Kelly's Blog

Why vegetarian?

2011-07-07T23:49:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, my Mom (aka Mamma) swore that she thought I wouldnt even care if she didnt make any meat. Little did she know that I'd swear off of it just 6 months after she died. She would have croaked, to reference my Mom's lexicon, if I had gone fully vegetarian when she was alive. I didnt tell her, but I gave up red meat in general, shrimp, and fish well before she passed away. My only violations of this choice was at her dinner table. And when she did pass away, I had no more excuses. So, I had my last chicken tenders dinner from Bojangles, and swore off of it.

Seven years later, I'm still resolutely vegetarian, probably the first ever from Chocowinity, NC.

For me, the seed for vegetarianism was planted years before I took the leap. I read an essay by Moby in the album cover for Play (you know, back when we all used to actually purchase and hold CDs) about why he went vegan, and every single argument, shy of animal welfare, appealed to me. Here are the usual reasons why people go vegetarian, and I'll arrange them in order of importance to me:

1. Environment: The single best thing you can do as an individual for the planet is to have less kids. The second is to eat less meat. Forget biking the 5 miles to work instead of driving. Forget eating organic. Eat less meat, and you're saving habitat for and animals and you're supporting the release of far less CO2. I have never pushed anybody to go full-out vegetarian; but I have certainly tried to convince people that beef aint what's for breakfast. Some brilliant rancher discovered years ago that when it's light outside, a cow will eat. I learned this a few years ago after my friend Phil had his sleep disrupted all night long at a state park in west Texas by the stadium lights alighting a field full of cattle feeding at troughs. The average lifespan of a beef cow has decreased from 3 years to 2 years in the past century, and this is one of the methods that has been developed to maximize efficiency. How much CO2 release is this practice responsible for?

2. Human Welfare: Another important part of my development into a vegetarian was reading Fast Food Nation. A major point of the book is just how inhumane beef "factories" are for the employees. In general, the people working there are illegal immigrants, and have no rights or health care. So here you have a 100 human automatons making the same cuts over and over again all day long for breadcrumbs essentially--because we want McDonald's to offer 79 cent hamburgers--and doing so with blades sharpened to an extent that one foul move sends somebody to the hospital. And when you're whacking away all day long with the same motion, slip-ups happen. Good luck finding health care in the United States, Mr. Mexican/Guatemalan/El Salvadorean immigrant, we'd rather you pick up that left arm and mosey back home.

Yeah, I didnt really want to support that industry any more.

3. Personal Health: I've got a father who had a couple of open-heart surgeries in his 30s and early 40s. Then there's the uncle who died of a stroke, a grandmother of a blood clot, and plenty of other indications that my genetics will not be providing a clean bill of cardiovascular health for life. I've never been interested in smoking anything, really, so that part of staying healthy is covered. The other source of cardiovascular disease is high-cholesterol and high-NACl meat. It just makes sense to cut it out with my family history.

4. Assimilation Energy: When I was a freshman in high school, even at Chocowinity High School we learned that only 10% of the plant matter that a cow eats is available as energy to the next trophic level (you). So, that means that for every pound of cow that a person consumes, 10 pounds of food had to be served up to that cow. This could have easily been a subheader beneath "Environment," but it stands alone for several reason. Number 1, we are looking at a planet today with 7 billion people, only 1 billion or so of which is supported by a regular, farmed meat diet. If we really want to feed the planet and not have starving people all over it, we should probably dedicate our croplands to feeding them and not a bunch of freaking cows. Number 2--and this is where the redundancy with point 1 comes into play--that means 10 Xs more natural habitat gets reduced into monoculture if you're feeding the crops to cows rather than directly to humans. So, yeah, it's good that your beef is from a grass-fed cow. It's good that it's organic and local and "green." But you're still not eating in the most efficient manner for the planet.

5. Animal Welfare: For the reasons discussed below, this is at the bottom of the list. The point is not trivial, however. I've never been interested in veal, for instance, because of the terrible treatment that a calf must experience in their short, horrific lives for me to enjoy the delicacy. Chickens stuffed into a tiny barn, barely able to move around, and often bred to have breast muscles so large so as to prevent movement anyway is also an unsettling thought. Humans are omnivores though, and there're theories that adding high-calorie meat to our diets helped Homo sapiens develop especially large brains (our brains after all being very energy-hungry). I just think the way we go about using animals for your dietary "needs" now-a-days is way out of hand.

I realized a long time ago that when I pay for something, I'm casting a vote for that something to exist. Go to McDonald's, and you're absolutely supporting the destruction of habitat, humans, and animals. There're no two ways about it.

But I do eat meat. I still call myself vegetarian for brevity's sake; but if my friends go out and shoot a white tailed deer (an animal who's populations have exploded in the absence of predators and hence threatens the habitat of other species), I'll thoroughly enjoy some venison. If a fish is sustainable and caught in the right way, I'll certainly have some tacos with it. And I'm just waiting for the day that somebody goes out and takes a wild pig for bbq'ing up NC style. I do still love meat. I just dont want to support the industrialization of it.

Lame

2011-03-23T14:34:00.000-07:00

That's me. I haven't written a blog in darn near a year. Who knows why. It's not as though there haven't been some fantastic experiences over the past year to discuss. I certainly have some opinions to share about the stupid NCAA, race in America, and especially a certain fellow scientist. Actually, the last subject is the most pressing one in my head right now. Once a recently-submitted publication gets accepted, I suspect I'll be writing a flurry of blogs, beginning with tearing into a man that's been a thorn in my side for 7 years.

Hola, Paraiso!

2010-07-09T19:44:00.000-07:00

I probably should've written this about 4 months ago, but I dont like to be negative, and it honestly took me this long to obtain that appreciation for my surroundings that I invariably do. Over the past few months, I've fallen in love with yet another place on this planet. For those keeping tally, San Diego can now be counted alongside of Monterey, CA, Australia, Panama, Lafayette, LA, Texas, and, the creme de la creme, North Carolina.

It was only a matter of time.

Time it was, nevertheless. I knew I'd love Monterey the second I set foot on the campus at Hopkins Marine Lab. Knowing that I could work at a place at which I could walk out and see marine mammals and sea birds galore just outside of my laboratory door, much less the fantastic splendor of the rocky intertidal, was all the inspiration I needed to go to work there. San Diego, on the other hand, was a little murkier.

What do you think of when you hear "San Diego?" I would guess the sports teams would be first for most of the country, the movie "Anchorman" likely second. Then what? Beaches? Sunshine? Tijuana? Most scientists would know that one of the premier research institutes on the planet is also here, Scripps.

Well, there are a few myths about southern California that should be busted. Number 1, while the beaches are beautiful and variable, the ocean is C-O-L-D! It's simple: the water here circulates down from the Artic! As in polar bears, Sarah Palin, and ice bergs! All Californians that own surfboards have invested in good wetsuits as well. Number 2, it aint sunny all of the time. Not a single movie has ever shown southern California as anything but sunny. Not a single one. I'm fairly convinced that the California department of tourism has banned it from happening. Meanwhile, there are the phenomena of "May Gray" and "June Gloom" here. The coastline can be canvassed in cloudcover during these months, ALL MONTH. I've not seen the sun in several days here!

Sunny San Diego, my ass!

The primary reason behind my initial reticence about the city, though, is the fact that it is truly that: a city. Sure, I'm a well-traveled individual. But I grew up in a town of 1,000, went to school in one of the premier college towns in the country, graduate school in a town of 100K, and, largest of all, resided in a city of a million for a year, el Cuidad de Panama. But Panama was the 3rd world, and I didnt have a car there. San Diego stands alone as the largest city I've ever called home, and it's also home to the very definition of urban sprawl and traffic jams.

San Diego sprawls out over a series of peninsulas, plateaus, and valleys, interconnected to one another by bridges and the occasional freeway, usually running up and down harrowing slopes. In effect, the city is like a the fingers on a hand, with smaller capillaries connecting back to larger veins and arteries that in turn singularly connect back together in the hand. Rare is the road here that you can travel straight through a neighborhood without reaching an endpoint at a canyon or a body of water. When you have several million people living over a swiss cheese landscape, traffic is going to suck.

Lately, however, I've taken a liking to this town. My home is a beautiful place to live, being, as I've touted to many in the past, a 10 minute walk from the zoo and the rest of the grandeur of Balboa Park (Central Park:New York City::Balboa Park:San Diego), and an even shorter walk to thriving, but small downtown area. Since I've been here, I've seen a Johnny Cash cover band, a group of acrobats from Tanzania, a travelling Broadway show, an incredible July 4 fireworks show (actually, about 10 of them from our vantage point), a bunch of sunsets, a Padres game, tried beer from 1/2 a dozen local breweries (San Diego is apparently the top local brew town in the country!), and danced the night away in the Gaslamp District (Gaslamp District:San Diego::Franklin Street:Chapel Hill::Bourbon Street:New Orleans::Beale Street:Memphis::Duval Street:Key West). In other words, the cultural opportunities here are abundant. Of course, being in a wonderful relationship, one that was long-distance for my first few months here, helps tremendously.

In the past few months, life has been good. A bit cloudy, but good nevertheless. I miss Monterey, dearly. I miss my community there foremost. I also miss living in a place that is essentially a national park. My time there, unfortunately, was always fleeting. Such is my career.

Thankfully, mercifully, I've now come to fully appreciate where I live.

PS: "Paraiso" = "Paradise"

Au Revoir, Monterey

2010-03-12T07:04:00.000-08:00

Three years ago, I was chatting with some friends while on a lunch break from a volunteer fieldwork position. We were near Wagga Wagga, New South Wales, surrounded by Eucalyptus trees, parrots, and kangaroos. I had just related to my friends the stories of how both of my parents, and grandparents, for that matter, had passed away.

"Must be hard," was one response.

I was incredulous. Must be hard? Here we were surrounded by an alien world that's practically a Mecca for biologists (which we all were) and, you know, just about everyone else who was born in Europe or the US. I just failed to understand how in the world that girl thought anything about life was anything but wonderful. And it is. I live a charmed life.

Right now, I'm composing this blog from my balcony, occasionally looking up from my computer screen to take in the grandeur of Monterey Bay and the rising sun on the horizon. Waves are crashing, birds are singing, and a gentle rain just set in a moment ago. I am nothing but a charmed man, personal tragedies bedamned.

Tomorrow, I take off for San Diego to start a new job, and, needless to say, I'm very excited. I'm going to be doing a population genetics study on the endangered California red-legged frog, a project designed to facilitate a future capture-and-release program to boost dwindling populations in hopes of preventing their extinction.

I seriously get to do this stuff for a living.

But I'm going to miss this place immensely, Monterey. People keep asking me if I'm excited about moving, excited about living in the country's 9th-largest city. Well, not really. If I could design my ideal living situation, being able to bike or walk along a rocky coastline a mile everyday, leaving from my apartment with a balcony overlooking Monterey Bay to get to work at Hopkins Marine Station, would be in the equation. Having a farmer's market, a movie theater, and amazing restaurants within a short walk would be in the equation. Being 4 hours from Yosemite National Park, 2 hours from San Francisco, and 20 minutes from the beginning of the Big Sur portion of the Pacific Coast Highway would be in the equation. Most importantly, being surrounded by an amazing, generous, and brilliant community would definitely be in the equation.

In other words, I would probably design my life as it is right now.

We had a despidida (Panamanian for "going away party") for me last night, and, I'm not sure if anyone counted, but I suspect there were 40 people there, at least. It truly knocked me down, the turn-out. And it is them, that amazing, generous, and brilliant community, that I'm going to miss the most about this place.

I'll repeat it again: I live a charmed life.

Why am I leaving this behind? Well, career calls, I guess. While it has been an honor working with Steve Palumbi, someone who's career I've admired from afar throughout my own career, my job has always been a transitional position. No one works as a tech in this lab forever. Beyond that, my personal ambitions (writing, analyzing, publishing, a career) were never part of the job description. These are things that were offered to me by the USGS. These are the things that I told myself would be the only way I would extract myself from this unique community. So, it's time to go.

So, I say au revoir, Monterey. I will miss you.

The Plight of My Generation

2009-09-21T23:29:00.000-07:00

In a conversation with one of my best friends last night, I made the comment that "we're facing a completely different set of challenges than any of the generations before us. Different than 20 years ago, 40 years ago, 60 years....."

"I'd love to hear how life's so different than it was just in 1989," my friend countered.

"The advent of mass communication," I responded.

This is not exactly a recent discovery for me. It's an argument about which I've discussed with a number of my friends. People today face an extraordinary set of circumstances. Sure, mass communication and transit has made the world a smaller place; at the same time, however, I think it's made it a more complicated one.

I always go back to my parents. They wed at 16. At 18, they had their first kid. Throughout their lives, they regularly saw their brothers and sisters, partied with their cousins, and never lived farther than a few miles from their own parents. In so many ways, I envy their short lives. They regularly hung out with their family; and not just because they were related, their best friends were their brothers and sisters. There's just something so beautiful about that.

Here I am, a man of the world. I've got friends--not just friends, good friends--in countries the world over. I've been in 3 different countries long enough to say that I've lived in them. I'm a Southerner who's become vegetarian, a social liberal who was raised on Ronald Reagan and Philip Morris, and an entirely unprejudiced individual who witnessed quite a bit of racism in his formative years. I've shot off on a tangent from the normal arc of life for people born and raised in Chocowinity, NC; yet, I find myself regularly longing for the good old days.

The good old days. The easiest contrast to make is between today and 100 years ago. 100 years ago, I would be married to some girl from Chocowinity, North Carolina, and we would have about 5 kids right now. There's simply no disputing that. 100 years ago, there was no leaving your hometown, much less your home country. 100 years ago, people would get together, THEN find love, and develop a family. And it was that simple--you marry the girl in town who's your age. All of these attributes that cause us such debate today were of no consequence back then. Attracted? You'll develop that later. Sex? Ha! You didnt know any better anyway. Common interests? Your common interests were that you both wanted to get married and have kids, and that you lived in Chocowinity, North Carolina.

And that's why I think the plight of my generation is a unique one. We benefit enormously from what I've long designated the "instant information age"--we are never more than a few clicks out of communication from our loved ones; we are never lost; and we can stay "in touch" with minimum effort. However, at the same time, we are made to suffer from the exact thing that ostensibly makes us more advanced and happier than previous generations: choice.

I can choose to live in pretty well any country I please now. I can choose pretty much any career in which I might be interested. In essence, however, this ability to choose prevents me and many of my friends from leading what previous generations would call "normal" lives. Rare is the individual that graduates college today with a career plan in mind (Tom, I envy your focus and resolve). Relationships, 100 years ago a matter of convenience, suffer enormously from the array of choices we are presented with today. In the past 6 years, I've lived in 3 countries. How in the world am I supposed to maintain a relationship?

This ability to choose has confounded relationships throughout my life. Essentially, I've created an untenable set of attributes for a significant other. I'm incapable of thinking in simple terms. When it comes to long-term relationships, the women in my life have to be absolutely perfect. Otherwise, "choice" has created for me this veil of safety to which I can easily fall back, and I can always decide that "there's someone else better for me out there."

And this is a common affliction amongst my generation. Most of us lack direction because of an overabundance of choice.

Yosemite

2009-07-19T22:48:00.000-07:00

Every US National Park has it's own personality, it seems. The Great Smokies NP is marked by dark and damp forest passages leading to misty vistas, and by crimson and saffron landscapes during the fall. "Otherworldly" is the first adjective that comes to mind when I think about the Grand Canyon. Even standing at the edge of the mile deep canyon and peering into it's grandeur hardly quells the impossibleness of its existence. Big Bend is a microcosm of all of the parks, with sheer canyons, desert landscapes, and high mountain hikes. It also affords a rare isolation from the crowds that plague most of the other parks in the lower US. At Yellowstone, everything seems to be alive. The rivers roils with rapids, the land boils mud and spews water, the sky explodes with lightning on the horizon, and the terrain is littered with charismatic megafauna.

So, when I went to Yosemite this past weekend, I really didnt expect to be so awestruck yet again. Majestic is the only word that does it justice. Though this place had inspired Ansel Adams and John Muir, I was really expecting just another park. I was expecting mountains and trees and waterfalls. I was expecting buses and crowds. But I definitely wasnt expecting Yosemite.

A mere drive down into and around Yosemite Valley along is worth the price of admission. Maybe it's my isolation from Yosemite as a born and bred Southerner, but I had only seen pictures of Bridelveil Falls. I had only heard of El Capitan and Half Dome. I knew that there would be giant sequoias because of its proximity to King's Canyon, where the largest (non-clonal) trees in the world call home.

Yosemite, though, is truly a special place.

Sheer, granitic walls are the distinguishing characteristic of the park. Glaciers carved their way through the park a million years ago, leaving behind a natural beauty that doesnt exist anywhere else in this country. Half Dome, a high outcrop that can be ascended by the hardy, hydrated, and non-acrophobic, is mirrored on the opposite side of the Valley by another outcrop, and it takes little imagination to envision that they were once part of one, contiguous structure. The lush, verdant valley below is dominated by a central river, fed by waterfalls that line the high, granite walls.

Unfortunately, as my grad advisor used to like to say, we're loving Yosemite to death. Most of the drive into and through the valley had bumper-to-bumper traffic. We hiked one of the more popular trails this past weekend, the trail to Half Dome. At no point were we truly alone (a quality I measure quantitatively by my comfort with using the bathroom close to the trail; if it's crowded, I've got to go real fast). And, while we weren't really considering hiking all the way to the top (a 16 mile, rigorous RT hike), we ran into plenty of fellow hikers who had done so. Apparently, the final push up to the top of Half Dome had a several hour wait yesterday. That's right, you could hike for 7 miles, ascending sharply the entire route, and a 1-2 hour long line is your reward.

That being said, even though we were rubbing elbows with fellow tourists during most of our hike, I've got nothing but rave reviews of the place. We all wish we could have the parks to ourselves. Guess I'd have to go back to Australia to have that.

But Australia's got nothing on Yosemite.

Pride

2009-06-29T15:09:00.000-07:00

This past weekend was the annual Pride celebration. In other words, it's the annual weekend in which my boy Corey wouldn't be caught within 100 mile radius of San Francisco. For me, I felt compelled to be there. San Francisco is really a beacon for homosexuals the world over. The gay marriage issue is my generation's Civil Rights movement. As a complete social liberal, I definitely didnt want to miss an opportunity to support that community.

I also knew that the people-watching would be brilliant fun.

And boy was it.

To clarify, Pride is a city-sponsored celebration of the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender community. There are parades, concerts, educational events (though I would argue that for a straight man from Chocowinity, North Carolina, it was ALL pretty educational), speeches, etc, and it's all centered around City Hall in downtown San Fran. It's been going on for 4 decades now.

Unfortunately, I left my camera back in Pacific Grove during this trip; but, my pictures would probably cause my website to get banned anyway. I'm not sure Google would appreciate a picture of an old fart in a crotchless spiderman suit dancing outside of the San Francisco Health Department, meat and potatoes fully swinging in the wind, the same way I would. And yes, that happened. That was the very first thing I witnessed upon my arrival at the Pride festivities.

I also saw the director of Milk speak, along with Dan Choi (an outed Army veteran who'll likely soon be a representative of California), a few of Harvey Milk's compatriots, Cloris Leachman (who's apparently a huge LBGT advocate), and some of the city leaders. All-in-all, it was pretty damn cool to witness so many people, and the leadership of a major city for that matter, embracing a sector of our society that's still largely in oppression.

Anyway, that was my weekend.

Why I Love Carolina Basketball

2009-04-06T23:44:00.000-07:00

I dont know how old I was. 7? 8? My earliest memory of Carolina basketball is of me sitting in the back of the living room watching a game with my family, far more intrigued by the fish tank beside me than the happenings on the t.v. My family cheered and jeered around me, putting their emotions on full physical display with each play.

I was an impressionable youth. At one point during the game, my attention was drawn from the fish beside me when I thought a Carolina player had broken out for a solo dunk. Following the lead of my family around me, I cheered.

I was sorely mistaken. That particular play was by a Demon Deacon.

My family's collective death glare sent the message: you dont root for the other team in this house.

My mom was a Carolina fan. My brothers are Carolina fans. My aunts, my uncles, my cousins. I had no other fate. I was born on August 15, 1979 in Chocowinity, North Carolina, and I was going to grow up to be a Carolina fanatic.

And boy did I. During the winter, I live and breath Carolina basketball. My friends well know my common excuse for not attending various social events: sorry, Carolina's playing. My ex-girlfriend once told me she was surprised that I was willing to walk away from it to live in and travel Australia last year.

Australia. I'm a biologist. Australia is every biologist's wet dream.

Maybe it's a commentary on our relationship. Or maybe it's representative of of just how fanatical I am: someone who was about as close to me as one can get thought I would rather watch the Heels than be in Oz, the land of wonder.

My obsession runs much deeper, though, has a much more vital role in my life. See, I was raised by high school drop-outs. Going to college was far less than a foregone conclusion in my family. One of my cousins was the first member of my family to go to college. One of my older brothers followed suite, needing to use the local community college as a springboard to ECU, a pretty good public school.

