Water – Stone Fig

Did You Have Breakfast Today?

I usually don’t carry the title of an article I read into the title of my blog post, but this one was so right-on I had to use it. Did you have breakfast today? This is not a question of dietary management; it has to do with the health of our global populations.

The question brings a focus to whether in our warming climate our global food supply will be able to continue to provide the people of Earth with the food/calories they need in their daily lives. An article at the website “The Cool Down” (TCD) addresses this question and may be found at, New data uncovers dire situation about global food production: ‘Like everyone on the planet giving up breakfast’. The article discusses the findings of a recent study on issues of food production on our planet Earth where the global temperatures – and the global population – are both rising. As crop-lands fail under the pressure of global warming, food production will fall. It will be as the title states in part, “Like everyone on the planet giving up breakfast.”

I have written blog posts about the reality of global warming several times and have sent letters to recent presidents about whether we are planning for a climate that is not in-tune with our current world view. There is a high probability of disastrous events in our future if we do not make significant changes in how we address global warming. We need a plan for adaptations that will address regional changes in climate and the ability to successfully raise crops.

I believe we have a global food crisis brewing, and we need to act now to prepare for it. The signs of the crisis have been seen for several decades, but the ‘leaders’ of the world are slow to recognize it or to work to find global solutions. To help understand the root of global warming and the coming crisis, I have written several times about the Keeling Curve in past blog posts – as well as in letters to the White House. My past blogs that speak to the Keeling Curve can be read in; “CO2 – the Keeling Curve,” February 15, 2019; “Sweeping the Sky,” September 27, 2019; and “Open Letter to ‘Climate Change Activists’ who Disfigure Public Art,” September 7, 2024.

Briefly, the Keeling Curve is based on the work of Dr. Charles D. Keeling. In 1956 Dr. Keeling began a program to measure atmospheric gases, including Carbon Dioxide (CO2), at the Mauna Loa observatory in Hawaii. As these observations are plotted over time, they show an increasing level of CO2 with each passing year. The graph below, known as the Keeling Curve, shows this increase over time. Please note the rise following the Industrial Revolution and the dramatic increase following World War II. If you wonder about the saw-toothed edge of the curve, that is an indication of the rise in CO2 in the winter months when the leaves are off the trees and are not converting CO2 into Oxygen (O2). The downward slope of each “tooth” indicates the activity of the trees and other plants in the growing seasons of spring and summer as they remove CO2 from the atmosphere and convert it into O2. The curve shows that the amount of CO2 in the atmosphere increases – goes every upward – with each passing year. The more CO2 and other “greenhouse gases” in the atmosphere, the more global warming increases through a “greenhouse effect.”.

Using ice core data to establish the historical concentrations of atmospheric gases in the years and centuries before Keeling’s work, the curve can be extended back in time – in this instance back to before the Industrial Revolution.

These studies indicate without a doubt that the generation of CO2 gas – especially by burning coal to support and drive the industrial revolution – and its release into the atmosphere has had a terrific effect on the amount of CO2 in the atmosphere. The CO2 as well as other gases such as methane have caused the atmosphere to block heat capture from the Sun from being able to be reflected out into space and escaping from the Earth’s atmosphere. This inability for heat to escape into space causes a continual heating of the planet.

The CO2 and other gases are known a “greenhouse gases,” because they create a “greenhouse Earth” affect. It is like living in a glass-walled and glass-roofed greenhouse in which the heat of the Sun is captured and cannot escape. The purpose of a greenhouse is to maintain a warm environment inside the greenhouse which allows plants to survive and grow when it is too cold for them outside. But our “greenhouse Earth” benefit growth of crops for our hungry and growing population.

Ocean warming is also driven by the increase of atmospheric CO2 which drives increasing global temperatures. As we all know as the temperature of water rises, so does the evaporation rate from the water’s surface. This increase in evaporation increases the amount of moisture in the atmosphere which in turn retains more heat/unstable air which aids the generation of more and larger storms over the ocean.

The effect of our warming oceans also brings a rise in sea level since as the ocean’s are heated, the water of the oceans expands. This causes a rise in the sea-level which is evident along ocean beaches and marshes as well as in coastal ports and coastal rivers.

The salt water of the oceans and bays not only rises vertically in elevation but it also pushes out horizontally from the shallow near-shore ocean basin and pushes its way into coastal regions, where the salt water mingles with and displaces the coastal ground water.

Where you see the ‘ghost forests” of dead trees behind the beach the intrusion of saltwater is often the cause. A brief article on the concern about ghost forests may be found at Ghost forests haunt Atlantic Coast | US Forest Service.

In addition to this intrusion, coastal water tables – and many other water tables throughout the United States – are being sucked down by deep wells for agriculture, industry, and homes, all of which extract the ancient fresh ground-water. As the water tables are being drawn down by these wells, the wells have to be forced deeper sucking out more and more of the ancient waters. In areas where the surface of the Earth is no longer well supported as the groundwater is drawn further and further down, the surface layers shrink in elevation as the surface relaxes and compresses. A recent article on what is happening in the cradle of agriculture and civilization in the south of Turkey indicates that without the support of groundwater massive sinks holes can erupt in the landscape, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2026/feb/28/i-live-in-constant-fear-surge-in-giant-sinkholes-threatens-turkeys-farmers

There is also an opposite effect as the Earth slowly rebounds upwards. This has been happening since the last great ice age. When the vast ice sheets and miles thick glaciers melted away and their terrific weight was removed from the Earth’s surface, the elasticity of the Earth’s crust allows it to slowly rise as it readjusts to the missing weight.

