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
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
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
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.
So many questions
I had started this a little while ago and was hashing out the drafts when I realized Darwin’s birthday was coming up, and felt delaying it until now was appropriate. That said, I apologize in advance, because this post is simply begging for a lot more research on my part, but instead of engaging in that and coming back with something more informative, I’m plowing ahead in ignorance (like that’s something new) and posting anyway, because it’s winter ;-). Most of the questions herein, however, cannot at present be answered even if I did the research, because paleontologists haven’t answered them yet either. It’s the nature of the field.
So, let’s get into it. The history of humankind is convoluted: the Hominini (that eventually became modern Homo sapiens, us,) split off from the Paninini (which eventually became chimpanzees and bonobos) somewhere around seven million years ago – more or less kinda, and this is a topic all its own that I’m not going to tackle right now. Anyway, since that split, there have been numerous distinct species on the Hominini side, branching out in many directions, Australopithecus afarensis and Paranthropus boisei and so on, but the finds are sporadic enough and the distinctions large enough that we have no way to determine our direct ancestry. It’s not like it matters all that much; the progression to an upright, more mobile, and especially hunting and tool-using species is clear and more than enough evidence to indicate a close family tree.
Right now we’re going to talk about something much more recent, which are the various species that existed within the past half-million years. Not quite two hundred years ago we found the remains of a species that would come to be known as Neanderthals, with a silent ‘H’ – “Neander-tall” (it’s from German origins.) Most people are aware that Neanderthals existed alongside Homo sapiens up until, oh, somewhere between 50,000 and 30,000 years ago, but no longer exist. When I was growing up, the nomenclature for these ‘cave men’ in early Europe were Neanderthals and Cro-Magnon, which were/are our direct ancestors. The term “Cro-Magnon” has largely fallen into disuse in favor of simply Homo sapiens, and the adoption of Homo neanderthalensis as the counterpart. There was wide speculation as to why H. neanderthalensis doesn’t exist anymore, initially being either unable to outcompete H. sapiens or actively killed off by the same.
But then the real twist. Mitochondrial DNA can sometimes be extracted from remains that aren’t too old, including Neanderthals, and sequencing this genome (the portions allowed by mtDNA anyway) showed an intriguing find: that a certain percentage of people of European descent today have Neanderthal DNA traces, meaning the two species were interbreeding within Europe. Those of direct African descent show no such traces, indicating that it occurred after at least the first emigration.
First pause: We really don’t know exactly when those ancestors (some of them) left Africa, and what route they took in expansion, and how many times it occurred. The fossil record is too sporadic and at times in apparent disagreement. What we do know is that Neanderthals are only found in Europe and just barely into Asia – or at least so far. And H. sapiens appears to have developed within Africa somewhere in the vicinity of 300,000 years ago, after the first emigrations (those that became Neanderthals, for one) and emigrated later.
Now a little history of paleontology. Neanderthals were recognized as distinct from Cro-Magnons/H. sapiens because of their differing morphology, their body shape: Neanderthals were a little shorter, stockier, and with differently-shaped skulls and jaws (and larger brains.) But those differences, while semi-consistent, were not anywhere near as extreme as the differences between modern gorillas and orangutans and chimpanzees; they’re minor enough, it has been said, that if a Neanderthal appeared in a crowd today we wouldn’t be alarmed, those traits falling close to or within the normal genetic variations of H. sapiens.
Which might be telling, because the two species did interbreed, so some of that variation might actually be Neanderthal genes. And this is where I started researching (I didn’t say I didn’t do any, just not enough yet,) because the definition, every definition, of how to distinguish species contains their inability to interbreed. By that token, they were not separate species, but perhaps only subspecies. And in some circles this is reflected, though it’s not universal: there is a proposed scientific classification of Homo sapiens neanderthalensis and Homo sapiens sapiens (modern humans.) This, to me, makes the most sense, because we can’t call them separate species if they could interbreed, but as I said, there remains a lot of the literature that still refers to them as separate, even while recognizing the interbreeding bit. Proposing that modern humans are a separate species now from our ancestors 50,000 years ago still doesn’t make the species distinction between Neanderthals and Cro-Magnon viable.
The differing morphology is evidence of long-term splits between populations, as is the difference in genetic makeup, and this fits with the proposed timelines of emigration from Africa: up to a little over 2 million years ago for the first wave, likely Homo heidelbergensis (the common ancestor of H. Neanderthalensis and H. sapiens,) but this is still questionable because, at that age, we’re back to working with morphology, and the thin remains from those times aren’t specific enough to differentiate all that clearly. Species change slowly, without distinct lines to cross, so the whole process of applying labels to them is strictly a conceit of modern humans. Meanwhile, populations of H. heidelbergensis still remained in Africa too, and eventually gave rise to H. sapiens, that began migrating out about 300,000 years ago. And despite this vast separation in time, could still interbreed with the first émigrés.
