Hurricane Paloma

The development of a hurricane requires warm ocean water, a hot, humid environment and light, upper-level winds. During the peak of the Atlantic Hurricane Season, which extends from June through mid November, most storms develop from tropical waves that move westward off the coast of Africa. However, early and late in the season, these storms usually form over the warm waters of the Caribbean Sea or Gulf of Mexico; Hurricane Paloma offers a classic example.

After developing in the western Caribbean, Paloma began to drift to the northeast under the influence of an approaching cold front. Moving across open waters and beneath a calm upper atmosphere, the storm strengthened to a Category 4 Hurricane as it ravaged the Cayman Islands and headed for Cuba. Fortunately, just off the southern coast of Cuba, the storm encountered the strong upper level winds of the advancing front; combined with the effects of the island's mountainous terrain, these shearing winds disrupted the storm's crucial symmetry and it rapidly weakened to a minor, Category 1 Hurricane.

Paloma is expected to emerge from the north coast of Cuba as a tropical storm and to move off rapidly to the northeast. Of course, any slowing of its forward motion could allow the storm to redevelop but, as of now, the strong upper-level winds will likely prevent any strengthening and Paloma will die in the open Atlantic.

Winter Songsters

Once the summer residents head south and cold, gray weather invades the Heartland, the sound of birdsong nearly disappears until late February. Peeps and twitters rise from the thickets, the raucous calls of jays, crows and woodpeckers ring through the woodlands, the yank of nuthatches echo through our yards, the hoot of owls greet the dusk and the clamour of geese stirs the soul. But only a few birds bring a cheerful tune to our bleak winter days.

Chickadees, undaunted by the cold and snow, sing their way through the season, keeping hope alive for the rest of us. White-throated sparrows, having summered in Canada, are perfectly comfortable in our winter weather; though their distinctive tune is shorter and less intense than it will be next spring, they refuse to spend the season in silence. Finally, the Carolina wren, while looking out of place in the snowy landscape, is feisty enough to sing any time he wants: winter be damned!

Pinwheel on the Plains

A potent winter storm has been lumbering across the Northern Plains over the past two days. Like a giant pinwheel, the central low pressure is surrounded by strong, counter-clockwise winds; pulling in warm, moist air ahead of the front, these winds force the air to rise and cool as it moves west, dropping heavy snow across the Dakotas. On the west side of the storm, which is now centered along the Minnesota-Wisconsin border, strong, north winds are dragging frigid air down from Canada and, combined with the heavy snow, are producing blizzard conditions across the northern High Plains.

Here in Missouri, on the south edge of the storm, the winds are from the west, ushering in cool, cloudy weather and occasional showers. As the storm moves into the Great Lakes, our clouds will disperse but a steady, northwest wind will augment the chill for the next few days. It is, after all, November and winter is gaining control.

The Nature of Racism

Man evolved in East Africa about 125,000 years ago and, for the first 70,000 years of our existence, virtually all humans were dark-skinned; this trait offered protection from the intense, tropical sun, which characterized their habitat across Africa, southern Asia and Australia. About 50,000 years ago, man began to spread northward, entering temperate regions where solar radiation was reduced by the seasonal change of the sun angle. As has occured in other species, variability in skin pigmentation began to develop among human populations, reflecting an adaptation to the environment via the process of natural selection. Today, a spectrum of skin coloration characterizes our species and further variation will occur due to gene mixing through inter-racial marriages.

Unfortunately, this single human trait, though totally unrelated to other human features and capabilities, has become a rationale for discrimination and persecution. Rooted in ignorance, such beliefs are ingrained in children at a young age and fostered by one's political, cultural and religious environment. Uneducated humans, exposed to the influence of religious fundamentalists and other hate groups, develop racist views; this process is especially common in social groups where science is discredited. By accepting creationism and rejecting evolution, such groups find it easy to buy into the concept of racial distinctions; God surely designed a superior race in his own image!

Hopefully, the election of President Obama will put another nail in the coffin of racism. But until we evolve beyond the ignorance of our ancestors, this ugly mindset will remain a part of human society.

Nature and the Election

As an Independent, I am a social liberal and a fiscal conservative. But, as an environmentalist, I usually support the Democrats and, in this election, there's too much at stake not to do so once again.

Of course, both political parties claim to be concerned about the environment but, in my experience, their reasons and solutions differ dramatically. Conservative Republicans view conservation in the context of outdoor recreation. Favoring industry, development and personal freedom over the protection of natural ecosystems, they often minimize the impact of human culture on the environment. They favor access over wilderness, new roads over mass transit and exploitation over conservation. To them, concerns about global warming, endangered species and habitat destruction reflect the bias of a liberal media. Governed by capitalist principles and a religious mindset, they view the natural world as God's gift to man, his chosen species and the pinnacle of his creation.

After eight years of enduring the Bush Administration, nature and the civilized world are in desperate need of a change. Let's hope the majority agree.

Mid Plate Earthquakes

Most earthquakes originate along the edge of the tectonic plates where compression, friction or subduction occur. Other common sites are along rift valleys or mountain ranges where buried fault lines are especially numerous.

But, on occasion, earthquakes strike in areas where there is little surface evidence of past or recent tectonic activity. Tremors may strike vast plains, rolling farmlands or flat lake country. In such cases, the quake originates deep below the surface, in the basement rock of the tectonic plate, and usually reflects the presence of an old suture line or aborted rift zone. Since covered by thick layers of sedimentary rock and surface deposits, these deep faults, often quiescent for thousands or millions of years, suddenly shift due to pressure change within the plate.

Almost all of western North America was pieced together by small plates and exotic terrains that were welded to the primary North American Plate. These numerous suture lines remain a common source of earthquakes and, as the Great Basin continues to stretch, the rifting of these old margins will intensify the tectonic activity. Other, more stable regions of the Continents once formed and reformed in a similar fashion and their long-dormant sutures are prone to an occasional rupture.

While the risk for earthquakes varies widely across the globe, no region is immune. We all live in earthquake zones!

Smithville Lake

Smithville Lake is a large reservoir north of Kansas City, Missouri. Stretching north to south above the east wall of the Missouri River Valley, the Lake and its surrounding wetlands are a magnet for migratory waterfowl and early November is an excellent time to visit. Access to the area is via U.S. 169 (north of I-435), on the west side of the Lake, or from Missouri 92 which passes south of the reservoir; the Visitor Center is adjacent to the Dam on Route DD, which loops between the above highways.

Migrant ducks are peaking by November; rafts of diving ducks (redheads, ring-necks, scaup, common goldeneyes, buffleheads, ruddys, canvasbacks and mergansers) gather on deeper waters near the dam while surface feeders (mallards, wigeon, gadwall, shovelers and coot) favor the backwater shallows; the former are often joined by a variety of loons, grebes, gulls and terns though pied-billed grebes prefer the shallower waters. Bald eagles are common here throughout the colder months, peregrine falcons follow the migrant waterfowl and ospreys fish on the lake during their spring and fall migrations. Large flocks of double-crested cormorants are also attracted to the reservoir and often roost in drowned trees north of the Route W bridge.

American white pelicans rest and feed along the shorelines and, as autumn progresses, large flocks of Canada and snow geese visit the reservoir. In addition, birders will find an excellent variety of raptors, game birds and upland songbirds in the woodlands, wetlands and fields that surround the lake.

November in Missouri

Despite its reputation for cold, gray, blustery days, November offers its fair share of pleasant weather in Missouri. In most years, the warm afternoons and cool nights of October spill into the first half of the month and persistent cold is unlikely to develop until December.

Beyond the fair conditions, November offers some significant attractions for naturalists. Though the autumn colors are fading, the crisp air and dry trails make conditions ideal for hiking. Yet, perhaps in anticipation of the coming winter, the crowds begin to diminish and the opportunity for solitude increases through the month. At the same time, wildlife, stirred by the autumn chill, become more active (and watchable) and the migration of waterfowl is peaking across the State.

For all of these reasons, November is a great month for outdoor exploration in Missouri. Then again, the other eleven are as well!

The Halloween Hunters

As if on cue, the distinctive call of a barred owl pierced the predawn darkness this Halloween morning. Owls, after all, are the quintessential Halloween birds: spooky, nocturnal predators. More often heard than seen, the night-hunting owls are recognized by their deep hoots, hissing rants, tremulous calls and chilling screams. When we hear them, images from black and white horror movies flash through our minds.

Of course, owls are of no threat to humans and play an important role in the control of mice, cottontails and other small mammals. But our species, ill-equipped to function in the dark, has long feared the mysterious creatures that rule the night. We sometimes find the remnants of their kill, body parts or a bloodied scene, the next morning and can only imagine the terror of the hapless victim.

So, after the witches and pirates leave your porch this evening, go out to listen for our Halloween hunters. Their dark, cold season is just beginning.

Pleistocene Land Bridges

During the Pleistocene "Ice Age," which began 2 million years ago, four major glaciations occurred, separated by warm interglacial periods; whether the Pleistocene ended 10,000 years ago or if the current Holocene Period is just another interglacial phase remains a subject of debate among climatologists.

The most recent Pleistocene glaciation, the Wisconsin, began 70,000 years ago; at its peak expansion, about 23,000 years ago, one third of Earth's land mass was covered with ice. Since there is a finite amount of water on our planet, this extensive ice formation was accompanied by a dramatic fall in sea level; at the peak of the Wisconsin glaciation, sea level was 400 feet lower than it is today and the coastline of North America was 100 miles east of New York City. Elsewhere on the planet, land bridges opened between continents and islands, allowing humans and other animals to migrate across the globe.

DNA evidence suggests that the low sea level of the Pleistocene permitted man to walk from East Africa to Yemen, perhaps as early as 70,000 years ago, triggering the colonization of southern Asia. The major islands of the Indonesian Archipelago became a broad peninsula, allowing man to approach Australia by 65,000 years ago; he managed to cross the remaining ocean barrier (perhaps by accident) within 5000 years and then reached Tasmania via another land bridge. About 50,000 years ago, humans colonized Japan after migrating across a land bridge that extended eastward from the Asian coast. Finally, the most famous Pleistocene land bridge, Beringia, connected Siberia and Alaska, allowing humans, bison and mammoths to reach North America and, in the reverse direction, horses to enter Asia.