All these interacting systems and events determine where and how fast the relationship of the water’s surface and the land (farms and people’s homes) are impacted by the rising sea-level that is brought on by global warming.

The general warming of Earth encourages spring to come earlier in some areas. There may be more rain – or less rain – in certain areas. This in turn changes the growing season of crops.

An example of the issues for a species in a time of climate change can be seen in the case of a lack of abundance of caterpillars for Pied Flycatchers in southern Britian during the bird’s nesting season. A brief article may be found at Hungry birds as climate change drives food ‘mismatch’ | ScienceDaily.

As spring comes earlier under the influence of climate change/global warming “leaves and caterpillars emerge earlier.” However, the Pied Flycatcher is a migratory bird and does not arrive to their nesting and breeding sites until the new spring is well underway. This is a “mis-match” between the emergence of the caterpillars which are a main source of food for the hatchlings. The change disrupts the pattern of mating and raising of new broods of young flycatchers. In order to continue their current cycle (is it millennia old?) the flycatchers will need to evolve and change their migratory and breeding patterns and return to their breeding area sooner in order to be able to find the large quantities of caterpillars they need to feed their young. The article quotes Dr. Karl Evans of the University of Sheffield; “Our work suggests that as springs warm [earlier] in the future less food is likely to be available for the chicks of insectivorous woodland birds unless evolution changes their timing of breeding.”

At the beginning of this blog post I mentioned an article on crop production which is the impetus of this post. This “The Cool Down” article addressed a recent study on the ability to cultivate six different grain crops raised in many locations around the world. The article also takes into account the adaptations to deter the impacts of global warming which are being used by farmers around the world.

The study was prepared by The Climate Impact Lab at the University of Chicago and published in Nature in June 2025. It is ‘open-access’ article and may be found online at, Impacts of climate change on global agriculture accounting for adaptation | Nature.

The study presents a picture of what could happen to the world’s ability to produce adequate agriculture to feed the 10 billion people (an increase of 2 billion from today) expected to live on Earth by the turn of the century. An interesting article on world population growth by the Pew Research Center can be found at 5 facts about how the world’s population is expected to change by 2100 | Pew Research Center.

Back to the question at the beginning of this blog post; Did you have breakfast today? This can be extended to a question of ability. Were you able to find breakfast today?

As the Earth continues to warm, just as there is an impact on the food for the Pied Flycatcher, there will be an impact on the ability of humanity to feed itself. Throughout the rest of this century the impact of global warming will cause growing-regions for the six studied food staples to move further and further toward the poles.

The study indicates that by the year 2100 the current fertile growing-regions in the middle of North America will likely have lost nearly 30 to 40% of their ability to produce crops. These growing areas will no longer be able to support the bountiful harvest they do today. The areas which will gain a stronger ability for wheat will migrate further north into the Tibetan Plateau, Northeast China, Mongolia, and Scandinavia – as well as the southern tip of South America.. The map of wheat production presented with the study provides a good example.

The study not only considers the factor of climate change but it also includes factors related to adaptation by farmers and their states and nations to maintain sufficient crop yield under global warming. But this is not equal across the Earth. Richer countries and populations can afford the research and development for ways to maintain – or even improve – crop yield.

But there is a bit of the flip-side as well. The breadbasket of North America has been fertile with sufficient water and a good growing season – so the states and countries and the framers have not been forced to seek or implement adaptations for climate change. The study presented in the Nature article presents a case where lack of preparation for adaptations lead to significant crop failure by the end of this century.

Finding and implementing adaptations to climate change will depend on the position of the government of those countries and whether they understand the coming change. If the presented prediction holds true, the breadbasket of North America will no longer produce the bumper crops that feed the world. High production areas will have shifted to other countries.

Yes, it is like the grasshopper and the ants. Sometimes the ants take pity on the grasshopper – and sometimes they do not.

I am not asking you to believe that the global warming road on which we find ourselves is human caused (I believe it is) – but I am asking you to understand that since the industrial revolution Carbon Dioxide (CO2) levels have been increasing. CO2 and other “greenhouse gases’ are trapping heat that would otherwise have been reflected off the earth and into space, and so the Earth – our home – where we get all our food – is warming and is changing our ability to grow crops as we have for thousands of years. This warming is happening right now and will continue to increase. We must ask ourselves what does this ongoing and increasing change do to the food supply for all the world’s people?

Then we must act.

WHALE FALLEN

My Posting:

I enjoy writing my posts for Stone Fig which most often relate to the time I have spent outside in the woods and hiking mountain trails and desert paths. Some posts are based on an article I have read – usually with some additional research. For those articles I always give a citation of sorts and if possible a weblink if anyone wants to read further.

For this post, Whale Fallen, I have decided to copy the text of a New York Times article. I do this because I think it is a wonderful article, and of course I give the New York Times and its writers credit for their work.

If the New York Times or any of its staff are offended, I apologize and hope they will forgive me. I do not gain any monetary value from using their work – but I do gain positive value in knowing I am sharing a moving article about life in the oceans with my readers. The article is well-written and concerns a gray whale calf, one of the gentle giants of the great deep.

