Wheat from chaff

My question today is one that haunts many skeptics -- how would you know if a bizarre claim is actually true, especially in the absence of evidence?

The hardest-nosed of us would probably object to the premises of the question; if there is no evidence, they would say, then there is no basis on which to make a judgment in the first place.  While I agree with that general attitude -- and have applied it myself on numerous occasions -- it always leaves me with the worry that I'll miss something, and just through the weakness of the evidence and my preconceived notions, I won't see the grain of wheat in amongst the chaff.

I riffed on this whole idea in my novel Signal to Noise (and if you'll allow me a moment of shameless self-promotion, it is available at Amazon from the link on the right side of the page).  In the story, a skeptical wildlife biologist, who had decided that all woo-woo claims are utter bullshit, is confronted with something bizarre going on in the mountains of central Oregon -- and has to overcome his preconceived biases even to admit that it might be real.  In the story, it doesn't help that the news is delivered to him with no hard evidence whatsoever, by a total stranger who just "has a feeling that something is wrong."  (I won't tell you any more about it; you'll just have to read it yourself.  And at the risk of appearing immodest, I think it's a pretty damn good story.)

The reason I bring all of this up is a website called Little Sticky Legs: Alien Abductee Portraits, owned by Steven Hirsch.  On this website, which you should definitely take a look at, there are photographs of a number of people who claim that they were abducted by, or at least contacted by, aliens, and their first-hand accounts (and in some cases drawings) of their experiences.  I thought this was an unusually good example of the phenomenon I've described above, for a variety of reasons.

First, the accounts are weird, rambling, and disjointed, and many of them seem to have only a loose attachment to reality.  Second, the photos don't help; whether Hirsch deliberately set out to make his subjects look sketchy is a matter of conjecture, but my sense is that he was playing fair and this is the way these people actually look.  Some of them, not to put too fine a point on it, are a little scary.  And third, of course, the content of the accounts is fairly contrary to what most scientists think is realistic.  All of these things combined seem to put their stories squarely into the category of bizarre, possibly delusional, nonsense.

But reading the earnest narratives of these supposed contactees left me feeling a little uneasy.  Part of it was a sense that if their stories aren't true, then these people are either lying or else are the victims of hallucinations that could qualify as psychotic breaks.  And although I am rather free about poking fun at folks who generate strange ideas, I draw the line at including as targets people who have genuine mental illnesses.

My unease, however, had another source, and one that haunts me every time I see something like this; what if one of these stories is actually true?

A person who had been abducted, but was left with no physical trace of the experience, might well describe it in just these terms.  If the victim was someone who wasn't highly educated, there's no reason to expect that (s)he would remember the details, or explain them afterwards, in the way a trained scientist would.  The general vagueness and lack of clarity is, in fact, exactly what you'd expect if an ordinary person experienced something shockingly outside their worldview.

Now, please don't misunderstand me.  I'm not, in any sense, committing to a belief in alien abductions in general, much less to any specific one of the stories on Hirsch's website.  My hunch is that none of these stories is true, and that whatever these individuals are describing has another source than actual experience.  But it is only a hunch, and an honest skeptic would have to admit that there is no more evidence that these claims are false than there is that they are true.  My only point here is that if one of them was telling the truth, this is much the form I would expect it to take... which means that it behooves all of us, and especially the skeptics, not to discount odd claims without further inquiry.  Skeptics tend to rail against the superstitious for jumping to supernatural explanations for completely natural phenomena; we should be equally careful not to jump to prosaic explanations when an odd one might be correct.

Carl Sagan famously said, "Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence."  Which is an excellent rule of thumb, with one addition.  Accepting an extraordinary claim requires extraordinary evidence.  Investigating an extraordinary claim requires only that you keep your mind open -- and see if there's anything there which might allow you to make a rational evaluation of its truth or falsity.

The best thing, of course, is to withhold judgment completely until the facts are in, but that is pretty solidly counter to human nature, and is probably unrealistic as a general approach.  And given the ephemeral nature of some of these claims, the facts may never come in at all.  All we can do is keep thinking, keep watching and listening and investigating... and not be afraid to push the envelope of our own understanding when the time comes.

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Stairway to heaven

One of the things I love about writing daily here at Skeptophilia is that my long-time readers are constantly on the lookout for good topics.  One of my regular contributors, not to mention a dear friend, is the inimitable novelist K. D. McCrite, best known for her charming cozy mysteries and her fall-out-of-your-chair-funny young adult series The Confessions of April Grace.  K. D. and I were chatting a couple of days ago, and she asked me if I had ever heard of the phenomenon of stairs in the forest.

