Winter’s currency

February 23, 2021 Al Denelsbeck

Man, winter is seriously my least-favorite time of year. There’s so little to photograph, and even the temperature isn’t conducive to other, outdoor projects. What idiot approved this season, anyway?

But today actually got into a decent temperature, clear and sunny to boot, so I did a circuit of the pond looking for photo subjects. And to be honest, they weren’t any different from the last time around, so we’re just gonna have a handful of photos to prove that I really did shoot something. Don’t be harsh.

The turtles were out taking advantage of the sun and being just about as spooky as they normally are, so most of them slipped into the water almost as soon as we hove into view, but this red-eared slider (Trachemys scripta elegans) felt reasonably safe half-hidden within a thicket of dead weeds, and I could finagle a perspective for a portrait at least. The number of red-eared sliders and painted turtles seem to be increasing within the pond, but I swear I had nothing to do with that. Well, almost nothing…

And while they’re damn hard to tell apart, it would appear that the pair of great blue herons (Ardea herodias) that we saw last time are sill around.

For the first one, we spotted each other simultaneously, so it was flying off as I was bringing the camera to bear, but I tracked it visually until I knew roughly where it had landed, further along my path. Before I reached that point, however, there was a short flurry of mad croaking and two herons broke from cover, very close to one another, and sought refuge higher in the trees. This I could work with, and slowly stalked along the shoreline, circling around their positions. The first views, as above, were facing largely south and so I was aiming too much into the sun, but eventually I could almost reverse the position, even while shooting over a larger distance, and get some better light at least.

I would have considered this the most likely place for the pair to build a nest: a dense longneedle pine on a small island overlooking the broadest expanse of water. However, in doing a little research into habits, I learned that herons tend to congregate their nests together in prime locations (which, to be honest, are very much like this one.) The only time I’ve seen a heron nest was in the Venice Area Audubon Society Rookery, and true to form, there were a lot of them there. I had put this down to the birds recognizing such a prime locale, but it appears that great blues, at least, aim for those conditions. So while it’d be nice to see them nest here, I’m no longer holding my breath.

Mapwise, ground-level kinda thing, these two were right next to one another, but the separation was vertical by five or six meters, this one appearing to serve as lookout while the other stayed almost hidden among the branches. Again, good nesting behavior I thought, but only if we get a lot more. More likely, I should examine Jordan Lake for promising islands and start doing kayak excursions in search of heron nests.

Meanwhile, I’m keeping my eye on the tree that has housed the green heron families for a few years running. There’s been no sign of the greens yet, but I’m hoping to be on my toes this year and witness at least a smidgen of nesting behavior from them. Keep your fingers crossed and your socks pointing northwest!

Too cool, part 46: Perseverance

February 23, 2021 Al Denelsbeck

This is far from the first place you’re likely to have seen this, but there’s also no way I can let this go past. You have almost certainly heard about the touchdown of the Perseverance rover on Mars a few days back; now we have the videos of that touchdown, even taken from multiple perspectives. This is a distinct first: no surface probe, or even orbiting satellite, has had video capabilities for the landing before (and possibly not even on the surface – I have to check that.)

Why couldn’t we see this when it was happened, back on the 18th? First off, the distance of Mars means that it takes eleven minutes (plus or minus – the distance changes as our two planets orbit) for any transmissions to reach here in the first place. But the factor having more effect is simply having a system ready to transmit it. This takes either a lot of power (because video bandwidth is quite high,) or a bit of time, and NASA of course opted for the latter. There was also the possibility of post-processing to be done before transmission, and certainly post-processing after receiving back on Earth, at least for the clip that I’m going to show below.

But first, we need to know what we’re looking at, so let’s see the pertinent aspects of the landing mission.

