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The Leo Triplet (M66 Group of Galaxies). Credit: REU program/NOAO/
A full moon ushers February out this weekend. If the full moon, which occurs at 11:38 a.m. EST on February 28, had arrived several hours later, the month of February would have passed without a full moon. Because a lunar month is 29 ½ days long, occasionally a full moon does not occur in February. This last happened in 1999 and will occur again in 2018. (Or not occur, as the case may be.) As you might have already guessed, January and March of 2018 will both have blue moons, or a second full moon in the month.
March may bring fewer hours of darkness but it also brings a lot for stargazers to see. Venus will become easy to find as it climbs out of the salmon skies of sunset. Reddish Mars is close to overhead and yellowish Saturn is rising in the east in the early evening. The end of March will be the best time all year to catch Mercury as it closes in on Venus in the west.
There is an old meteorological saying that if March comes in like a lion it will go out like a lamb. I won’t try to forecast the weather, but I can guarantee you a lion in early March. Every year the beginning of March brings with it the constellation of Leo the Lion. Leo rises in the east as the sky darkens. Leo is one of the easier constellations to pick out from the starry background. Make sure your eyes have adjusted to the dark and you are not in a light-polluted location. Looking east after the sky is dark, find six stars in the shape of a backward question mark. The brightest of the six is Regulus, the point at the bottom. This “sickle” shape denotes the head of Leo. To the left of the head are three stars that form a triangle, marking the hindquarters of the lion. Spring skies are associated with galaxies, and the constellations of Leo and Virgo (the maiden which rises after the lion) are filled with great galactic targets. The Leo Triplet, seen in the image here, is located on the hind leg of the lion. The three galaxies all lie within a half degree of each other. Scan the region between Leo and Virgo with a moderate-sized telescope to capture other galactic beauties.
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Kelly Kizer Whitt loves clean, clear, and dark skies. Kelly studied English and Astronomy at the University of Wisconsin-Madison and worked for Astronomy magazine. She is currently the Feature Writer for Astronomy and Space at Suite101.com. You can follow her on Twitter at twitter.com
Photo courtesy John Gould.
The ecosystem of a forest balances the entwined interplay of plant, animal, insect species, down to the bacteria in soil, each finding an ecological niche to exploit, their genes co-evolving together...
How we perceive and understand all this makes the crucial difference. “The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing which stands in the way," wrote the poet William Blake two centuries ago. “Some see Nature all ridicule and deformity, and some scarce see nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, Nature is Imagination itself. As a man is, so he sees.”
—Daniel Goleman, from “Ecological Intelligence,” in Psychotherapy Networker, January/February 2010
Our living room is full of poetry books, journals, criticism—and tonight, they have nothing to do with this post. Lost in an article on the intersection of brain theory and environmental science, just when I’m feeling overwhelmed by “paradigm shifts” and the evolutionary scope of the mess we’re in, there’s Blake.
These kinds of “we need a new kind of thinking” articles have a way of pissing me off—stating the obvious or previously conceived in “interesting new ways” and conveniently ignoring all of the political and social structures that have concretized the current paradigm.
At first I’m intrigued by the promise of the title, the provocative nature of the content. Then, inevitably, I am left enlightened in the same dark cell. In many ways, we think because we are conditioned to think—as a consumer, for instance.
Oh, boy--don’t let me go too far down that road. That’s literally what I was saying to myself, when poetry intervened. So how does imagination get us out of the current environmental predicaments? Maybe imagination, here, is the courage to make decisions, do things, according to a sense of duty, a basic humanness, an innate value—rather than to the prevailing values.
While we contemplate that, I’ll leave you with something from Ed Roberson (Just In: Word of Navigational Challenges, 1998):
...Even the size of a whale
I don’t see what I look directly at.
I didn’t see the pronghorn antelope,
Speed they pointed out equal our car’s,
But never having seen distance so large
I couldn’t pin in it point to antler
And saw in parallax instead the world
Entire a still brown arc of leap so like
A first look at the milky way each stone
A star I saw but could not see...
There isn’t a field of study that doesn’t, at some point, turn to poetry for inspiration, for articulation in the face of the ineffable. When things get messy, poets get the nod.
And there isn’t a volume on our shelf that doesn’t, at some point, echo the origins.
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J Gould has been exploring wild places and writing about them since age 6. He was one of the first "beach-watchers" and newsletter editors for NOAA out at Point Reyes National Seashore. He reads sporadically across the spectrum of poetry and poetics, without any discernible pattern, and toils in virtual anonymity as a poet with annual chapbooks and publications in obscure journals -- the first being Toyon at Humboldt State, where he taught and earned an MA in English. Friend J Gould here, and join the Poetry and Nature group to meet others who share your interest.
Sandhill Cranes. Photo courtesy Phil Eager.