It became clear to everyone when I was pretty young that college was a very real possibility for me. Apparently, my 7th grade english teacher pulled my mother aside at my junior high graduation and said, "he's going to college" and offered to help my mom find financial assistance for me.

Not once during my academic career did my mom say a word about my grades. She really didnt have to of course--my grades were superior to my classmates by a letter for much of high school. Most semesters, I was the sole "All-A" student from my class, as listed in the local paper. For 2 years, I was the sole male in the Beta Club, my high school's honor society. I remember telling a group of interviewers during a Future Business Leaders of America competition that I was going to be valedictorian of my class.....as a sophomore.

Still college seemed daunting, a world away. My brother hadn't yet moved on beyond the community college, and my cousin's experiences were not shared with me.

Therefore, I had very little guidance for choosing a college, and I looked to the only source I knew: Carolina basketball.

The University of North Carolina became a reality to me during a Social Studies club trip to campus as an 8th grader. Before that, Carolina was just a team that we rooted for when they were on t.v. After, I started telling people that I was going to Carolina for college.

I'm not sure I actually believed it. Carolina was still in a different universe, a place that only the rich and brilliant attended. But, guided by my only source of guidance, I stuck to it. As a senior, I applied to only 2 schools: UNC and NC State. NC State, a pretty damn good school, especially for someone who was clearly interested in the sciences, was my back-up school. Actually, my application there was the fulfillment of a childhood promise, that I would attend school with my best friend, Gerald.

Probably fortunate for me (fortunate b/c I probably would've made a different decision in 1997), Gerald did not choose to go to State. I choose to go to Carolina.

It was my dream school. It also just so happens to be one of the best institutes of higher education on the planet. And I ONLY knew about UNC because of Carolina basketball.

That's the role Carolina basketball has played in my life.

So, when Carolina won the championship a few weeks ago, I was genuinely sad. I was sad because I wasnt going to get to watch this team play any more. I was sad because it's such a fixture in my life. I was sad because my mom wasnt around to enjoy the recent glories of the program.

And that's why I love Carolina basketball. I'm not just a fan. It's so much more to me.

In Honor of Darwin day....

2009-02-13T10:59:00.000-08:00

The following is an editorial that my current employer wrote for the local newspaper. On the anniversary of Darwin's bicentennial, I thought it'd be appropriate to share it with my friends. Enjoy.

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Steve Palumbi: Ignoring evolution invitation to danger

STEVE PALUMBI

Evolution by natural selection may be doubted in some churches, but you certainly want your doctor to know that Darwin was right.

If evolution was just a theory, then powerful strains of disease bacteria — virtually immune from many antibiotics — would not have evolved so quickly, or at all. One of the most deadly, Methicillin resistant staphylococcus aureus, evolved over the past few decades and results in more deaths a year in the United States than does AIDS.

An evolution-doubting physician might believe that staph infections were curable by penicillin. But a physician who prescribed penicillin and walked away without checking whether the staph was an evolved strain could have signed the patient's death warrant.

There is no doubt that evolution by natural selection is an active, ongoing biological process. We can see it happening all around. Not only bacteria evolve, but deadly viruses do too. Insects evolve resistance to chemicals. Fish evolve thinner bodies to fit through fishing nets. Even humans evolve — a very specific gene helps Northern European adults digest milk. If, like me, you don't have these genes, then a big glass a milk before bed is not a welcome thought.

It so happens that Northern Europe was one of the earliest places where cattle rearing was practiced, thousands of years ago.

Did that cause selection for milk-digestion genes? A recent analysis of old bones from Europeans who lived before widespread cattle ranching shows few of these genes. Modern people in these areas now possess these genes in high frequency.
Charles Darwin was wrong about how fast evolution could happen. He thought of it as a process that consumed millennia or millions of years. He would have been surprised by the rapid evolution in species as diverse as butterfly bushes, big horn sheep and bacteria. But he correctly identified the basic rules for how natural selection can act to cause evolution. First, you need some variation among individuals. Second, the variation has to affect the likelihood of leaving offspring. Third, the variation has to be passed on to offspring. If these rules apply, then a species can evolve.

Evolution is a major part of our world. Understanding it allows us to create tools that enhance society—farm practices that allow pesticides to be effective longer, hospital routines that protect patients better. Denying our future doctors the knowledge of evolution would be like denying future engineers the knowledge that there were such things as hybrid cars and wind power. We would be hurting their chances to succeed in our currently technological world.

The science of evolution threatens no one. But ignoring that science is clearly a danger in a world where evolutionary changes are accelerating.

Australian Wildlife in Signs

2009-02-09T09:15:00.000-08:00

--brought to you by Ingrid Pollet

I'm Alive

2009-02-07T22:16:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I've not written a blog since November. It's not as though life has been so uneventful as to not warrant my posting here--on the contrary, I've had plenty of blog-worthy experiences.

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I spent Christmas this year in Eureka, California, which is waaaay up north. The plan was great, albeit rather naive. I was to spend a long weekend there, hike in Redwoods National Park, cross the Coastal Ranges to the interior to see Mt. Shasta (which I've been wanting to see ever since hearing my roommate back in 2002, Erin Riddle, laud it), and also to play some frisbee golf. Little did I know that I was driving into a winter wonderland. My first night there, I called Joey to get him to look up the weather for me.

"So, what's it supposed to be like in Eureka?"
"Cold and rainy."
"Huh. Okay, everyday?"
"Yep. Well, there's a chance of sleet and hail too."
"Fantastic. How about Mt. Shasta?"
"Snow. Lot's of snow."

I'm an idiot. I had NO clue that northern California would be snowy in the winter. "Well then," I told Joey, "glad I brought a sweatshirt."

My first day, I drove up into the Redwoods National Park. Along the way, I passed by the road that I'd planned to take over to Mt. Shasta the next day. There was an electronic billboard that read, "Snow chains REQUIRED." Guess I'll have to see Mt. Shasta some other time. A little further down the road, another billboard suggested that snowchains be used ahead....on the road that I was driving down.

I should point out here that I'm a rather recalcitrate individual when I'm driving. I WANTED to see the mouth of the Klamath River, damn it. Onward, I pushed...in my 2008 Honda Fit without 4WD, snowchains, or a lick of clearance.

I really am an idiot.

But I made it just fine, albeit rather slowly. Regardless, I saw snow on Christmas again this year. While it wasn't quite as surprising as last year (it was mid-Summer in Australia, after all), it was a pleasant surprise nevertheless. It was well worth the risk. The snow-covered redwoods were beautiful. And, even though I had to fight through freezing rain and hail to get out to the vista over the mouth of the Klamath, the view as awe-inspiring. I highly suggest checking out the pictures. Northern California is a wonderful, wild place.

Northern California is also apparently home to "all of those weirdos" that my Aunt Margaret Ann warned me about when she found out I was coming to California. Eureka seemed to be populated by a thriving contingent of crazy people. In front of where I was staying was a fountain encircling a gazebo raised up a few feet with a circular walkway leading up to it. The whole time I was there, an old homeless man walked up and down that walkway, pausing only to harass passers-by on occasion. There was a guy on the main thoroughfare, 101, giving the middle finger to everyone he saw, hollering "f#$k you! F#$k you!" I kind of wish I would've taken a picture. On Christmas day, I stopped at a little shop that specialized in items made from redwood. The store operator obviously had fried his brain with meth, and could hardly communicate with me. Those are just the examples that stuck with me. I feel like I ran in to quite a few more characters.

My second day there, I went out to play frisbee golf at a couple of local courses, including one on campus at Humboldt State. Now, I should preface this by pointing out that frisbee golf tends to draw a hippy-ish crowd. I should also say that Humboldt has a particular reputation for being a "stoner school."

Well, boy did it live up to it's reputation. Within 40 seconds after getting out of my car there, I had the following conversation.

"Hey, you wanna hit this here pipe?"
"Uh, no. But thanks, really. That's awfully generous of you, perfect stranger, to provide me the opportunity to share whatever the hell's in that there pipe."

I shouldn't be so harsh. Stoners are generous, at least.

The course was definitely designed by somebody on drugs as well. The tee for hole 2 was a redwood stump, involving a 7 foot climb on a perpetually-moist and slippery surface. Fun stuff. I should also mention that the course design made zero sense, at one point requiring a 10 minute direction-less hike (I decided to start following a group who seemed to be in the know early on) to a completely different part of campus. I ended up just following a group around. But, it was well worth it for the overall experience, undoubtedly.

---------------

A few weeks ago, my friend from Chocowinity Candice Creasman came out to visit--the first of my friends, by the way, to take advantage of my mass invitation a few months ago. Her visit was mostly comprised of a long, long visit to the aquarium, a hike that nearly killed everyone involved (really not all that eventful, it was just a really arduous hike), and a lunch beside the Pacific Coast Highway. Reason number 1,032 that I love California: whales. As we sat there scarfing down our lunch and resting after the aforementioned nearly fatal hike, no less than about a dozen pairs of whales, probably gray, passed within eyeshot.

I think Candice had an educational experience here. She seemed to have learned that she'd much prefer strolling down 5th Avenue than hiking up the Appalachian Trail. I'll not judge her for it.

--------------

In the meantime, I've been working my tail off. I've added no less than 3 side projects that command my attention off the clock. It's pretty overwhelming, but exciting nevertheless. Those are 3 side projects that could turn into publications. Hopefully, I'll get to make some time for more adventures in the near future.

Ticking Another Box

2008-11-23T23:11:00.000-08:00

Today I went whale-watching. In my ever-expanding personal bucket list, seeing living whales in the wild has been an elusive goal. I traveled Australia in the exact wrong time of the year to see any there. On a NE roadtrip last year, I made a pretty dangerous overnight trip from Boston to Bar Harbor, ME, to try to catch a 7 am cruise that was later canceled for bad weather. Just this past summer, on my visit here to Monterey to meet my current labmates, yet another attempt was futile. Weather, again.

I told myself that I would absolutely take the first opportunity that arose during my tenure here in Monterey. That opportunity presented itself, and boy was it worth the wait.

When I signed up to head out for it, I really had no idea what whale-watching entailed. To me, it seemed like a grandiose idea, trying to track down animals that spend most of their time underwater, only occasionally breaching the surface to breath, somewhere out there in the huge expanses of the open ocean. I guess there are some patterns as to their migratory routes, their breeding grounds, and their feeding grounds; but this still leaves a lot of search space.

Apparently, whale-watching entails leaning over a boat's rail for several hours (1.5, in our case) until you see a spout, the jet of water that a whale sprays skyward after it breaches to gasp for air. Apparently, they'll take several breaths, then head back down again. Spouts can be spotted from miles and miles away.

It only dawned on me when we were out there that the same tactic with which we were tracking them down was--how does one say "is" in Japanese?--utilized by whalers back in the day. Hence, "thar she blows!"

Had I ever read Melville, I guess I probably would've learned that.

Anyway, spout spotted, the captain of the ship gunned it to their general vicinity. We waited in a hushed silence, bobbing up and downing in the seas while craning our heading back and forth, trying to anticipate where the next spout might appear. We waited quite a while, it seemed, when finally they appeared only a couple of hundred feet from the boat. Again the captain gunned it towards them, only to have them dive again.

The next time they appeared, they were directly beside and beneath the forward hull of the ship, right below me. Both humpbacks came over to the ship, spraying the passengers several times with their spouts of water. We were told that some people think that they'll use a stationary ship as a back-scratch. I'm having a hard time picturing any sort of selectionist mechanism for such a behavior; but they were definitely very curious. They stayed with us for about 10 minutes before getting bored and swimming off.

In the meantime, I learned today that whales have bad breath.

Dear Mr. President-

2008-11-09T15:42:00.001-08:00

First of all, congratulations. No matter the outcome of your presidency, your name will forever be recited with the some of the giants of American history. Nat Turner, John Brown, Frederick Douglas, Jesse Owens, Jackie Robinson, Emmitt Till, Martin Luther King, Barack Obama--you have already secured a place amongst this hallowed group.

But that is not good enough.

Your presidency will rank amongst the most important in our country's young history. You have the opportunity to make us remember you for not only breaking the color barrier to the presidency, but we may one day speak of your actions alongside those of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Franklin D. Roosevelt, John F. Kennedy, and Ronald Reagan. The problems we face as a society are that profound.

Our beloved country is in dire need of change. We need to return to that bold level of freedom upon which our country was originally established. We need to rebuild our economy in such a way as to meet the demands of the environment, become financially and energetically self-sufficient, and to allow reasonable and sustainable future growth. And we need to regain the confidence in our government to trust that our leaders are reliable and capable, transparent in their actions, and just in their motives.

Clearly, the economy is your first order of business. We have a $600 billion debt with China, a budget that is ever-increasing that debt, and 2 wars that are constantly demanding more funding. Clearly, the previous administration left their calculators in Texas, and the American dollar is in shambles because of it.

I think, Mr. President, that we need to bring manufacturing jobs home. The Walmart-ization of society has pushed mass production of low-cost goods pretty much completely beyond our borders. We all know the consequences: unsafe products, child labor, and the increase of pollution for the lack of environmental regulations in these countries. The rise of global transportation and communications has allowed multinational corporations to, in effect, select which laws to which they want to subject themselves. Heck, they sometimes decide to change laws to better meet their needs either by powerful suggestion (e.g., threatening to move on to another country) or blatant intervention (e.g., funding the assassination of government leaders). Meanwhile, Americans are finding themselves out of work and out of money. But hey, there's a sale on widgets and gizmos at Walmart! At least there's one place we can spend the last $20 to our names.

Bring manufacturing jobs home, and the prices of these items will rise, undoubtedly. But we know that current prices are artificial. They do not in any way reflect the actual expenses incurred by society and the environment for their production and transportation. Furthermore, a quiet revolution is already happening across the country. The deaths of thousands of pets the world-over has caused Americans to better consider what is going into dog food. The fear of cancer has elicited the explosion of the organic food industry. Even with the economy reeling, Whole Foods is thriving. The discovery of toxins in children's toys made in China is making parents across the world regard their purchases with a greater level of diligence.

I think American society might be in a position to pay a little more for greater quality, if not for the betterment of the environment and society.

One might suggest that the American worker is beyond manufacturing jobs, that white collar jobs are the way of the present and future. I would point out that in Beaufort County, North Carolina, where I am from and a good representative of rural American society, the average annual salary is $17000/year. The widget and gizmo industry would be welcomed there with open arms.

Bringing manufacturing jobs home would help to solve many of the problems faced by Americans today. It would re-mobilize an American workforce. It would decrease planetary CO2 emissions by eliminating trans-Pacific shipping and forcing manufacturing plants to be powered by energy sources that are subject to American environmental standards. It would also slow that looming and ever-growing shadow of Chinese hegemony that is reshaping the nature of the geopolitical climate of the planet almost as quickly it is the rest of the climate.

How could we do this? In my mind, it is simple: enforce the laws that are in place. Enforce the laws for which Upton Sinclair and Thomas Nast fought. Enforce the new environmental legislation that you will assuredly put into place, legislation that finally makes sense and takes our future into account. Enforce the Taft-Hartley Act to decrease the near-monopolic power of Walmart. If products are sold on our shores, the companies responsible for making them and those selling them should be subject to our laws.

The rampant irresponsible corporate libertarianism allowed by the current administration needs to come to an end and soon.

Then perhaps our beloved country's economy can boom again, but this time with a tone of responsibility and sustainability. I think we are ready for that.

Thank you-

Kelly Barr
A Concerned Citizen

My November 1

2008-11-09T13:24:00.000-08:00

Having been dropped off at the Motel 6 on Halloween by the lovely stranger named Sara, I awoke early on the 1st hoping to get back on the road as quickly as possible. Sara had left me with the business card of a man named Gary who was the owner and operator of Picture Rocks Road Tire and Rim and who had, while pretty well inebriated mind you, told me that he would pick me up in the morning.

He was a man of his word.

An hour after I called, Gary arrived at my hotel in his own decrepit little Ford pick-up (apparently, that's the official transportation of native Tucsonians) with my wheels, tires and rims, in the bed. This 60s-ish man with a long gray beard and a sun-pocked face hopped out, shook my hand, and said, "I've got bad news for you, Kelly." And then he showed me where my tires had completely blown out and, more disturbingly, where one of the rims was cracked.

As an aside, the guy lived about 50 minutes away. I suspect he'd immediately jumped into his truck after we spoke on the phone, stopped by my car on the way, pulled the wheels off in about 30 seconds, and met up with me at exactly the time we'd discussed. The guy was obviously skilled.

For the next 2 hours, Gary drove me around the city of Tucson to track down a new rim and 2 new tires. We even dropped by the Honda dealership to find out if, 1, the rim would be covered under my warranty ("are you kidding?" was basically the response) and, 2, if they had any of these items in stock ("Nope. We could order them, though, for $415 for the rim, $120/tire, and $450 for the tire pressure monitors." "Uh, no thanks."). Our first order of business was to tend to the rim. Gary thought it might be difficult to track down that size.

Why cars aren't designed with standard sizes is beyond me. I know car companies probably make quite a bit from replacement parts; but would it be so bad for business to decrease the variety a bit? Perhaps having the same size rims for both Honda Fits AND Civics? Just seems like it would be cheaper to mass produce these things in the same factories, rather than having a separate source for them.

The first rim shop that we stopped at didn't have it in stock. "That one's a hard one to find," the not-so-friendly owner told us. Meanwhile, the whole time we were there, Gary persisted to the guy, "you're going to help me out, right? All the business I send your way, I mean, you're going to give us a deal, right." Gary was really trying to look out for me. At the next shop, I purchased a pretty hideous black universal rim. This shop tried to sell me a tire for about $60 as well. Gary spoke for me, "no! No! That's alright! We'll get the tires elsewhere."

I should mention that between the hotel and shops, Gary, this crusty car mechanic 4 decades my senior, and I managed to build up a camaraderie. He really admired my traveling bug. Though he was living about a mile from where he grew up, he shared the same bug. He was a truck-driver for over a decade, and had lived all over the country. I guess there's just no place like home. Of course, the overarching conversation on the day was the election. Gary asked about my vote. "Well," I stammered, "I do really like McCain. I mean, as far as Republican candidates go, he's better than any other one that I've experienced in my short voting life." I was nervous. Gary's been around a while. He's white. He's lives out in the country. And, last and certainly not least, he's a native Arizonian. I really didn't want to offend this man on whom my future was now so dependent. "But, I've already voted, and I voted for Obama. My views are just far more aligned with his. And I think the country just needs new leadership." "That's good," Gary said, I've got to admit, I was hoping for Hillary; but either of them is better than McCain. McCain's an asshole."

It was at this point that I noticed the bumper stick on the rear window of Gary's truck that said "Fuck Bush."

Somehow, I had stumbled into the care of the country's only country bumpkin liberal.

Gary then took me to a tire shop, owned and operated by a pair of brothers that he'd apparently known since he was a kid. I found myself watching this man, likely in his 60s, wrestling with one of them, also likely around 50, in the parking lot. We got a couple of cheap tires, had them put on the rims, both the original and my new one that's going to be a blemish on my brand new until I either procure a new one or get the cracked one fixed, and hit the road again, headed back out to the National Park to my car. For their troubles and 2 tires, Gary's friends charged me $60.

On the way, I convinced Gary to let me buy him a tank of gas. "Oh, that's okay." "C'mon, Gary," I said, "you've been driving me around all morning and not working. It's the least I could do." "Well, maybe you can put $5-10 in." When we got to the station, I hopped out and grabbed the pump, and said, "it's just a tank of gas, let me take care of it." Gary sort of sank and said, "you sure?" Just as I always do at the gas station, I paid with my card at the pump, started it, and headed inside to use the bathroom and grab something to drink. When I got back out, I saw Gary stopping the pump. "$25," I said, "wow, must be a small tank." "Yep," he responded. Heading down the road, I noted that the tank was only at 3/4.

As swiftly as he'd removed them, Gary replaced my wheels, and I was ready to hit the road minutes after returning to the scene of the previous day's fiasco. "What do I owe ya, Gary?" I inquired. "Oh, let's say $25 for the service call." This guy had just picked me up from my hotel 50 minutes from his shop, driven me all around Tucson for several hours, and only wanted $25 for his services. I peered into my wallet. There were a few singles, a $5, and a few $20s. I grabbed 2 of the 20s and said, "I dont have a five. Here you go." "You sure?" he said, kind of ashamed to take the extra money. "Yeah. You've driven me all over town this morning, worked on my car, and missed out on whatever business you would've had at your shop in the meantime. As a matter of fact," I grabbed another $20. Gary backed up and threw out his hands, "no! No! No! That's completely unnecessary!"

Before he would leave, Gary made me start my car to be certain. He wished me luck, and drove off, heading back to his little tire business, set amongst the saguaro cacti of the national park surrounding his tiny little community.

Week 1

2008-11-09T09:25:00.000-08:00

The average American commutes 45 minutes each day to and from work. Twenty minutes in your car each way, not so bad. A few years ago, I read an article about those on the extreme upper end of this range, including one woman who lives in the Poconos of Pennsylvania and works in New York City. Choosing to raise her children in a more rural environment compels this woman to bus daily to the city for a grand total of 4 hours. That's 4 hours on the road, not working, not sleeping, not spending time with her family.