Many of the comments to the article deal with how sad some readers felt at the death of the grey whale calf. They wrote of its loneliness as it searched for its mother. They wrote of the likely frantic search by its mother when she became separated from her calf. Other commentors spoke to “the circle of life.” I believe “Joe” of Tucson, Arizona captured all of the comments in saying, “You were not really alone little giant- we are all connected and I hope you found some sense of peace and love in your final surrendering to nature and we will join you soon.”

I hope my readers enjoy reading the article as much as I did. It is not just the water we see when we look at the ocean; it is the myriad lives and stories that are taking place within the Ocean Home.

The New York Times Article:
Article copied from The New York Times/Science (online)
Published April 30, 2025Updated May 1, 2025, 2:05 p.m. ET
Under Science/Trilobites: Unearthing fascinating morsels of science.
Text by Sruthi Gurudev
Photographs by Jules Jacobs
(I have modified one of the photographs as my lead-in to my posting.)

A Diver Visited a Fallen Whale. When He Returned, It Was Gone.

A sunken calf’s disappearance created a mystery in murky waters near San Diego.
How does an 18-foot-long, 2,000-pound carcass just disappear?
That question has puzzled some divers and photographers who regularly plunge into the waters off San Diego.

It started earlier this year when Doug Bonhaus took advantage of some calm weather to scuba dive in Scripps Canyon. As he descended, a hulking mass took shape below him.

There, at an exceptionally shallow 115 feet, lay the body of a baby gray whale.

Whale falls are usually not seen by human divers. Typically, they are discovered by remotely operated vehicles at depths exceeding 3,000 feet.

Local marine biologists had a guess as to the gray whale calf’s origins. An animal that matched what was found on the seafloor had been spotted swimming near La Jolla Shores, desperately searching for its mother. During its final hours, it was seen approaching boats, as though asking for help that wasn’t coming.

Because it was the first time in memory that a fall was so accessible to people, other divers quickly made their way to the site. Among them was Jules Jacobs, an underwater photojournalist who has written for The New York Times about his explorations.

At that point in late January, the carcass’s resting place was a trough in the canyon that required pinpoint precision to reach. So Mr. Jacobs steeled himself for a dangerous and mentally taxing dive.

Navigating the crepuscular gloom with a team of five other divers, the dive lights suddenly illuminated what he was looking for: the mottled-skinned, emaciated calf. The calf’s eyes had already succumbed to the elements; it seemed locked into an expression of sorrow.

“It’s humbling to dive a whale fall where the tail alone is as big as your body,” Mr. Jacobs said.

Mr. Jacobs planned additional dives to observe the animal. On his second visit a week later, a chunk of the animal’s tail was missing, likely the work of scavenger sharks like the seven gill or the mako.

After a surge of spring storms, Mr. Jacobs descended into freezing blackness for the third time in late February. Gripping his camera gear so tightly his knuckles turned white, he waited for the decaying animal to appear.

What he found was only the barren seabed.

The calf was gone.

Gray whales, which can grow to around 45 feet in adulthood, have a migration that is the one of the longest of any mammal. It starts in the balmy seas of Baja California and extends to feeding grounds in the high latitudes of the Arctic Oceans. The calf and its missing mother were most likely headed north before they were separated. During this phase of the journey, they would have been at their most vulnerable, with the mother not having eaten for six months.

Gray whale populations follow a boom-and-bust cycle, with numbers crashing and then recovering, and sometimes up to a quarter of the population lost in a few years.

For about six years, however, the population has failed to rebound as it did during previous die-offs. Scientists attribute this decline to climate change, which accelerates Arctic warming and disrupts the gray whale’s prey. Ship strikes and entanglements in fishing lines aggravate losses to starvation.

“We’re unlikely to return to a world that can support 25,000 gray whales anytime soon,” said Joshua Stewart, an assistant professor at the Oregon State University Marine Mammal Institute. Dr. Stewart expects to see many more whales dying on the West Coast.

Still, in the normal course of events, the death of a whale does not always signify an end. Instead, it catalyzes new beginnings.

A riot of life blooms from a whale carcass, even a calf’s. The flesh nourishes scavengers, the bones are colonized by microbes and worms and the curved vertebrae form new highways for a rapidly developing reef.

“A whale fall is a real bonanza and may provide as much food as normally reaches the sediment beneath it in 200 years,” said Craig Smith, professor emeritus of oceanography at the University of Hawaii. “Ironically, we know more about whale-fall communities in the deep sea than in shallow water.”

A whale decays in three ecologically distinct stages. First come the scavengers — sharks, crabs, hagfish — which tear into the soft tissue. Then, along come the worms in “huge, writhing masses in the organic-rich ooze surrounding the carcass,” Dr. Smith said. This can last seven years in what scientists call the enrichment-opportunist stage.

Finally, bacteria deep within the bones produce hydrogen sulfide, fueling the chemosynthetic bacteria on the surface of the bones and those living symbiotically inside animal hosts. This stage can last decades, with more than 200 marine species thriving on a single whale fall.

But this infant whale and its carcass had vanished. Had something or someone made off with it, preventing that life-sustaining whale fall from continuing?

Gregory Rouse, a marine biology professor at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography, believes the explanation is less mysterious. During whale falls, he said, decomposition in the body cavity generates gas, which can cause the carcass to rise again after initially sinking, and float before eventually settling on the bottom.

Strong winds and pulsing currents likely swept the body deeper into the canyon, which descends as far as 1,600 feet down.

“This animal would’ve grown into a titan, but its life was snuffed out in infancy,” Mr. Jacobs said.

