BioBlitz 2012, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado, Species Inventory Information, Facts -- National Geographic

BioBlitz 2012, Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado, Species Inventory Information, Facts -- National Geographic

I am planning on trying to do this.  Seems like fun!

Arise! Leviathan of the Deep!

At six every morning a group of people start to assemble on the cliffs of Rancho Palos Verdes.  Below them, under the blue Pacific, are their targets.  Other groups like them form loose squads up and down the Pacific Coast.  They volunteered for their mission, and yet they are unarmed.  They set up their positions, check their bearings, and begin scanning the blue horizon.  They peer quietly through their binoculars or telescopes.  The ignore the tugs and freighters, quickly dismissing their markings and bearing.  What they seek lies below the surface, moving quietly and with purpose.  This morning, I was with them.

Scanning the horizon.

The grey-haired gentleman to my left, who is scanning the southern sector suddenly stops, breaths in a bit and bellows, "Arise!!! Leviathan of the Deep!!!"

Suddenly, there is much more activity.

"Where?  Bearing?"

"136!  Do you see it?!"

A pause as everyone focuses their eyes.  Suddenly, I see what they are looking for.

Gray whales spouting.

A shiny, deep gray form breaks the surface of the water, moving north.   A whale!!!  Then I see the plume.  I can hear it breathing in!  Powerful!

Whales. A pod of four gray whales breaking the surface of the water to breathe before they go back down for about 4-5 minutes.  Beautiful creatures!

Cetacean comparison chart.

The group chatters excitedly and documents everything. Their enthusiasm gets carried over to the joggers and walkers along the coastal hiking trail. These people are not part of the Civil Defense or Coast Guard Auxiliary, looking for enemy submarines. They are whale watchers. Volunteers, all of them. These men and women are whale spotters for the American Cetacean Society's (ACS) Gray Whale Census.

ACS Gray Whale Census Volunteers.  I was told the patches on the chairs are designed by volunteers and represent each season in which the volunteer participated.

The group tracks and counts gray whales and other marine mammals that move up and down the US Pacific coast.  Their "camp" is the Point Vicente Interpretive Center, a nature center that showcases the flora, fauna, history, and marine ecosystems of the Palos Verdes Penninsula near Los Angeles, Calif.

This season's whale counts have been big. There have even been orcas spotted in the harbor this year. 

This morning the group consisted of local residents Jean, Bob, Steve, Nancy, and Stephanie.  Bob tells me that the group has been doing this for around 30 years.  They are unpaid, dedicated, and work in all kinds of weather.  (Read the Wall Street Journal article -if you subscribe - about these dedicated people.)

Volunteers keep an eye on the gray whale pod they spotted traveling north.

The group tracked a pod of grays as they moved north up the coast.  Several species migrate along the Pacific coast, but the ACS, based in San Pedro, Calif., tracks the Eastern Pacific gray whales because they frequently use the California coast and Channel Island corridor as their route.

The Pacific ocean from the Palos Verdes Peninsula looking toward a hazy Malibu in the distance.  The Channel Islands, out of view but to the left, create a very busy cetacean migration route, mirroring the human, yet just as busy 405 Freeway that runs the same direction on land. 

The whale spotters track numbers, species, behavior, and the number of calves they see.  They only see a handful of a great number of migrating whales, but their data is indicative of the overall health of the migrating species. This year there has been a record number of southbound gray whale sightings.

Stephanie, a veteran whale counter, uses a telescope to track a gray whale pod.   She recorded the number of whales, times they surfaced, and if they "fluked" - showed their tails before diving under.

As the pod began to move out of sight, I took my leave (and took a a few pictures) just as a group of school kids arrived at the center.

Kids line the railing next to the Pt. Vicente Interpretive Center.  

I watched as they were quickly ushered to the railings to catch a glimpse of the whale pod as they took their deep breaths before going under for another 4-5 minutes.  I saw the ACS volunteers watch them with pleased smiles. I wondered if the kids realized how lucky we are to see such magnificent animals.  Maybe one of them will be watching for whales one day.