While I appreciate the desire to raise one's family away from the frenetic and blithely superficial concrete jungle that is New York City, having spent a week commuting for 2 hours a day back and forth between Hopkins in Pacific Grove and my incredible temporary abode in Santa Cruz, a pristine mother-in-law suite generously provided by Kristen Ruegg, a post-doc in the Palumbi Lab, Eric Anderson, and their lovely 1.5-year old, Zoe, I do not envy the aforementioned commuter's plight one bit. At the moment, sunset is around 5:30. I generally get to work at 9, meaning that I left work after dark every day this week. When you're spending 2 hours a day in your car, some other activities naturally get sacrificed. For me, apparently, those things were cooking myself dinner (cereal was on the menu quite often this week) and exercising. These 2 activities are exactly my favorite 2 things to do in life.

In other words, while I wouldn't describe my first week on the other coast as miserable, I've not been the happiest of individuals.

But, I things are looking up. Today, I received word that what is quite possibly the greatest apartment I've ever seen is mine for the renting. It's at 126 Forest Avenue in Pacific Grove, California. It's a 2 bedroom with a balcony jutting off the second floor, abutting the living room, with a pretty clear view of Monterey Bay. The apartment is a stone's throw from the Pacific and perhaps a football punt away from downtown Pacific Grove. The building is also all of 1 mile from Hopkins.

My commute will soon be decidedly shorter.

Of course, when I move in, I'll be living a rather spartan life for a while. I've got zilch in the way of furniture or pots and pans or a vacuum or any of the other the stuff of normal everyday life. At least I'll have a view.

I'm Here

2008-11-02T22:43:00.000-08:00

But I'm too pooped to write. Expect a new blog or 2 soon. Good night.

My Halloween

2008-10-31T20:14:00.001-07:00

The day started off innocently enough. I awoke this morning in the little town of Wilcox, Arizona, having booked it clear across West Texas and New Mexico yesterday.

My first destination was Tombstone, of wild west and OK Corral fame. There, I found a town that looked as though it had not changed in 100 years, excepting having been turned into a tourist attraction. Stagecoaches offer rides up and down the main boulevard. Mock gunfights are held every hour on the hour. The saloon can be entered through swinging doors. Cowboys and 6-shooter carrying sheriffs pace up and down the streets, only breaking from character to hand out flyers advertising museums, gunfights, and tours. And the same theater that hosted vaudeville shows for the likes of Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday still sits on the edge of town.

From Tombstone, I drove down some Arizona backroads to my next destination, Green Valley, the home of a now decommissioned Titan II ICBM silo. Between 1963 and the SALT treaties with the USSR, 18 such silos were manned 24-7 by a crew of 4 Air Force servicemen, all poised to launch a nuclear missile at the USSR upon request by the President. I dont really understand why, but I've always been a bit obsessed with nuclear arms and, well, the military in general. Maybe it's having grown up on Ronald Reagan and GI Joe, and in eastern NC at that, where the military has a heavy presence. The technology developed for these weapons was just remarkable. We're talking about the early 60s, before even color televisions were available. This was a missile that could hit within a block of it's target on the other side of the world. The men manning the silo could communicate with commanders anywhere in the world using any of a number of transmitters, including one that sends and receives signals through the earth's crust. Being in the silo was like taking a step 40 years into the past, but yet, here we were being told about the incredible abilities the military had back then. The 740 ton door to the silo would open in about 18 seconds. The 100 ton missile could launch in less than a minute. And the silo and living quarters were built to survive all but a direct hit by a nuclear warhead.

We developed these technologies in the 50s and 60s, not to mention landing on the moon; yet most of our automobiles are still powered by a technology developed at the beginning of the 20th century! What the hell?

Anyway, later in the day, around sunset, I finally found myself in the primary destination today, Saguaro National Park. It was spectacular. I'll post the pictures soon, because no words can do it justice. I love southern Arizona.

I managed to see enough of the park to be satisfied with moving on for the day in all of an hour. I would prefer to go on some hikes and really take in the scenery and wildlife, but my time is short. So, I started booking it out of the park. At an ess curve just inside the eastern edge of the park, I hit a pothole on the edge of the road and blew both of my passenger-side tires.

Now, I'm a pretty cool customer under duress. Most people would probably be pretty pissed at this point. I simply hopped out of my car and called my brother, Joey, to look up some phone numbers for me. The highway patrol gave me the numbers to a couple of towing services. The first one I called was none too enthused about the prospect of heading out to the national park to pick me up. They basically said they could do it later in the weekend. The next one said the same. I called the highway patrol back, told the dispatcher the what happened, and she responded, "you've got to be kidding me!" She told me to hold on and called one of the services herself. When she came back onto the line, she assured me that they would help me when I call back. The towing company dispatcher apologized to me, took some information, and then tried to get my location. "I'm on Picture Rocks Road just inside the park," I told her. "I need something more than that," she responded. I told her that I'm a tourist, just passing through. I really didnt know the area. I just drove into the park from I-10, and was heading back out the same way.

"Well, I need a landmark or something, because I dont want my driver driving all over the park looking for you."

"Ma'am, I'm just inside the edge of the park on Picture Rocks Road, I'm not sure what else to tell you."

"I need a landmark. I cant just send out my driver to Picture Rocks Road."

I was standing there, surrounded by rocks, cacti, and NOTHING ELSE! So, I told her that. She told me again that she needed a landmark. I said, "well, about a mile down the road, I see some houses, I guess I could go down there, knock on a door, and ask what the neighborhood is called."

I was being a smart-ass. The dispatcher told me to call her back when I did that.

Looking down the road, which was a pretty busy and winding 2-lane road without much of a shoulder. The sun was setting and I'm in the desert. The prospect of walking down that road wasnt all too appealing. Instead, I called my brother again and tried to get some landmarks on google maps. This information proved to be satisfactory to the dispatcher who finally put me into contact with a driver.

"Now, you know it'll be at LEAST 3 hours before I can get out to you, right?"

"Okay, I guess."

"And it'll be..." whatever exorbitant price she gave me.

"Okay, I guess. I guess I dont really have a choice, do I?"

"Alright, I'll give you a call before I come out."

Great. There I was on the side of the road on Halloween waiting for a tow truck to take my car to the other side of the city, apparently, and hopefully drop me off at a nearby hotel. I really didnt enjoy the prospects. So, I called Joey again to get the numbers to some taxis. No go. No one would come out. Then I decided to just hoof it. It would be 3 hours anyway, so I figured I could probably get myself to a hotel in the meantime.

About 100 feet down the road, having donned jeans and shoes to account for the prospect of scorpion and rattlesnake run-ins, I met a lovely woman named Sara, who pulled her truck off of the road before me and, Camel clasped between her nicotine stained teeth, or at least the 4-5 she had left, asked if I needed a ride. I told Sara about my car, and she told me that some friends of hers run a tire shop right up the street. She gave me their number right off the top of her head. Sara and I went back to my car to get the tire sizes, and realized that there was no visible physical damage. Apparently, all I needed was an air compressor, and I could fill up my tires and hit the road. That's what I told Sara's friend at the tire shop.

I suspect had I called on any other night, and not on a Halloween Friday night, I would've gotten help right then; this night, however, the guy on the other end of the phone was obviously several sheets to the wind. "Just leave your car there," he slurred, "get Sara"--pronounced "Shhh-ara"--"to take you to a hotel, and I'll get you in the morning."

So, that's how I found myself spending Halloween 2008 in a Motel 6 just west of Tucson, Arizona.

I've watched the Discovery Channel commercial that I just posted about 1/2 a dozen times to help cheer myself up.

But rest assured, Halloween is still my favorite holiday.

My New Happy Place

2008-10-31T20:11:00.000-07:00

Going Back to Cali

2008-09-17T10:46:00.001-07:00

I miss living on the road. Life was much simpler back then. The only decisions I had to make each day were, "should I drink tea or coffee for breakfast?" and, "where are we going to go?" That was the life.

Now I have to figure out things like, "how do I pay for exorbitantly-priced health insurance that'll probably deny paying out if I ever actually even pull the card out from the recesses of my wallet?" as well as, you know, "what the hell am I going to do with my life." For the past few months, I've been toiling away here in the Marko Lab trying to polish off a project that's been 6 years in the making now. I took a personality test in Australia (the subject of a previous blog), the results of which have been doubly confirmed by similar tests since I've returned to the US. One of the more humorous and apt suggestions for my personality-type was to figure out how long something should take, then double it.

That couldnt be more true for me.

Meanwhile, I've been applying for jobs all summer, flirting with a number grand ideas along the way. I'd thought it'd be fun to work for a non-profit, like The Nature Conservancy or Environmental Defense; but my molecular ecology-steeped background, surprisingly enough, doesn't exactly scream "HIRE ME!" to such organizations. Not once, but twice I'd decided that moving to particular cities in pursuit of relationships was my best move. Nope. Both of those relationships fell apart.

Then one day I found in email in my inbox from one Stephen Palumbi, who apparently wanted to know a little more about me. It had been so long since I'd applied for a position in his lab that I'd forgotten about it. Anybody who knows anything about molecular ecology or marine biology would know Palumbi's name. I know a little about both fields, so I was pretty stoked to be receiving an email from him. A few email exchanges later, I was invited to visit him and his lab in Monterey, California, on his coin.

As an aside, my friend Phil Buiser (he of the Target commercial fame in my previous post) and I took a little (ie, a 12,000 mile loop around the contiguous US) roadtrip just after college. While visiting the famous Monterey Bay Aquarium on Cannery Row in Monterey, Phil and I were standing outside of the aquarium taking in the sights, the Pacific Ocean, the seals, and the giant kelp forest below. "We're at the center of some of most important marine sciences research there is out there," I told him. "I'm going to end up here."

Ha! I didn't actually believe it for a second. I was just an exuberant youth showing off. I'd been working in the Marine Sciences Department at UNC for several years now, but I was a nobody. I had yet to go further than doing grunt work on various projects, much less actually conduct any research myself. I hadn't even FLOWN yet, much less actually live outside of the state of North Carolina.

But here I am 7 years later, and I just accepted a job to work at Hopkins Marine Lab in Monterey, CA.

Life is a grand thing, isn't it? I have always wanted to live in California for at least a short period of time. I've always admired the persistent stream of high-level science that emanates from the Palumbi lab. Now, I'll have ample opportunity to both work in a prolific environment and be able to enjoy the many natural splendors of California in my down time.

Now, I'm faced with the prospect of actually finishing up the work I was hired for originally here at Clemson. Using the equation suggested by the personality test, I should have allotted myself 6 months. Now, I'll be departing about 3 weeks shy of that, and I suspect I'm going to be leaving work undone, or at least not very well done. That's the problem with science, there's always more one can do. The work that gets published rarely is the entirety of what was originally planned. Concurrently, I also have to pack up to move to the other coast, find an apartment (and hopefully an apartment-mate, because rent's going to suck out there), and attend as many college football games as I possibly can.

Okay, so that last item on the agenda isn't so stressful, but give me a break! I missed an entire year of sports last year and I'll soon be moving to a place that couldn't care less about football or basketball.

I should get back to work.

Phil's New Commercial

2008-09-08T10:56:00.001-07:00

Saving the Planet, Click-by-Click

2008-06-10T10:15:00.002-07:00

I just added a link to a website ("Click to Give") that makes donations to various charitable organizations for each time the site is visited. The organizations are of a variety of ilks, including saving rainforests, feeding the hungry (both pet and human), and breast cancer. By going to the site and clicking on the big, blue button towards the top of the page, you're taken to a list of companies that sponsor the website. I just thought it was pretty cool, and wanted to share.

Around Australia at 55 MPH or A Year Without Winter

2008-04-22T09:48:00.001-07:00

Just the word Australia elicits fantastical thoughts of wonderment for most. Kangaroos, the Great Barrier Reef, crocodiles, Uluru, the Opera House, Tasmania--all of these images seem exotic, remote, and irresistibly alluring. Australia must have the greatest tourism ad campaign in the world, for what other location on the entire planet has such a magnetic appeal for so many? I would wager that if recent college graduates were polled to find out where they would most like to travel to, Australia would be the first choice for most, if not unanimously.

Well, at the end of March, Ingrid Pollet and I completed a complete circuit of Oz, as many travelers refer to Australia. We covered nearly 28,000 kms (18,000 mi) in 4 months. Ingrid added about 280 new birds to her life list, which means I probably saw 250 or so myself. If we drove Beulah at 90 km/hr (55 mi/hr) to maximize her fuel efficiency at 15 L/100kms (which is better than it usually was), and gas was $1.50/L (which is about the cheapest--that works out to about $6/gallon, by the way), then that means we spent approximately $6300 on fuel alone (probably more like $8000). Throw in $500/month for food, $1000 total for lodging, $300 for the Spirit of Tasmania, $500 to dive the Great Barrier Reef, and all of the $3 Diet Cokes I drank, it was a pretty expensive affair, traveling Australia.

Was it worth it? That's a question I'm still debating, honestly. I spent a whole lot of money to see Australia. I spent enough to prematurely end my globetrotting plans. As a particularly frugal individual, I'm not too happy about that. With my budget, I should've seen New Zealand, Thailand, Vietnam, Japan, and China, as I had aspired. Instead, I saw Australia and just Australia.

But I saw ALL of Australia. I've seen more of Australia than 99% of Australians. I've seen more birds there than most Australian ornithologists. I've swam on more beaches than most Australian surfers. I tasted more of the country's wines than many Australian viticulturists . I visited every single major population center across the continent, and traversed darn near every paved road. I got myself inundated in Australian culture and politics, and learned a great deal of its history. I truly traveled the hell out of this continent. I'm not sure there are many people out there who've traveled Australia so thoroughly.

In retrospect, Australian flora and fauna are EVERYTHING they're cracked up to be. Just hearing the call of a Laughing Kookaburra might be worth the price of admission. While most visitors were enamored with the famous Opera House my first day in Sydney back in July, I was completed infatuated with the several hundred gray-headed flying foxes (giant bats) residing in the adjacent Royal Botanical Gardens, not to mention the White Ibises, RainbowLorikeets , and Sulfur-crested Cockatoos. Then there's the day we came upon a koala sitting on it's rump in the middle of the road and the night we were awakened by the din of a grazing wombat a foot away from our tent. I saw trees with hundreds of parrots lining their branches, termite mounds taller than me, and ants that could look back at me. Kangaroos and wallabies really are all over. And if you visit Australia without seeing dozens of different parrot species, you just aren't paying attention.

As for the people of Australia, well, they only subtlety different than ourselves. One of the things I love about my country is it's diversity. While the stereotypical American is the white suburbanite, in reality, our people and culture is the intersection of many, many others. The US is well on it's way to having a greater proportion of minorities than whites. Heck, we might just be well on our way to having a black president.

That is not the case in Australia. While the cities are diverse with large Asian component, the country is decidedly a white one. Apparently, Australia is 95% of European descent. The US is at 66% and steadily dropping. Needless to say, it was a minor change going from Australia to Atlanta, a 65% black city, in a day's time.

Australian culture is duly comparable to that of Great Britain. They drink tea, eat fish and chips, and the word fanny is a very, very naughty. Quite a bit of their culture is decidedly akin to that of the US too. I've learned over the past year that theUS's biggest export is culture. The world watches our movies, reads our books, and listens to our music. I couldn't help but chuckle once when a car drove by in some small town with a driver leaning as far back as he could safely get, wearing a baseball cap turned sideways, and listening to aTupac song from 1992--had that kid even met a black man, much less an American black man? Our bad tv shows also make it around the globe, as well as our news. Indeed, the most isolated cattle rancher in outback South Australia could easily tell you who George W. Bush is as well as his father--could you name the Australian Prime Minister? Had I not just spent 8 months there in the middle of their general elections, I certainly couldn't have. American corporations also have a heavy presence there. Rare is the little town that doesn't haveMcDonalds, and Coke is available for purchase at the most secluded of country stores.

Of course, there are a few things that are distinctly Australian. It's 20 million people are the only ones who could possibly eat vegemite and not promptly commit hara-kiri to end their misery. They commonly drive "utes," which are little truck-cars, like the failed El Camino. A product of the country's size, cross-country commerce happens in the form of roadtrains, which are tractor-trailers with 2-4 trailers. Almost being swept off the road by one of these roadtrains barreling its way down a road wide enough to support a golf cart is truly an authentic Australian experience. Australians also have a manner of speaking that I at once adore and abhor. Our country has adopted "no worries" as a common response. In Australia, they also use "no dramas" and "too easy." That latter response really raises my hackles. I always wanted to cover the person's eyes and shout, "how about now?! Is it too easy now?!"

And then there's "mate." When Kevin Rudd was nominated as the country's new Prime Minister, he spoke of "mateship" in Australia in his acceptance speech. Many country Australians will end every single sentence with the word. At a gas station one day, I witnessed the following conversation between a gas station attendant and a customer:

"Which tank were you on, mate?"
"The diesel, mate."
"That'll be $84, mate."
"The other diesel, mate."
"Oh, sorry about that, mate."
"That's okay, mate."
"Here's your card, mate."
"Thank you, mate."
"Have a good day, mate."
"You too, mate."

And then they made out.

Or maybe I made the last part up.

People really do often greet you with "g'day mate!" Australians also have the peculiar habit of colloquially ending a lot of their words with "o" or "y." So, a bottle shop is a "bottle-o," a cigarette is a "smoke-o," and a beer being drunk by a car passenger (still legal in Australia) is a "road-y."

In general, the people are supremely friendly. I felt completely safe everywhere I went. We often camped right along the main roads at rest areas--something I'd think twice about in much of the US. Many Australians have some real issues with the "Aborigine question;" but I've already addressed this in a previous blog. They mean well, even if many of them are ignorant and a tad racist.

In the environment, Australia is very encouraging to the green-minded individual such as myself. Every toilet I saw all across the country was low-volume with the option of "half-flushing." Many were waterless. Recycling programs were common where there was any infrastructure at all. Most places were free of litter. And the government actually address global climate change as though it's a real thing and not some figment of the imagination of liberal minds (as implied by W, Rush Limbaugh, and Michael Crichton--thank you, you jerks). Of course, there are plenty of places where mines are denuding the countryside and polluting what little water there is. Australia is apparently responsible for more CO2 percapita than any other country (though the good ol ' US of A is easily number 1 in total emissions). And the the 1,000 km long swathe of sugar cane fields running the length of TROPICAL (as in forest) Queensland is pretty discouraging.

Still, Australia is in much better shape than the US when it comes to addressing environmental issues on the short-term. I attended a "sustainability festival" in Sydney and was amazed at just how knowledgeable the seemingly-average Sydney-sider was about green energy. I attended an equivalent event in Atlanta last weekend, and there was so little interest in a green energy seminar that it had to be canceled. That's probably the product of good government incentive programs that make green energy a viable choice for Australians. In the US, there are rumblings of such programs; but we need a damn earthquake.

Australian cities are phenomenal. Each is clean, green, and unique. If Perth, Brisbane, or Adelaide existed in the US, I think I'd call one of those places home. Urbanites are mostly friendly, even while driving. Very rarely did I hear an impatient driver slamming on his horn despite the fact that we were often driving 20 km/hr below the 110 km/hr speed limit. All of the cities have interesting museums, both art and natural history, a diversity of restaurants, and good, inexpensive public transportation. Australia definitely lacks the cross-country infrastructure that we have in the US, meaning that many of the cities have to be approached on slow, stoplight-laden streets rather than speedy, open freeways. But, with only 20 million people in the country, the ridiculous traffic that we have in much of the US is not an issue there. Sure, I was caught in traffic jams in Sydney; but I've already seen more traffic traveling from Atlanta toGreenville, SC, 2 days ago than I did at any one time in Australia.

One thing I particularly enjoyed about Australia was its lack of police. I only very rarely actually saw cops around. Going from that environment back to the US is like going from Bohemia to Nazi Germany. My country really is like a police state. I hate it. Why is it so different? Of course, they have more cameras operating over there to catch both red-light runners (which, by the way, will cost you over $300 in South Australia--ask me how I know) and speeders. But that's so much better than here where you'll see blue lights the moment you make a mistake.

Their advertisements are decidedly different than ours as well, being a little more vulgar. I saw a public safety ad portraying a girl getting into a car accident, with a guy flying into the back of her head from the backseat. The caption read, "the last thing that went through her head was her boyfriend." I was aghast. I also saw a tv ad featuring a bikini-clad woman walking down the beach while holding a beaver's hand. Then she was having a candle-lit dinner with it. Finally, they were rowing on a placid lake together. The narrator came on and said, "you only have one. Take care of it." It was a tampon commercial. Wow.

I think I just convinced myself that I did really like it, and that the expense I incurred for traveling was well worth it. I made some good friends that I miss already. I had some experiences that I'll likely never had again. And I'll long to return someday again in the future. Yeah, I think it was worth it.

Traveling Green

2008-04-22T07:12:00.000-07:00

I recently used a couple of online calculators to figure out the environmental impact of my trip to Australia. I learned that 28,000 kms in Beulah equates approximately 7.7 metric tons of CO2 released into the atmosphere. My flights from Atlanta to Sydney and back, 20,000 miles in the air, released ~3.6 metric tons (just for me; the other passengers have to account for their own load). Just for thoroughness, I also figured out that the ferry trip to Tasmania and back, 480 miles, released ~362 kg (again, just my share).