But where it lies quietly in the darkness, new life may proliferate and prosper.

The link at which the New Tork Time article may be found is: https://www.nytimes.com/2025/04/30/science/whale-carcass-san-diego.html?campaign_id=9&emc=edit_nn_20250501&instance_id=153663&nl=the-morning®i_id=107935160&segment_id=197084&user_id=29ef4a3aa4e70bb456fa536f5bec4e19 . Here you will see the heading for the article and find an opportunity to subscribe to the New York Times.

A New Roof

It is a rather low hill, but I navigate my car up the steep one-lane road. I am driving up to one of the trails in the Manassas National Battlefield Park. It has been several years since I have been out to this particular area of the Park. The last time was before Covid.

As I approach the top of the hill, I blow my horn several times. The road goes up and over a ‘blind’ crest, and you cannot see any oncoming traffic until you are both cresting the rise from opposite directions. I want to give anyone coming towards me ample warning.

In the times I have been out here, I have only met one other car at the crest, and it was a close call. So I always blow my horn two or three times as my car climbs to the top.

No other car was coming, but as I drive down the far side I can see there is a car parked in the area of the trailhead. I am surprised to see it and wonder if I will meet the other hikers on the trail. As it was late in the day I know I might as they may be on their way back to their car.

I park my car, and as I get out I am met by the singing of the woodland birds. I recognized the Cardinal easily. I also pick out the Rufus-sided Towee as he calls out ‘drink-your-tea’. The other bird’s songs add to my enjoyment. Several trails go from the parking area out into the open fields that the current contract farmers cut for hay during the year. The first crop of tall grasses has not come up yet, and the broad paths across the fields lay open up to and beyond the location of the ‘lost-and-now-gone’ Portici farm house.

I stand for a moment in the shade of the trees which are just beginning to leaf. As I look up into the afternoon sky a spring breeze ruffles the red and green leaflets that have popped on the oaks and beech trees that cover the area. In the canopy I can see the shadows and shapes of the birds flying among the trees.

As I look towards the fields I am surprised to see the long-cut lumber of a new roof.

What could have been built here and why?

Just beyond the split rail fence and the tangle of vines at the edge of the trees is a small structure. I see the long boards rising above the peak of the roof. The structure is a chinked-log structure which would have been common for rural farm structures until the early 1900s.

To tell the truth during my days as a surveyor in North Carolina I would often come across old log structures out in the woods. They were generally storage sheds for an old and now-disappeared farm. One or two were old tobacco drying barns.

Given the location of this structure, I believe it is supposed to be a re-creation of an era “Spring House.” A Spring House was a small building that was built over or close to a spring of water that bubbled up from the ground. There are a lot of springs in this area of Virginia. The springs often rise as ‘artesian springs’ due to a natural dip of the land below the ground-water level or a “seep” on the side of a hill. In the Spring House the farmer and his family would dig a shallow pit (1 to 2 feet deep) and line it with stone.

Water would collect in the pit and was then allowed to flow out and down the hill to a stream. This would allow the pit to always be full of water. The water just having come out of the ground would be cold, and it would keep the inside of the small structure nice and cool. The farmer would build a shelf of stones in the pit so he and his family could put jugs and jars of milk and cheese and other foods in there to keep it cool and fresh. They might also have built wooden shelves on the walls for preserved fruit and vegetables. The family may have hung meat in the Spring House so it would last longer. It was like a refrigerator.

I am glad to find this new addition to the farming history of the Manassas Battlefield. The Park continues to develop the full story of the men and women who lived there and were witness to the terrible events of two Civil War battles.

The old cemeteries, foundations, trash pits, ponds, old farm equipment (after the Civil War) speak to this farming history. And there are old farm roads – wagon-width – deep in some of the woods.

I start my evening walk toward the old farm cemetery. The sun will set soon. I see the other walkers coming down one of the other paths and heading back to their car. I give them a wave and start my walk up the hill to the cemetery. If they waved back, I did not see them.

A Green Turn

When I pulled this picture out from the stack I thought of where it was and then chuckled.

I was looking at a Green Turn. There is a Green Heron, a Great Blue, and a Yellow Warbler, but there is no Green Tern. Although I know a pond not far from this picture of Chinn Ridge where in Summer I can see a Green Heron fly over. He is as much russet and brown as green. He is an exciting bird, although not as big as the Great Blue Heron.

Here on Chinn Ridge, at the Manassas National Battlefield Park, the path takes a decided turn.

The path goes in straight stretches through low lying areas along the top of the ridge There are Paw-Paw trees (Asimina triloba) to be found in the area of scrub trees, their roots climbing over exposed stone. But as the path slopes gently upward toward a high point on it crest, the understory clears and the large, more magnificent trees reach upward. The Oaks and Tulip Poplars compete as they reach for the sun and their leaves form a shady canopy high over the path.

This picture was taken on a calm, grey Spring day as the trees were first leafing against the sky. Today , in mid-September, the sun streams out of the cloudless sky but underneath as I walk the turn in the path I am shaded by the thick green canopy high overhead. Today is the hottest day of the year. The temperature is 97degrees, and the humidity pushes it higher.