I told her I hadn't.

"Oh, yes," K. D. told me.  "Apparently it's a big thing.  You're out there in the woods, far away from everything, and you happen unexpectedly upon a set of stairs that goes nowhere.  No building, nothing nearby."

"What's it supposed to be?" I asked.  "I mean, besides a random set of stairs."

She told me that the aficionados claimed it was some kind of portal to another dimension.  "Supposedly it's connected with hikers going missing and other such spooky stuff."  She then sent me a couple of videos about the phenomenon.

If you want to take a look for yourself, the videos are here and here, and are worth watching just for the creepy photographs.  The general upshot of the videos is "there's this thing we've found in the woods and we don't know why it's there, so alien abductions and time slips and general scary shit."

Whatever the origin of the staircases, it's always a little spooky to find something in the woods you weren't expecting.  I still remember the inexplicable thrill of fear I felt when my wife and I were on a late October hike in our nearby national forest a few years ago, and I found something odd -- a Mardi Gras mask, in perfect condition, sitting on a log.  It looked like it'd just been placed there; it was in pristine condition, and wasn't even damp.  It was a cool, cloudy day, and we hadn't seen a single other person out there, which made it doubly bizarre.

So I said, "Hey, Carol," and put the mask on.

Carol looked at me for a moment, and then said, "You know, if you were a character in one of your own novels, you'd be about to die right now."

Anyhow, I didn't die, or even get possessed by an evil spirit or anything.  So I brought it home, and hung it on the wall in my office.

The next morning when I came in, the mask was in the middle of the floor.

After doing a double take, and then getting my heart rate back to normal, I ascertained that the strap had come loose.  So I put the strap back on, rehung it, and it's been there quietly ever since then.

Probably just waiting for an unguarded moment to jump on me and glue itself to my face and take over my soul.  You know how haunted masks are.

But I digress.

The staircase-in-the-woods thing is certainly atmospheric and creepy, although K. D. and I are in agreement that if we saw one, we'd immediately climb up to the top.  This would be inadvisable, according to one witness:

This is... probably the weirdest story I have.  Now, I don't know if this is true in every SAR [search-and-rescue] unit, but in mine, it's sort of an unspoken, regular thing we run into.  You can try asking about it with other SAR officers, but even if they know what you're talking about, they probably won't say anything about it.  We've been told not to talk about it by our superiors, and at this point we've all gotten so used to it that it doesn't even seem weird anymore.  On just about every case where we're really far into the wilderness, I'm talking 30 or 40 miles, at some point we'll find a staircase in the middle of the woods.  It's almost like if you took the stairs in your house, cut them out, and put them in the forest.  I asked about it the first time I saw some, and the other officer just told me not to worry about it, that it was normal.  Everyone I asked said the same thing.  I wanted to go check them out, but I was told, very emphatically, that I should never go near any of them.  I just sort of ignore them now when I run into them because it happens so frequently.

People who come across these lone staircases frequently feel "an unaccountable sensation of dread," and folks who have climbed them have come back down to find that several hours have passed, when it only felt like a few minutes.

That's... if they're ever seen again.

*cue scary music*

Now, as you might expect, I think there's a prosaic explanation here, or more likely, several of them.  The more pristine-looking ones, such as the one in the photograph above, could be observation platforms.  I've seen this sort of thing in a lot of places, especially areas known for their wildlife viewing.  The more dilapidated ones are probably the remnants of wood-frame houses with stone stairs, left behind when the wooden parts rotted away.  (Hiking with my brother-in-law in rural Massachusetts, we've come across a good many old house foundations -- one of which was the inspiration for my creepy story "The Cellar Hole.")  Some of the ones pictured in the video looked like they were simply steps that had been built into a steep hillside, and so not "going nowhere" at all.  Others appeared to be what was left of bridges or overpasses that had caved in.  Some could well be there because someone thought it'd be fun to create a mystery in the woods, like the little footbridge over nothing out in a flat open field near where my son used to live in Palmyra, New York.

That doesn't mean that if I came across one, I wouldn't be a little weirded out, especially now that I've been primed to think about Scary Stuff when I see one.  I still am pretty sure I'd climb it, because when might I have another opportunity to be abducted by aliens?