Children and Conservation

Children are the hope of mankind. They are the most compelling reason to end war, combat discrimination, eliminate suffering and foster freedom across the globe. They also represent our only opportunity to pass the conservation ethic to future generations.

Born into a world of advancing technology, today's children are enticed by an array of gadgets that offer instant messaging, social networking, online information and global communication. They are entertained by reality shows, computer games and the world wide web. Solitude is a lost art and an interest in nature is a potential victim of their lifestyle.

It is thus especially important that we introduce young children to the joy and wonders of nature. Impressions made in early childhood last a lifetime and a child's interest in plants and animals will instill a curiosity that carries through adulthood. So take your kids and grand kids to the nature preserves. Let them see mountains, deserts and seascapes. Buy them binoculars and telescopes. Introduce them to mushrooms, frogs and bighorn sheep. Talk about pollution, glaciers and dinosaurs. Our natural heritage will soon be in their hands; it must first live in their souls.

Midwest Wind Tunnel

Northwest winds raked the Midwest yesterday afternoon and continued into the night. Produced by a strong pressure gradient between high pressure over Colorado and low pressure over Ontario, the winds swept cold, dry, Canadian air into the Heartland. This morning, many Midwestern cities are below freezing for the first time this season; here in Columbia, we missed by two degrees.

As the system moves eastward, counterclockwise winds around the low pressure center will sweep across the Great Lakes, picking up moisture and dumping lake-effect snows on the higher terrain south and east of the Lakes. Meanwhile, the Great Plains and Midwest will be recovering from the damage wrought by this Canadian Express; winds gusted to 65 mph in some areas, toppling trees, tossing trailers and knocking out power. Just a preview of events to come!

Rifts, Geography and Time

Over its 4.6 billion-year history, the surface of our planet has been steadily changing; the size, shape and position of our oceans and continents are in a constant state of flux. A map of the Earth today bears little resemblance to the surface features 200 million years ago and will be just as useless in the distant future.

The motion of the tectonic plates that form the crust of our planet is governed by the opening and closing of oceans; in the former case, a land mass rifts apart while, in the latter, continents are forced to collide and fuse. During the Permian Period, 250 million years ago, Earth's land masses had coalesced into the mega-continent of Pangea. Fifty million years later, the Tethys Sea began to open, rifting Pangea from east to west and separating Laurasia (the northern continents) from Gondwana (the southern continents). About 150 million years ago, the Atlantic opened, rifting these super-continents from north to south and, over the next 100 million years, arms of the Atlantic, Indian and Pacific oceans cut apart Laurasia and Gondwana, producing the map that we see today.

But rifting continues. The Red Sea-East African Rift complex began to develop 40 million years ago and will eventually open a seaway through Africa. Rifting on the east and west sides of Greenland occurred 30 million years ago, producing northern arms of the Atlantic and breaking up a land bridge that had connected Europe and North America. The Gulf of Aden and Rio Grande Rifts began to open 10 million years ago, the Gulf of California opened 5 million years ago and the Lake Baikal Rift began to develop 2.5 million years ago; the latter will eventually connect with the Arctic Ocean, cutting Russia in half. In like manner, further rifting across the Great Basin of North America will merge with the Gulf of California Rift, flooding the Intermountain West with an arm of the Pacific.

The Big Chill

Yesterday's rain was the leading edge of a cold front that has pushed on to the southeast. High pressure behind the front has brought cold temperatures across the entire country; only South Florida and the extreme Southwest will be spared this first major cold wave of the season.

On my predawn walk to work this morning, a crescent moon hung in the eastern sky, Sirius sparkled to the south and Orion, our winter companion, loomed to the southwest; the temperature was 36 degrees F. Lows in the forties are as far south as Mississippi and, as this air mass is reinforced by a second cold front, lake-effect snows will develop along the Great Lakes.

Winter has won this round but the battle with summer continues and warmer air is expected by later in the week. But the tide has clearly turned and the slide toward winter will gain momentum. Just ask the juncos and white-throated sparrows that now feed in our thickets and woodlots; they've arrived from Canada to enjoy our Midwestern winter and will stick around until April.

Water Therapy

Water has a calming effect on most people. Waterscapes, from pounding surf to placid lakes to whitewater streams, are popular destinations for recreation and humans have long established settlements along shores and rivers. While the latter served a number of practical needs (water, food, transportation), man has undoubtedly received a great deal of comfort and inspiration from nearby waterways.

After all, life evolved in the sea some 3.6 billion years ago and did not emerge onto land until 400 million years ago. We, like other life forms, are composed primarily of water and humans spend the first nine months of their life floating in a uterine pool. We can't survive more than a few days without this precious substance and its presence or absence has governed man's colonization of the planet.

Even those of us who prefer dry climates relish an escape to the beach or mountains now and then. Water is entrenched in our souls and the sight, sound and feel of it calm our troubled minds.

Human Nature

We humans, like other animals, are products of our genes and everything that we do in our lives is devoted, in some way, to their preservation. While this commitment is easy to appreciate in simple organisms, our complex lives, governed by intellect and emotion, shroud this basic, underlying imperative.

Our brain power supplants the instinctual behavior of other creatures. We think, reason, love, worry, ponder and anticipate. We wonder. We are curious. We communicate, debate, create, explore, judge and plan for the future. But, beneath this veneer of activity, thought and emotion, is the primordial drive to protect and sustain our genetic heritage.

We learn to survive. We work, beg or steal. We use our skills to provide for ourselves and our offspring or to con others for those resources. We may be kind or cruel. We may be generous or self-centered. We may be tolerant or judgmental. We may put our faith in gods or in science. We may expect to live forever or accept the temporal nature of our lives. In the end, our motivation is the same.

Dusk on the Beach

One evening last week, my wife and I walked out to the beach to watch the sunset on the Gulf of Mexico. Though we missed the main event, a blaze of orange ignited the western horizon, reflecting in the calm waters of the Gulf. As the intense color waned, the sky faded from pale blue to a metal gray and Venus, the "Evening Star" appeared in the western sky; Jupiter, less bright but no less inspiring, glowed high to the southwest.

Catching the last reflections from the evening sky, the Gulf became a sheet of gray and low waves, backlit by the fading dusk, moved toward the shore like a series of black bars. Ghost crabs scurried across the beach while the last flocks of gulls and egrets passed overhead, on their way to nocturnal roosts. The soft break of waves, disrupted only by the occasional squawk of a night heron, enhanced the serenity.

But just as the final glimmer of sunlight retreated below the horizon, something thrashed in the shallows. A ray or sand shark had apparently struck its target; the night hunters had begun their shift. It was time for us humans, ill equipped to function in the dark, to retreat to the condo.

Ghost Crabs

Residents of sandy beaches, ghost crabs live in burrows that they dig along the seaward edge of the dune line. These burrows are up to four feet deep and provide a cool, wet retreat where the crabs escape predators and keep their gills moist and functional. Though they are most active from dusk to dawn, scouring the beach for food and bathing their gills in the surf, ghost crabs are often encountered during the day and are easily identified by their pale color and prominent, dark eyes; the latter, which sit atop stalks, give these crustaceans a comical, alien appearance.

Ghost crabs were abundant on Longboat Key this past week; both immature and adult crabs scurried across the beach throughout the day, diving into their burrows or out into the water as walkers approached. They feed on a wide variety of plant and animal life, including seaweed, carrion, sand fleas, mole crabs, stranded fish and sea turtle hatchlings; their taste for the latter has led to their persecution in some turtle recovery areas.

Named for their pale coloration, nocturnal activity and rapid disappearance into burrows, ghost crabs are a food source for night herons, great blue herons, raccoons and gulls. They are also threatened by beach erosion and, ironically, often succumb to artificial beach restoration efforts. For now, their welfare seems assured on Longboat Key!

A Feast at Low Tide

Yesterday morning, a low tide had doubled the width of the beach on Longboat Key. Broad sandflats spread toward the calm Gulf, cut by braided channels of seawater and dappled with temporary pools. The latter, adorned by the tracks of marine snails, harbored schools of fry, starfish and a host of crustaceans.

A hundred or more brown pelicans rested on the calm waters of the Gulf; each would eventually rise into the air and then plunge toward another school of fish. Nearby, sandwich and royal terns circled above the surface in large, noisy flocks, diving in sequence to snare a fingerling. Cormorants and ospreys also moved in to share the bounty and, beyond the outermost sandbar, a pod of dolphins rejoiced in the morning feast, diving for fish or twisting into the air.

On the beach, laughing gulls, great blue herons, snowy egrets, willets and white ibis stalked the shallow pools while short-billed dowitchers, sanderlings, ruddy turnstones, black-bellied plovers and red knots hunted across the sandflats. It was a scene of plenty on a mild, sunny morning in South Florida.

A Retreat to Summer

Just as the autumn colors are spreading and the first winter storm is pushing out of the Rockies, we'll be retreating to summer for the next week. Obliged to check on our Longboat condo, we will enter the world of perpetual balminess (at least relative to our dramatic seasons in Missouri).

We'll leave the world of deciduous forests, rock bluffs, cornfields and great rivers and enter the kingdom of mangroves, ocean surf, bays and sand. Walnuts and oaks will give way to pines and palms. Hawks will become ospreys and laughing gulls will stand in for the raucous jays. Brown pelicans will glide overhead, roseate spoonbills will glow from the shallows and the shorebirds that visited our wetlands over the past few months will be racing along the beach.

And, of course, the cool, autumn air will be supplanted by the heat and humidity of South Florida. It will be a week of summer in the midst of autumn; somehow I'll survive.

Western Snow

The first major snowstorm of the season pushed into the Northern Rockies and Intermountain West, yesterday, dumping up to a foot of snow. While this may seem premature to many Americans, the snowfall is actually a bit late this year; snowstorms commonly occur in this region by mid September (occasionally by late August).

Considered a nuisance in many parts of the country, snow is absolutely vital to the American West; with the exception of the Northwest Coast, this region is arid or semiarid, receiving less than 15 inches of precipitation in the course of a year. Rain, which is generally limited to isolated, seasonal thunderstorms, is not sufficient to support the natural habitats and human communities that occupy the region. Rather, it is the snowpack of the higher mesas and mountains that feeds the streams, diversifies the ecology and allows man to inhabit this dry, sunny landscape.

