line that moves through Athens still has rising air, but it is counteracted to some extent by the sinking air due to the surface divergence caused by the winds splitting around the UHI of Athens.  Result: weaker updrafts in the Athens-area thunderstorms, which in turn weakens the thunderstorms in the Athens area.
  7. Meanwhile, the splitting of the winds around Athens leads to surface-level convergence on either side of Athens--in this scenario, that would be on the far NW and far SW sides of the greater Athens area.  Surface-level convergence leads to additional rising motion in the storms on the far NW and SW sides.
  8. Hence, the storms that are to the north and south of Athens not only are not fighting against sinking air; they are getting an extra boost from the surface convergence!  Result: much stronger updrafts in the thunderstorms on either side of Athens!
  9. Presto: as the line approaches and moves through Athens, you see the approaching line weaken magically in the Athens area and intensify on either side of it!
  10. Ironic denoument: as the line of storms moves to the east edge of Athens, the reverse happens.  The split winds that wrap around the UHI come back together on the east edge, causing surface convergence.  Which means that the storms that had weakened right over Athens, suddenly fire back up and get more intense a county or two to the east!
  11. To the untrained or trained observer alike, the evolution of this situation makes Athens look like it has a magic spell on storms that weakens them as the storms move into the area, and then re-strengthens them just after they depart.
Does this sound like what y'all have observed?  Pretty close?
In this scenario, I did not invoke anything about topography--elevation, mountains, etc.  That's because the change in topography from Atlanta to Athens isn't huge.  There is a drop in altitude from Atlanta, but I am not aware that there are distinct differences between north-of-Athens trajectories vs. south-of-Athens trajectories vs. headed-for-Athens trajectories.  I might be wrong.  But I think it's a harder argument that's less convincing than the sequence I described above that's related to the UHI.

BUT...
This story changes if you are talking about storms and bad weather and winds coming from the NORTHWEST.  This is something that Tom, Marshall, and I talk about regularly.

If you had an old-timey raised-topography map of north Georgia, and you moved your finger from NW to SE (same angle every time) from north far Georgia to a) locations south of Athens, b) Athens, and c) north of Athens, your finger would tell you something.  It would tell you that there is some altitude loss ("downsloping") from far north Georgia to, say, Madison, GA.  For Athens and places to the north of Athens, though, your finger would tell you there is a LOT MORE downsloping of wind coming from far north Georgia to NW Georgia from about Athens northward.  A LOT MORE.  (This would be easy to explain in person, but is harder in words.)

Downsloping winds lead to surface divergence.  Surface divergence adds a downward component to air--sinking air.  Storms and precipitation and even clouds require rising motion.

And so: the varying topographic features of far north Georgia result in a die-out of storms, precipitation, and even sometimes clouds in northeast Georgia in situations where the wind is blowing NW to SE The direction of the wind is critically important.  This argument does not hold at all for west-to-east winds, or east-to-west winds, or south-to-north winds.  Just NW-to-SE winds.  Meteorologists call this a "downsloping effect" or in the West a "rain shadow effect."  What we notice in Athens is that, often, a forecast of thunderstorms for Athens due to NW-to-SE approaching thunderstorms turns into a dud, a bad forecast.  Areas to our south get more stormy weather than we do.  Have you ever noticed that?  I've even seen NE Georgia have a patch of clear skies due to topographic downsloping with clouds surrounding NE GA, again in NW-to-SE winds.  This is real.  Anyone else notice this?

In conclusion: both the invisible "topography" of the urban heat island, and the very visible topography of far north Georgia, can and do affect storms and precipitation in the Athens area.  Both of these effects tend to make us less stormy and a little drier than surrounding parts of north Georgia, including Atlanta.  Atlanta has a bigger UHI, with detectable downwind effects ( UGA scientists have published on it).  But there's no corresponding downslope for Atlanta--in fact, Atlanta is on a plateau, so there's a bit of upsloping that at least doesn't hurt thunderstorm development and may help it some.
I hope this answer helps.  I'm not the expert on it, but this is how I teach it to undergraduates and how I personally have observed it.

It's not obvious.  Both my climatologist-wife and I were surprised at the magnitude of the effects when we moved to Athens--especially the mountain downsloping effect, and another mountain-driven effect known as "the wedge" or "cold air damming." (But the wedge/cold air damming are for another time.)  Just know that you are not stupid for not fully understanding this; you are observant to have picked up on this; these subjects are research-grade topics; and though often non-experts will rely on selective memory and make mountains out of molehills, in this particular case y'all have correctly picked out a phenomenon that is due to mountains and is not a molehill!  (Rim shot.)  

Thanks for reading, sorry for the length.

John Knox


Dr. John A. Knox  Josiah Meigs Distinguished Teaching Professor, Department of Geography

Undergraduate Coordinator, Atmospheric Sciences Program Room 139, Geography/Geology Building  University of Georgia  Athens, GA 30602

Wednesday, July 1, 2020

FINE Things to Read

FINE (Fascinating, Interesting, Novel, Exciting) things to read. E could also stand for Enjoyable or Educational.

You probably noticed that recently the sky is a little more milky blue than usual. There's a reason for that and it comes in the form of dust from the Sahara desert. Read about the cause of this weather pattern and its consequences.

Dust and its contents have had important effects in the past, as revealed in this article from Knowable magazine.

When I was a child there was a rumor that some company would pay you money to collect fireflies. We never found out what that company was, or even if it existed. But it actually did, as recounted in this story.


Many fish spawn by broadcasting thousands of eggs that are fertilized in similar manner by males. But, as owners of Guppies probably know, some fish bear their young alive. Such fish are known as livebearers and there are two types. One simply retains the large, yolk-filled eggs in their body until the young fish have developed enough to be released. The other feeds the developing fish through a placenta. It's not like a human placenta but it performs the same function. Is there an advantage to having a placenta over retaining yolky eggs? Find out here.

Were the French ever in Texas? Find out who was on a French ship sunk off the Texas coast.

That's it for this week. I hope you've enjoyed some FINE reading.

Dale