Bird trees

I'm a birdwatcher, which in my specific case kind of crosses the line into a mild mental illness.  I've traveled all over the world to see new birds, which is kind of cool, but it's also led me to do stuff like standing calf-deep in the snow, in far-below-freezing temperatures and gale-force winds, to see a rare species of duck that happened to end up for some reason in nearby Cayuga Lake in midwinter.  From the standpoint of seeing a bird species I'd never seen before, it was a great day.

It was a somewhat less-than-great day with respect to frostbite, hypothermia, and people in passing (heated) cars rolling down their windows to yell "What the hell is wrong with you?"

The reason this all comes up because of how excited I am about a recent release of new information by the Bird 10,000 Genomes Project, which has as its fairly lofty goal the sequencing of the genomes for all ten-thousand-plus species of birds currently living on the Earth.

The cool thing about genetic information to determine relationships is that it's much more accurate than relying on such obvious characteristics as external appearance or behavior.  Through genetic analysis, the B10K Genomes Project, as it's affectionately known, has found the following surprises:

• Flamingos are fairly closely related to grebes, a family of small diving water birds, and both as a group are more closely related to pigeons than to any other species of aquatic bird.
• Likewise, the bizarre flightless dodos, now extinct but once common on two remote islands in the Indian Ocean, are most closely related to pigeons.
• The three main groups of birds that regularly prey on mammals -- hawks and eagles, owls, and falcons -- aren't closely related at all, and their similarities seem to have developed through convergent evolution.
• Despite superficial similarities in appearance and behavior, vultures in North and South America are only very distantly related to vultures in Africa and Europe.
• Hummingbirds, swifts, and nightjars (such as the more-often-seen-than-heard whippoorwill) are all on the same branch of the bird family tree.  A different branch includes such disparate groups as loons, pelicans, albatrosses... and penguins.
• Emus, ostriches, and kiwis -- flightless species that are on the same basic branch, a group called ratites -- all descend from a common ancestor that could fly, and apparently evolved flightlessness independently.

Here's a circular representation of what we know so far, with illustrations of a few selected species:

Clockwise from the top: golden eagle, thick-billed murre, ruddy turnstone, white-bellied storm petrel, western bronze ground dove, squirrel cuckoo, Anna’s hummingbird, marbled wood quail, little spotted kiwi, redwing blackbird, akiapolaau, black sunbird, wall creeper, Cape rockjumper, chestnut wattle-eye, chowchilla, Amazonian royal flycatcher, rosy-faced lovebird and keel-billed toucan.  [Image courtesy of S. Feng et al./Nature, 2020; Illustrations by Jon Fjeldså]

So the study is pretty cool, expanding greatly what we know about the feathered dinosaurs we see flitting about every day.  As the B10K Genome Project site puts it:

The B10K project will allow the completion of a genomic level tree of life of the entire living avian class, decode the link between genetic variation and phenotypic variation, uncover the correlation of genetic evolutionary and biogeographical and biodiversity patterns across a wide-range of species, evaluate the impact of various ecological factors and human influence on species evolution, and unveil the demographic history of an entire class of organisms...  We envision this project will have significant scientific and public impact that will change our understanding of avian biology and evolution, which in turn will affect our understanding of other organisms and open doors to new areas of research.

I'm really looking forward to seeing what else they uncover.  It might not explain my obsession with trying to see every bird there is -- something a friend of mine calls "Pokémon for Adults" -- but it certainly will give me something new to think about when I'm shivering in the snow looking for rare ducks.

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This week's Skeptophilia book-of-the-week is one that has raised a controversy in the scientific world: Ancient Bones: Unearthing the Astonishing New Story of How We Became Human, by Madeleine Böhme, Rüdiger Braun, and Florian Breier.

It tells the story of a stupendous discovery -- twelve-million-year-old hominin fossils, of a new species christened Danuvius guggenmosi.  The astonishing thing about these fossils is where they were found.  Not in Africa, where previous models had confined all early hominins, but in Germany.

