Viral reality

If you are of the opinion that more evidence is necessary for demonstrating the correctness of the evolutionary model, I give you: a paper by biologist Justin R. Meyer of the University of California-San Diego et al. that has conclusively demonstrated speciation occurring in the laboratory.

The gist of what the team did is to grow populations of bacteriophage Lambda (a virus that attacks and kills bacteria) in the presence of populations of two different potential food sources, more specifically E. coli that had one of two different receptors where the virus could attach.  What happened was that the original bacteriophages were non-specialists -- they could attach to either receptor, but not very efficiently -- but over time, more of them accrued mutations that allowed them to specialize in attacking one receptor over the other.  Ultimately, the non-specialists became extinct, leaving a split population where each new species could not survive on the other's food source.

Diagram of a bacteriophage [Image is in the Public Domain]

Pretty amazing stuff.  My response was, "If that isn't evolution, what the hell is it?"  Of course, I'm expecting the litany of goofy rejoinders to start any time now.  "It's only microevolution."  "There was no novel gene produced."  "But both of them are still viruses.  If you showed me a virus evolving into a wombat, then I'd believe you."

Nevertheless, this sticks another nail in the coffin of the anti-evolutionists -- both Intelligent Design proponents and the young-Earth creationists, the latter of whom believe that all of the Earth's species were created as-is six thousand or so years ago along with the Earth itself, and that the two hundred million year old trilobite fossils one sometimes finds simply dropped out of God's pocket while he was walking through the Garden of Eden or something.

So as usual, you can't logic your way out of a stance you didn't logic your way into.  Still, I have hope that the tide is gradually turning.  Certainly one cheering incident comes our way from Richard Lenski, who is justly famous for his groundbreaking study of evolution in bacteria and who co-authored the Meyer paper I began with.  But Lenski will forever be one of my heroes for the way he handled Andrew Schlafly, who runs Conservapedia, a Wikipedia knockoff that attempts to remodel the world so that all of the ultra-conservative talking points are true.  Schlafly had written a dismissive piece about Lenski's work on Conservapedia, to which Lenski responded.  The ensuing exchange resulted in one of the most epic smackdowns by a scientist I've ever seen.  Lenski takes apart Schlafly's objections piece by piece, citing data, kicking ass, and taking names.  I excerpt the end of it below, but you can (and should) read the whole thing at the article on the "Lenski Affair" over at RationalWiki:

I know that I’ve been a bit less polite in this response than in my previous one, but I’m still behaving far more politely than you deserve given your rude, willfully ignorant, and slanderous behavior.  And I’ve spent far more time responding than you deserve.  However, as I said at the outset, I take education seriously, and I know some of your acolytes still have the ability and desire to think, as do many others who will read this exchange.

Sincerely, Richard Lenski

And if that's not spectacular enough, check out one of the four P.S.s:

I noticed that you say that one of your favorite articles on your website is the one on “Deceit.”  That article begins as follows: “Deceit is the deliberate distortion or denial of the truth with an intent to trick or fool another.  Christianity and Judaism teach that deceit is wrong.  For example, the Old Testament says, ‘Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.’”  You really should think more carefully about what that commandment means before you go around bearing false witness against others.

I can only hope that there was a mic around after that so that Lenski could drop it.

So there you have it.  Science finding out cool stuff once again, because after all, that's what science does.  The creationists, it is to be hoped, retreating further and further into the corner into which they've painted themselves.  It's probably a forlorn wish that this'll make Ken Ham et al. shut up, but maybe they'll eventually have to adapt their strategy to address reality instead of avoiding it.

You might even say... they'll need to evolve.

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Big bird

If last week's post about the Demon Ducks of Australia wasn't sufficient to scare you into stopping your project to build a working time machine so you can study prehistoric life first-hand, take a look at a different recent fossil discovery -- this one of a bird with a six-meter wingspan...

... and teeth.

