The Bone Room and the Rise of the Scavengers

Jan 27, 2010 | |

A short trip on the 51 bus brought us to the Valley Life Sciences Building on the Berkeley campus for our second Aesthetic Immersion field trip. We were there to do a bit of exploring in the university's private Museum of Vertebrate Biology and see "one of the coolest rooms on campus", the Bone Room. Our knowledgeable tour guide this time was Alan Shabel, a lecturer and graduate of Berkeley, who explained a bit about vertebrates and the study of comparative morphology, then impressed with his questionmaster abilities.




The Museum of Vertebrate Biology holds one of the most impressive collections of amphibian, reptile, bird and mammal specimens in the country, possibly the world. Aisles of metal cabinets each contain numerous samples of each critter type, identified on the font only with scientific name and region. One might be rodents (probably rodents evidently, since they are extremely diverse and numerous) or maybe frogs or whales. Back a bit further though and you enter the Bone Room. A room lined with shelves with so many skulls looking back at you, limbs and baleen and other parts that I couldn't place and neatly labeled boxes containing more.






The variety in the forms of the skulls we saw surprised me. In many ways they are remarkably similar, once they reach the bone room they are vaguely the same color, they more or less have the features we can recognize as eyes or mouth, there are so many there that indiscriminately wandering the aisles can make a blur of the individual pieces. But each of these animals has developed adaptation to it's environment and way of life, whether it's the krill harvesting baleen of a gray whale or the locked jaw movement of otters.




I flipped through the pages of my notebook last night looking for any scribble that might inspire a blog post and in the mix of my poor note taking and absent minded lecture doodles was the word kleptoparasitism. Alan used the term in reference to how paleontologists had believed that velociraptors stole eggs from other dinosaurs. Its a term that also describes those that steal from other animals who have caught, prepared, stored food or nesting material. It can occur where theft is from others of the same species or another species entirely. There are many cases of this behavior in bugs, between lions and hyenas, a few species of birds and according to wikipedia sometimes humans chase lions away from their prey in kleptoparasitic style. But it seems that we as a species participate in a few more variations of kleptoparasitism than that. For generations we took what was prepared by others, honey from bees, milk from cows, eggs from chickens. We have raised truffle finding pigs, dogs to hunt our prey, and sap to make maple syrup, etc. We cut down the homes of many species to build our own. We may be the biggest kleptoparasites of them all. On a larger scale, we as a species have taken whatever we please from an environment that otherwise has been able to maintain balance for thousands and thousands of years. Its been a remarkably effect method of growth, but at this point is clearly unsustainable, so how can we change our development pattern to better integrate with the rest of the natural world? Its a tough question.

We have been successful, but the other winners of our method is the scavengers. While many suffer from decreased resources and expanded human population, those creatures that can adapt to using what we have put in place have also experienced massive population growth. Rats, raccoons, flies, other now urban dwelling creatures. As resources diminish we may very well have to take cues from the scavengers to take advantage of the situation that we created. They have adapted to us, how can we adapt to us?

Berkeley Marine Center

Jan 20, 2010 | |

From my neighborhood, I think I'm the only kid who never took sailing lessons. I even registered twice but family camping trips and torture, like summer piano lessons, always seemed to conflict. It's actually rather improbable that I never learned how to sail, my family on my mother's side seemingly has some sort of genetic attraction to the windy seas and I myself love almost all boat travel despite the fact that I occasionally can't remember whether starboard is the right or left side of the boat (it's the right) and pretty much my grasp of nautical vocabulary is limited to the more colorful colloquialisms attributed to sailors... But still, I'm sure that some of this family history contributes to my enthusiasm for my recent outing. Or maybe I just love field trips.






Last Friday, the Aesthetic Immersion class headed out for it's inaugural field trip to the Berkeley Marine Center. We met first with Jim Antrim, a naval architect who works designing and building boats and parts for existing boats, making them fast, light weight and when working with some of his more "creative" some clients, functional despite looking like giant metal bugs... or the such. His slideshow accompanied by soothing background music was interesting, but then we actually got to explore the boat yard and see the current sailboat in progress. My first impression, the amount of sanding required to make these boats is incredible, and the patience and the willingness to be covered in dust for potentially months is currently beyond my understanding.



Further in to the yard though, what struck me was the stark contrast between the product and the environment. They turn out these beautiful boats, sleek and shiny, they look fast and practically flawless. But the boat next door may very well be looking more like a giant decaying barrel surrounded in nautical refuse. Broken buoys and motorcycles and masts laying everywhere, a giant boat-making version of my own desk mid-project. And it was cool, so many industrial designers create nice shiny objects without thinking of the end life it was fun too see both the process of creation and it's return to decay in the same spot. Broken they may be but with history and experience exposed by the wear and tear. They wait hoping for that eventual restoration that will give another chance for adventure, and as a sign that evidently, it's all fixable. I like broken boats.

 
 
 

Which seems to fit in rather well with my family boating legacy, because in truth, that family history of boating involves partial sinking/crashing/being unable sail back from Cuba after being caught by the Coast Guard more than a couple boats. Its great to see these boats they craft with all the marvels of new materials and engineering, but as interesting to me to see where they might be in 50 years. When the weather and water or another ill-fated Olivier sailor has taken it's toll, it may be a bit worn, but it could sure show some interesting stories.