The discovery of Danuvius complicated our own ancestry, and raised a deep and difficult-to-answer question; when and how did we become human?  It's clear that the answer isn't as simple as we thought when the first hominin fossils were uncovered in Olduvai Gorge, and it was believed that if you took all of our millennia of migrations all over the globe and ran them backwards, they all converged on the East African Rift Valley.  That neat solution has come into serious question, and the truth seems to be that like most evolutionary lineages, hominins included multiple branches that moved around, interbred for a while, then went their separate ways, either to thrive or to die out.  The real story is considerably more complicated and fascinating than we'd thought at first, and Danuvius has added another layer to that complexity, bringing up as many questions as it answers.

Ancient Bones is a fascinating read for anyone interested in anthropology, paleontology, or evolutionary biology.  It is sure to be the basis of scientific discussion for the foreseeable future, and to spur more searches for our relatives -- including in places where we didn't think they'd gone.

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

Equatorial travelogue

I just got back yesterday from my expedition to Ecuador with the phenomenal birding tour company Wings, an outfit which I cannot recommend highly enough.  As I mentioned in my previous post, I love Ecuador, but with the planning and leadership of a Wings guide, this was a really special trip.

We spent most of the time near the charming town of Mindo, in a lodge called Séptimo Paraiso (Seventh Heaven).   The name is apt.  The lodge was comfortable, the food was great, and the hikes and birding were stupendous.  In nine days I saw 273 species of birds.  (If you want to get an idea of the phenomenal biodiversity of this tiny country, you should know that 37 of the species I saw were different kinds of tanager, and 43 were hummingbirds.  For comparison purposes, here in upstate New York, we have two tanagers -- one of them quite rare -- and only one kind of hummingbird.)

Of course, the birds aren't the whole reason I love Ecuador.  The scenery is amazing, largely due to the steep-sided ridges and rushing rivers of the Andes.  The weather (where I was, at least) was refreshingly mild -- 80 F during the day, down to maybe 55 F at night.

Rio Mindo [all photographs, unless otherwise marked, were taken by me]

Séptimo Paraiso sits at 0 degrees, 0 minutes, 2 seconds south latitude.  That means the front door was, give or take, 200 feet from the Equator.  We used a GPS on one of our outings to find the exact spot -- within appropriate error bars, of course -- and I took a picture of our entire group straddling it.

The four people on the left are in the Northern Hemisphere, the four on the right in the Southern Hemisphere.

Besides the avifauna, the plant life is fantastic as well.  (And the two are intimately connected; the flora are usually specialized to be pollinated by one particular bird, butterfly, moth, or bat, so high diversity in fauna usually implies high diversity in flora.)  I consider myself a fairly competent field botanist, but I was seldom able to identify plants beyond family, and sometimes not even that.  That, of course, didn't stop me from appreciating them.

"Something in the amaryllis family" is the best I could do with this one.  But it sure is pretty, isn't it?

We did have more than a few truly stunning birds, of course.  Three of them that stand out in my mind are the rare Scarlet-bellied Dacnis, which our guide said we were really amazingly lucky to see:

[image courtesy of the Wikimedia Commons]

The Torrent Duck, which is somehow able to swim upstream in rivers that would easily knock a grown man off his feet:

[image courtesy of the Wikimedia Commons]

And a Crimson-mantled Woodpecker that positively modeled for the camera:

[image courtesy of the Wikimedia Commons]

One of the difficulties of birding as a hobby, however, is that it does not cater to late risers.  I consider myself something of a lark, but after six days of getting up at four in the morning, it was beginning to wear on me a little:

Me in the lounge at Séptimo Paraiso, waiting for some kind soul to bring me a glass of wine and rub my aching feet

The altitude was also a bit tricky.  On day trips into the highlands, all of us became breathless after even brief walks uphill.  The highest we went was 14,400 feet, at Papallacta Pass, but it was foggy and spitting rain (and windy and about 35 F), so I didn't get any pictures.  I did get a few nice shots of Yanacocha, at 13,200 feet:

I'm hoping that all of this hiking around up in the mountains will translate to better endurance for running here at home.  We'll see how that goes.