Well, pseudoteeth, says the Wikipedia article on pelagornithids, because they don't have the same structure as true teeth and are actually outgrowths of the premaxillary and mandibular bones.  But that would have been little consolation to their prey:

This rather horrifying discovery, which I found out about thanks to a loyal reader of Skeptophilia, lived in Antarctica on the order of fifty million years ago.  The entire order was around for a very long time -- they first evolved shortly after the Cretaceous Extinction 66 million years ago, and only went extinct at the end of the Pliocene Epoch, three million years ago.  So these enormous toothed birds (pardon me, pseudotoothed birds) were swooping around scaring the absolute shit out of everyone for about sixty times longer than humans have even existed.

"In a lifestyle likely similar to living albatrosses, the giant extinct pelagornithids, with their very long-pointed wings, would have flown widely over the ancient open seas, which had yet to be dominated by whales and seals, in search of squid, fish and other seafood to catch with their beaks lined with sharp pseudoteeth," said Thomas Stidham of the Chinese Academy of Sciences, who co-authored the study.  "The big ones are nearly twice the size of albatrosses, and these bony-toothed birds would have been formidable predators that evolved to be at the top of their ecosystem."

It's easy to look around at today's chickadees and warblers and think of birds as being small, feathery, fluttering creatures who are more often prey than predator.  But even today we have, as a reminder that birds are dinosaurs, species like cassowaries:

[Image licensed under the Creative Commons Nevit Dilmen, Darica Cassowary 00974, CC BY-SA 3.0]

Which are as foul-tempered as their expression suggests, and have been known to attack people by kicking them with their heavy, razor-taloned feet.  So it's not just the prehistoric birds that have as their motto, "Do not fuck with me."

Anyhow, that's today's installment from the "Be Glad You Live When And Where You Do" department.  As fascinating as I find prehistoric life and birds in particular, I'd prefer not to meet in person a bird that could carry me away and eat me for breakfast.  

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Swamp people

I've written here at Skeptophilia for twelve years, and I've been interested in weird claims since I was a teenager, so it's not often that I run into a cryptid I'd never heard of.

Much less one from my home state of Louisiana.

So I was pretty shocked when a loyal reader sent me an article on the "Honey Island Swamp Monster," a southern relative of Sasquatch (and thus a cousin of Arkansas's Fouke Monster and southern Florida's Skunk Ape), who allegedly haunts the swamps along the Pearl River in Saint Tammany Parish.

Unlike a lot of cryptids, though, the Honey Island Swamp Monster doesn't have a long history.  The first reported sighting was by a retired air traffic controller named Harlan Ford in 1963.  Since then, the crypto-crowd has seized upon the story as they always tend to do, and the Monster has made appearances on shows like Mysteries and Monsters in America wherein they search every week for some strange beast, and every week find exactly zero beasts, then high-five each other for being such amazing beast hunters and do the same thing next week.

Oh, and if you're ever in Saint Tammany Parish, apparently there are Honey Island Swamp Monster Tours wherein a guide will take you out into the swamp, and you'll come back having had the thrilling experience of seeing no monsters while getting approximately 8,382,017 mosquito bites.  (I will say, however, that the Louisiana swamps are beautiful even without monsters.  I have great memories of growing up fishing, boating, birdwatching, and swimming -- yes, with the alligators and cottonmouths and all -- in the Atchafalaya Basin Swamp of south central Louisiana.)

But as far as the Honey Island Swamp Monster goes, the sad truth is that when you start doing a little digging, the whole story starts to fall apart pretty quickly.  On cryptid sites there's a lot of buzz about some camera film found amongst Harlan Ford's belongings after his death in 1980, claiming that it had photographs of the Monster.  But I found actual images of the developed film, and... here they are:

To say this is underwhelming falls considerably short.  It further supports my contention that there's something about aiming a camera at a cryptid that causes the AutoBlur function to turn on.

More damning still, though, is something rationalist skeptic and paranormal investigator Joe Nickell uncovered back in 2011.  He was looking into the stories of the Honey Island Swamp Monster, and specifically Harlan Ford's role in perpetuating them, and he found, buried near Ford's former hunting camp on the Pearl River, one of a pair of shoes with an altered sole for making Swamp Monster tracks.

Oops.

