Good Eats, Sutured Lions, Stuffed Seals, And Other Highlights At Harvard

My plane leaves for San Francisco in a couple hours, but I wasn't about to leave Boston without revisiting some of my favorite Cambridge stomping grounds and checking-out how Harvard has changed since I lived here from 1987-1992. Harvard gets a lot of backlash when people start talking about "Best of," but even with just a whirlwind tour this morning, I recalled some fantastic memories. There are a lot of "Bests" about Harvard. Here's just a very personal list of my favorites:

Best Newstand: Out Of Town News in Harvard Square. Can literally find your hometown news and have it waiting for you.


Best Burgers: Mr. Bartley's Burger Cottage on Mass. Ave. just outside Harvard Yard and behind the Wigglesworth freshman housing. Sometimes it's a long wait to get seated, but oh so worth it!


Best Quick Eats and Beer: Grendel's Den. A perennial fixture at Harvard. It's dark, usually quiet, and serve some fantastic kabobs with a pint.


Best Academic Library: Widener Library. Second only to the Library of Congress in sheer volume of holdings. For the serious scholar. Rumor has it that to be a true Harvard student, you must have sex at some time in your student career somewhere in the labyrinth-like stacks.


Best Old-School Natural History Museum: The Museum of Comparative Zoology (MCZ). Founded in 1859 by that old, irascible creationist Louis Agassiz, it remains a monument to the Victorian principles of collect and document all you can. There's far more tucked away in shelves, bottles, and drawers than you see on display, but in total it represents some of the best comparative animal collections in the world. Some of my favorites:

The Kronosaur

The Slowly Decaying Coelacanth

The Sad Dodo

The Sutured Lion Cub

The Smiling Seal

And the ever so extinct Sea Cow

What I always liked about the MCZ is they realize that the science they have on display needs to attract and interest future scientists as well. But honestly, with collections this cool, how could it not interest the child in everyone.

Malaria, Bedbugs, Sea Lice, And Moonrises

Sometimes words are simply unnecessary.

Human Ecology, Pink Granite, Popovers, And Erratics: Stories From Mount Desert Island

My whacky schedule gives me only a single day on Mount Desert Island, Maine's largest island, but I managed to fit in all my work, proofed three grant reports, and still had time for some fun outdoors. My only complaint is that for the entire time I've been on the island, the temperature has been hovering in the 90's throughout the day. This is truly bizarre weather on an island in the North Atlantic where summer dress normally consists of wool sweaters and mittens.

My day started with an early meeting with Jill Barlow-Kelley, the Director of Internships at the College of the Atlantic (COA) in Bar Harbor. With a student body of 300 undergraduates, COA is a small school with a major difference - literally. All students major in Human Ecology. Human ecology integrates knowledge from all academic disciplines and from personal experience to investigate, and ultimately improve, the relationships between human beings and our social and natural communities. My meeting was to learn about the college's internship process and explore how COA students unique academic preparation might fit into my coral conservation projects around the world. I learned a lot from Jill and think the potential for internship collaboration would benefit both COA and CORAL. And thanks, Jill, for the great coffee!

After my meeting, I decided to drive up to the highest point on MDI, Cadillac Mountain. At 1571 feet above sea level, it's hardly a mountain by western US standards. But Cadillac is in fact the tallest coastal geologic feature on the eastern continental coastline north of Sugarloaf Mountain in Brazil. Allegedly, anyone possessing the will to wake-up early enough to stand atop Cadillac's summit can claim the distinction of being among the first in the continental US to witness the sunrise that day. I wasn't eager to join that courageous cohort, so a midday visit would be perfectly adequate.

