The long way around
You are currently browsing the archive for the Folk Science category.
Being Earth Day, it seems like a good idea to pass along this brief video describing Fred & Aleta’s latest adventure in citizen science:
Looks to me like a perfect mix of art and science, and just the sort of thing I’d like to tag along with if my summer wasn’t already spoken for. Anyhow, you can read more about the goals and scope of the expedition here.
Tags: Nature
So, the last couple of weeks I’ve been staying in the Boler. I figure that it’s the closest thing to living on a boat that I can get right now.
Well, last time I spent a prolonged period of time in the thing, it was nestled under a tree a ways back from the street. This time, however, I’m a little closer. By that I mean I’m basically sleeping on the gravel shoulder of Country Road 18. Right.
Boler trailers are known for how light they are. It’s really easy to tow and move them around. But this can be a problem when transport trucks cruise by within a couple feet of your pillow, at which point the entire trailer will usually rock back and forth (quite vigorously), and a generous gust of wind will blow in through the bedroom window (which conveniently doubles as a dining room window when the table is set up). Now, maybe that’s why I’ve been feeling so tired recently… but my real fear is that some prankster will hitch the up Boler and take off with it while I snooze away therein. Well, I haven’t been shanghaied yet… but any day now I could wake up in New Jersey.
Anyhow, you’ve got to be careful on those roads. Just ask a certain friend of mine who lives in a fish-tank (and I thought the Boler was tight):
She’s a painted turtle. As the story goes, she was found on the road near Oxford Mills back in 2005, after having been hit by a vehicle. Fortunately the injuries weren’t fatal; however, she’s had some reconstructive surgery on her shell (facilitated by a group called Turtle S.H.E.L.L.) — which was broken so extensively that she can’t be released back into the wild.
As you can see, she’s got two screws in her caprice that are wired together to keep things from shifting around too much. She’s also got a bit of twisted wire holding the plastron together just above her tail. The fix is not flawless, and while she can handle a bit of water, I’m told it wouldn’t be good for her to be completely submerged. I don’t know what she really likes to eat (right now she just gets little bits of fish), or — for that matter — very much at all about how things go around here; I just sleep on the front lawn and do the dishes every now and again.
Anyhow, I figure I can learn from the experience of this poor critter. Maybe I’ll move that trailer to a new spot tomorrow.
Been a while, hasn’t it? But I’ve been busy — making speeches, riding the rails, and shootin’ skeet. And that’s not even the whole of it. If this keeps up, she’s gonna be a busy summer.
Now, I was thinking that from a geometrical standpoint (which is certainly one of the better standpoints, I’d say), shooting is a daunting prospect. Even the slightest unsteadiness as you draw a bead on your target has a detrimental effect on your accuracy. But just how much of an effect, you ask? Well — thinking geometrically again — let’s say the barrel of the gun goes off-target by one degree…
After working a thing or two out with some quick and dirty trig, I reckon that each degree of movement (which, measured at the end of the barrel, can be as little as 1 centimetre of drift) results in a deviation of 64 centimeters after the bullet has travelled 36.5 metres (roughly 40 yards).
With this in mind, it seems like it’s a wonder you can hit anything… but is it really? What if you’re using a shotgun with some kind of skattershot? Well, take a look at this:
You’ll see here that the shot’s spread (which is 1.5m diameter 40 yards out, according to this) is enough to compensate for the given deviation from the target. Of course, this doesn’t take the actual pattern of the shot, but that’s a diagram for another day.
Having seen a video on YouTube of a (Canadian!) fellow who climbed a really tall tree, we thought it might be fun to tackle the big White Pine out back — see how far up we can get, find out how tall the tree is, and maybe snap a photo or two from a decent height.
From this view (if you’ll excuse the choppy photo-stitching), it certainly seems that trees like this are really made for climbing. The branches at the base are sturdy and well-spaced. It doesn’t take long, however, before diligent young climbers encounter tree sap, which is in fact quite sticky. Reaching up to grab a hold, you find that the tree grabs back! It has a way of getting around, too — exposed skin, clothing, and cameras all become covered in the stuff. On the plus side, its extreme tackiness helps with your grip as you continue the ascent… I wonder if they ought to use it at rock climbing gyms, instead of that white chalky stuff.
Anyhow, we made it roughly half way up — which turned out to be about 30 feet off the ground.
At this point the branches seemed to become smaller and more dense — which doesn’t necessarily make for easier climbing. But we could see out over the canopy:
Not the most dramatic view perhaps, but the country is so flat ’round these parts that you can see for a good piece even from a mere 30 feet up.
