Science – Page 2 – Stone Fig

Walking in the Water

When my children were younger, we went out West.

We were on a two-week holiday, and there were sights we wanted to see. We flew into Albuquerque, New Mexico and then drove in a rented car to see cliff houses at Mesa Verde, the Grand Canyon, the Virgin River, the Very Large Array, Santa Fe, and the Four Corners area. We had a full list of places we wanted to see.

When driving between our various destination, we would stop beside the road for lunch. There are often picnic shelters in scenic rest areas on the highways. We would also pull off the road at a convenient spot and make sandwiches of fresh tomatoes and bright orange cheddar cheese. They were easy to make and always delicious.

In the first week of our trip one of our destinations was Zion National Park in Utah. We wanted to hike the Virgin River. The drive into Zion National Park is magnificent. The natural rock formations and the engineering and construction of the road join to make a stunning drive down to the canyon floor. But the best was to greet us at the bottom of the canyon. We had arrived at our destination, the trail head for The Narrows of the Virgin River.

The Virgin River flows through a deep natural gorge that the River has carved out of the native sandstone over the millennia. The trail that leads up through the Narrows is the Virgin River itself. Make no mistake the footing on the large and small stones on the River’s floor is always changing, and it is slippery and challenging. When you start your hike through the waters, you are going up stream. You are hiking against the River’s flow.

Please note that the National Park Service has sets safety limits for protection of the visitors, whether seasoned hikers or children. You need to check in at the Ranger Station to confirm that the River is safe for hiking and to get advice on the distance you will want to go. We did not want to hike the ten miles (round trip) up the River to Big Spring and back. We wanted to spend about an hour in the River. The Park Rangers were able to give us good advice on how far up the River we should go.

We stepped into the River. We could feel the current gently pushing against our ankles as we started our trip upstream. We smiled at the exhilaration. Later we would be laughing out loud at the joy of moving through the current as we continued on our upstream challenge.

And I will say, the challenge is worth it. To walk ankle deep and knee deep and up-to-waist deep against the current – struggling to set your feet firmly on the rocks you cannot see under the rushing water – and to suddenly plunge into a deeper pool – it is truly exhilarating. Even a hike of 300 to 400 yards up the River is memorable. To stand with your companions holding onto them and your walking staff for stability – and looking up out of the nearly quarter mile deep gorge – and seeing the clouds overhead is wonderful. You do not see them move; you feel that you are rotating under the still, white clouds painted onto a pure blue sky high above.

As we moved upstream one of us would suddenly disappear into the water after slipping on a rock, or stepping into a hole. Then we would rise up laughing to the relief of our companions who were shocked at our disappearance as if it were miraculous, followed by an equally miraculous reappearance, laughing, as we burst up from the flowing stream.

On the way back we talked about flash floods and the impossibility of escape in our situation. This is the reason that you must know the weather happening miles up the River. Up there a sudden rain-storm can dump tons of water into the stream and change a fun and challenging hike into a thundering, roiling disaster.

The flow urged us along on our way back to the trailhead. The rocks were just as slippery, but we were use to finding our footing. Soon we were back at the trail head, and in the car, soaking wet, and laughing uproariously at our adventure.

Remember:

The River doesn’t care.
The River can be dangerous.
Check conditions with the Rangers.
Know the weather.
Know the capabilities of the people you are hiking with.
Laugh.

In researching this article I read that the River is currently contaminated with a toxic cyanobacteria. Make sure you read up on the conditions in the River before you go. It might be an amazing drive, but if you can’t hike the River it might be a long trip to disappointment. https://www.nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/toxic-cyanobacteria-bloom-in-the-virgin-river-and-the-streams-of-zion-national-park.htm

Visit the NPS site about hiking the Virgin River before you go. There is information there that will make your hike more enjoyable – and may save your life. https://www.nps.gov/zion/planyourvisit/thenarrows.htm

Shooting the ISS

I would go out to Manassas on cold winter mornings and watch the International Space Station (ISS) pass overhead. For me it was also a chance to go out and enjoy the crisp winter breezes and the sounds of the fields and forests on those cold winter mornings.

Overhead there is a silent rustle of an owl’s wing. Beyond me in the field I hear the deer snorting, NH-SNPHFF, as a deer clears its nostrils to get my scent. I can just hear the accompanying stomp of its foot. The deer are close at hand.

