So I did.

Here, for your amusement, is a behind-the-scenes glimpse at the Merc-bots. And the massive printing presses, and some charming humans. In the last scene, Mama and Papa Drake even make an appearance.

Oh yeah. I added an out-take reel as well.

Sea otter with urchin Credit: matt knoth (Flickr)

Last fall, our class visited the sea otter researchers at the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Sandeep summarized many neat tidbits about otters from that trip on this blog. Two items that really piqued my interest involved otter mortality. In California, many otters die from disease or shark bite. What’s going on?

I tracked down the answer during my internship at KUSP 88.9 FM. Here’s a short radio story about how disease contributes to the recent otter population decline.

I talked about the increased number of shark bites during my interviews with Tim Tinker, an otter researcher for the U.S. Geological Survey, and Steve Shimek, executive director for The Otter Project, a non-profit organization working to support otter population recovery. The slideshow covers Tinker’s thoughts about the shark bites.

Shimek isn’t convinced that sharks only “taste” otters. Perhaps these toothy predators are swallowing them too. “What washes ashore is the otters that have been bitten and maybe spit out by the shark,” Shimek says. “Of course, we don’t know the number of otters that were eaten by the sharks because we’re never going to find those otters. Those otters are shark poop.”

Whether tasted or swallowed, the increased number of shark bites concerns otter advocates. Otter and shark biologists plan to work together to find the cause.

Tinker told me about another neat project comparing the environment and genetics of otter populations in Alaska, California and Canada. Of those three groups, only the California cluster is in decline. Researchers want to find similarities and differences between the three populations to help pinpoint the specific reasons for this downward trend. They set out for a three-week Alaskan expedition on Monday. It’s the second year of fieldwork on this project.

[UPDATE: Follow the scientists as they blog from the field here.]

The scientists will trap wild otters, collecting blood samples and one whisker for genetic analysis. The blood contains genetic markers that indicate otter immune system responses. These results will help them learn which diseases dominate each population.

The whisker contains clues to the otter’s diet over time — chemical elements unique to different kinds of prey. The tip of the whisker is several months older than its base. The scientists test many sections along its length to figure out an otter’s favorite treats. Many diseases start with a toxic meal, so this information helps scientists figure out which type of prey carries a poisoned punch.

Tinker hopes to have results from this long-term study in a couple of years. Until then, follow their work at the USGS Pacific Nearshore Project website.

I’ll end with happy otter news from SciCom’s backyard. A wild otter was born in Elkhorn Slough, a wetland south of Santa Cruz, last week. Researchers working on an unrelated project witnessed the birth and posted videos to YouTube. It’s hard to see the new pup, but it’s neat to watch the other otters form a ring of bodyguards (or babyguards?).

Description from press release:

This clip shows the mom/pup pair being noticed by a third otter, who then retrieves more otters to form a protective circle around the two.  Interesting points include:
0:00 – mother holding pup in the air to clean it
0:19 – the pair are noticed by a third otter, who seems excited at the new addition
0:49 – a new otter swims up
1:05 – another mom/pup pair joins in, then the three new otters disappear for a bit
2:52 – another otter returns briefly
3:30 – five otters begin to circle up

It’s a tough world out there, little otter, but know that scientists, environmentalists and SciCom slugs are looking out for you!

No. And no. And no again.

Until one fine day at the end of April, we got to film and edit short video biographies for our multimedia class. Guess who I picked as my subject? As I write this, Dozer the English bulldog is nestled against my back in our beanbag chair, snoring away. He is the product of many generations of forced inbreeding, and I love him with all my heart. I hope you enjoy.

English bulldogs are descended from old English bulldogs (really). Old English bulldogs were taller and had less-squished noses than their descendants. They were bred for bull-baiting. Their up-turned noses helped them breathe while keeping a bull’s nose clamped in their jaws, the wrinkles of skin on their faces, called ropes, helped keep the blood out of their eyes, and their stubborn temperament made them hang on long after any reasonable animal would have let go and run away to lick its wounds.

Dozer does not bait bulls. He runs from loud noises and plastic bags. Like most modern English bulldogs, he has a calm demeanor and a relaxed outlook on life. He’s had a few skin issues, and we have to watch carefully for eye disease and joint problems.

Pure bred animals are often more prone to diseases than their mixed-breed counterparts. That’s because they have been bred over and over again with very similar animals, winnowing down their genetic makeup so severely that specific traits consistently show up. It’s just like people. When family members have children together, those children are more likely to have health problems (think of how many of the Russian royal family had hemophilia).

