Wary Wasps

Living in the woods—while inadvertently creating a tasty and inviting habitat for many critters—has brought us myriad fascinating encounters with many of them. We have forged an island of tender flora within the forest that attracts a wide variety of local fauna. Where once grew tough shrubs and woody plants, we have introduced succulent vegetables, flowers, and herbs, which have become beacons that beckon many insects and various critters (deer, opossums, rabbits, raccoons, and bugs) to come sample our wares.

One of the most pervasive and diverse creatures we attract are insects. While the forest offers a bee or wasp only scattered and meager rations, we offer a concentrated smorgasbord of delights—especially when all the spring flowers are providing their nectar treats. Additionally, a typical wasp or bee also possesses an ability to inflict a powerful sting. The largest mammal will allow itself to be intimidated by a bee, whose stinger is a potent weapon that will cause even a moose to retreat.

We humans, who possess the cognitive ability to comprehend the threat and impact of a wasp (especially if we've previously experienced its throbbing sting), can become extremely wary, if not fearful, of the sound or sight of a wasp. Too many times my spouse and I have been absorbed in some outdoor activity, to the point that we do not notice that we are intruding on a bee's or wasp's territory, and suffer the painful consequences of its prick. Once stung, twice shy, as they say.

Springtime brings many wasps and bees to our clearing—seeking nectar and places to build their nests. Outdoors, as we attend to our duties, we often find one of these insects hovering nearby at this time of year. At first, you might catch sight of one of them on the perimeter of your vision, or hear its ominous buzz. Your gut reaction is to duck and run, or swat them away, which is an invitation to be stung. By doing so, you may foolishly transform an otherwise peaceful insect into an attack fighter.

Over the years I have learned—the hard way—to freeze when I see or hear a wasp or bee. It has better things to do than to attack me. I have found that if I take on the appearance of a tree trunk, I almost become invisible to them; certainly no threat. The critter goes about its business—ignoring my presence.

What's special is that when I do become an observing statue, rather than a menacing and arm-waving giant, I can serenely watch the insect go about its business and learn something about its occupation. A few days ago I was going about my business when I heard the auspicious drone of a large paper wasp. These guys are almost two inches (5 cm) long and pack one nasty sting if provoked. I froze. Where it had warily circled me a moment before, as an imitation tree trunk I now disappeared from its attention.

Then I could become absorbed in its activity. It was evening, with dusk approaching. The wasp was probably engaged in its last foray of the day. Looking for a mate? A new nesting site? It wasn't giving up its secrets to me. In a minute or two it moved on, leaving me fascinated but stingless. Neither of us was a threat to the other. We could cohabitate without conflict. The big wasp went on about its business, and so did I. It's unlikely that it was nearly as interested in me as I was in it.

Snake Fight

I caught this photo of a black racer snake (huge; over 6 feet--2 m--long) capturing a poisonous copperhead snake (much smaller). Click to enlarge.

Can't Go Faster Than Light

Most of us have heard that the speed of light is the absolute upper speed limit of the universe. This fact was realized by Albert Einstein over 100 years ago, as he wrestled with what came to be known as his Special Theory of Relativity. He made an absolutely brilliant breakthrough, after struggling for several years with the dilemma of what would happen if we were able to race through space at velocities approaching the speed of light.... sometimes called relativistic speeds.

Einstein published his famous Special Relativity paper in 1905, at the tender age of 26, after having anguished for some 10 years over the paradox of travel near the speed of light. His special theory has a number of brilliant insights, but I'll focus here on just one of them: that the speed of light truly is an absolute upper speed limit. Nothing, not even light itself, can go faster. Here's a simple example of why that's true, and I'll use the TV series “Star Trek” as an illustration.

As millions of “Star Trek” viewers know, the USS Enterprise cruised through interstellar space, going “where no one has gone before,” and often at warp speed—that is, faster than light. Cap'n Kirk (or Cap'n Jean Luc Picard, in the follow-on series) would often command Scottie to move post haste to the next star system, let's say at warp factor 3—in other words at 3 times the speed of light. In critical circumstances, Kirk would even order a speed of warp factor 8! Sounds good, but those are impossible velocities. Here's how Einstein's theory demonstrates why.

Let's suppose that the Enterprise is temporarily based on Planet Zenon, where it is undergoing an extensive refurbishing. While the overhaul is going on, another (slower) starship, the USS Intrepid, leaves Zenon, headed for Earth, at 60% the speed of light, but they have inadvertently left behind an important document. Not to worry, says Cap'n Kirk; as soon as the Enterprise is ready to fly, we'll chase after the Intrepid at warp factor 3, catch up with them, and deliver the document well before they get back to Earth. 
 
