Category Archives: Have Science Will Travel

A visit to the Herschel Museum

(cross-posted from easternblot.net)

The day after the Brexit referendum I went to visit a museum dedicated to two German immigrants, and some of England’s most prolific astronomers.

2016-06-24 13.50.02Siblings William and Caroline Herschel lived in Bath during the 18th century, in New King Street. Two and a half centuries later, the street was quiet, with recycling bags outside every door, and a few straggling hopeful “Vote Remain” posters in some of the windows. The Herschels used to live at number 19, where the front door was now partly open.

I stepped inside, into a very normal corridor of a very normal terraced house. Normal, aside from a man standing behind a desk in the room at the far end of the corridor, welcoming me to the museum, and explaining that I could walk around the house, which was entirely converted to a museum devoted to the Herschels’ life and work.

I started at the basement level, which had access to the garden. This was the very garden in which William Herschel discovered the planet Uranus in 1781.

Until his discovery, there were only six known planets in the solar system: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. All of these could be seen with the naked eye, and had been recognized as planets from the way they travelled across the night sky and changed position in relation to the stars.

2016-06-24 13.47.23The remaining planets were too far away to see. There were telescopes at the time, but none were good enough to see that far into space with enough detail. William Herschel developed a telescope that made it possible to see further into space in more detail. He had a workshop attached to his home, where he worked on his telescopes, and he soon became the world’s foremost telescope maker.

But despite discovering a whole new planet, astronomy was just Herschel’s hobby at the time. His day job was as organist for the Octagon Chapel in Bath. The organ is no more, but a set of pipes from the old organ are on display in the music room, upstairs in the museum.

2016-06-24 13.57.50The music room also has several objects related to the life Caroline Herschel. She initially came to England to help her brother around the house and to pursue a professional singing career. When William’s astronomy hobby slowed turned into a full career, she became more involved with that, and made a few astronomical discoveries of her own.

When William discovered the planet Uranus, he proposed to name it Georgium Sidus (George’s Star) to honour England’s King George III, who was also Duke of Herschel’s hometown Hanover. The name didn’t stick, because other astronomers preferred a more international name, but in 1782, William Herschel was employed as King’s Astronomer. A few years later, the king also paid Caroline a salary for her assistance to William, making her the very first woman in the world to receive a salary for scientific work.

In the gift shop on the ground floor of the house I picked up two booklets about the Herschels’ musical careers, before heading back to the train station.

 

In the following days, it quickly became clear that in the wake of Brexit it has become quite difficult for European scientists in the UK, when nobody knows whether they will need visas, or whether new researchers will even want to come. Even British scientists are already having trouble applying for collaborative grants with their EU colleagues, as they might not qualify for the funding in a few years, and hinder the joint application.

So how did the Herschels get to work in England so easily, centuries before the EU? There may not have been a Europe-wide open borders scheme at the time, but there was an arrangement between Hanover and England, since they shared a ruler (King George III), so it was an obvious and easy choice to move between the two places.

I wanted to visit the museum because I was interested in the Herschels’ dual interests in music and science, but the date of my visit couldn’t have been more poignant, as the Herschel story is a textbook example of the work that foreign scientists have contributed to the UK.

Malheur National Wildlife Refuge

“Malheur National Wildlife Refuge is closed until further notice”, says the website for the Oregon bird sanctuary.

This is the refuge that is currently being held by an armed group. There is much circulating online about the fact that they have guns and want snacks, but very little is mentioned about the location.

Some unarmed occupants of the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge

Some unarmed occupants of the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge

The Malheur Refuge was originally founded in 1908, and has expanded since then by government purchase of surrounding lands. This is ultimately what the group holding fort in the wildlife center is acting against: they are acting on behalf of ranchers who want their land back – not just this land, but land in other locations as well.

So why has the wildlife refuge been buying these lands? Conservation.

In the late 19th century, many birds in the area fell prey to hunters who gathered their feathers to sell to the hat industry. The white heron population almost entirely disappeared during this time. Rather than sitting idly by as their local fauna was turned into hats and fascinators, locals took action. Wildlife photographers and the Oregon Audubon Society lobbied for the creation of a preservation area, and in 1908 President Roosevelt established what was then known as the Lake Malheur Reservation.

These days, the area supports “between 5 and 66 percent of the Pacific Flyway’s migrating populations for priority waterfowl” and “over 20 percent of the Oregon population of breeding greater sandhill cranes”. It’s a major bird habitat, but it’s also home to many species of mammals, fish, and insects.

Researchers make use of the refuge for moth, bee and bat inventory studies. According to a recent study, Malheur is one of the few places in the Pacific North-West where the canyon bat is found.

