Searching for a lost hope

As a biologist, I know that extinction is the way of the world.  Well above 99% of the species that have ever existed on Earth have gone extinct, and in fact (given the sparseness of the fossil record) chances are most of those we don't know about and will never know about.  Extinction is simply a fact of existence.

The soft-hearted side of me, though, finds it terribly sad.

As a dedicated birder, it's heartbreaking that I will never see a Great Auk, a Carolina Parakeet, a Passenger Pigeon, or a Dodo, all of which were driven to extinction in the past three hundred years by humans.  Even the pretty little Labrador Duck, which was already in decline before humans began overhunting them and destroying their habitat -- and so was probably doomed anyhow -- looks at me with its glass-bead eyes from the museum shelves with what I can only interpret as reproach.

"Extinction is forever" has gotten to be a cliché, but there's no denying its truth.  I'm not the only one who finds it tragic, which explains the ends people will go to in order to prove particular species live on.  My wife used to work for the Cornell University Laboratory of Ornithology as a sound archivist, and she was involved (in a tangential way, she'd tell you, but enough to merit a free t-shirt) with the efforts to relocate the Ivory-billed Woodpecker, widely thought to have been extinct since the mid-1940s.  The only evidence of its continued existence was a blurry ten-second bit of video that even the wishful thinkers couldn't swear was conclusive, but it was enough to mount an expedition to the swamps of Arkansas to look for it.  And several expert birders -- who are far too knowledgeable to mistake it for the related, but much smaller (and differently-patterned) Pileated Woodpecker -- swear they got good looks at what was known as "the Lord God bird" because that's what people would shout when what looked like a black, white, and red pterodactyl flew overhead.

So hope still exists, at least for some of the species currently considered extinct.  One of the most controversial -- the thylacine, also known as the Tasmanian tiger or Tasmanian wolf -- is currently the subject of a one-man relocation effort that hit the news just this week.

Australian Neil Waters is so invested in re-finding the thylacine that he purchased a huge tract of land in northern Tasmania, and plans on devoting the next two years to the search.  Waters claims to have seen thylacines himself twice before, and points out that there's not a lot you could mistake for them:

[Image is in the Public Domain]

Known for their amazing "scissor" gape, the thylacine -- which, despite its two common names, is neither a wolf nor a tiger, but a marsupial like the kangaroo and the koala -- were persecuted for an alleged affinity for eating sheep, and the last known individual died in a zoo in Hobart in 1936.  Since then there has been no hard evidence of its continued existence, although if you compare the sightings reports, the thylacine beats the Ivory-billed Woodpecker hands down.  The number of alleged sightings of thylacines number in the hundreds, with dozens more coming in every year.

[Image is in the Public Domain]

"[T]he hundreds of people who have reported sightings cannot all be wrong," Waters said.  "This is a long-term project and I am prepared to give it a couple of years – or until my finances run out.  My dream is to prove the thylacine is alive and well and have a management plan put in place to ensure their continued survival."

Another argument in favor of optimism is that it's not like seeing them was an everyday occurrence even when there was still a sizable number of them -- they were known for being shy and nocturnal.  So if there's a small population still out there, Waters reasons, it's no wonder they're seldom seen.

He adds that he's not interested in hand-waving, my-brother's-best-friend-saw-it-for-sure kind of arguments, but wants hard evidence that the experts will find unassailable.  "I have nothing to gain from faking anything," he said.  "I don't want to prove a fallacy."

The "nothing to gain" part isn't really all that accurate -- after all, he's already been featured in news media worldwide, and there are probably reality-TV shows that would love to do an episode or two on his hunt.  Not meaning to cast aspersions against him, because he certainly sounds sincere, and I really want to think that the second part -- that he doesn't want to fake evidence for a falsehood -- is the truth.

So for now I'm 100% in Waters's camp, and wish him the best of luck.  He certainly seems to be going about it the right way.  If they're still out there, there's hard evidence somewhere, and he's determined enough to have a real shot at finding it.

But part of it is wishful thinking on my part, because I really want the thylacine to still be alive.  They're cool, weird, and unique as the largest recent carnivorous marsupial.  Plus, finding it alive would mean one fewer irreversible assaults on the natural world to lay at humanity's feet -- and heaven knows, we have enough of those.

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This week's Skeptophilia book recommendation is pure fun, and a perfect holiday gift for anyone you know who (1) is a science buff, and (2) has a sense of humor.  What If?, by Randall Munroe (creator of the brilliant comic strip xkcd) gives scientifically-sound answers to some very interesting hypothetical questions.  What if everyone aimed a laser pointer simultaneously at the same spot on the Moon?  Could you make a jetpack using a bunch of downward-pointing machine guns?  What would happen if everyone on the Earth jumped simultaneously?

Munroe's answers make for fascinating, and often hilarious, reading.  His scientific acumen, which shines through in xkcd, is on full display here, as is his sharp-edged and absurd sense of humor.  It's great reading for anyone who has sat up at night wondering... "what if?"

