“The very hottest stars are a few tens of thousands of degrees. But when you see a total solar eclipse, that corona you witness is millions of degrees hot; it is the hottest thing the human eye will ever see in nature.” – Sun Moon Earth, The History of Solar Eclipses from Omens of Doom to Einstein and Exoplanets, by Tyler Nordgren
To see the 2017 eclipse of the sun, I went to Wyoming. This is where our group was: off Bridger Creek Road near Badwater Creek Road outside of Lysite WY – more or less the American outback. Our fearless leader, a geologist, identified these red rock bands as Triassic deposits with pale limestone layers that include fossils. There may be Eohippus fossils in there – stony remains of the dawn horse.
As the Moon began to cover the Sun, the air definitely got cool and the light weaker. Shadows looked oddly fuzzy on one side and sharp on the other side. The sunlight streaming through a woven straw pith helmet threw little crescents on a piece of paper.
Totality looked like sunset on every horizon. Security lights in various directions, and a refinery that lit up like a Christmas tree, made the point there this really wasn’t nowhere. There were human-made structures out there. Meanwhile the Sun was a black hole in the darkened sky, surrounded by the bright, pale, corona. The corona had structure.
The eclipse was the single most incredible astronomical sight I’ve ever seen.
It’s incredibly temporary: a few minutes of daylight darkness in a shadow that raced across the US in 90 minutes. And total eclipses will only last for a few geological eons while the Moon exactly covers the Sun. Long ago the Moon was nearer and covered more than the Sun’s disk. The glassy eyes of ancient trilobites may have seen eclipses without much corona. Long in the future, the Moon will spiral away and cover less of the Sun. There will be no more perfectly awesome eclipses with the bright pale crown of the sun so visible.
Eclipses seen by human eyes portended disaster to old civilizations. Now they’re wonders without terror and signs of orbital mechanics, not the end of the world.
I returned home to Houston and then came Harvey. By the time it hit Houston it was Tropical Storm Harvey, and wreaked great havoc. I was lucky that all I personally lost was my car (sob!). Some people in my condo complex had two or three feet of water in their homes. I spent the storm snug in my third-floor condo with power, water, Internet, and plenty of good food to eat.
Storm Harvey was an infinitely small disturbance in the astronomical universe. It unfolded in less than a flicker in geological time even though it made a lasting impact crater in this city and in human lifespans. It strangely ties us to some of those Triassic fossils, I think. A lot of the world’s fossil beds seem to have happened when a flood drowned a large number of creatures. Floodwaters washed them into expanses of mud where their bones fossilized and their softer body parts left impressions in sedimentary stone.
In the days after Harvey, the resurrection fern on the oaks on the Rice University campus flourished greatly. Ferns, by the way, date back to the Devonian period, even earlier than the Triassic.
I took these pictures while the Library was open limited hours and for Rice ID holders. The University and the city of Houston were still reeling. May all the other communities hit by Harvey have their own resurrection.
In celebration of my birthday, I finally visited Enchanted Rock State Natural Area near Llano, Texas. I went with a photographer friend, and we spent a night in the primitive camping area – which you reach by backpacking your stuff in.
When the stars came out in the cloudless night sky, we saw satellites and the Milky Way. It was cold and a bit windy so my friend put the rain fly on the tent the better to keep us (or to be more accurate, me) warm. In the middle of the night, unzipping the rain fly and looking out, I saw how the constellations had moved around the axis of the Pole Star, and a shooting star.
We did have a bit of trouble with the local raccoons. When two of them started snarling over their right to plunder our backpacks, I levitated about three feet out of a sound sleep. My wilderness-rated friend put our trail food into the tent stuff sack and suspended it from a tree. Problem solved. I will say I can now better empathize with those of my characters who spend a long, cold night in a wild place or in a wilderness of stars.
And I have never seen the stars like I did that night.
At dawn the rising sun brought out all of the colors of the landscape. We broke camp, hiked back to the parking area, then hiked to the top of Enchanted Rock—a vast granite batholith. From the top we could see for miles across the Texas Hill Country. After that we hiked around the Rock.
After leaving the park we spent a night at a lovingly restored old railroad hotel in Llano, the Dabbs. It’s a sweet old place, located on a bluff above the Llano River, with a lot of carefully selected, vintage train decor.
The next morning, by old railroad tracks nearby, we found a man and his friends putting an old railroad motor car, or “speeder,” on the rails. He was going to be checking out the track for the safety of another dozen or more fellow enthusiasts who were planning a speeder group excursion the following day. He was happy to talk about his speeder and offer a photo op to an itinerant science fiction writer.