If you want to see the bats or birds on the refuge, you’re going to have to wait for the occupation to end. Don’t send snacks.

 

Image by Barbara Wheeler, CC-BY via Wikimedia.

 

 

Greetings from the Kilpisjärvi Biological Station

The Main Building of the Kilpisjarvi Biological Station

The Main Building of the Kilpisjarvi Biological Station

Regular readers of the Finch & Pea are aware that for the past few weeks, I’ve been doing an art residency at the Kilpisjärvi Biological Station, way above the Arctic Circle in Finnish Lapland. It’s quite an unusual place. Let me show you around.

The station, which belongs to the University of Helsinki, was founded in 1964 to promote biological and geographical research in the north. Conditions were quite primitive at first, with researchers renting rooms from some of the very few year-round inhabitants of the area. (There are still only about 100 full-time residents of Kilpisjarvi)  Twenty years later, the current building was built, and additional facilities have been added over the years.

No shoes!

No shoes!

The Station sits between Saana Fell and Kilpisjarvi Lake. An extremely clean, modern facility, it still has a few quirks. For starters, the station has a strict “no shoes” policy. You leave your boots at the entrance hall and pad around in your socks. If your city boots are not equal to the winter snow and ice or the spring and summer mud, there are dozens of pairs available to borrow, along with backpacks, bikes and cross-country skis. Alas, during my visit there was too much snow for bikes, but too little for skis. There are not one but two saunas. Hey, this is Finland.

The Library

The Library

The very nice little library is well-stocked with books and journals, mostly about science and nature, in Finnish, English and a few other languages. The nicely-equipped labs are filled with all the usual equipment and supplies, and lined with posters showing the projects that teams have undertaken here. They run the gamut of Arctic themes, from lake sediments and the size of fishes to birch tree growth patterns, bird populations and, of course, lots of work on lemmings. The station’s logo is this wonderful image of two lemmings in either a fight for dominance or a passionate embrace.

What are those lemmings doing?

What are those lemmings doing?

Although the station has hosted dozens of artists through the Ars Bioarctica residency program, there’s really no place to make art. I did some painting either in the lab or, on the weekends, in the residents’ kitchen. Most days, I would go for walks, take photos and pick up a few interesting samples of lichens or plants in the morning. Then, after lunch, I would go to the lab and look at my finds under the microscope. The first week, I drew pictures in pencil like a 19th century naturalist. After that, they set me up with a microscope and software so I could save images to use in my work after I get home.

Some finds from my walks

Some finds from my walks

At the end of my second week here, another short-term resident of the station made a stunning discovery: an entire room full of mounted rodent skins, including mice, rats, voles, moles, weasels, hedgehogs, squirrels and even bats. In addition, there were drawers and cases full of skins and bones, all carefully catalogued and dating back as far as the 1960s. Apparently this “Mouse Museum”, as it is known, was the work of a longtime lab assistant at the station.

The

The “Mouse Museum”

Altogether, it’s been a privilege to visit this utterly unique place. Kilpisjärvi is the quietest and most remote place I’ve ever been in my life, and it allowed me to observe in depth the sub-Arctic landscape as it moved from fall to winter. I look forward to reflecting more on this experience and incorporating it into my artwork in the months and years to come.

Fossil Butte

FossilButte1

This is not one of Michele’s snaps from Finland, but rather a picture of Fossil Butte National Park in Wyoming. Fifty million years ago, this area looked VERY different. It was a lot warmer, and there was a lake. We know this because this particular lake has left behind some extremely well conserved fossils.

Prehistoric horse found at Fossil Lake.

Prehistoric horse found at Fossil Lake.

When railroad workers in the 19th century visited the area, they noticed so many fossils that they named the nearby settlement “Fossil”.

Fish from Fossil Lake

Fish from Fossil Lake

The fossils from this region are so well conserved because the ancient lake was rich in calcium carbonate. Layers of calcium carbonate would settle on newly dead animals that had sunk to the bottom of the lake, and over the years this created well-preserved fossils set in limestone.

Crocodile

The species found in the limestone are familiar – similar to many creatures alive today – but unexpected for Wyoming. There are crocodiles and palm trees, for example. It suggests that back then, the climate in Wyoming would have been more like that of Florida today.

PalmTree

To see the fossils from Fossil Lake, you can visit Fossil Butte National Park in Wyoming, or see a large collection of the fossils at the Field Museum in Chicago.


Crocodile and palm tree photos are both CC-BY-SA (according to Field Museum usage terms) taken by Eva Amsen.  Other photos are public domain, via National Park Service.