As mentioned in the video, they wanted the rover to be in a fairly precise location, and even a small degree of randomness could spell the end (or simply just the uselessness) of a multi-million dollar mission. But they also had to, in order, slow the entry vehicle down in Mars’ very thin atmosphere, then deploy a rocket-directed landing craft equipped with ground-mapping radar that would find a precise location, as well as determining various hazards and avoiding them. Keep in mind this is all autonomously; the 22+ minutes it would take for images (had they been transmitted ‘real-time’) to reach Earth, then for Earth to send back instructions, would have been far too late. So the Perseverance entry vehicle was programmed to suss out all of this on its own.

There’s also the potential issue of colliding with or being obstructed by the various apparatus used for landing, so all of these were intended to separate distinctly – Perseverance would not be covered by its own parachute, for example. But it also had to touch down in a relatively undisturbed area, not affected by hard rocket blasts, so once they got within a few meters of the surface, the rover itself would be lowered by cables to touch down gently, then the rocket shell would lift higher and shear off to a safe distance before crashing down out of the way. And now we get to see what this all looked like.

The video quality is amazing, and the descent speed almost harrowing, but bear in mind, Mars’ atmosphere is less than 1% as dense as Earth’s, while the gravity is only 38%. The parachute had far less to grab, but (the same as the rockets) had less to fight against in the form of gravitational pull. And it all worked quite well. One of the things I had found was that the lander wasn’t intended to stir up too much dust, partially because this might settle again on instruments and solar panels, but it was enough to obscure the lander entirely right before touchdown; hopefully this was within tolerances.

And there’s one more bit: Perseverance has a freaking helicopter on board!

Named Ingenuity, this drone (in the true meaning of the word) spans 1.2 meters across the rotors, and is merely a proof-of-concept demonstrator right now; if all goes well, it could open up the possibility of exploring Mars by helicopter instead of plodding rovers. Remember: 1% of Earth’s atmospheric density and 38% of its gravity. This makes designing a helicopter for those conditions quite challenging, and as an example, the rotors spin at 2,400 RPM; full-size helicopters here operate at roughly 300 RPM, though quadcopters and the like are faster. We should eventually see the lift-off of Ingenuity taken from Perseverance, and a handful of still photos taken by Ingenuity on its brief flight above another planet. Rotorcraft enthusiast that I am, I’m psyched by this one.

There are tons more videos out there (like this fabulous one,) going into greater detail if you have the desire (and you should.) Check them out, but be prepared to go down a rabbit-hole or three. It’ll be well worth the time.

Just because, part 39

February 21, 2021 Al Denelsbeck

I knew it was supposed to be sunny today, and so I held off in the thought that maybe I’d get out to shoot something, but the temperature remained quite low and I felt ratty all day, so nothing new right now. Yet, I did finish a minor project (which will appear here eventually, because [spoiler alert] it’s a podcast,) so this is in recognition of that. Don’t ask me how, or what that means, just go with it.

I’d run across this one in search of something else, and liked it, so it became a winter ‘Just because.’

If this looks familiar, that’s because it’s Durwood; if it doesn’t, then it obviously isn’t. But either way, ya gotta admit it’s a slick perspective. Juvenile black rat snakes/eastern rat snakes (Pantherophis alleghaniensis) look markedly different from adults, and this one was quite small – as I remarked back when I first found it, I initially mistook it for a length of bicycle chain. And we can see how well the pattern actually works in keeping them unobtrusive, at least while climbing trees – less so when crossing a hospital surgery floor. Not that this happens often, which is good, because that’s evolutionarily negative, as no one says; I think I just coined a new word. Make sure you give me credit every time you use it, you hear?

Here’s why, part 3: Bigfoot and related

February 20, 2021September 5, 2021 Al Denelsbeck

I haven’t followed through on this category of posts for a while, and now is as good a time as any, so let’s delve into why science doesn’t take Bigfoot/Yeti/Skunk Ape et al seriously. And while I focused on the giant humanoid accounts here, a lot of this will be equally applicable to other cryptids such as the Loch Ness Monster and Chupacabra and so on. So let’s see, where to begin?