I stand quietly to listen for other sounds of the woods. To the west in the largest stand of hardwoods I hear a Great Horned Owl calling. A resonant, deep bass call, it is a chilling sound. It echoes through all of Creation. that surrounds me.

My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and I look up.

I suck in a breath of cold air as I see the piercing points of the stars and planets far above. I have chosen a moonless night because the darkness will be deeper, and the stars and planets will stand out with greater clarity.

I orient myself. There is the Big Bear/Dipper (Ursa Major), and it shows me the way to Polaris, the North (Pole) Star, at the tip of the tail of the Little Bear.

Whenever I see Polaris, I always ask myself, Why does the little bear have such a long tail?

I look at my watch. I have twenty minutes before the ISS passes overhead in its orbit. It will reflect light from the still-hidden sun and shine as bright as any star in the night sky.

Before I set up my camera I lean back against my car and look up. I can pick out a few constellations and primary stars. I see a smaller satellite pass overhead. The satellite is a moving point of light among many stationary points of light (the stars and planets).

I want to eliminate any extra movement of my camera as that will blur the stars and gives them “tails”. However for satellite photography, including the ISS, I want the photo of the object to show a tail/trail so you can pick it out on a print where the stars are points of light. The satellite will show a tail/trail of light because of its movement across the sky.

I set up my tripod with my camera mounted on my home-made Azimuth Tracker. The Tracker moves the camera in relationship to the axis of the Earth so the stars will remain as points of light. The satellite will have a tail/trail in the photograph.

And I am ready.

I have been out for about 30 minutes. The time for the shuttle’s arrival and procession across the dark sky is near. I watch the southwest quadrant for my fast-moving target. As it appears, I depress the plunger on my locking extension cable to open the camera’s shutter (I am using film).

I count the seconds as I turn the crank to move the Azimuth Tracker and my Camera. Within three minutes I am done.

The wind has picked up, and the eastern sky is beginning to show a little light.

As the light grows in the east, I pack my camera and other gear into the trunk of my car. And then I lean against the car to again look up into the still dark sky. I see another small satellite swim through the darkness. An early bird is disturbed by my presence. It flies out of the Walnut tree and into the darken sky.

I know that is a hint that I should leave for the start of my day. I climb into my car and head into work.

After the film is developed and prints made, each picture carries in it the coldness of the early morning, the feel of the wind, and the sounds of the open field.

My picture at the top of the article shows the trail of the ISS. And the stars have short tails from the not-perfect alignment of my Azimuth Tracker. And the tail/trail of the ISS shows giggles form the wind.

To see the ISS use the NASA tool may be found at: https://spotthestation.nasa.gov/

Diving at Subic Bay

The USS Leonard F. Mason, DD-852, had left the line off the coast of VietNam, and we had brought her to Subic Bay for some repair and some recreation.

People often asked, “What do you do on the ship all day?”

We worked. We worked hard. There were watches to stand. There were repairs to be made to the ship and its equipment. There was underway refueling and resupply. And occasionally there was inflight refueling of a helicopter flying out on a rescue mission. There were orders to be fulfilled and support of our troops fighting for the freedom of people in southeast Asia and around the world.

Look at VietNam now. Through our efforts we helped ensure a better future for the people not only of the south but for all of VietNam. Do you question this? Look at the country now. It is prosperous, both North and South. And the people enjoy a level of economy and freedom that they never dreamed of under totalitarian regimes. But this came at a tragic cost including the death of 58,318 Soldiers, Airmen, Marines, and Sailors/Coast Gaard.

To the hundreds of thousands of young men and women who answered their nation’s call and went to serve on foreign shores, Thank You. You might have been scared. You might have been wounded. You might have returned to an ungrateful nation. And I am certain that you had friends who left their young lives behind. But you SERVED. You did not hide behind a Doctor’s note. You did not hide from the mail. You stepped forward and served. THANK YOU.

When the ship left the gunline for a return to port for replenishment and repairs, the ship’s crew also had a chance for liberty and relaxation.

There were many things to do off base at Subic Bay. One thing that many of us we enjoyed was the beauty of this part of the Philippine Islands. In particular there was an island that was used by the SEALs for training that was also open during the day for the use of its beaches. It is now called (on Google Earth) Grande Island. I am sure it had another name back then. And there was no resort hotel as there is today.