Genes for maladaptive traits like hemophilia (or having a face so scrunchy it’s hard to breathe) can hide when they’re part of a genetic mixed bag with lots of variety. They don’t show up that often because other, more dominant genes override them. But when you breed similar creatures together, be they human or canine, you lose a lot of that genetic variety, and those hidden genes can rear their ugly heads. Or their adorable, wrinkly heads, as the case may be.

Well, that’s my attempt at making my adorable puppy relevant to readers interested in science. Thanks for your indulgence, those of you who stuck with me this far. Here’s your reward:

You've been slimed!

Part 1: Paintings and Pumas

Last week, we attended the opening of the Science Illustration Program‘s exhibit at the Pacific Grove Museum of Natural History. Word on the street is that one of the Slugs is putting together a multimedia project about the event, so I’ll keep my comments short: It was fantastic!! (reptiles and insects and jellies, oh my!)

Butterfly-eye-view of the gallery

My goodness those artists are talented. I can’t wait to see the illustrations for our Science Notes features. Eagerly, eagerly waiting.

Coincidentally, the museum’s featured exhibit is about mountain lions — an entertaining surprise, since I’ve been writing about the furry felines for several months now…ever since one went slinking through my front yard. (proof: gazing outside while daydreaming can lead to good things)

RAWR. I live with mountain lions!

September, 1926: Nature cover

Puma-paws, Nads-paws

Rallying my inner puma to drag 200 pounds.

I can haz deerz?

Word.

Part 2: Muddy Spelunking

Thursday, instead of spending two hours in a classroom, we went on a little adventure. Our instructor, Associated Press reporter Martha Mendoza, led us first into a meadow where — horrors! — we stretched our writing skills with a chocolate tasting (I know, so rough). Turns out, describing food flavors isn’t so easy. Power to those wine critics, and to Martha for this exercise.

Martha and Slugs sharing some writing

…AND THEN WE WENT SPELUNKING!!

[headlamp required]

There’s a cave on campus known as Empire Cave — carved out of the calcium carbonate (limestone) on which the university sits — and it’s a hidey-hole for wildlife undergraduates. Though the school tried to block the cave with a big cement slab, stubborn spelunkers dynamited the barricade, and three subterranean rooms and tunnels again await those willing to take the plunge.

Martha brought us there to write about being in the cave, the forest, and listening to noisy cars amidst forest songs — things you need to experience to creatively convey.

Martha says, "We're going in there..."

En route -- Hi Donna!

Slug brigade.

Mud? Sweet!

Taking the plunge

A rusty metal ladder descends roughly 15 feet from the jagged concrete hole into the 
A rusty metal ladder descends roughly 20 feet from the lip of the jagged hole, guiding explorers into the cave’s first room. Near the cave’s entrance, the endangered Dolloff spider (Meta dolloff) supposedly spins its web, though I didn’t see any of the creepy crawlers. Who lives in the cave? The Empire Cave Pseudoscorpion (Microreagris Imperialis), a “species of concern,” which only inhabits this dripping, slimy cavern (didn’t meet that one either).

Yummmm...paper. Melissae and Danielle get geared up.

Peering down into the darkness. (those are headlamps)

The first, high-ceilinged room is filled with tree branches and some trash. From the cave’s floor, a 25-degree incline loops back in the direction of the cave’s entrance. At the top of the rocky hill is the 

Descending.

Hi, Keith!

It's dark down here, yo.

The first, high-ceilinged room
The first, high-ceilinged room is filled with tree branches and some trash. From the cave’s floor, a steep incline doubles back in the direction of the cave’s entrance. At the top of the rocky hill is a tunnel that slopes down to the cave’s second room. It’s easiest to traverse this tunnel by hanging onto the ceiling and walls (well within reach), since the floor is slippery with mud, booby-trapped with boulders, and riven with tree roots (curious and curioser…)

Into the belly of the beast.

'Doop & K-tron Do Spelunking

trying not to break anything...

Several weeks ago, Sandeep (‘Doop) and I ventured into this sloppy wonderland and were forced to stop partway down the tunnel since recent rains had flooded the passage.

Ummm...a cave-lake?

Today, the passage was open, and we happily squelched through the mud. Indeed, there must have been a sh*t-ton of water before, since the cave just kept going and going…and I’d thought it had just been a big puddle.

Keith (K-Tron!) remarked that trudging through the mud sounded like walking on bubble wrap: the mud insistently sucked on our shoes, reluctantly releasing them with a loud Pop! as we pushed forward.

As for our assignment?

Keith actually wrote *in* the cave...

...Danielle (Dunkle) perched...

...I waited for the meadow.