All along I had been debating what I was going to do about these impacts. I've been decidedly not very good to the planet over the past year, and I wanted to remedy that. There are a number of organizations out there now that offer carbon offset programs, from planting trees to funding education and lobbying. I had also considered just donating the equavalent of the cost of offsetting CO2 to a couple of environmental groups I know and respect, such as The Nature Conservancy and Conservation International. I've settled on one called the Clean Air Conservancy.

One of the more sensible environmental initiatives the federal government has instilled over the past few decades is a CO2 credit program for utility companies. Basically, the government put a cap on the total amount of allowable CO2 to be emitted by utility companies, divided that number up into credits that function exactly like shares of stock, and divvied the credits out to the companies. That meant the bigger, more polluting companies had to reduce emissions and purchase enough of the credits from other companies to stay in business; meanwhile, the smaller companies would gain enough in the way of assets to be able to afford to reduce their emissions.

Now if we could only elect a president that gives a crap so we can have an EPA that actually enforces this program.

Banking on the good reason of all 3 of our presidential candidates, I'm going to donate $85 (http://www.cleanairconservancy.org/bankDetail.php?poll=CO2) to the Clean Air Conservancy to offset the 11.2 metric tons of CO2 I was responsible for releasing during my Australian excursion. With that $85, the CAC will purchase the credits for 11.2 metric tons of CO2 and retire them, such that utility companies can no longer release that much CO2 into the atmosphere ever again.

That's a minor tithe for traversing a whole continent.

For as long as I'm still driving a darned truck here in the US, I'll be purchasing credits to offset my emissions (~6 metric tons/yr) from now on as well.

I'm Back

2008-04-16T05:23:00.001-07:00

The Longest Day

2008-04-14T23:18:00.000-07:00

It's officially over. I'm at the Sydney airport now waiting for my flight, a 5:50 departure. Since I'm traveling west to east, I'll be gaining time all along the way. That means I'll arrive in Honolulu at 7:40 am...today. That's right, I'm going back in time. I deserve it after losing my July 25, 2007, that I'll never have back. After Honolulu, I'll head to San Fran, stay at the airport overnight, and complete my final leg to Atlanta on April 16. Hopefully, I'll be catching up with everyone back home very soon.

SOLD!

2008-04-11T23:17:00.000-07:00

Finally! Finally my misery is over. At the wire, my last day at the car market, I found a buyer. The guy got one heck of a deal for Beulah; but at least the darn thing is sold. Except some better humored musings from me soon.

Beulah Blues

2008-04-05T16:27:00.000-07:00

I've not updated my blog in a few weeks because I've been absolutely consumed with the chore of selling our trusty, rusty '89 Pajero. The roadtrip officially ended well over a week ago now. Since, Ingrid and I spent a day getting Beulah cleaned up and sorting out our gear. We've been posting flyers all around backpackers hostels and internet cafes, maintaining website advertisements, and, most of all, spending our days at the Kings Cross Auto Market. That's an outlet set up for backpackers selling cars to meet backpackers buying cars.

Our market is a narrow one. Most backpackers come to the market with preconceived notions on what they want to buy and what they want to spend. While I'm certainly not opposed to making a budget and sticking to it (indeed, it is for that reason that I'm cutting my globetrotting short), most of them are fresh out of college with a couple of extra thousand $ in their pockets that they're willing to spend on a vehicle they expect to get them around Australia safely. One guy seriously said his budget for a car was < $1,000. Good luck to you, buddy. Biking around the huge country should be fun.

For us, we need a specific sort. We need people looking to "go bush," as they say here. They would need a 4WD. Most backpackers are kids just looking to get a van they can sleep in while partying from city-to-city up the well-paved east coast. I dont mean to bad-mouth them; if I were 22, that'd probably be my goal as well. We need people who are either a little older or traveling on their parents' coin, because Beulah's at the higher end of the market. When we first entered the Auto Market, there were several Ford Falcons for less than $3000, some vans for around that amount, and a few other 4WDs all cheaper than the $7,500 we initially were asking for Beulah.

For 5 days, we sat around at the market waiting for potential buyers without any success. The market is basically just one floor of a subterranean parking deck. Like most parking decks, Beulah's too high to fit inside. So we have to pay a little more than the rest of the backpackers, but we get to be outside. It's well worth the extra expense. Everyone else is sitting indoors everyday several floors underground. Fall is upon us in Australia, and it's frigid out there now. So basically, the people downstairs sit in a dungeon all day long freezing their butts off anxiously awaiting that chance group of backpackers who would relieve them of their misery.

It's pretty tough, even for us. Sometimes, you'll go hours between brief spurts of curious customers. We've been keeping the tent open so as to draw attention to Beulah, but a lot of people havent a clue what a rooftop tent is and are turned off by it.

Finally, 8 days into this, we have some interested parties. Ingrid departed a few days ago, so the onus falls solely on me now. That's unfortunate because most travelers here are French or German, and it was a real advantage that Ingrid could speak to 1/2 of them in their mother tongue. Regardless, I hope to part ways with Beulah very soon. Then I'll write a few summary blogs on this wild and crazy roadtrip.

Swimming With Sharks/Walking With Dinosaur Descendents

2008-03-20T02:21:00.000-07:00

Ah, that's a better title. Four days, no breakdowns. Woo-hoo!

Well ladies and gentlemen, I lived a dream. I dove on the Great Barrier Reef. I'm torn as to how to describe my experience. The visability (or "viz," if I were cool enough) was poor. We dove a section of the reef that's suffered from decades of unskilled divers and boaters, not to mention climate change and overfishing. But hell, it was the Great Barrier Reef! I did 11 dives over 3 days, including my first 2 night dives. What am I complaining about?

The problem is that I know what could've been. We received fair advice from some friends about what we should do on the GBR. "Be sure to go to the outer reef," we were told. We also knew that we wanted to do a liveaboard, to get the most for our money. Upon arriving in Cairns, though, we were overwhelmed by our options. We soon learned that there were about 7 companies with liveaboard vessels. A couple of them were quite luxorious, and were immediately crossed off our list of options. We also learned that a single company, TACA, would take us far north, away from the usual dive spots off of Cairns, and out into the Coral Sea. For just a little greater expense, we could be diving in perfectly clear waters on much better reefs. We could've seen the famous "Cod Hole" and "Osprey Reef." This is what Patty had done, and she couldn't say enough about her experiences.

Alas, that trip was full. We were short on time and really needed to schedule something in a hurry. So we settled for a 3 day/2 night trip on the reefs.

In the end, we did see come pretty cool stuff. I can't honestly rave about the reef like I did Ningaloo Reef in an earlier blog, but we did see plenty. Sea turtles, sleeping sharks, lots of colorful fish, and even a few living corals here and there fulfilled our experiences. I must say, however, that the reef was looking awfully poor. I noticed far more encrusting algae than living corals. I noticed quite a bit of bleaching amongst the few living corals that we did see. Overall, the few-and-far between splashes of color that we did see was set amongst a backdrop of the ghosts of glorious reefs past. Piles of dead coral always encircles living reefs; but it just seemed like the majority of the structure we were seeing was composed of dead coral. Combined with the low visibility (yet another downside of traveling during the Big Wet), it was depressing at time. When we did come across denser sections of living things, it was spectacular. The varied bright colors seemingly vied for your attention.

There were a couple of especially memorable moments. At one site, we were told to keep an eye out for Bump-headed Parrotfish, big, colorful behemoths that have, as their name suggests, an enlarged bump extending out from their foreheads. We were told that if we should see them feeding, that we'll hear the loud crunch of them taking large chunks out of corals (parrotfish have powerful jaws, with which that chomp on corals for food). At then end of the dive, Ingrid and I were ascending up the bow line when one of these monsters went slowly swimming by. It was literally within 1/2 an arm's reach from me. It was like watching a train go by. As it did so, it was watching me as closely as I was watching it. They've got eyes that can move around on the sides of their heads like chameleons, such that even as it got by me, it was still looking back at me. Pretty darn cool.

Memorable moment number 2 was diving with a school of sharks. Just after the sun sets each night, divers are given the opportunity to head out with a flashlight to check out whatever nocturnal beasties might be out. While the divers are in the water, the boat projects spotlights into the water at both the bow and the stern, so as to assist the divers in getting to and from the boat. These lights create their own ecosystem. Little fish are drawn in to feed on the plankton that have been drawn in to the light, and this in turn draws in bigger fish to feed on the little fish. This proceeds all the way to the top of the food chained, to the ever-maligned shark. Before I got into the water, I could see sharks swimming by at the surface. I can't explain why, but I wasn't the least bit afraid. I think it's my over-trusting nature--they wouldn't really send us into the water if it was dangerous, right? I mean, they want return customers, right? I guess.

So, I found myself 10 meters beneath the surface of the see with an extremely weak flashlight in town, surrounded by a thriving food chain. All I could really see was the silhouettes of sharks, schools of tiny, silvery fish, and hordes of some larger fish above my head. Surrounding me was utter darkness, with occasional pairs of feint lights dancing in the darkness (my fellow divers checking out the reef). It was pretty darn cool.

Ingrid and I got off the boat yesterday and hit the ground running. Since we're short on time, we decided to head on north to the famous Daintree NP. The Daintree is composed of pristine rainforest, surrounded by coffee plantations and sugar fields. It's also home to some of the last remaining populations of the cassowary. Ingrid and I had debated whether we wanted to splurge on admission to one of the many wildlife parks in northern Queensland to simply see one of these magnificent creatures. For anyone that doesn't know about them, cassowaries are basically feathered dinosaurs. They stand as tall as me, and are notoriously dangerous. There are signs everywhere in the area telling you exactly what to do in case you come across one. The advice includes not turning your back and trying to keep a tree in between you and the bird. Why? Well, cassowaries have a large middle claw with which they've been known to eviscerate men.

So not only does Australia have killer jellyfish, maneating crocodiles, and 18 of the world's 20 most poisonous snakes, it also possesses a bird that can and will gut you if it so pleases. Love this place.

As luck would have it, we stumbled upon a cassowary on one of our hikes this morning. I spotted the bird all of about 8 feet away. Certainly, it saw me coming from a mile away, and was debating whether I was worthy of having my innards torn out. I learned this morning that I take advice well. A millisecond passed between the time in which I spotted the cassowary angrily staring me down and when I took a step back to place a tree between it and me and Ingrid. As birders, we couldn't help but to be excited, staring around the tree to peek at the bird. As humans, survival instinct prevented us from stepping out from behind that tree until it had moved on.

Pretty darned cool experience.

Breakdown parts 4 & 5

2008-03-16T14:06:00.000-07:00

God, I hope this is the last time I write a blog entitled “breakdown.” Maybe “won $1 million.” Maybe “croc attack.” Anything but “breakdown.”

Anyway, we have indeed had a few more breakdowns since I last posted a blog. I guess I should’ve been more guarded with my exuberant, overly-optimistic ending to the last blog. As I said before, we replaced Beulah’s battery in Mt. Isa. The other one was 4 years old and in pretty shabby shape—it needed replacing.

We learned about 40 kms down the road east of Mt. Isa, however, that the battery wasn’t the only issue with Beulah’s electrics. She also needed a new alternator. We learned this when we repeated the exact same experience of having one electrically-operated device after another fail on us as we sputtered and eked into town. Again, Beulah just barely made it to a mechanic’s shop in Conclurry, a city of 2,000.

We weren’t as lucky with the mechanics this time, though. Instead of getting a kind and jovial young Australian bloke, we got a crotchety old bastard who was reluctant to even talk to us. “I can’t even look at your vehicle until next week!” he barked at me. “Grrrrr!” When I requested a jump-start to get to the next mechanic, he huffed and grumbled as he grabbed his battery pack. Ingrid, being ever the law-abiding citizen, slid on her seatbeat before turning the key. By law, if the engine’s running, your seatbelt has to be on. Well, old crotchety, next-to-death mechanic dude impatiently told her, “oh, you don’t put on your seatbelt just to start the engine!” And then he grew horns and breathed fire. Or maybe I made that last part up.

With Beulah started, we nervously headed up the street to the next shop, expecting the poor girl to die again at any time. At the next shop, we were told that there was only 1 mechanic on duty, that he was at lunch, and there was no way he’d be able to look at Beulah. Ingrid and I were horrified. We had visions of staying for a week in Conclurry and having to deal with Captain Friendly at the previous shop. But the woman at the front desk gave us the number of “a guy she knows” who might be able to help.

That’s how we found Peter Watts and family. Peter owns at a shop next to his middle-class home, behind which are rows of junked cars he’s built up over the years. When we pulled into the driveway, we were greeted by a pack of dachsunds and Chihuahuas dashing at us from beside Peter’s wife, Kerry. Peter agreed with me that it was probably the alternator and that, sure, he could fix it. He just happened to have a vehicle in that backyard junkyard with a compatible part. Thank God. Peter told us that it would take several hours.

I’ve got to admit, I was a little wary of him at first. I guess it’s that natural wariness we’ve all developed for mechanics. In our experiences here in Australia, we’ve had nothing but good things to say about them (except for one guy in Melbourne who charged an arm and a leg for an oil change); but, I still try to be really careful about what I let someone do to our Beulah. Well, I should say to be more precise, I try to be really careful about what I let someone do to our wallets. Peter also had the aura of a used car dealer about him, which really made me regard him cautiously.

But he grew on me. His wife offered to let us put the contents of our fridge into hers, and then offered to take us into town with her on her way back to work. Ingrid and I spent 2-3 hours eating lunch, drinking caffeinated beverages, playing scrabble, and doing a little internet work before Peter called back to let us know the work was done.

Pretty incredible. We caught Peter en media res, working on numerous other projects around his shop. The man dropped it all, fixed our Beulah, and charged us the very fair price of $230 for the job. Good man. He even sent his protégé son (with whom Ingrid immediately fell in love) into town to pick us back up.

So, we shook hands and parted ways. Ingrid and I were pretty happy to be back on the road. We immediately began calculating just how far we could drive that night as to not waste a day.

We made it, oh, 15 kms out of Conclurry.

As I was driving, I kept checking for the tell-tale signs of a dying battery. The radio was working. Check. The A/C still pumping out cool air. Check. The pistons weren’t misfiring. Check. Then the radio, the fridge, the A/C, and, more importantly, Beulah, all suddenly and violently snapped off at once.

Ingrid was irate. Somehow, I was still in good humor. I actually chuckled inwardly at the comedy of the whole thing as we coasted to a halt alongside the road. I also felt like I knew exactly what had happened. It was the only thing that made sense in my mind: a fuse had blown.

Sure enough, we discovered the alternator fuse had blown. A 100 Ampere fuse had blown. Crazy.

Thankfully, we had cell phone reception out there amongst the nothingness that immediately envelopes you when you leave populated areas in the Australian outback. As I was talking to Peter again, 2 mechanics, who just happened to be passing by pretty much as we were opening the hood, stopped to offer assistance. I told Peter that I was looking at the fuse and it looked busted. I told him that it was a 100 Amp fuse, and that it looked burnt out. “Bullshit!” Peter fired back, “there’s no way it’s a 100 Amp fuse!” I chuckled and said, “I promise you it is! And I’ve got 2 mechanics here looking at it and they say the same thing.”

“Okay,” Peter said, “I’m sending someone out.” To Ingrid’s delight, Peter had sent his son, Ben. With Ben was another of Peter’s employees, Graham, who is the Australian Gomer Pyle. They truly made for an entertaining pair: Ben effusing with confidence and intelligence, and Graham lacking any particular gumption at all while continually chatting about whatever minutiae came to mind. They were like Pinky and the Brain. At one point, Graham asked Ben if there was anything he needed him to do. “No,” Ben replied. “Well, why did I come along if you’re not going to let me help you?” Graham responded. Ben assured him, “oh, you’re here for moral support.”

The insult slipped right past Graham.

Ben leaned in and confirmed my suspicions about the fuse. He then started checking the alternator to find the problem. He discovered that the wire connecting the battery to the alternator had grounded out, or “earthed out” as Ben said, on the housing. I knew right away that this meant his dad had made a mistake. It doesn’t matter. These things happen. I was just glad it had happened within cell phone reception.

With Graham leaning over his should offering not-so-helpful comments and waxing poetic about cartoons and movies, Ben repaired the problem right there on the side of the road. All he had to do then was replace the fuse, and we’d be back on our merry way. Of course, his dad’s incredulity about the 100 Amp fuse meant that he had come out without one. He had a bunch of others, but nothing of that caliber.

Ben called his dad to ask what he should do. “Tow ‘em back,” he told his son. And that’s how Ingrid and I found ourselves being towed for the second time in 2 weeks. I really hope this doesn’t develop into a pattern.

When we got back, Ben and Peter pilfered the same vehicle from which our alternator came for a fuse. The replacement took just a few minutes. Thankfully, Peter didn’t charge us anything. We had taken up the afternoon of 2 of his employees, got towed, and acquired a few more replacement parts. He probably could’ve argued for some charge had he tried; but, he recognized what I saw, that he’d made a mistake. He made the just decision: he shook my hand and sent us on our way.

Hopefully, he sent us on our way with a completely healthy Beulah. So far, so good. We’re now in Cairns. Today, we head out for 3 days and 2 nights of diving. Should be fun.

Breakdown, Pts. 2, 2.5, & 3

2008-03-13T16:47:00.000-07:00

That’s right, we’ve had a few more fiascos to deal with over the past few days. During that time, we’ve driven from Kakadu to Alice Springs, from Alice Springs to Uluru (which a lot of you know as Ayer’s Rock), Uluru to Kings Canyon, Kings Canyon to Alice Springs, and, finally, Alice Springs to Mt. Isa, Queensland. All told, it was about 3,000 (1,800) kms worth of driving over the course of about 5 days. Pretty frenetic pace, to say the least.

Uluru was phenomenal. Ingrid and I spent the better part of an afternoon staring at the big rock, completely mesmerized. We did this all the way through the sunset and the onset of absolute darkness. When it turns dark in the Outback, it turns DARK. I’ve never witnessed so many stars. Well, there was this one time on a beach in Costa Rica, but that’s a different story. That’s something I’m going to truly miss about my Australian excursion: sleeping nightly beneath a blanket of stars. As for Uluru, it’s reputation was thoroughly upheld. There are, needless to say, postcards galore featuring Uluru all around Australia. Oftentimes, they feature a series of pictures entitled, “The Many Moods of Uluru” portraying the various colors the mountain is capable of achieving. Well, Uluru is a 400 m tall sandstone monolith, imposing its relative mammoth heights over an otherwise flat expanse. What makes it special is its chameleon quality of shifting through a variety of hues before your eyes. As the sun was setting that evening, we witnessed it reflecting one shade of red after another. But there’s something else, something just hypnotic about the hill. Ingrid and I found ourselves inordinately mum throughout our stay at Uluru. It was as though the mountain was imposing upon us and forcing into us a sort of reverence and respect. I compared it the other night to someone as being like walking through a graveyard or across an old battlefield. No one is jolly and cheerful such places.

When visiting Uluru, one is presented with the opportunity to climb the mountain, a pretty exciting prospect from afar. It doesn’t take a load of extra equipment, just a firm hand to grip a rail lining one lobe of the mountain and sure feet. When you arrive at the national park, however, you’re given a brochure that details what the park has to offer, as well as providing some information about the Aboriginal past of Uluru. In the guide, it says that the “traditional owners” request that you not climb the mountain. Then it says the same thing in the welcome center. This is reinforced in Lonely Planet too. It’s very strange. It is as though you’re being given a morality test. Sure you can climb the mountain, and you can also trample upon these native people’s culture, beliefs, and history as well. The decision is yours.

Ingrid and I did not climb Uluru.

After leaving Uluru, we booked it up to Kings Canyon, and then back off to Alice Springs the next day. On the way back to Alice, we decided to try the scenic route: a 100 km long dirt road. By going this route, we could cut off 120 kms from our journey, and therefore save 16 liters of gas (which run at about $1.70/liter), see new scenery, and save ourselves about 1.5 hours of driving. Seemed like a good choice.

Well, I have met my enemy, and its name is corrugation.

I grew up riding down dirt roads daily back in my hometown. They weren’t that bad, just a lot of dust and the occasional slip. Well the dirt roads here ARE that bad. Apparently, Australia does not have scrapers. I really didn’t even know dirt roads could become corrugated, so naïve was I. Anyway, Ingrid had had a lifetime of experience on such roads while traveling across Africa. She had warned us that driving down such roads could actually UNSCREW the screws and bolts in the vehicle. That was an unnerving little tidbit of information.

With that in mind, I drove the first 60 kms down the 100 km road, mostly composed of the famous Australian red earth in various levels of compaction and sandiness. It was pretty difficult maintaining piqued focus to dodge occasional giant hole in the road and to not have our rear-wheel drive vehicle spun around at the odd sandy spot. Right at about 60 kms, I took us directly into one of the aforementioned giant holes in the road, sending boxes, bags, clothes, me, etc. ricocheting around the vehicle. At this point, we stopped to take an accounting of ourselves and our possessions. Nothing was broken; but I was exhausted and needed Ingrid to take over the driving. All of 10 kms farther, I just felt something was awry. Peeking into the mirror, I thought I might see our extra gas can bouncing down the road or something like that. Instead, I noticed our rooftop tent dangling and banging against the backdoor of the vehicle. I calmly told Ingrid to just go ahead and stop and turn off the engine. We had some work to do.