We hiked across to the south side of the island, facing out to the wide Pacific, there was a small beach of rocks, and clear water, and a deep hole or two that was marvelous for snorkeling.

The water was crystal clear and alive with fish. Periodically we would have the hair stand up on the back of our necks when we would see a Black-tipped Reef Shark watching us. And maybe there would be two of them.

We watched out for each other. It is always good to be cautious.

There were deep holes for diving. And for as long as we could hold our breath, we could have some good bottom time at around 30 feet, marveling at the fish which fed in the corals.

As we came up out of this blue-zone, the colors of the corals and fish became more vibrant. The sea water muted the colors, as it absorbed much of the sunlight. However, while restricting colors in the red, orange, and yellow wavelengths, sea water allowed the passage of blue light.

From above the water these holes might look like they are lined with blue-black rock. It is only when you are in the water, that you can clearly see the coral formations with its varying colors and shades. Only then can you see the multitudes of marine life feeding and minding their own business until they become lunch for another species of marine life that is only doing its business. When you look down into the corals as you float on the surface and peer through your face mask, the web of life of this tiny spot on a Pacific shore becomes visible. And you cannot leave unchanged.

On our hike back to the boat landing we talked about what we had seen. We talked about home and friends. We talked about when we might get home. And sometimes we might have to push off the jacks who had too much beer or too much war. And then we returned to the grey, steel hull that was our temporary home, for another watch.

Later, and much later, we remember the fish, and the sharks, and the sea-child’s teddy we saw on the side of the deep hole on the shores of the Pacific.

A good article on the absorption of light by seawater may be found in the Woods Hole magazine oceanus, at https://www.whoi.edu/oceanus/feature/shedding-light-on-light-in-the-ocean/

The photograph is the Black tipped Reef Shark was found on a Wikipedia article titled “Blacktip Reef Shark”, with a credit to https://www.whatsthatfish.com/image/view/6882. Note the blue coloration of the deeper corals beneath the shark, which is in dappled by the sunlight close to the surface.

Stone in the Woods

Which is it? A Stone? Or a Rock?

Was this photograph a picture of a stone, or was it a rock? I thought back to where I had seen this particular item of curiosity with distinct stratification (the lines of varying colored layers). I had been in the foothills of the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia hiking one of the many the grand trails .

These trails are wonderful in all seasons. They wander up beyond the railroad tracks and the old mill, up into the ridges and valleys of these foothills. There are old stone structures deep in the woods to marvel at, and there are streams that in Summer are great for cooling one’s feet off. In Winter the trails are generally passable. But the streams are more often than not frozen over but not to support a hiker’s weight.

There are other ruins up in these hills, and graves of the men and women who pioneered this area. It is one of my favorite places to wander, especially in the Fall as the leaves are changing. The trails wander and seem to take me different places than they had before. And if its a cool day and I’m not too tired I might push for the summit which is not that high, but it sure is steep on my side. The other side? Well, that is a solid rock face and straight down.

So is this a picture of a Stone or a Rock? For me, a stone is something that I can pick up easily and fling over the water to make a splash. A Rock, for me is a different matter. There is no flinging a Rock. UMPHH! You pick it up and carry it someplace. Then you put it down. UMPHH!!!

In the space under the back porch of my house, there is a Rock that I uncovered while clearing an area to store my wheelbarrows. After I had uncovered something three feet in length and a foot in depth and realized there was no end or bottom in sight, I left it and worked around it. That is a ROCK. But I have moved Rocks before. While a boy scout, we moved a massive Rock to create a fire platform for our council campfires. That rock was as big as most of us, and probably weighed more than any three of us. That was a long, hot day. The platform looked really good when it was done. And the fires were brighter and our ceremonies better, because of our work.

While trying to determine whether my classification of Big = Rock, Small = Stone was correct, I first turned to my narrow Vest Pocket Webster Dictionary by World Publishing Company. I had bought it the early 1960s when my high school English teacher, Mr. Miles McNiff, told us that we should buy one and keep it as a ready reference in our desks. I used it, as I assume my classmates did, to confirm spelling of words I wanted to use in my essays.

