The Antikythera Mechanism

The BBC, New York Times, and LA Times all have fascinating accounts of an ancient "computer" used to predict astronomical phenomena. This ancient Greek device dated to about 100 BC was salvaged from a Roman shipwreck off the island of Anikythera between the Greek coast and Crete. Over eighty fragments have been found that represent 30 hand-cut bronze gears.

These were originally found by sponge-divers early in the 20th century and have been the source of much study since. They were recently reexamined using an x-ray tomography machine, similar to that used for human CT scans. The researchers were able to image the bronze gears more clearly and were able to decipher twice as many inscriptions on the casting.

From the LA Times:

"They concluded that the device contained 37 gears, about 30 of which still survive.

It was originally housed in a wooden case slightly smaller than a shoebox.Two dials on the front show the zodiac and a calendar of the days of the year that can be adjusted for leap years. Metal pointers show the positions in the zodiac of the sun, moon and five planets known in antiquity. Two spiral dials on the back show the cycles of the moon and predict eclipses.

The complicated meshing of the gears is a physical representation of the so-called Callippic and saros astronomical cycles. In the Callippic cycle, for example, the sun, moon and Earth return to the same relative orientations four times in 76 years minus one day.

The saros cycle predicts that, following a solar or lunar eclipse, a similar eclipse will occur 223 lunar months later.

By turning the gears with a hand crank, the user could select a specific day in the past or future and observe the positions of the heavenly objects on that day."

This is an unexpectedly high level of sophisticated technology for the Hellenistic world, and begs the question of what other sophicated geared calculating devices could have been used for other purposes. Nothing else this technologically complex was was seen in Europe for another 1400 years, and gives a reminder of how much was lost when the Western Roman Empire fell in the 5th century.

RTWT and look at pictures of some of the reconstructed devices.

This news came at a good time for me as I have just completed reading The Fall of Rome and the End of Civilization by Bryan Ward-Perkins and am in the midst of Peter Green's survey of the Hellenistic world, Alexander to Actium: The Historical Evolution of the Hellenistic Age. Green does a good job detailing the achievements (and failures) of the Hellenistic age. This find obviously adds more to the technological luster of the period. The LA Times article for example, points out that the famous Roman Cicero wrote of a device such as this one, but historians have always dismissed it as exaggeration or a myth. Perhaps other Classical writings should be reexamined for such "exaggerations."

Ward-Perkins' book is a corrective to recent trends in scholarship on Late Antiquity. A whole school of revisionist historians over the last 20-30 years have rejected the position that the Western Roman Empire was destroyed by barbarian invasions. They use less judgemental language and say that the 5th century was a "period of adjustment" where Germanic tribes who had been "invited" to settle in the Empire for "defensive purposes" assumed regional soverignty by taking over the existing Roman administrative structure. They say it was not an abrupt change, just new bosses taking over the old political establishment. It is true that the Germanic tribes did take over that structure, but the Western Empire and the Roman and Gallic populations fought it every step of the way.

Ward-Perkins shows through documentary and archaeological evidence, that commerce, culture, technology, and standards of living very quickly fell from levels in the Late Empire that were not regained for a thousand years in Europe. The Antikythera Mechanism is another example of how far that fall was.

More Pack Rats!

One more footnote from my trip west might be appropriate, given Querencia's recent pack rat-related posts, here and (Yum!) here. Reid reported on the value of the Neotoma as archeo-climate-geological index and even as a human food item. The natural history of the pack rats (or wood rats) deserves plenty of attention, and maybe we can get Darren to supply us with some cool data. That there is also a sporting angle to this silky-furred rodent shouldn't surprise any Q. readers...

Although we have a version of this animal here in the southeast, and sometimes encounter it hawking rabbits or squirrels in mixed woodland, I still think of the pack rat as a quintessential "western" critter. Their large dens, spiked with prickly pear and deep set into thick cholla cactus bushes make safe havens for rabbits, quail and small desert birds, in addition to the rodents who build them. My right hand (ungloved while hawking) has numerous embedded spines now from the painful but commonplace work of flushing game from pack rat mounds.

The funny thing is that we rarely catch the builder of the mound while trying to flush the rabbit or quail that took refuge in his home. There must be a cozy antechamber or two for the rats to bunker down in when under attack.

Nonetheless, in pursuit of a scaled quail with our friend's good goshawk, Vinney, we happened to flush both the quail and rat. Ordinarily, the hawk would only account for one quarry at a time (and this gos would probably choose to chase the bird). But on that day our efforts were bolstered by another falconer's gamehawking terrier, who leaped at the chance to do the job for which he was bred.

Here are a few pics from the hunt. In the first, you can see Jimmy holding the gos, who leans forward in anticipation of the flush, while we poke at the den with long-handled hoes (only partially effective at saving hands from spines). At some point the action gets a little more chaotic; there's a complicated reshuffling of the players in this drama, then the curtain closes for two of them.

Coincidentally, we caught another pack rat later in the week, this time with a Harris hawk, a bird with little preference for fur or feather and plenty happy with both. Though neither rodent made it into the "rat brine" recipe Reid shared with us, both made good meals for the hawks (served, rare).

Once more around the web

I just finished an article on Turkish pigeons for the excellent online pigeon mag Aviphilia and am getting caught up,so will I hope soon return to real blogging. Meanwhile, a roundup of things serious and trivial..

At Three Martini Lunch, Roseannn-- between recipes!-- has just posted on her recent diagnosis with breast cancer. That such a post can be brave, sane, and funny all at the same time is a tribute to this woman I am proud to call a friend. She writes:

"So as this new odyssey unfolds for me I’ll try to report the interesting stuff without turning it into a life obsession - rather, it will be a life-lesson.

"And besides, I’ve decided that if I have to have a mastectomy instead of a lumpectomy, maybe I can get insurance-covered reconstruction and order 36Cs on both sides - start a new career as a Victoria’s Secret model . . ."

RTWT. And don't forget to look at this recipe below as well.