I wrote that I was drawn deeper into this moldy mineral chamber as though caught in a
I wrote that I was drawn deeper into this moldy mineral chamber as though caught in a rocky tractor beam…there was no turning back — onward!onward!gogogo! — until we hit a wall.

Or so I thought. According to a cave map, somewhere in that wall lurks the entrance to another room, waiting to be discovered by this Slug. I’m going back…

That's right. See ya next time!

And thank you, Martha!

Epilogue: Spelunking runs in the family.

After coming home covered in mud from my first outing in Empire Cave, I found myself at the receiving end of enthusiastic inquiries about the cave from my dad. (how big? how deep? rooms? tunnels? stuff inside? water? stalagmites? stalactites? bears? — not the last one.)

“Huh?” I thought. “Since when is dad concerned with all things subterranean? I thought his interests lay wayyyy above ground.”

Turns out, my dad is a super-spelunker.

In the 1960s, he and his buds spent their down-time exploring caves near the National Radio Astronomy Observatory in Green Bank, West Virginia. One of those caves, he says, is among the most spectacular in the eastern United States.

It’s called Cass Cave, and this cavern is no joke — parts of it are accessible only by adventurers doing their best earthworm impressions,  and its tunnels and rooms extend for miles.

But, “The most spectacular thing in this cave is a big waterfall,” my dad says, of the more than 100-foot underground cascade. “To get to the best part of the cave you had to climb down the waterfall (with ropes).  The geometry of the situation was such that you had to go up and down IN the waterfall, with freezing water pouring all over you. It was quite an adventure.”

I’ll say. He found a website showing an old National Geographic picture of the cave (photo below, caption info on the site is definitely worth a read!).

“I recognize the ladder in the picture…,” he says.

Conclusion? Dad’s badass.

[More Cass Cave recollections here, from a fellow who was at Green Bank around the same time.]

The End.

As training wheels for my first project, I found a subject that has all the time in the world and no sense of self-consciousness: a crops of tulips blooming on my deck. One day, I noticed that on a particularly warm afternoon, the flowers had opened wide, so that the petals were practically perpendicular to the stem. I thought this movement would be a nice subject for a slide show. On picture day, the weather didn’t get quite as warm as I would have hoped, so the flowers didn’t open as dramatically as I had first noticed. Nonetheless, the flowers did get in their daily stretch and made no complaints as I set up each shot and adjusted all the camera’s widgets.

Here’s what I came up with:

After learning how to make my own time-lapse sequence in class, I spent sunset this past Sunday capturing images.

It was definitely an adventure – equipment failures (tripod attachment), dead batteries (but I had a spare!), and people wanting to ask what I was doing. Since I had to take a picture every four seconds and I don’t have one of those programmable gadgets that will take them for you, I had to keep a weather eye on my stopwatch. No time to talk, sorry! But, I got what I needed. You can see for yourself how it turned out:

A closeup of one antenna in the Allan Telescope Array, at the Hat Creek Radio Observatory in Northern California (Colby Gutierrez-Kraybill/Creative Commons)

Our collective ears have swiveled downward, from the sounds of the sky, to the jingling of our coin purse. The SETI Institute halted operations of the radio telescopes in the Allen Telescope Array, the San Jose Mercury News reported Monday. Until a few days ago, these telescopes had been scanning the sky, radio-ears at the ready, in a quest to detect signals from extraterrestrial civilizations. Budget shortages, it seems, find ever new ways to determine, and limit, what we listen to.*

These budget reductions are sad news, for me and for many people. SETI matters have appeared on this blog before (and for pieces I’ve written for Wired Science and for class). What actually interests me most about the field – more than the aliens themselves – is how the search affects those drawn to it. (For more on this watch Jill Tarter’s, director of the institute’s Center for SETI Research, 2009 TEDtalk.

Night sky (Sabby3000/Flickr)

The desire to reach intelligence beyond the bounds of earth, seems to imbue goodwill towards the life already here (snarky jokes shelved for another time). By turning off equipment that makes the search possible, we’re lowering our perspective. Our concerns become more base. I can’t think of any time when that worked to our advantage.

Tossing in my two copper coins, I hope it’s not too long before our ears perk up again.

(*Note: Radio signals aren’t actually sound, but stretched-out, far-journeying light.)

= = = = = = = = = =

For reading see:

–Search for ET Put on Hold, Seth Shostak, a lively, likeable Senior Astronomer at the SETI Institute, Huffington Post;
-SETI Institute to shut down alien-seeking radio dishes, Lisa Krieger, the San Jose Mercury News;
–SETI Institute suspends search for alien signals, David Perlman, the San Francisco Chronicle;
-Or see the announcement and request for donations on the Institute’s website.

