Piute Log...Baby In a Bucket 1996

For any ranger, one of the many delightful fringe benefits is an opportunity to live in close proximity to wild animals. At Piute Meadows, deer were a constant (thanks to the horses’ salt block on a stump fifty feet from the cabin, which drew every deer in the entire area to my front yard). Various birds nested in trees, ducks in a nearby pond, sandpipers on the gravel bar where I bathed. And, when I’d show up at Piute in June, there’d be a family of marmots under the floor. The babies arrived before I did. Once they were old enough, the whole family would move out and take up full-time residence in talus piles under rocky bluffs at the meadow’s edge. In 1996 and 97 I was living with my girlfriend, Diane, down near Lone Pine and the kitties stayed home with her. Without the presence of predators (not that my cats would’ve taken out baby marmots) the family seemed more at ease and stuck around longer than usual. Being kittyless made me grateful for the added company and I really enjoyed having them around. Here’s a few journal entries that mentioned my cabin-mates. By July’s end they’d moved on…. (And, by the way: this was not the first (nor last) time I arrived home to find a marmot in my plastic grain bucket.)

15 Jul (Mon)     Feelin’ beat. Time for an easy day. Worked on the plant list all morning which, this year, amounts to me poring over my new Jepson Flora of California (1700+ pages) trying to figure out the latest “mystery plant.” In the morning, after I’ve had tea, the lure of my flora is about as strong as the lure of a new comic book to a teenager. Can’t explain it…. ◦◦◦◦◦ After breakfast, read and took a two hour nap. Being able to sleep for two hours in the mid-morning is a good indicator of tiredness. But roused myself after lunch and, not wanting to waste an entire July day, walked up the hill to the south fork of Dinky Creek. Climbed to its source in a tiny cirque-let and on up to the ridgetop overlooking Cora and Harriet Lakes. Continued, first time ever, to Pt. 10700+ (the highpoint before reaching the pass between Tower and Helen Lakes). Fabulous views…tired legs. Took photos for the first time in ages. Found a new plant, a yellow composite, which looks to be an alpine Senecio. ◦◦◦◦◦ Headed home, feeling very tired. Some token glissading (very poor). Followed a little brook then contoured down and hit the meadow at its head. Another wonderful foray into the wilds of “Piute Wilderness” (what I call that whole mountainside behind the cabin.) ◦◦◦◦◦ Got home and found that one of the baby marmots (12” long, nose to tail) had climbed into one of those 5 gallon plastic buckets on the porch and was jailed therein, pacing in tight circles and chirping for mom. Shortly before leaving the cabin I’d visited with the three youngsters who, every morning, hang out at the little vent-hole—their front porch. I sat very still and let the mosquitoes feast at will while the kids popped in and out of the hole, too curious to stay under cover. Very very cute to see all three of them, shoulder-to-shoulder, sniffing and gazing at me in fascination from little more than an arm’s-length away. Hoping to get them used to me and less cautious. ◦◦◦◦◦ Anyway, baby-in-a-bucket: carried the one pound chirper to the vent-hole and dumped it out. Odd, that I should hope for some sign of gratitude from a marmot. But, still, I hoped for something like the rodent version of a wink, a nod, or a humble bow. A sign of thanks. After all, I could’ve had marmot fricassee for supper instead. But they only want to get away in a big hurry and don’t trust you forever more. It ain’t like them Hollywood movies way out here in the wild kingdom…. New moon tonight.

17 Jul (Wed)     Really beat; time to take a day of genuine R&R. I’ve traveled at least five miles a day for the last 14—covered 155 miles in that time. Feet hurt and back sore. Read books and napped much of the day. Marmots on the porch and scurrying about under the floor. Glad to be in, out of the bugs. They can really get to you after awhile…. ◦◦◦◦◦ In the afternoon, walked out and finished putting up the back drift fence—a few wires still down at the SW corner. Strolled out into the meadow. Windy and scudding clouds. Worked on this log ‘til dark and bed early. I’ll be alive again tomorrow.