Accumulating faster than it melts, the snowpack will build through the winter and early spring, generally peaking in late February or early March. In shaded cirques or on high, north-facing slopes, snow may persist through the summer and, over many years, develop into mountain glaciers. Today, as our climate warms, these glaciers are retreating and the annual snowpack has become even more important. Snow is always welcome in the West!

The Dow and the Hawk

Yesterday afternoon, I returned to my office, logged onto CNN and found that the Dow had dropped another 800 points. Preferring to ignore the details, I logged off, turned on some music, propped my feet on the desk and enjoyed the view from my window. A red-tailed hawk soared above the campus, drifting slowly to the north; I soon felt a lot better.

While politicians, financial gurus and a worried public grapple with the worldwide crisis, the natural world goes on as usual. Leaves change, elk bugle, waterfowl congregate along flyways and whales head for tropical birthing grounds. Reacting solely to biologic processes, plants and animals do not worry about tomorrow. We humans, hobbled by fear and uncertainty, can find relief from our stress by retreating, however briefly, to the peaceful world of nature.

The red-tail, unlike many bird species, is not programmed to migrate south as winter approaches; he has no knowledge of the Gulf Coast and is perfectly content (and equipped) to endure the cold, gray weather of a Midwestern winter. A few months from now, I may see him again, huddled on a limb along I-70, oblivious to the wind and snow as he scouts for mice in the dead grass below. Perhaps the Dow will have recovered by then; either way, it won't bother him!

The Ferocious Loner

Ferocious yet reclusive, wolverines inhabit the vast northern forests of Russia, Europe and North America; the North American subspecies, which once occupied northern New England and the Great Lakes region, extends southward through the Cascades and Northern Rockies (some have been sighted as far south as California and Colorado). Since they are primarily nocturnal and favor remote areas, these hardy mammals are rarely observed.

Equipped with thick fur, broad paws and powerful jaws, wolverines are loners, canvassing their extensive territory for food; though they often consume berries, wolverines are primarily carnivorous, hunting small mammals and feeding on the remnants of larger animals killed by wolves, bears or mountain lions. Despite their relatively small size (adult males weigh up to 40 lbs.), wolverines will attack young deer, caribou or moose and have been known to kill adults stranded in heavy snow.

This largest member of the weasel family has also been called the devil bear or skunk bear; the former title reflects their ferocity while the latter is derived from their potent scent glands. Maintaining a territory of 200 square miles or more, the males mate with several females in the course of a summer; implantation is delayed and the females give birth to 2-3 kits by early spring. The young stay with their mother for two years and then move off to establish their own vast territories.

The Contrarian Bird

As the first hints of winter blow across North America, many birds begin their migration to southern climes. Those dependent on insects or nectar are the first to leave, staying ahead of the freeze line as it gradually dips across the Continent. More hardy species, capable of surviving on seeds, berries and hibernating insects, do not migrate or merely move from the North Woods to the Temperate Zone. Some, such as great gray owls, snowy owls and snow buntings are irruptive species, moving south only if forced to do so by heavy snows or dwindling food supplies.

Like the flatlanders, mountain birds escape the stress of winter by heading to milder climes; in many cases, this is limited to vertical migration, a descent to elevations with warmer temperatures and less snow. Along the Colorado Front Range, a variety of mountain birds visit the urban corridor during the winter months; these include mountain chickadees, red crossbills, Cassin's finches, Townsend's solitaires and gray-headed juncos, among others.

But there is one bird that defies this pattern, moving to higher elevations for the winter. The blue grouse, common throughout the western mountains, from northwest Canada to New Mexico, summers and breeds in the open, ponderosa pine woodlands of the lower mountains and foothills; there they feed on insects, seeds, berries, buds and pine needles. Come winter, they ascend to the Subalpine Zone, surviving on the foliage of conifers (pine, spruce and fir). There must be a good reason for this behavior......but it escapes me!

Heaven on Earth

Many religious zealots live to die. Their entire earthly existence is devoted to achieving eternal life and death is the portal to that reward. Focused on this goal, they overlook the many joys that our earth-bound life can bring. Curiosity about the natural world is often a victim of that zealotry.

One need not be a hedonist to appreciate the many wonders of this planet. Expensive journeys and high-tech equipment are unneces-sary. Relatively few people fully explore their own yards and neighborhoods, let alone the nearby marsh or woodlot. Just coming to grips with the night sky can keep us enthralled for decades and weather buffs have an endless source of entertainment.

Unfortunately, many find it hard to balance natural science and spirituality. It's often easier to take a simplistic view of life, devoid of uncertainties. If more of us accepted this Earth as our paradise, we'd be more committed to protecting and enjoying what we have. In the end, we'd all be better off.

Insect Deadline

The insects of the Midwest are approaching their deadline. With the first freeze only a week or two away, they are busily ensuring the survival of their genes. Most species do not overwinter as adults and must mate and deposit eggs before they, themselves, succumb to the cold.

Our current, balmy interlude is providing a perfect opportunity and the chorus of cicadas, crickets and katydids made last evening sound like August. Warm, sunny days have the bees combing the flower beds and the dragonflies making their last forays of the season. Harvestmen roam the woodpiles, butterflies still brighten the shrubbery and flying insects attract squadrons of chimney swifts, soon to depart for southern climes.

While honey bees overwinter in hives, pregnant bumblebees retreat to underground dens and some species survive beneath leaf litter or in man-made structures, most adult insects will die with the first hard freeze. Their species will live on in the eggs or cocoons attached to vegetation or as larvae in the ponds or soil. Come spring, those not eaten by birds, moles, mice and shrews will give rise to the next generation.

Unicorn of the Sea

Narwhals are toothed, Arctic cetaceans, best known for the prominent tusk of the adult male. The latter is actually an outward eruption of the upper, left incisor, which develops into an elongated, twisted tusk; up to 10 feet long, it is used for mating jousts but may also serve other purposes (chemical sensing, communication etc.). A small minority of males have a pair of these structures and some females grow a short, narrow tusk.

Their name (Norse for "corpse whale") reflects their blotchy skin pattern, tubular shape and habit of lounging "belly up" on the surface of the ocean. After mating in spring, these highly vocal whales congregate in shallow, coastal bays for the summer months; there, females give birth to calves conceived the previous spring (gestation averages 15 months). The calf nurses for 4-5 months and will stay with its mother for almost two years.

As summer gives way to autumn, the narwhals break into small pods, spending the colder months among the ice flows of the Arctic Sea. Protected by a thick layer of blubber, they will feed on cod, halibut, shrimp, squid and young seals; adult males grow to a length of 16 feet and weigh up to 1.8 tons (females are about 2/3 their size). Narwhal predators include polar bears, killer whales and some Native American tribes; despite a lifespan of 50 years, this species may be among the early victims of global warming.

October Marsh

The early October marsh is not your noisy, buggy wetland of late spring and summer. Gone are the colorful songbirds, flitting among the thickets. Absent is the croaking of frogs and the trilling of toads. Gone are the clouds of mosquitoes that draw squadrons of swifts and swallows to these prolific shallows.

This is a quieter place with subdued colors and patient hunters. Crickets and grasshoppers move among the dried vegetation, potential victims of leopard frogs and garter snakes that lounge in the shoreline grass. The frogs, now silent residents of the wetland, remain wary of predators (snakes, herons, mink) and spring into the shallows as you approach. Painted turtles, soon to winter in the bottom muck, crowd onto logs and bask in the warm sunshine of early autumn.

Out on the lakes and larger ponds, ducks and grebes are arriving from the north; their numbers will increase through the month as more intense cold fronts push across their breeding grounds. As the days continue to wane, winter songbirds grace the marshland thickets, content to feast on the seeds of summer's past glory.

Roxborough State Park

One of the most scenic destinations along Colorado's Front Range is Roxborough State Park, on the southwest edge of Metro Denver. Encompassing spectacular rock formations and varied habitat, it is a popular site for hiking, photography and wildlife watching. From C-470 in Littleton, exit on Santa Fe Drive, head south for 4 miles and turn west on Titan Road which eventually curves south, becoming Rampart Range Road; proceed another 2 miles to a firehouse near the hogback; the Park entrance road will be just east of this facility. Dogs are not permitted in this wildlife refuge.

Entering the Park, the visitor passes through the famous Dakota hogback, composed of Cretaceous sediments. West of the hogback is a broken chain of yellow-gray sandstone, the Lyons Formation, that dates from the Permian. Older yet are the salmon-red fins of the Fountain Formation, formed from the erosion of the Ancestral Rockies during the Pennsylvanian Period, some 300 million years ago. Finally, the western edge of the Park rises into the foothills of the Rockies, composed of Precambrian granite. Valleys between these ridges, now covered by Gambel oak thickets and yucca-studded grasslands, are underlain with softer sediments (primarily shale) that once separated the rock layers in a horizontal layer-cake. When the Rockies rose (70-60 million years ago), the cake was tilted upward (to the west) and subsequent erosion has produced the ridges of sandstone and valleys of shale.

By October, many of the summer birds have departed but visitors should still find scrub jays, magpies, canyon wrens, rufous-sided towhees, western meadowlarks and golden eagles. Mule deer are abundant at the Park; other mammals include rock squirrels, Colorado chipmunks, red fox, coyotes and the occasional mountain lion. Several trails loop through this scenic refuge and adventurous hikers can set their sights on Carpenter Peak (summit elevation 7175 feet), which commands a broad view of the Front Range foothills and Colorado Piedmont.

Pokeweed

One of the more conspicuous plants in the early autumn landscape is pokeweed. Growing in small stands or as scattered, individual plants, they are identified by their racemes of blue-black berries on plastic-pink stems and their large, drooping leaves that alternate from a thick, light-weight stalk. Sun-loving, pokeweed is most often found along fence lines or at the border of fields and woodlands.

The plant's tender, green, spring vegetation is edible if boiled twice to remove toxins. However, as the plant matures, the stalk and leaves take on a reddish tinge; by that time, the entire plant (including the berries and roots) is toxic to mammals (which, of course, includes us). Birds, immune to the toxin, love the berries and spread them by seeds passed in their droppings; cardinals are especially fond of this fruit.

Pokeweed, also known as inkberry, was once used by Native Americans to produce a dark-red, ceremonial dye. Today, it colors our landscape with its flowers, foliage and berries (and with the birds that stop to enjoy its bounty).