Speaking of recipes, Pluvialis has returned to blogging after a patch of overwork and illness-- and she is recipe blogging-- "PLOV" blogging at that. I had this wonderful dish of rice, sheep, and vegetables in Kazakhstan but had no idea how to make it. I suspect the secrets are to wash much of the starch out of the rice, and this:

"Pour far too much oil into the base of a very heavy pan (I use an enamel french casserole; in Uzbekistan a giant iron Plov pot). When I say too much, I mean far too much. I reckon two and a half good ladlefuls. Then heat it until it is very, very, very, very hot."

We in the west are far too afraid of fat, as Roseann also observes.

Fear of Bird Flu is making the Koreans kill dogs (not that they have ever had many objections). HT Dog Politics.

James Swan gives Eagle Dreams a nice compliment in his ESPN column. I hope to be in his forthcoming anthology.

Last, fans of Vadim Gorbatov and Q. should check out his journey and art at the REF. Scroll down to see us and more tales of the Spur and click on the hyperlinks for art, including a sketch of Gambel's quail he made on Lee Henderson's rannch as we watched them, and the resulting watercolor.

Scenes from Magdalena

For the best words on Magdalena and thereabouts, I recommend you first to Steve. His vivid descriptions of the place--his base camp for more than twenty years--provide evocative settings for many of his published works.

Though Steve travels widely, his frequent musings on what's familiar or different about each place he visits suggest his mind is never far from home. He sees high, dry, wild Central Asia in the Magdalenian countryside, for example, and shades of Magdalena elsewhere.

I knew from reading him that when I saw his New Mexican village, I would recognize it instantly. Libby's directions seemed to anticipate that I would:

"Way easy to get here: Go to Socorro. The main street through Socorro is California Street. If you are coming form the north, get off at the second Socorro exit, which is at the south end of town. It will loop you around to the north. At the first stoplight, take a left. That will put you on Highway 60 heading to Magdalena. It's about 26 miles -- just keep going across La Jencia Plain, which is quite gorgeous. Go into the middle of Magdalena.

(Snip)

"If you get messed up for some reason, ask. But you won't."

I didn't have to ask. But as I discovered later, anyone in town could easily have directed me to Casa Bodio, no street names or house numbers needed. They might have said, "The rock house, across from the Spur. With pigeons."

When I pulled up, I could see Steve through the window, reading. We met at the door and shook hands, which clambered into a kind of awkward hug. Steve and I are friends and partners in the virtual world; but in the real world, virtual strangers. Odd how the Internet can do that.

No photos inside the home.

It's permissible, I think, to be a tourist and a pilgrim (I was), but unpardonable to make a curio of your host. Still, it was hard to resist taking photos. The Bodio place is just too cool.

Imagine a wizard's cottage (oldschool, like 15th Century) with wood plank shelves packed tight with great books, bottled spices, animal skulls and small, hand-carved totems. Beautiful and bizarre art hangs on the walls, and rugs like tapestries. Each room is small and distinct and seems to contain its own spirit. Or maybe, if Rebecca O'Connor is right, its own ghosts. I am not exaggerating: the Bodio home is unique.

Release the hounds!

I know he told me, and I met them, but I forget exactly how many dogs Steve and Libby have. Maybe six or eight, most of them sighthounds, with the notable exception of the ancient, saintly Dachshund, Lily.

All are loved, but there are favorites: Ataika, the whippet-sized Tazi and the much larger Lashyn are mostly indoor dogs, as is the Dachs. The rest of the pack lives (happily, riotously) in the fenced backyard with the garden, shade trees and the pigeons. I received aloof scrutiny from the three indoor animals and then a wild reception from the pack outside, an almost-attack led by Plummer, the very macho lurcher.

Back in the kitchen, Steve tended a dish of braised oxtail in reduced wine sauce, a Bodio specialty that he describes as "coming from the damndest part of the cow." Libby whipped up mashed potatoes ("Nothing fancy," she insisted--but there were at least half a dozen ingredients.) Later, as the vodka settled and the sauce cooled on the plates, all that remained of the meal were large, disarticulated vertebrae.

The Golden Spur.

Steve wonders what the fascination is. It's just a bar. But a man's watering hole is a special place, and all of us who frequent one can appreciate that. Mine is in New Orleans, an inconvenient eighty miles away. Steve's is right across the street. When I offered to drive us, Steve just laughed and pointed.

The interior was a surprise. It was...nice. Not fancy, but refurbished, and this was a great disappointment to the regulars, who would rather have it like it was.

Steve explained that the old bar was under new management, which opened a discussion on the nature of "Nuevos," new New Mexicans who bring to town their own ideas of how the place should be. Steve pointed out that most everyone was an immigrant anyway, but still, that was generations ago. This is different. True nativity depends on your objectives and where your loyalties lie. It proved a hot topic at the Spur and lasted us most of the night and any number of drinks.

Around 3AM the following morning, long after leaving the Spur, I woke shaking in the guesthouse next door. The immaculate little cottage is run as a renter by the Bodio's next-door neighbors. It is better than any hotel, and I highly recommend it. It is also haunted.

Rebecca O'Connor shared the story with me once in Amarillo. She has slept in the same guesthouse three times now and with a straight face claims the place has ghosts. One of them woke her late in the night, pressed its face to hers and whispered some cryptic apology. Scared the hell out of her. My own ghost, I swear it, sat at the kitchen table, solemnly smoking a cigarette in the dark.

Since I was up, I went outside to check the truck. I had embarrassed Steve earlier by locking it as we left for the bar. I'm from a part of the country that rewards good will with grand theft auto; securing my possessions is a natural precaution, like living in bear country. Of course, the truck was unmolested, locked in a seamless layer of frost. Looking up, I faced a shocking field of stars. The nearest one was nearly close enough to touch.

First light found us in the backyard with dogs pressing in and out of our legs and pigeons wheeling overhead. Libby's strong coffee, the first brew with any body I've tasted west of the Mississippi, scalded my hand when Plummer pushed against me for attention.