The calendar on Sunday still said it was mid-February, and we were smack dab in the middle of the Winter Olympics, but there were definitely plenty of signs of spring out in the Central Valley of California, where Mimi and I managed to squeeze in four hours of birding before the next rain storm.
It might still be really wintery where you are, but late February and early March are fun times to bird in many places because you can definitely start to see the overlap of the seasons. In the Central Valley, signature wintering birds like Sandhill Cranes and lots of ducks and geese are still around and the resident birds are starting to set up shop for the breeding season. Even in colder spots like New Jersey, Red-winged Blackbirds are in full voice by February, claiming the best clump of marsh grass or tree limb as their singing perch.
Western Meadowlark. Photo courtesy Phil Eager.
On Sunday, we were treated to the sight of huge flocks of Greater White-fronted Geese flying overhead and settling into the wetlands at the Cosumnes River Preserve, while newly arrived Swallows darted across the gray sky, chattering as they went. We watched an adorable pair of Pied-billed Grebes engaged in courtship displays with their odd little grunt of a call. There were all sorts of other birds singing or calling, either to establish their territories or to entice potential mates, from Wood Ducks to Virginia Rails to Anna’s Hummingbirds. One of my favorites, the Western Meadowlark, might not have quite the seasonal theme to its song as the Eastern Meadowlark (whose song sounds like a drawn-out trilling “spring of the year”), but they were a conspicuous part of the morning chorus.
The spectacle of flocks of Sandhill Cranes (the area is one of the main wintering grounds for the species in the United States) is always a highlight of winter trips to the Central Valley, and although they’ll head north to their breeding grounds soon, we saw plenty on Sunday. They’re ungainly, but still beautiful, birds that gather in large numbers in the agricultural fields and wetlands, some of which have been protected to provide wintering habitat for the cranes. And non-birding friends always find it odd that cranes are found so close to the big population centers of the Bay Area. If people think about them at all, they seem to think of cranes as birds of the interior prairies of the west and midwest, and not really California.
So, tear yourself away from the tape-delayed Winter Olympics and go out and search for some live (and real time) signs of spring. Even if you’re still primarily seeing your local wintering birds, it’s only a matter of time before the first spring birds will sneak in, and spring will be in full swing before you know it.
It’s that seasonal cycle that helps us get through the shorter days and colder nights, and makes us all appreciate the first singing Red-winged Blackbird of spring.
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Birding Phil started birding in Cape May, N.J. and Central Park in New York City more than 10 years ago. Since then, his birding adventures (with his wife, Mimi Calter) have included trips to Alaska, Belize, and mainland Ecuador and the Galapagos Islands, along with a bunch of other hotspots in the continental U.S., including Florida, Texas, and Arizona). Phil was included in Chris Santella's book "Fifty Places to Go Birding Before You Die: Birding Experts Share the World's Greatest Destinations," in which Phil talked about Pt. Reyes, CA. Birdwatchers -- head on over and join the Birdwatchers group on Trails.
Lunar Rainbow, by Jeremy Evans
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We’re pleased to announce the winners of the February Trails photo contest. The theme was “A Place I Love,” and the judges chose "Lunar Rainbow,” taken by Jeremy Evans, for the Grand Prize. The People’s Choice winner was “Oregon Sunset,” by mandylaw (that's her screen name). You can see all top-ten finalists in a slideshow here.
Congratulations to our other eight finalists (in no particular order): "Overlooking Havasu Falls," by Mark Miller; "Virgin River, Zion 2009" by David Scarbrough; "Great Falls of the Potomac," by Darrell Parks; "Acadia NP – Bass Harbor," by Slobodan Blagojevic; "Lower Brink of the Falls, Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone," by Brandon Haslick; "Sunrise on Mount Shasta," by Michael Zanger; "Pure Joy," by Heather Kranz; and "Valley of Light," by Douglas Dietiker.
Jeremy Evans really loves Yosemite. He goes there so often (five or six trips a year) that his friends say they're starting to think he has a problem. Jeremy has been taking photos since he was nine years old – with the same camera he used to take “Lunar Rainbow,” a 1971 Cannon F1. Until recently, he resisted the urge to go digital and still frequently shoots with slide film.
Jeremy tries to visit the park during every season so he can take a variety of photos. To get this particular shot, he headed up in May because he’d heard that people were seeing lunar rainbows in the mist of upper Yosemite Falls. Jeremy started hiking up the trail at about 5 p.m. and waited for hours in the dark. This dedication is the reason he always goes by himself; no one he knows is willing to stay up until the wee hours in a quest for the perfect shot.