Basic biology. In order for any species to keep going, it needs a population, a larger number of individuals to breed with in order to prevent the genetic crashes of inbreeding; this is a constant vigil of biologists among endangered species, because once a population drops too low, it’s likely doomed without intervention. Low populations also make a species susceptible to even minor climate and environmental changes, viruses, habitat loss, and so on – it becomes a knife edge situation. There’s also the question of food sources of an appropriate type to sustain massive humanoids with, for instance, the protein demands of a large-brained species. What, exactly, is this supposed to be, especially among the Himalayan counterparts which have extremely limited plant life available for at least six months out of every year, which means the other critters that might form part of a food chain also have nothing to eat at those times (which is where the idea of hibernation came from in the first place.)

Then we have the anatomy. An upright stance evolved for active hunting purposes, running down ungulates across a prairie; compare a gorilla skeleton against a human one to see the drastic differences from a sedentary, largely herbivorous primate settled deep within an extremely lush environment. Humans maintained their active, running-hunter existence until very recently (especially in the Americas,) when farming and domestication of stock animals could fill in, something that no humanoid cryptid is claimed to be capable of, and we’ll touch on this aspect in a moment.

Traces. For all of the stories, we have shit-all in the way of evidence: no distinct remains, no shelters or sleeping areas, no paths, no tools, no feces, no evidence of food foraging (much less hunting, and forget about fire usage) – add anything you like to the list, because we don’t have that either. Game trail cameras turn up nothing. Cleared woods turn up nothing. We don’t even have a tooth, and they last an incredibly long time (as I can attest personally, having found teeth from both Native Americans and a long extinct ungulate species with only casual efforts.) Somehow, the only thing we have are sporadic eyewitness accounts and the occasional shitty pic or film clip. How can that be possible?

Except, of course, the footprints, or to be more specific, the casts thereof. And they’re all the same, aren’t they? No smaller/female/child examples, no partial prints, no running prints, no wounded prints. Next time you’re at a beach (or running around barefoot in semi-soft mud,) examine your footprints. Are they all nice and neat, full foot flat impressions? No digging, no twisting, no pronation, no toe spread, no forefoot only? You see, that’s what real footprints are like, because feet flex and twist. What we have as evidence of these giant humanoids are only what someone that hasn’t a clue about real footprints would imagine a footprint to always look like…

Folklore. We have accounts, the world over, of mysterious humanoids, and the list is remarkably long. About the only thing they have in common is two arms, two legs, and a head – all else is up for grabs, including size, hairiness, capabilities, habitat, and so on (and note how this even holds true for supposed aliens, despite the idea that they wouldn’t have the same ancestral stock that would have sparked that body plan in the first place.) Virtually all of the gods, the demons, and the spirits are humanoid. Also worth noting is that, by a wide margin, human shapes fill our nightmares more than anything else, widely reflected in the bulk of horror films and even in the creation of Slender Man (and note how very recent this is, with a firmly-documented origin, and then the disturbing number of people who consider this potentially real.) We have a tendency to not only see humanoids everywhere, but to find them the most threatening as well, a very telling trait.

One can point to the various Native American accounts/legends that supposedly give support to the North American Sasquatch, but examination shows that they differ drastically in size and appearance and locale. Moreover, Native American folklore has stories for just about everything, from the origins of landmarks to the spirits that inhabit or guide all of the animal species they encountered – and these all varied widely between tribes, as well. These can be considered ‘evidence’ only with a great deal of selectivity; no rational criteria can be applied that would not then also allow stories about pixies, dragons, giants, leprechauns, cyclops, and a few thousand other legends to be considered evidence. Not to mention that we actually have good documentation of when the Bigfoot stories began to be popular in the US.