Now of course this function is pretty much taken care of by our computers which highlight in red these words with which it disagrees. But I keep the small dictionary around even though its usefulness may have been taken over by the computer. I will say for this and many other items of good guidance, Thank you Mr. McNiff.

In this dictionary I found definitions for the two words, Stone and Rock. Stone is defined solid non-metallic mineral matter. Rock on the other hand is a mass or pieces of stone. Hmm, says I, (apologies to RLS), since the definition of rock includes the words “pieces of stone” as if broken or chipped away, then Stone must be more massive.

But I will disagree and stay with my understanding. A Stone might be big, or much smaller, such as a stone in my shoe. But a Rock for me is generally bigger.

Here, in the hills, I had photographed a Stone. It was barely bigger than an Oak leaf recently fallen. I saw as it lay upon a cold hill side, reflecting the filtered light from above in its beautiful, lined quartz.

I wanted to ask the Stone what had happened in each of those lines, the narrowest of which was likely thousands of years in the making. Or perhaps it was a single flooding event. But over the eons that stone was laid down and then under the pressure of many million more years, it became Rock.

Then later it was up thrust in some gigantic earth-quaking event, perhaps the lifting of the mountains to my West. And as the layers of strata became once more exposed to light, and heat, and cold, and snow and rain, and the pressure of roots and of freezing and thawing, eventually this squared Stone fell off its perch.

Crack.

It came to lay at this point surrounded by moss and ferns and fallen sticks and leaves.

Even Stones have tales to tell. But who can understand them? We can only guess.

Old Tale – Ancient Stories

I have been asking myself, What is the oldest story that I know, that is not written down?

I thought of the story of my grandfather when he killed a wildcat on his property. As far as I know, I am the only one in the family that knows that tale. There is another story of my grandfather that my grandmother told me. She had heard it from his sister about the time when they were children growing up in rural Jones County. As a child my grandfather had a particular and funny way of asking for some Red Eye gravy on his grits, Some ‘dravy’ on my ‘drits’ by ‘Dranny’. His grandmother, “Dranny” had made the grits and the gravy. This was about 120 years ago.

My other grandfather told me stories of being caught in a lightning storm as a young man. And a story of one of his dogs biting him on the face when the dog was excited. He got rid of the dog. And he told me about the power of prayer. And he told me about his father, who rode into battle with his crutches tied to his horse. This was about 150 years ago.

Then back to my mother’s parents. My mother told a story of her mother’s mother’s uncle coming to visit her mother’s family in rural Carteret County. And he came with his pet goose. This was over 200 years ago.

These are the oldest, unwritten stories that I know. They tell me something about; (1) the people in the story, (2) about their lives as well as about my life, and (3) it tells something of value to their lives, and perhaps in ours. I think these three things are what matters for a story to be remembered.

I remember events from my own life that I have not told to my own children or my own grandchildren. Why not? Because the story would not tell them about 1,2, or 3. It would not tell them anything that they should know and will need to remember.

A more recent story comes to mind that meets the criteria. When my children were young, we were waiting to take the bus. As we waited, we saw a caterpillar start to cross the road. I asked my children if the caterpillar had looked both ways for oncoming traffic before starting to cross. My children said they did not think so. We watched the caterpillar until our bus came. As the bus pulled to the curb, it ran over the caterpillar. And that is a story for the ages. It (1) tells about the people, it (2) tells about their life as well as the life of the listener, and it (3) tells something of value (how to be safe). And it has a little entertainment value. And it is memorable. These are (3+).

Why my curiosity over stories in my family?

I recently read a fascinating article by Patrick Dunn in the digital online magazine Sapiens. Mr. Dunn’s article told of a story told within a group/tribe/family of Australian Aborigines about a hunting party tracking a large and dangerous quarry. But the story that is told is about people that have been dead for over 5,000 years. The people are gone. The animal they hunted is likely now extinct.

But the story is told even today as it has the values (1, 2, and 3+). It is a story the family/tribe shares in their oral story-telling tradition.

Other stories of important happenings and everyday events can be carried forward in an oral tradition because they have meaning in the lives of the people and in the lives of the family/tribe.

In today’s modern society we are often separated from our family group. But we can still tell tale of the past. They help us relate to those that came before us, and we can pass-the-knowledge on to future generations.