The Outdoors Month

October has arrived with its warm, sunny days and chilly nights. The oppressive heat and humidity of summer are now a distant memory and the glorious days of October coax us into the woods and fields. Mammals are more active, migrations are beginning to peak, autumn colors paint the foliage and the cool, dry air invigorates wildlife and humans alike. Almost any Midwestern naturalist would likely pick this month as their favorite; then again, it may be my personal bias showing through.

Nature centers, urban trails and State Parks probably see their largest crowds in October. It's a great month for hiking; dry trails offer good footing, insect populations are dwindling and the cool air boosts our endurance. Photographers love the month for its colorful foliage, clear air and deep blue skies. Those who adore summer may decry this step toward winter; for others, including myself, its a welcome reprieve from the heat and a portal to the best season of the year!

Two-Plate Countries

The great majority of the countries on this planet lie completely upon their respective Continent's plate. However, there are some that straddle two tectonic plates and are thus especially susceptible to earthquakes.

Iceland is the most obvious example; rising above the mid Atlantic Ridge, the western half of this island nation lies on the North American Plate while the eastern portion is part of the Eurasian Plate. While almost all of the continental U.S. and Mexico occupy the North American Plate, Southern California and the Baja are inching slowly to the northwest atop the Pacific Plate. Easternmost Russia and northern Japan lie on the North American Plate while the remainder of these countries sit on the Eurasian Plate. New Zealand also straddles two plates; its North Island and the northwest portion of its South Island lie on the Australian Plate but the rest of the South Island occupies the Pacific Plate.

But the most complex assembly of countries and tectonic plates is in the Middle East. Here, Lebanon and Syria straddle the African and Arabian Plates while Turkey and Iran, primarily on the Eurasian Plate, also overlap portions of the Arabian Plate. The latter Plate has been moving northward for the past 20 million years, crunching into the Eurasian Plate, pushing up mountain ranges and triggering massive earthquakes.

Winter's First Jab

Thunderstorms are rumbling across Missouri this morning, the leading edge of a cold front that will bring us the first significant chill of the season; the rest of the week is expected to be dry, with highs in the 60s (F) and lows in the 40s. Spring and fall are the battle-grounds of winter and summer and this appears to be winter's first jab.

The weather gyrations of spring and fall coincide with an undulating jet stream, which creates an alternating pattern of cool and warm weather across the Heartland. Troughs (dips in the jet) allow Canadian air to spill southward while ridges (northward curves in the jet) open the Midwest to a warm, humid flow from the Gulf of Mexico. As autumn progresses, the jet will gradually move southward and flatten out; broad troughs will dominate the region and the chill of winter will become entrenched. By then, winter will have won the battle and summer will not renew its challenge until March.

Tropical Canada

After forming in the Caribbean as a tropical depression, the storm that would become Hurricane Kyle brought heavy rains to Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic. Then, drawn northward by an upper low off the Carolina coast, it became a tropical storm, passing just west of Bermuda. An approaching cold front continued to accelerate the storm and, moving north across the warm Gulf Stream, Kyle became a hurricane.

While most hurricanes fizzle out as they enter cooler waters of the North Atlantic, Kyle has been moving at a fast clip and its circulation has managed to hold together; this afternoon, the hurricane is about to make landfall across southern Nova Scotia and the south coast of New Brunswick. Heavy rains will lash Maine, west of its track, but the damaging winds and storm surge will be restricted to Canada.

Though nor'easters, produced by potent cold fronts, bring destructive winds and waves to this region on a regular (seasonal) basis, tropical hurricanes rarely reach this latitude; the last to strike coastal Maine was in 1991. Three days short of October, it's certainly odd to use the words tropical and Canada in the same sentence!

Hybrid Life Forms

Last evening, my wife asked me to look at something in the flower bed; it appeared to her that an animal had vomited on the bark mulch. With that description, I knew she had discovered a slime mold.

Despite their ugly appearance, slime molds are fascinating organisms that demonstrate features typical of both plants and animals. Once classified as Myxomycota, within the Kingdom of Fungi, slime molds are now placed in their own Kingdom (Protista) by many mycologists; beyond the confusion regarding their classification, slime molds are a heterogeneous group, generally divided into cellular and plasmodial forms. Beginning life as a spore, this mystery organism initially becomes either an ameoboid cell or a flagellated swarm cell; the former group fuse into plasmodial species while the latter stick together to form cellular mats. The plasmodial forms may be a few centimeters to several feet in diameter; in either case, the individual cell walls break down and the parent slime mold looks like a giant amoeba with thousands of nuclei.

Slime molds germinate in cool, moist areas where decaying vegetation harbors a large supply of microorganisms (bacteria) on which it feeds. Spreading across its feeding ground, the slime mold grows until the ground begins to dry out or its food supply is exhausted; it then morphs into a fungal-like organism with variable spore bearing structures (surface puff balls in some species, feathery stalks in others). Once the spores are released, they lodge in the soil and "wait" for favorable conditions to redevelop.

Caught between animal and plant kingdoms, slime molds occupy a unique niche on this planet; unable to group them with other life forms, I'll have to give them their own blog label. That will be easy enough for me but I'm concerned for the creationists: on what day did God create slime molds?

Natural Health

As a physician, I know that many medical problems are not preventable; genetic disorders, many infections, accidents and a variety of cancers fall into this category. And I also realize that modern medications and procedures have significantly improved the quality and longevity of our lives; vaccines, antibiotics, insulin and sterile surgical techniques are just a few examples.

But many of the maladies that afflict humans are partly or totally preventable. Furthermore, the treatment of these "lifestyle diseases" levies a heavy toll on our society. Inactivity, poor dietary habits, tobacco use, excessive alcohol consumption, drug abuse and other risky behavior are at the root of many of our most common and most costly medical problems. Too often, humans indulge in these behaviors, believing that medications and/or surgical procedures will bail them out down the line. As a result, many of them end up with a history of multiple operations and a long list of daily medications (some of which are prescribed to manage side effects of other therapies).

A healthy, well balanced diet, regular, aerobic exercise, avoidance of toxic substances, attention to safety practices and efforts to minimize stress will allow most of us to enjoy a long life with the minimal use of medications. The pharmaceutical industry, as evidenced by their relentless commercials, would like for us to think that there is a pill for every problem; while that may be true, there are better, more natural ways to maintain our health.

Cuyahoga Valley National Park

As the last Pleistocene glacier, the Wisconsin, retreated into Canada, some 14,000 years ago, the Cuyahoga River and its tributaries began to erode a scenic valley in northeast Ohio. Protected as a National Recreation Area in 1974, this 33,000 acre wonderland, rich in human and geologic history, is now a National Park. Access to the preserve is via I-271 (Exit 12) or eastward from I-77 via S.R. 82 or Pleasant Valley Road (the Independence Exit).

Erosion along the walls of the Valley has uncovered 60 million years of geologic history; outcrops of Sharon Conglomerate, Pennsylvanian in age, dot the ridge tops while cliffs of Devonian shale rise along the river. Middle layers of the gorge are composed of Mississippian sediments, including Bedford Shale and Berea Sandstone. Groves of Canadian hemlock, relics of a periglacial ecosystem, cover shaded slopes of the valley, adding diversity to the rich, deciduous forest.

Numerous trails wind through the Park, taking visitors to secluded waterfalls, rock ledges, recessed caves and scenic side canyons; hikers can also follow the abandoned towpath of the Ohio and Erie Canal, with runs along the east side of the Cuyahoga River, just north of the S.R. 82 bridge. A fabulous destination throughout the year, the Park is especially scenic in late September and October, when autumn colors paint the landscape.

The Fall Migration

Though we have just officially entered the autumn season, the fall migration of North American birds began back in July as the first shorebirds drifted south through the Heartland. This movement of plovers and sandpipers, from Arctic breeding grounds to southern beaches, will continue into early November.

Meanwhile, other migrations have begun, led by common nighthawks in late August. These insect hunters are still passing through Missouri, joined by summer songbirds throughout September; by mid October, most of these fair-weather species will be gone and winter residents will be arriving from the north. The duck migration, which begins with the exodus of cinnamon and blue-winged teal in September, will continue into December, generally peaking in number and variety by early November; early ducks are accompanied by American white pelicans while cormorants, loons and grebes move with the later groups.

By early November, the migrant geese begin to arrive in America's Heartland, providing some of the most spectacular wildlife viewing of the year. Canada and snow geese dominate the scene, joined by smaller flocks of brants, white-fronted and Ross' geese; as lakes and wetlands begin to freeze over, many will move on to Gulf Coastal marshes. Having begun in July, the fall migration ends by mid December, covering a five month span!

Hawks in Flocks

Most hawks are solitary creatures. They are seen in pairs during the breeding season and may gather in small groups at favored hunting grounds but otherwise spend much of their lives alone. And, unlike most birds, the great majority of these predators do not migrate in flocks; three exceptions are native to North America.

The broad-winged hawk, a small buteo with prominent tail bands, is unusual in two respects. In contrast to most buteos, which live and hunt in open country, this crow-sized hawk inhabits deciduous forests where it hunts from a secluded perch for mice, snakes, lizards and small insects. By mid September, broad-wings, which range across the eastern half of the Continent, gather in large flocks and begin their migration to South America. Taking advantage of updrafts along the Appalachian ridges, they may be seen in flocks of a hundred or more; Hawk Mountain, in Pennsylvania, is renowned for these sitings.

Swainson's hawks, large buteos of the American West, also migrate in flocks (though generally in much smaller congregations than the broad-wings). Their southward journey begins by late September and may be observed through October; Argentina is their winter destination. Sharp-shinned hawks, long-tailed accipiters, may also be seen in loose flocks during the fall migration; unlike the above-mentioned buteos, most remain in North America where they strafe parks and neighborhoods, hunting for songbirds.

Ocean Floor Topography

Looking out at the vast, blue ocean, one might assume that its floor is as flat and featureless as its surface. But, in fact, the ocean floor has the same variety of topography that we see on land: mountains, hills, plains, basins and canyons. The ocean floor forms at the mid ocean ridges and moves off toward the oceanic trenches, where it is consumed back into the mantle; along the way, deposition, erosion, fault motion and volcanism mold its surface.