It will only be a short walk today. I may reach this half-mile point in the woods or I might turn back before then. But if I reach this green turn, I know I will feel that I am in a familiar place. I have walked out of the ordinary into a place that is super-ordinary. When I look into the woods, it is open, but in the distance as the ridge falls away it is dark. The leaves move in the slight breeze, and I can see shapes far below me. They move among the trunks of the younger hardwoods, but they seem to stop and linger behind the trunks of the older giants. I know from other walks that where the bottom stream flows there are Sycamores, and the Sun’s reflection is glaring off the stream as it ripples and flows into the far woods and towards the Bay and on down to the ocean.

The water that the stream carries has flowed in and around the roots of the Oak and the Poplar and the Ash and past the Paw-Paw and down beyond the Sycamores.

Soon in the Fall the Paw-Paw ‘apples’ will be mottled and ripe, and I will take one, and say thank you, and turn back to a more real but less green world.

Ride in Death Valley

I have alluded in several posts that I traveled for my work. I was an engineer in the federal government and served several agencies. My work usually involved environmental compliance and land/real estate management for those agencies. My work often took me to California and New Mexico. When I would go out to the west coast which was generally once a year, I would usually stay at least a week and sometimes two in order to meet with personnel from the several installations that I had cognizance or purview over.

My agenda for a two-week trip included visits and discussions with installations in San Diego, Los Angeles, a large installation in the California desert. This desert installation was close to Death Valley and as I had to drive up to Los Angeles for my next site visit, on the Saturday I was traveling I decided to drive up the east side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and see what there was to see. This route took me past Death Valley. I had never seen it, so I decided to make a stop and see it.

I started driving north on CA-395. This was all strange territory to me not only being from the east coast, but it was the rocks, the shapes, the plants, and the different birds that intrigued me. As I drove north, I came to a place called the Alabama Hills. The formations looked like giant stones had been dumped out onto the ground. The tumbled formations of rocks were intriguing. I found a place to park and climbed on the rocks while looking for the fish-filled brooks and pools that the signs implied were round there. The hills of stone looked like an old movie set, and were actually used in numerous westerns since the formations were so striking.

I left the Alabama Hills and continued north on CA-395. Soon I was in a dust storm as the wind was blowing in from the east across what I learned was Owen’s Dry Lake. At one time it had been a fresh water lake feed by the Owens River. The Owens River was used to support agriculture in the valley, and later it was diverted to supply Los Angeles with water. I stopped and looked out over the sandy flats that had once been covered in water. The alkali dust drove me back into my car.

The next road to the east, in the direction of the dry lake bed, had a sign that said to me, Turn here for Death Valley. Who had not heard of that tortuous place? We had played cowboys back in the east and roamed an imaginary Death Valley. From countless Saturday matinees we knew it as the driest and the hottest place the United States, if not the entire planet.

I followed the road to the east, not knowing what I might find. The road, CA-190, draped around the east side of the dry lake. I stopped on that far side and got out of my car to look at it again. I could see more now as the wind was blowing at my back. The dust was no longer blowing into my face as it had been at my first stop. I drove on toward Death Valley. And now, about every mile or so, I saw a car pulled to the opposite side of the road with a bicycle rack on top. As I saw more and more of these cars I realized there was probably a bike rally or a race going on.

On the south side of CA-109 I saw the crest of a volcanic dike or a collapsed volcanic lava tube now exposed and weathered. I stopped and walked along one. It looked like a great place for rattlesnakes and scorpions, so I kept a respectful distance. I set up my camera tripod and took several pictures to send to Geology professor including the self-portrait above. Then I packed my camera gear and continued on my way.

By the time I reached Father Crowley Point, I had seen a dozen cars with bike racks along the road. At the parking lot for Father Crowley Overlook there were several more parked. I stopped to ask what was going on.

I was told yes, there was a bike race. It was the famed and feared Whitney Classic. This race starts at Badwater Basin on the east side of Death Valley. The course crosses the Valley and then ascends on the road I was on to the top of the Darwin Plateau, and on past Owens Dry Lake. The race continues into the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and then climbs to the Whitney Portals. The race is 136 miles long and includes an elevation rise 14,704 feet, nearly a 3-mile gain in elevation.

My plan to visit the floor of Death Valley was breaking down. I had to be in Los Angeles that night for a business meeting the following day. We would work the weekend when I got there. But I started my descent into Death Valley. As I went down I began to see the lead groups of bikers passing me as they went up the road. I realized that I would likely get stuck behind larger groups of racers who were following the leaders. If I got behind them, they would slow down or block my exit from the park. It could cost me hours of lost time. I found a wide spot in the road and turned around to go back to the top of the plateau.

The Wilson Classic is an endurance bike race. I was glad to have seen the edges of it. And I was glad to have glimpsed Death Valley from the height of Father Crowley Point. And I had gotten out and marveled at the lava dike which was only a part a small part of this tortuous and wonderous terrain. Perhaps on my next trip I will go up to the verdant forests of the Whitney Portals and listen to the babble of Lone Pine Creek.

Death Valley as seen from the area of he Father Crowley Overlook; photo by Daniel Perez posted to Google Earth.

Three Photographs

What do three photographs have to do with each other. These three have no people in them, at least none that you can see. But in each of these photographs I can see multitudes of friends and fellow travelers. I want to rehabilitate that term. It a good phrase in which to capture the idea of someone well-met while you are on the road.

The term, fellow travelers, in its best use is when I apply it to the young and old, and the men and women I met while backpacking in Europe and when driving across America around the time I took these three pictures.