Nickell calls this "prima facie evidence of hoaxing."  And I have to admit that if he were alive, Ford would have a lot of 'splainin' to do.  As do his apologists, such as his granddaughter Dana Holyfield-Evans, who still support his claims, especially when it involves television appearances on shows like Not Finding Bigfoot on the Folks, This Seriously Isn't About History Anymore channel.

So sad to say -- because, as I've pointed out before, as a biologist, no one would be happier than me if it turned out there really was a Bigfoot lurching around in the wilderness somewhere -- this one is kind of a non-starter.  Anyhow, you cryptid hunters, do keep looking.  Just because one story turned out to be false, doesn't mean they're all false, right?  Even if the last 562 stories were false, same thing, right?

Of course, right.

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Confidence boost

New from the "Well, I Coulda Told You That" department, we have: a study out of MIT showing that confident kids do better in mathematics -- and that confidence instilled in childhood persists into adulthood, with positive outcomes in higher education, employment, and income.

The study appeared in the Journal of Human Resources, and tracked children from eighth grade onward.  It looked at measures of their confidence in their own knowledge and ability, correlated those assessments against their performance in math, and then studied their paths later on in education and eventual employment.  Controlled for a variety of factors, confidence was the best predictor of success.

What's interesting is that their confidence didn't even have to be that accurate to generate positive outcomes.  Overconfident kids had a much better track record than kids who were underconfident by the same amount.  Put a different way, it's better to think you're pretty good at something that you're not than to think you're pretty bad at something that you're not.

I can speak to this from my own experience.  I've had confidence issues all my life, largely stemming from a naturally risk-averse personality together with a mom who (for reasons I am yet to understand) discouraged me from trying things over and over.  I wanted to try martial arts as a teenager; her comment was "you'd quit after three weeks."  I had natural talent at music -- one of the talents I can truly say I was born with -- and asked to take piano lessons.  My mom said, "Why put all that money and time into something for no practical reason?"  I loved (and love) plants and the outdoors, and wanted to apply for a job at a local nursery run by some friends of my dad's.  She said, "That's way more hard, heavy, sweaty work than you'll want to do."

So in the end I did none of those things, at least not until (a lot) later in life.

A great deal of attention has been given to "helicopter parents," who monitor their kids' every move, and heaven knows as a teacher I saw enough of that, as well.  I remember one parent in particular who, if I entered a low grade into my online gradebook (which the parents had access to), I could almost set a timer for how long it'd take me to get an email asking why he'd gotten a low score.  (It usually was under thirty minutes.)  To me, this is just another way of telling kids you have no confidence in them.  It says -- perhaps not as explicitly as my mom did, but says it just the same -- "I don't think you can do this on my own.  Here, let me hold your hand."

Humans are social primates, and we are really sensitive to what others think and say.  Coincidentally, just yesterday I saw the following post, about encouragement in the realm of writing:

Now, let me put out there that this doesn't mean telling people that bad work is good or that incorrect answers are correct.  It is most definitely not the "Everyone Gets A Prize" mentality.  What it amounts to is giving people feedback that encourages, not destroys.  It's saying that anyone can succeed -- while being honest that success might entail a great deal more hard work for some than for others.  And for the person him/herself, it's not saying "I'm better than all of you" -- it's saying, "I know I've got what it takes to achieve my dreams."

Confidence is empowering, energizing, and sexy.  And I say that as someone who is still hesitant, overcautious, self-effacing, and plagued with doubt.  I all too often go into an endeavor -- starting a new book, entering a race, trying a new style of sculpture -- and immediately my mind goes into overdrive with self-sabotage.  "This'll be the time I fail completely.  Probably better not to try."

So it's a work in progress.  But let's all commit to helping each other, okay?  Support your friends and family in achieving what they're passionate about.  Find ways to help them succeed -- not only honest feedback, but simply boosting their confidence in themselves, that whatever difficulties they're currently facing, they can overcome them. 

After all, isn't it more enjoyable to say "see, I toldja so" to someone when they succeed brilliantly than when they fail?