So, how old is the tree? It’s too bad that the easiest way of determining this involves chopping it down and looking at the rings. I suppose that you could take a core sample, just like they do with polar ice. That wasn’t really in the plans today, so the tree’s age remains unknown.
So, I sent in my meagre results to Voltage Gate, where the B3 records are to be aggregated, tabulated, triangulated, and all of that. Anyhow, sometimes it seems like a good idea to look back and break these things down, “post-game” talk radio style. What did I learn from the process? What are people talking about? Well — to begin with the obvious — there’s certainly a lot of stuff growing on out there, and boy is it hard to count and identify everything. Some courageous folks try to do so, however; and I was certainly humbled after surveying the results posted on some of the great nature blogs out there. Will efforts like the B3 raise eco-awareness, or perhaps lead to other unique projects based on collective observation? Will they help bloggers resist potentially crippling introspection by making them stop and look at birds and bees for a little while? These are just a few questions. Sorry, no answers today!
Well, I guess that’s that then… but in the meantime, we’ve had some perfect cookout weather. Clear spring nights, not too hot, and no flies.
Evenings like this, there’s nothing much to do but get the fire going, sit back, and listen to the coyotes howling at the moon. (I know, I know, you’d think we’re in Santa Fe or something). Before long, the dogs in the village join in, and you know it’s hard to tell which is which sometimes. It’s just like the muskrat/beaver dilemma, or the raven/crow conundrum; and when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, all of a sudden you’ve got another toss up: woodcock or nighthawk? Both sound similar: peent!
But just a thought on the campfire, and maybe roughin’ it in general: when you’ve got that cookout mentality down pat, it seems that cleanliness becomes relative. You can wipe off that old cedar shingle on your jeans and declare it ready for use as an impromptu dinner plate — on which you can place the food cooked on that rusty old grill (the fire will sterilize everything, right?). Oh, your skewer fell on the ground? No problem, just blow it off. You’ll be fine.
Of course, it helps that this all takes place in the dark…
So, last Saturday we went struck out on Kemptville Creek, more or less in the name of (citizen) science. Here’s a map from Google Earth of the stretch we paddled:
We basically travelled from the bottom-left corner to the top- right one.
We started off (as we often do) at the bridge in Bishops Mills, and went downstream as far as the Highway 20 bridge. Water levels seemed to be high lately, but the gauge at the latter bridge put the level at “1″ (units unclear). Anyhow, the creek was high enough that we didn’t have to worry about bumping into any underwater obstructions while diligently scanning the skies and shores for species. We had a HOBO trailing in the water and another in the boat for the duration of the trip, and while the water temperature seemed to be steady around 16C over the course of our paddle (roughly three hours), while the air temperature dropped about by about 5C (25C -> 20C). It was a beautiful day for a paddle… funny how the first jaunt of the year coincides with first mosquito bites of the year. Can’t have one without the other, I guess.
But enough of that for now; let’s get to the BioBlitz species count. By the by, it looks like there’s been quite a bit of interest in the project — there are almost 50 participants signed up so far. For fun, I’ve included philatelic representations of species in my account where appropriate! Plenty of photos too, for the kids.
To begin, we noticed great numbers (~12) of the Common Grackle (Quiscalus quiscula). Mallard Ducks (Anas platyrhynchos) were also out en force, and we probably observed half a dozen mating pairs. The odd Red-Winged Blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus) crossed our path as well.
As novices, we were bound to end up playing one of the best games you can play in a canoe: “Muskrat or Beaver?” The Muskrats (Ondatra zibethicus) we saw were only confidently identified as such after we came across what was obviously a Beaver (Castor canadensis) — which is noticeably larger, and has a distinctive face. At a distance, though, it can be hard to tell which is which.
We also passed by an unfortunate (and by that I mean “dead”) Racoon (Procyon lotor) who was peaceably floating along. Speaking of floating, there were Leopard Frogs (Rana pipiens) all over the place,
… along with an Egg Clump of unknown origin.
Fred headed out later on to see if he could get an idea where the Leopard Frog chorus was located, and while by the bridge where we started out he noticed a Northern Water Snake (Nerodia sipedon). Hmm.
Along the way, we collected some shells (or should I say “freshwater invertebrates?”) which have since been identified as Bulimnea megasoma and Helisoma trivolvus. Also some Gyraulus, but I don’t know exactly which species we’re looking at here.
Not only did we see stuff, we also heard stuff. We paddled through some rather vocal frog choruses, both Leopard Frogs and Spring Peepers (Pseudacris crucifer). At one point the calls surrounding the canoe were almost deafening — seems like it’s going to be a good year for the frogs.We also heard what we believe to be a Red-tailed Hawk (Buteo jamaicensis). We did not hear the well known “kee-eer” descending scream, but rather an unusual “upslurred” one. You can listen to the calls here. Also audible was some woodpecker (Dryocopus pileatus?) activity. We didn’t actually see the bird, so its species remains unknown.