Anyhow, all in all it was a fantastic trip.  To end this, here are a few things I learned about Ecuador on this trip:

• The Ecuadorian people are, by and large, some of the nicest, most generous people on Earth.  Despite my toddler-level Spanish (more on that in a moment), I was greeted everywhere by smiles and waves. 
• That said, if you put your typical Ecuadorian behind the wheel of a car, watch out.  Passing zones, lanes, speed limits, and even stop signs are considered gentle suggestions at best.  Horns are used to communicate a variety of things, such as, "Hi," "Get the hell out of my way," and "My car has a horn."  The last full day of birding, I was with a guide named Jorge, who is a friendly young man who laughs a lot and has an encyclopedic knowledge of South American birds, and who turns into a complete lunatic when he turns the key in the ignition of his truck.  (He crossed himself every time he got into the driver's seat.  I'm not sure if I was supposed to consider this a good sign or a bad sign.)  He was the one who drove us up to the aforementioned Papallacta Pass.  He gave me a big grin as he turned off the highway onto something that barely qualified as a road.  I can say honestly that of the ten scariest things that have happened to me in my life, seven of them happened in the next half-hour.  We drove steadily uphill on narrow dirt roads with potholes the size of lunar craters, large stretches of which had a rock wall on one side and a hundred-foot drop (sans guard rails, of course) on the other.  I think I left permanent finger dents in the door handle of Jorge's truck.
• If you are going to travel in a country with 250 different species of hummingbirds, don't wear a red shirt.  Hummingbirds consider humans in red shirts to be enormous flowers.  You will spend the entire day dodging small, brightly-colored, feathery projectiles, and trying not to scream like a little girl.
• Bring enough cash along.  Neither my credit card nor my bank access card worked in the Ecuadorian ATM machines, for reasons I still have yet to figure out.  (I had called and notified my bank about my trip prior to leaving, so it wasn't that they thought my card(s) had been hacked and put a stop on them.)  This put me in the uncomfortable position of having to purchase things only at places that accepted credit cards, which was about 5% of the places we went.
• The food is amazing.  They have fresh fruits whose names I could barely pronounce, but which are beyond delicious.  I also had ceviche that has my mouth watering just remembering it.
• My one big regret about this trip is that I didn't put some time into learning more Spanish.  I don't ever want to be That Guy -- the American who goes abroad and expects everyone to speak English and do things the way they're done back home.  The Ecuadorians were remarkably gracious about my pathetic mangling of their language, however; my last day in Quito, I got a grinning thumbs-up from a waiter after ordering a surf & turf, a glass of red wine, and a bottle of mineral water at a restaurant, all in Spanish.  I'm sure he was on some level humoring me, but still, it was nice.  So if you go to another country, spend the six months before you go learning some of the language.  It goes a long way.

Anyhow, there you are -- a brief travelogue of a wonderful country.  I know I'll be back.  You can't do justice to a place like this in just one or two short visits.

I'm thinking a few years would do the trick.

Bird is the word

Dave Barry once quipped, "There is a fine line between a hobby and a mental illness."

In my case, that line is a little blurry sometimes.  My dad used to say about me that I was the type of person who would test the depth of a river with both feet.  I'm fascinated with genealogy (at latest count, my family tree database contains almost 115,000 names).  Since getting back into running last year, I have done ten 5K races and try to run or cycle every single day.  I've been passionate about music since, no lie, I was three years old.  And then there's birds...

This last-mentioned obsession is what is taking me away from New York (and from Skeptophilia) for ten days.  I'm leaving tomorrow morning for my very favorite place in the world, the highlands of Ecuador, for a hiking and birding expedition into the cloud forests.  Our home base will be Mindo, a little town northwest of the capital city of Quito, which I visited last time I was there (fifteen years ago), and which to this day is the most beautiful place I've ever seen.  I've been a lot of places, but Mindo is one of the only ones that I truly, honestly could happily move to permanently and never look back.

Among the birds I hope to see are the Golden Tanager...

... the Flame-faced Tanager...

... the Violet-tailed Sylph...

... the Masked Trogon...

... and the Purple Honeycreeper.

[all images courtesy of the Wikimedia Commons]

Along the way, I hope to hike through some beautiful places and make some new friends.

So anyhow, I'll see y'all when I return on July 20.  I'll post some of my own photographs -- none, I'm sure, as nice as the ones above -- but at least enough to give you an idea of what this spectacular corner of the world looks like.

Until then, Dear Readers -- keep hoisting the banner of skepticism, and keep sending me ideas and topics for future posts!

The natural history of the Common Yutz

As always, the Yiddish language has a word for it, and the word is "yutz."