Resources and Sites:

Blue Whale Census and Behavior Project at http://acsonline.org/conservation/gray-whale-census-and-behavior-project/

The ACS Los Angeles Chapter at http://www.acs-la.org/resources.htm

Slide show of whale watchers in the WSJ images about the whale watchers

Follow the ACS on Twitter @CetaceanSociety

They're also on Facebook at www.facebook.com/AmericanCetaceanSociety 

Birthday 43: Carpe Diem

Lanterns above the Mad Hatter tea cup ride.

January 26th was my birthday.  The day before my birthday was preceded with a week of deep blue funk.    It took a week of meditation and social networking abstinence to make things right again.  The day I finally cleared that hurdle was January 25th, last Wednesday.

Now, the week in question must have been prey to some horrid cosmic influences (besides the CMEs that plagued the upper atmosphere that week) because there was a spike in the suicide rate among Airmen. Twelve Airmen took their own lives between January 1st and the 23rd.  That's unreal.  And in the Air Force culture, it feels unforgivable. So the military's response to this kind of spike is to stop all operations and look at what is causing the problem. At upper levels this is a valid response.  When the order gets filtered down to lower levels it may suffer a bit and turn into an email like the one I got that said I was required to come to work on January 26th and participate in mandatory fun and don't-kill-yourself briefings.  

After a week of working through anger and sadness to get myself out of a deep, blue funk, the very LAST thing I wanted to do was attend mandatory-fun and don't-kill-yourself briefings.  A co-worker said, "Tell them if you have to sit through this you will kill yourself." I laughed, but there was a small truth there.  I wanted to celebrate, not wade through mindless talks about depression.  I made it out of a little whole, and I wanted to smell clean air and drink coffee in the sunshine.  

So I hijacked my birthday.  

Months ago my sister and her boyfriend, Dimitri, grabbed tickets to a Disneyland after-hours event for JPL employees.  Tickets were for January 26th, my birthday.  The park would close at 8 to the general public and remain open to special ticket holders.  We had 4 tickets, so I planned to keep my son from school that day and bring him along for the celebration.  This is a once in a lifetime kind of thing, so having my office demand my presence on this particular day was deeply ironic. 

My birthday was a blast.

My sister and I at 1AM after Birthday 43 celebration was over.

I ate junk food.  I rode anything that was open.  I screamed like a kid.  I danced down the street behind the parade.  I freaked out when I saw Tigger.  (He was day-glo orange!)  I was a kid again.  I haven't had that much fun on a birthday since I was 6.  

I seldom make a big deal about my birthday.  I assume people will forget it.  I don't ever expect a cake or presents (When I get them I am always grateful, however.)  I never plan parties.  This year was different. though. This day was different.  This was MY day.  I didn't want to attend a suicide briefing.  I was rewarding myself for making it this far, through whatever crap I had gone through in my life and would go through in the future.  I was seizing the day. 

In my 43 years on this planet I have endured death in the family, countless moves and painful goodbyes, heartbreaks, teasing, being used, being forgotten, the guilt of hurting others, spiritual upheaval, watching my son struggle with autism, divorce, depression, denial, loneliness, yada, yada, yada....  I have also lived in other countries, seen amazingly beautiful creatures and people, watched my son overcome autism, made supernatural friendships, and have been constantly (and I mean constantly) amazed by nature. You would have to pull me kicking and screaming from this planet, this time and this space.    

The twelve Airmen who took their own lives must have been at the depth of sadness. Each one of their lives is irreplaceable. I know that suspending business to review what went wrong is the generally the right thing to do.  Looking at ourselves and our co-workers and asking, "Are you doing ok?" is a great start.  But doing this over and over can have an adverse effect.  Bringing the discussion of suicide to the front of conscious thought over and over may create the perceived option of suicide where none existed before. 