As you drive up Cadillac on the winding switch-backs of a road, you notice how the granite bedrock of the island appears sliced in places or how the rock is weathering in layers that appear to be sloughing away a layer at a time. This is the characteristic jointing that granite demonstrates as it weathers. The rock literally cleaves along planes nearly perpendicular to each other. This leads to the blocky appearance of the bedrock and the onion-like peeling away of layers. Mount Desert's granite is a peculiar pinkish orange color with large crystal size. This pinkish hue results from the particular chemical composition of feldspar in the island's granite recipe. Granite, an igneous rock, is a blend of minerals, typically quartz, feldspar, hornblende, and mica. Specific chemical variables within these minerals effect overall color of the rock. The rate of cooling of magma determines crystal size.

Up at the summit, you get a spectacular view of most of the east and south of the island. The summit is usually a place where you can find some relief from hot summer temperatures, but not today. All the island granite had been baking under a scorching sun for several days now, and the nighttime temps didn't offer much opportunity for cooling. As a result, the summit felt like I was standing in a convection oven. I strolled the summit trail and, as I always do when visiting the island, imagined the two mile thick layer of glacial ice that scraped across this summit during the last ice age. I'll say that again for full effect: two miles of ice covered and flowed across the rock I was now standing on. And like an enormous dirty ice cube, the ice picked-up rock, sand, and other abrasives and scoured the underlying bedrock. It smoothed the granite mountains into the rounded appearance we now see, gouged out deep valleys between the mountains (see the island diorama at top of post) and dug the deep fjord, Somes Sound, that almost bisects the island in half.

The plant life atop the summit has a tough existence. Looking around, you notice the same tree species as were growing near the base of the mountain. Except, where the spruce and cedars were 30 foot trees at the mountain base, here on the summit they were 2-3 foot dwarfs. It's not hard to see how this natural bonsai-effect results. The terrain is solid granite with very little ability to retain water. What soil that's there is thin and primitive. Lichen start the soil succession by eroding the durable granite into small particles.



This loose, rocky material (cryptogam) provides enough substrate for grasses to sprout. Over time, more organic material accumulates, bird poop provides occasional nitrogen (a fertilizer), and voila... a basic and harsh plant ecosystem evolves.

Now nearing high noon and thoroughly damp with sweat, I knew immediately how to cool down in a most civilized way: tea and popovers on the great lawn of the Jordan Pond House. The Jordan Pond House traces its history back to 1847. The original farm house was built by the Jordan family of Seal Harbor, for whom the adjacent pond and house were named. It was converted into a restaurant in the early 1870's. The house traded hands over the years until John D. Rockefeller, Jr. purchased the property in 1946 and gave it to the National Park Service to ensure its continuation. There's an indescribable joy of relaxation one experiences while enjoying a pot of Darjeeling tea and fresh-baked popovers while sitting under the shade of an umbrella in this incredibly beautiful place. Life is, indeed, good.

After this hedonistic diversion, it was unfortunately time to get back to my day job. I had a pile of grant reports to pour through and several needed to be submitted before close of business today. On my drive back to Bar Harbor along the park loop road, I paused briefly at Bubble Rock. I've seen this particular sight many times and have hiked the short trail up to this geologic wonder too many times to remember. Bubble Rock is known as a glacial erratic, a rock that was picked-up, transported, and deposited by the movement of glacial ice. In this case, the type of granite that comprises Bubble Rock matches rock from 30-40 miles north of Mount Desert Island. Understanding and appreciating geology requires an active imagination. I love to look at landforms like this and imagine what the process must have looked like as time progressed. This gigantic boulder, a mere speck of sand compared to the mass of a glacier, was snatched from its point of origin and moved south along the glacial conveyor belt. Here and there it may have scraped along the bedrock leaving behind glacial striations just like a chisel point under an artists hand might carve or shape rough rock. As glacial expansion stopped and global temperatures warmed, the erratic was deposited on this precarious ledge on South Bubble Mountain. It truly gives you an appreciation of deep time and the scale and pace of some geologic activity.