"We have a friend just like him," said Libby.

We spent the rest of the morning outdoors. Steve and I loaded Lashyn and Ataika and drove them to the hills for a run. The dogs bounced lightly on their hydraulic struts, covering the country with a gait that might take them miles without perceptible effort. Steve's own step was lively, and he gave running commentary on the dogs' behavior as I huffed along behind him. I was ashamed to find myself falling behind. There's less air up there than I'm used to breathing.

We didn't flush any jackrabbits (Steve calls them hares, which is more correct) but had a good walk and a photo op. We drove then to a rise at the rim of La Jencia Plain on a ranch owned by a friend. The spot wasn't very far away, by truck, but impossible to cover on foot in less than a day, which I didn't have. Note: Everything "out west" is easier to reach in a truck.

At the top of the rise in the middle of the Plain was a cattle tank, surrounded by a panorama of rolling hills and mountain peaks. Inside this tank, unaccountably, swims a school of giant goldfish. Steve was as delighted to show me those fish as to show off the view. I should have taken their picture, and realize now that by shooting the panorama instead (merely breathtaking), I marked myself a tourist. Next trip I'll shoot the fish.

Steve had much more to show me: a peregrine eyrie on a far peak, rare books and monographs, more hills, another crack at the hares and more vodka. I could have stayed but had left my own dog and hawk with friends in Albuquerque.

We lingered after lunch, looking at digital photos of trained eagles and old friends, some of them mutual. A couple years ago, the same computer screen delivered to Steve my first emailed "Hello" and his gracious reply. We shook hands again at the door and said goodbye, for now. The second hug was easier.

Back Home

Composite of Magdalenan landscape and a trio of Steve's pigeons in flight

Just a quick note with more (and worse) to follow. I'm back in from a record-breaking November hawking trip: 3,000 miles over nine days and from Zero to 7,000+ feet of elevation. Lungs, butt and truck all still feeling the trip!

As mentioned below, I swooped (swung? swang?) through the Bodios' mountain hideaway on Monday evening. It was a ridiculously short visit, but---I hope---not the last.

Uploading pics today. Here's a snippet of Steve's Tazis (two, anyway). See how they run...

Rock Art Convergence

A while back Steve and I posted on some common features that we had seen with regard to representations of shamanism in rock art. I shared pictures from Little Petroglyph Canyon in Inyo County, California, and Steve showed his from the site of Tamgaly outside of Almaty in Kazakhstan.

Steve sent me this picture of a petroglyph of a line of dancers that he took at Tamgaly. You can see them in the lower right corner of the image.

It immediately reminded me of this line of dancers that I had seen in Little Petroglyph Canyon. If you look closely you can see that this line of stick-figures is pecked into two faces of rock and wraps around the corner of the exposure.

Accounts of shamanistic visions often describe a dance or ceremony where the shaman receives his power - all part of the trance as the shaman is alone. Another interesting point is that the dancing figures are very small. A common condition reported in the shamanic trances is the perception of very small hallucinations - "Lilliputian hallucinations." Perhaps the figures' small size is reflective of that effect.

Humpbacks

One interesting thing you can easily do here in Santa Barbara is whale watching. Gray Whales, Blue Whales, and Humpbacks all migrate through the Santa Barbara Channel at various times of the year and there are a number of boats out of the harbor here and down in Ventura who will take you out for half-day tour. We try to go once a year or so. You can also often see them from shore if you keep a sharp eye.

I was rummaging around in my picture files and found found these shots that I took on a boat outing three or four years ago. On this particular day, the boat was "mugged" by three Humpbacks, who spent about half an hour bobbing around the boat engaged in various antics. The one in the picture above was so close that I probably could have touched him if I had laid down on the deck and reached out my arm.

Gray and Blue whales don't seem to want to engage in these interactions and tend to just push on past the boats. Humpbacks do all sorts of things. These three did lots of big tail-slaps. They also did what is called "sky-hopping" where they sort of tread water to get their eyes above the water's surface and watch the boat. One of them also breeched about 100 feet from the boat - shot completely out of the water to a height of about 10 feet - and crashed back down into the sea. I of course, watched in amazement with my mouth open and my camera idle in my hands.

At one point, the three whales came up on the up-wind side of the boat and spouted - exhaled actually. The spray drifted over the boat and it was my first encounter with whale breath. Imagine the smelliest, nastiest, most sulphurous fart you've ever smelled with strong overtones of rotten fish. That is whale breath!

Around the Web

Not much time to blog-- Matt just swooped through (and I expect will have pics and maybe video soon) and guests plus Mr. and Mrs. Peculiar are coming for Thanksgiving. But here are a few tidbits to tide you over.

Attention houndmen: PETA is trying to steal your dogs. HT Patrick of course.

As I have always suspected, evolution works faster than you may think.

Some people are really too dumb to live; David Zincavage at Never Yet Melted links to one here.

Larissa has written a hilarious but ultimately serious defense of vanity. She begins by remembering that when she was little she actually watched herself cry:

"There’s a story from my babyhood that I often ask my mom to repeat, partly because it’s so damn cute, but mostly because it’s about me, and I like hearing stories starring me. She says that whenever I cried, she’d hold me, and I would angle myself to face the large antique mirror that hung on the door in our kitchen and then just watch my reflection as I cried. She’d have to hold me up in front of the glass for a good twenty minutes while I sniffled and sobbed until I started kicking her in the chest, which meant I was finished and now hungry. If I was in another room at the time of an upset, she’d pick me up, and I would twist and strain in her arms as she held me, and instead of the usual uninhibited wailing, my sobs had a hesitant, questioning quality--my perceptive mother would then carry me to my favorite spot in the kitchen where I’d finally let it all out “on camera.” "

RTWT, of course.

Andrew Stuttaford points us to a reissue of a cookbook I suspect I'll be getting: the politically incorrect- but- green Countryman's Cookbook from England. In addition to prescience about polluted rivers and such, and some really good recipes, it includes a (parodic) recipe for cormorant (I lost it and will try to find a link) that includes setting the carcass on fire to remove the feathers, burying it for thirty days, and worse...