Around 2 in the morning, Jeremy gave up on his lunar rainbow, packed up his equipment, and started back down the trail. A few minutes later he paused and turned for one last glance at the falls, and then he saw it. The moonbow was still faint and he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him after hours in the dark, but Jeremy got his camera out anyway. When he developed the slides, he was thrilled with how vividly the lunar rainbow appeared -- no Photoshopping necessary.
Our judges called the photo “fascinating” and admired how "the rainbow draws your eye down along the treetops to the magical point where the white waterfall breaks into the colorful arc."
Jeremy sounded stoked to win two $250 gift certificates to Altrec.com, where he says he shops frequently.
Oregon Sunset, by mandylaw
As for our People's Choice winner -- the photo that earned the most positive comments -- Mandy took this photo near Bandon, a small town on the Oregon coast. Those of you who commented enjoyed its “contrast,” “sense of depth,” and “very warm colors,” and one person even suggested it belongs on a postcard from Oregon.
You can start gearing up for our March photo contest, which launches next Tuesday, March 2. The theme will be “Water.” Speaking of gear (and water), the winner will receive a Sea Eagle sport kayak, Lowa hiking boots, and an Optimus stove and cook set. So, put on your waders and neoprene socks, find a shower cap to wrap your camera in -- and head out to get wet!
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The success of our photo contest depends on participation by the Trails community, whether you enter an image or comment on your favorite shots submitted by others. Plus, group members are the first to get updates about the contest. Help us keep it lively! Click here and join the group, and then check out our slideshow and previous winners here. See you next month!
Photo from iStockphoto
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Back in June we had a bit of a discussion here on Sierra Club Trails about how Congress had just passed a bill to allow folks to carry concealed weapons into national parks. We set up a poll in our virtual campfire ring -- our discussion forums -- and let community members weigh in with their thoughts about that development.
Well, on Monday the new law went into effect. Anyone who has a concealed weapons permit may now pack a pistol into national parks, monuments, seashores, and wildlife refuges. You still can't hunt in these places, nor can you take a weapon into facilities such as visitor centers and ranger stations.
But yeah, the guy in the campsite next to you could have a handgun in his hammock, and there might be a Smith & Wesson in that Windstar minivan at the scenic overlook.
The Washington Post provides this helpful historical perspective:
Congress lifted the gun ban last spring, after years of efforts by a bipartisan coalition that said differences in state and federal firearms laws made it difficult for gun owners to travel between state and federal lands.
The Bush administration had lifted the ban on concealed weapons in its final months, after pressure from gun rights groups, including the National Rifle Association. But a federal judge blocked the move last year. The Obama administration declined to appeal the ruling, and Congress passed the law. President Obama signed the measure without comment as part of a credit card reform package.
Now that the law is actually in effect, we'd like to know what you all here in the Trails community think. Will this change the national park experience for you at all? Does it worry you, or make you feel safer?
Share your comments on this blog post, and be sure to pop over and check out the poll.
This Yosemite family is packed up and heading to New Mexico.
When we moved to Yosemite I thought life would be all about the park. I expected the beauty of the place to carry me through the winter and mitigate the isolation. But now I know that for me at least, nature can only take me so far. What I’ve come to rely on here are the people.
We’re lucky. Most of our neighbors are rangers or part of the fire department. Almost everyone we know works for the park service and as required occupants (people who have to be available to deal with emergencies 24/7), they must live within its boundaries. And because the park is far from the business and bustle of the city, people are gifted at making friends and creating an island of welcome.
I love this. I like the drop-in. I’m thrilled when people ask me to watch their children. I like that we’re included in parties and get-togethers and impromptu dinners and outings. Our intention when we came here was to stay a year, but with neighbors so welcoming and a community so intensely interwoven, I’d begun to think about putting down roots. But now it seems like half the place is leaving.
The Yosemite community gathered recently for this send-off party for three families leaving Wawona.
Apparently, part of working for the park service is moving with a regularity people here accept as completely normal but it has left me reeling. How ironic. Growing up, my family moved every two years. I’d been to seven schools by the time I hit tenth grade and made no lasting friendships until college. We moved because my father kept getting better job offers. Park employees do the same.
Which is why I’m the last one who should be shocked that five of our friends are leaving. It’s common to sit at dinner parties and listen to people talk about their time working in Alaska or Hawaii or Yellowstone or the Virgin Islands. If you want to advance in the park service, you have to be ready and willing to move.
You also have to be ready and willing to move if your spouse finds the physical and social isolation too limiting or if you are in a park without schools and can’t bear the thought of your child spending hours on a bus. All the park service people I know are deeply committed to “the mission” as they call the preservation of the parks. Once you have a family, you have to be deeply committed to their needs too. Hence the comings and goings.
In the six months that we’ve been here, we’ve watched a constant stream of seasonals (park service employees doing six-month stints) drift in and out. On Sunday, one of our favorite families went back to their home park in northern New Mexico. A fire manager, the mom was here on a detail that lasted four months.
