Bald as an Eagle?

I'm bald. I know this because I have nieces and nephews who wisely point this out. My 4 year old niece and I tested this theory recently. Static electricity is generated when a balloon is rubbed on hair as it did when I swiped her with a balloon from her birthday party. She became irate when it was her turn to try the experiment on my hair since I have none. So empirical evidence would suggest I am bald. 

Centuries ago bald or balde meant having a white spot. Anyone who has stood behind me at the beach on a sunny day can attest that bald is still a fair assessment. But what about Bald Eagles? They're obviously not bald by the popular definition, nor do they "lack in ornamentation or natural covering" as is the an alternative definition. Their naming comes from early explorers of North America who named them Bald Eagles in reference to their white heads. I have a white head, but I am not a Bald Eagle. The logic of this is lost on a four year old.  

Let's complicate things. Bald Eagle chicks don't get white plumage on their heads until they're 4-5 years old. Once they reach maturity, they molt and the speckled brown and whites give way to a white head and solid brown body. We spotted this Bald Eagle chick (above) on a nest with a sibling, swaying rhythmically in the wind with the branches of an Australian Pine. 

A close-up of an injured juvenile (above) at a rehab center (VINS) reveals a mottled plumage with lightly brown feathers and brown and yellow beak. 

Hours after spotting the Eagle chick, we spotted an adult male perched in a dead Slash Pine near Punta Rassa. As I approached the Eagle became aggressive, crying and circling overhead. If you look close you can see the feet tucked up like landing gear under the tail. 

The bird continued to circle before landing in a patch of live Slash Pines, revealing the cause of its irritation - another nest occupied by mom and two chicks. Not wanting to disturb them any more,  I packed up the camera and departed, content that we had spotted 6 Bald Eagles in a few hours. 

It was only 30 years ago that my 3rd grade teacher suggested that by the year 2000, Eagles could be extinct. With the ban of the use of the harmful pesticide DDT (in the US at least) in the early 70's, Eagles, Osprey, Brown Pelicans and many other bird species higher up on the food chain have since rallied. DDT apparently prevented calcium carbonate from absorbing in the egg shells, resulting in severely thin shells. When adult birds attempted to incubate their eggs they would crush them. Today Florida boasts the 2nd highest population of Bald Eagles in the US behind only Alaska (where their ubiquity is celebrated with disdain). 

Their population resurgence is worthy of a party and if there are balloons, maybe I'll see if static electricity works on Bald Eagles. 

Why I Hate the Beach: Shark Attack Edition

I tend to avoid any liquid that contains things that could eat me. And just by writing that I realize that I'm not telling the truth. I wade in water with alligators and snakes. I've made coffee from Lee County tap water. But I've always had a tough time at the beach. It's sandy. It's hot. There are fish that can eat me called Sharks. 

A 15-year old boy was bitten yesterday off the beach on Sanibel by what "appeared to be" and I will assume out of lack of desire to do any journalistic legwork - a shark bite. Early lazy journalistic reports by actual journalists suggest that the 3 inch chomp in the kids leg may have been from a shark. 

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Sanibel Island is voted one of the top beaches for shelling in the world and it's not a secret that sharks live all along the coast of Florida. Although attacks are rare, they do happen from time to time and just like the "irrational fear" some have for flying, the rarity and novelty of being bitten by a shark or crashing in a plane, or crashing in a plane and than being eaten by a shark weighs heavily on the minds of the irrational. It just makes sense. 

In 2008 there were 58 shark attacks worldwide. There are an average of 4 fatalities caused by shark attacks a year. This is a drop from 71 in 2007 - let's blame the economy. Fewer people are going to the beach. Fewer delicious humans in the water = fewer attacks. But many sharks give birth near shore during spring and early summer and that raises the danger level slightly.  

Shark attack data through 2007 - http://www.flmnh.ufl.edu/fish/sharks/White/USA.htm

All Florida shrak attacks through 2007 - http://www.flmnh.ufl.edu/fish/sharks/statistics/GAttack/mapFL.htm

There have been over 11,000 vehicle related fatalities in 2009 in the US as of this writing. Yet we don't freak out as much when we get into the car. Ma-Le insists Ecuador has the safest beaches and they never had shark attacks (4 in 70 years). I thought that was just nationalistic pride but that does seem to be the case. 