More to come. You might check out the remarkable blog Rants and raves, especially the post on fictional and imagined religions that begins with Kipling's Mithraic hymn-- I'll be commenting on it at lenghth soon I hope. Another for the blogroll...

Happy Thanksgiving!

Another Quiz

Anyone want to try and identify these three crania? That is a centimeter scale for reference.

ANSWERS
From left to right:
Golden Eagle (Aquila chrysaetos)
Red-tailed Hawk (Buteo jamaicensis)
Barn Owl (Tyto alba)

Very good everyone and thank you! "In vino veritas," eh, Pluvialis?

Mercy

Falconer, author, blogger, and Team Red proprietor Rebecca O'Connor has had her essay "Mercy" published in the South Dakota Review. Congratulations Rebecca!

Betsy

Twenty years ago Saturday, Betsy Huntington died. She accompanied me from Boston to New Mexico, where we made a home,and where I still live. She was the first person I knew to use the word "querencia", and she is the single biggest influence on who I am today.



I am not sure how much I can add to the many words I have written about her. The book Querencia-- here, -- is her memorial, as is the kind of life I live.



The summer after her death, Tom McIntyre wrote a memorial essay in Gray's Sporting Journal. I can't improve on it.

"As much as she wanted to - and as fiercely as she tried - Betsy couldn't be here this summer.

"You know Betsy Huntington. If you've ever read Steve Bodio, you know her. For nearly a decade she and Steve were friends, partners, accomplices, secret sharers. On the Plains of St. Augustin they kept a blue adobe house that was home to them, as well as itinerant friends, hawks, bird dogs, gazehounds, pigeons, insect collections, books, shotguns, rifles, fishing tackle, riding tack, typewriters, a bulletin board posted with crazed memos, a telephone for making and receiving of midnight calls, the echoes of sporting-writing-living conversations that were never conducted at a level below a howl, wreaths of dried chilis, a Cape buffalo skull...in short, the bare necessities of life. Whenever you read Steve, those words are a direct result of Betsy's life with him, and his with her.

"If you want "facts" about Betsy, she came from a family of soldiers, divines and farmers. Born in China to an Episcopal bishop, she and her family were forced to flee the country ahead of the invading Japanese. She was schooled in the Northeast, traveled through Europe like the women who both intimidated and allured Hemingway, lost no small amount of money without ever feeling the least bitterness or rancor, became a journalist, then a breeder of rare margay cats, then met Steve and lived, as a matter of fact, happily after.

"Those are the facts. But you already know Betsy.

"In the late fall of last year, when there was snow to push elk out of the high country, and after her hard fight, Betsy Huntington died, in sleep. She was buried in the East with a thick coyote pelt to keep her warm, and Steve carried a lock of her hair back to the New Mexico she loved. And now because of all she meant to so many people, it is time to say goodbye to her here and to tell her how much she will be missed this summer, and after. She enjoyed summer, as she enjoyed all the seasons, and no doubt she would have liked this one, too, very much."

Annie Davidson, frequent commentor here and old friend, introduced us. She adds:

"I liked being with Betsy. She had been on great adventures but
somehow managed to make everyday, boring, mundane stuff feel like
adventures too. She saw potential, expanse, and details everywhere.
And she liked me.

"When I wanted a maroon cableknit sweater, we'd walk in the store, and
there it was. On sale. Ditto, when I said I needed a wingback chair
to make my life complete--she'd seen an ad, and we went and got it,
and it was perfect.

"In my mind she is tall, taller than me, but in inches she was much
smaller. We couldn't trade clothes. I wanted so much to look like
she did in her French whore dress, but just looked silly.

"Before they were illegal, Betsy had (nearly unheard of) breeding pairs
of margays. I met her when one mother refused to allow her baby to
nurse, so it needed to be bottle raised. She impressed me by how
keenly she intimately knew and understood each animal. I realized
that 'I need to know everything' approach reflected very much who
Betsy was. She lived in her interests, and she was interested in
everything.



"I never actually met her bobcat, who allegedly socked anybody new just
once in the face. But I don't like to get socked. And Betsy didn't
insist, and she still liked me.



"I liked her approach to life, of 'Let's try it' 'Want to go?' 'Might
be interesting', and I still try to emulate that.

"Maybe I was an interest. Becoming friends stretched me. And
comforted at times I needed it. I still miss her."



Sleep, Bets. We remember you well.

Packrat Middens

Earlier this week, the New York Times had an article on the use of packrat middens as sources of proxy data for climatic reconstruction. These middens have been an important source of data in the western US for decades, but I can't remember seeing another piece on this in the popular press. From the article:

"Packrats, which look like brown squirrels with Dumbo ears, are skilled home builders, and their massive nests, known as middens, can last 10,000 to 20,000 years (though they are not usually inhabited the entire time).

For that reason, the middens serve as time capsules of desert ecology. By analyzing preserved ancient plants and scat from a variety of middens dating back 12,000 years, Dr. Cole recently proved that a miniature ice age known as the Younger Dryas, long thought to have been confined to the North Atlantic, was also felt in the American Southwest.

The analysis demonstrated that after the Younger Dryas, average temperatures in the area climbed about 14 degrees Fahrenheit in just a few hundred years — a precipitous rise that is lending insight into the effects of today’s warming trends on desert ecosystems.

“After the warming period, you notice that fewer tree and shrub species appear in the middens,” Dr. Cole said. “That’s exactly what’s happening in the Southwest now.”

The middens are full of pollen and other plant data and the preserved organics are easily radiocarbon dated. The structures of the middens are cemented together with dried rat urine and picking them apart to gather data is a smelly and unpleasant job - but apparently not bad enough to make the list of the 10 dirtiest jobs in science.

One of the earliest effective practitioners of this form of analysis is Paul Martin author of Twilight of the Mammoths, a book we much admire. Martin was dissertation committee chairman for Steve's brother-in-law, David Adam, and a colleague of a graduate school friend of mine, Steve Emslie.