I've been depressed.  It's sobering.  For me it was like a dark fog that clouded my brain so that the things that anchored me to this world were becoming obscured.  To some people I think it's full of screaming sounds and firey colors and light, so painful and loud that death itself is the relief.  For some it might be the dark, still ocean that obscures the friends that care, the sunshine, and the small things that anchor them to reality, until its vapor invades their lungs and smothers their life.  And for some, I think the boundary of this reality and another universe becomes a fine line, and they willingly go to the other place, sensing, for some reason, that life is better over there, not here.  

I kicked my depression with trips to sunny places (a basic SAD cure and one reason I live here in LA), art therapy and journal-writing.  I have a network of friends in place.  Guided meditation, writing this blog (and others), along with time alone in nature is my psyche's EMS.  I have even found solace in twitter hashtags that gave me proof I wasn't alone, something that made loneliness disappear in an instant.

The day after my birthday I found out that, while I was chasing Tigger at Disneyland, an 18 year old kid threw himself off of the ledge less than a mile from my patio, where I sat and had coffee that morning.  He was trying to get to the next world. His mother, sister and others had spent the morning trying to talk him back to reality.  They watched him run and jump off the ledge to his death.  He left them behind.  His mother and sister had to watch the fire department airlift his body from the rocks below.  Later they will have to pick out his clothes for a funeral.  They will have to answer questions.  They will carry guilt with them the rest of their lives.  They'll have to carry the memory of the moment of his death the rest of their lives.  This is what suicide does to the living.  This is why you seize your days.

I don't need a briefing to understand this.

I was one of the 3 Kings.

I was one of the 3 Kings.

6^th grade. St. Alphonsus Elementary. Ocean Springs, Mississippi. 

I'm guessing probably late November.   We sturdy 5- 6^th graders were vying for roles of a lifetime in the Christmas Pageant.  I was knee-deep in that “Maybe-I-Can-Be-An-Actress!” phase of girlhood.  I was probably riding that wave of popularity that came from winning the Speech Contest the year prior, and thought only I would dazzle the audience as Mary, Mother of Jesus.  I guess I thought no one else could sell that role.  I probably thought people would see me up there on that little stage and stand up and say, “Why, she’s JUST. LIKE . MARY!!!  The other girls were CRAP compared to Sarah!!!!”  That role was gonna be mine.

Except it wasn’t.  (It went to Juliana Skelton, I think, who actually did a great job. )

The audition process for roles in the Christmas Pageant went like this:  Sister Rochelle* wrote the name of the character on the board.  Anyone who wanted to play the role raised their hand.  She wrote the names down.  We closed our eyes.  Sister Rochelle spoke the names of the nominees and we raised our hands to vote for who should play the role. When we opened our eyes we saw the name of the person who had the most votes and BLAM!  You’re a star!

There were 3 roles for girls.  Mary, Mother of Jesus, and 2 angels (one a speaking role, I think.) So the role of Mary went to Juliana.  I was crushed.  I saw her name on the board and thought anything from sabotage, to favoritism, to “knows-someone”, and ultimately realized she was just like me, wanting to “make it!”  So I let it go quickly.  Besides, there were 2 other roles.

Aaaaaannnd strike 2.

Aaaaannnnd strike 3.

WHAT!?

No.  NOOOOOO!!

My little dreams of accepting Academy Awards were dashed.  Just ripped to pieces by rabid little Yuletide dogs with sharp little teeth.  God did not want me to play Mary or his little angels.  God didn’t think I was good enough.  Or at least that's how it felt.

 The girls sighed, knowing their chances were up.  Only boys roles from here on out.  Behind my disappointed eyes I started to shut out the world while I tried to recover from a broken heart and broken dreams.   And then, I got mad. 

I don’t like needless restrictions.  Even as a little girl!  If it didn’t make sense to me I probably said something.  I still do!  If the emperor has no clothes I’m gonna point to his doodle and say, “HEY! I can see your doodle! (your majesty,  haha.)”   THAT is who I am.  If something doesn’t make sense I will point it out.  Who says that the 3 Kings HAVE to be played by boys? Where is that written in stone? Huh?  SHOW ME!  This role is just for boys?  Boys who can’t read well, and freeze onstage, and have the emotional range of peas?   Would YOU want to see your kings that way?  I don’t want to see my kings that way!  I want my king to stand up there regally!  With purpose!  This is a KING who travelled over the desert to give presents of gold, frankincense, or myrrh to a baby he thought was the physical embodiment of his GOD.  You want to trust THAT kind of responsibility to a kid who throws pennies at girls then picks his nose AND eats it? REALLY? 