Regardless - there are a few safety tips and JunglePete tips to heed when venturing into the briny shallows:

• Swim, dive or surf with other people -- the more people you swim with, the more likely someone else will be bitten.
• Avoid wearing shiny jewelry that might simulate the scales of a prey fish, and also avoid uneven tanning. No shark attack victim wants to be on the news with an uneven tan. 
• Don't swim at dusk or at night. This is when the JAWS theme song plays and that seems to attract sharks. 
• Refrain from excessive splashing. This is very important if you are my niece and should be heeded even in swimming pools and bathtubs. 
• Don't swim near people who are fishing or spear-fishing, chumming or using live bait. The spear ought to be a good deterant. .
• If a shark is sighted in the area, leave the water as calmly and quickly as possible. Tell no one.
• Do not harass a shark if one is spotted. But if you must - turn back to shore and yell "Watch this!"
  

Well - time to head for the beach and if the lightning doesn't hit me and I don't have a car wreck and the package of Easter Peeps I ate for breakfast doesn't stop my heart I might just make it to the sandy shores of the Gulf of Mexico where I will brave the waters and tempt the shark with my deliciousness. I can't wait.

Balloons for Grandma

Lie to your kids. It amuses me.

I was hiking in the Everglades two weeks ago and spotted a shiny object floating between two Cypress trees deep in the far reaches of the swamp. It was a Mylar balloon and the metallic exterior shimmered and reflected the rare sunbeam that broke through the dense forest canopy. It reminded me that no place is far enough away from the hand of humanity.

This is what happens to some of the balloons that get away from kids. My niece lost a balloon a few months ago and my sister told her not to cry - the balloon was floating away and grandma would get it. Presumably my sister thinks our mother lives in space since passing on 2 years ago. The situation repeated itself a few months later and Tara reminded Peyton once again that the balloon was headed up to Grandma. When Peyton lost another balloon recently Tara once again calmed the greasy-fingered kid and told her not to worry - and you know the rest. The apparently agitated three year old had had enough of this explanation and demanded to know what Grandma was doing with all of her balloons. I can only hope she's having a rockin' party.

I think parents feel the need to make up the balloon story for a few reasons. The first being that many balloons float back to earth where lucky little kids get to frolic with your kid's lost balloon. Explain that to a kid.

Another is that many balloons return to earth as litter - disrupting a wilderness slog through the swamp or falling into an ocean where a confused turtle will attempt to eat it - thinking it's a jellyfish. Telling your kid that Crush choked on their balloon is generally upsetting.

And finally - the idea that an 8-armed alien holding a bouquet of your kid's balloon on the moon is simply creepy and would freak them out.

So instead - lie to them - it works for so many other things. And hey Peyton - you keep making that face and you'll turn into a monkey.

Happy 66th Birthday Mom - wherever you are.

Yes We Can (Have Ice Cream)

My niece had the chance to vote today on which dessert the class would have and the winner was ice cream. There was doubt for a while if sugar cookies would win but in the end I think the right decision was made. I'm entirely proud and enormously excited about the ice cream and obviously very tired after watching all of the dessert poll numbers. I think I had a sugar rush at one point and saw a holographic hallucination of Wolf Blitzer sprinkling red and blue toppings on the ice cream.

I need sleep. Tell me what you think of Tuesday night.

New England Rewind 2008

I can't be everywhere, but during my latest trip to Vermont and Massachusetts I feel like I tried. Regardless, I couldn't visit everyone, so a recap will have to do. The purpose of the trip was to fulfill my best man duties at Sean and April's wedding on 8/8/2008 in Bennington, VT. Followed by a trip to Sharon, MA for Tiffers big 40th b-day with the family. So with apologies to everyone I couldn't see, this is what I saw - in my New England Rewind 2008 The Bennington Monument in Vermont - site of Sean and April's wedding
It rained when MaLe and I arrived and rained all day Friday. Thanks to Mandy's magic, her gift to Sean was a spell to clear the sky for the 30 minute outdoor ceremony. It worked. The rain stopped and resumed shortly after heading inside.