Sound As A Pound

You can't swing a cat in the state of Maine without hitting a lobster. As I mentioned before, next to tourism it's the backbone of Maine's economy. And boy, does Maine know how to market it. Here in lobster central you can find lobster shirts, lobster hats, lobster magnets, lobster aprons, lobster shot glasses, lobster holiday lights, lobster plush toys, lobster bottle openers, and lobster jewelry. I saw lobster serving dishes shaped like lobsters. You can even find lobster ice cream. I shit you not. Ben & Bill's in Bar Harbor (that's their ice cream flavor list in the picture below) serves up scoops of sweet butter-flavored ice cream with chunks of whole lobster meat.


And of course, there are lobsters themselves. I don't like the taste of lobster myself, but I love lobster culture. And I take it seriously. One of my favorite Maine institutions is the lobster pound. Lobster pounds hold fresh, live lobsters in tanks with water passing freely through them. The first lobster pounds were wooden box-like structures located in deep tidal creeks, but today they are more commonly seen attached to docks floating in a harbor. The pound allows lobster dealers to store lots of lobsters at once. As market prices fluctuate, dealers can sell their lobsters rapidly or wait for the price of lobster to increase. It also allows a newly-molted lobster time to harden its shell before going to market.

The Downeast coast of Maine is littered with lobster pounds, but not all are the real thing in my book. What do I look for in a genuine lobster pound? It should be located right on the water or near enough that they have easy access to fresh seawater through a direct pump system. The saltwater is not just to keep the lobsters happy, but real lobster pounds boil their lobsters in seawater.

I also look for family businesses that have been around for a while. Family businesses usually do their own fishing or have long standing relationships with lobster fishers in the area. It's worth noting that just because I look for family-owned businesses, this in no way guarantees that the person behind the register at the lobster pound is going to be folksy and pleasant. This is, after all, Maine and true Mainers only sort of tolerate tourists. It's part of the charm.

Anyway, if you ever want the real lobster pound experience, it doesn't get much better than the Trenton Bridge Lobster Pound just before you cross the bridge onto Mount Desert Island. This family-owned business has been serving lobsters the right way for over 50 years and through three generations. They run their wood-fire heated saltwater kettles all day outside the shop. The smell of wood smoke mixed with lobster is intoxicating.



Despite the fact that I'm not a lobster-eating fan, I love this place and others like it for its history and connection to the ocean as a resource. It's iconic of a longstanding family connection and dependence on a healthy sea. Sadly, this sort of connection, deep history, and value is lost upon the Red Lobster crowd and other megacorporate seafood chains.

You Can Get There From Here

I'm headed further north now to Mount Desert Island, Maine, for a meeting with the College of the Atlantic (COA). I'm hoping to explore the potential for incorporating COA students as interns in our conservation work. COA is a unique college that grants degrees in only one field: Human Ecology, the study of our relationship with our environment. I'm particularly impressed with COA's focus on collaboration and community and think there may be some exciting possibilities for synergy. I'll also have the added bonus of visiting one of my favorite places, Acadia National Park, which is essentially in the college's back yard.

Any parting thoughts of Portland, Maine? Well, as it was when I lived here 10 years ago, Portland is a place of little pretense. It's just people going about their lives without the rush and drama of most urban areas. By the looks of most of the downtown area, there's been a sort of zero sum game that's played-out over the past 10 years I've been gone. Some areas have improved, others have decayed. Where there appears to be capital investments in infrastructure building, you can point to areas that display neglect. I suppose you can say this of any metropolitan district, but Portland isn't New York City. The standard of living in Maine is modest. People aren't making enormous salaries and many here (myself included when I called Portland home) live check to check. I suppose many still wait for a boom in the local economy, but from what I see things have just sort of maintained.

Regardless, I love this town. I love that it's unpretentious yet hip in its own way. I love (and miss) Granny's Burritos. I love old pal and now local celebrity writer Liz Peavey whose entire oeuvre I picked-up at the local bookstore. I love the pseudo-arts district, the not so Old Port, and the local coffee shops that flip the middle finger to the many Starbucks. I love its close proximity and connection to the ocean and that the city has not forgotten its coastal heritage. And I love the fact that someone can walk down the street wearing the T-shirt below yet not have it be considered sarcastic or ironic.