More than 30% of the ocean floor is covered by volcanic ridges; most of these are aligned along the spreading zones, where new ocean crust is forming and where the bordering tectonic plates are being pushed apart. In other areas, these ridges have developed over a volcanic hot spot and extend off in the direction of the plate motion; the Hawaiian Ridge is an excellent example of a regional volcanic ridge. The summit of most volcanic ridges are well below the surface of the ocean but some are tall enough to exceed sea level, forming clusters or chains of islands (Hawaii, Iceland, the Galapagos islands etc.).

In contrast, deep canyons (called trenches) form at subduction zones, where an oceanic plate is forced downward as it collides with another plate. Among the more famous oceanic trenches are the Philippine Trench (where the Philippine Plate is subducting beneath the Eurasian Plate), the Aleutian Trench (where the Pacific Plate is subducting beneath the North American Plate) and the Peruvian Trench (where the Nazca Plate is dipping below the South American Plate). The deep waters of these ocean canyons are among the least explored areas on Earth and likely harbor life forms that we cannot yet imagine.

Staying Together

Since this is my 33rd Wedding Anniversary, it seems like a good time to revisit the subject of monogamy. As I have expressed in past blogs, the study of natural history suggests that monogamy is not a natural human condition; rather, it has been encouraged (if not imposed) by religious and cultural laws. However, most of us would agree that, in our complex, modern society, a stable, committed, monogamous relationship offers the ideal environment for the healthy development of children. Nevertheless, the divorce rate continues to hover near 50% in developed, Western cultures.

Some marriages are sustained solely through the power of guilt, a response to religious and social pressure. Others work due to the interdependent psychological needs of the partners. But it seems to me that most successful marriages reflect the willingness of the partners to give each other space.

Humans are social creatures. However, most of us require periods of solitude and cherish the freedom to pursue interests that our spouse may not share. Healthy relationships, built on trust and respect, make room for those needs. While nature ignites sexual attraction and romantic love in order to ensure procreation, we humans are left to foster and sustain our relationships; a willingness to compromise is essential.

The Scratchers

Many birds attract our attention with their colorful plumage; certain buntings, grosbeaks, tanagers, orioles and waders come to mind. Others have distinctive calls; even novice birders can identify magpies, crows, blue jays, flickers and belted kingfishers without actually seeing them.

Then there are the scratchers. While most ground-feeding birds sift through leaf litter for seeds or insects, some species are especially vigorous in this regard; robins, thrashers, hermit thrushes and fox sparrows are excellent examples. But the king scratchers are the towhees and their energetic feeding style often calls our attention to their presence.

Of the four species in North America, the rufous-sided towhee is the most common and widespread; this species, which has eastern and western races, is a permanent resident in much of the U.S., though it departs more northern regions in winter. Here in Colorado, it is joined by the green-tailed towhee, which inhabits foothill shrublands and canyons during the warmer months. The other two species, Abert's and brown towhees, are restricted to desert and semiarid regions of the Southwest.

Breeding Champs

There seem to be more meadow voles on our Littleton farm this year. Perhaps this is due to a better food crop following the copious rain and snow this spring; more likely, it reflects the eviction of our fox family, primary predators of these prolific rodents. Then, again, we have plenty of hawks, kestrels and owls around to keep their numbers in check.

Meadow voles spend most of their brief life in burrows and runways beneath dense grass (or beneath snow in the winter); several of their entry portals are evident along our driveway, which borders one of the pastures. Females are able to breed by one month of age and, in their 12-18 month lifespan, produce a litter of 4-12 youngsters every 3-4 weeks; to some degree, birth rates rise and fall relative to the local food supply. Obviously, meadow voles are one of the most prolific mammals on the planet.

When not breeding, these voles are eating, consuming over 50% of their body weight each day. Active day and night, they feed primarily on grasses, herbs and weeds during the warmer months, converting to seeds, sapling bark, berries and dead vegetation in winter. Though almost exclusively herbivorous, they are known to eat insects and occasionally cannibalize the young of other voles; at least they're taking some responsibility for population control!

Cottonwood Cathedrals

On my frequent walks along the South Platte River, I often stop to enjoy the shady, peaceful environment of the cottonwood groves. Common along the rivers and creeks of eastern Colorado, between elevations of 3500 and 6000 feet, the plains cottonwood matures into a massive tree with a thick trunk and a wide, branching crown. Older groves are cathedral-like in their natural splendor and provide home to a wide variety of creatures.

Magpies and hawks construct bulky nests in their upper branches, often used by great horned owls in later years. Fox squirrels, raccoons, opossums, screech owls, wood ducks and bats use cavities in these majestic trees and their spreading crown attracts riparian songbirds; among the latter are western wood pewees, yellow warblers, chickadees, white-breasted nuthatches, downy woodpeckers and northern orioles. Northern flickers often dominate these groves and dead trees are favored nest or roosting sites for bald eagles, ospreys, double-crested cormorants, great blue herons, black-crowned night herons and belted kingfishers. An understory of wild plum, wax current, wild rose and sand willow diversifies the resident wildlife, attracting house wrens, brown thrashers, gray catbirds, blue jays, white-footed mice, long-tailed weasels, six-lined racerunners and a variety of snakes.

Of course, these cottonwood groves are especially "productive" for birders during the spring and fall, when migrant songbirds hunt along the streams as they move to and from the mountains. In like manner, new residents, including northern cardinals and white-throated sparrows, have moved into Colorado via these riparian woodlands. Long threatened by agriculture, timber production and flood control, these natural cathedrals are a source of inspiration and reflection; amidst their majestic beauty, we are reminded that our natural heritage remains under assault.

A Hornet Nest

Since my last visit to our Colorado farm, a gray, basketball-sized, turban-shaped globe has appeared in one of our apple trees; not to be mistaken for a pinata, this is, of course, a hornet nest. No doubt present during my visit in July, the nest has "grown" to a more conspicuous size over the past two months.

Pregnant female hornets emerge from their winter retreat in spring and lay eggs in a cluster of paper cells that they attach to a tree limb; unlike other wasps, they enclose these cells in a protective envelope (the "paper" is formed by salivary digestion of wood scraps). Once the eggs hatch, the attentive queen feeds them until the larvae pupate; emerging as sterile female workers, this initial brood returns the favor by expanding the hive and tending to the queen, who will continue to lay fertilized eggs throughout the spring and summer. Space for the new egg chambers is made by scraping away the inner layer of the envelope and adding a new layer to the outside; over the months, the enlarging envelope houses a growing colony of worker hornets, larvae, pupae and eggs. Access to the nesting cells is via an opening on the underside of the globe; watching from a safe distance, one can see worker hornets arriving and departing throughout the day as they gather nectar and paper substrate.

As the autumn chill arrives, the queen lays eggs that will hatch into fertile males and females; these non-workers will mate and the pregnant females will become next year's queens. Once the winter freeze sets in, the hive is abandoned, the future queens retreat to warm dens (either underground or in structures) and all others perish.

Back on the Farm

It's good to be back at our Littleton, Colorado, farm, if only for a week. September is always a good time to visit and, since I was last here in July, there has been a significant change. Recent rains have greened-up the "lawn" and the trees and shrubs look especially vibrant for late summer. It's been a good year for pears, apricots and crab apples but the other apple trees have a rather sparse crop. The mulberry trees have been picked clean by the robins, orioles and house finches but there's plenty of juniper berries to last the winter.

The rose of sharon and trumpet vines are still in bloom, attracting our resident hummingbirds and a few migrants from the mountains. Other visitors have included western wood pewees, Lincoln's sparrows, rufous-sided towhees, yellow warblers, western tanagers and a surprising number of blue-gray gnatcatchers. The collared doves and lesser goldfinches, first seen in July, are still hanging around, joining the usual mix of chickadees, northern flickers, mourning doves, house finches, blue jays and magpies.

A neighbor is boarding a quartet of calves on our large pasture and all of the activity seems to have evicted our resident fox. For now, the squirrels and songbirds need only fear the occasional "sharpie" that streaks through the neighborhood and the Swainson's hawks that often soar above the farm.

The Yellowing

After days of heavy rain, there was nothing but brilliant sunshine on my trip to Colorado today; only the distant smoke of power plants and shimmering clouds of starlings marred the deep, blue sky. A dome of high pressure had settled over the Plains, clearing the air and stifling any wind; the turbines at the Smoky Hills Wind Farm, west of Salina, were nearly stationary.

Despite the spectacular weather, wildlife was scarce on my drive along the interstate. Turkey vultures tilted above the shallows of the Missouri River floodplain, searching for victims of the deluge. Red-tailed and Swainson's hawks hunted along the highway, several herds of pronghorn grazed the High Plains near Limon and the occasional box turtle tempted fate on our concrete ribbon of death.

Most noticeable were the changing colors of the landscape. Summer greens had faded to olive, the Flint Hills tallgrass was tipped with gold and a variety of sunflowers, coneflowers and goldenrod adorned the grasslands of Missouri and Kansas. Not to be outdone, the croplands offered their seasonal gold, including fields of yellowing soybean, gold-headed sorghum and cultivated sunflowers. In eastern Colorado, yellow clumps of rabbitbrush and western goldenrod adorned the prairie and creekside cottonwoods were dappled with gold. As summer wanes, yellows paint the American West.

Ike's Reign

Born two weeks ago, off the coast of Africa, Hurricane Ike ravaged several islands of the Caribbean before spinning into the Gulf of Mexico and growing into a massive, category 2 storm. Leaving a broad swath of water and wind damage across coastal Texas and Louisiana, it moved inland and brought heavy rains to northeast Texas, eastern Oklahoma and Arkansas.

Over the past twenty four hours, an approaching cold front nudged Ike to the northeast and, as of this morning, its remnant depression was centered over southeast Missouri. Here in Columbia, we received torrents of rain before the winds shifted from the north, indicating that the "backside" of Ike's circulation had arrived. Making a beeline for Chicago, Ike will leave more flooding before its reign ends over the Great Lakes region.

Though the route of these storms may seem aimless, their motion is a reflection of upper air flow which, in turn, is governed by the jet stream pattern. Once Ike entered the Gulf of Mexico, it was deflected westward by high pressure over the Southeastern U.S., causing it to strike Texas . Once inland, the storm encountered an advancing trough; this dip in the jet stream pushed Ike off to the northeast, squeezed between the approaching cold front (to its northwest) and the retreating high pressure dome (to the southeast).