A review of the ethnographic literature shows that packrack middens sometimes served other purposes for Native Americans.

White Rats

Patrick Burns tells us the story of how British Victorian terriermen and ratcatchers paved the way for advances in modern medicine.

Animal, Vegetable, Mineral, Or...?

I know a number of accomplished naturalists and science-types browse this blog---at least two of them write this blog! So I am putting to you all a Challenge of Identification From The Natural World (...or not). Actually, one of my daughters is putting you up to it: She found this interesting item in a pile of gravel and asked me what it is.



I have no idea. Could it be a fossil? The inner portion of a mollusc's or snail's shell? Is it an artifact? A part of some commonplace, modern day contraption, or maybe an ancient tool?

I can tell you that on close inspection, it seems too symmetrical and contrived to be natural. It looks machined, but for what purpose? There is a very fine threading, suggesting an embedded screw, in the middle segment. But the "screw" seems to be made of the same material as the rest of it. On the whole, it looks and feels like natural river rock, tumbled smooth.

The Prize: In hopes of spurring you on to great feats of scholarship on this matter, I propose to award the producer of the most plausible theory of origin for this item One Year's Free Subscription to this blog!*

*Must be present to win. Not valid in all States. Prize to be received via hyper-text transfer protocol only; the receipt of no material goods is implied by the rules of this "contest."

More Neanderthal News

As I mentioned in a post last week, news accounts have been hinting that more reports on Neanderthal DNA research were due out shortly. Nicholas Wade of the New York Times breaks one of these today, with a progress report on the Neanderthal genome mapping project that I posted on in July.

From the article:

"One million units of Neanderthal DNA have already been analyzed, and a draft version of the entire genome, 3.2 billion units in length, should be ready in two years, said Dr. Svante Paabo, the leader of the research project at the Max-Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology in Leipzig, Germany."

snip

"Dr. Paabo has shared some of his precious sample of Neanderthal DNA with Edward M. Rubin of the Joint Genome Institute in Walnut Creek, Calif., whose team has identified 62,250 units of Neanderthal DNA by a different method. The two teams report their results in the journals Nature and Science respectively, saying they have independently demonstrated that recovery of the Neanderthal genome is now possible."

snip

"From the data already obtained, Dr. Paabo and his colleagues estimate that the ancestral Neanderthal population was very small, perhaps less than 10,000 individuals. Since the ancestral population of modern humans was much the same size, it seems that all populations of early humans were tiny, expanding only after the ice age ended."

snip

"Dr. Bruce Lahn, a geneticist at the University of Chicago, published a report earlier this month suggesting that one of the two principal versions of the human gene for microcephalin, which helps determine brain size, came from an archaic population, presumably the Neanderthals.
His analysis suggested that the two versions of the gene had existed separately for a million years. This, Dr. Lahn argued, most probably happened because one version had belonged to Neanderthals during this time.

So far neither team has analyzed enough Neanderthal DNA to test Dr. Lahn’s suggestion. Dr. Paabo said at a news conference that he had obtained "snippets of genes involved in skin and hair color" but that the information was not yet sufficient to draw any conclusions about the Neanderthals’ physical appearance."

Very, very exciting stuff. As I've mentioned before, the go-to place for informed commentary on this is John Hawks Anthropology Weblog, which already has a post up on this and promises more (including an FAQ post) in the coming days. Hawks reports he's had so much traffic today he had to switch to his back-up server.

Hawks quotes an informed commentor in Nature, talking about these new results:

"These papers are perhaps the most significant contributions published in this field since the discovery of Neanderthals 150 years ago."

Exciting times!

Asteroid and Comet Strikes

The NY Times has a great piece on an ongoing project that is reviewing the world's shorelines for "chevron" deposits. The article decsribes some found in Madagascar like this:

"On close inspection, the chevron deposits contain deep ocean microfossils that are fused with a medley of metals typically formed by cosmic impacts. And all of them point in the same direction — toward the middle of the Indian Ocean where a newly discovered crater, 18 miles in diameter, lies 12,500 feet below the surface.

The explanation is obvious to some scientists. A large asteroid or comet, the kind that could kill a quarter of the world’s population, smashed into the Indian Ocean 4,800 years ago, producing a tsunami at least 600 feet high, about 13 times as big as the one that inundated Indonesia nearly two years ago. The wave carried the huge deposits of sediment to land. "

The graphic I borrowed maps known major craters and chevron deposits world-wide. It sort of shrank when I pasted it. Take a good look at the original. We've been hit a lot in the past.

Latrine Practices and Health Risks

I really enjoyed this article from the LA Times that discusses research from the archaeological site of Qumran in Israel, thought by many to be the home of the religious community that produced the Dead Sea Scrolls. Apparently contemporary writings describe elaborate cleansing rituals involved with using their latrines and these have been confirmed through the archaeological excavations. What the archaeologists have found is that the concentration of waste in pits and the large amounts of contaminated water used to "cleanse" people actually had the effect of encouraging the spread of parasites and degrading the health of the people there.

Very interesting reading.

This reminded me of a discussion I had with a colleague some days ago, when I pointed out that most studies of the skeletal remains of prehistoric hunter-gatherers show that they were taller, more robust, healthier and longer-lived than the Neolithic agriculturalists that succeeded them. This is probably attributable to a better diet - a wider variety of wild foods - and to the fact that hunter-gatherers moved around a lot so that their waste and trash didn't have a chance to build up around them. Agriculturalists tend to stay in one place and their (and their animals') waste piles up around them causing the health risks discussed in the article above.


I illustrated the situation with the photo above. This is a picture of one of the Hopi Villages (in Arizona) Walpi, taken by A.C. Vroman in 1897. The masses of dark stuff along the cliff ledges below the walls are largely - what's a good term? - nightsoil. The Hopi just flung it over the edge of the mesa as they had for a thousand years. Those of us who live with flush toilets tend to forget what an issue that was for our ancestors.