Furry Crabs And Traditional Knowledge: A Wednesday Catch-Up

Sorry about this retrospective posting, but such is the nature of finding time to blog that corresponds with finding internet access. Anyway, yesterday (Wednesday) was my last full day to spend at the NMEA conference and I want to be sure to mention the highlights.

I finally got my circadian to match the timezone and had an all too restful night's sleep. So much so that I woke up with only 15 minutes to splash some water on my face, dress, and then dash to the conference center. This mornings guest speaker was Ron O'Dor who is with the Consortium for Oceanographic Research and Education (CORE) in Washington DC. He's also a senior scientist with the Census of Marine Life, a growing global network of researchers in more than 70 nations engaged in a ten-year initiative to assess and explain the diversity, distribution, and abundance of life in the ocean and explain how it changes over time. Say that five times fast. Their unofficial motto (which I love) is, We can't tell you what we will find... We don't even know what we're looking for! You've probably already either seen or heard news about the census. It's made quite a splash, in no small part due to a very savvy and well thought out media campaign and an on-staff cadre of communication and PR specialists. The Census is not wasting time leveraging the amazing images of bizarro marine critters their teams are discovering. For instance, the image above of the now famous Yeti Crab (Kiwa hirsuta) discovered living in a deep sea trench near Chile's Easter island has received almost as much press as Lindsay Lohan.

O'Dor is primarily involved with the Pacific Ocean Shelf Tracking (POST) Project. POST was created to monitor the movement of marine animals along the west coast of North America. POST is also part of a larger Census initiative called the Ocean Tracking Network. The idea here is to tag and assign bar codes to marine animals, from small invertebrates to enormous whales. Then, by setting up an enormous array of "listening stations," the researchers can monitor the movements and behaviors of these individuals. If I didn't explain that clearly enough, this short Quicktime video does a great job of summarizing the methodology.

The bulk of my last day at the conference was spent in a very exciting meeting (the very first meeting in fact) of the Traditional Knowledge Committee of the National Marine Educators Association. A little back story is in order first. The National Marine Educators Association (NMEA) is a 100% voluntary educational association of informal and formal educators and miscellaneous schools, agencies, and organizations that are involved in marine education. None of the board or associated officers draw any salary. While marine education is the main focus, NMEA has allowed itself to expand and incorporate all aspects of aquatic educational needs. It's somewhat inelegant motto reflects this: Making known the world of water, both fresh and salt.

A big objective of NMEA has been to ensure that students learn about and gain an appreciation for the role of the ocean in human lives. Since ocean awareness and explicit ocean science does not appear in the national science education standards (and with teachers hard pressed to teach to standardized tests and other restrictions due to No Child Left Behind) many students complete 12 years of public education in the United States with very little appreciation and content knowledge about ocean processes. To try to address this gap, a few years back a very motivated core group of NMEA members in collaboration with the National Geographic Society and others began the challenging process of defining those core principles that all students should know to be ocean literate. This movement, called the Ocean Literacy Network, is now rolling and gaining momentum.

The Ocean Literacy Principles focus heavily upon science, geography, and history. However, it became apparent that the principles omitted any recognition of traditional knowledge and the learning of native or indigenous people. Native Americans, Pacific Islanders, and African American populations whose cultures have had close connection to marine habitats hold millenia of traditions and traditional ways of knowing. This isn't just a politically correct concern. Western science certainly represents the best way be have to explain our natural world, but traditional knowledge also provides context and depth of understanding of the human connections to the ocean. As such, they should not be excluded from student's ocean education, particularly in places where such local, traditional knowledge may still be practiced.

Which brings us back to the committee meeting. Since NMEA is not just promoting ocean science but is an interdisciplinary effort, the new Traditional Knowledge Committee will be charged with ensuring that local traditions become included in the core ocean principles in locations such as Hawaii, Alaska, and wherever Native American coastal traditions are represented. Since CORAL works in so many areas internationally and incorporates traditional knowledge into our approach to MPA support, I had the honor of being invited to this important meeting. I joined indigenous representatives from Hawaii, representatives from the local Penobscot Nation, and others from around the country who have close ties to indigenous people.