Not ME! 

When I was little, I didn’t want to be a princess - helpless, dependent, useless.  I wanted to be Robin Hood, Bruce Lee, Mr Spock, Dr Who (Actually, I wanted to date Dr Who.)  Those were the roles of a boy, not a girl.  I wanted to fight injustice.  Sarah!  Fighting for the little things, the oppressed, the forgotten, the Misfit Toys.  Little Sarah.  

I thought, “WHY did this have to be a boy’s role?  They can’t handle this.  I mean, LOOK at them for God’s sake!

And I made up my mind, right there.  I was NOT going to be the kind of girl who let some institution dictate my future to me.  I was not going to sit quietly and watch boys who knew less than me and acted immaturely walk away with everything they didn’t deserve because they were boys and I was a girl.  It wasn’t fair.  It was injustice!   I wanted that role more than ever now.  I wanted to be a KING.

I raised my hand.

AND was selected.

AND played the role well.**

AND I was the first girl to do so.  I WAS.  Since then I have heard that other girls had played the role.  Gender restrictions have been lifting in the halls of St. Alphonsus due to my “Stands-With-A-Fist” attitude toward women’s rights in the Catholic elementary educational arena.    

I was thinking about that memory and that part of my personality the last few days.  I was one of the three kings.  I suppose that was a kind of a little turning point for me.  It was a cosmic "go".   Pushing the boundary and not being satisfied with the status quo.  

*Sister Rochelle needs to take a bow.  She ALLOWED me to play a King.  SHE took as big a chance as I did, in a nun’s habit, during the male-chauvinistic 70’s, in a Catholic school.   THAT takes guts.  She believed in me and I will never forget her .

**The story of the actual play was pretty funny, actually.  Baby Jesus was a baby doll Juliana brought with her to school.  But Baby Jesus was, well…. well-loved, obviously, and showed some wear and tear.  During the pivotal performance, when we kings gathered around to pay our respects, Joseph or Mary was so nervous, (or seeking comic relief) that they rocked the manger  (a toy crib) so violently that Baby Jesus head came off.  No one cold see this from the audience, just us poor actors.  We stifled hoarse laughs and bowed our heads convulsing with laughter while the audience probably marveled at how emotional we all were.  Bravo, Mrs Porche!  Bravo!

***I know that millions of women have faced FAR more serious battles every day.  Some places, like here in the States, we women are lucky enough to have the freedom to do almost anything we think of, and if we don’t, we have the freedom to challenge that, like I did.  The rest of the world needs to catch up.  Women’s equality is as crucial as clean water to make a society progress. 

Hiking in the Rain

Last week I went for a hike in the rain.  It was cool, around 40 something degrees, and the rain was light when I started at he Portuguese Bend trail head.  As I got to my halfway point, the wind and rain got stronger.  I am no stranger to doing stuff in the rain, and I was wearing my issue CW Parka (thank you, Army), so I was happy, mudskipper Sarah.  The air was clear and cool and clean.  Heavenly.

scorrice's photostream

scorrice's photostream on Flickr.

Today's hike at Portuguese Bend. Got there with great fog and walked out in sunshine. Took the Ishibashi trail, Rim trail, and main trail. Saw a scorpion and gave water to a thirsty lizard.

15 Month Me is the Same as 42 Year Old Me!

My mother sent me a package of AWESOME yesterday.

In it was a folder with pictures of my son that survived Katrina and 2 yellow hand-written pages describing me as a baby at 15 months and 17 months.  

Some things have changed, like my absolute love for a hot bath, but a few folks who know me well know I still climb things.