Storm Surge

As hurricanes come ashore, they cause destruction via heavy rain, high winds and storm surge; the latter is often least appreciated by coastal residents and visitors. The amount of rainfall is most closely related to the forward speed of the hurricane; the slower it moves, the more rain it drops on any given area. The wind damage correlates with the strength of the hurricane; the lower the central pressure, the higher the sustained wind speed and, thus, the greater the impact on structures.

The storm surge refers to the buildup of ocean water ahead of the storm. As the hurricane comes ashore, it acts like a giant plow, forcing a broad river of water toward the coast; this phenomenon is greatest to the right of the storm's center, reflecting the counter-clockwise motion of the surface winds. The threat from storm surge is related to the size of the hurricane and to the region's topography; flat coastal plains that lie along shallow bays are especially vulnerable.
If the coastal water is deep and the impact area broad, the plowed water can displace downward and outward, minimizing the surge; however, if the sea is shallow and the topography funnels the flow into a bay or river valley, the building surge has no escape and a devastating flood develops.

Hurricane Ike, currently a category 2 storm, is forecast to strike the northern coast of Texas tonight. Gulf waters are relatively shallow in that area and coastal bays to the right (north) of the landfall will experience the greatest inflow of water. A storm surge of 20 feet is expected; any land (and structures) below that elevation will be underwater.

Earthquake Central

Looking at a map of the North Pacific, one finds that the Aleutian Chain of Alaska is continuous with other islands off the east coast of Asia; the latter include the islands of Japan. This curving line of islands marks the southern edge of the North American Plate, which extends northward to include eastern Siberia; south of Tokyo, the Japanese islands lie on the eastern edge of the Eurasian Plate. Indeed, Japan lies at the intersection of four major tectonic plates: the North American, Eurasian, Philippine and Pacific Plates.

The North American and Eurasian Plates are colliding in the center of Honshu, Japan's largest island; though the exact position of this collision zone remains controversial, most geologists place it just southwest of Tokyo. The Philippine Plate is subducting beneath the Eurasian Plate along the southern margin of Japan while the Pacific Plate is subducting beneath the North American Plate along the eastern edge of this island nation. Finally, to the southeast, the Philippine and Pacific Plates are scraping against one another.

All of this tectonic activity makes Japan very susceptible to earthquakes; today's quake was off the east coast of Hokkaido (Japan's large, northern island), reflecting a release of pressure along the Pacific-North American margin. Volcanism along both of the subduction zones produced the islands of Japan and, in concert with this tectonic activity, poses an ongoing threat to the country's residents.

A Balmy Flow

The same high pressure dome that is deflecting Hurricane Ike toward Texas is pulling warm, moist air into the Midwest. Unlike the cool, dry air of this past week, this balmy air mass resists heating and cooling; our highs and lows of the next two days will be within 6 or 7 degrees F of each other while temperatures spanned a range of 20-25 degrees F when the air was dry and the skies were clear.

Our overnight low was 67, producing a frenzy of insect calls more typical of mid August. Just ten days short of the equinox, these crickets and katydids feel the instinctual pressure to breed before the autumn chill ends their reign. Many humans, disdainful of the cold, also welcome this balmy flow, a short-lived respite from the march toward winter.

Showers developed this morning and, as the next cold front approaches, the rain will intensify tonight. By the weekend, autumn will reclaim the Heartland.

September in Colorado

Though October gets the nod in the Midwest, September is my favorite month in Colorado. Mild days and cool nights typify the weather and snow dusts the high peaks, heralding a change in the seasons. Out on the Eastern Plains, large flocks of gulls, waders, shorebirds, cormorants, pelicans and early waterfowl gather at the larger reservoirs, preparing to migrate to southern climes.

Songbirds are moving south along the foothills while, in the higher mountains, some species are preparing their descent to lower elevations for the winter. In like manner, Colorado's elk begin their journey to mountain valleys and foothill meadows and, by the end of the month, the bugles of the adult bulls echo through the high country. The quaking aspen start to turn by the middle of the month, producing shimmering blankets of gold as September wanes.

Best of all, the summer crowds have dispersed and hikers can enjoy this mountain splendor in relative solitude. Glorious weather, spectacular scenery, abundant wildlife and an escape from social turmoil...what else could a naturalist want?

Harvest Loon

September is usually a good time to visit Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area, southwest of Columbia. The songbird migration has begun, shorebirds are peaking, blue-winged teal are beginning to arrive and large flocks of white pelicans and great egrets congregate there before heading south. Looking forward to this annual spectacle, I headed down to the refuge last evening.

Entering the preserve, I found a large number of turkey vultures roosting on the transmission towers and spotted a lone bald eagle flying above the Missouri. A pair of white-tailed deer bolted for the woods as I approached and cottontails scampered from the roadway at every bend. Other than those expected encounters, the refuge was remarkably quiet. Green-backed herons were well represented and the occasional great blue heron stalked the shallows; but only a couple of great egrets flapped across the wetlands and, other than a lone coot, the only waterfowl were a group of decoys placed by a hunter. Only the red-winged blackbirds, gathering in their huge, autumn flocks, were abundant.

Disappointed by the low turnout, I was making a final loop through the flooded fields when I caught sight of a large, black and white bird flying toward the river; it was a common loon! A variety of loons migrate through Missouri and some winter on the large lakes, especially across the southern half of the State. But seeing one in early September, especially on an evening when more common birds were scarce, was an unexpected treat. Nature always comes through in one way or another; you just have to get out there!

Hurricane Season

The Atlantic Hurricane Season begins on June 1 and ends by mid November; the second week in September generally represents the peak of hurricane development. Early in the season, tropical depressions (the precursors of tropical storms and hurricanes) usually develop from disturbances over the warm waters of the Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico. If not aborted by strong, upper-level winds or by interaction with areas of inversion (sinking, dry air), these isolated depressions feed on the heat and humidity of the tropical atmosphere, develop rotating clusters of thunderstorms and may give rise to a tropical storm; the latter becomes a hurricane if its peak, sustained winds reach 74 mph.

By mid summer, the easterly African jet stream begins to carry waves of low pressure into the tropical Atlantic. Drifting westward, these waves may progress to tropical depressions and thence to tropical storms and hurricanes. In many cases, cold fronts, moving east off the coast of North America, deflect these storms to the north and they die over the cooler waters of the North Atlantic. If not deflected by fronts or torn apart by upper level winds, the storms continue westward, threatening islands of the Caribbean or the Southeast Coast of the U.S.; in some cases, they move into the Gulf of Mexico.

Today, Hurricane Ike, a category 4 storm, is poised to strike eastern Cuba. It's strength will likely diminish over the mountainous landscape of that island (primarily due to the loss of its tropical water heat source) but the remnant circulation is expected to emerge over the Gulf of Mexico, regain strength and move toward the northern or western Gulf Coast. Then again, hurricanes are notoriously unpredictable; as they say, stay tuned!

Man, Intelligence and Knowledge

When man first appeared, 125,000 years ago, he had the same intellectual capacity that we have today. Though, like any human trait, intelligence varies between individuals, all healthy members of our species are equipped with the brain power to learn, to understand and to communicate; of course, some take more advantage of this potential than do others.

Our human ancestors used their intelligence to understand the nature of their environment, to gather food, to avoid danger and to protect themselves from the elements. Over time, experience and experimentation have greatly increased our knowledge but the innate intelligence of our species has not changed. Though we have the same intellectual capacity as those first humans who spread from Africa, the combined effects of curiosity, exploration, communication and hard work (mental and physical) have led to an exponential growth of our knowledge. Today's average high school student has a better understanding of many scientific issues than did the "great minds" of past centuries; human knowledge is a group effort to which the individual both subscribes and contributes.

Of course, the acquisition and communication of knowledge can pose a threat to some groups and, throughout history, they have attempted to block our progress; politicians, dictators and religious leaders come to mind. If we don't destroy our planet first, evolution will eventually free us from those human constraints.

Desert Formation

Deserts are generally defined as geographic regions that receive an annual average precipitation of 10 inches or less. Many factors combine to produce such a low level of precipitation but three conditions tend to predominate.

Most of the deserts on this planet are aligned along the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn where persistent high pressure zones cause the air to sink; sinking air compresses, dries out and heats up, creating an atmosphere of low humidity and sparse cloud cover. The dry air, abundant sunshine and radiant nocturnal cooling lead to wide swings in temperature throughout the 24-hour cycle; hot, sunny days and chilly, clear nights characterize these desert regions for most of the year. These conditions are hostile to most species of vegetation, minimizing plant transpiration and further reducing the natural processes that humidify the atmosphere.

Similar climatological factors often lead to desert formation on the lee side of mountain ranges. Prevailing winds carry moisture-laden air into the mountains where it is forced to rise and condense, dropping most of its rain and snow on the windward side of the divide; moving beyond the summit of the range, the air descends, heats up and dries out. The deserts of eastern Oregon, Nevada and southeastern California, lying east of the Sierra Nevada, are classic examples of mountain-induced desert formation.

Finally, a couple of the driest deserts on Earth, the Atacama of Chile and the Namib of West Africa, lie along western coastlines bordered by cold ocean currents. Prevailing winds reach these deserts from the east, having crossed the girth of the Continent and mountain ranges along the way; what little moisture remains is lost as the air descends toward the shore. Occasional disruptions in this flow may allow westerlies to sweep in from the ocean but their moisture precipitates as the air crosses the cold waters of the sea; only a shroud of sea fog reaches these coastal deserts, offering droplets of water to the parched landscape.

Gustav Visits Missouri

After ravaging much of Louisiana, Hurricane Gustav, now a Tropical Depression is centered over southwest Arkansas. Its counter-clockwise circulation is sweeping copious moisture into the Heartland, just in time to meet a potent cold front that is dropping through the Midwest. Combine these meteorologic events and you get continuous, flooding rains.

Here in central Missouri, light rain developed by dawn and waves of heavier precipitation have occurred throughout the day. A mild north wind (we are now behind the front) has kept the temperature in the lower sixties, quite a contrast from the summer heat of this past week. As the remnants of Gustav move northeastward along the front, our rain is expected to increase, totalling a couple of inches overnight and just as much tomorrow.