Added to this mix we have the Denisovans, a recently-discovered offshoot in Asia, and the only one we know solely by their genetic code; the very sparse bone fragments we have still yielded enough for mtDNA testing, and revealed a broad split from other remains. And evidence of interbreeding, too, since up to 4% of modern Asians bear Denisovan DNA traces. The Denisovans have not yet received a proposed Homo distinction, largely because we have no idea what they looked like; one of the older requirements for such classifications, still retained, is that we have a ‘Type’ fossil, a representative example of the distinctive difference from other species (or ‘species’.)
Just for the sake of it, I’ll mention Flores Man, Homo floresiensis, recently discovered only in a small spot in Indonesia. Those remains are 50,000 years old, around the time that H. neanderthalensis was dying out and H. sapiens spreading out beyond Eurasia, but nothing like H. sapiens at all, being less than half the mass and bearing some archaic traits. There is no evidence for how long ago this offshoot reached Indonesia, but it is suggested that they’re a remnant of that first emigration up to 2 million years ago, and I have found nothing yet that indicates we have genetic information on them.
And thus I remain a little confused, because again, the interbreeding means they’re not distinct species and should be all absorbed into one, though perhaps with subspecies distinctions as noted above – H. floresiensis may yet fit the bill for “no interbreeding,” and this might only be due to its isolation. But to all evidence, we’re all descendants of H. heidelbergensis and only have racial/regional differences. I really need to find a paleontologist who will address these questions for me.
Making progress
Yet this is a strange way to illustrate it, I admit.
I have mentioned, countless, interminable times, that I am involved in several computer projects, and certainly in the wrong manner if you ask most of those who charge for their expertise in planning and time management, because it’s several projects at once, and when one stalls or I’ve gotten too frustrated with it, I switch to another. This works for me, however, and in doing this, I brought one to completion: I have the film scanner going again.
“Film?!” you demand querulously, offended to your very techno core. “Who the hell uses film anymore except hipsters?” And it’s true that I have been shooting solely on digital for the past couple of years, but a) I intend to do a little film shooting and developing fairly soon, despite my dearth of long hair or a man-bun, and b) I have a file drawer and two ring-binders loaded with film that I shot in the past, that I have no intention of discarding. So, you know, it’s nice to have access to these other than viewing them on a portable light table.
As proof, I provide my test scan:
This is a barn owl (Tito alba,) and as you can tell from the jesses (those little collars around its legs,) this is a captive, photographed during an educational event that I either attended or helped organize – I think the latter. It’s a species I’ve never photographed, or even seen, in the wild, though I’ve been hoping, but given how owls are nocturnal, the opportunities, even if the species is in the area (which does not appear to be the case,) are limited. I could have driven the number of commas in that sentence up to eight if I’d tried…
I didn’t have a particular purpose in having this scan on my harddrive, it was just handy when the scanner started playing nice. One of the issues with this is the two film scanners that I have are both fairly old, running on 32-bit Windows systems, so not ready to play with the later versions in the slightest, much less Linux. There’s one bit of Linux software that will indeed recognize the scanners, but it’s mildly expensive, and in this case I got things happening without resorting to that – not to mention that user reviews of that software are not enthusiastic.
But this reminded me of one of the hassles of film scanning, and that’s dust. The acetate base of film is highly conducive to static electricity, which causes dust to adhere to it quickly and readily, and in addition, slide mounts are often cardboard and produce their own dust in quantity. Despite best efforts in removing this before scanning, some will still adhere (or quickly reattach) and this shows up in the resulting image file, necessitating a certain amount of touchup with an editing program to have a clean image. I’m fairly adept at this now, having done it for years, but that doesn’t mean it’s not time-consuming. The various dust removal programs and plugins that I’ve tried have been both next to worthless and often soften the details of the image itself, so they’re out.
You may have seen the dust in the image above, and that’s because I simply slapped the slide in for the test without preparation – subsequent scans (which you’ll see shortly) are a hell of a lot better. But for giggles, I’ll show you what it looks like if you don’t blow off and brush off the slide before scanning. This is full resolution:
Bear in mind, if the film is prepped adequately before the scan, most of this isn’t present, but for instance old negatives will degrade over time and lose the emulsion in tiny patches, which won’t simply blow or brush away. There are various tricks to take care of these, which I may tackle soon in a post or a page on the main site, but for now, you can find such tips online if you’re in search of them.
Anyway, another aspect is back online, so I’m pleased. Getting some use out of the winter, at least.