Media. It’s surprising how few people understand that media exists to make money, and while the more reputable news sources at least try to avoid lawsuits, they still have no issues with presenting things selectively and with a bias towards what’s going to be more popular, which often is synonymous with ‘controversial.’ They’re under no obligations whatsoever, and thus have no reason to seek a consensus on whether their interview subject is a loon or not, much less that they have no clue what a mountain lion sounds like. Are they gonna diminish the impact of their story by finding a podiatrist that can ascertain quite firmly that this is not a real footprint? Why, when the lack thereof will produce more witnesses and accounts of some shadowy figure seen fifteen years ago? And the bandwagon effect is quite distinctive, both from other media outlets and from members of the public, because we adore our stories. There are times when there was an explosion of new books regarding Bigfoot, not from a huge upsurge in sightings, but because they sold well. Most of them repeated the exact same stories, often decades old. The funniest ones combined all of the most popular folklore and beliefs all together, tying humanoids into pyramids, UFOs, and the Bermuda Triangle (I’m perfectly serious.) And if you have any doubts about either media skewing perception, or our overriding desire to retain favored concepts, you should know that the Bermuda Triangle was entirely created with a handful of magazine articles, which were effectively blasted as nonsense by a book only a few years later, this being 1972. That took care of that silly idea, didn’t it?

Ancestry. While some dates remain in dispute, we still have more than adequate evidence that humans first populated the American continents between fifteen and twenty thousand years ago – and by that time, they were full, modern humans: tools and fire had been in routine use for perhaps over a million years by then, while we were still different species. And no, the various Sasquatch/Yeti descriptions don’t even come close to Neanderthals, either; in fact, they come close to no species of hominin ever found. So when did they split off, and how did they evolve so quickly? Moreover, why did they evolve into giant, slow, lumbering bipeds in an environment far more suited to agility, nomadism, and tribal cooperation? There remains a slim chance that, given a much longer history in Asia and colder conditions, that something vaguely like that kind of body plan could evolve, though our evidence and simple biology show that shorter, thicker torsos are much better at conserving heat and making the most out of available food. But there yet remains no evidence of their lineage, and/or an apparent very rapid development into the typical description. Note that in hominin history, body fur evolved away in the interests of shedding heat on the savannah, some millions of years ago, and despite the cold climate across most of Asia and the Siberian land bridge, the route that the American peoples took to populate the Western Hemisphere, this fur cover never came back; we made do with clothes instead. Except, somehow, for this one curious species…

Additionally, by the time of this migration into the western hemisphere, humans were making tools, building shelters, making fires, farming, creating artworks, and certainly had more than a rudimentary language – but all of that is supposed to have vanished for a closely-related species? How, and more importantly, why? All of these were the factors that assured our competition and survival, that catapulted us into our advancements as a species; losing any one of them could easily spell extinction, and lacking all of them would almost guarantee being wiped out (intentionally or consequentially) by the humans that still retained them.

Possibilities versus Probabilities. Most of those who favor and support the idea of the various humanoids are quick to wield that it could be possible, often followed by something like, “science doesn’t know everything.” But that’s resorting to wishful thinking, pure and simple, which is something that most scientists have steered away from. Instead, it’s the weight of the evidence (shitty pictures and plaster casts) and the probability of such a species yet remaining unknown, by example, remains, or spoor, that guide their focus. Weighing all of the factors above (and more not listed, such as the power of suggestion, the gullibility of people, the poor track record of observations, and of course the wishful thinking just mentioned,) the chances of such reports being anywhere near accurate drop abysmally low. If there’s one thing that’s almost universal in science, it’s the emphasis on reasonable expectations and the avoidance of biasing one’s certainty with emotions or, “Wouldn’t it be cool if?” ideas.

Naturalists, biologists, paleontologists, and any other professionals who might still have the faintest interest in researching a new class of hominin don’t just do whatever they want; they have bills to pay, just like everyone else, as well as research projects often well in hand. Far too many of them struggle to obtain funding for studies of known benefit and return to even consider chasing little more than rumors, out of their own pockets as well. Plus, where would any research begin? The most anyone has pinned down for a locale to start within are regions like, “the Pacific Northwest,” or, “the Himalayas.” And when was the last report of a sighting anyway?