By the weekend, the cold front should be far enough east to keep us out of the rain; sunny skies and mild, dry air are forecast. Hurricane Hanna should be striking the Southeast Coast about then!

Sheltowee Trace Trail

As summer gives way to the glorious season of fall, hikers across the country search for new adventures. One of the better trails in the eastern U.S. is the Sheltowee Trace Trail, which winds across the Appalachian Plateau from Pickett State Park, in Tennessee, to Rowan County, Kentucky, north of Morehead. Running the entire length of Daniel Boone National Forest, the 257-mile route (Forest Trail 100) was named in honor of Kentucky's famous explorer; Sheltowee, which means Big Turtle, was the name given to Daniel Boone by local Native Americans.

On its course through Kentucky, the Sheltowee Trace crosses the Big South Fork National Recreation Area, winds past Cumberland Falls and skirts the north shore of Laurel River Lake. North of McKee, the trail curves along a scenic, rock-walled gorge and then drops to the Turkey Foot Recreation Area, on the War Branch of Station Camp Creek. Heading north, it eventually enters Natural Bridge State Resort Park, one of the most spectacular sites in Kentucky. Just beyond this scenic refuge, the trail crosses the wilds of Red River Gorge, a camping and backpacking destination for many Easterners. Finally, nearing I-64, the Sheltowee Trace connects a series of wildlife areas west and north of Cave Run Lake, on the Licking River.

Almost any section of the trail offers a scenic day hike. Those planning multi-day excursions should check with Daniel Boone National Forest rangers for back-country permits and camping information.

Celebrity Coast

Everyone who's anyone in the American media has gathered along the Louisiana coast to stand in the wind and rain as Hurricane Gustav comes ashore. Of course, the political fiasco that followed Katrina is part of their motivation but one would think that local news and weather personnel could provide the storm coverage. Perhaps these gods of American culture are convinced that we, the adoring American public, can only believe what they, the American media celebrities, have to report.

With all due respect to the suffering of Louisiana residents, it is time that we focus attention on the futility of living on floodplains and in areas protected by levees. Decades without a major storm or flood allow us to become complacent; we make assumptions based on what we have observed during our brief, human lives, an instant in natural history. Then, two major hurricanes strike within three years and the toll on society, measured in both human lives and financial costs, is staggering.

Hopefully, once they dry out, our media celebrities will descend on Washington to focus on policies that feed these tragedies.

Summer Doldrums

A visit to the Forum Nature Area this morning was a study in late summer doldrums. Following a coolish night, a heavy dew coated the vegetation and, despite brilliant sunshine, there was little wildlife activity. Goldenrod, blazing star, thistle and other late summer wildflowers adorned the prairie with purple and gold but the greenery has begun to fade and the placid shallows had a soupy, stagnant appearance.

Cicadas were warming up in the morning sun and the occasional horsefly buzzed our heads but the refuge was otherwise noticeably quiet. Indigo buntings, yellow-billed cuckoos and eastern kingbirds moved among the trees and shrubs but the distant chatter of a kingfisher was the only bird call to be heard. Even the frogs, peering from the shallows, were silent.

A couple more hot days are expected before a cold front brings another respite from the summer heat. Rain and cooler weather will surely reinvigorate the refuge and the surge of the autumn migration will soon diversify its residents. Ever-changing seasons are the best natural feature of the American Midwest.

Ahead of the Chill

Among the last of our summer residents to arrive, common nighthawks are also among the first to leave. Dependent solely on flying insects for nutrition, they take no chances will our fickle Midwest weather and begin drifting south by late August; unlike other nightjars that winter in the southern U.S. or Mexico, common nighthawks make the round trip journey to South America each year.

Easily identified by their long, bent wings, large white wing patches, halting flight and sharp "peent" call, they are frequently seen hunting for insects over our cities and towns; despite their name, they may be active at any time of day, especially after heavy rains send swarms of insects into the air. In late spring, they nest on the ground (in open woodlands) or on flat roofs in urban areas, generally raising a pair of youngsters.

It is during their late summer migration, which peaks from late August into mid September, that common nighthawks are most numerous; large, scattered flocks, circling toward the south, are often observed on calm evenings.

Gust Front

As a potent cold front pushed toward mid Missouri last evening, an arc of thunderstorms developed, moving southeastward at 30 mph or more. Ten minutes before the storms arrived, Columbia received a blast of wind that shook the trees, downing limbs and power lines. Local meteorologists reported wind gusts of 60-70 mph.

These destructive winds, which form a gust front, result from rain-cooled air which plummets through the thunderstorms and is deflected outward as it hits the ground. In isolated storms, this outflow boundary moves out in all directions, creating a circle of gusty winds around the thunderstorm. When storms are aligned on a front, as occurred last evening, the winds move out in advance of the storm wedge, their speed a sum of the downdraft and the movement of the storms themselves.

Outflow boundaries that move into the warm sector (ahead of the front) often ignite other thunderstorms as the cool air of the gust front undercuts and lifts this moist, unstable air. As a result, a line of scattered storms begins to develop ahead of the primary cold front.

Summer Revival

Though the college students are back in town and football starts this weekend, summer is not done with mid Missouri. High pressure, building in behind the remnants of Fay, has drifted to the Southeast and is sweeping warm, moist air into the Heartland. After almost a week of cool, autumn-like conditions, it feels like summer again and our low this morning climbed from the recent fifties to the upper sixties.

This summer revival won't last long as the next cold front is already dropping across the northern Plains. Thunderstorms are forecast to arrive by this afternoon and, behind them, cooler, drier air will settle in once again. This see-saw of summer and fall will likely continue into early October; by then, the jet stream will drift to the south and summer will be displaced to the Gulf Coast. Like early spring, late summer is caught between seasons and their clash can be stormy; but this is the gateway to autumn and, for many of us, that's enough to sing its praises.

The Political Taboo

As this political year continues to heat up, we will come to realize that Americans are willing to overlook many human frailties. A past history of divorce, marital infidelity, sexual indiscretions or substance abuse may not derail a candidate. Accusations of racism or sexism may be a news topic for a day or two but, in the end, will not have much effect. Open-minded Americans will consider the arguments of pacifists, war hawks, staunch capitalists, socialists, traditionalists and reformers. At least on the surface, race, gender and sexual orientation are not important factors.

But, in this free, educated, modern society, a candidate who is honest enough to profess his or her agnosticism will soon be out of the race. Americans are proud of their relationship with God. As many espouse, we are a Christian Nation.....God's Nation. His name is on our currency and in our law books. It adorns barns, front yards, bumpers and overpasses. It is invoked by ministers, athletes, criminals and politicians. To deny the Christian image of God is just plain Un-American!

America protects our freedom of religion but not our freedom from religion. We have not yet evolved to that point.

The Buckeye Trail

Initially proposed as a trail from Lake Erie to the Ohio River, the Buckeye Trail loops through Ohio, connecting the varied geophysical regions of the State. The 1445 mile route, which combines nature trails, abandoned rail beds and country roads, is maintained by the Buckeye Trail Association, founded in 1959.

In northeast Ohio, the Trail cuts through Cuyahoga Valley National Park and spurs out to Mentor Marsh and the Headlands Dunes on the shore of Lake Erie. Winding south across the Appalachian Plateau, the route, blazed with blue rectangles, enters the scenic Blackhand Sandstone region of the State; there it negotiates the gorges and waterfalls of Hocking Hills State Park and Tar Hollow State Forest.

Heading west, the Buckeye Trail drops from the Plateau at Fort Hill State Memorial and snakes across the Central Lowlands of the Midwest. Following branches of the Little Miami River and skirting large reservoirs, the Trail makes its way through southwest Ohio and heads north across the flat, till plains. There it picks up the abandoned towpath of the Miami-Erie Canal, which it follows to the Maumee River Parks, southwest of Toledo. Finally, the northern section of the Buckeye Trail leads across the Lake Plains of Ohio, from the remnant dunes of Oak Openings to the Emerald Necklace of Greater Cleveland.

Fay's Death Benefit

After meandering around Florida for the past week, Tropical Storm Fay, now a Tropical Depression, is about to be swept off her feet. A cold front, approaching from the northwest, will push her deep, tropical moisture into the Southeast and Mid-Atlantic States, putting a sizable dent in the severe, prolonged drought of that region. As Fay dies, a renewal will begin.

Like a mad woman with a sizable estate, Fay wreaked havoc during her restless life in Florida but will leave a wonderful death benefit to those she never knew. Many will remember her as an aimless, destructive monster, others as a kind and generous stranger. Mother nature can be both....often at the same time!

A View of Katahdin

Yesterday, our flight from Newfoundland took us just north of Cape Breton, Nova Scotia and over the northern tip of Prince Edward Island. Leaving the Gulf of St. Lawrence, we passed above the flat, quilted lands of New Brunswick; Grand Lake appeared to the south and it was easy to follow the St. John River as it snaked westward and then northward near the eastern border of Maine.

Beyond the river, the farmlands gave way to the vast North Woods, dotted with numerous glacial lakes. Then, Mt. Katahdin appeared in this sea of green, its summit rising above the wild lands of northern Maine. Reaching an elevation of 5268 feet, it surely commands a spectacular view, a fact I hope to confirm myself some day!

Mountains, especially those isolated peaks that tower above the surrounding landscape, have always stirred my soul. Literally and figuratively, they represent the pure, high ground of our planet, a vital source of both water and inspiration.

The Postcard Province

My wife and I flew out of St. John's this morning after a week on the magnificent island of Newfoundland. It is truly impossible to relate the wealth of spectacular scenery across that Province; indeed, as we often expressed to one another, every turn in the road was another picture postcard!

The combination of rugged, glacial terrain, expansive waterscapes and unspoiled wilderness produced an endless variety of breathtaking vistas. Newfoundland is easily the most scenic region that we have visited and we took twice as many photos as we have on any other vacation; we would have taken more but the locals, apparently victims of scenery fatigue, provide few pull-offs along the winding, back-country roads.

Our visit, of course, was all too brief. Though we managed to hit the more famous highlights, some of which are described in recent blogs, there were whole sections of the island that we could not explore; a second visit is high on our priority list. As is often the case, some of the less publicized trails and locations were among our favorites; these included the coastal trails at Salvage (near Terra Nova National Park) and the Old Man Lighthouse Trail at Trout River, just south of Gros Morne National Park.