Previously, we never really knew just how the rooftop tent was attached. We learned pretty quickly that day, though. There are 4 screws that go through the bottom of the tent and into the rack on the truck. Apparently, 3 of those screws came loose, and the tent was dangling from the last screw, holding strong. Of course, since that last screw did hold, the tent swung around after becoming loose at the other 3 points, and jammed itself onto the rack beyond that screw. Now we have a 6 inch-square hold through the floor of our tent (n.b.: we’ve since gotten that fixed with hardy sheet metal and rivets). But at least we got the darn thing back on.

All told, it was a learning experience. We figured we could jerry-rig a decent patch onto the floor of the tent, so we weren’t too concerned about the damage. We told ourselves that we would check the screws regularly from that point on, and that we would be more careful about everything in general.

With that in mind, we steamed on towards Mt. Isa, a little mining town in the Outback of Queensland. Mt. Isa has the distinction of being pretty much the only thing between the cities along the coast of Queensland (Cairns, Townsville, Brisbane) and either Alice Springs or Darwin over in the Northern Territories. We figured it would be dry there, and that there would be plenty of stores to buy equipment from for our repairs.

Our first morning after nearly losing the rooftop tent, we decided to check everything we could on Beulah before heading out for the day. We knew that she had a coolant leak, and that’s something we have been on top of all along. What we did not know, however, is that she had begun to burn oil. For several days, she squealed at little in the morning, something we attributed to a loose belt or the like. When we check the oil that morning, though, we discovered that she was fresh out. There was NO oil. Or at least there wasn’t enough to detect with the dip stick. Needless to say, that was pretty shocking. We reluctantly and nervously headed 20 kms up the road to the nearest gas station, wondering all the way if the pistons were going to seize up and effectively kill our poor Beulah. Thankfully, we made it. With 5 fresh liters of oil, we charged onward. With the new oil, Beulah sounded like a million bucks again.

We were just about due for an oil change anyway.

So, we trucked on towards Mt. Isa, making it over the state line later that night, where we camped for the night in the little town of Camooweal. Strangely enough, that also put us into Mt. Isa, even though the map said we had 190 km yet to get there. Why’s that? Well, Mt. Isa is the largest city on the planet geographically. For some reason, the little populace of Camooweal is within the city limits of Mt. Isa. That means Mt. Isa also has the longest main street in the world, at 190 kms (120 miles) long. Pretty cool little piece of trivia.

Anyway, we headed down main street in the morning, making plans of hitting the town, getting the patchwork on the tent done, and hitting the road again that afternoon. As per usual, of course, I made it all of about 70 kms before I had to use the bathroom. In my defense, it’s hot as hell here. Even when driving down the road, you take in a lot of fluids. I’ll also admit that I’m notorious for that even in the iciest of conditions. Anyway, we pulled over, did our business, and hopped back in to hit the road again.

Beulah didn’t start. Here we go again. We poked around and decided it was probably the starter. We turned the key, there was power, and we heard “click-click-click.” Mt. Isa was still 120 kms away, though, and I really didn’t want to pay for a tow truck. So we decided to wave down passers-by to attempt a jump start first. We figured in this country full of rednecks and 4X4s enthusiasts, finding someone with more equipment than they could know what to do with wouldn’t be very difficult. We went through about 10 passers-by, striking out all the way. Incidentally, we did meet the first fellow American travelers that I’ve seen here, an older hippy couple from Seattle. We also were offered to attempt to “pull start” it by this 12 year old looking kid listening to Regina Spektor in his farm truck. No thanks. Finally, we got our boost from an Aborigine guy in a Mt. Isa municipal vehicle.

When I got back into Beulah, I reminded Ingrid, chuckling, that she probably shouldn’t stall Beulah on the way to Isa, lest we find ourselves futilely waving down the infrequent passers-by again. I’ve got an evil sense of humor sometimes. As we were driving, one electrical device after another began to fail on us. A few minutes into the ride, the A/C stopped working. In the back of my mind, I was fully aware that if the battery completely died on us, we would be dead in the water again. About 20 km down the road, the clock on the radio died. We both stayed pretty calm until about ½ way to Mt. Isa, when Beulah started sputtering.

I know very little about the mechanics of a vehicle. When I open up the hood, I can tell you how to check the oil, point at the battery, and sometimes figure out where the coolant goes. But that sputtering meant to me that the spark plugs were getting less-and-less juice. At some point, the tachometer also began acting up, pointing at zero when we were going 80 km/hr. We’re both still baffled by that. But we were moving. We still felt good. Ten kms outside of Mt. Isa, we saw a “road plant” sign--that’s what they call construction zones here in Australia. We had to slow to 40 kms/hr through the construction zone. That was almost the end of us. On the other side of the construction zone, Ingrid tried to speed up again, and Beulah started sputtering pretty badly, almost to the point of stalling. Ingrid figured the end was nigh and started pulling towards the side. Like a prize fighter finding his second wind, though, Beulah kicked back into gear.

I’m actually kind of falling in love with this vehicle.

So she trucked on into Mt. Isa. At this point, we knew that stop lights would be our enemy. Sure enough, we got caught at one just as we entered the city. Ingrid tried to keep sliding Beulah forward, figuring that stopping would be the end of it. But we had to stop completely, and not only because there was a cop behind us. Without a working battery, none of our signals would work at all. So, at about 2 blocks to go, she had to reach out to hand signal our left-hand turn, lest the cops pull us over and cite us for driving an unsafe vehicle.

Amazingly, despite sputtering and threatening to stall at any moment, Beulah trucked on like a champ. Finally, with about 1 block to go before the service station, she breathed her last breath, and sputtered to a stop. I hopped out and pushed her over to the curb. All-in-all, we were pretty ecstatic. We were across the street from a service station, around the block from a battery wholesale store, and not in the middle of nowhere dying of dehydration. Well, that’s a little extreme; but these things do happen here. Within about 10 minutes, I had a new battery. We ended up needing to get some help from the guy at the service station across the street, who also ended up replacing our extremely worn terminal connectors. The cost of his time and equipment? A 6-pack of beer.

No, literally. He pointed across the street and said, “buy me a 6-pack of XXXX Gold, and we’ll call it even.”

Got to love it.

On to the Great Barrier Reef!

Breakdown

2008-03-07T14:43:00.000-08:00

It's an eventuality of any roadtrip. Heck, I may've been disappointed had it not happened. Well, maybe not. This week, we had our first vehicle breakdown.

We'd been far farther into the backcountry of Australia, miles away from any sign of civilization. In a country the size of the continental US, but with 6% of the population, one can truly get away from civilization.

So we were lucky. We were but a kilometer or 2 down a dirt road near a relatively well-traversed paved road in Kakadu NP. We had just finished a morning hike, and were on our way to beginning the long journey to Alice Springs (a rather daunting 1500 km farther south). The road was a bit rough, with some muddy spots, standing water, and the occasional dip. It was while passing over one of those dips that it happened: I stalled Beulah. We were in a soft spot with the front wheels uphill. I really didn't want to pause in that spot for very long for fear of getting her stuck, so I immediately turned the key to restart the engine.

Nothing.

I turned again. Nothing.

It was a pretty violent action hitting that dip and stalling. Ingrid and I both feared the worst. We popped the hood, and I noticed some corrosion on the battery. I poured some water over it in hopes of improving the situation. Prior to my pouring the water, we didn't even have any juice. Now, we had juice, but the starter wouldn't turn over.

At this point, we checked the cell phone signal knowing good and darned well that it wouldn't work; but we were wrong. Somehow, right there in the middle of a huge national park, we had a signal. First, we called the rangers to request help. They told me to call the BP station in the nearby town. I cringed. I was envisioning getting towed back to the station at God-knows what cost. The guys at the BP station told me that they wouldn't send the tow truck down a dirt road, and that they would call the rangers back to have them tow us. That's after asking me if I knew where the starter motor was and if I had tried beating on it with a hammer while turning the key (yeah, because I know those kind of things). That's also after asking if we had push started it yet, something Ingrid and I tried, but ended up getting even more stuck immediately.

So finally, after an hour or so in the beating sun, a ranger truck arrived to pull us out, at least. Or so we thought. The ranger had a look under the hood, was baffled as to why Beulah wouldn't start, and offered to tow us all the way to the BP station.

"Yeah, it's right on the way," he said. "On the way" was a good 30-40 kms down the road. It was the first time I had been put into that situation, steering at the mercy of the vehicle in front of me. It was a bit nerve-racking. The ranger drove 80 km/hr the whole way, dodging potholes and other hazards. At this point, we'd lost juice again, so we didn't have windshield wipers when it started raining.

Needless to say, the drive took some concentration.

But we made it. The diagnosis at the BP station? Corrosion of the battery terminals. They cleaned it up. Got her started. And they sent us on our way, free of charge.

That whole event didn't cost us a dime.

We left Kakadu with fond memories of the people there.

Survival of the Fittest

2008-03-02T20:03:00.000-08:00

I’m in Darwin now, the city named for the man himself. It seems like there should be an evolution museum or something here, right on Charles Street (which I passed on the way in this morning). Nope, there’s hardly mention of him, one of the most important figures in human history, anywhere that I’ve seen in town thus far.

Darwin, though, a surprisingly urbane place, replete with skyscraping hotels, streets chock full of restaurants and bars, and a pretty thriving art and museum scene. I had no idea. It has the overall feel of a beach town, a la Miami. I guess during the dry season (when you can swim on the local beaches without fear of death by killer jellyfish), it’s just that. It also has some WWII history, having been the victim of 63 attacks, apparently. The road on the way into town is strewn with WWII era airfields. This afternoon, I went for a jog along this beautiful, park-lined waterfront with giant fruit bats overhead and tropical thunderstorms in the distance.

I think I really like this place.

We’re pretty lucky to be here, though. Beulah, the trusty gas-guzzling behemoth, finally earned her stripes during the past few days. I’ve mentioned in this forum previously that we’ve entered the Big Wet, the rainy season of tropical Australia. Well, boy have we. It’s hot as hell up here, and we’ve seen more rain in the past few days than in the entirety of the prior 3 months of the Great Australian Adventure. At one point, Ingrid and I were trapped in the Outback town of Kununurra at the Western Australia/Northern Territories border for a night due to a road closure. The next day, despite road conditions being reported as “impassable,” we decided to risk it and venture on into the Northern Territories.

Mind you, this is the ONLY paved road heading into the Northern Territories. To get back to the east coast otherwise, we’d have to head back down to Perth and back across the Nullarbor into South Australia. The Nullarbor road, by the way, is also the ONLY paved road down there.

This is truly still a wild country.

We found the road into the Northern Territories in relatively good condition. There were a number of places where it was flooded by water from several inches to a foot deep, but we were able to make it through without issue. Had we been in a little lower vehicle, I’m not sure that I’d be sitting in Darwin right now. Actually, I’m not sure the roads would EVER get to the point of safe passage in a sedan until the end of the Big Wet. All along the way, it was clear that the water had been far deeper in the not too distant pass, as all of the bridge railings were covered with debris.

The hairiest point along the road is the Victoria River bridge. The Victoria River is the recipient of all of the flooding water, and it can swell well above its banks and over the bridge. Sure enough, when we arrived at the bridge, which apparently had 2 meters of water above it just the previous day, the waters were rushing over it. There’s a little gas station on the hill above the bridge that overcharges for gas and dishes out sound advice.

“Get across that bridge, mate,” the store owner says, “that damn river can swell and keep you here for a week.”

Back in the US, I’m fairly certain that bridge would’ve been closed. The water was at least 18 meters deep with a pretty swift current. Unless that bridge was built specifically to handle that sort of pressure, and it may very well have been, it would be dangerous as heck to put a vehicle onto it. Ingrid and I charged on, though, somewhat undeterred since we observed another traveler journey across safely. There was also a public works officer at the foot of the bridge advising people on whether they should cross or not (he just waved us through from the seat of hit pickup).

In the end, the water was only a couple of inches above the bridge. For us, it was more fun than anything.

By the way, reality has smacked me squarely on the chin. My financial situation is not quite what I thought it would be at this point in my travels. Previously, I’d mentioned that I would be continuing my globetrotting via Asia and Europe prior to returning back to the US. Well, I’m moving that return up a bit. I tired. I’m getting poorer by the second. And I miss my friends and family. Ever since I made the decision to return, I have felt really good about it. We have about a month left in the Adventure. I just purchased a convoluted series of flights to get myself back to Atlanta, GA, on April 16 (that's after departing Australia on April 15).

The Aborigines

2008-03-02T20:02:00.000-08:00

During my first 6 months in Australia, the country seemed completely devoid of its most famous peoples, the Aborigines. Apparently, 70% of the place names here are those originally deemed by Aboriginal cultures, Australia’s ode to its native past. Everywhere you go in this country, museums, visitor centers, etc., you’re guaranteed to come across some discussion of what was going on there prior to white invasion.

It almost seems like overcompensation, and can be a little overbearing at times. In most of these places, the employees, the locals, and the tourists are all Europeans or descendents of Europeans. Of course, you occasionally spot someone you suspect is an Aborigine amongst the otherwise white crowd on the Sydney subway. Unfortunately, you can also find a number of them along the docks in Sydney selling out themselves and their culture to tourists. I guess I should laud them for adapting to western capitalism; but it is a shame that the only Aborigines that many visitors to this country will see are playing didgeridoos to techno music in the ultramodern streets of Sydney.

So where are the Aborigines? Well, we’ve finally found them. We began to see them first in the streets of Perth. I hadn’t even noticed until Patty pointed it out to me: all of the homeless seemed to be Aborigines, and all of the Aborigines seemed to be homeless. Now, it’s not like I did a census. I only spent a week in the city. But it certainly seemed to be the case in my short experience there.

As Ingrid and I have moved up the coast, we came across more-and-more in each town we’ve visited. Suddenly, I feel like I’m in the 3rd World again. In each of these towns, Broome, Carnarvon, Kununurra, there are people all over the place, often hanging out in groups taking refuge from the sun beneath shady trees. The towns are often run-down when compared to the rest of the municipalities of Australia, each and every one of which I’ve visited claims to be Australia’s “Tidiest Town.” Stray dogs are numerous. And the police has a heavier presence than I’ve yet witnessed in this country (in 6 months previously, I’d seen Australia cops maybe twice—up here, I see them everyday).

I feel like I’ve passed into a different country.

Something up here seems awry. I posted pictures of the prison, decorated with distinctly Aboriginal artwork, and sobering-up station in Broome on my website. I had heard a while ago that there were special units up here that would gather up inebriated, unruly Aborigines to be put under lock-and-key until they dry up. I suspect these units may have actually been created under the advisement of Aboriginal councils; but I’ve not confirmed this. I suspect as much because Lonely Planet mentions that in several places in the Northern Territories, Aborigines are not allowed to purchase alcohol. It says that several councils request that tourists refuse requests by Aborigines that they purchase alcohol for them.

Clearly, alcohol is a bit of a problem up here. Ingrid and I have come upon many, many inordinately inebriated Aborigines. A common background noise in a couple of the towns we’ve been in is the voice of a drunken Aborigine woman screaming out unintelligibly at no one in particular.

But alcohol’s not the only problem. I mentioned here a while back the story of the new ordinance that was passed by the Australian government that would allow government officials to enter the homes of Aborigines suspected of child abuse, and to remove the abused children from those homes. That doesn’t sound like such a bad policy until you consider that the policy was ONLY for Aborigines.

Any public policy or legislation that incorporates race into its definition is racist and wrong.

Over the past week, I’ve passed hundreds of Aborigines in the streets here. In my southern way, I’ve tried over-and-over to create eye contact, just to give a not or even say “hello.” Not once has an Aborigine even acknowledged my existence. I’ve not yet had a single conversation with one, despite seemingly numerous opportunities. It’s very strange. As an aside, Ingrid just informed me that the public bus here in Darwin is pretty much segregated: whites in the front, blacks in the back. The odd Asian was also seated in the back. She wasn’t having it. She walked right to the back and had a seat.

These are a hurt people. They’ve been lynched, persecuted, and pushed off of their lands. As evidenced by the aforementioned recent passage of that law, it’s still happening. They’ve been pushed back into the desert or onto otherwise infertile land, and are now living without jobs and, seemingly, no hope.

What’s the answer? The heck if I know. I just know something feels wrong about what’s going on now.

Of course, it's only a little ironic that I’m saying this as a white American. The only difference between the plight of the Aborigine and that of the Native American is about 100 years. In both cases, continent-wide populations of about 20 million people were quickly and coldly reduced to a handful by both disease and persecution. In both cases, the people were pushed onto infertile lands in states less populated and deemed unwanted by whites. And in both cases, the people, without jobs or hope of improving their stations in life, turned to alcohol to escape reality.

You know, Gandhi was once asked what he thought of western civilization. His response? “Sounds like a good idea.”

Yeah, to me too Gandhi. To me too.

Attack of the Killer Python/Nurse Shark/Blue Dust

2008-02-25T20:44:00.001-08:00

I've related both in this forum and directly to many of my friends stories about the exceptional number of dangerous beasties that call Australia home. During my travels and back in Wagga, sitings of these beasties have been few and far between. Well, we knew in heading north that we're heading into the ranges of a couple of Australia's more notorious residents, namely the crocodile and the box jelly.

From October to May each year, Australia's northern coast pretty much closes for business. It's the Big Wet, and a lot of the roads become impassable. Furthermore, the box jellies come out to play. Box jellies are one of those "-est" creatures, so many of which call Australia home. They are the most venomous jellyfish. Not only that, but they have pretty advanced vision for an invertebrate, and will actually PURSUE you. Needless to say, there aint no skinny-dippin' going on this time of year. That's not to say that water-borne activities are entirely off-limits. You can apparently wear some suit to protect you from the jellies. You can also dive farther offshore, away from the jellies. I'll be doing that when we get over to Queensland, off shore of which the Great Barrier Reef is located.

Well, on the way north, Ingrid and I read and heard about a fringing reef found just offshort of Northwest Cape, near the town of Exmouth, WA. The coral reef is appealing for a number of reasons: it's unique in being offshore of the west coast of the continent (because of the nature of circulation worldwide--namely, the Coriollis Effect--that usually doesnt happen); it doesn't receive the fanfare of the GBR and thusly nor does it receive the tourism; it's directly along the shore, so one can swim out to it; finally, it's too far south for Box Jellies (though the visitor's center disconcertingly points out that you should keep an eye out for them while snorkeling).

Let me tell you: if you ever visit Australia, GO SEE THE NINGALOO REEF! It is just stupendous. The water is perfectly clear (I've never seen clearer water in my life) and bathwater warm. The reef is replete with elkhorn and staghorn corals--corals that are very sensitive to change, and hence rare the world over. There are just thousands of fishes, big, bright, and beautiful. There were sea turtles (the national park being an important sea turtle egg-laying ground). And did I mention you could just swim out to the reef?

Ingrid and I spent a morning taking in the splendors of the reef itself. The prior evening, however, we attempted to swim out to the reef from our campsite. There are several spots where the reef comes really close to shore, and those are the spots where most people try to snorkel. Ingrid and I weren't daunted by the greater distance out to the reef from the campsite--plus, we'd just driven for 6 hours to get there, and in dire need of a dip. Well, as we were walking down the beach to a spot that looked like a good one for wading in, we spotted a school of small, silvery fish that were speeding along parallel to the beach, many of which were jumping out of the water. That meant to me that they were being pursued. Sure enough, we spotted 2 foot-long Black-tipped Reef Sharks scurrying along behind the school. Ingrid and I just laughed, both of us choosing to be naive about the fact that where there are baby sharks, mama sharks inherently must be around as well. Undaunted, we began swimming out to the reef, several hundred feet offshore. The water was only about 3 feet deep and, as I said before, crystal clear. Below us where sea cucumbers, stars, and numerous little fishes living in burrows and around shells. About 100 feet out, however, a one of the locals approached us to say hello: a 4 foot-long shark.

Remember that the water's only 3 feet deep. Remember that I'm 100 feet offshore with no one but us anywhere in the general vicinity. The nearest hospital, if Exmouth has one, would be an hour's drive back up the road. That shark scared the ever-loving shit out of me.

In hindsight, I was probably just fine. I think it was a nurse shark, which don't really attack people (indeed, divers often toy with them for fun). It was just curious about us and actually swam away swiftly when I flicked my arms out at it--the reaction for which I was begging. All-in-all, we were pretty lucky to have seen it. Divers often seek out good spots for spotting sharks.

Nevermind hindsight, at the moment, Ingrid and I were both a little intimidated (read: petrified). Without speaking, we both began heading back to the shore. During the rest of the swim, with the thoughts of mama Black-tipped Reef Sharks on the mind, I vigilantly had my head on a swivel. Well, about 1/2-way back to shore, a Shovel-nosed Ray, which is a kind of shark, swam directly beneath us. While it was pretty cool to see, it was alien and shark-like enough to be a little intimidating as well. But we were very lucky to have spotted it. We also saw a large sea turtle (not sure of the type) and a large ray camouflaged under a thing layer of sand.