18 Jul (Thu)     Windy and cool today. Since I caught up in this log last night (!!) I wrote a few short notes this morn to friends who haven’t heard from me in ages. While I wrote with the lantern still on (before sunrise in the cabin, which is about 7:30 these days) the marmots started chirping under the floor as if in alarm. I went outside, gorgeous early crisp light just below the cabin but the upper meadow in shadow, and one adult came out the vent-hole after I’d whistled a bit. (Have discovered they come out sometimes when I do my “cat whistle.”) It poked its head out and chirped at me—all serious—while I stood there grinning, stifling the urge to laugh. I’m not gonna start feeding ‘em but I would like it if they didn’t run and hide every time I came out. The deer are less wary. It’s already occurred to me that since I have no cats this year I have these pet-surrogates to keep me company. I like it a lot, actually, having them around.

[Almost a week later, after four days off, rode back in to Piute.]

24 Jul (Wed)     On the trail at noon, clouds building already. Thunder before I got past Leavitt Meadows. ◦◦◦◦◦ Lovely ride in with on’n’off sprinkles and lightning, just a perfect sort of storm—enough to make everything smell good and settle the dust but not enough to pour off my hat brim and down my neck. As I was going through Lower Piute, coming up on a stretch of the river I heard a Hermit Thrush singing its sweet song. Had thought I might not hear another this season. These fine storms create a host of sensations and associations with their dramatic sounds and lights and smells, all nostalgic and primal but at that moment the thrush’s song was so beautiful that I concentrated on my perception of sound and temporarily shut down eyes and nose, even though eyes remained open. This was made easier by the long hours of riding, sitting still in the saddle. As I rode on the both sounds increased in volume but the rushing water was winning out until, finally, I could barely hear the song over the river or the sound of raindrops hitting meadow grass. Then I could just hear the thrush, barely, underneath the river song. Big drops slamming into my hat brim and sliding soundlessly down Red’s neck. Rhythmic clop clop of horse hooves in the sodden trail. It was like a motion picture in sound, the river gaining prominence over the lyrical birdsong, raindrops and hooves beating the background rhythm…all else was tuned out. I felt a poem rise up in me, which started to write itself in my mind—first one that’s come to me in several years. But it was raining, otherwise I would’ve stopped and jotted lines down in my little notepad, and ten minutes later this was all long gone. I’d lost my chance. These moments seldom appear and I was sorry to watch this one slip by but at least I got to hear it just this once. ◦◦◦◦◦ Home, everything put away and in dry clothes all cozy. Wrote in this log on the porch. The baby marmots were coming and going, running right past me two feet away to head into their hole. They’ve visibly grown since I left last week but one is now obviously “the runt,” only about half the size of its siblings. I sure enjoy having them here though I see they’ve deposited their little turds all over the porch in my absence. (At least they don’t stink….)

25 Jul (Thu)     Marmots all over the place! They move up onto the porch while I’m away. They’re cute and all but this may get a little tedious. There’s tiny little marmot pellets on the saddle racks, big momma-turds all over the log by where I dump the  dishwater (her lookout station…). And this ain’t gonna get any better. ◦◦◦◦◦ Which reminds me: what we need here is a predator or two. There’s several families of marmots in the vicinity; never seen so many. But no redtail hawks this year. Saw one fly over the meadow awhile back but not nesting here as usual. That’s the main reason there’s still so many baby marmotas. [Marmota is their Latin name.] (Many noticeable differences this season in bird populations—no kingfishers, no mallards in Upper Piute at all. What’s goin’ on?) ◦◦◦◦◦ Took my first real bath of the year out on the gravel bar, first “full immersion” at least. The river has finally slowed down enough that it can warm up a little. Not exactly warm, but tolerable and it fixed me right up. I was really flagging.

27 Jul (Sat)     Out on the porch while a light rain fell soundlessly, horses grazing right over there. As I’m writing this (in the present for a change…) one of the young marmots jogged up to the porch with a ridiculous mouthful of elk sedge protruding from either side of its mouth and the critter stopped—a scant yard from my left foot—to stand up on hind legs and look me over intently while sniffing the air for more info. They’ve begun to accept my presence a bit more. Times like this, I’m tempted to start feeding them, get the little fuzzies to where they’re eatin’ outa my hand. But, no…that would be UNPROFESSIONAL!