Four months in a park is not like four months in the city. Here it is an eternity because the people you live with are also the people you confide in, rely on and socialize with. You get close fast. In our village, the pool of people may be small but the bonds go deep. At least that’s what I thought.
Come to find out, there’s a dance going on—people are constantly balancing their need for friendship with the knowledge that almost everyone moves away. They open their hearts and protect them with equal vigilance.
I was in no way ready for this. All through my life, I’ve been the one to leave. I never knew what it felt like to be the one left behind. I suddenly find myself dancing madly without knowing a single step. It all just makes me incredibly sad.
And then a neighbor stops by. Married to a ranger, she’s done this dance so many times she could be a contestant on “Dancing with the Stars” (okay, of the celestial kind). The day is sunny and bright. All morning the snow has been melting from the trees, raining down like diamonds, almost too beautiful to comprehend. Looking at this scene she tells me, “Cry. Let your tears melt but don’t let your heart freeze. The people—they’re just another gift of the park.”
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Last May, while hiking in Yosemite National Park, long-time Los Angeles resident Jamie Simons turned to her husband and said, "I want to live here." Today she and her family have made the move to live for one year in Wawona, where her daughter attends the one-room schoolhouse, Jamie writes, her husband longs for noise, fast food, people, and the city.
The Beehive Cluster in the Constellation Cancer.
Image credit: NOAO/AURA/NSF
At magnitude 3.7, the Beehive Cluster is a great target for observers with a telescope, binoculars, or no optical aid at all.
The Beehive is also known as M44 or Praesepe, which is Latin for “manger.” As one of the largest, closest, and brightest open star clusters, it can be spotted easily with the unaided eye. The Beehive lies near the center of the constellation Cancer the Crab.
This weekend, about three hours after sunset, if you look southeast about halfway between the horizon and the zenith, you will find the constellation Cancer. It is located between Leo the Lion and its notable backward question-mark shape rising in the east and Gemini the Twins to the west. This month, the most prominent feature in Cancer is the planet Mars. If you can spot the bright, reddish point of light, you know you’ve found the constellation Cancer.
Just about six degrees to the lower left of Mars is the Beehive Cluster. If you hold up three fingers at arm’s length, Mars will lie on one side and the cluster will appear on the other side of your three fingers. (Three fingers equals about five degrees of sky.)
Without optical aid, the star cluster will appear as a misty patch of light. Binoculars will help you zero in on a handful of stars. If you use a telescope, use a low-power eyepiece because the large size of the cluster (twice that of the full moon) will spill out of your field of view.
Scientists have found that the Beehive Cluster contains at least 200 stars. The cluster is about 730 million years old and lies approximately 577 light-years away from us. The Beehive’s age and direction of proper motion through space are similar to another nearby star cluster, the Hyades. The Hyades is a V-shaped cluster in the constellation Taurus, found on the other side of Gemini (to the upper right of Orion). These two clusters probably had a common origin in a nebula that existed 800 million years ago.
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Kelly Kizer Whitt loves clean, clear, and dark skies. Kelly studied English and Astronomy at the University of Wisconsin-Madison and worked for Astronomy magazine. She is currently the Feature Writer for Astronomy and Space at Suite101.com. You can follow her on Twitter at twitter.com
Photo courtesy John Gould
…These desolate verb-
studded landscapes you’d
murmur, even
hiss into
some other, some ever else-
where’s
ear.
—Gustaf Sobin, from “A Self Portrait in Late Autumn,“ in In the Name of Neither
Short and sweet this week, from an exacting and language-obsessed poet—the tendrils of nature’s reach often sparse, but well defined, in his work. Defining a relationship with the land, with natural cycles, as an ever elsewhere experience.
This work is a stretch for “nature” and poetry, but there are more subtle, more complicated things going on here. Like stretching some seldom used muscles, looking at a rose, for instance:
…wherein the roses, this
morning, muscled in the folds of
their own re-
lapsing facets—
Language is front and center in Sobin’s work—be it literal in “verb-studded” hills, or in carefully constructed images like “lapsing facets.” Language, our ability to communicate, and the mysteries of the natural world are tightly interwoven.
As human beings we speak ourselves into existence. As poets, we create with words. A good pallet cleanser. A unique poetic voice.
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J Gould has been exploring wild places and writing about them since age 6. He was one of the first "beach-watchers" and newsletter editors for NOAA out at Point Reyes National Seashore. He reads sporadically across the spectrum of poetry and poetics, without any discernible pattern, and toils in virtual anonymity as a poet with annual chapbooks and publications in obscure journals -- the first being Toyon at Humboldt State, where he taught and earned an MA in English. Friend J Gould here, and join the Poetry and Nature group to meet others who share your interest.