The Matter of Borat

As I am a known Kazakh- o- phile, everyone wants to know what I think of the Borat phenomenon (and I have also been asked if they do indeed drink horse urine: NO).

I am no fan of gross- out movies and am obviously a big fan of free speech so I thought I would ignore the whole thing. But t won't ignore me. So a few thoughts.

I think a dignified protest by the Kazakhs (including a good- humored one by Nazarbayev's daughter) is just about the right reaction.

Not only is Kazakhstan NOT anti- Semitic-- according to a Jewish Kazakh acquaintance, Almaty has traditionally been a place of refuge for Jews. I have seen an Orthodox Jewish teacher with side- curls there, followed by a line of students in yarmulkes.

Steve Sailer thinks that the character is more about Eastern Europeans than Central Asians. Certainly this article about how he conned a village of Romanian Gypsies lends truth to that theory.

At Slate, Christopher Hitchens has some sharp observations.

Says Chas, who sent me the Romanian clip: "Funny, Kazakhs seem to the only ones not complaining loudly. I heard that the "Borat" movie was banned in Russia though. Anyone suing Cohen will have to get in line, though, behind the American frat boys and the Turkish comic who claimed that *he* was the inspiration for the Borat character."

I think I'll imagine the obnoxious boor being booted off Komsomol Peak (don't know if it has a new name) by my friend, the Kazakh mountain guide and karateka Margulan. BOOM!

Update

Reader Rasmus Boegh has identified the source of the eagle photo in this post of May 24.

"The animal on the photo is, without any doubts, a Red Fox. Furthermore, it is actually part of a series that was shot in Finland by Pekka Komi. This photo could give the mistaken impression that the Golden Eagle is attacking the Red Fox to prey on it, but that was not the case. Actually, they were fighting for a carcass that had been laid out to attract various raptors. For some time the outcome of the fight was unclear, but in the end the Golden Eagle won and the fox ran away. Pekka Komi who took them has posted 5 photos from this series on Tarsiger (if I remember right, there are more that weren't posted)"

Contra "Peak Oil"

MSN also carries a Reuters release of a study from Cambridge Energy Research Associates attacking the simplistic application of the peak oil concept. From the release:

"Cambridge Energy Research Associates said in a report that the world has some 3.74 trillion barrels of oil left -- enough to last 122 years at current consumption rates and triple the amount estimated by “peak oil” theorists."

snip

"'Oil is too critical to the global economy to allow fear to replace careful analysis about the very real challenges with delivering liquid fuels to meet the needs of growing economies,' said Peter Jackson, director of oil industry activity for Cambridge, a Massachusetts-based consultant to the oil, natural gas and electric power industries.

The said the peak in global daily oil production will not come before 2030 and will be followed not by a steep decline, but rather by an “undulating plateau” of ups and downs in output before a gradual dropoff, according to the report.

Jackson said the main flaw in “peak oil” theory is that it fails to account for exploration, technology, rising estimates of the size of existing fields and geopolitical shifts."

I believe Cambridge is the think-tank that Daniel Yergin is associated with and he has a great deal of credibility.

RTWT

Dirty Jobs

MSN Careers has an interesting piece up on the 10 Dirtiest Jobs in Science. In no particular order they are:

Manure Inspector
Orangutan Pee Collector
Hot-zone Superintendent
Extremophile Excavator
Dysentery Stool Sample Analyzer
Semen Washer
Volcanologist
Carcass Cleaner
Fistula Feeder
Corpse-Flower Grower

I would say Hot-zone Superintendent is maybe the most dangerous, but for dirtiest, I vote Carcass Cleaner. What is your vote?

Around the Web

Things stack up when you are busy!

Nanny state part one thousand and ???: Britain now is suggesting compulsory training in nursery rhymes for inept parents. Can't make it up...

While Beijing is pursuing a compulsory one- small- dog policy--- not that Albuquerque mayor Marty Chavez wouldn't do the same if he had the power.

Also in Britain: a Moslem gent, hungry from his Ramadan fast, attacked and killed a park swan. To me, the funny part is that he "admitted possessing a kitchen knife in public". The depravity!

On a more positive note, Dr. Hypercube introduces us to the fantastic zoological art of Briony Morrow-Cribbs at the Diary of a Mad Natural Historian.

Continuing in that vein, check out regular commentor Moro Rogers' Kambodia Hotel Blog. She and I have been corresponding for many years (really-- she was a precocious talent!) and it is a delight to watch her skills unfold. Moro, you should tell us about such things!

A federal judge is allowing Indians to violate federal laws and kill eagles. How far should religious tolerance extend? I think in conservation biology should generally trump all. My initial and admittedly reactionary reaction-- in a note to Matt-- was: "If they want to kill eagles they should also live in tipis, and give up trucks, booze, welfare, and rifles!" (living next to a particularly dysfunctional reservation will make one sour). Matt as always was more humane, though his perscription amounted to the same thing put more thoughtfully:

"I am not one to wish "primitive" peoples back into
their molds (or worse, our idea of their molds), but I
don't think you can have it both ways. The old, right
ways contain their own natural limitations.

"If you want to dig in and catch your eagle by hand,
kill it barehanded and use every part of it for a
ceremony once a year, I'm OK with that. I have
"harvested" wild raptors and (unwittingly) killed them
in the pursuit of my own nirvana. I've got no room to
complain.

"But add bullets and money into the equation and all
bets are off."

Back at the ranch: Reid sent this LAT piece on the "discovery " that grazing can be good for the range.

Well, "duh". Grass coevolved with grazing. Until we get "rewilding" it had best get at least some grazing or prooblems will result..

Michael Brendan Daugherty at Surfeited with Dainties has posted a stirring defense of dandyism. It's not just for metrosexuals! "If, as Chensvold insists, Dandyism is a male archetype, then a Dandy must be identifiably a man. He ought to like wine, women and song more than attention, fake titles and sunflowers in his own lapel."

One more: the War Nerd has some bleak views on our future conflicts. Will we ever learn?