I have told the story of the goose at family gatherings, for its entertainment, and its meaning in the lives of our forebearers and to the lives of our descendants.

The article mentioned may be found at – https://www.sapiens.org/language/oral-tradition/ .

The online magazine Sapiens may be found at – https://www.sapiens.org/about-us/ .

The artwork is based on a picture of a domestic goose on Wikipedia – https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Domestic_goose

Fire Swifts

I am fortunate. There is a stand of tall, old trees that I can see from my backyard. This year, I often go outside early in the morning to enjoy a cup of coffee and look out towards these trees. There are three in particular that stand out. On the left is an American Ash, to the middle-right there is a Tulip Poplar, and on the right, just beside the Poplar, is a Sycamore. They grow in a creek bed that runs through this small wood.

The creek meanders through its small valley. Over the years and centuries the stream has cut a bed for itself that is approximately 10 feet below the overall terrain and less than a tenth of a mile wide. Maybe at one time it was a cow pasture.

But now, since the valley is low and the stream pushes through it during rainy seasons, it has never been developed. However, because of the stream and its valley, there is a green belt of trees that snakes though my small town and out into the county. This green-way is a nature preserve. It harbors deer and foxes and other sub-urban wildlife. And it is a haven for birds that are not generally seen this far from the tree covered mountains to our West. And in the upper reaches of the trees, under the broad leaves of the Sycamore and the Polar, and beneath the delicate leaves of the Ash, there are thousands of broods of flying insects. But, the only ones that I can see are the Fireflies that flash in the evenings.

Today I am not thinking of the beauty of this small valley nor of the denizens that are concealed inside its narrow borders. Today I am thinking of a feathered visitor that arrives each year in the late Spring and early Summer while passing to the North., and again as it passes through in the Fall as it makes its way South. It is the Chimney Swift (Chaetura pelagica). These delicate birds soar through the air above me as they pass close to the tops of the trees to catch flying insects. The Chimney Swift is a common bird of North America, East of the Rockies. Some will build their nests locally, assuming they find a suitable location. Others are passing through on their way North to the limits of their range on the Canadian side of the Great Lakes of North America.

While they are here what a show they put on! From my backyard I have only a small patch of sky in which to look up, but in the mornings when I am sitting having a cup of coffee, I can see these birds sail through the air, the sun shining on their dark wings and reflecting as the birds twist and turn showing an alternating brightness on the underside and then the sooty dark upper-wing and body. It is as if their wings were hammered steel, winking flame of fire. These aerial acrobatics amaze me as the birds suddenly turn to snatch a flying insect from the air. Several sites I read state that a pair of breeding adult Swifts feeding a brood of chicks will consume upwards of 6,000 flying insect a day.

In the Fall the Swifts turn their thoughts to warmer climes and head South. In The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame’s masterpiece, Rat challenges the swallows on why they do not stay in England as the year turns away from summer. The birds reply, “Ah, Yes, the call of the South, the South. … Its songs, its hues, its radiant air.”

It is the same with the Chimney Swift. As Summer ends the birds leave the Great Lakes. They leave the Blue Ridge Mountains. They leave the Georgia shore. But where did they go? For many years no one knew where the Chimney Swifts went.

In 1943, this changed. A scientist studying the indigenous people of the forests at the headwaters of the Amazon River in Peru spotted a curious necklace on one of the people. He asked to examine it and was able to purchase it. The necklace was made of the tiny metal bands that are placed on the legs of birds to track their migration. He returned the bands to the United States Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS) of the Department of the Interior. The FWS confirmed the bands had been placed on Chimney Swifts in several locations, five States (primarily Tennessee) and a Canadian province. The birds had been killed for food in Peru, and the small metal tags were strung into a necklace.

The FWS put out a press release in November 1944 that announced “The solution [has been discovered] of a centuries-old riddle of bird migration — the location of the winter home of the Chimney Swift .”

When I recently learned this I marveled at the thousands of miles these birds, which I watched over my morning coffee, had crossed. I know that they soon they will hear “the call of the South”, and they again will take their ancestral route to find “ the songs, the hues, and the radiant air” of far Southern climes.