Unfortunately, however, overhaul work on the Enterprise goes excruciatingly slowly. It's now four years later when Kirk's ship finally departs, at 3 times the speed of light. At that rate it requires them only one year to catch up with the slower Intrepid, which has been tootling along for five years, but has only gotten three light years away. Thus they meet in space five years after the Intrepid had departed—five long years of travel for the slow Intrepid, but just one for the speedy Enterprise. Still sounds OK. But...

I won't go in to all the details by using Einstein's complex equations of his special theory. Let me simply leap to the weird result that his theory predicts. From the perspective of the crew on the Enterprise (going at 3 times the speed of light), they left at year four and caught up with the Intrepid at year five. But if you use Einstein's relativistic equations, you get the impossible situation that, from the Intrepid's perspective, they were met by the Enterprise one year before (yes, before!) the Enterprise had even left Planet Zenon! 
 
I realize I've thrown around some possibly confusing numbers here, but the bottom line is, if faster-than-light speed is proposed, Einstein's special theory predicts an effect (the meeting with the Enterprise) before its cause (the finish of the rehabbing of the Enterprise). It's like saying that I celebrated my first birthday a year before I was born, or an arrow hits the target before the archer draws the bow! Clearly this is impossible. It's like time running backwards. We cannot have effects happening before the cause. 
 

Scientists have many times conducted experiments that verify Einstein's Special Theory of Relativity. The theory is right. In other words, the speed of light is an absolute upper speed limit. If it wasn't, things going faster than light would literally turn clocks backwards. Sorry, Cap'n Kirk, you can't do warp 3... and especially warp 8. But Star Trek was science fiction, after all.

Bearly Bearable

A few nights ago, just as dusk was falling, I was laid back in a reclining pose, listening to music. At these times, my eyes are most often closed, as I become immersed in the mood of the song. For some reason I opened them for a moment, to have my attention grabbed by the motion of something large and dark, at the corner of my vision. I turned my head toward the object, to spot a bulky, moving, black shadow outside—barely visible in the twilight.

Chompsky the dog was reclining on the bed, so it couldn't be him; besides this critter was much larger. Our neighbor has a huge dog, so I next wondered if his dog Duke had wandered by. But Duke has never visited us, and this creature I was seeing had a round butt and no discernible tail. Holy excrement! It seemed to be a bear!

I cut short the music and bounded from my chair, headed toward the window, through which I spotted the creature. My wife, alerted by my excited moves, asked what was up. A bear is wallowing around, not six feet from the house, I exclaimed! We got down on our knees, to better see it in a lower window, and watched it slowly turn this way, then that—obviously searching for food. Within a couple of minutes it turned and wandered ponderously up the hill toward the garden.

We looked at each other in wonder, trying to fully absorb the event. In the 34 years we've lived here, we've never spotted a bear. We have a neighbor who's told us several times that a bear resides in the area, but he's also the kind of guy who's convinced that our woods are crawling with coyotes and cougars. 
 
Several years ago we believe we were visited by a bear in the night, after surveying the destruction of our bird feeder and bee hive the next morning, but that was not proof positive that it was indeed a bear. I once spotted what appeared to be bear poop in the woods, but still no irrefutable evidence. I do not claim to be an expert on animal scat...it could have maybe been an overgrown raccoon, for all I know.

As we tried to accept what our eyes had viewed, we wondered if the bear was still around. Was it up there, destroying the garden? Had it decided to attack the trash can, as was done a few years ago by a previous bear-like visit? (I had decided that that earlier event was probably a bear, as the plastic trash barrel had suffered several puncture holes—about the size of what a bear claw would leave.)

I gingerly and silently stepped outside, to see if Bruno was still around—keeping close to the door, in case a hasty retreat was in order. Bears are not aggressive critters, I believe, but I did not wish to test this one's tranquility. It seemed to be gone. The next morning, as I checked out the area, I could spot no damage.

My wife did some internet investigation the next day. Bears forage for food in early morning or at twilight—that defines them as crepuscular critters. They are omnivorous, feeding on most anything they encounter. Virginia black bears are shy and rarely belligerent. (Maybe I could have wandered farther from the door, the previous evening?) Their territory is very large—being up to 20 square miles for a female and as much as 100 square miles for a male. Roaming around that expansive range is likely why we've never seen one before. Maybe it'll make the rounds back to our yard in another 34 years. If I'm alive at 111, I'll be ready for that visit.

Big Mouth

We caught this black snake in the process of swallowing a goldfinch. How does it manage to open its mouth so much? Click to enlarge.