Surf Fishing

Most of us tend to think of Great Blue Herons as large, freshwater wading birds. Around here, they're almost as likely to try their luck on the salt as this fellow is doing at Goleta Beach.

Lunch with the Blowhards

Last Tuesday I had lunch with Michael Blowhard and his wife at the Beachside Cafe at Goleta Beach. They were in town on vacation and we were able to meet up. Michael is the principal contributor to the group blog 2blowhards, a daily must-read for its take on culture, the arts, history, fashion, architecture, literature and just about everything else. Michael has always been very supportive of this blog and 2blowhards has been on our blog roll from the beginning. Steve refers to Michael as his "blogfather." Mrs. Blowhard has her own brilliant accomplishments in the blogosphere, the theather and elsewhere.

The combination of the Beachside's beautiful setting, the intelligent and informed conversation, and my favorite shrimp-filled chiles rellenos couldn't be surpassed. So much good talk on so many subjects: collaborating in the blogosphere with friends you've never met, the environmental consulting business, life in Santa Barbara, falconry and tazis, the peculiarities and perils of Midwestern cuisine. On this last topic Mrs. Blowhard cheerfully observed that all the famous mass-murderers in California history (Charles Manson case in point) were originally from Ohio. Maybe the food was to blame!

After lunch I took a photograph that I think captures the brio of this talented, attractive and brainy couple. Alas, their need for anonymity prevents me from sharing it.

One More

Gorbatov is working on illustrating a monograph on the sakers for a German scientist. He knew I would like this one because it depicts petroglyphs at Tamgaly in the Kazakh steppes, where we have both seen sakers. (See "Sunhead" and other posts below).



He confirms a rumor I have heard: these images are of horses wearing horned headdresses, which have been found in graves on the steppes.

Gorbatov 2: Sampler

Just a taste.

A Turcoman falconer: "Sandstorm, Karakum Desert".



"Young Hunter": Gos over water.



"Berkutchi": relatives of my dogs-- really!



"Seton's Lobo"-- for a Korean edition of the classic. Vadim painted these illustrations-- in a two- page format-- from backgrounds we sent, before he had ever been in New Mexico. Can't wait to see the new stuff now that he has.



To see or buy his new American childrens' book, with peregrines and eagles, go to the Raptor Education Foundation link in the post below and click on "Fidget".

Gorbatov's Visit

We have just been graced by a visit from Russia's greatest wildlife artist, Vadim Gorbatov, "guided" by our friend Peter Reshetniak of the Raptor Education Foundation in Denver. It was a whirlwind -- we attempted to show him all of our corner of New Mexico in one- and- a- half days, plus cook two good dinners, visit the Spur etc-- but we had fun.

Vadim is well- known in Russia but not here so far, which I am slowly trying to change. Interestingly, the Soviet Union, if for all the wrong reasons, preserved classical art training long after the West seems to have abandoned it for modernism and post- modernism. Could a romantic realist like Vadim have made a living here?

Like anyone of his generation (he is 66) he has horror stories. His dissertation was delayed three times and he was repeatedly threatened by the KGB, as was his brother, because he was seen in possession of one banned "Samizdat" book.

We were able to find quail scuttling along in the dirt tracks on Lee Henderson's ranch, a Ferruginous hawk, hawk nests including the notorious metal one, herds of antelope, and the Water Canyon Peregrine eyrie, all of which he sketched.

Another high point was drinking with Lee at the Spur. We taught him how to toast with vodka shots Russian- style; Vadim sampled good tequila ("Mexicanski vodka"); Lee showed Vadim what spurs were, and other cowboy lore.

I'll put some of the "people" shots here and some art in the next post so as not to overwhelm Blogger.

A strange Central Asian- looking raised well where we saw the Ferruginous.



Libby and Vadim take pics of Peter and me. We did a lot of this..



Vadim examines a Swainson's hawk nest on the ranch. Ladron peak in the background.



Peter and Vadim taking out the girls for a hunt. Alas, no hares.

(P& V Girls--pic coming up....[Matt])

Neanderthals in the Gene Pool

Well that didn't take long. Remember my post last week that discussed possible Neanderthal/modern human interbreeding based on skeletal morphology evidence? You may recall, I figured that genetic evidence would tell the tale.

Today Nicholas Wade of the New York Times reports on a study that finds circumstantial evidence that a gene for brain size now present in most of the world's population came from Neanderthals. From the article:

"Both genetic and fossil studies show that anatomically modern humans emerged 200,000 years ago in Africa and migrated into Europe 40,000 years ago. In about 10,000 years, Europe’s longtime inhabitants, Neanderthals, became extinct. The mainstream interpretation is that modern humans somehow replaced them without interbreeding.

In previous research, Dr. Lahn and associates discovered that a gene for brain size called microcephalin underwent a significant change 37,000 years ago. Its modified variant, or allele, appeared to confer a fitness advantage on those who possessed it. It is now present in about 70 percent of the world’s population.

The new research focused on the two classes of alleles of the brain gene. One appeared to have emerged 1.1 million years ago in an archaic Homo lineage that led to Neanderthals and was separate from the immediate predecessors of modern humans. The 37,000-year date for the other variant immediately suggested a connection with Neanderthals."

Apparently more DNA studies about modern humans interbreeding with Neanderthal and other archaic humans are due out soon. The ever-reliable John Hawks Anthropology Weblog has lots of interesting things to say about this in a couple of posts.

Scapa Flow

After the signing of the Armistice that ended the First World War in 1918, the warships of the defeated German Fleet were interned at anchorage at the main Royal Navy seabase at Scapa Flow in the Orkney Islands in the north of Scotland. The ships were kept there with skeleton crews of German sailors to maintain them.

By June, 1919, the final peace agreement to end the war had still not been concluded and many in the German military were convinced that fighting could conceivably resume. On 21 June 1919, when the main British fleet left the area for exercises, Rear Admiral von Reuter, commander of the German fleet, ordered all 74 ships scuttled, rather than have them fall into British hands. You can see the battleship Bayern on its way down in the picture above.