This shot from a couple of weeks ago, though, may be my favorite. Usually, I see pods of brown pelicans flying in formation in the Golden Gate. Lately, they've been less numerous -- they seem to have followed the sea lions who decamped from Pier 39 in search of better fishing grounds. But on this day, I did see a brown pelican perching on the fishing pier at Fort Baker, not far from the northern end of the Golden Gate Bridge. I zoomed in as much as I could with my point-and-shoot and slowly approached while taking pictures. When the pelican abandoned his perch and took off, I held down the shutter button for multiple exposures -- not really sure whether the bird was even still in frame.
When I got home, the one shot where the pelican was mostly in frame was had a terrible exposure, but with a little tweaking I was able to adjust it until I had this image. I desaturated the image to highlight the contrast in the bird's feathers. What really struck me was how long and powerful the wing looked when captured like this.
This is why I try to have at least a small camera with me whenever I head out on a hike, ride, or ramble.
Last Saturday, more than 10,000 people from across Florida gathered at more than 83 beaches to protest offshore drilling. These rousing events drew impressive turnout, despite chilly weather and rain, and were part of a state-wide effort called Hands Across the Sand. That effort was organized to protest attempts by Big Oil to drill in state waters (a mere 3-10 miles from the coast). The events could not have come at a more critical time, however, as Florida's waters are threatened both from federal and state efforts. It was inspirational to see people from all walks of life and political affiliations, citizens, and businesses stand together to protect their livelihoods and their economy. A few alligators, dolphins, and mermaids even showed up at several events!
The Sierra Club's Florida Chapter played an integral role in many of the events. Below are several photos that came out of the day.
This post was originally published on the Lay of the Land blog.
Making sushi. Photo courtesy Michelle Stauffer
I’m not much of a joiner. Yes, I like to be helpful but don’t sign me up for any regular duties—with one big exception. When it’s time for geography lessons at my daughter’s school, count me in to be there.
That’s because the kids at my daughter’s school, ages five through ten, study geography by cooking. It’s hands-on learning at its most delicious, but I come for more than the food. There’s a bigger lesson going on, one that’s close to my heart.
This year the kids, the teacher and the mother in charge of geo-cooking (a gifted caterer) began the year-long unit by researching the Cherokee Nation, Sweden, Ireland, Scotland, Japan, China, Germany, Africa, Russia, England and Italy as well as learning about Jewish and Amish traditions.
Why? The school may be small in size—presently there are only eight students—but it’s a veritable United Nations. Every country or custom being studied represents a child’s ancestry.
Students check out the rice for sushi. Photo courtesy Michelle Stauffer
So the kids have learned to make scones and cucumber sandwiches for high tea, cold soba soup with a nenmi sauce and sushi, Swedish bread and cookies, Irish stew and soda bread, bratwurst and apple strudel, even handmade pasta, while Russian blini, Chinese bao and shoofly pie are planned for the future.
And yes, I’m thrilled that my eight-year old is learning how to safely use a cutting knife, improving her math skills by measuring and pouring, working with others and getting a taste of the world. But that’s not why I volunteer for KP duty.
I come, because with a daughter adopted from China, I’m only too aware of the lack of minority involvement in the parks. Since we got here, she’s been remarking on how few people look like her. But there’s hope. I know from living in the park that kids who are raised here, tend to stay here.
The head ranger at Yosemite grew up in this park when his own father was a ranger. (Nepotism rules were so strict when he started his career that he went to work for the Forest Service, and then slowly made his way back). The public relations manager for the concessionaire, Delaware North Companies (DNC), was beaming when he told me his daughter had gone to work here. My daughter’s teacher/principal (one and the same in a one-room schoolhouse) has a daughter working for DNC in Yosemite and a son who’s a chef at the Grand Canyon. The deputy fire management officer in Wawona has a daughter who is only in eighth grade, but she already has her heart set on attending UC Berkeley (like her dad), then returning to the park as a fire ecologist. Even my own daughter, when left alone to play, doesn’t get out Barbies or princesses; no, she pretends to be a ranger.
Of course, I know that eight kids do not signal a tidal wave of change and it doesn’t help that park schools, including our own, are being threatened with closure. But the change I see extends beyond the walls of our school.
Sushi feast ready to go! Photo courtesy Michelle Stauffer
Both UC Merced and UC Berkeley target high school students who show academic promise but do not speak English in the home, mentoring them through a rigorous education and wilderness program called ARC (Adventure Risk Challenge). And UC Merced (the most culturally diverse of the UC campuses) has created the Yosemite Leadership Program, partnering with Yosemite and Sequoia national parks, as well the Delaware North Companies, to create a unique two-year program committed to turning out students interested in pursuing careers in the outdoors.