Profiles of Nature 6
This week we have siblings Gollumer (left) and Leggite (guess) when they’d been amusing themselves by throwing sheep off the roof, suddenly discovering that dad was home early. Gollumer and Leggite had won their appearance in the opening sequence of Miami Lice in a contest sponsored by Stouffer’s Stove Top Stuffing, despite the fact that this never existed. Their attempts to parlay this (their appearance, not the stuffing thing) into a regular modeling career failed when neither of them could master looking pouty – thankfully, they found this out before they dropped the money on butt botox. They then pooled their resources together to start their own business selling shock collars for conspiracy believers, earning millions in pre-sales that they had to return when they couldn’t locate 220v batteries, which they suspect was a plot; they are now trying to find another use for their business name, “Gollumer & Leggite’s Fryawhack.” In their early childhood, Leggite convinced Gollumer that their bathroom was once an ancient Indian burial ground (fed by the Ganges,) forcing Gollumer to consult a Ouija board before entering each time; this was how they found out it was actually true, but the spirits were cool with it because they liked playing with the bathroom scale. In three years the pair will own more America Online CDs than AOL actually produced, due to interest. Leggite’s favorite Kid from CAPER is Bugs, and Gollumer’s preferred press manufacturer is Gestetner.
Be sure to check back next week – we’re confident this isn’t going to get any better.
Blame it on February
There are a lot of things that you could blame this short gallery on: the weather, the underperforming birds, my lack of ambition, my lack of skill… but we’re going with February, of course. I mean, I’d hate to put all the blame on the birds.
Yesterday during our routine break between rains, the temperature actually rose above 15°C and The Girlfriend and I took a tour around the neighborhood pond. There yet remains little to see, so this is a rehash of the same ol’ subjects, but there was a smidgen of activity nonetheless. Above, a northern mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos) was foraging for berries in a tree alongside the water and wasn’t terribly concerned with my presence, allowing me to affix the long lens before then trying to hide amongst the leaves. On the second pass I was a little luckier, but it still refused to gulp berries where I could photograph it.
One of the resident ducks was more specific in its reaction.
One of the female mallards sported very pale coloration, and noticed me as I was lining up for the shot. Ostensibly she was ‘just stretching,’ but you and I both know that was the alibi if the teacher was watching, and this is how a duck flips you off. I wasn’t being creepy (I mean, The Girlfriend was right there,) but you know, some women are just paranoid.
There are, naturally, a few gaggles of Canada geese (Branta canadensis) hanging about, and true to form, lots of territorial squabbling. One in particular was desperately in need of some lithium or chocolate or something.
Small shifts in position on the large expanse of water would periodically send a more possessive goose into a rage, eliciting a flurry of splashing and pursuit and, really, a godawful amount of honking, also contributed by those on the sidelines who had nothing to do with the disputes but felt their input was needed anyway like, well, every sporting event in history. Hey there, see? They could just fill the stadiums with geese and get the same effect, though granted, with probably fewer beer bellies painted in team colors. Probably.
I mentioned before about stalking a spooky great blue heron, the only example found at the pond for the last six months, but yesterday showed a duo that were hanging out together, in the treetops rather than down at the pond’s edge foraging, and I’m now suspecting a mated (or soon to be) pair. They changed position a few times as we ambled around, not quite providing clean shots, but I snagged a few overhead and a few when one perched in a bare tree.
This was shot across the pond without any ability to clear the foreground or background, so I’m pleased the eye came up that damn sharp. Composition-wise, not so much of course, but it would have been far worse with foliage. I’ll have to keep checking and see if they remain, and if they actually build a nest nearby – I don’t think I’ve ever seen evidence of one there yet.
Which reminds me: I’m now starting to make routine checks, because I’d really like to try and get the green heron nest this year, if they do indeed return to the same spot as they have for the past three or so. Since I’ve only found the remains of the old nests once the leaves have dropped off in late fall, I feel they know what they’re doing and having any view at all might be quite challenging, but it’s on the list of things to attempt, anyway.
I was a little surprised to see my next subject, expecting them to have migrated from the area, but I’ll take it.
This female double-crested cormorant (Phalacrocorax auritus) was posed nicely on a snag over the water, but the camera was being balky for a moment, possibly a bad battery, and the cormorant slipped under the water as I fiddled. Eventually it surfaced much farther off, and I waited for it to turn the right way to at least catch the green eye in the sunlight.
On the next circuit, it was back in position on the snag but a little more wary, and I crept in trying for a clear shot between all of the intervening branches of the pondside bushes. This is one of the reasons that I’m not enamored of autofocus, because I chase a lot of subjects in these conditions and the AF often decides I must be after the foreground branches – usually right as my intended subject provides the best post. It happened again this time too, but I still got a usable frame.
As she slipped into the water, I was expecting her to do the same thing and surface some distance off, but she almost immediately emerged with a fish in her beak. I had to dodge around the branches for a clear shot, and by the time I got a decent gap she was almost finished with her meal.