A yutz is a person with no social graces.  As is typical with Yiddish words, however, there are layers within layers and meanings within meanings.  Implicit in this word is the connotation of someone who means no harm, who really thinks (s)he is a completely normal, well-liked person, and who is entirely unaware that people scatter like rats whenever (s)he is around.  This is a person who is capable of leaving behind a trail of frustration, irritation, and chaos, and being none the wiser.

I remember being on a weekend birdwatching trip to coastal New Jersey, and to my dismay, there was a yutz signed up to go with us.  At our first stop, I was with a small group trying to spot a singing Black-throated Blue Warbler in the treetops over head, and up comes Mrs. Yutz.

"I CAN HEAR HIM," she shouted, in a voice that probably registered on seismographs in Los Angeles.  "CAN YOU HEAR HIM?"

Several of us nodded, and a couple of us turned and glared at her.  One person said, in an exaggerated whisper, "Yes, we hear him."

"I LOVE THEIR LITTLE SONG," she bellowed.  "ZEEEE-ZEEEE-ZEEEE!  LISTEN TO THAT!  ISN'T THAT SO CUTE?  ZEEEE-ZEEEE-ZEEEE!"

Mrs. Yutz's teenage daughter, who was to regret many times coming along on this trip, said, "Mom, ssshhhhh!"

"DO YOU HEAR HIM ANY MORE?" Mrs. Yutz shrieked.  "I CAN'T HEAR HIM ANY MORE."

This was probably because the bird had upped stakes and flown to Atlantic City for some peace and quiet.

[image courtesy of photographer L. T. Shears and the Wikimedia Commons]

I see a lot of yutzim at the grocery store.  I find this species of yutz particularly annoying because I loathe shopping.  My usual shopping method is to run down the aisle, knocking old ladies and small children out of the way with my grocery cart, and to snatch items off the shelf and sling them into the cart without even slowing.  I don't even always look at what I'm throwing in.  I may not be the most accurate and competent shopper,  but let me tell you, I'm fast.  I once set out to one of those bulk discount stores with the instructions, "stock us up on some staples," and came back with nothing but a two-gallon jar of orange marmalade.  However, I was back home in twenty minutes flat, and that is taking Seattle traffic into account.

But I digress.

Grocery-store yutzim are people for whom shopping is apparently some kind of recreational activity.  They meander along at sloth-like speed, look at each and every item on the shelf, consider it carefully, read the label, and then put it back on the shelf.  They always have the biggest shopping carts available, which when set diagonally are capable of blocking an entire aisle.  Our local store has special carts for yutzim with children; these carts have a toy car appended to the front, so the young yutz-in-training can sit inside and pretend to drive.  These behemoths are twice as long as a regular shopping cart, and have about a two-mile turning radius.  One of them can prevent access to an entire row of grocery-store shelves.

When two grocery-store yutzim meet, it's a calamity of such magnitude that it brings all shopping in that region of the store to a halt for an hour.  They stand there, their carts aligned so as to create maximum blockage, talking and gesticulating and laughing, while other shoppers, who would like to arrive home with their groceries some time this decade, have to go from the vegetable department to the meat department via Argentina to get around the congestion.  The yutzim are always completely unaware of the problem they're causing, and if you go up to them and say, "Excuse me," they will stop their conversation, give you a momentary blank look, and then smile and say, "Oh, no problem!" in a cheerful voice.  Then they will go back to their conversation without moving either themselves or their carts.

It's not that yutzim are bad people.  I've known a few of them personally, and they are unfailingly kind, friendly, and generous.  It's just that they lack the level of awareness of their surroundings that most of us have.  I'd like to think that if I walked up to some people in a conversation, and they all simultaneously looked at their watches, announced that they had important meetings to attend, and left, I'd get the clue that it was me that was the problem.  It's like the old line that goes:  "The one common factor in all of your failed relationships, miserable jobs, and blown opportunites is:  You."

Still, you have to feel a little sorry for them.  It's pitiful to think that there are people on whom life has so little impact.  It's a shame that there's not some gentle way to clue them in, to let them know the effect they're having.  And to suggest to them that (1) most people are perfectly capable of identifying a bird's song as "cute" without assistance, and (2) if they're ever in a grocery store, and they see a tall blond guy who is clutching a large jar of marmalade and sprinting down the aisle, they'd be well-advised just to get the hell out of the way.