I hope some day my daughter will take advantage of just such an opportunity. But for now, when the cooking is done, the table is set and the kids, the teacher, the custodian, and a smattering of parents sit down to break bread, I look around at faces that are every color of the human rainbow and I see the future right here.
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Last May, while hiking in Yosemite National Park, long-time Los Angeles resident Jamie Simons turned to her husband and said, "I want to live here." Today she and her family have made the move to live for one year in Wawona, where her daughter attends the one-room schoolhouse, Jamie writes, her husband longs for noise, fast food, people, and the city.
Venus with the Moon as seen from Paranal Observatory, Chile. Credit: ESO/Y. Beletsky
Venus, named after the Roman Goddess of Love, is the brightest planet seen from Earth. Venus’s brightness is a result of its proximity to Earth (our nearest neighbor) and its highly reflective cloud cover. It averages a magnitude of -4, which makes it bright enough to be seen during daylight.
Because Venus is closer to the Sun than Earth, the planet never strays far from the Sun in the sky. Venus goes through cycles of being the morning star, the brightest point of light in the east before sunrise, to being the evening star, the brightest point in the west after sunset. Venus’s appearances as the evening star usually garner the most attention. The brilliant light hovering above the horizon is often mistaken for a plane or even a UFO.
Venus hasn’t been the evening star since March 2009. Observers have been eagerly awaiting its reappearance in the western sky, and the timing couldn’t be better. This month, Jupiter is slipping toward the sun at sunset, soon to disappear from the evening sky. But on its way down, it will meet Venus on its way up. After sunset on February 14, Valentine’s Day, observers have one of their first chances to spot Venus. About fifteen minutes after the sun has set, look for the thin crescent moon low in the west. To its left are two points of light: the brighter object closer to the horizon is Venus, and the one above it is Jupiter. Two days later, on February 16, the moon has moved above the scene but the planets are now only a half degree apart. Venus will continue to rise out of sunset’s glow and become easier to spot. The Goddess of Love will reign in the evening sky until October.
Follow this link for more information about how to observe Venus.
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Kelly Kizer Whitt loves clean, clear, and dark skies. Kelly studied English and Astronomy at the University of Wisconsin-Madison and worked for Astronomy magazine. She is currently the Feature Writer for Astronomy and Space at Suite101.com. You can follow her on Twitter at twitter.com
Redwood. Photo courtesy John Gould.
This must be the perfect progress where
movement appears
to be a vanishing, a mending
of the visible
by the invisible—just as we
stitch the earth,
it seems to me, each time
we die, going
back under, coming back up….
It is the simplest
stitch, this going where we must,
leafing a not
unpretty pattern by default. But going
out of hunger
for small things—flies, words—going
because one’s body
goes….
Jorie Graham, from "I Watched a Snake," in The Dream of the Unified Field
Jorie Graham may or may not be “our most formidable nature poet,” as I reported in a previous post, but her insights in this book are worth multiple reads.
The simple act of watching a snake offers up, “a disconcerting creature,” a “tiny hunger, one that won’t even press the dandelions down.”
She then uses this hunger, one she is not afraid of anymore, to reconcile us with our own reptilian brains, our own yearnings and passions. The poem is redemptive, and yet light-touch in its compassion.
We are not, were not, ever
wrong. Desire
is the honest work of the body...
This is one of the best examples I know of contemplation in nature revealing, unpretentiously and unselfconsciously, something about the human animal that could only be said in poetry.
And there are many others in this volume. Salmon, “glittering past the importance of beauty.” “Another current, river of rivers, this thrilling third-act love.” Dig in and read.
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J Gould has been exploring wild places and writing about them since age 6. He was one of the first "beach-watchers" and newsletter editors for NOAA out at Point Reyes National Seashore. He reads sporadically across the spectrum of poetry and poetics, without any discernible pattern, and toils in virtual anonymity as a poet with annual chapbooks and publications in obscure journals -- the first being Toyon at Humboldt State, where he taught and earned an MA in English. Friend J Gould here, and join the Poetry and Nature group to meet others who share your interest.
On the other hand, it seems a little dangerous. And... I don't know, maybe it's best to observe wildlife from a distance, especially when you're in a remote place.
What do you think, Trailheads?
Pacific Tree Frog. Photo courtesy Phil Eager.
OK, so this cute little Pacific Tree Frog isn’t a bird, but we saw it while out birding, so that counts, right? We were birding at Point Reyes on Sunday, trying to avoid the Super Bowl hype for a long as possible, when Mimi saw the little frog hopping in the wet.
We often hear these frogs but this was the first one we’d ever seen, and it’s amazing how well it blends in when it stops. According to the park rangers we spoke with, there were frogs all over the place during the winter rain storms, and they had to drive extra carefully along the entrance road to avoid hitting all of the frogs in the road! Even without the frog sighting, it was a lovely day with lots of good birds and other wildlife (including Tule Elk, a local specialty, and just a bit larger than the Pacific Tree Frog!). It definitely felt like an early spring day rather than early February.