It was a happy birthday and I hope for many happy returns to the Hill Country!
Snowy Egrets are elegant shore birds with plumy white feathers and black bills and legs. Bright yellow feet pattern-interrupt the elegant impression only when said feet are visible, and they’re usually below the water. However, I came along behind two Snowy Egrets at the edge of Braes Bayou when they were avidly investigating whatever goodies the recent flood had churned up, and from that perspective the Snowies looked like the business ends of Q-tips balanced on oddly angled black wires!
The last six or eight months have been remarkable for shore birds on Braes Bayou, including White Ibises and a Tricolor Heron. For a while there was a Roseate Spoonbill in the vicinity of the Kirby Drive bridge. Roseate Spoonbills are usually Pepto-Bismol pink; they use their wide-tipped bills to forage in mud flats for little crustaceans, eating which makes their feathers pink. The one on Braes Bayou looked not very pink and rather misplaced. I’ve seen them in tidal marshes and on Clear Creek near Galveston Bay, never this far inland. The drought may have driven brackish water much further up the waterways than usual.
Walking to work, I was startled by being smiled at from the branches of a tree. It was two mylar balloons – one of them bright gold with a smiley face. The other balloon had little smileys all over it plus the words FEEL BETTER SOON.
OK, it’s not too surprising, that close to Medical Center, to see a couple of get-well balloons on the loose. On the other hand, it was very apt because Houston has had severe drought for a year. Even on a prosperous residential street like Greenbriar many trees (especially magnolias) look wilted. Over in Memorial Park there are so many dead trees it looks like Agent Orange fell out of the sky. The land itself has dried out to the breaking point. Greenbriar has buckles and potholes that could wallop a small car. And on nearby Braes Bayou the asphalt hike and bike trail developed terrible cracks over the past year. Cracks big enough to break a jogger’s ankle or take out a bicycle. So the city put up warning signs and outlined the cracks in white, after which they looked like a crime scene where dead bodies had lain. Maybe the dead bodies of a year’s worth of hopes for rain. FEEL BETTER SOON is a great wish for the trees and the rest of the natural fabric of our city.
Fondren Library’s most recent Staff Recognition event had an an Owl Recognition element with the screening of videos taken by Jay Gillen of the screech owls roosting in the trees by the West entrance. These have been very exciting owls, seen by numerous Library visitors and Rice people as well local Fox News station viewers. Jay staked out the roost with a video camera on a tripod and caught the owls staring, vocalizing, preening, and falling asleep, as well as having plumage that looks remarkably like tree bark. According to OwlPages.com, “When threatened, an Eastern Screech Owl will stretch its body and tighten its feathers in order to look like a branch stub to avoid detection” – but these two have apparently decided that being detected by humans is OK given such lovely trees in which to roost.
Today I saw what I took to be a large flock of small birds way up in the sky under a cloud. However, they weren’t flapping their wings. It turned out to be a large flock of large birds: a kettle of hawks. There were a couple hundred hawks circling under the most handsome cumulus cloud in the sky. Because the size of the kettle seemed to change – at one point the apparent number of hawks doubled – I think they were at cloud base with some of the kettle in and out of mist. I’ve thermalled at cloud base in gliders and I know what it’s like. The updraft holds you up with no effort at all, and the gray fringe of the cloud keeps you blessedly cool. The hawks found a cloud-gray oasis in their fall migration across Texas.
Rice University alum and adjunct professor Robert Flatt has been photographing the Great Horned Owls on campus ever since a pair were discovered last March with babies in a nest in the trees behind what used to be the President’s House. Mr. Flatt is a darn good photographer: witness the Web page devoted to these owls. Not only that but he has a book going to press with owl photos and remarks by Rice luminaries including President Leebron and former President Gillis.
The Rice Owls football team won a big game last weekend, half-grown owls have been adorably perching in the trees just outside the Library west entrance, and I wonder how many other university mascots naturally occur on campus? Cougars, mustangs, longhorns, Razorback hogs, tigers? No way. Yellow Jackets, Bulldogs? Maybe, but flying wasps and roaming bulldogs are not exactly welcome on a college campus. Then there are the University of California – Santa Cruz Banana Slugs. The UCSC website says, The Banana Slug, a bright yellow, slimy, shell-less mollusk commonly found on the redwood forest floor, was the unofficial mascot for UC Santa Cruz coed teams since the university’s early years. The students’ embrace of such a lowly creature was their response to the fierce athletic competition fostered at most American universities. In a low-budget-sci-fi-movie-prop-ish way, banana slugs are as cute as fledgling owls. Go owls and slugs.