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Peculiarities of the past

When most of us think of prehistoric animals, the first thing that comes to mind are dinosaurs.  Second, perhaps, are the Ice-Age megafauna like mammoths and giant ground sloths.  I've always found the odd, obscure ones more compelling somehow, and when I go to the Museum of Natural History in New York City, and the Smithsonian in Washington D.C., I always spend way more time with strange and less-familiar curiosities like the bizarre creatures of the Ediacaran Assemblage (sometimes known as the "Cambrian explosion fauna") and the scurrying little multituberculates, superficially rodent-like mammals that once were the most diverse and common mammalian group, went completely extinct for unknown reasons about thirty million years ago, and which aren't closely related to any living species.

The reason this comes up is three separate scientific papers that came out last week, each about a different paleontological discovery that shows us just how different life was back in the distant past.  The first, and oldest, was made on the Isle of Skye, and dates to the middle Jurassic Period, about 166 million years ago.  The fossil is of an animal called Marmorerpeton, and it represents the earliest salamander species ever discovered in Europe.

Marmorerpeton was a heavy-bodied animal was a wide, flat, frog-like head, and according to the research team that studied it, has salamander-like features but isn't closely related to extant groups of salamanders.  

[Reconstruction of Marmorerpeton by artist Brennan Stokkermans]

The second study looks at a mammal called Pantolambda bathmodon, a sheep-sized, stocky species nicknamed ManBearPig (a nod to the South Park episode of that name) that lived 62 million years ago -- making it one of the first relatively large species to evolve after the catastrophic Cretaceous Extinction took out nearly every animal species on Earth larger than a cat.  Pantolambda belonged to a mysterious order named Cimolesta, which is still being argued about not only for how it fits in with other mammals, but whether it gave rise to any living descendants -- some have suggested they were the ancestors of pangolins, others that they gave rise to early carnivores, but many paleontologists believe that Cimolesta went completely extinct.

Pantolambda bathmodon [Reconstruction by artist H. Sharpe]

The current study looks at an analysis of the annual growth lines the Pantolamba teeth, and found that they grew fast -- one possible reason why they rose to dominance so quickly, only four million years after the devastation of the asteroid strike.  Interestingly, the fossils studied were found in the San Juan Basin in New Mexico, an area that would have been flash-fried minutes after the impact -- so it's doubly amazing that a large species would have shown up so quickly.

As Ian Malcolm famously put it, "Life... uh... finds a way."

The last, and most recent, discovery comes from the Lower Omo Valley in Ethiopia, and shows that between two and six million years ago, there were prehistoric otters living there -- otters the size of lions.

Enhydriodon omoensis looked very otter-like, but grew to be two meters from tip to tail, and topped the scales at two hundred kilograms.  Isotopic analysis of the teeth indicates that it wasn't an aquatic species, but was largely a terrestrial carnivore.

And it lived at the same place and time as our ancestors the australopithecenes.  How scary is that?  I think otters are adorable, but a lion-sized otter that can eat you is not exactly what you might call cute.

Size comparison (left to right) -- modern human, australopithecene, South American giant otter, sea otter, African otter.  Enhydriodon is in the background.  Looking at you hungrily.  [Image courtesy of Sabine Riffaut / Camille Grohé / Palevoprim / CNRS – Université de Poitiers]

So that's our look at prehistoric life for today -- ancient salamanders, ManBearPigs, and enormous, people-eating otters.  As much as I'd love to see some of these weird creatures first-hand, it does make me kind of glad to live when and where I do.  I'm just as happy not taking my life into my own hands every time I step outside my front door, when the salamanders are (mostly) small enough to pick up, there's no sheep-sized ManBearPig, and the otters are little and cute.  We students of the past might sometimes wish for a time machine, but it's an open question of how long we'd last if we actually got to use one.

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Dog tales

People who know me are well aware that I consider our two dogs, Guinness and Cleo, to be family members, not just pets.

They're kind of an odd couple.  Guinness ("Dorkus Maximus") is a big, lumbering pit bull mix, whose thick coat and curly tail comes from some husky and chow ancestry turned up by DNA analysis; Cleo ("Dorkus Minimus") is a tiny, one-eyed pure-bred Shiba Inu rescue, whose personality supports the contention that Shibas are dogs for people who really wanted a cat instead.  Despite the fact that they seem to have nothing in common, they are best friends.  When they play tug-of-war, even though Guinness outweighs Cleo by a factor of four, he lets her win sometimes, as a good big brother should.