It was a good swim.

Especially since we survived.

The next day, we headed out towards Karajini NP. We're in the part of Australia were everything is a heck of a long ways from everything else, so there's a LOT of driving going on daily. Karajini, however, was well worth the drive. Located in the Pilbara, a heavy mining region of WA, Karajini is composed of mostly very arid scrub enveloping large and rocky hills, but also with several rivers cutting canyons through the red rock. These rivers provide veritable oases for the only large trees found in the park, and also feed into several cool pools in the shady confines of the canyons. I LOVE bathing in freshwater pools. For once, we benefited from traveling during the Big Wet, as the pools are apparently dry during the rest of the year.

During the night at Karajini, Ingrid and I were awakened by howling. That was very strange to us because no extant marsupials that we knew of howl. We were pooped, and just went back to sleep without thinking much of it. The next day, we saw the culprit: the dingo. In case you don't know (I was surprised that my brother didn't), the dingo is the wild dog of Australia. They were suspected to have come into Australia with the Aborigines, something on the order of 60,000 y.a. They were the scourge of early sheep farmers here, and were largely killed off not long after the arrival of white men. So spotting a dingo in the wild was a real treat. They are handsome animals.

North of Karajini, by the way, is the town if Wittenoom. I refer to it as Wittendoom, because our map warns travelers against driving to and through the town. "Beware of the blue asbestos dust in the vicinity of Wittenoom," it says. Apparently, the town used to be home to an asbestos mine. The remnants of those operations still float about the abandoned town. Seems like to me that they need to build a bypass around it.

No, we didn't brave the blue dust.

We did, however, brave the long journey to Broome the next day, a trip of 900 kms (~550 miles) across mostly barren plains. That part of the journey produced yet another interesting animal encounter. Screaming down the road at Beulah's maximum speed of 50 mph (80 kmph)--maximum because of fuel efficiency--Ingrid and I spotted a 6-ft long snake crossing the road. Ingrid didn't hesitate: she immediately spun Beulah around to head back and take a closer look. I grabbed my camera and rolled down my window, hoping to get a shot before the snake disappeared into the bushes. Well, when we pulled alongside of it, sure enough, the snake was scurrying off the road and towards the bushes.

Then it turned back towards us.

That was pretty surprising, to say the least. Here we are in a 2-ton, motorized chunk of metal, and the snake actually turned around and started striking at us!

Australia is truly full of some amazing beasts.

Well, since my window was down and the snake strikes were actually as high as the mirror, I, a little excitedly, told Ingrid to get going. In hindsight, what the heck was I worried about? Did I really think the snake would be able to reach me? Did I think it was going to crawl up through the window? I know that snakes can only strike at 1/3 the length of their body, but what can I say? The 10 most poisonous snakes in the world call this place home, and I was convinced that one was just on the other side of the door trying to get at me.

After a few strike attempts frightened off the brave travelers surrounded by metal, rubber, and glass, the snake moved on into the bushes. I was able to snap a few bad shots of it just before it disappeared into the flora (which are now posted in my album). From our memory of the snake and these pictures, we determined that it was a Black-headed Python.

Black-headed Pythons, nor any pythons, are the least bit venomous.

Sometimes I feel like I'm as squeamish as Bill Bryson.

Now, we're safely in Broome, where it's approximately 1 billion degrees Celsius (I'll work that out in Fahrenheit later for you fellow Americans). We're really limited by the Big Wet here, as most of the local attractions are down roads closed for the season. It's been a good time here though. Yesterday, we hit the local microbrewery for happy hour (Matso's; good beer!). Today, we checked out the local cemetery for the 900 Japanese pearl divers who died on the job. We learned of 2 particularly famous divers, one of whom got the bends 40 times! The other guy never got it, and was considered to be a freak of nature for pulling that off. Apparently, a lot of divers refused to work with him because of his reputation for being able to push the limits. Both gentlemen witnessed many deaths during their careers. That was apparently a bit of a dangerous business. This morning, we went out to this nearby rocky intertidal to spot some 120 m.y. old dinosaur footprints. We also saw a number of octopi and other invertebrates trapped in pools along the shore at low tide.

It's been an eventful couple of weeks here, to say the least.

Tomorrow, we head for Darwin, which is in the center of Australia's northern coast. It's a long journey without much to do along the way b/c of the Big Wet, but, c'est la vie, we couldn't help the timing.

As an aside, my Australia travels are soon to come to an end. Next, I think I'm going to hit Thailand, Vietnam, Japan, and China in May and June. In July, I think I'm going to backpack in Europe for a bit. I would like to re-extend my invitation to all of my friends and family: if you want to go anywhere, I'll see you there.

And to answer your question: I should be back stateside in September or so.

Cyclone Blues

2008-02-20T17:09:00.000-08:00

I’m laying in bed at about 1 am at a grungy hotel in Carnarvon, Western Australia, waiting out the passage of a cyclone. That’s right: a cyclone. While I’ve experienced at least a dozen of their Northern Hemisphere cousins, hurricanes, I must admit, I was a little intimated by the thought of experiencing my first Australian cyclone. I hadn’t a clue as to what to expect. The natives weren’t exactly restless with the news of an approaching storm. We were simply informed as to which roads would be closed and where we could report to in the case of a “red alert.”

Regardless, it was a bit unnerving to learn in a random tourism office in a random town that a random cyclone was approaching the exact town to which we were heading, and that we definitely shouldn’t be camping.

Needless to say, we’ll be paying closer from now on.

I should say here that we've come through the storm relatively unscathed. I even went for a run last night during the waning period of the passing storm. That was a LOT of fun: horizontal rain, palm trees blowing in the wind, and the eerie mystery of darkness over the bay that Carnarvon developed around. It felt good.

Tomorrow we're off to snorkel Ningaloo Reef, hopefully. The storm passed right over it yesterday, so we're not entirely certain what to expect.

1/2 Way Point

2008-02-14T06:16:00.000-08:00

Well, the Great Australian Adventure is at the halfway point now, approximately. We just parted ways with Patty last night, sending her on her way back to the US to interview at a variety of graduate schools in the coming weeks. Ingrid and I are spending just long enough here in Perth to re-organize Beulah before hitting the road again.

It's been a long, but incredible journey thus far. We've seen most of the major cities now, shy of Brisbane and Darwin. We've circumnavigated Tasmania. We've traversed the daunting Nullarbor, the treeless expanse that composes a large portion of the continent.

But we still have a long, long ways to go. For us, Perth is the 1/2 way point in time only. Ingrid and I drew up a tentative itinerary ("tentative" itineraries are the only kind I can actually handle) to determine when she and I might actually depart this continent. As it is, I'm thinking early-to-mid May. And to answer the question most of my friends and family would pose to me at this point: I've not a clue.

I dont have a flight out of the country yet, but I will figure out something in the near future. My goal is to determine where my next adventure will be by the time I reach Darwin in a couple of weeks. I think I'm going to commit myself to traveling until the end of the summer and perhaps into early fall. I want to see New Zealand (if I determine that I can survive winter in its nascency there), Vietnam, Thailand, Japan, China, western Russia, and Europe before I return to the working class in the US. Can I do that in but a few months? We'll see.

First I have to survive the treacherous north. The northern coast of Australia offers the traveler a multitude of hazards, including ornery crocodiles (perhaps because of their enlarged medulla oblongata?), killer jellyfish, and flooding rains (Darwin received 19 days of rain last March). This translates to mean far less oceanic recreational activities for us, no more bathing in freshwater streams (for the elevated chance of being eaten), and lots and lots of waiting out the rain inside of a hot and humid 1989 SUV. Because the highlights are spread across greater distances, we'll also be spending even more time on the road from point-to-point as well.

Does anyone really envy me at this point?

In all seriousness, I'm very much looking forward to this leg of the journey. While I'm pretty morose about Patty's departure, we'll be taking in some of the most amazing sights Australia has to offer during the next part of our adventure. We'll soon be heading up to Shark Bay, one of 2 places on the planet where stromatolites are observable from dry land. Stromatolites are complexes of cooperating microorganisms (blue-green algae, bacteria, etc.) that look exactly like little rocks. What's so special about that? Well, it's in such masses of single-celled organisms that life began, with the first fossil stromatolites dating back several BILLION years. Later, we'll be heading to the center of the continent to see Uluru, where it'll be both steaming hot and breath-takingly beautiful. Bill Bryson was rendered almost speechless in his description of the place in his Australian travel yarn In a Sunburnt Country. Finally, on the stretch-run of the trip, we'll be in Queensland, from which we'll be diving on the Great Barrier Reef. That's something I've only wanted to do since I was born.

As an aside, is everyone reading this aware that it's been determined that the Great Barrier Reef is dying? The largest living organism on the planet is succumbing to human environmental impacts. Potentially within my lifetime, this symbol of beauty and biodiversity the world over will be gone forever. It's criminal.

This would be an appropriate place to announce that I will soon be purchasing carbon credits to offset both my flight across the Pacific and our travels in Beulah, the gas-hungry Pajero, in the very near future. I'll be sure to give the details here once that happens.

Two Spider Tuesday

2008-02-11T21:51:00.001-08:00

When I first decided to come to Australia, I must admit that I was nervous. I'd heard about the snakes. I'd heart about the crocs. And I'd heard about the spiders. Oh, the spiders: big, hairy, and with the annoying habit of appearing on your bedroom ceiling. I'd spoken to several Australia who confirmed to me that yes, the spiders are big. Yes, they do like to come into the house. But no, it's not that big of a deal.

This is a country with the deadliest of pretty much every single group of organisms that you could name. Hearing an Australia say that the spiders werent "that big of a deal" just wasnt all too convincing.

I should say at this point that my fear of spiders has receded quite a bit over the years. I've grown to appreciate them, and I actually think that many of them are quite beautiful. But I really dont want the damn things on me.

While living in Wagga for 4 months, we only had 1 incident in which a large spider was found in the house. And it wasnt even all that intimidating: just a few inches across. It was disconcerting that it was discovered on the oven door.

It was also disconcerting when a rather large spider was discovered on my and Ingrid's tent the very first morning of my Great Australia Adventure. I considered that to be an ominous sign of the times to come; however, went several months without any further spider incidents. There were leeches, ledges, and some extremely cool temperatures at times, but no spiders. That is until we got to one camping spot between a couple of dry lakes in South Australia.

After completing our normal morning routine of coffee/tea and breakfast, we began to pack up our equipment to hit the road. Patty was closing up the rooftop tent when I heard a bit of a shriek. I looked up at her and asked what was going on. She said there was a big spider on the tent, but she knocked it off.

At this point, I should mention that just after Patty's little shriek, I felt a rather large thump on my back.

So, I asked Patty where the spider was exactly. Her response was, with a rather horrified look on her face, "on your back!" Here I'll describe 2 potential responses, and I'll let you decide which was most likely mine:

A. I then calmly reached around and brushed the monster Huntsman off of my back or,
B. I then ran up to Ingrid, turned around, and yelled at her, "get it off! GET IT OFF!"

Any guesses?

Luckily, the spider discontinued his climb towards my neck (where I'm certain he would've bitten down and ended me--as an aside, Patty would like to point out here that I'm completely exaggerating, and that Huntsmen are entirely harmless), dropped to the ground (with a thump), and crawled beneath the vehicle. The 3 of us, all curious naturalists, were actually pretty excited by the spider. We all knew they were out there, but we hadnt really spied any particularly large Huntsmen yet. So, after observing the big guy for a little while, we went about finishing our packing job.

With the vehicle almost all packed up, which meant the back of the vehicle was stuffed as usual with our 6 bins, a foldout table, 2 sleeping bags, a tent, a propane tank, and 2 foldout chairs. That left 1 foldout chair that I grabbed, folded, and began placing into the rear of the vehicle when yet another 8-legged monster ran out of the chair and onto my arm.

Just to make certain this is noted: that's 20 minutes and 2 big, scary spiders that were actually ON ME.

My reaction this time was much less embarrassing. I simply (and swiftly) brushed it off of my arm and onto a towel in the vehicle. We still havent a clue what the heck this spider was. We just know that he was big, hairy, and that we had just packed up a vehicle full of equipment that had sat out all night, giving such spiders plenty of time to make new homes amongst it. So, after brushing this one off the towel and back out into it's habitat, we piled in the vehicle to hit the road, all the while suspecting that at any moment another giant would appear on someone's shoulder.

Roadtripping in Australia: not for the faint of heart.

Slacker

2008-02-10T00:37:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I'm a big slacker. I've not written a new blog in ages. I have, however, updated my pictures thricefold. Please check them out, and return to here in the near future for blogs soon!

Tassie

2008-01-07T19:37:00.000-08:00

And so the trip continues. I’m in Hobart, Tasmania now. Hobart’s the very definition of a quaint and humble place. The girls and I went out to enjoy a really great seafood dinner last night. That’s right: seafood. I’d been on the verge of committing to a broader diet than my previous 3 years of ovalactovegetarianism. I was inspired several years ago by a friend who calls himself an “ecovore.” Basically, if the industry supplying the meat is sustainable, then he’ll eat it. I could see nothing wrong with that and I’ve been trying to convince myself to follow suit. Furthermore, I had long said that I would not resist the temptation of experiencing the culinary aspect of new cultures for the maintenance of my vegetarianism. When in Hobart, I should do as the Hobartians, right? Well, the Hobartians happen to be living on one of the world’s great fishing grounds and, thus, eat a lot of fish.

I didn’t go into this blindly. I did my research and found a list of sustainable vs. not-so-sustainable fisheries in Australia. I encourage my North American peers to do likewise by referring to the Monterrey Bay Aquarium’s Seafood Watch. The equivalent resource here isn’t free, unfortunately, so I found an article online with the information I sought. With that in hand, I partook into a really juicy, chargrilled blue-eye trevally last night and enjoyed every second of it.

I think I’m going to like this new phase of my diet.

Anyway, since I last wrote, I took in New Year’s fireworks on the Murray River in Melbourne—which was just remarkable, and possibly the best display I’ve ever witnessed. We took the 9 hour ferry across the Bass Straits to Tasmania. And we’ve been traveling about the island ever since. I’ve added some pictures to highlight some of our experiences thus far.

Perhaps the most incredible part of our Tasmanian adventure thus far occurred in the little town of Strahan, a small village along the west coast. During the day there, we went sand-boarding, a first for me. Sandboarding is just as it sounds: sliding down a large sand dune atop a well-waxed board. We began (a little timidly, in my case) on a pretty short hill, only about 20 or so feet long, and soon found ourselves attempting to slide down on our stomachs, standing (at least I tried several times, with the requisite face-planting failures), and even stacked one pretty hilarious trip down, with Patty laying on my back. Of course, this soon grew tiresome for us young adventurers. We moved on to what the individual who rented us the board called the “expert hills.” With directions that were a little unclear, we found ourselves looking up the business in of a monster slope, the bottom of which served as a source of sand for local construction. Having sand constantly harvested from the bottom side of the slope meant that it was at it’s maximum angle. The bottom of the slope had a small bump of a sand hill that seemed like a good barrier to prevent our momentum from carrying us into the gravelly ground beyond. And that’s how we found ourselves staring down from atop this monster slope, wondering if we were REALLY crazy enough to slide down. I should give Ingrid and her somewhat self-destructive tendencies credit for being the guinea pig. I cant justly describe the monstrosity of the hill. I can only refer readers to my pictures. I can also relate this part of the story to you: the individual who rented the sand-boards to us had absolutely NO intention of directing us to that hill.

Oops. Oh well. It was fun. And we survived.

The splendor of Strahan doesn’t stop with sand-boarding, however. Later that evening, we camped on Ocean Beach, just outside of town. We knew there would be a talk given very near our campsite about Short-tailed Shearwaters and that we’d see the eponymous birds returning to their burrows along the sand dunes from a day at sea. The park ranger provided a really great talk and actually riled us up enough to be genuinely excited about seeing the little seabirds. We learned that Short-tailed Shearwaters have a pretty remarkable life cycle. In April, the birds migrate from here in Tasmania (they’re only in Tasmania because mainland Australian colonies have been destroyed by foxes) to the Bering Sea off the coast of Alaska. They fly 10 hours a day, never touching land, and only sleeping while in flight (!!!). Truly, the only touch land again when they return from the Bering Sea back to Tasmania months later. They remain in Tasmania for a couple of weeks, and then migrate again, this time down to the Southern Ocean to get their fill of krill, a type of crustacean that is at the bottom of the food chain for quite a few organisms. They return to Tasmania to mate. Their chicks, upon hatching, grow to 2 kg, which is twice the weight of their parents! This occurs over several months until April rolls around again, when the parents depart, leaving their chicks behind. The chicks, not yet having learned how to feed themselves and without parents to bring them sustenance, starve for about 10 days in their burrows. They then leave their burrows and spend some time flapping their wings to develop their muscles for flight. This is the part that really gets me: once they’re ready, they too take off for the Bering Sea!

I don’t really understand how the heck that happens. How in the world does a bird have the programming to flight completely across the globe without guidance and not having done so previously? That’s just phenomenal.

With this in mind, we and a group of fellow birding enthusiasts were thoroughly excited to witness the swarm of Short-tailed Shearwaters that came ashore at and after dusk that night. Ingrid, Patty, and I were somewhat horrified to learn that our chosen campsite was actually carved into their colony. That night, we slept with a constant chorus of clucks and chips produced by the several thousand seabirds surrounding us in the air.

It was a remarkable experience.

Month 1

2007-12-30T17:01:00.000-08:00

That's an annoying title. So much has happened over the past month that I know I'm going to do these experiences a great disservice in this messy missive. The problem is that I dont really like my handwriting, meaning that it's necessary for me to write about my experiences on my laptop--that's a tall task when one is living out of a 1989 Mitsubishi Pajero named Beulah. Forgive the chaos, but I think a list of random thoughts might actually serve the purpose best. I think it'll be best to start with Beulah, my home of the next few months.

--Why Beulah? Well, she weighs 2 tons with all of the equipment loaded into her. She's only a 4-cylinder, which means she really huffs and puffs to drag her bloated butt uphill. And she's forever reluctant to get started in the morning. So, while an Aboriginal name seemed more appropriate for an Australian vehicle, Beulah, my suggestion for the name of a fat woman from Alabama who doesnt like getting up in the morning and is too out of shape to get up the smallest of hills without breathing hard, won out.

--Acquiring Beulah was, well, an interesting story. We purchased her from a french couple who'd been living out of her for the previous year. The couple had jerry-rigged her like crazy, putting in shelving, 3-drawer nightstands, and neat little places to keep the fridge, table, chairs, and other such materials demanded for living on the road. I hated it. To get to the non perishable food, you had to go around to the back door. To get to the fridge, you had to climb over the front seats. And so on. So, it was actually a bit of a Godsend when Patty, my girlfriend of the past few months, decided she really wanted to extend her stay in Oz. Suddenly, I was faced with the prospect of either helping her buy/rent another vehicle and then caravaning across Australia (not a fun or cheap idea), or somehow finding a way to get her into a vehicle that only had 2 seats.

With that in mind, I started calling junkyards around Sydney, fully expecting to strike out. Two years ago, I futilely called every single junkyard in Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, and North Carolina that I could find on the internet looking for parts for my 2002 Nissan Frontier. I was shocked, and a wee bit skeptical, when the 3rd business I called in Sydney said they had a 1989 Pajero in the yard. Sure enough, we arrived at this warehouse with 2 vehicles out front, one of which was a 1989 Pajero.

Incredible.

We pilfered the Pajero for seats, seat belts, and brackets for the radio (which was strangely missing in it's entirety when we purchased Beulah--it's since been replaced). The French couples alterations have been removed. Patty's been added. Life is grand.

Well, I'm putting the cart before the horse. The French couple had told us that getting the vehicle into our names would be simple. Just take this little form to RTA (DMV in Oz) and they'll change it over, they said. Well, RTA informed us that the French couple had been skimping out on some sort of charges they had (not paying tolls, tickets, etc.), meaning that we had to re-start the registration process on Beulah.

While it sounds like we got screwed, in the end, it was more hassle than expense that it cost us. We were told that we had to purchase Blue Slip and Green Slip and then return to RTA to get it registered. No, there are no missing words in that sentence. Apparently, New South Wales has decided to simplify things for its citizens. So, instead of saying one needs an inspection and liability insurance, it's called Blue Slip and Green Slip. I felt like a real ass calling insurance agencies and mechanics asking about Blue Slip and Green Slip, but that's what I had to do to relate to the people on the other side of the phone what I was seeking.

I think someone needs a Pink Slip.

Oh, wait. That's a renewal of registration in New South Wales.