But sadly, I've never seen anything like this, despite the fact that when I was in my twenties and thirties, I spent damn near every summer back-country camping in the Cascades and Olympics.  The weirdest thing I saw out there was a random boardwalk in the middle of nowhere across a place called Ahlstrom's Prairie, where you're hiking through dense Douglas fir forest and suddenly come out into an open field bisected by a wooden boardwalk.  The effect is startling, a sudden reminder of humanity in a place out in the wilderness where you can spend a week and not see a single other person.

Of course, there's a reason for the boardwalk in Ahlstrom's Prairie: Ahlstrom, who built the thing and lived in a cabin nearby in the early part of the 20th century.  And the Parks Service that keeps it in good shape.  But it's an atmospheric place, and on my many hikes down it on the way to the mouth of the Ozette River, I always found it to be a little spooky, especially on a foggy day (pretty common in western Washington).

So I'm not going to jump to any paranormal explanations for the staircases in the woods, at least not till I experience a time slip myself.  But my thanks to my pal K. D. for suggesting the topic, which (despite all my inquiries into the supernatural over the past ten years) I'd never even heard of.

But I should wrap this up, because that mask hanging on my wall is whispering to me again, and I am compelled to do its bidding.  You know how it goes.

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This week's Skeptophilia book-of-the-week is one that should be a must-read for everyone -- not only for the New Yorkers suggested by the title.  Unusual, though, in that this one isn't our usual non-fiction selection.  New York 2140, by Kim Stanley Robinson, is novel that takes a chilling look at what New York City might look like 120 years from now if climate change is left unchecked.

Its predictions are not alarmism.  Robinson made them using the latest climate models, which (if anything) have proven to be conservative.  She then fits into that setting -- a city where the streets are Venice-like canals, where the subways are underground rivers, where low-lying areas have disappeared completely under the rising tides of the Atlantic Ocean -- a society that is trying its best to cope.

New York 2140 isn't just a gripping read, it's a frighteningly clear-eyed vision of where we're heading.  Read it, and find out why The Guardian called it "a towering novel about a genuinely grave threat to civilisation."

[Note: if you purchase this book using the image/link below, part of the proceeds goes to support Skeptophilia!]

Scam detection

I am asked sometimes why I care so much if people believe counterfactual nonsense.  "What's the harm?" is a frequent way the question is phrased.  "So what if folks like to check their horoscope or get a Tarot card reading every so often?  Who is it hurting?"

There are two answers to this.  First, once you've accepted one idea without requiring that it have any connection to reality, it makes it all too easy to get suckered again.  One gets in a habit of sloppy thinking -- or not thinking at all -- and the attractiveness of certain forms of woo are such that once you've started down that road, it's hard to turn back.

The second, though, is more insidious, and it is that it puts you at risk of being taken advantage of by predatory charlatans.  These are people who know damn good and well that they are liars, but are shamelessly bilking people for thousands of dollars, preying on gullibility, desperation, and grief to swell their own ill-gotten gains.

Take, for example, "psychic detectives."  These people descend like vultures on families whose loved ones have gone missing, claiming that they will gather information from The Cosmos to tell the grief-stricken whether the missing individual is dead or alive, whether there's any hope of their safe return, or (if they're dead) where the body might be found.  One session can cost $500 or more.  And driven by the loss and emptiness, together with the horrible uncertainty regarding what happened, the victims are often willing to pay.  The result?  "Psychic detectives" do a thriving business.

[image courtesy of the Wikimedia Commons]

So it does my heart good to see one of them get found out.  Just last week, Inside Edition reporter Lisa Guerrero did an exposé on Portland, Oregon "psychic detective" Laurie McQuary, wherein the show's producer, Charlie McLravy, hired McQuary, posing as the brother of a missing girl.  He brought along a photograph and asked McQuary what had happened to the girl.

McQuary didn't hesitate.  The girl was dead, she said.  She hated to tell him that, but she had to be honest.  Her death was violent, and involved sexual assault.  In the end, her assailant hit her in the head with a rock and killed her.

But it went further than that.  McQuary brought out a map, and told McLravy where he could find his sister's body.  "She's right here," she said.  "No more than a mile or two away."

The next day, McQuary was brought in to be interviewed by Guerrero.  Guerrero brought out the photograph, and McQuary verified that she'd spoken to the missing girl's brother, and that the girl was dead.