Mind you, this doesn’t take a long time at all, requiring only the right positioning of the fish before swallowing it whole, so it’s not like I was bumbling about. But I was still impressed that she got a fish in the mere seconds she’d been in the water, especially when her entry had been so casual, without apparent deliberation or examination. Then, just as casually, she did it again, arising with another fish in mere seconds.
With a clearer view this time, it was obvious that her ‘capture’ was not only dead, it was dismembered, which may not exactly apply to fish because they don’t have a lot of members to dis (a tail, I guess,) but you get the idea. Eviscerated. Poorly fileted. An overall lack of cohesiveness. This was curious to me in that I was almost positive cormorants were interested only in fresh captures, and did not scavenge or save meals for later, but now I’ve seen otherwise, so…? I am vaguely in suspicion that she stole this from a snapping turtle, but it remains possible that they keep larger meals handy nearby for when they get peckish (a ha ha ha!) which helps explain her preference for that perch. So far, none of my info sources addresses this, but I’ll keep looking.
But at least I found a few things to photograph, even if they weren’t new or particularly noteworthy, though I’m still in my wintry low expectations and you should be too. So there.
Podcast: Where we’re going…
… we don’t need rails! And I think that says enough, really.
But it’s the first example of my goal for the year to do more podcasts, after letting it slide for the past two. There’s that, at least.
Walkabout podcast – We Don’t Need Rails
Nothing to add – no illustrations, outside links or additional materials. Once you listen, you’ll realize this is probably a good thing.
Graverobbing
Okay, it’s not that bad, but we are gonna go with some older photos here.
Going back through the folders, I found a couple of photos that I felt I should feature, and now I’ve finally got the time and inclination to do so – been buried in a few other projects for a bit. So let’s take a peek at a photo subject from 2005.
I came across this black rat snake, or eastern rat snake (Pantherophis alleghaniensis) in a ditch, showing distinct evidence of a recent large meal – and distinct evidence of an altercation, as well. There were a couple other minor injuries, but this one was the worst. Had it come from the unknown critter now residing in the snake’s belly? It seems plausible, but hardly conclusive; plenty of other species in the area prey on snakes, to say nothing of human hazards. However, there’s a high level of confidence that the injury was there before the snake began swallowing its sizable meal whole, so I’ll let you imagine how it must feel to stretch out such a wound over the passage of a… what? Medium-sized bird? Juvenile rabbit? Large rat? Whatever it was, it was about that size.
As you might imagine, the snake wasn’t the most amenable to being a photo subject.
While not thrilled about the approach of the camera, the snake still recognized that, by itself, it wasn’t a typical threat, plus it didn’t smell right. Had I reached out towards the head at this point with my hand, however, I’m sure I would have been bitten. Black rat snakes are harmless constrictors, with teeth only suitable to helping immobilize prey – tiny little things, capable of stinging and drawing blood, but not much else, and I’ve been bitten more times than I can count. I don’t recall being bitten during this session, but at this point I’m not even sure I would bother retaining that detail. However, I like the comparison of this shot and the much-smaller (like 1/50th the mass) juvenile of the same species from a few days back.
And while I’m at it, another comparison.
This green treefrog (Hyla cinerea) was taken in 2009, a time when I rarely found such subjects, and I was eminently pleased with the detail and sharpness that were captured. In fact, a closer crop is part of the rotating banner images at top – I considered it one of my better accomplishments.
Which is a great illustration of how things change for the better, because now my attitude is, Well, it’s good, but not among the best in my galleries anymore. And that’s the way it should be; if you’re progressing in your skills, you should be able to look at your older stuff and not feel as chuffed about it now. It can help, when you’re not feeling like you’re getting anywhere, to go back and do a direct comparison just to see how wrong you are. But I can show this a little more directly, too.
This is from 2016, one of the various hatchlings from the backyard pond, and that gaping sewer pipe that it hangs from is actually a film can. I realize that this is not the best reference for size anymore, since too few people have even seen one, so just know that it’s slightly larger in diameter than a quarter. My unidentified frog subject here could fit comfortably on a thumbnail, while the adult seen above would be a snug fit within that can. However, I got a little closer than that.
I posted this back then (with specific measurements,) but it’s the same tiny frog – at this age, there are too few identifying characteristics to know if it’s a green treefrog or Cope’s grey, but they’re within the same size range as adults (the greens are slightly larger on average.) Also worth noting is the better lighting control, fewer specular highlights and softer contrast, because not only was I using a lens capable of closer work, I’d created a portable softbox system for my flash unit – actually, several times over in the intervening years, refining them as I went.
I really should have something from the present to show even more comparisons, but I have nothing readily available right now. Maybe I’ll do some microscope work soon.