(That’s a Pileated Woodpecker on the far-right!)
As far as plants go, I don’t have much to identify here. We came across many different kinds of moss and lichen, though. I have little hope of identifying them, however. Nevertheless, I’ll pass on a few photos… there’s a photogenic old wooden bridge that is host to a multitude of species.
Now, one of my favourite bits of this stretch of creek is a swampy area filled with Red Maple (Acer rubrum, also known as Swamp Maple, appropriately enough). The water level was high enough that we could paddle among the trees, which afforded some neat views. It always reminds me of that awesome arboreal level in Myst…
You can see that the Red Maples are just coming into their glory at this time of year:
On a side note, I might point out that the Red Maple was featured on a 1994 Canada Day issue:
Of course, any good trip down the creek wouldn’t be complete without the requisitite curiosities. This time we found a sorely deflated basket ball, a hubcap from an old cadillac, and an old election sign (“Vote for Sandra Lawn!”)… well, if it’s for PC it probably belongs on the bottom of a creek anyhow.
…which for some reason makes it even lousier being stuck in the city. In the meantime, I’ll have to content myself with stories of others’ tapping exploits.
Anyways, you know the old expression: “when you can’t tap, think.” And in Sharkwater’s wake, I’ve been thinking of pretty much everything as fodder for a documentary. When I pick up the six-string and pluck away, I find myself thinking of each riff in terms of score and visualizing scenes that might accompany it. Strange, I know. But I can only think of one way to address the issue, and it involves cameras…
Well, in a couple weeks I’ll be doing some documenting of my own; today I signed up for the Blogger BioBlitz that’s running from April 21-29 (in recognition of National Wildlife Week). I’m not sure where exactly I’ll be poking around, but I figure it’s about time to start haunting the local waterways. The ice has pretty much cleared up, which should make things a little easier, as far as paddling around goes. Of course, I was thinking that some attempts at icebreaking would be fun… Either way, stay tuned — I’ll be posting my B3 results here at a later date. 
How long has it been since you had a picnic? Yeah, I thought so.
As you can see, Bate Island is in the middle of the Ottawa River. You can get to it if you go over the Island Park bridge. It’s a favourite place for kayakers, because of the nearby rapids… we counted an even dozen, as well as two brave lads who were running the rapids in a canoe. Roast beef sandwiches aside, the afternoon’s picnic became a delightful excuse to try out some new toys: a couple of HOBO data loggers, Forrest Mims‘ Photometer/Radiometer, and a neat second-hand GPS…
We used the HOBOs to track the temperature change in the air and the Ottawa river. There’s a couple hours of useful data, tracking the different speeds at which the water and air cool down in the evening. Of course, it would be really nice to get a full 24 or 48 hour water & air temperature log. Taking one reading per minute, the HOBOs can go for over two days, so that might be suitable. The trouble is finding a place where it’s okay to leave them unattended for the duration, without having to worry about them being stolen, washed downstream, or eaten by wildlife.
Anyhow, once logged, all this wonderful data can then be dumped onto a computer — where it can be manipulated, graphed, and analyzed. While I wasn’t quite sure if HOBOware’s Excel export function would work with OpenOffice, the data seems to be coming through all right (so far)… of course, whether or not I can get a proper chart out of the latter program remains to be seen.
The “Sun & Sky Monitoring Station†is standard RadioShack issue (though it’s been discontinued, making it somewhat more difficult to get your hands on one). Depending on how it’s used, it can be either a photometer or a radiometer. Now, it takes a while to get the hang of using the instrument, as taking accurate measurements of atmospheric haze and water vapor is kind of complex. Forrest Mims gave an interesting talk about the photometer at the SAS conference, describing not only its uses, but also the story of its design and manufacture. Neat stuff.
The GPS unit is old, a Garmin GPS 45. While it took about 10 minutes to get the first location fix (N 45°24′34.2” W 075°45′17.8”), a later attempt only took a minute or two. Like the Photometer/Radiometer, the unit has many features and settings – which means that it could be a while before I get everything figured out. It seems that there are many ways of expressing coordinates… I set the GPS readout to a familiar looking Degrees/Minutes/Seconds format, as opposed to the UTM grid format. There’s a discussion of the different types here.
What you’ll find here are sundry thoughts about the quiet life, along with brief notes on whatever I’m dredging up from the Archive this week. While the updates here are sporadic, I assure you that they’re always kindly — and you can take solace in the archives or blogroll (below) on a rainy day.
Happy reading!