I'm particularly proud to be a part of this movement that can perhaps serve as a model for not just the marine education world but beyond. And since ocean awareness and appreciation can come from many different entry points, not just science, it's heartening to think we are building a truly inclusive community.

Scarborough Marsh

I managed to capture this picture yesterday of Scarborough Marsh in all its summer glory. Scarborough Marsh is Maine's largest contiguous salt marsh. The 3,100 acre Scarborough Marsh Wildlife Management Area, owned and managed by the State of Maine and Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife, includes approximately 2,700 acres of salt marsh, five tidal rivers, several smaller streams, some coastal freshwater marsh, tidal flats, and less than 200 acres of upland habitat. It's a birder's paradise and a great place to take your canoe or kayak.

It's nice to see that stands of the invasive reed Phragmites that populates the northwest edges of the marsh have not expanded into the main marsh area. Phragmites is commonly called the "marsh muncher" as it grows rapidly and can quickly fill wetlands.

Tuesday Catch-Up

Well, I awoke to find the internet up in my hotel, so I thought I'd mention one of the highlights from yesterdays sessions. We had a terrific keynote address delivered by Prof. Bob Steneck from the Darling Marine Center at the University of Maine. Bob studies ecological processes in the benthic marine realm and focuses on the food webs, structure, and keystone organisms of coastal marine communities. While he works in Maine, he's not just a cold water marine ecologist but dabbles in tropical coral reef ecosystems as well. I've had the pleasure of interacting with Bob down in Tulum, Mexico, with our Mesoamerican Barrier Reef project.

Bob's keynote address was focused on the shifting baseline of Maine's coastal fisheries. He looked at the conundrum of how lobsters, the biggest cash crop for Maine's fisheries, are thriving in the face of intensive fishing effort. It's peculiar that such an intensely fished species would be experiencing a historic population explosion. Looking deeper at fishing records over time, Bob correlated the lobster, crab, and sea urchin booms in Maine to the cod and other big fish busts of the past few decades. In the absence of big predatory fish like cod, lobsters and other key invertebrate populations explode. Bob isn't just an excellent scientist, but a gifted speaker who can make an hour of charts, graphs, and other data sets absolutely gripping. We need more Bob Steneck's.

Following the keynote, I attended a session by Ben Namakin (in the image to the left) with the Conservation Society of Pohnpei. The presentation was on networking marine educators internationally through the International Pacific Marine Educators Network (IPMEN). This is a relatively new effort to link the marine education world throughout the Pacific Rim. It's also follow-up from the first ever IPMEN conference that was originally slated last January in Fiji. Thanks to the coup however, the meeting was moved at the last minute to Honolulu. CORAL Program Managers Bryan and Liz both attended and Liz presented during that conference.

Most of the presentation focused on the history of IPMEN, and the technology that's making connectivity across the Pacific possible. But Ben also had a presentation on Pohnpei's conservation efforts. Ben is an old friend of CORAL and worked with us several years ago in Pohnpei when we assisted in developing a user fee for marine recreation to help offset marine protected area management costs. Ben informed me that the user fee is having some difficulties at the moment, getting all snarled-up in political red tape. Hopefully we can identify a funding source to return to Pohnpei soon to assist in getting the process moving again.

Malaria, Bedbugs, Sea Lice, and Sunrises

Out my hotel window this morning.

Putting The "Oh!" In Oregon

Bryan finally shot me a heads-up from Portland, Oregon where he is attending the Coastal Zone 07 conference. He claims almost Florida-esque humidity in Portland, which would put it on a par with the muggy heat here in Portland, Maine. Bryan also provided this image from what he says was a Saturday market in downtown. No other explanation was provided for what is going on in this picture, but I'm almost tempted to run a caption contest. Feel free to suggest a caption if you are so inclined. In the mean time, I'll presume the figure with the pink hair is not Bryan testing out a bold career change.