The lovely bride and groom
If you're going to do a best man toast, do it right. With the Bee Gees in the background and me with sassy pose (and one too many drinks in me), I gave my off the cuff speech which drew one audible gasp but thankfully ended with laughter and applause. I have no idea what I said. The bride made me wear pink.

But the bride may have said something to the groom a bit later about the speech.There's no intended innuendo in this picture of the monument.I'm genuinely happy for Sean and April and I meant all the good stuff I said. I miss the old days, but wish you well on the new days ahead. Hopefully it won't be another 15 months till we see each other again.

Got to spend a little time with Bill. Not enough time. He was nice enough to come get us in Bennington and travel with us east to visit Tara, Peyton and Carter.


Is Peyton not the cutest?

A trip to visit Tiffer and family is rarely without mischief. Why an 11-year old knows when to hold'em and when to fold'em is beyond me. He also knows when to run.
This is how you rock out on Guitar Hero"
Jim cookin' the dogs and burgers for the brood.
Aunt "Ga" and baby Carter
What's the problem Peyton? Why the face? (Hi Stelly - you made the blog again!)

More mischief with Abigail.
Poor Peyton - your brother gets to have birthdays too....
Nighttime geocaching with Cubbie and Little SmileyLion
The whole nighttime caching crew.
Aunt Mandy with baby Carter. Super Cheeks!

And back home on JetBlue. Only 30 minutes late this trip. Miss the family already.

Touchdown: Dishonesty is the Best Policy

It's still no secret that I dislike flying. But it was my only choice to get back from Boston so I flew home today after 9 days in Mass/Vermont. It was a fantastic trip with visits to great friends and family and when I'm feeling more rested I'll revisit some of the highlights which will include a Survivalman reunion, a snarfing Alpaca and chasing Turkeys. For now though - another airport diatribe.

My return home began as it started - with another "random" pat down, but this time I was entitled to enter the gas sniffing, air blowing Marilyn Monroe chamber in order to pass through security. They once again politely asked if I wouldn't mind stepping into the chamber; I, knowing full well that saying no only aides and comforts the terrorists. So I figured I'd try a new experience, but not before making a face full of disdain for this less than random process. I don't have a picture of me making that face, so I had my niece simulate one for me. I call it the Marilyn Monroe chamber because the machine blasts you with air from all directions and if I were wearing a dress I could do a fantastic MM imitation. Regardless, the Pfft Pfft Pfft blasts are great at removing powdered donut from my beard, but not so good if I'm trying to hide my full back Mr. T tattoo which I don't really have.

On the plane, I'm always appreciative/distressed by the level of honesty the airline pilots express when explaining things like: 1) why the cabin smells like camel (lightning hit the plane and it broke the ventilation!) 2) Why we're experiencing heavy turbulence (they decided at the last minute to fly over Tropical Storm Gabrielle!) 3) Why we're hurrying to our destination (the co-pilot is feeling under the weather!)

How much of this do I need to know? As a waiter I never explained the truth and people were grateful. Or at least they should have been. or would be if they knew. Just imagine! "I'm sorry your food is taking so long. The line cook's band aid from his flesh eating bacteria wound fell into the soup." Or "we're filtering your water a third time because of the high levels of fecal coliform."

Just don't tell me. Once I'm in the air, just make sure we touchdown safely.

I've never seen anyone taking pictures in flight. Maybe it's against the rules, but I took a few anyway. Click the photo for a larger view. I think it's cool.

Baby Time!

He doesn't know it, but when he was 5 months into his gestation, my new nephew got to experience the Everglades when his pregnant mom, not pregnant dad and little sister visited in April and we went to the Everglades. There's my justification for the birth announcement here on the Everglades blog!

August 21st at 1:15 am Carter William was born to Brian and Tara. Little sister is thinking...."this is not happening....can we give him back?

He's adorable.

Jungle MaLe's Everglades Adventure

Rasta-MaLe

MaLe learned more about Florida Panthers than she ever wanted to know. The oft repeated morning question from me - "Guess what got run over?"....."Another Panther?"

MaLe chases down an Endangered Gopher Tortoise

Enjoying the spiky-legged Lubber Grasshopper

At the beach with Brian, Tara and Peytee

MaLe, Pia, Patricio, Juan Jose and MaLe's aunt

Don't waste water in Florida!