"You always know... if a person is dead or alive?" Guerrero asked.

"Oh, yes," McQuary answered.

"Then would you be surprised to know that this little girl is me?"

There was a moment of pure shocked silence.  Then McQuary said, her voice faltering a little, "And... um... you haven't been abducted?"

Guerrero said, "No, as you can see, I'm right here.  Can you explain this?"

McQuary said, "No, I can't."

Then Guerrero went in for the kill.  "This little girl is me, and you told him she was dead.  You're taking advantage of desperate people with a bunch of hocus-pocus, aren't you?"

McQuary said, "No, I'm not," and then got up and walked off the sound stage, trying to gather whatever shreds were left of her dignity, ending with, "This has been very interesting.  You all have a very nice day."

All in all, McLravy and Guerrero showed the photograph to ten psychic detectives -- all of whom said that Guerrero had died as a child.  Not a single one said, "Um... she's still alive, she was never abducted, and in fact, she isn't your sister.  What's going on here?"

It's not that I don't understand the pain people feel over loss.  And although I've never had a close friend or relative disappear, I can imagine how hard it is not to know the fate of someone you care about.  So I have some sympathy for the grieving family members who hire these people.

But the idea that "psychic detectives" and other such charlatans are using the pain of the grieving to bilk them out of huge sums of cash, and giving them nothing in return but a skein of lies -- that is unforgivable.  And to Guerrero and McLravy, all I can say is: touché.

Mini-sotans

A few days ago, a loyal reader and frequent contributor of topics to Skeptophilia sent me an article about a cryptid I'd never heard of before.  They're called the "Bagwajiwinini," or the "Little People of Minnesota."  This discovery was of particular concern to the reader who sent it, because he lives in Minnesota, so he was understandably interested in having me look into it.

According to the article, the Bagwajiwinini are "2'-3' in height, with a greenish complexion...most likely from the heavy ingestion of plants containing chlorophyll."  Because this is obviously what happens to animals that eat plants, as witnessed by all of the green cows, deer, bunnies, and vegetarians you see walking around.  The article then goes on to tell us that "They live in a darkened world of thick Bracken Fern canopies that can grow up to 3 ft. high.  This enables the Bagwajiwinini to freely roam among forest and it's [sic] edges without detection.  There have been many stories associated with the Bagwajiwinini, including the possibility of human abduction."

Which brings up the inevitable question of how three-foot-tall green dudes can abduct a full-sized human.  I mean, something of the like worked in Gulliver's Travels, but as I recall, Gulliver had assisted in his own capture by falling asleep at an inopportune moment.  So it's hard to see how skulky little fern-canopy-dwellers could successfully overcome an ordinary-sized human.

Of course, there's also the possibility that they mesmerize their victims with music, in the fashion of the Pied Piper.  Ron Shaw, investigator for Cryptid Four Corners International, tells us about "an Ojibwa woman who stated that on one occasion, her son saw a Bagwajiwinini playing a flute.  Another witness, an Ojibwa man, stated that he and his son were hunting, and at point were separated.  The father tracked his son to a root system of a tree where only his legs were sticking out.  He pulled his son free...and told his father that the Bagwajiwinini captured him and were taking him underground."

So that's sinister enough.  I can see why C4CI is investigating, although I do have to wonder why they chose this time of year.  Anywhere in the north is a bit sketchy in midwinter, but northern Minnesota in January... well, let's just say that there are body parts that I'd really prefer not to freeze off.  But I admire their dedication, particularly when you consider the case of Kory Kelly, a 39-year-old hunter who went missing in October, and was later found dead of hypothermia.  This is tragic enough, but the folks from C4CI think that Kelly vanished because he was...

... abducted by Bagwajiwinini.

You can understand why the reader from Minnesota was concerned when he found the article.  Worse still is the photograph of a Bagwajiwinini that someone took:

See it?  Neither did I, until the C4CI people helpfully zoomed in on it:

Can't miss it when I tell you what's there, can you?

Predictably, my guess is that what we're looking at is a combination of a Native legend, wishful thinking, and pareidolia.  As usual.  I'm thinking you're perfectly safe if you live in Minnesota from anything besides frostbite, and that Kory Kelly's tragic death was from hypothermia, not Little People Abduction.  Still, I've been wrong before.  If running around in sub-zero temperatures looking for creatures that probably aren't there floats your boat, then knock yourself out.  Just remember to wear your thermal underwear.