The way to write? (Norma and Frank Bissaker on their wedding day, 1941/Flickr)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a freelance writer, embarking on her career, must be in want of health insurance.
–Jane Austen Danielle Venton

The first time someone tells you that marrying well is key to successful freelancing – by that read “marrying into health insurance” – it’s fairly easy to laugh. It lends a scent of the Victorian to the lifestyle, and accessorizes it with calling cards and afternoon tennis matches. The second time, it’s easy to crack a wry smile. Ah yes, I’ve heard this joke before. I began to worry it wasn’t a joke when I heard it a third time. And when, for the fourth time, a professor, mentor or seminar speaker said that one absolutely must take care to exchange rings only with the employed, insured and pensioned, there set in a mild panic.

Now, I have nothing against those with steady jobs and retirement plans. Nor am I prejudiced against those with healthy savings accounts. However, as alluring as the prospect of health insurance might be, it’s hardly inducement to hop in bed with someone. Therefore, I have been formulating a post-SciCom survival plan. I thought I might share, in case it is useful or in case you, reader, have suggestions of your own to offer.

A SCIENCE WRITER’S HIERARCHY OF NEEDS
Let’s start with basics: food, clothing, shelter and entertainment. (A little distraction is, at least for me, also a requirement.) In terms of expense, housing trumps the list so nailing that down is most important. I could, I suppose, join a hippie commune or go back to being a live-in nanny, but I like the idea of having my own walls and roof. The most practical idea currently seems to be to build myself a Tumbleweed House. This company sells plans to tiny, yet complete, houses, or the pre-built houses themselves. At the moment my whimsy favors this model, The Harbinger. The very name inspires hope.

Harbinger, from the Tumbleweed Tiny House Company/Flickr

And where to put it? I hear you ask. My parents own about an acre of land on the outskirts of Petaluma. I’d like for them to think it would be a great idea if I tore down the old shop in the backyard, site of much camping equipment and fatherly tinkering paraphernalia. In its place I’d build a little picket-fence-enclosed home. Scuttlebutt is, if it is small enough, you don’t need the city permits that a full-fledged dwelling calls for (ironing all of that out is sure to be an odyssey). All I need is a self-composting toilet, some solar panels, maybe an electricity-generating stationary bike, a way to get on the internet and I’m set.

Food, of course, is also a primary consideration. The backyard already holds seven fruit trees and more can be planted. The family vegetable garden can also be expanded. We could once-again raise chickens for eggs and, coming from angler-hunter-gatherer stock as I do, there is always seafood and venison around. I do enjoy a meal out with friends, but I can accept I’ll need to eat out only on occasion. Home cooked meals always taste better anyway.

Saving on clothing is going to be less of a problem for me that it would be for, say, some of my Swiss or New Yorker friends. In this case, however, self-sufficiency is not the way forward for me. Once upon a time, I tried my hand at sewing. The ill-fated blouse was so supremely frustrating that, by the time I was done with the wretched thing, I had grown to loathe it. I don’t think I’ve ever worn that shade of orangey-peach ever again in my life, ever. Thrift and consignment stores will be in my future, as they have been in my past.

Now, I am extremely talented at getting into situations that are best survived by laughing at myself. The truth is, however, a little external entertainment is far easier on the nerves and less likely to cause injury. Fortunately my most of my pastimes are quite economical: reading, running, backpacking, going to Giants games with my brother. It would be far worse if my hobbies included, say, skiing, yachting, Swiss watches and heroin. (Full disclosure: I do actually own a Swiss watch and I’ve never done heroin.)

I’m happy to rely on the public library system for my books and movie rentals. Running is as cheap as free. With the exception of a decent three-season tent, I already own most of the needed backpacking equipment. Jeff and I always get the cheapest Giant’s tickets.
I do, I must say, enjoy seeing live music. My plan for working this into my impoverished future life is a two-pronged approach. For classical music: cheap seats! It only costs $10 to  stand at the opera. Rush tickets at they symphony are $20 For modern music: catch on to the bands before they are famous, when the tickets are less. (I’m talking to you daytrotter.com.)

These plans for frugal living are only meant to be taken so seriously, obviously. But the idea of standing through four hours of Madam Butterfly is far easier to swallow than the idea of enduring a dating world where I have to include “financial security for two” along with my other requirements. It’s already a lot to ask that someone be tall, smart, funny, red-haired, a fan of MST3K and have a large and generous heart. I’m not interested in asking to see their stock portfolio as well.