Species research starts with gathering as much info as possible: frequency/location/currency of sightings, the collection of physical evidence, and the knowledge of habitat/habits/food. With this, researchers can then place trail cameras or mount expeditions to prime locales and see how much more evidence can be obtained. Most of these we don’t have, and what we do is so sporadic and separated by such vast distances that there’s no pattern to discern, and thus no place to begin. It’d be a fool’s errand to even propose research with that kind of background info.

Nothing is stopping the independent investigator, of course – anyone is welcome to do their own research, since it’s not like getting evidence of a land-based mammal takes special training or equipment. Maybe someday we’ll even find a witness that can follow their departing quarry, or some elaborate technique of that nature. Naturally, it would help if anyone inclined to such pursuits gained at least a little familiarity with the common species that inhabit the same region, so we don’t have screech owl calls and raccoon hair brought back triumphantly as ‘evidence,’ but since what we’d really like to see would be clear, steady, focused images or, even better, some decent remains, the bar is not set impossibly high here. By all means, go for it.

As for scientific investigation? It’s probably going to remain more focused on research that is not rife with inconsistencies, improbabilities, and a dearth of unambiguous evidence; stories are far too easy to come by and have a poor track record of reliability. That’s just the way it is.

Profiles of Nature 7

February 18, 2021February 17, 2021 Al Denelsbeck

If you’ve ever wondered whether waterfowl exhibit flatulence, this should answer your question. It has been said that birds do not pass gas, but this isn’t true; it only happens once in their lifetime, and as you might imagine, it’s a sphincter-stresser. Bijou Ambrosia here (born Faknatz Naifispuni) has studied her entire life to become the next top model, so we’re not going to have a whole lot to say in this biography. In school, she used to carry her entire locker on her head instead of just a book (you know, for posture,) and would only raise her hand if the light was perfect. There are numerous photos of her being caught unawares, then dashing away in annoyance, but they’re all selfies. She has sleeping makeup. Bijou doesn’t understand why anyone would get prescription sunglasses because no one can tell on top of your head, and they don’t taste any different when chewing seductively on the earpieces. She owns two cars but cannot drive; they’re just there to lean on with one foot lifted. During a photo shoot in Cancun, her running-on-the-beach scarf got caught in a passing bicycle and she was dragged six kilometers before she thought to let go, but the scarf matched her beak gloss perfectly so we can all relate. In her spare time she holds open books, hoping to convince the tabloids, and her favorite toaster setting is pointing at the bottom of the “4.”

Join us next week but, you know, only virtually because of that thing.

No, I’m fine

February 17, 2021 Al Denelsbeck

A few years back (well, I mean, four years ago) when I was doing the Sunday Slide topic, I scanned in a particular image that I liked, but decided against using it – the scan took place in December, and I ended up with other choices for the remaining couple of weeks before I dumped the Sunday Slide topic in favor of a new one for the new year, because that’s how you operate a hugely successful blog. And an all-but-ignored one too, but that’s not the topic right now. So the scan simply remained in my blog folder waiting to see if I’d decide to feature it for any particular reason – often, this reason is it’s winter and there’s little to shoot for current images.

In case it’s escaped your attention, it’s winter. Plus, during the initial scanner tests the other day, I brought up another that, I now discover, fits into the same general category. Let’s start with that first one:

I shot several compositions of this scene, because I liked it – the white egret stands out nicely despite the foggy, early morning conditions. This is on the first page of slides in the Birds category, meaning that I’d shot it almost immediately after switching over to slide film for my stock, the point where I’d started getting serious about photography and aiming for publications; that pegs it as 1998, when I was living in Raleigh. And for a long time, I had a distinct impression of where it had been shot. But then a few months back, I started questioning this, because the setting and perspective wasn’t one available at that location, and I began to wonder where, exactly, I did take it. And this led me to trying to confirm the exact spot.