A site of the Tennessee Wildlife Resource Agency about the Chimney Swifts. https://www.tn.gov/twra/wildlife/birds/chimney-swift.html#:~:text=The%20wintering%20range%20of%20the%20Chimney%20Swift%20was,stations%20in%20Chattanooga%2C%20Knoxville%2C%20Nashville%2C%20Clarksville%2C%20and%20Memphis.

Other sites regarding the Chimney Swift and their range and habitat include; http://www.prestonmnchamber.com/play/attractions/chimney-swift/ and http://www.chimneyswifts.org/

The FWS 1944 Press Release may be found at, https://www.fws.gov/news/Historic/NewsReleases/1944/19441112.pdf

Bug on the Water

It is Spring. The rain is a bit warmer. The days are a bit longer. The early flowers are beginning to poke their heads up in the fields and in the yards.

And out in the woods the buds are showing on the trees and bushes.

In my neighborhood the flowers have paused for a moment. The Cherry blossoms were magnificent. Even the fall of the Cherry blossoms was nice; it looked like a late snow fall. Now we are awaiting the Dogwood trees which burst open, all in the same week, throughout the neighborhood.

Back to the woods the buds and nascent leaves are showing red and green throughout the undergrowth. The Persimmon trees still have tight buds. The blackberry vines are showing buds that promise a sweet treat in late summer. The Dogwoods in the deep woods are preparing, just as the ones in our neighborhood, to burst open in all their glory.

But what of the bugs. I have seen one or two of the bright yellow Cloudless Sulphur Butterfly (Phoebis sennae) of Virginia in the fields. And while on the trail I have been passed by several large bumble bees. But its not up, but down that I want to look.

In the stream that the trail crosses and recrosses I can see small bugs, True Bugs as it turns out, darting around as they chase and follow each other. They skate on the waters surface from the edge of the bank into the slight current of the small stream. These are Water Striders, insects of the Order Hemiptera, meaning “half-wing” due to their divided fore wings. But it is their feet that are the most amazing and which give them the ability to glide on the surface of the water.

These insects spend their life first beneath and later on top of the surface of streams and ponds. They are sometimes carnivorous and prey on smaller and less agile bugs that come into their territory. And they delight us with their quick movements as they sprint across the water’s surface. This ability is due to the size of their long feet/fore legs which rest on the water. Their long legs distribute their body weight across the surface of the water and at each foot they are amply supported by the water’s surface tension. They can glide across the water’s surface without breaking through. The Water Strider’s body and legs and feet are covered in tiny hairs which trap air bubbles when in contact with water. These hairs covering the little bug’s entire body are water repellent. These hairs not only help the Water Strider to distribute their weight on the water’s surface but allow them to quickly shed any water that might splash onto their body and weigh them down.

As I stand on the edge of the bank, I watch these Water Striders dart across the surface of the stream. Their quick movements are mesmerizing as the bugs chase each other across the surface.

These are not the only insects in the streams. Right now the nymphs of the Mayfly (Order Ephemeroptera) and the Stonefly (Order Plecoptera) are beneath the water’s surface. They remain there for several years after they hatch. Then as early Summer warms the air and the water, the oldest class of these insects will emerge as adults and fly up from the surface in clouds that can easily be seen. The nymphs of these two insects are especially important indicators of the health of the streams as the insects are very susceptible to pollution. The clouds of these insects above the water are indicators of a healthy stream. And these clouds provide a tasty treat to the fish of the streams.

Below the clouds the Water Strider skates across his territory.

DINO Tracks

On a recent trip to New Mexico, before we had to hustle back home, we visited an exposed dinosaur trackway in the north-east corner of the state.

For me visiting these sites is an experience in time travel as much as it is in science. The tracks at Clayton Lake State Park were made in the early Cretaceous period about 100 million years ago. At this time in Earth’s geology, the main continents that we know today had been separated from the Pangea supercontinent of 250 million years earlier and were roughly in shapes that are recognizable today. At the time the tracks were made the current continent of North America was divided by a shallow sea that ran from the Arctic area to the current Gulf of Mexico. This sea is known as the Western Interior Seaway. Its western shore ran along the eastern area of the Rocky Mountains. The western portion of the Seaway covered the states of Texas, Colorado and Wyoming as well as much of Montana, Utah, and New Mexico. Throughout the 79 million years of the Cretaceous period the seaway rose and fell, receding from and later re-covering areas of shoreline.