The Gannets of Bird Rock

Cape St. Mary's juts into the Atlantic at the southwest corner of Newfoundland's Avalon Peninsula. Home to the second largest colony of northern gannets in North America, the tip of the Cape is now protected within Cape St. Mary's Ecological Preserve.

The gannet colony, which numbers 24,000 adults and half as many chicks, occupies Bird Rock and the adjacent cliffs, which plummet 330 feet from a rolling grassland to the turbulent waters of the Atlantic. Once declining due to overfishing and direct hunting, the gannet population has been rebounding over the past decade and is closing in on the Continent's largest colony, located on Canada's Gaspe Peninsula. Large colonies of murres (common, thick-billed, razorbacks) and black-legged kittiwakes also nest at the preserve and birders have the chance to see greater cormorants, great black-backed gulls and other sea birds here.

My wife and I arrived at the Cape early in the morning, greeted by sunshine with an occasional wave of sea fog. After a brief tour of the Nature Center and a helpful chat with the naturalist, we set out on the 1-mile trail to Bird Rock, enjoying the changing view of sea cliffs along the way. Silence, broken only by the wind and the lighthouse fog horn, gradually gave way to the cacophony of gannets, which covered the top and sides of the sea stack and circled above it in a massive flock. Smaller and less conspicuous colonies of murres and kittiwakes occupied the adjacent cliffs (as did more gannets) and small groups of all species were constantly moving to and from the colony, attending to the needs of their growing youngsters.

The trail ends just short of Bird Rock, leaving the visitor just meters from the raucous colony; if this is not the most accessible spectacle of bird life on the planet, I have yet to see it. Cape St. Mary's gannets begin to assemble in late March, start to nest in May and begin to disperse to wintering areas (primarily at sea) by mid September; come late October, Bird Rock will be abandoned to the wind and the waves.

Water World

The magnificent landscape of Newfoundland has been molded by water and ice and, across its varied topography, waterscapes are ever present in the form of bays, sounds, lakes, rivers and bogs. But it is along the northeastern edge of the island that water most completely dominates the geography.

North of Gander, a network of peninsulas, causeways and islands extend into the Atlantic, creating a maze of inlets, bays and waterways. We spent a day in the Twilingate area, famous for its access to "iceberg alley." After calving from the Greenland glaciers, these massive bergs float southward along the Labrador and Newfoundland coasts and are generally present from March through June. Though our visit was too late for iceberg viewing, we took a boat trip from the natural harbor into the ocean waters, passing rock islands where gulls congregated in large, mixed flocks. Black guillemots also fished along the islands and we observed eight humpbacks and a lone fin whale.

The view from Twilingate's lighthouse (northeast of town) was spectacular and increased our appreciation of the region's landscape. As an added bonus, we were treated to a unique view of several whales that fed below our vantage point, their movements easily followed in the clear, calm sea.

A Piece of Arizona

On this water-logged island, adorned with numerous bays, lakes and bogs, it was a shock to encounter an isolated region of desert-like terrain. But the Tablelands, in the southern part of Gros Morne National Park, look like they belong in Arizona.

About 500 million years ago, the closure of an ancient ocean put the North American and Eurasian Plates on a collision course; while most of the ocean floor subducted beneath the Continents, a slab of ocean crust was pushed over the edge of North America. As the collision progressed, this edge was crumpled into a mountain range, now represented by the Northern Appalachians (the northern end of which rise along the northwest coast of Newfoundland). The oceanic crust segment was incorporated into this range and, after eons of erosion by streams and glaciers, has been sculpted into the Tablelands of Gros Morne.

Today, this flat-topped ridge has the look of a desert mesa. Despite the abundant rain and snow, the slab of perioditite (once at the interface of crust and mantle) does not retain moisture and supports only sparse vegetation. Indeed, this rust-colored formation sheds rocky debris across its slopes, creating a moonscape in the midst of Newfoundland's greenery. A Discovery Center, on the road to the Tablelands (Route 431), introduces visitors to the natural history of this fascinating landscape.

Gros Morne National Park

Named a World Heritage Site by UNESCO in 1987, Gros Morne National Park stretches along the northwest coast of Newfoundland. Among its varied habitats are rocky beaches, sandy coves, tiaga flatlands, vast peat bogs, boreal forest and alpine tundra. Our hikes today took us through most of these ecosystems though we didn't have the time, energy or equipment for a trek to the higher terrain.

A morning walk along the shore turned up great black-backed gulls, common terns and a variety of shorebirds, including a lone whimbrel. We followed this amble with a 2 mile hike to the edge of West Brook Pond which sits at the mouth of a scenic, glacier-carved canyon in the granite massif of the Long Range; the route crosses a broad wetland, broken by islands of black spruce and balsam fir. Songbirds along this trail included North Woods species such as white-throated sparrows, Wilson's warblers and black and white warblers. A third hike, short but steep, took us to the summit of Berry Hill, an isolated pinnacle that offers a magnificent panorama of the Park's western slope; the highlight of that climb (other than the view) was the presence of a bald eagle, soaring above the flatlands between the mountains and the Gulf.

Since these hikes occurred during the hours of full sunlight, our mammal sightings were limited to the noisy and numerous red squirrels. Hoping to see a moose, which are abundant in the Park, we took a drive along Route 430 at dusk; within 30 minutes, we had seen nine of these large herbivores, including three adult females with their rapidly growing calves. Of the nine, eight appeared along the side of the road and four crossed in front of our car. So far this year, ten auto-moose collisions have occurred in Gros Morne National Park!

Crossing Newfoundland

Leaving St. John's in a pea-soup fog, we picked up the Trans Canada Highway and headed north, toward Gander. Along the way, the fog waxed and waned and a steady rain developed, true to our preconceived image of Newfoundland. Scenic bays, coastal ranges and inland bogs adorned the landscape as the highway undulated northward, crossing numerous clear-water streams.

Nearing Gander, the terrain began to flatten and Route 1 angled westward toward Grand Falls -Windsor. Shallow lakes, meandering rivers and the ever-present bogs created a mosaic of wetlands across the rolling tiaga, ideal habitat for the numerous moose that inhabit this island. The western ranges began to appear east of Deer Lake, increasing in elevation toward the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Fortunately, the skies began to clear as we entered this mountainous terrain and our drive into Gros Morne National Park was accompanied by a beautiful sunset.

Over the next two days, we plan to explore the trails of this spectacular refuge, which is draped across the tallest peaks in Newfoundland. More on the Park in tomorrow's blog.

Witless Bay

Located on the Atlantic Coast of southeast Newfoundland, Witless Bay is famous for its large colonies of sea birds, including 300,000 pair of Atlantic puffins, the largest concentration of this species on the planet. The various sea birds, which include puffins, murres, black guillemots and black-legged kittiwakes, nest on the cliff-edged islands that form a chain across the broad mouth of the bay. Protected within the Witless Bay Ecological Reserve, access to the islands is limited to research personnel but a number of local companies offer boat tours of this scenic marine refuge.

Today's tour, blessed by sunny, mild weather, met all of our expectations. Puffins were abundant, guarding their burrows or flying to and from the islands to provide food for their lone youngster; Atlantic puffins mate for life, raising a single offspring each year. Lower cliffs were nearly covered by nesting kittiwakes while large colonies of common and thick-billed murres clustered at favored sites. Though I spotted a flock of razorbills moving across the bay, their nesting season appeared to be over and none were spotted on the islands; likewise, the black guillemots had apparently moved out to sea for the winter months.

Herring and great black-backed gulls, gannets and common terns rounded out the seabirds on today's tour and we had the good fortune to see several humpback whales during our time on the bay. Tomorrow, we plan a drive across the heart of Newfoundland and will spend two days at Gros Morne National Park, on the western coast of this magnificent island.

Newfoundland

Guarding the mouth of the St. Lawrence River, Newfoundland, in combination with Labrador, is Canada's easternmost Province. Over the next week, my wife and I will be exploring this island for the first time and are looking forward to witnessing its stark beauty, abundant wildlife and varied landscape.

Newfoundland has an interesting geologic history. Its eastern third was once part of the Eurasian Plate while its western mountains are an extension of the Northern Appalachians; between these geologic regions is an uplift of ancient marine sediments, once the floor of the Iapetus Ocean. This ocean closed as Earth's continents merged into Pangea (during the Permian Period) and its crust was forced upward and over the junction of the North American and European land masses. When the Atlantic Ocean opened, it rifted to the east of this old suture line, wrenching westernmost Europe from its former Plate and attaching it to the North American Plate. Today, Newfoundland's stratified geology reflects the sequence of those tectonic events.

The rugged landscape of Newfoundland, molded by Pleistocene glaciers and the harsh, North Atlantic climate, is famous for its rocky coasts, icebergs, scenic fiords and tiaga ecosystems. Naturalists are also drawn to the island by its large colonies of sea birds and its varied population of whales. Newfoundland is home to the largest black bears on the Continent and to large herds of caribou and moose; these latter herbivores were introduced in the early 1900s and the island now harbors the greatest concentration of moose in North America.

Active and Passive Margins

As discussed in a previous blog, the geographic Continents due not often correspond to the borders of their respective tectonic plates. Since earthquakes and volcanoes are concentrated along the plate margins (where compression, friction and/or subduction occur), a given Continent is susceptible to these geologic events if it lies along or near these "active" margins.

North America has an active western margin and a passive eastern margin. Its plate, forming at the mid Atlantic Ridge, is inching westward. In the Pacific Northwest, this motion is causing the Juan de Fuca and Pacific plates to subduct beneath the advancing edge of North America; earthquakes and volcanoes are thus common along that margin. In the Southwest, the Pacific plate is scraping northwestward along the North American plate (at the San Andreas Fault), producing frequent earthquakes in that region.

By contrast, the East Coast of North America, lying atop the central portion of the Continental Plate, is not prone to geologic upheaval (though minor quakes can occur along old rifts and faults). Rather, this passive margin, characterized by a broad continental shelf, has experienced geographic alterations related to fluctuations in sea level. During periods of glaciation, when sea level was much lower, the coast was much further east than it is today. As the climate warmed and the sea level rose, the coast shifted west, leaving offshore islands and peninsulas of high ground; Long Island, Martha's Vineyard, Nantucket, Cape Cod, Nova Scotia and Newfoundland are examples of these remnant landscapes.