Because, this is the kind of thing that I get into. I pride myself on being able to remember (and often find again) shooting locations that I’ve used in the past, and when I can’t, it’s kind of a personal thing, a dig at my ego. Hey, I’ll be the first to admit that it’s stupid (maybe not the loudest, but the first,) and no one but me cares in the slightest and I probably shouldn’t either. But at least I’m not concerned with garnering approval on social media, or taking photos of my food, so give me this, okay?

Anyway, at this point I’m fairly certain that I do know where this was taken, but I haven’t been past that area recently to confirm it – and you should know, the next time I’m there I will stop the car to compare the perspective and background. I’m pretty sure this was taken from alongside Rt 751 on Jordan Lake, of a small island on a branch of the lake. In fact, I sat on this image for a few weeks now with the idea that I’d be past and shoot a current version of it (sans the egret of course, who I expect has flown off in the intervening 22+ years,) and thus have a comparison image too.

But then I scanned this one, and started the whole thing again:

This time, it’s a great blue heron alighting on a stump – I initially thought of a cormorant, but I’ve done the dust removal on this slide at high magnification and it’s definitely a heron. And I recall this outing distinctly – well, more or less. From 1998 again, it was an obscure branch of Jordan Lake, well out of the high-traffic areas, that I’d dug up directions to from somewhere. But then as I thought about it recently, I realized that I wasn’t sure exactly where. I think I’d been to it twice, but both times within a year of each other, and not long after I discovered the myriad shooting possibilities of the Falls of the Neuse area, much closer to where I lived, and so I never went back. That means that it’s been over two decades since I visited this shooting locale.

I thought, Hey, I’ll look at the maps and pin it down, but that proved to be a hell of a lot harder than I imagined. I can recall a small parking lot and a park office, but little else to be found there – no swimming access or boat launches or anything, which contributed to its low traffic. The stump field, ample evidence of the creation of the lake with flooding after the dam was built, was a little ways (a few hundred meters or so) around the lake shore to the left. Since I was coming from Raleigh, I doubt it was too hard to reach, and unlikely that it was on one of the farther branches. But I’ll be damned (a ha ha) if I can find the area now.

You might think I could simply examine the perimeter of the lake and eventually find the spot, but because of the way the lake was created, there are dozens of arms and branches and stump fields, all over the place. I come from the Finger Lakes region of New York, where we had proper lakes, with two sides and two ends. This kind of jazz is just so untidy.

And there remains the chance that it was not Jordan lake after all, but a spot on Falls Lake – like I said, that was closer, and formed in the same manner. But again, it’s been a long time, and you know us old folk. I’m probably making it all up anyway…

So, no answer yet, but that’s okay. It doesn’t bug me at all. Just one more of the tiny number of personal talents slipping away – no biggie.

Aw, man

February 17, 2021 Al Denelsbeck

Sometimes, my timing just isn’t there. Only a couple of days after posting the last podcast, I stumble across this meme:

… which should definitely have been included not just with the podcast, but in it. Dammitall…

Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong

February 16, 2021 Al Denelsbeck

This topic came to mind as I was hashing out some ideas about potential instructional activities (that may or may not come to pass, but I’ll keep you informed.) It’s amazingly simple, but I couldn’t count the number of people I’ve met that would probably benefit from taking it to heart. In short: it’s okay to be wrong.

Well, actually it’s completely unavoidable. We’re human – we’re fallible, and the highest likelihood is that we’re wrong about something, every day or our lives. I mean, think about it: if we weren’t, we’d be omniscient. Maybe that’s not quite right (heh!) because we could simply not know something without necessarily being wrong about it, but it’s safe to say that all of us harbor mistaken beliefs, impressions, and even what we have been specifically told by authorities. The main point that I want to make, however, is that this is okay.