Along this shoreline walked the dinosaurs. They lived in what was likely a marshy area of damp soils in which their footsteps would create massive footprints that can now be seen in several areas along what was the western boundary of the Western Interior Seaway. This western boundary now contains what is called the Dakota Group of rock which was laid down by the silts of the Western Interior Seaway.

The trackway at what is now known as Clayton Lake State Park was discovered after a large rain event in 1982. The dam which forms Clayton Lake was built in the 1950s and improved in the 1970s. The dam captures the water of the Seneca Creek which is held behind the dam. The dam is 92 feet high and 150 feet long with a broad walking path on the top. This path leads to the dam’s spillway on its northern end. This is where the dinosaur footprints may be seen. When the dam was built a spillway was cut out of the adjacent hillside so that the dam would not be damaged by heavy rain events. In that type of rain event, the lake may become filled to near the crest of the dam. The adjacent spillway allows water from the lake to be channeled around the side of the dam so that it is not over-topped by the rising water. In 1987 as the water rose it flowed over the spillway in torrents large enough to carry away the layers of rock and dirt that overlay the bottom of the spillway.

I imagine that I can see that storm and the rising water in the lake. The overflow from the lake flows across the spillway, cutting away material above the dinosaur footprints and exposing them. Now as I look out, I can see the herd of dinosaurs moving up the shore of the lake. Large hadrosaurs, believed to have been Iguanodons, slowly walk past me moving north along the shore of the Western Interior Seaway. They browse on the vegetation that grows along the shore . Some splash out into the shallows of the water to eat the submerged vegetation that grows there. A baby Iguanodon scurries past me looking around for its parent. As it passes, a crocodile, swims up through the shallows looking for a meal, perhaps something about the size of the small Iguanodon that just passed. The crocodile is too small to be a threat to the adults, but it is large enough so that as it lies in the shallows, watching, the adult Iguanodons move around it. As I stand watching, the beasts in the herd flow around me, large bulls, adolescents, females, and scurrying so as not to be stepped on a number of the baby Iguanodons. They move past me on their way up the shore of the vast inland seaway.

In the failing light of the day they continue their trek. I can barely see them through the mist and slight rain that seems to continually fall. Suddenly, ahead, I hear excited chirps and calls from the herd. A great roar is heard ,and the Iguanodons can be heard splashing in the shallows as they surge into the lake. A carnivore, a meat eater, known now as an Acrocanthosaurus, can be seen coming out of the taller vegetation farther from the shore, and moving slowly towards the herd. It moves north following the herd of herbivores, plant eaters. Soon the herd and the stalker disappear into the mists and failing light.

I find myself still standing on the walkway that surrounds the dinosaur footprints, looking down the footprint left by the Acrocanthosaurus. I am back in the present. I look out across the arena where these creatures walked over 100 million years ago.

Pictures of these dinosaurs may be found at; Acrocanthosaurus at http://www.emnrd.state.nm.us/SPD/claytonlakestatepark.html and Iguanodons at https://www.newdinosaurs.com/131_iguanodon_raul_martin/

Information on the New Mexico Clayton Lake State park may be found at http://www.emnrd.state.nm.us/SPD/claytonlakestatepark.html , https://geoinfo.nmt.edu/tour/state/clayton_lake/home.html , and https://ucmp.berkeley.edu/mesozoic/cretaceous/clayton.html .

Four-Points

WOW! I am still excited, even two weeks after my wonder-filled find.

I was out in the open fields and forest edges on a warm Saturday, hiking and enjoying being outside. As I crossed a field, I saw something sticking up out of the grass ahead of me. It was about 50 yards away. The sunlight highlighted it so it stood out from the surrounding grasses even though it was not much higher that the brown stalks.

The area where I do most of my local hiking has a rather large white-tailed deer population. There are several herds that populate the area with numerous males of all ages.

One of the aspects of the white-tail deer, which every school child knows, is the male’s antlers are shed each year in the late Spring. Each year, each male deer will grow a new set of antlers. The antlers grow through the Spring and Summer, reaching their full size at beginning of the deer’s mating season known as “the rut”. As the male deer grows older his antlers grow larger with each passing year. A young male may only grow antlers that come to a single point. These are also known as spikes.