A rare cockatoo from Papua searches for food....

The Garcias and an American Crocodile

The typical pose


What can I say?

3 Minutes

There are many things that you can safely assume will take a specific amount of time.

• Watching a baseball game - 3 hours
• Checking your personal email during work - 30 minutes
• Watching a sitcom - 21 minutes (with Tivo)
• Having your oil changed - 15 minutes
• Solving a Soduko - 9 minutes (easy version)
• Brushing your teeth - 3 minutes
• Waiting at a typical Florida traffic light - 3 minutes
• Changing a baby's diaper - 3 minutes
• Returning clothes at the GAP? 3 minutes? Come on!

Sunday was Tara, Brian and Peyton's last full day here in Fort Myers and despite the Tornado Watch and the heavy downpours, the plan was still to head to the beach for one last walk in the sand. The storm warnings over, the bad weather past, it was time to head out. But the baby had to sleep.....2 hours later, the baby rested, it was time to head out. But Tara, feeding for two, needed to devour leftover General Tso's. 20 minutes later it was time to head out. But Brian decided he too was now hungry and served up a round of PB&Js. 15 minutes later it was time to head out. As the wind was now blowing the sun down towards tomorrow, Tara decided she needed to return a few things to the GAP before they closed at 5 pm. "It'll take just 3 minutes!" The urgency was understandable. Who knows when and where you'll find another GAP in Florida. And it would only take 3 minutes.....

Has a clothing return ever taken 3 minutes? or 15 for that matter! Thankfully Peyton had received Finding Nemo for her birthday and we could at least watch that again as we waited in the car. We had only seen it 4 times up to that point. I think Tara knew she was in trouble when she stepped out of the vehicle and looked around at the labyrinth-like shopping plaza. It would take at least 3 minutes to find the store, 5 to explain why she was returning the clothes, 5 to explain that she had a crying baby in the car (in truth, a fish-induced hypnotized baby) and another 8 making phone calls apologizing for taking longer than the original 3 minutes. For the record, it takes 28 minutes.

We made it to Sanibel, the top-rated beach in the US for seashells, just before sunset and had the fun of watching a 2 year old exploring the spoils of a storm-tossed seashell strewn beach. Sea Slugs, Pen Clams, Sand Dollars, Scallops and Starfish all lined the edge of the surf. Hard to imagine what a baby must think of it all.
Regardless of the gap of time lost to the opposite of shopping, every minute spent on the beach with the baby was worth the wait. For anyone that couldn't download Peyton's birthday balloon fest last blog, I've fixed the problem so you can see it now. MaLe and I have also added a new version - an homage to childish behavior.

Let Me Eat Cake

When you're 2 years old and it's your birthday you can:
A) Cry if you want to
B) Demand donuts and cake

I was lucky enough to spend the day with Peyton and family on her first birthday in 2006 when the mostly immobile little girl pretty much made baby noises and pooped in her pants, but this year the family came to visit in Florida and birthday number 2 would involve a trip to see monkeys in the zoo and alligators in the wild.

With the baby loaded up with a face full of chocolate munchkins, we headed to the Naples Zoo (the old "Jungle Larry's"). If there's one thing 2 year olds don't like it's 95 degrees and 100% humidity. (Ecuadorians on the other hand - love it!) No sooner had we left the comfy confines of the air conditioned ticket/gift shop when the meltdown began. We did see the Planet Predator program with zookeeper Cindy - formerly a contestant on the show Survivor, but the heat got to the baby and away we went.

Would a boat cruise out to the monkey islands help the day improve? The baby loves monkeys! There are several small islands that a pontoon boat cruises around, inhabited by gibbons, siamangs, patas monkeys, spider monkeys and colobus monkeys. Look Peyton monkeys! "Peyton go home now".

Oh well. Half way through the Alligator feeding show, the baby decided enough was enough, Florida humidity getting the best of her.

A good 2 hour nap through the Big Cypress Preserve allowed her mom and dad the chance to see some big gators out in the wild. (a small one pictured here) It turns out all a baby needs is balloons and cake.

All through her birthday dinner she chanted "Caketime". Donuts, monkeys, and cake. It's a dream day for me.

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