--National parks, oh my! In the past month, I've been to too many parks to name. I'll handle the highlights in the manner of the rest of this blog:
>Bouddi NP: just 80 km or so north of Sydney; seriously almost cried at the sight of the Pacific Ocean again for the beauty of the scene
>New England NP: beautiful cloud forest; saw my first Lyrebird there and almost fell off a cliff
>Cathedral Rocks NP: craggy mound of huge boulders; learned that trails in Australia arent quite as, well, safe as those in the US
>Dorrigo NP: sub-tropical rainforest; birder's paradise; saw my new favorite bird in Australia: the Logrunner
>Booti Booti NP: great name, especially considering that repeating names is the Aboriginal way of saying, "a lot of ____;" climbed a tower on top of a hill overlooking the ocean
>Mt. Koscuisko NP: the park around the eponymous peak, Australia's highest at 2300 m
>Wilson's Promonitory NP: incredible place; narrow peninsula replete with high mountains, sandy beaches, and almost unnaturally clear water

--Christmas? I sent out a number of Christmas cards saying that it really didnt feel like Christmas to me this year for the lack of family and cool temps. Well, we did some things to make it a little more acceptable. While missing Christmas with my brothers is my biggest regret of my choice to travel Australia (with missing the 2007-2008 Carolina b-ball season a close, close second), we made the most out of what we had here. On December 23rd, we headed up to Mt. Koscuisko NP, not really knowing what to expect. We knew that it was one of the few locations of ski resorts on the Australian mainland. We new there would be mountains and cool streams. We didnt know there would be brisk enough temperatures to demand several layers of clothes. We didnt know there would be snow on the ground. So, Christmas wasnt so odd for me this year after all. On Christmas Eve, we hiked up Mt. Koscuisko, had dinner together at a really pretty little log cabin of a restaurant (with food waaaaay too fancy for my tastes--but the wintry atmosphere was worth the expense of the overpriced menu), and exchanged gifts. We left Koscuisko on Christmas Day with it in mind that we were in Australia, we should do what the Australians do on Christmas Day: spending a little time on the beach. So, we booked it all the way to the southern coast in Victoria and took a Christmas Day dip in the Southern Ocean.

Christmas wasnt so bad this year after all.

--A couple of days ago, we were driving down the backroads of Victoria, rounded a corner, and were met with the sight of a koala sitting in the dead center of road, staring at us through it's stoner eyes. Needless to say, photographic madness ensued. I've posted but a few of those pictures over in my album.

--I'm spending New Year's Eve in Melbourne. Regardless of where I am, the consequence of my being here is kind of fun: I'll get to call 2007 from 2008 tomorrow morning! Pretty cool.

--On the 2nd, we're heading to Tasmania. Hopefully, I'll be able to report on that experience sooner than the end of month 2 of The Great Australian Adventure.

Back in Business

2007-11-30T05:07:00.000-08:00

I got my laptop back from the shop today, which means I'm officially back in the picture-posting business. So, I've added a few pics to my album from the last few weeks in Wagga, a couple extras from Tottenham, and my post-Wagga pics to date. I've also got a few things to blog about, but it's midnight and I'm pooped.

It's on....

2007-11-25T19:01:00.000-08:00

Well, the great Australian adventure is just about to ensue. Ingrid and I are the proud owners of a 1989 Mitsubishi Pajero, replete with a rooftop tent, extra water and gas tanks, a refridgerator, and all of the other essentials for traveling across Oz. Before purchasing it, we had a mechanic check it out. He suggested we have a couple of minor maintenance-type repairs made for hitting the road, but that it was definitely a good vehicle with a good engine. So, the vehicle's in his shop. While we're waiting for repairs, Ingrid and I will head back to Canberra for the next few evenings. On Wednesday, we'll be heading up to the Blue Mountains to see the 3 Sisters with Vicki, another of the field assistants with whom I've worked over the past 4 months. Finally, on thursday, we'll head back here to Sydney to pick up our vehicle.

I should also mention that my computer is finally in the capable hands of a laptop repairman and will likely be repaired soon. That means I'll finally be able to put up a whole bunch of pictures that I've taken over the past few weeks while my computer's been down.

Computer Crash

2007-11-14T21:39:00.000-08:00

Well, smack in the middle of a skype call with my friend Gerald yesterday, the cooling system of my computer took a dump. That means I'll be computer-less for at least a little while. Forgive me if I'm writing fewer emails and making less phonecalls, but I'm now on borrowed time with other peoples computers. Hopefully, I'll have my crappy little Toshiba Satellite up-and-running again in the very near future.

A Little Perspective

2007-11-10T23:19:00.000-08:00

I sometimes forget I'm in Australia. It dawned on me today as a pair of parrots, Red-rumped Parrots to be exact, flew over my head and I didnt even bother to glance at them. I just sat there as though having parrots fly over my head is a perfectly normal thing to happen during the regular course of a day.

I guess it is, really. Nearly every day, I see parrots, kangaroos, and echidnas, the excitement of which has worn off long ago. I suppose it's because I'm surrounded by Americans in my inner circle, and by other white English speakers otherwise. It's also probably because I speak with my brothers and many of my friends on a weekly basis. It simply doesnt feel like I'm in a foreign place.

But it's Australia! Darn it! It's so weird that I feel compelled to occasionally remind myself of that. Occasionally, something new does happen to remind me that I'm in a strange and unusual place. Just the other day, I had my first run-in with a bull ant. Now, we'd heard about these 1 inch long, very aggressive ants since day one here. We were told to always look around before sitting (as if that's necessary to say in a place with 1,001 things that can kill you instantly!) to be certain there's not one there. All of us were very intrigued by the thought of an ant that gets mentioned in the safety talk, along with eastern brown snakes, the hole in the ozone, and the orienteering difficulties that arise when northern hemispherians try to navigate in the southern hemisphere (namely, that the sun rises and sets across the northern part of the sky rather than the south). Finally, about a week ago, I got to see this monstrous, terrifying ant with my own eyes. Now, I wont say it's the world's most toxic ant and that it's capable of killing 10 men with a single bite, you know, like everything else in Australia. But I will say that when I saw it, I stepped towards it to get a better look, and the damn thing stopped to look up at me! The ant looked at me!

What a place!

My time here in Wagga Wagga is coming to an end, however. We will be wrapping up our fieldwork on November 24th, and the bosses will be transporting us back to Canberra on the 25th. While I'm very excited about what's to come, walking away from this will be bittersweet. I'll be walking away from some people that I've found myself quite close to over the past few months. It'll definitely be sad to see them go.

So, what's next? What's next is that one of my fellow field assistants and I will be buying a backpacker van to tour Oz. It's a pretty commonplace thing to do here. There are a whole host of vehicles set up for just that purpose that are passed down from backpacker-to-backpacker.
Those of you that have been sending me letters and packages should probably stop doing so until, if and when, I post a new address for receiving mail. That also means my availability for phonecalls will be dramatically altered. These are all questions I'll address sometime when the field season's over.

ENTP

2007-11-06T23:46:00.000-08:00

ENTP, apparently, is my official personality type. Our bosses, Erik and Veronica, recently were subjected to mandatory personality test by their superiors with CSIRO, and they graciously allowed us to take them as well. The test is called the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. It is composed of a series of questions, each with 2 answers, designed to place you into one of 2 personality types in a particular category. There are 4 categories. There are the introverts vs. the extroverts, the sensors vs the intuits, the thinkers vs. feelers, and finally the judgers vs. perceivers.

With 11 more answers in the extrovert column than the introvert, I'm apparently an extrovert. We all understand the differences between these personality types, so I wont get into the characteristics here. With 10 more answers in the intuition column than the sensing, I apparently prefer to use intuition when taking in information. There seems to be a host of characteristics to describe intuits. They are imaginative and verbally creative (versus being factual and concrete as a sensor). They move quickly to conclusions and follow hunches (rather than building carefully and thoroughly to conclusions). And they tend to remember specifics better when they are associated with patterns (as opposed to sensors who dont seem to need the pattern). With 2 more answers in the thinking column, I just barely use thinking more than feeling to make decisions. This means I make decisions more based on reason and logic moreso than compassion or empathy. But, this category was a pretty close call. Finally, with ALL of my answers being chalked up under the heading of perceiving, I absolutely use perceiving rather than judging when dealing with the "outer world." This means that I'm flexible and I like spontaneity (I'll say!), rather than being organized and planning out routines.

So, what does all this mean? According to the test, ENTPs are quick, ingenious, stimulating, alert, and outspoken. They are resourceful in solving new and challenging problems. They are bored by routine. The one I really like is that ENTPs are known to be good at reading other people.

Well, that's me. All-in-all, I think the personality test was actually pretty accurate. I was the sole member of this group to be surprised to learn that I'm an extrovert. I guess it makes sense. I am blogging about the results of my personality test for all the world to see, after all.

And here I thought I was private and reserved. Guess not.

The Art of Yabbying

2007-11-05T02:54:00.000-08:00

Yabbies are crayfish. On most Australian farms, there are ponds, called dams here, that have been created to collect and store surface water for livestock. These ponds apparently have a large number of resident crayfish in them. Our last night in the Outback, the group was treated to a campfire dinner at a local farm stay, where we would learn the ancient traditional method for catching yabbies.

As most anyone reading this blog would know, I'm a vegetarian. Most of my reasons for becoming vegetarian are exclusive to my home country, so I've been a LITTLE less strict here than I would normally anyway. Moreover, I went vegetarian with the caveat that I would not restrict myself from unique cultural experiences. Life is short. And I live for new experiences.

That's a lot of words to say that I did indeed participate in the activity I'm about to describe.

Yabbying is a simple process. It only requires a short string, a piece of meat, a stick, and a dam full of yabbies. To catch a yabby, the meat is tied one end of the string, the other end of which is tied to a stick set into the mud, and then tossed out into the water. The idea is the same as fishing: when the string is moving, you have a yabby; however, there is no hook. The yabby is simply tugging on the piece of meat, trying to take it away. This means the yabby-catcher must slowly draw in the strings, painstakingly trying not to lose the yabby tugging on the other end.

Then comes the fun part.

Back home, this technique is used to catch blue crabs off the side of piers and bridges. There, an attached crab is captured with a dip net. For whatever reason, that is not the case here. Instead, Australians have come up with an alternative. When a yabby is drawn within arm's reach, the yabby-catcher grabs a "bat" with his off hand. A "bat" being pretty much what amounts to a homemade tennis racket.

I know a lot of my friends are liking where this is going.

With the yabby a mere forehand away, the yabby-catcher simply has to swat the yabby onto the shore, catch with by hand before it works its way back into the dam, and stow it away in a bucket. It is great fun. The sheer idea of sending crayfish flying at other people was intriguing enough alone to make me try it. Of course, I was the only person who had a close call, having had a lobster-sized crayfish sent sailing within inches of my face.

That's yabbying. It's amazing what fun can be had with a pond full of invertebrates, a cooler full of beer, and a homemade tennis racket.

Lord of the Flies

2007-11-05T02:23:00.000-08:00

In my previous blog, I wrote that I was heading to the official Outback to do a new type of fieldwork. Among our many preparations was the warning that the flies would be pretty awful out there. Somewhat in jest, my fellow technicians and I began to joke about developing a "fly zen." One of the girls developed hers inordinately quickly, being able to allow a fly to crawl all around her face, from the corner of her mouth, up her cheek, to her eyelid, and all across her forehead without so much as a swat or even a tic. I didnt try. I thought to myself: no way can it be THAT bad.

Boy was I wrong.

A little backstory. 60,000 years or so ago, man first appeared on the continent of Australia. As is true with man's arrival in any new land, extinctions immediately began to take place. There were enormous herbivorous animals all across the continent that did not adapt to the presence of this new and clever predator quickly enough to survive. The extinction of these mammals meant there would no longer be enough poo to support many species of dung beetles, which also went extinct. Fast forward to 300 years ago to the European invasion of the continent, when huge numbers of new large mammals, including cattle, sheep, and goats, were introduced. With these new mammals, suddenly, there was massive amounts of poo again across the landscape. Without dung beetles to facilitate its decomposition, a rather extensive niche was suddenly opened and waiting to be filled. Flies filled that niche with a vengeance.

I probably cannot really justly convey just how bad the flies are out there in words or pictures, but I'm trying anyway. If you've ever read Dante's Inferno, the flies here are most accurately compared to the bees of purgatory. Their persistence is a remarkable thing. A single fly will land at the corner of your nostril, where it'll remain even as you shake your head back-and-forth madly. Even swatting at it does nothing to deter it. It'll simply return to the exact same spot over-and-over again. Basically, unless you're able to get a lucky enough swat in to harm the fly, during which you'll undoubtedly also harm yourself, the fly will win.

Now multiply that by at least 100. That's how bad the flies are out there. They're on your face. They're on your arms. They're on your legs, your bottle of water, your shoes, your shirt. Basically, they're on you like flies on shit.

Surprisingly, moreso to myself than to anyone else, I was actually able to develop a pretty darn good fly zen. I found I could allow them to crawl all over my face without a bother....until they began entering my nose or lapping water from my eyeball. Truly, my partner in the field during those 2 weeks, Patty, swatted many more flies from my brow than I did.

Despite the misery caused by the swarming flies, my Outback experience was a fun and memorable one. I went yabbying, an Australian tradition that I plan to describe in an independent blog. I learned that Australian restaurants arent the least bit hesitant to cook vegetarian food that I bring to them. I learned that the pubs in small town Australia are the most profitable businesses. I saw lots of really cool animals, including red kangaroos, shinglebacks (an interesting lizard), and lots of new birds. All in all, it was an excellent experience.

Headin' to the Outback

2007-09-30T04:41:00.000-07:00

This week will mark a turning point in our field season here. Tomorrow, we'll be radiotracking Brown Treecreepers for the last time. The rest of the week will be spent doing nest watches (which entails sitting and staring at a nest for 1.5 hours and recording everything that happens there) and crash training on bird ID by sight and sound. Next week, we'll start doing point counts. Point counts are a method for quantifying the diversity of birds in a given area. Basically, you stand in one spot for a short period of time and identify every bird you see and hear. Do this across a couple of different habitats, and you can learn how those habitats differ in bird composition.

The point counts will be taking place in Nyngan, New South Wales, 7 hours north of Wagga Wagga. Nyngan, we've been told, is very much in The Outback. That means communication is going to be at a minimum. There's definitely going to be a severe lack of internet. It might even be difficult to find a public telephone.

So, if anyone was thinking of sending me any packages at the beginning of October, I suggest you hold off. We'll not be here in Wagga Wagga from October 7 - 22. This coming wednesday might be the last time I really get to speak with anyone on the phone for a while, so let me know if you want me to give you a call.

Pictures

2007-08-28T16:03:00.000-07:00

On the suggestion of a rather malcontent friend of mine, I've begun to rearrange the pictures I post such that the most recent are posted at the beginning of the Australia file. If anyone has any other suggestions as to how to improve things, let me know. I'll also try to remember to change the date on the file so it'll reflect when it was actually updated.

On that note, be sure to check out the new pics.

What? Where? Why? When?

2007-08-21T16:23:00.000-07:00

It dawned on me recently that quite a few of my friends and family may've missed the memo about my coming to Australia. I thought I should address some of the questions I've been receiving in this forum to save myself some writing of emails.

I'm living in Wagga Wagga, which means "the place with many crows" in an Aboriginal language. Apparently, Aboriginal place names were one of the few things to survive White Invasion of the continent. I'm here volunteering for a radio telemetry project to study if and how dispersing birds use habitat corridors. In english, that means we're catching birds, putting transmitters on them, and then marking their locations several times a day. We know that young females tend to be the dispersers (simply the individuals that move away from home to breed, thereby dodging the negative effects of inbreeding), so they get targeted. The habitat these birds (and all animals, for that matter) is highly disturbed, of course. Whereas in the past there were huge swathes of eucalypt forest (eucalypt being a kind of tree rather than an individual species, sort of like saying "pine"), now there are only small patches of forest left. Understanding if and how animals might move between these patches has huge consequences for conservation and policy. At the moment, a lot of funding is put into habitat corridors, long and contiguous lines of habitat meant to "connect" the patches. The project I'm working on is meant to determine if such corridors are actually necessary, or if little groups of trees or even individual trees might function to "connect" patches better.

It could be pretty important work.

Someone might ask why I'd come all the way to Australia to volunteer for such a project. Well, first of all, IT'S AUSTRALIA! It's a place I've been drawn to for pretty much my entire life. By working on a project like this, I not only am forced to be out in the wild everyday, but I also get to handle and really learn about the wildlife here. Unfortunately, I'm not in the wildest of areas of Australia--the rainforest is on the other side of the mountains--but, I do see kangaroos, echidnas, and crazy beautiful birds daily. Secondly, I like the project. I'm thoroughly on a career track in conservation, and this work fits nicely into that track. Third, I'm learning a lot about Australia. Had I just came here to travel, I'd probably be isolated from "real" Australia while living in hostels and surrounded by fellow foreigners. I'll certainly be traveling the continent (and region, perhaps) once this project is completed. And I'll likely be doing so with 1+ of my fellow volunteers from this project. Finally, volunteering is a relative term. My expenses here are all paid. Food, alcohol, rent, etc. are covered by the PIs of the project. Since I've been here--almost a month now--I've spent all of $60 of my own money. Oh, and they give us $200 a month.

Not a bad gig.

So, I'm here until the end of October. The PIs of the project are also asking for volunteers to head to another study area a ways north of here to do some point counts (which is a method for assessing how many birds of what species are in a particular place). I'll likely participate in that as well, putting me in their employ until mid-to-late November.

That's the deal. People have also been asking if and when I'd be returning to the US. The short answer is yes, of course I'll be returning to the US. As much as I love traveling, meeting new people, and learning about new cultures, I am an American (Heather!) and I will live in the US again in the near future. The when is up in the air. At the moment, I've a flight back on December 12; but that will get changed in the near future. I'll let everyone know the details when that happens.

Anyway, if anyone wants to write or send me anything, my address is 19 Missouri Ave, Tolland, NSW, 2650, Australia. I also have a phone number here, but I've not yet figured out what it is. For the moment, I've been using Skype to communicate with everyone back home. If you would like me to call, just drop me an email. I've got wednesdays off. Considering that I'm 14 hrs ahead of the Eastern Time Zone, that's really the only day I can call at reasonable hours.

Spring on the Horizon

2007-08-21T16:10:00.000-07:00

I've not been posting as regularly as I thought I would for one simple reason: not much has happened. The past 2-3 weeks have been characterized by utter sameness. I did go out on the town in Wagga Wagga for the first time (which is moderately better than saying I went out in Little Washington). I learned how to play rugby (though I didnt actually play). We had the first bit of contentiousness in the house (which took surprisingly long--in a house with 5 women, I gave it about 30 minutes).

And best yet: I actually broke a sweat yesterday in the field!

Spring is arising here in Australia. Flowers are starting to bloom--though very few, because the climate here is incredibly dry. More birds are starting to move in and become active. The 'skeeters ("mozzies" for the Australians) are becoming active, though not in any way, shape, or form comparable to Louisiana or North Carolina. In summary, it's warming up. It's still way cold; but I can at least start shedding some layers by the end of the day.

Australia the Annoying

2007-08-07T04:53:00.000-07:00

I've been sitting on this post idea for a while, waiting while I build up a bigger body of material for it. In all of it's beauty in people and place, Australia has some pretty ugly aspects as well.

My first exposure to this was in my second night on the continent. My new superiors, a peer field assistant, and I went out to dinner at a wonderful little Mediterranean place in Canberra. We were all hungry, so, as would be expected, we ordered much more than we actually would be able to eat. At the end of the meal, Veronica, on of the PIs on the project for which I'm volunteering, asked to take home the leftovers. Before the waitress would return with the leftovers all packed up, however, Veronica had to sign a waiver saying that it was not the restaurant's fault if people later got sick off of the food.

Are you kidding? Is this really where we are in society? I knew liability was an s.o.b. in the US, but, as far as I know, we've not reached this point yet.

Later, we were told stories about how local land managers were discouraged from planting trees along roadways. Apparently, they were told that if those trees later fell and either damaged property or caused bodily harm, then the land managers would be responsible.

Seriously?! Such liability issues are also wreaking havoc on community plans to build trails around and between towns as well, as landowners are fearful of people coming on to their property (PRIVATE PROPERTY!!!!) and something happening.

The creme-de-la-creme, however, is actually going on as I write. Australia has had a pretty notorious history with it's native peoples. Because those native peoples happen to be black, you can pretty much compare it to White America's history with Black America and Native America all rolled up into one. It's pretty bad. As recently as the 1970s, Australia had a "white Australia" policy. Mostly related to immigration rules, the "white Australia" policy also led to the phenomenon known as the Stolen Generation. For many years, Aboriginal children were taken from their families and hauled off to religious-based learning institutes for the remainders of their childhoods.

Yeah. That actually happened as recently as 30 years ago.

One would think that those days are long gone. In today's world of acceptance (yeah, I'm being a little facetious) and equality, it's seems like white Australia would've long apologized and tried to move on from such policies. Nope. Tonight, there is a bill being voted on by the Australian government that may allow the federal police to go into Aboriginal communities and take abused children from their homes.

Sure, that doesnt sound sinister ostensibly; however, consider this: the law ONLY addresses such problems in ABORIGINAL communities.

So, basically, if it is suspected that a child is being abused in a black family, the government has the right to take the child away from that family. If it's a white family, then the government would not have such a right.

That the government is even considering such a policy is pretty damn annoying, if you ask me.

As an aside, Australia really is a lovely place with lovely people.