An older male will grow more massive antlers with numerous points. The antlers remain on the male until after the mating season is over. At that time the male deer’s body chemistry begins to change which signals his body that the antlers are no longer needed. His antlers become less firmly attached to his skull, and they prepare to fall off. This physiological change takes place in the late Winter and early Spring.

The antlers may fall off as the buck is walking through the woods where the antlers may be brushed off by low branches. They may fall off due to a jolt, if the deer is involved in a late season battle with another male deer. They may fall off as the buck runs and jumps across a field.

In the part of Virginia where I hike this change and the shedding of antlers generally happens after mid-February. If you are out in the woods and fields where deer roam and browse, you may find a single antler, or in some cases a pair of antlers. Finding a pair is rather rare, as the antlers fall off at different times. The pair may be far apart across a field or patch of woods. Sometimes though they fall off on a used trail, so that even if they are shed on different days they may be found at locations on the same trail. It’s a random pattern depending on where the deer goes, his body chemistry, and whether there is an event that causes the antlers to be knocked or brushed off his head.

Then the forest or field takes over. These “sheds” are not just useless bone. Small forest creatures will gnaw on the antlers as they are a source of phosphorous and calcium and other minerals for these creatures. These may be mice emerging from their winter tunnels, or foxes and coyotes.

And of course, there are people who may pick them up. These people, like me, enjoy walking across the fields and up through the woods looking for whatever they might see and enjoying the peace of the natural surroundings.

I have found small sheds before, but this find was certainly different with its polished four points. When I picked it up, I was surprised by how heavy it was. It weighed about four pounds. I have been out to the area where I found it twice more to see if its mate will turn up. It has not. It might not have fallen off yet. Or it has fallen off and some forest creature, or another walker, has carried it off.

BRIDGE

During this “Winter-Without-Snow” I have taken advantage of the record-setting weather to wander fields and forest lanes which I would not usually go onto. Many of these places are not available to me Spring through Fall when the hay is growing and the ticks are more active. Right now, the hay has been cut and most insects are dormant due to their season .

Last week I went to what was for me an unexplored field surrounded by woods. I intended to walk the perimeter which was two miles around its full circuit. When I added in my excursions into the woods surrounding the field, my walk was a very pleasant three miles – and maybe a bit more. As I walked the edges of the field, I would walk down into the surrounding woods to look at some item that had caught my eye. Perhaps it was an old bottle reflecting the sun, or a particularly interesting shape of a tree, or a stand of bushes full of bright red winter-berries.

I was drawn further into the woods by a stream that flowed near the edge of the woods. The rains of the week before had mostly drained out of the hilly woods surrounding the field. The stream was flowing quietly. It carried a sparkling brightness in the filtered sunlight and was worth exploration. The woods were not dark like northern coniferous forests full of evergreens. This was a bright, southern mixed hardwood forest of bare branches and filtered sunlight. The branches, bare of leaves, allowed the sunlight to penetrate through what in summer is a darkening canopy and brighten the area below. It was bright and inviting so I directed my trek along the course of the stream.

It was easy to tell that the stream would sometimes run high and fast as the banks of the stream were steep and without much growth. Further up the hill into the forest I could see something that stretched across the stream. When I got to it, I found it was an abandoned foot-bridge. But it was not a bridge that could be used. It was missing boards. A few were in place, but other dangled above the narrow stream. Only one of the natural-timber cross-pieces was still in place, spanning the stream to the opposite bank. No animal other than a raccoon or a mouse would be able to cross it easily.

Once in times past, the bridge had spanned the stream. It went from one place to another. It had lain at some point further up the stream. Then a day of heavy rain and high water, perhaps in a hurricane, had lifted the bridge and pushed it to this current spot. On my side of the stream the bridge was open. On the opposite bank the timber span ended at the base of a large tree.

Even though the bridge could not now be crossed, it still caused me to wonder. What is on the other side? I could easily see the other side just across the small gully; the distance was less than 30 feet. But if I could have walked across the bridge, what would I actually see? I would see the same trees on that far bank that I could see from my current spot. But on that far side I would be able to reach out and touch those trees. I would experience that distant shore.

I have never seen a bridge that I did not want to cross in order to touch the other side.

And that has made all the difference. (1)

Borrowing the closing from Robert Frost’s, The Road Not Taken.