In Europe most of our travel was by train and we would meet and link up with a small group of people, two others, maybe four, and travel with them for a day or two or maybe a week. They were our traveling companions. They might not be going to our ultimate destination, but for the moment – or for the week – we were thrown together in a train car or in a City – and we talked and planned and laughed as the woods and houses and fields flashed by or as we strolled in a city park.

And if they were well-met, they were lively and jovial, and we wanted also to be a “Hail-fellow, Well-met”. You would share your lunch of tomatoes and cheese and bread, and they would add sausage and at the end perhaps a cigarette. You might go drinking together at night, and later stand on a street corner and rather loudly sing some song you just learned. You may sit up the night in a train compartment talking of places you’ve been and places you intend to go. And they would rise and fall with their own ideas, and the next day with a hearty handshake and a slap on the back or maybe a kiss you would part never to see each other again. But later, telling the story of that train ride you remember your adventures, and wonder when you will have a chance to smoke the cigar they had given you.

It was someone with whom to spend some time when you were on a trip abroad, alone. Cigarettes play a role in this picture, but I will say there is no more deadly habit. If you smoke, stop now and never take it up again. Ask me why I had 5 bypasses. I will tell you it was the cigarettes. It was part of my old life. It is not part of my new life. And it does not need to be part of yours.

These three pictures represent the time when I was driving across country as a young man to go to Vietnam. I was not in the jungle, I served off the coast in the Navy. Later I would go and wander across northern and eastern Europe for a Summer. The pictures are before that time when I was driving West across the Untied States. The middle picture shows that, an open road. I probably took that somewhere in Oklahoma when there were hills in the distance and places that I had never been and would only pass through this once. I stopped and went to a small diner and had corned beef on rye, and I wrote about it.

The old “farm” house back home was torn down and rebuilt closer to the River. That’s on the right. Times there are not forgotten. Christmases. Trees with tinsel. Fruit baskets. Summers spent crabbing and rowing on the River. And we would wade out through the now gone fields of ell-grass, and swim.

The picture on the left is Hawaii when my ship passed through. I had time to see Hanauma Bay before it was crowded with other people who wanted to see that bit of paradise. I wonder if the Parrotfish I followed knew this or if its descendants know it now. I swam out on a calm afternoon over the reef and looked down the far side where dwell the Octopus and the needle toothed Shark. And I swam back with the image of the darkness where the light did not penetrate.

So go out. Travel, and rejoice in your adventures with the people that you will meet.

Young Man/Old Man

The tree has stood here for generations. Its wrinkled features speak of Springs and hot Summers and Winter storms and Fall Hurricanes rolling out of the Sea.

Yet here it stands. Right where the mountain man had stopped over 300 years before, and leaning on his staff he paused to look out to the Sea beyond the valley – and he has stayed here – still thinking. His hand clutches the shaft of his staff. You can see his fingertips curling around from the back of the shaft as he rests his temple against his hand. His hair is blown upwards and back as he stares stonily out towards the distant Sea.

The years have washed soil and stones and leaves out of the hills above so that the man’s shoulders and torso and hips and legs are now buried deep below. Yet still he stands and looks outward and wonders. When he decides, will he rise up and tear his roots from deep within the earth and walk these hills again?

These are tales of the deep woods.

The young man pushed out by his tribe,

Walked toward the sound of the Sea.

He crossed mountain peak and fast glacial stream.

He forded broad rivers.

He climbed stones as if they were steps to the top of the ridge.

And from his new vantage point he could see the great Sea before him.

He leaned his head on his staff and he wept, because he had found Ocean, his mother.

What would he say to her when she saw him and rose up? Would she be in a fury? Would she rejoice that he had found his way back to her?

He leaned on his staff, for a year, and another, and another ten and then a hundred and then more.

He stands there still wondering how he will be greeted when he reaches the rolling wave and the murmur of shale rolling in the retreating wave.

What will he say that he has accomplished? Who will he say that he has helped? Has he made his path a better place? Has the world benefited from his life?

He leaps up and leaves his body behind, still, standing, staring.

His spirit goes out and back along his path to correct what he has damaged.

When he sees a tired person sitting next to the road, the wind blows down and refreshes the weary. The rain falls upon the parched . The sun shines on the lonely.

The young man in the wind and rain and sunshine is rebuilding his story.

And he will smile.

One day he will return to this tree and shake loose the binding roots and finish his walk to the Sea and be greeted with joy.

This is one of the trees that I remember. There are many others. These are the trees I see while I am in the woods. They speak to me as the warm spring rains patter down on their budding branches. When the Summer storm whips the limbs and branches, they howl with strength. When the Winter winds bring snow and ice that crackles on the branches when the sun returns and when I cross the snowy field to visit them, they moan and creak like an old gate on rusted hinges.. The trees are always with me, they are everywhere. They are of many ages, and they always welcome me to the deep forest and woods by the lane.

Some have forgotten how to leaf and bud and leaf, but still stand as a home for birds and squirrels and the members of the fourth kingdom, the fungus that returns the tree to the soil. Some have fallen in the wind. Some have fallen to the ax. But they all live on in my memory and in the memory of all who visited them and touched their bark, or played in their shade, or picked up their Fall leaf form the ground. Or watched a bird fly among its branches.

They are our friends. Each has its story. You must listen to hear it being told.