I've dealt here before with the fascinating questions surrounding how dogs were domesticated, and how since then they've coevolved to live with (i.e. manipulate) their owners.  So it was no surprise that a recent piece of research in the journal Anthropozoologica caught my eye.  The author, Julian d'Huy of the Collège de France, has been studying the mythology that has grown up around dogs in cultures across the world, and found some fascinating commonalities -- suggesting that our mythologizing dogs has as long a history as our domesticating them.

d'Huy found that there were three themes that seemed to be universal: (1) dogs as faithful companions to heros/heroines; (2) dogs as protector spirits and guides to the afterlife; and (3) an association between dogs and the star Sirius (the "Dog Star," the brightest star in the night sky, in the constellation Canis Major -- the "Big Dog").  

The first one is hardly surprising, given the fact that humans have had dogs as companion animals for thousands of years.  The second I find a little more puzzling.  Neither of our dogs is what you might call an effective guard dog, unless you count their mortal hatred of the Evil UPS Guy.  When the Evil UPS Guy shows up, both Guinness and Cleo go berserk, running around and barking, Guinness's booming "WOOF" punctuated by Cleo's comical and high-pitched "Ruff!", until finally the Guy gets scared and intimidated and leaves.  At least that's how they interpret it.  What seems to go through their heads is "we barked and he ran away, go us!"  Then they high-five and go back to sleep, so worn out that they wouldn't even twitch if an actual burglar were to show up.  In fact, if the burglar had some chunks of cheese in his pocket, Cleo would probably show him where the valuables are hidden.

I do think it's kind of fascinating, though, despite my own dogs' failings in the Guardian of House and Hearth department, that so many cultures associate dogs with being protector spirits, many of them shapeshifters who were thought to continue their loyal defense even in the afterlife.  Part of the elaborate tattoo on my back, shoulder, chest, and arm contains a design of two Celtic-style dogs, a tribute not only to my personal furry friends but to their role as spiritual guides and protectors.

But the oddest of all is the third of d'Huy's observations -- that apparently, Sirius was associated with dogs by more cultures than just the ancient Greeks.  Given the dubious resemblance of the constellations to the things they're supposed to represent, I always figured that most of them were completely arbitrary, and our current designations were probably the result of some ancient Greek guy looking up into the night sky at a random cluster of stars, probably after drinking way too much ouzo, and saying, "Hey, y'ever notice that bunch o' stars over there?  Looks just like a dude pouring water out of a pitcher."  And that's how "Aquarius" was born.

d'Huy's contention is that the association of Sirius with dogs isn't because there's anything especially doggy about it, but that the connection goes way back -- so much so that it's been passed down in many different cultures, and maintained even as populations traveled all over the world.  I don't know how you'd prove such an assertion, but in any case, it's kind of a strange coincidence otherwise. 

So dogs have worked their way not only into our hearts and homes, but into our stories, lore, and mythology.  I guess it only makes sense that these creatures who have become so close to us would show up in the tales we tell.  Dogs have made appearances in my own books, most notably the characters of Ahab (in Signal to Noise) and Baxter (in Kill Switch), the latter of which was the cause of one of the funniest interactions I've ever had with a reader.  I was walking down the street in my home village, and a guy I barely know came up to me and said he was reading Kill Switch, and so far, enjoying it.

"I just wanted to let you know one thing, though," he said.  "I know it's a thriller.  I know people are gonna die.  But..." -- and here, he grabbed me by the arm and looked me straight in the eye with a grim expression -- "... if you kill Baxter, I will never speak to you again."

We care deeply about our pets, even fictional ones, I guess.

But now I need to wind this up, and go see why Guinness and Cleo are barking.  My guess is it's the Evil UPS Guy again.  He just never gives up, that Guy.

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Continental bombardment

One of the reasons science is so useful is that our intuition about how things work is so often wrong.