Climbed a Mountain and I Turned Around: My Saana Saga

saanapan2

View of Malla and Kilpisjarvi Lake from Saana

Last Friday I decided to walk up Saana Fell, the mountain that overlooks the Kilpisjarvi Biological Station, where I am staying as an artist in residence. Local artist Leena* had told me the view was amazing from the top, and that there were stairs up the side. It’s only 4 kilometers, she said. How hard could that be? I walk all the time!

So I set out, in my favorite yoga pants and my snow boots from Marshalls. I didn’t take any food or water because I had just had breakfast and I thought it would only take about an hour and half to get to the top. Yes, I am kind of stupid.

1. The walk

I started out from the Kilpsjarvi camping center, walking along a gently upward-sloping path with wooden walkways over the slippery bits. I can do this, I thought. 4 km, piece of cake. After all, I had walked to the border of Norway two days before, a much longer trek. After walking uphill for what felt like three million years, I came to a sign that said Saana, 3.5 km. Shit.

2. The Stairs

stairs up

That’s a lot of stairs

At first I was happy to see the stairs up the side of the mountain. Then, about 10 minutes later, I was really glad I was doing this alone, so nobody had to see me stop every 20 stairs to catch my breath. Then every fifteen. Then whenever I damn well felt like it. I stopped to examine every interesting lichen I saw. I ate some snow. About halfway up the stairs my phone dinged with a message from T-Mobile welcoming me to Finland. At the top of the stairs there was a nice wooden platform with a bench, where I gratefully sat and waited for my heart rate to return to normal.

3. The Here We Go!

bunnehprint

Arctic Hare was here

At this point I realized that the stairs did not, in fact, go all the way to the summit. But I had come a long way, and I was determined. This was the “here we go” portion of the climb, when I was full of confidence. The sun was up, the view was stunning, and I was strong and capable. There were painted sticks to mark the path, so I followed them. I saw one other set of human footprints, but no other people. In fact, I never saw another living creature the whole time, only the prints of a few arctic hares and birds. I am a real Viking now, I thought.

4. The AYFKM

backdown

Oh dear

The “here we go” leg of the journey turned out to be significantly shorter than the “are you fucking kidding me” leg. The bright sunshine had melted some of the snow, turning many of the rocks icy. I slid around a lot. There were no more footprints. For some reason I was particularly terrified by the idea of falling and breaking my teeth on a rock, hundreds of miles from a dentist. I focused on keeping my mouth tightly shut, walking in the areas where I could see shrubs sticking up through the snow, and saying “fuck” a lot.

5. The Hey, This Isn’t So Bad

Piece of Cake

Piece of Cake

Then I got to a kind of plateau where there was lots of soft snow that was easy to walk through. Hey, this isn’t so bad! That lasted for about 7 minutes.

6. The AYFKM, Part II

Then the AYFKM part started again, with slippery rocks and a very steep uphill grade. I could see the white stick marking the summit, but it was still a long way off. I checked the time and discovered that I had been out for over two and a half hours. I began thinking, for the first time, about how hard it might be to get back down the mountain. (See above, “I am kind of stupid”)

I tried some more affirmations of the “you can do it” type, followed by some of the “you can’t quit now, you wuss” variety. But after looking back down and discovering that I could not even see where the stairs started, I reluctantly decided to stop short of the summit.

7. The Turning Point

One of the times I fell

Me, ass over teakettle

I beat myself up a little over turning back. (Old! Fat! Weak!) Then Saana took over and started beating me up much more efficiently. The melted and re-frozen surface was treacherous. I lost track of how many times I fell down. Once, after I went down especially hard with my arms bent awkwardly behind me, I took a break to lie there for a while and have a little cry. Then I got back up again, because a) I was a Viking now and b) I had no alternative. I slid on my ass down a few steep parts, which, although uncomfortable, seemed preferable to taking them face-first.

8. The Stairs Again

stairsdown

I am the Stair Master!

I have never been so happy to see a ridiculously long, steep set of snow–covered stairs than on the trip back down Saana. I didn’t exactly skip down, but I took them at a good clip. There were many more sets of human footprints on them than when I came up. My sense of triumph came surging back, as I realized that others had climbed up Saana today, but none had made it as far as me.

9. The Walk (with humans)

By the time I reached the wooden walkways, I was starving and my legs were shaking. I had been walking (and climbing, sliding, and falling) for four hours. I saw people on the walkway, young Nordic types with impressive hiking gear. I inwardly scoffed at them, setting out in mid-afternoon for an easy stroll. They undoubtedly saw a tired, chubby, middle aged American in snow boots and a puffy coat, and not the mountain warrior I had become. As I slowly wobbled my way along the main road back to the biological station, I hummed The Ride of the Valkyries under my breath.

Hojotoho!

*Leena has been living in Lapland for 15 years, 3 km from the road, with her husband, who is a Sami reindeer herder. I should never listen to Leena.