Birds Range of the Home

In 2017 I was conducting bird surveys as a volunteer at the Manassas Battlefield National Park. I was helping to catalogue the presence of two species, The Northern Bob White Quail and the Henslow’s Sparrow. The Park Wildlife Management personnel and I were interested in seeking out the birds in selected areas of the Park

I would go out to the Bob White areas in the early morning hours so I could be there in time for sunrise. I usually went out earlier than necessary, and I walked well-known paths to be at the listening point while it was still dark. I would pack-out a folding chair and a thermos of coffee. When I got the listening point, I would sit and watch the stars in their motion across the night sky and see them fade as night turned into Dawn. At Dawn I opened my coffee thermos, and poured a cup, and toasted the new day.

The survey was conducted in the Spring and we would listen for the daybreak calls of the coveys of quail we hope to hear. There were twenty of these sites scattered around the Park. The Park personnel and I divided the sites up so we could cover all of them during scope of the annual survey.

The sky might be clear when I went out in the early morning before dawn, but on the ground it was dark. If I had not had several decades of experience in walking the Park, I might have gotten turned around. I wrote about my experience in an article titled Frosty Morning and published on this site on 15 November 2018.

The Park personnel and I would often talk about the birds of the Park and how we thought that they would be affected by climate change, especially as the average temperatures warmed in the more northern parts of the species’ range.

In order to develop a better understanding of the potential impact of climate change on bird species, I searched for related articles. A good one I found regarding bird species and changes in their range due to climate changes, was based on surveys of numerous species in Finland between 1974 and 2010.

The results are basically that yes, the ranges do change due to changes in climate. The ranges of the various bird species change with an expansion at the northern/top/cold edge. But the southern edge is not moving northward/poleward. Part of this is that a species would have to lose their niche, basically become extinct, in the southern regions in order to say that they are no longer using the southern/warm edge.

I had initially thought of a bird’s range as a box that would move north as the climate warmed. However, that does not appear to be the case. As it turns out the box stretches and gets bigger as the range extends to the North. The range expands northward with the increasing temperature and the birds take advantage of more range.

Climate change may affect a bird species physiologically in that its old range may become too hot or too wet for the bird species to thrive. They have to change or move. But these conditions, even if they do not directly affect the birds, may cause a portion of the bird’s range to become unusable at the level of the current population if a food source dies out due to the change in the overall climate, or if the food source moves out to a more acceptable range, or if the food source becomes unavailable at a time that it is need for the bird’s reproduction and life cycle. An example of this latter was published in Science New in 2006.

The first article I read about the impact of climate change on bird species was a 2006 article in Science News concerning the timing of the arrival of the European Pied Flycatcher in their nesting area. The article pointed out that the birds migrate based on the length of daylight in their wintering area in Africa. But the appearance of the caterpillars, the major food source at their nesting area for feeding their chicks, was based on temperature. With the northern temperatures warming earlier, by the time the birds arrived, the caterpillars had reached the next stage in their life cycle and are no longer available for the birds and their nesting brood. The numbers of the Flycatchers in some of their historic breeding areas had fallen by 90%. The study found “a correlation between declining Flycatcher numbers and the timing of the peak food for their chicks.”

I recently ran across a journal article concerning birds of China and the effect of climate change on their range. The article pointed out that the extension of a bird’s range may meet an obstacle that it cannot pass through. This might be a range of high mountains or an open ocean. The birds at that point have reached the limit of their range. The birds may well have to make a change in their diet or risk being unable to maintain the new range that they have colonized. For the birds to succeed in the new region they must find fruiting plants or insect or other food stuff available in an abundance on which the species colonizing the area can survive. This is especially hard if the new range is populated by a species that already relies on a limited supply of that food. The picture at the top of this article is a version of some of the charts from the article showing potential movement of species.

What about the Quail and Henslow’s Sparrow at Manassas? Will they have to move? So much of a bird’s ability to use a region is predicated on their ability to find suitable habitat. Destruction of habitat will force out a population. However, as the climate grows hotter and more humid over the next several decades these bird’s ranges may expand, but it is different for each species. The southern edge of the Quail’s range is well below us, extending into Mexico. I do not believe we will see a change in the population of Quail due to climate change. However, for Henslow’s Sparrow, here in the Mid-Atlantic region, we are between the breeding (northern) and the non-breeding (southern) range. We may lose our small, but for me dynamic, local population. There may be issues for the Henslow’s Sparrows in the southern reaches of their breeding range where we are located. as it becomes hotter and wetter. Only time will tell.

Article regarding study in Finland, The breeding ranges of Central European and Arctic bird species move poleward. may be found at: http://europepmc.org/article/PMC/3447813

Science News article (only available to subscribers to Science News) on European Pied Flycatcher may be found at: https://www.sciencenews.org/article/no-early-birds-migrators-cant-catch-advancing-caterpillars.

Article regarding range shift of Chinese birds under the potential of climate change: (PDF) Shifts in bird ranges and conservation priorities in China under climate change (researchgate.net)

Newport – Learning to Walk

I apologize for being absent for these several weeks. I was in the middle of a big project for Christmas. And yesterday as I finished the writing portion – you can tell that I am late as Christmas has come and gone.– I asked myself, What should I write in my blog?

As I thought on that I realized that recently I have spent a lot of time burrowing through family pictures. It brought back so many places and people and experiences, and in many of them grand hikes and walks. So – light bulb – my question had an obvious answer, Write about what I know. I have often been told that these are words to live by if you are going to do any kind of creative writing.