I believe we actually start off with the idea, some fundamental part of our brains that evolved into us. We have no doubts about having an internal reward system about being right, and honestly, it’s not hard to fathom that this is useful to us, both from a simple survival standpoint of not mistaking a bear for a rabbit, but also in the tribal sense that someone with more answers, more dependable information, is undeniably an asset to the tribe. However, there is more than a suspicion in my head that we have an internal ‘cringe’ system, for want of a better descriptor, regarding the opposite: we feel bad about being wrong. Not just in embarrassment in front of other, judgy people, but perhaps only within ourselves, and this is even reflected in trivial activities like brain teasers.

And then, of course, our cultures reinforce this, often in fierce ways. Most of the schooling structure in the US (the only one I can confidently speak of, though I’m sure others are the same,) builds on this, at a time when peer judgment is at its peak and our classmates will seize every opportunity to use this against us, though granted, such judgment is more likely to be wielded against our manner of dress and other such nonsense. It’s a shame, because we’re in school to learn, an open admission that we’re not going to know everything and the point is to change this as much as possible (admittedly, schools have progressed seriously along these lines since I attended.) An answer of, “I don’t know,” is/was too often an invitation for mockery, scolding, or at the very least, a disappointed look. It was and remains an apparent admission of stupidity, of ignorance, of failure, often encouraging on its own the wild guess, the misplaced confidence, and even the dogged insistence.

There’s even the idea that any decision that we made in the past, regardless of our knowledge, maturity, or motivations at the time, must have been rational, thorough, and ultimately immutable – changing our minds in the face of new information or the revealing of mistaken impressions just isn’t done; it’s not hard to imagine how damaging and backwards this is, nor do we even have to imagine it, because the evidence surrounds us every day.

But it’s all nonsense. We’re going to be wrong about something, we’re going to simply not know about something, all of the time – again, we’re human. And the bare truth is, just about everyone recognizes this, and very few people expect us to be right all of the time. In other words, when we’re concerned over being wrong, we’re responding more to the inner demons than to any realistic reaction from others. We’ve been conditioned, externally and likely internally, to expect negative consequences, but such things rarely take place when we, openly and non-defensively, simply admit either ignorance or our mistake. “I don’t know,” and, “I’m sorry, that was wrong,” do not earn us the backlash we often believe they would.

More importantly, they often earn us respect. Someone that owns their mistake, that apologizes honestly, that simply has the confidence to say, “Ya got me,” is usually seen as forthright, honest, and commendable. We’re all familiar with people and situations where this simply wouldn’t happen, and we recognized that someone was too emotionally afraid of seeming wrong or mistaken or unknowledgeable; we didn’t view them favorably, and weren’t fooled by their false confidence, insistence, or even belligerence, were we? Likely, we considered them petty and immature.

Then there’s the damaging aspect of issuing false information or misplaced confidence, both short and long term. Initially of course, any wrong information may or may not lead to consequences, but in the longer term, anyone that catches us out, that eventually discovers that we were incorrect, is now judging us much more harshly than they ever would have if we’d simply admitted our inability in the first place – and likely remembering it a lot longer, too. Any later statements that we make, regardless of how well we might actually know them, may be considered just as inaccurate, automatically – it’s unfortunate, but that’s the way people are. Just one instance of bowing to insecurity may create a label that we don’t want to wear and potentially don’t even deserve.

We might consider a set of criteria for ‘owning up,’ or not, and in doing so find out that we don’t even need such a thing. When is it necessary to admit to ignorance or mistake? When should we bite the bullet and say, “I’m wrong?” Well, if the matter is important, with serious consequences, then it’s obviously important not to be misleading, not to impart false information, not to be seen as someone who knows the answers; this is far too likely to lead to trouble, even danger. But if the matter is trivial, with little to no consequence to attach to it, then who the hell cares? No one worth their salt, as they say, will even bother worrying about whether you know for sure or not, so go ahead and admit ignorance – it’s not a big deal. So, that doesn’t leave many places where pretending authority is even useful.