Most of the ships were salvaged in subsequent years, but seven still remain at the bottom.

The BBC has a story on a high-resolution sonar study of the area that includes the spectacular 3-D image above. The ships are a popular scuba diving attraction, and the charts generated by the study will aid them and historic preservation officials.

Chupacabra

I have always been intrigued by the legend of the Chupacabra. Terrierman Patrick Burns and his working terriers have hunted one down, and he has the pictures to prove it.

I Wonder if Steve Remembers This Picture?

Or this one?

UPDATE

Well, since I got Steve to bite, I'll let everyone know where these came from.

I was rummaging through books the other night and found "Quail Hunting in America" by Tom Huggler. The guy drove three-quarters of the way across the country in 1985 hunting along the way so he could write this book about hunting every species of quail in the US in one season. Apparently he networked through friends of friends of friends who could help him hunt. He hunted with Steve and the late Floyd Mansell in Magdalena. They figure prominently in the chapter on Gambel's Quail from which these pictures come. The book was published in 1987 and I bought a copy in 1995 before I knew who Steve was. So the other night I was leafing through a book I hadn't looked at in years and out pops Steve.

Huggler on Bodio: "Steve Bodio is a young writer with Boston roots. He is the twentieth century equal to a man of letters and is a walking encyclopedia on topics as diverse as fine wine to a geologic history of the land. For the past eight years, he has written "Bodio's Review" for Gray's Sporting Journal and has recently published Good Guns, his second title from Nick Lyons Books (the first is Rage for Falcons)."

No Comment

.......other than this was on the back of a large pick-up truck driven by a small young woman.

The Apotheosis of Chairman Mao

Beyond irony: Mao Tse Tung is now considered to be a diety dedicated to making people rich.

Hat tip Chas.

Turkish Toilet Blogging??

No, not the kind with the slit in the floor, which in variations from modern to disgusting is common in the east. I'm talking about a pic that our friend Christina sent, taken in Istanbul:




Turns out it does NOT say "No blogging on the loo". Professor Janet Jones, one of our intrepid band in search of tazis in Kurdistan last winter, has contributed a translation:

"The thing you sent is an advertisement. It reads:

'In every occasion we take care of you! Wherever you are, NETSIS is working for you.'

"The rest of the advertisement talks about the services that NETSIS
provides."

She doubtless remembers an evening when our guide Ahmed's cousin, to general hilarity, mimed his first encounter with a western toilet in a hotel, He had attempted to squat above it, but found it hard to keep his balance on the rim.

The tale was told in Kurdish, but the acting was graphic enough for the Americans to understand...

House Finch

Anne Price at the Raptor Education Foundation sent this photo of an oddly- marked house finch (Carpodacus mexicanus) trapped at a banding station.



They seem to be an exceptionally variable species, with males in particular varying from almost all red to brown with just traces of red. Could this have something to do with the fact that they are almost as human- associated (dependent?) as house sparrows? Though they are native to the American west, they now nest into New Engand.

Marketing

Reid sent this interesting NYT piece on publishers selling books in non- traditional venues like sporting goods stores and delis.

Matt mused: "Eagle Dreams on table with wilderness gear at outfitters store...

"Edge of the Wild dual-billed at Whole Foods with the authentic Italian meats AND in pasta isle...

"Tiger Country [ unpublished novel] at LSU Union Bookstore, placed in lap of large stuffed tiger mascot plush toy (Geaux Bodieaux!)...

"(OK, that last one maybe a little over the top.)"

He then sent this:

Actually the Golden Spur Bar in Magdalena used to sell my books. And Ron Peterson's Guns in Albuquerque...

Dinosauroids and Nemo Ramjet

Darren, while still tormenting us over the cladistics of the Giant Hoatzins of Doom, has written a good post on the "dinosauroids" of popular imagination (and, as Reid reminds us , of the splendid science fiction novels of Ken MacLeod). He doubts the humanoid appearance of the early model, and prefers a "birdier" version by the incredible Nemo Ramjet.

Thanks to Darren for the intro to Nemo, a scientifically literate artist whose vision contains multitudes, who has everything from whole imaginary ecologies to Turkish stuff (!) on his site. You could lose yourself in it for days. He's going on our blogroll.

The Food Police..

...are coming for you.

I never met a trans- fat I liked. But doesn't this give you a shiver?

"New York Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg, by contrast, likes the idea. On Monday he reiterated that support, saying, 'The next big health issue is obesity. If you want to do something about it, it's going to require some decisions'."

What's next? Forced starvation for the fat?

The Eyes Have It

Now that our children are adults and aren't around so much to educate me, I find that I am often late catching on to new trends and new products. But I have to say that I hadn't seen these candy gummy eye balls until this Halloween. They really crack me up. I'm almost afraid to eat one.

Gives new meaning to the term "eye candy." And the phrase, "I'll keep an eye out for you."

Agnostic

I blogged recently on Rod Dreher's moving account of his conversion to Orthodox Christianity. Last week the one and only John Derbyshire wrote an essay on his loss of religious faith. I thought I must be nuts to like both, finding them sane and thoughtful. But apparently I am not alone-- both Dreher himself and Catholic columnist Michael Novak have written sympathetic essays in reaction.

Derb has to be the most honest writer alive today. He never tries to give offense but refuses to give lip service to anything he believes is not true. This makes him unpopular among some who should thank him for not being blinded by his own "side's" prejudices.

(By the way neither his style nor his unbelief has anything to do with atheist bomb- throwers like Dawkins. I love Dawkins' best evo- bio stuff but railing at the Amish and finding God at the root of all evil after the past century's anti- religious tyrants would be silly if it were not perverse. Was it Odious who said that the self- described "brights" should be called "smugs"?)

Me? I am with Derb more or less, with a deep sense of awe at the mystery of the universe and a fascination with evolution. I have an attachment to my Catholic roots and an interest in Buddhism. John, does that make me a "Mysterian"?