SciCom is full of practical wisdom, to be sure. Some of us, though, might need to supplement our training with home vegetable gardening lessons and workshops on plumbing installation. All tips welcome.

I have always used a point and shoot little camera, and never fussed with any of the dials or settings beyond the playback function. In our multimedia journalism class this quarter, our instructor Lisa Strong showed us how to compose and shoot a good portrait.

As the photographer, you get to make choices about a ton of things:
-how to light the subject’s face,
-what angle to shoot from,
-what to include in the shot,
-whether to blur the background,
-how to compose the image.

But before you can get that far, if you’re new to the art, you have to cover the basics. Is your eyepiece or screen telling you honestly what the photo will look like? Is your camera letting in too little light, making the image dark,  or overexposed and out of focus giving you this?

Once you’re in focus and have your aperture and shutter speed adjusted to allow just enough light in (or have given up and set the dial back to auto), you can start thinking about what the picture is actually of. Where do you want your audience to focus their attention? A busy shot with lots of things in the background can be overwhelming or disorienting to your audience, and your subject can get lost. Is this a portrait, or a kitchen, or a big white door, or some bicycles?

The eye is usually drawn first to the brightest part of an image, which in this case could be the white door or the overhead light or the window–not the person. Also, the lighting is not helping.

So go someplace where the light will help you. Outside in the morning or evening is great.

Ok, but now there’s an ugly railing hogging the shot. So, move around and switch the angle you’re shooting from.

…keep trying…

Better. And the hills in the background are a little blurred, too. Now for the composition. Even in a portrait, the person’s face doesn’t necessarily have to be right in the middle of the shot. By scooting over to one side and getting a little closer, we get a picture that looks more put together.

But someone doesn’t look thrilled. Getting this stuff right as quickly as possible is important because unless you’re working with a professional model, your subject can get tired of being “the subject.” If the person isn’t in it with you, even the most fantastic lighting and composition does not a portrait make. So talk to them, get them laughing, make it a fun experience.

Well that’s about the best I can do so far. Getting that perfect shot is a lot harder than it looks.

Many thanks to my wonderful and very patient bf for being a marvelous model.

We started off in Cabo San Lucas, which was fun, but fairly touristy (and did have plenty of access to email and the internet, though we tried to avoid those). The real trip started after that, when we rented a couple of four-wheel-drive vehicles and drove for 6 hours into the wilderness.

One of the 4WD vehicles was a 1970s Toyota Landcruiser, which was great off the road, if somewhat loud…here’s a video of one of the better dirt roads we were on:

LandcruiserBaja from Sandeepr on Vimeo.

We diverged from the highway just North of La Paz, and spent 3-4 hours on progressively worse dirt roads, driving with the desert on one side of us and the Sea of Cortes on the other. We passed small fishing villages, other campsites, and went up and down steep hillside roads.

Our reward: a pristine cove completely to ourselves.

That’s when it struck me—I didn’t remember the last time I was completely off the grid. There was no way to call, text, e-mail anyone, or browse the web.

The first consequence of this stunning lack of connectivity was that any arguments had to be settled the old-fashioned way, without someone instantly pulling up Google or Wikipedia on their smartphones. It was like being back in the…90s.

The second thing I noticed was how much more time I had, without the constant intake of news to read or respond to in some way. It helped that camping outdoors meant I was waking up at sunrise. And between fishing, kayaking, snorkeling, hiking, and just chatting with friends our days were pretty full.

Bereft of the constant stimulation from my computer or smartphone, I started peering at every random plant, creature or rock that caught my attention.

It was also interesting to sit around the campfire at night, and get caught up on stories, since we were all seeing each other after a long time. (These stories only occasionally involved Charlie Sheen…).

Now I’m back of course, and fully immersed in the digital world again. But I’ve been trying to ease my brain back—part of it clearly wishes I was still lying on a beach, staring out at the Sea of Cortes. On the other hand, it does feel quite refreshed, and I’m trying to not let it get too distracted by the fire-hose of information that’s available online.

So I have to admit I’ve been logging in to social media sites a little bit less, refreshing my favorite news sites slightly less often, and only checking email once every few minutes rather than every 10 seconds…baby steps…

On the plus side, I’ll be going out to a desert field site this coming Thursday to watch lizard researchers at work (near Los Banos, CA, slightly closer to home).

I’ll be recording video and audio for my various multimedia projects this quarter, and with some off-roading and hiking required to get there, it sounds like I’ll get to relive a bit of spring break again.

Update: Thanks to the wonders of Google Earth I was able to find the exact cove where we camped. Here’s a short video zooming out from it:

Baja Campsite – Google Earth from Sandeepr on Vimeo.