Australia the Cold

2007-07-31T15:33:00.000-07:00

It is winter in Australia. I knew that before I left the US. Spending my last 3 days in the US in San Francisco should have helped to acclimatize me; but it didnt. Instead, I'm absolutely freezing here. Today, it's 8 degrees. Yeah, that sounds really cold...until I point out that it's in Celsius. Let's see, if you multiply times 9 (72), divide by 5 (14.4), and then add 32, then you get 46 degrees Fahrenheit.

Nevermind. That's still awfully cold.

That's not typical. Typically it's about 12 Celsius, which pushes the temperature way past 50 degrees Fahrenheit. Of course, working in a an agricultural landscape with lots of wind adds to the chilling air quite a bit as well.

What this means is that I'm going to spend my day off, today, investing in some warmer clothes.
The other problem with the fact that it's winter is that the sun sets at 6 pm each day. Being used to 8 pm sunsets back in the US, this has really offset my diurnal cycle. I look at my watch each night at 8 and am shocked that it's not 10. I think that's really messing with everyone here from the Northern Hemisphere.

Anyway, I'm posting my first set of pictures from Australia now. Be sure to check them out. I'll studiously label them some other time.

Australia the Beautiful

2007-07-31T04:22:00.000-07:00

Well, it's July 31, which means I've been in Australia for 10 days now without writing a blog. My apologies. My first couple of days in Australia were everything I had dreamed they would be. Sydney, while pretty darn cold, was a beautiful city rife with unusual life. My first day in Australia, I arrived at my hostel at 8:30 am (after a minor run-in with a quarantine dog that caught me trying to sneak in an apple--invasives are a major problem here), showered, shaved, and immediately ventured out into the city with my curiosity fully stoked.

That curiosity was well-placed.

I know that driving on the left side of the street isnt a novelty for most of the world travelers reading this, but for me, it was monumental. I just couldnt get over it. Every single car that passed by me that morning caused me to double-take, thinking, "why isnt there someone in the driver's seat?" Crossing the road suddenly became the most dangerous game.

Out in the city, I found myself completely surrounded by some incredible birdlife. The kind of big, brightly-colored birds that get sold in cages back home are the pigeons of this country. Well, they have the pigeons too, but only alongside of the big, brightly-colored birds. In the Royal Botanical Gardens, an absolutely gorgeous part of Sydney, I came across an old man who'd brought lunch out for both himself and the birds. Enamored by the sight of this man sitting on a bench surrounded by dozens of unusual birds, I walked up to him hoping he'd be able to tell me about them. He was a pretty unfriendly fella, not responding to my questions. But, while I was standing there, a Sulfur-crested Cockatoo (a bird that's about a foot tall) landed on my backpack.

Pretty cool.

Also pretty frightening considering that they are big birds with big beaks. I was fearful for my ears. They made it through okay.

Later on, I met up with a couple of British sailors who were on leave in Sydney. After a decent night on the town with them, I discovered why Lonely Planet described the area in which I was staying--King's Cross for those keeping note--as being a little "seedy." As I was walking (stumbling) back to my hostel, I noticed an attractive woman sitting on the front step of a building. I glanced down at her on my way by and simply smiled a little. She responded by asking, "you wanna go upstairs honey?!" "Uh, no thank you!" I responded, a little taken-aback. I learned the next day that prostitution is legal in Australia.

Now, I'm in Wagga Wagga. I'm staying in a pretty nice house with 8 other people at the moment. Four of them are scientists from CSIRO, a government research organization. The remaining 4 are fellow techs, including a girl who just graduated from Washington University, another who just graduated from Cornell, a French girl who calls Vancouver home, and a British girl who calls Scotland home. We are all here to research the usage of habitat corridors by a bird called the Brown Treecreeper. Quite a large chunk of change has been invested into corridors over the years without much insight into their real efficacy. This project is intended to address that question. Over the past few days, we've been learning the ropes and censusing birds. It also took a little labor to get the house all set up for the season, including doing our first grocery run (which only rang up a $600 bill!!!!). Each week, we have labor divided up by individual, including cooking and cleaning duties. Each person gets 1 day off, tomorrow being mine. It's a shame that tomorrow's my first day off, though, because we also starting netting birds tomorrow as well. We will catch Brown Treecreepers, attach radio transmitters to them, and follow them over the period of several weeks. Their behavior during that time will provide a great deal of insight into the use of corridors and a number of other vital factors.

Anyway, while most people think of kangaroos and platypuses and other mammals when they think of Australia, it seems to me like this is a misnomer. The mammals of Australia have really suffered from the presence of man. The birdlife, however, has done quite well. I was told at a museum the other day that Australia has lost but 1 bird species since European settlement.

The average American can probably name at least 1 lost in the US. I can name at least 5 without batting an eye.

To me, Australia should be known for it's birds.

Of course, I've not yet ventured to the beaches. But I will. I'm also living in a country town of 45,000, surrounded by acre-after-acre of sheep and cattle ranching.

Also, most people think of all of the dangerous snakes and other animals when they envision Australia too. Well, it dawned on me as I was walking through one of the remnants of forest amongst the sheep-covered barrens that Australian wildlife is not all that dangerous. Back when I was doing fieldwork in Texas, I was constantly aware of the possibility that I might run into a mountain lion. People who work in the mountains of NC have black bears to fear. I cant even fathom the possibility of bumping into a grizzly bear. Here, there are just the snakes. Yeah, the snakes are mostly venomous, and very, very dangerous. But you can watch out for snakes. Of course, you need to watch out for the snakes, the spiders, the scorpions, the ants, and, oh yeah, the Eastern Paralysis Tick, but all of these sound immensely less imposing to me than a hungry Bengalese Tiger.

Besides, in actuality, the snakes really arent all that bad. Apparently, though they have quick-working venom, their teeth are small and rear-facing. And the Taipan, the most poisonous snake on the planet, is not actually around where I work. The Eastern Brown Snake, which is the second most poisonous snake on the planet, and apparently is known to chase people (!!!!!), however, is. We've been told that you really have to be toying around with snakes to be bitten. We've also been taught techniques for dealing with the venom (mostly entailing wrapping the site and slowly going to the hospital so as to not facilitate the venom's movement in your lymph system). And we've been told that the researchers really know of no one in all of their years of fieldwork to actually have been bitten by a snake.

If my mother were alive, I wouldnt've written any of that.

Master of Biology

2007-05-18T09:59:00.000-07:00

It's weird. Dont ask me about anything going on at the cellular level. Dont ask me about how the immune system works. Dont ask me to identify a frog. But somehow I have a "masters in biology."

I guess it's more specific than that, though it wont say so on my degree. My masters really is in conservation genetics, which falls under the category of conservation biology, which in turns falls under the category of biology. Either way, I'm suddenly qualified for more advanced jobs and more advanced pay. So what do I do? I take a field tech job that's going to pay me AU $200/month.

Typical.

Anyway, it's officially: I passed. It wasnt the smoothest of transitions. Learning an entirely new concept and then proceeding to write a thesis centered around that concept hurt me a little. I wasnt as ready for some of the questions lobbed at me as I should've been, and would've been. Either way, I'm done.

I'll officially be leaving Lafayette on June 16. No word yet on when I'll be officially leaving the country, but I'll work on that soon.

As for now, on to thesis changes and publications.

Metapopulations dynamics, Australia, and Volkswagon Jettas

2007-05-08T21:32:00.000-07:00

Things that have been the prevailing themes in my head of late.

It's pseudo-official: I'm going to defend my thesis on May 17. Now, whether that actually happens lies in the hands of both my adviser, who has been generously and studiously attending to my revisions, and myself, who has been trying to learn an entirely new biological concept, namely metapopulation theory, on the fly. I told a friend yesterday that my saying that I would defend on May 17 is somewhat equivalent my saying that I'd be atop Mt. Everest on May 18. At this point, those odds have improved a bit. Now, it's more comparable to my being atop K2 on May 18.

Anyone reading this might also wonder why Australia and Volkswagon Jettas have been on my mind of late as well. Well, having applied for numerous jobs in exotic locations over the past month, I was recently offered a job in Australia. I should say that I was recently offered a job in Australia after having been denied a job in Venezuela due to my colorblindness (discrimination!) and one Chile due to my not conveniently living in Seattle (discrimination?), where the PI on the project is located. So, today, or tomorrow if you're on Aussie time, I accepted a temporary position in Australia to chase, bleed, band, and chase again, woodpeckers through eucalyptus forest near Walla-Walla, Australia. I'm scheduled to be there from late July to mid-October, with the chance for extension. Whether that extension occurs or not, I'll definitely be spending a long, long time in that hemisphere.

As for Volkswagon Jettas, well, I'm obsessed with the idea of getting a used Jetta at the moment. Why? You might ask. Well, I'm about as conservation-minded as it gets. I'm vegetarian. I'm getting a graduate degree in conservation genetics after having gotten an undergraduate degree in environmental sciences and engineering. What the hell am I doing driving a 4-door pick-up that gets all of 17 mpg on a good day?! I'm almost as bad as a hippie that shuns Walmart but contributes regularly to their friendly, neighborhood drug dealer. I should also mention my frugalness, which is too often offended by $40 fill-ups. It's time to move on.

Anyway, that's my story for the moment. Maybe I'll write again after May 17.

January 13, 2004

2007-01-12T22:50:00.000-08:00

It seems so much longer than 3 years ago. It feels like ages ago. I hadn't even thought to consider just what day today was until I received an email from a friend. The email was vague, something along the lines of "thinking of you" and "your mother was a amazing person." It actually took me a second to grasp the underlying reasoning for this email: today is the day my mother passed away 3 years ago.

As I told that friend, I rarely think about it very much, really. If I were back in my beloved hometown, I'm certain those thoughts would creep in daily. From afar, however, it's not very difficult to put out of mind.

So, what am I going to be doing on this, the 3rd anniversary of my mother's death? Exactly what she would be doing: rooting for the Tar Heels to kick the crap out of the Virginia Tech Hokies!

And there it goes, ladies and gentlemen: officially the first carefully-written, heartfelt post in
this blog.

Saving the Planet

2007-01-08T14:57:00.000-08:00

My latest quest in my short-term goal of saving the planet is to further limit my ecological and social footprint by starting to use socially-conscious clothing companies. Thus far, I've discovered 2 that I like: American Apparel (thanks Phil) and No Sweat Apparel. Both of these companies guarantee their products were not produced in sweatshops. No Sweat even offers vegetarian-friendly products as well. If you want to check out No Sweat, click on the link at the top of my page. If you buy anything, please do so after clicking on the link from this page. I get benefits! Thanks. And enjoy.

Late Breaking News.............

2006-11-07T15:38:00.000-08:00

Well, I think I'm officially sticking around in Lafayette for yet another semester. Despite my diligence in the lab, the chances of my polishing off my work, analyzing data, and writing my thesis all before the beginning of classes in the spring (which is what would be required for me to dodge having to pay any tuition) are a mite slim. My adviser and I have decided that it would be in my best interest to make the full-semester commitment.

At least I'll get to do Mardi Gras again!

And Festival International!

Also, I just started updating my picture album. This one should be far easier to navigate. Enjoy!

Mexico

2006-10-16T11:30:00.000-07:00

Most of you already know that I just returned from Mexico. For those who were uninformed, I just returned from Mexico. There I attended the North American Ornithological Conference, which was a joint meeting for a number of bird groups, including the AOU, Wilson Society, Waterbird Society, etc. Anyway, be sure to check out my pictures over in my album.

Pico de Orizaba

2006-10-16T10:52:00.000-07:00

El Tajin

2006-10-16T10:46:00.000-07:00

Movin' Out

2006-07-27T20:07:00.000-07:00

Well, we sold the house I was born and raised in back in Chocowinity. I just spent 3 days clearing over 30 years worth of stuff, and I'm spent. At least it's done! I'll put up pictures of mi casa vieja soon.

During the cleanup, I came across some CDs full of pictures I thought were long lost. I posted those pictures tonight over in my album. They're mostly pictures from Panama and Costa Rica. And I should also say they were not taken by me. Unfortunately, I didnt have a digital camera at the time. I have aspirations of scanning all of the pictures I took one day, but scanning 27 rolls worth is a rather daunting task. For the time being, I'll just post these pictures taken by my good friends Lisa Addington, Tyler Smith, and Carmen Schloeder. Enjoy.

Ben and His Lovely Bride Caroline

2006-07-18T09:19:00.000-07:00

Back to the Georgia Aquarium: Moon Jellies

2006-07-18T09:16:00.000-07:00

Field Season's All Wrapped Up

2006-07-03T10:53:00.000-07:00

Well, I just finished up my last field season for my thesis work. We had an incredible season, as usual. Texas is just chock full of surprises, as is Oklahoma. It would be tough to summarize the season in a few highlights. Between the 3 million+ Mexican freetail bat colon exiting their cave, leaping into the pristine waters of the Devil's River, the haunting memorial to the Oklahoma City bombing, the views across a perfectly flat landscape for 270 degrees from the top of Mount Scott in Oklahoma, etc., etc., it was definitely a good couple of months. Now, if I'm to finally finish off this thesis work, I'm faced with a mountain of labwork.

Hopefully, I'll have the last of the images I've taken up on my picture page soon.

The Slackest Blogger Ever

2006-05-29T10:49:00.000-07:00

Check out my new pictures in My Album. There are a ton of new pictures from this year's field season, my trip to Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, and some random stuff from around Lafayette. In the unfortunately organizational method I chose, by place, you'll have to browse around to find albums you havent seen.

Life's good here in Lafayette. I'm a month into my field season, which has been very successful thus far. I've only spotted 2 Western Diamondback Rattlesnakes--of course, I noticed one of them as I was standing over it, with a foot on either side of its rattle! I have to say that was an interesting 0.000003 seconds before I leapt away. Later this week, I'll be heading to Oklahoma to sample birds up there. It'll be my first trip to the Sooner State. I cant say I'm sitting on the edge of my seat in anticipation of the trip, but hey, it's one of only about 6 states I havent been to. At least I can chalk it up and not have to make a special trip back someday.

By the way, check out this website by a friend of mine in Panama: www.aaronojo.com. The ojo site is a project of his that's kind of interesting. The eejit site is his blog. He's an entertaining guy and a wonderful photographer.

Also check out www.jacobthemovie.com. It's a site dedicated to my friend Phil's directorial and screenwriting debut. Be sure to make a donation, if you can afford it.

Dook

2006-03-27T10:23:00.000-08:00

Wow, I've been very slack about posting here of late. Well, since I last posted, I've taken my written comprehensive exams, celebrated Mardi Gras, and I just presented the following poster at the Student Conference on Conservation Sciences at Dook University. And yes, I did feel dirty being there. Anyway, if you're interested in my thesis research, this poster serves as an excellent summary of what I'm doing. If anybody has questions about the jargon or anything, let me know.

Also, be sure to check out the Mardi Gras pictures I posted over in My Album.

Poster

2006-03-27T10:21:00.000-08:00

Hwy 90

2006-01-25T14:38:00.000-08:00

On the way back to Louisiana from NC, I decided to take a trip down Hwy 90 along the coastline of Mississippi. The damage there is just unspeakable. It literally felt like a graveyard. Take a look at the pictures in "my album." They are in the folder "Katrina Damage." Out of respect for the residents of coastal Mississippi, I never joined my fellow spectators who were jumping out of their cars to take pictures every 20 feet. Rather, all of these pictures were taken blindly while I was driving. Hence, they arent exactly Ansel Adams-quality.

Georgia Aquarium

2006-01-02T14:16:00.000-08:00

Joey and I finally were able to visit the Georgia Aquarium this morning. Needless to say, it was pretty darn cool. Here are some choice pics. More should be posted to "my album" soon.

Georgia Aquarium

2006-01-02T09:40:00.004-08:00

Georgia Aquarium

2006-01-02T09:35:00.000-08:00

End of the semester!

2005-12-09T11:25:00.000-08:00

Wednesday marked the end of my fall semester, and it could've come any sooner! I didnt dance the jig, like I'd promised, but a couple of mojitoes were imbibed in celebration. Of course, this is graduate school, and the hits just keep rolling. Just when I thought I had my life back and I was planning on getting back into my labwork, I now have a paper to write before going anywhere for Christmas.
By the way, GO HEELS!

2005-11-04T12:56:00.000-08:00

Celebrating Halloween!
This year I went as a "coonass," which is something I know nobody outside of Louisiana will understand. Basically, it's what people in Louisiana call rednecks. And my costume went a little further than simply being overalls, boots, a crawfish hankerchief, and a straw hat--to be sure that everyone understood what I was, I also wrote "coon" on my butt. I dont have the nerve to put a picture of my butt up on my blog, by any means. So, you'll have to look at Denise's homepage or my picture album to see that. Hope everybody enjoyed their own Halloweens.

2005-11-04T12:53:00.000-08:00

What I've been up to lately

2005-11-04T12:51:00.000-08:00

Catching fish and....

Fossils & Fuel

2005-09-26T09:27:00.001-07:00

I'm back at work in Lafayette today. It seems that Lafayette was spared the brunt of the storm, thankfully. My evacuation to Dallas was quite fun. My roommate's dad is an amateur paleontologist, and he took us out fossiling a few times. I have a small quarry of 130 million year old fossils to show for my efforts. Mercer and I also visited the site of JFK's assassination. It's been preserved entact, though a museum has been installed in the former and infamous Texas Book Depository. The grassy knoll is still there as well. Back to work..................'til the next depression!

2005-09-26T09:25:00.000-07:00

The Texas Book Depository: Oswald used the window on the far right, second from the top. The second photo is of Elm street, just below the Depository. That's where JFK was travelling when he was shot.

I'm out.

2005-09-22T15:08:00.000-07:00

That hurricane is now being tracked a smidgen too close to Lafayette for my comfort. I'm packing up and evacuating for the first time in my life. I'll likely be in Dallas at my roommate's family's house. I should have cell phone reception, but I dont know about internet.

My status

2005-09-22T12:09:00.000-07:00

In case anybody is checking this to see what I'm doing in the face of Rita, I havent decided. I'm going to wait until the morning to make sure the storm isn't barrelling up Vermillion Bay (only 20 miles south of us) directly at Lafayette. If it is, I have no choice but to get out. For the sake of the city of Houston, I certainly hope they dont take the brunt of the storm; but the farther west, the better for me. Hopefully, I'll have another posting here tomorrow saying that I'm staying because the storm isn't coming our way. Otherwise, I'll likely be on the road to Dallas, Florida, or Atlanta.

Why did I move to the Gulf Coast again? I miss Panama and North Carolina.

Loco Louisiana

2005-09-01T12:07:00.000-07:00

I just read my post from the day of the hurricane, and I think I need to update it. New Orleans is totaled. And people are just losing it over there. I just hope the insanity stays in New Orleans. Rumors are swirling here about evacuees marching on the capitol in Baton Rouge and stealing guns and rioting here in Lafayette. I'm pretty sure they are just that: rumors. Anyway, life is going on for everybody here at the university.

All's well in Lafayette.

2005-08-29T10:37:00.000-07:00

FYI, the storm hasnt affected Lafayette much at all. I was even able to bike into work this morning. We saw a minimum amount of rain, and some wind. So, there are the requisite branches on the roads and all that, but nothing more. As for New Orleans, while things dont sound as bad as it was thought they might get, I think it might take a while for it to become a fully-functional city again.

2005-08-11T08:11:00.000-07:00

And this is downtown Atlanta, from Joey's bedroom.

2005-08-11T08:10:00.000-07:00

This is the view of Atlanta from Joey's living room. Pretty amazing, huh?

2005-08-08T16:39:00.000-07:00

Well, my plans for the summer have changed a bit. I'm on the last leg of an extended return to Lafayette during which I've now seen 5 different family and friends, all in a week. After spending the weekend at my brother Keith's house in Myrtle Beach (pictured here with his tail-less kitty, Junior), and I'm now in Atlanta. I'll be heading on to U-La-La tomorrow.

2005-07-25T09:10:00.000-07:00

KC Lapham (~1997-2005)

In the Hill

2005-07-24T21:26:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm in Chapel Hill finally with Laura; however, I'm here under sad circumstances. KC Lapham, Laura's sidekick of 5 years and pretty much the best damn dog on the planet, passed on Friday night. KC was the victim of cancer. Considering the circumstances, Laura has been incredibly strong. Anybody and everybody who has ever met KC will miss him. I know I will.

Departing soon.

2005-07-21T13:45:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty well finished with what I have to do here at Purdue. Barring complications, I should be able to depart pretty soon. On to Carolina.......................

Good news!

2005-07-19T16:27:00.000-07:00

I finally have my pictures posted! There should be a link to it to the right!

2005-07-19T10:47:00.000-07:00

This is a printout of the gel I loaded in the previous picture. To make a long story short: THIS IS GOOD NEWS! This shows that I've been successful in what I'm doing here to this point. I'm only a few steps from the end.

2005-07-19T10:31:00.000-07:00

Ever seen a counter-top with about $100,000 worth of equipment on it? This is a whole line of high-quality PCR machines.

2005-07-19T10:30:00.000-07:00

Here's an image of me doing a little lab work. I'm loading an agarose gel with PCR product.

2005-07-19T10:29:00.000-07:00

On the way to Purdue, this was just about the most interesting thing I saw.

2005-07-19T10:28:00.000-07:00

This is my new place of residence in Lafayette. My apartment is on the bottom left. Yes it is rather narrow. I think I'll love the place, though.