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

The strange case of the glow-in-the-dark pterodactyl

In the past week, I've written about a few cases for which an application of the sharp edge of Ockham's Razor would be advisable -- such as claiming that clouds are produced by UFOs as camouflage, deciding that the common perception of having less time to do stuff is because time itself is actually speeding up, and warning people about the pleasures and possible hazards of "astral sex."

There should be a name for the opposite of Ockham's Razor, shouldn't there?  Taking the available evidence, giving it careful consideration, and then running right off the cliff with it -- coming up with the weirdest, most convoluted, most difficult-to-swallow explanation you can.

Take the recent case of the the strange observations of a flying creature reported by a woman in Pennsylvania.  She states that she saw a "strange glowing thing at night" that flew over her car while she was driving.   It was "quite large," she said, and "was not too terribly high off the ground;" and "(it) seemed to be lit, or glowing."

Okay, that's the evidence; one woman's claim of a strange sighting. From this, what hypotheses can we devise?

• She saw an ordinary flying creature -- possibly a barn owl, whose silent flight and all-white underside could easily trick the eye into thinking that it was a glowing creature in the air.
• She was making up the story for her own reasons, possibly for the attention or because she likes to tell weird stories -- i.e., she was lying.
• She's a wingnut.
• She saw a glow-in-the-dark pterodactyl. 

Now, the story that I read told little more than the bits and pieces I've quoted, and I very much got the impression that that was all there was to it -- she had no evidence, no photographs, not even a sketch of what she saw.  Just a report of a flying creature that was glowing.  I'm the first to admit that I have no particular reason to conclude that she was lying -- I don't know her, and have no desire to impugn the motives of a total stranger.  But take our four hypotheses, and you rank them for plausibility.  I ask even the wooiest woo-woo out there in the studio audience; don't you think it's more likely that she saw a barn owl, or made the whole thing up, than...  Oh, come on.  Really?  A bioluminescent pterodactyl?

[image courtesy of the Wikimedia Commons]

On second thought, there is a name for the opposite of Ockham's Razor; it's called confirmation bias -- the acceptance of minuscule pieces of evidence to support a theory you already had decided was true.  It's why believers in astrology will crow about the one newspaper horoscope a year that happens to be reasonably accurate, and ignore all the ones that aren't; it's why the religious will proclaim it a miracle when the ill person they prayed for got better, and ignore all the people who were prayed for and died in horrible agony.  Maybe at this point I should tell you the website the glowing pterodactyl story appeared on.

It's called LivePterosaur.

Yup, there's an entire website devoted to the idea that pteranodons and other pterodactyloids have survived through the millions of years since the last fossil evidence, conveniently leaving not a trace behind in all of the geologic strata from the intervening eras, and now are gliding their way over the wilds of Pennsylvania.  A lot of the evidence, if you can call it that, comes from native legends, just as the totality of the "evidence" for Mokele-Mbembe and the Bunyip being dinosaur survivals comes from tales from the natives of central Africa and Australia, respectively.  The pterodactyl legend is apparently especially to be found in Papua New Guinea, where a flying creature called the "Ropen" supposedly haunts the rain forest; but there's the "Wawanar" of western Australia and the "Kongamato" of Africa, and also an unnamed sighting in Cuba where it presumably was called the "holy mother of god what the fuck is that thing?", only in Spanish.

Did these people actually see something strange?  Could be.  There are plenty of big birds around; in the tropics, we also have fruit bats, one group of which (the "flying foxes" of the genus Pteropus) can have a wingspan of five feet.  Could they have been lying?  Drunk?  Crazy?  Sure.  Could it just be a story, and no more true than tales of unicorns and dragons?  Sure.  And I think any of those is more likely than it being a pterodactyl.

Now, don't mistake me; no one would think it was cooler than I would if it turned out that some kind of pterodactyloid actually had survived all these years.  In fact, the pterodactyloids are somewhere in my top five favorite categories of extinct animal.  I'm also fully aware of the times that it's turned out that something has made it to the present day, after years of only being known from the fossil record.   (The most famous being the coelacanth, the prehistoric lobe-finned fish that turned out not to be so prehistoric after all.)  I just don't think that it's all that likely that somehow a giant bioluminescent pterodactyl is gliding around in the woods of Pennsylvania, and has escaped all notice of the biologists until now.  It's slightly more likely that one could live in the forests of Papua New Guinea, or central Africa, given the remoteness, dense woods, and low population density; but only slightly.  The likelihood of it being a tall tale is orders of magnitude greater.

So, sorry to be a party-pooper, but I really do think that the lady in Pennsylvania saw a barn owl.  Or else should be more careful to take her medication regularly.  Whatever it was she saw, I'd be willing to bet a significant amount of money that it wasn't a glow-in-the-dark pterodactyl.