I decided to go back to the root. I am looking back to some of the earliest walks and hikes that I remember. I remember, as a toddler, scenes from wanderings out of my yard and stumbles along the sidewalk, but I want to think back to when my Father said, Let’s go outside and go for a walk. My brother and I would rush to our rooms and get dressed in weather appropriate items. In Newport, Rhode Island it could be yellow slicker and goulashes for rain, heavy winter coats with fuzzy collars and gloves and scarves and fuzzy hats if it was Winter. But if it was Summer, we would go out in short sleeves and tennis shoes.

Just saying that makes me think of the sun- drenched rocks along that shore of Rhode Island. And in Newport the coast and trails along it are accessible to everyone. But it is not always a public park. It is more often a path on private property. Perhaps originally a wandering sheep trail along the edges of the outer fences. But as the Cliff Walk website states, “the walk is a public right-of-way over private property owned by the waterfront property owners”.

So as on any trail whether it be publicly owned or privately owned, always be courteous and as the saying goes, Leave only foot prints and take only pictures. In the instance of Newport’s Cliff Walk stay on the path. It is not polite, nor is it legal, to wander across another person’s private property.

Today much of the Cliff Walk is paved – but it is dangerous. Do not venture off the path; you may fall to your death.

But “back in the day” in the 1950s, when I was young, the walk was at best semi-paved. And it was along this muddy, and smooth-rock, slippery trail that I learned to “walk-out”. I of course was an accomplished walker, already being 5-years old. But on those trails along the rugged coast of Rhode Island, I learned how to watch where I was stepping. I learned how to set my foot for traction, how to avoid the stone that was covered in sand and pebbles as it sand grains can be as slippery as wet moss. I was taught by being guided, by example, the little skills of walking a wilderness, a semi-wilderness, or a rough trail through a city park. Your feet are your guides. You can tell from your first placement whether you position is firm or if it is a risky-one.

These skills were learned from walking-out with my Mother and Father and Brother. And from them I learned of the joy of a walking stick, which my own children and I often refer to as a “pokey” stick. It gives you balance and support in the hard places. And you can turn over small rocks to look underneath using it as a lever.

The joys of the path will be with you forever. And a sturdy stick and whatever else gives you support and makes you steady is worth holding on to.

So much to learn but so easy to remember. Watch where you put your feet. Make sure you are steady on the trail. And be courteous to the people and the plants and animals who you may meet on your way since it may be their home.

Information on Newport’s Cliff Walk may be found at, www.cliffwalk.com.

ART as a Verb

We had gone to spend a few days in Newport, Rhode Island to see friends and to participate in the crowning event to the Summer, The Newport Art Museum Wet Paint show. It’s a wonderful time to visit a wonderful place. And the added fun is that anyone can enter the art show for a modest entry fee. The entry fee includes being supplied a box lunch.

We heard of the show by chance several years before and had determined that we wanted to come back and enjoy what sounded like a great deal of fun. I must say that I am not much of an artist, but I do enjoy sketching. And I have some colored pencils, so I was ready. My wife is much more the artist than I am, and she came prepared with her paints and brushes.

The week before Wet Paint had been very pleasant summer weather. The day of the show started with rain and clouds. Soon the rain stopped, but the clouds remained. That was fine as I believe that the subdued light enhances the colors of the Earth.

The grounds, gardens, and lawns of several of the grand ocean-front houses were open for the professional, the talented, and the budding artists. The homes encouraged artists to be inspired by their grounds and gardens and to draw the flowers and landscapes found there. No detail was too small to capture the imagination. We could also go out to the wonderful seaside walking areas and “art” there. As a note, I do not believe there is a verb form of the word “art.” It is generally a noun. However, the word can be changed to be an adjective, e.g., artsy.

We had numerous choices of where we could go to sketch and paint. We decided on a home called Rough Point. It had been the home of Doris Duke, the heiress of the Duke tobacco and energy fortune. She used a great deal of her time and energy and wealth to support active philanthropy including art, preservation, horticulture, and support of the troops in World War II. She founded the Newport Restoration Foundation (NRF) in 1968. The NRF remains active in restoring and preserving historic buildings in Newport. . We were guest of the NRF while we were on Rough Point as it maintains and operates the house and grounds, as well as other homes in Newport.

We arrived ready to do “art”. We had brought our chairs and each of us had a board to use as a lap easel. Before we started to draw – or do “art” – we walked around the large lawn and visited the flower garden in the North front of the vast yard. We also walked back to where the NRF keeps a vegetable garden. The gate to this garden is pictured above. It is nicely maintained with an array of vegetables and flowers. We were offered some of the fruits from the small wood crate resting at the gate. I tried some of the small golden tomatoes, and found them delicious, tasting of sunshine.

We settled in behind the formal flower garden and began our work. My wife’s work with the flowers was very good. I tried to sketch some of the flowers but without success. I got up and walked around some more. During this excursion I looked up at the house and saw its façade, wetted by the earlier rain, had begun to dry off in the wind that blew in from Easton Bay. Enjoying the breeze and the coloration of the stone façade of the house as the dampness was drawn out, I returned to my board and sketched a small detail of the roof line.

At the auction that evening I purchased my own sketch. I liked it, and there was no other bid for it. Now I have it to remind me of a quiet, rainy day off the Atlantic Ocean, and that “art” can be a verb.

The website of the Newport Restoration Foundation may be found at https://www.newportrestoration.org/roughpoint/ .

Information about the 2019 Wet Paint event may be found at, https://newportartmuseum.org/events/wet-paint-2019/ .