A good example is the classic physics thought-experiment about taking two bullets -- one loaded in a gun that has the barrel perfectly horizontal, the other one held in your hand at the same height.  You fire the gun over level ground, and simultaneously let go of the bullet.  Which hits the ground first?

It seems like they should take different amounts of time; the one shot from the gun is traveling much farther, for one thing.  Most people think because of that, the dropped bullet would hit the ground first.  In fact, you undoubtedly know that (omitting the effects of air resistance or uneven terrain), the two bullets hit the ground at precisely the same time; Isaac Newton showed that the horizontal and vertical components of velocity are completely independent of one another.  It doesn't matter that the shot bullet is traveling rapidly in the horizontal direction; it and the dropped bullet have exactly the same vertical acceleration, namely 9.8 meters per second per second downward, starting from rest.  Thus they take exactly the same amount of time to hit the ground.

I was reminded of another example of this by some cool new research (which I will get to presently) I ran across yesterday.  It has to do with geology, namely, what the crust and mantle of the Earth are like.  It seems common-sensical that the surface of the Earth is uniformly cool and rocky, and the interior (judging by volcanoes) is molten; and while that isn't wrong in a broad-brush sort of way, what it misses is that there's a big difference between the rocks currently under your feet and the rocks at the bottom of the deep ocean.  Continental crust is thick, and extends both upwards into the air and downward into the mantle, a little like an iceberg; the rocks that make up the continents are, on the whole, lighter than oceanic crust, which is thin, brittle, and dense.  So the continents are literally floating in the liquid rock of the upper mantle.

This, of course, is what gives rise to plate tectonics; those iceberg-like blobs of floating rock we call continents, and the thin, heavy slabs of deep oceanic crust, jostle around on the magma of the upper mantle, colliding, pulling apart, shifting, and subducting (one piece going underneath another), and that gives rise to most of the geologic processes you've heard about.

But here's where we run into a fascinating question; why is the chemistry of continental rock (and thus its density) so different than oceanic rock?

[Image licensed under the Creative Commons Eric Gaba (Sting - fr:Sting), Tectonic plates boundaries detailed-en, CC BY-SA 2.5]

A piece of research out of Curtin University (Australia), published this week in Geology, suggests a surprising answer: the material that makes up the cratons -- the large, stable blocks of rock that form the nuclei of continents -- is extraterrestrial in origin.

Chris Kirkland, lead author of the study, was looking at the age of rocks in cratons around the world, and found something curious; their production seemed to occur at (roughly) two hundred million year intervals.  The formation of these blocks of rock coincide with the points at which the Solar System was passing through an area of dense stars in the spiral arm of the Milky Way as it orbited the Galactic Center.

"From looking at the age and isotopic signature of minerals from both the Pilbara Craton in Western Australia and North Atlantic Craton in Greenland, we see a similar rhythm of crust production, which coincides with periods during which the Solar System journeyed through areas of the galaxy most heavily populated by stars," Kirkland said.  "When passing through regions of higher star density, comets would have been dislodged from the most distant reaches of the Solar System, some of which impacted Earth.  Increased comet impact on Earth would have led to greater melting of the Earth’s surface to produce the buoyant nuclei of the early continents... Linking the formation of continents, the landmasses on which we all live and where we find the majority of our mineral resources, to the passage of the Solar System through the Milky Way casts a whole new light on the formative history of our planet and its place in the cosmos."

Of course, we've known for a while that all of the rock on Earth ultimately came from the coalescence of asteroids as the Solar System formed; but it's weird to think that the rock we're currently sitting atop may have been thrown at us by the near passage of other stars to our Sun as the entire Solar System hurtled its way around its host galaxy.  Whether Kirkland's claim will bear out under scrutiny, I don't know; but what's certain is that the methods of science has opened our eyes to a myriad processes that would have been entirely opaque to our so-called common sense.  Yes, scientists do get it wrong sometimes; they're fallible, and can misinterpret data or get hung up on their biases just like anyone.  But only science provides a protocol for catching and fixing those mistakes.

So it may not be perfect -- but for getting near to the truth, science really is the only game in town.

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