In the spirit of general wildlife exploration and enjoyment, not just birds, I thought I’d point out a few photo and video highlights that I’ve come across on the web lately.
In the category of interesting non-avian sightings, a Coyote has been seen periodically in Central Park in the middle of Manhattan over the last couple of weeks. The Coyote hasn’t yet been captured (he or she is apparently laying low during the winter storms), but Bruce Yolton captured some amazing photos of the visitor crossing, and frolicking, on a frozen pond. Coyotes show up occasionally in Manhattan, and it’s always a bit of a mystery as to how they get there (or at least which bridge they take!).
Not nearly as out of place but still pretty neat is the Photo of the Week from US Fish and Wildlife Service Northeast Region’s Flickr stream: a Short-eared Owl sitting on a classic National Widlife Refuge sign in New Jersey. The Short-eared Owl is one of the highlights of some of the marshes along the Delaware Bay that are protected by the Cape May National Wildlife Refuge, so maybe this owl was just showing its appreciation for the help. A cool photo, and I had no idea that the USFWS even had a Flickr account.
[Update: as Marcy points out in her comment below, as luck would have it, the photo was taken down by USFWS, so you'll just need to take my word for how cute it was. Their
Starr Ranch, an Audubon California sanctuary in Southern California, is running a nifty webcam of a Barn Owl nest, and so far 3 owlets have hatched. There’s also audio, so you can hear the eerie chatter of the Barn Owls, and the chirping of the chicks, especially when a parent is nearby and tearing up a delicious rodent for their meal.
Finally, don’t forget the Great Backyard Bird Count this week. If you’re in one of the places that’s been hit with the winter storms, don’t despair. If you can dig yourself out enough to get outside and put up or refill your bird feeders, you might up end up with lots of birds this weekend.
Happy birding and happy counting!
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Birding Phil started birding in Cape May, N.J. and Central Park in New York City more than 10 years ago. Since then, his birding adventures (with his wife, Mimi Calter) have included trips to Alaska, Belize, and mainland Ecuador and the Galapagos Islands, along with a bunch of other hotspots in the continental U.S., including Florida, Texas, and Arizona). Phil was included in Chris Santella's book "Fifty Places to Go Birding Before You Die: Birding Experts Share the World's Greatest Destinations," in which Phil talked about Pt. Reyes, CA. Birdwatchers -- head on over and join the Birdwatchers group on Trails.
Photo courtesy DNC Parks & Resorts at Yosemite, Inc.
A few years ago, when I was at a particularly difficult point in my life, my body decided I needed a vacation. My brain provided me with the incentive to slow down by beginning to bleed, which led to grand mal seizures so severe they presented like a stroke. For a very long time I lived in a kind of half-twilight, not really sure if I’d ever again experience life as I’d known it.
Then my husband had the bright idea to move a bed into our garden. Day after day, as I lay watching the wind in the canopy of trees above, my mind would hover somewhere between sleep and wakefulness in an almost constant meditative state. Slowly, I began to get better.
To this day I have no idea if modern medicine would see a connection, but, for me, those months spent lying under those trees convinced me forever of the healing power of nature.
It was that belief that led us to Yosemite in the first place.
Although I love it, we didn’t come here for my sake. It was a choice we made because of our daughter. While she’s a good student, she also struggles to maintain focus in a traditional setting that has children sitting in rows, staying put, and moving only when given permission.
Here, because there are only eight children in the school, the days move at a more natural pace that takes into account each student’s needs. And because the school is in a national park, almost every week time is set aside for activities like hiking and skiing. For our family, we feel like we’ve landed somewhere akin to school heaven. I’m not surprised. As a believer in the healing power of nature, I pretty much expected this outcome.
But what about the people who haven’t spent much, if any, time in the outdoors, for whom it is a foreign country? Can they slow down enough to recognize its power and its magic? Do the millions of visitors who come to Yosemite each year (usually averaging a little over an hour in the park) "get it"? Can’t say. But I can share a story told to me by a former law enforcement ranger here.
Seems she picked up a guy for driving under the influence in Wawona. "He was a really mean drunk," she recalls. "Big and burly and scary." With the help of another ranger, she handcuffed him and got him in her patrol car for the hour-long trip to the jail in the valley. "This whole time, he’s screaming at me, calling me every four-letter word in the book. I’ve never heard anyone with such a foul mouth. It was brutal." Then they got to Inspiration Point.
"He looked out at the view and suddenly I hear, 'Oh my God, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.' Mind you, he’s still drunk, but all of a sudden he’s the nicest and sweetest guy, oohing and aahing as we come around each corner. And he’s gone from calling me names too horrible to repeat to telling me I’m the nicest ranger ever."