I occasionally do classroom-style instruction, and one of the things that I often tell my students is not to be afraid to ask, to admit that they don’t grasp the concept, to speak out and even correct me as needed. The first part is, that’s the only way that I’m going to know that my point, or approach, or method, isn’t working as well as intended; that feedback is valuable. The second part is, I virtually guarantee that there isn’t just one person in the room who needs the help, and you almost become the hero for speaking what’s on multiple people’s minds – especially if someone else has anxiety issues.

But here’s one more positive consequence of admitting to ignorance, because that little bit of embarrassment that we feel, that qualm about not having an answer, is the thing that will make us seek that answer out, to have a solid and positive response the next time we’re asked. If we lie, we have to stick with it in case we’re caught out (which of course won’t help anyone’s view of us,) but just admitting to not knowing only has to happen that once. “I don’t know,” is a perfectly acceptable answer – but adding on, “so let’s find out,” or, “I’ll have an answer for you tomorrow,” is vastly better, beneficial to everyone as well as making you look responsible. Quite simply, it’s better to work with people than compete against them.

I won’t deny that there will remain those who will take any admission of ignorance or mistake and harp on it, using it to try and embarrass or discount us – generally acting exactly the way we might fear. I shouldn’t have to tell you that anyone that petty isn’t worth our time or attention, and obviously has some issues; their judgment is only worth what we give it. Embarrassment is an internal thing – we can only be embarrassed if we allow ourselves to be, and if it involves simply being human, well, that’s unavoidable. Anyone that expects us to be infallible, to be superhuman (or, more likely, is simply in search of easy judgments in order to mask their own insecurities,) doesn’t provide any useful feedback to us and can safely be ignored.

Podcast: It’ll happen to you too

February 14, 2021 Al Denelsbeck

And now, I am back on schedule for doing a podcast at least every month, trying to make up for the poor showing in past years. But then again, what I came up with was this, so you can decide for yourself whether this is a goal that I should be pursuing.

Walkabout podcast – Faster than you think

Yeah, I know, I know, but need I remind you that it’s still winter? And a shitty, rainy one at that. I tried soliciting funds from all my readers for a trip to someplace sunny and scenic and bursting with cool bugs, just to produce more quality post-fodder, but noooooo. That means you only have yourself to blame.

By the way, I feel the need to point out that this is all true…

On this date 56

February 13, 2021February 12, 2021 Al Denelsbeck

We have another sporadic throwback today, a peek at what was happening in years past, and this time we have two from the same day, which was 11 years ago. As I suspected, it was a weekend, a Saturday to be precise, and following a snowstorm the previous day or so. I had gone out once the roads were clear to see what might be found that was scenic, but the snowfall wasn’t significant enough to make for nice picchers, so I didn’t get a lot.

But at one point, stopped alongside the road in farm country, I was greeted by a strange procession coming across a field almost right up to me.

Guinea hens aren’t native, but plenty of people have them as livestock so they’re not too surprising to see, even if they come traipsing out of nowhere about 40 meters from the nearest house. While they appear none too enamored of the winter here, like old Russian women trying to make it to the village, guinea hens always walk like this and were not in the slightest fazed by all the white stuff. They ambled purposefully past me, gossiping quietly to themselves, most likely about my taste in footwear.

Later that evening, I used the conditions to advantage again and took one of my favorite fartsy compositions, while demonstrating that I’m not exactly speedy about taking down decorations.

In my defense, I was waiting for exactly conditions like these to use the snow, and it paid off. This also took a specific time of day, allowing enough light for the snow to be dimly illuminated while still making the holiday lights bright enough, and of course a wide-open aperture to render the unfocused lights as circles and not hexagons or pentagons or however many aperture blades you might have in that lens. And while this wasn’t planned at all, the bracketing layout of the other lights works quite well to me. We did not get enough snow to cover the lights entirely, whereupon I could switch them on at night and get the colorful glow coming through the smooth snow; that came on another date (another year, I believe.) But this worked well enough.

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