Her reaction? "I turned into a tour guide. I’m pointing out Yosemite Falls and El Capitan and telling him the history of the park. I know it sounds crazy, but I couldn’t help it. Once I saw the effect the park was having on him, I just wanted him to understand what an incredible place he’d come to."
She still booked him. He still had to deal with the aftermath of being arrested for a DUI. But she never forgot him. "He was so moved by the beauty," she says. "To me it was a clear indication of what nature does to people."
Needless to say, I’m one with that. And if you have similar stories, I’d love to hear from you.
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Last May, while hiking in Yosemite National Park, long-time Los Angeles resident Jamie Simons turned to her husband and said, "I want to live here." Today she and her family have made the move to live for one year in Wawona, where her daughter attends the one-room schoolhouse, Jamie writes, her husband longs for noise, fast food, people, and the city.
Southern hemisphere star trails. Credit: ESO/H.H. Heyer
Valentine’s Day is fast approaching and people are looking for gifts to give their loved ones. It’s difficult to find a present that encapsulates someone’s grand and all-encompassing love with something that is also in their budget. Some people have heard about buying the rights to name a star so that their loved one can forever be commemorated in the sky. As someone who is familiar with star-naming policy and the best-known star naming company out there, if you were to ask me whether you should do this, I’m happy to share my opinion with you.
The short answer? No.
Star-naming companies can make their services sound legitimate, but there is nothing official about them.
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Photo courtesy John Gould.
Unlike a work of literature, translation does not find itself in the center of the language forest but on the outside facing the wooded ridge; it calls into it without entering, aiming at that single spot where the echo is able to give, in its own language, the reverberation of the work in the alien one.
—Walter Benjamin, from “The Task of the Translator,” in Illuminations.
Translation is a tricky business. And I often forget that much of the poetry I enjoy reading, poetry that works for me as an entryway into foreign lands of the natural world, has been conjured up from a somewhat problematic relationship in the act setting it in the English language.
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Las Gallinas Wildlife Ponds. Photo courtesy Phil Eager.
On Sunday, Mimi and I took advantage of the break in the rain to finally do a little bit of that winter birding that I was exhorting everyone to do last week.
Our destination on a foggy morning was the Las Gallinas Wildlife Ponds, in Marin County (about 30 minutes north of San Francisco). Walking along its couple miles of trails, around several ponds, we enjoyed great views of any number of wintering species of ducks (including Canvasbacks) and shorebirds, as well as seven different species of hawks and falcons buzzing the trails, hovering over the marshes, and even starting some mating displays (yep, it’s springtime already!).
The walk combined some pleasant birding, with nice views of the nearby marshes out towards San Francisco Bay, and we wrapped up with a nice little lunch at a picnic table overlooking one of the ponds.
This all sounds like a perfectly normal birding outing, right? What if I were to tell you that the Las Gallinas Wildlife Pools are run by the Las Gallinas Valley Sanitary District, and that many local birders (and guides) refer to them as the Las Gallinas “sewage ponds”? Yep, our lovely and productive birding morning was spent wandering past ponds that are part of the Las Gallinas water treatment plant which treats the wastewater of thousands of Marin County households.
And this isn't as odd (or rare) as it might seem!
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Photo by Jon Jay.
In Yosemite, status is measured not by the size of your house, the car you drive, or the clothes you wear. No, it’s all about the size of your woodpile. So should groundhogs decide to take up residence, they wouldn’t come out today looking for shadows. They’d be checking out those woodpiles. If they’re small? It’s one tough winter—or they’re at the home of a purist who refuses to heat with propane. Large? The weather is mild—or the fireplace is just for looks.
And don’t insult these mid-size rodents by calling them groundhogs, please. In a place where firewood is a major obsession, woodchuck is preferred.
People here might tell you the whole wood thing is because we have cold winters and the price of propane seems higher than the national debt. Don’t believe them. If that were the only reason, would wood—where to get it, how to stack it, how much is enough—be a major topic of conversation?
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Photo by Debbie Yarra, Yarra Images
Whether it’s the fern-strewn trail leading into the woods from your backyard or a spectacular vista you enjoyed during that trip to Zion you saved up for, share a photo of a place you love. Head over to the Trails Monthly Photo Contest group, join the group (if you haven’t already), and submit your one best image for a chance to win this month's prize.
And what a great prize it is: a pair of $250 gift certificates -- one for you and one to share -- from Altrec.com, the online gear and clothing shop. Choose what you want from their extensive selection of everything you need to have fun and be safe in the great outdoors. Camera daypack? Three-season tent? Snow boots? You decide!
You have until next Friday, February 12 to enter, and until February 19 to vote for your favorites by leaving positive comments on them.
Happy uploading!