28 Jul (Sun)     Every morning, just before sun hits the cabin, there’s a rank commotion under the floor—scrapings, thumps, sound of sand cast against plywood…a few chirps. It’s taken me awhile—duh!—to figure out that the children are having their morning constitutionals in the form of rodent-wrestling. They don’t go outside ‘til after sun-up and are back through their hole every eve well before dark. The one with the grass moustache I saw last night was heading home with a  bedtime snack. Just now, muggy Sunday eve, one of the kids is rustling around in the stack of lodgepole [firewood] rounds beyond the saddle racks, five feet away. I turned and plainly saw it pawing at a dangling leather tie-strap.  Marmots are notorious chewers-of-leather (going for the salty horse-sweat residue…) and I had a brief instant of panic—THAT LITTLE RASCAL IS CHEWIN’ ON MY SADDLE!!—followed as quickly by remembering that these marmots have a king’s ransom of salt in their yard. So I continued watching, stock-still. And it became apparent that marmota junior was just playing, as any kitten will, with a dangling string. It pawed and batted, pulled it in for quick nibble, continued to play until maybe too self-conscious from my staring. I’m so grateful for this chance to watch an animal I really have ignored and am ignorant of. Today’s lesson: all children play.

  

     © 2016 by Tim Forsell                       15 Apr 2016

The Demeaning of Life...Part VI

More historical background…this, concerning how our conception of life has progressed from vitalistic to mechanistic—from the “life force” of Aristotle’s time to “living things as machines” (which is by and large the current view). This section delves into the way things have played out historically, leading to a manner of perceiving nature that has, collectively, left us somewhat blasé about its countless wonders. The contemporary scientific-based worldview has not only removed any reason to feel anything akin to reverence for nature, but has created a sense that life’s mysteries have mostly been solved…or inevitably will be. And these are precisely the sort of notions I’m attempting to dispel by providing what I believe is a more balanced perspective. The section following this one, “Part VII: Why Do Things Have To Be So Complicated?” looks into the astonishing and seemingly boundless complexity found throughout the natural world—and why it’s so important to not take this inherent attribute of life for granted.

VI.  The Day Vitalism Died

Up until 1953 it was still possible to believe that there was something fundamentally and irreducibly mysterious in living protoplasm. No longer. Even those philosophers who had been predisposed to a mechanistic view of life would not have dared hope for such total fulfillment of their wildest dreams.

                                                                   
                                   Richard Dawkins, River Out of Eden

Late in his life, Jacques Monod asserted during an interview, “Anything can be reduced to simple, obvious, mechanical interactions. The cell is a machine; the animal is a machine; man is a machine.” How did the mechanistic viewpoint come to dominate biological thinking to the extent that a world-famous scientist could make such a manifestly one-dimensional statement? As always, turning to history is a good place to start looking for an answer.

Beginning around Aristotle’s time (4^th century B.C.), philosophers believed that the orderly way in which organisms grow and develop could be credited to a vitalistic principle, an influence that was beyond human comprehension and thus considered not within reach of investigation. This vital force was a manner of identifying the cause behind a prevailing worldview which, in pre-Christian times (and with roots going back at least as far as ancient Egypt), could broadly be considered pantheistic.[1]

As the scientific revolution gathered steam it increasingly became apparent that most observed phenomena were completely natural and could be understood and described without invoking mystical forces. (Well into the 19^th century, in certain fields—embryology, for instance—the intermingling of naturalistic and supernatural explanations was still practiced by reputable scientists.) Galileo, Kepler, and Newton in turn demonstrated the inestimable worth of mathematics as a way of describing the cosmos, which contributed to an even more compellingly mechanistic worldview. Ernst Mayr, in his last book, This is Biology (published when he was ninety-three) describes the intellectual mood of this era:

The rapid development of physics…after [the Renaissance] carried the Scientific Revolution a step further, turning the more general mechanicism of the early period into a more specific physicalism, based on a set of concrete laws about the workings of both the  heavens and the earth…. The physicalist movement  had the enormous merit of refuting much of the magical thinking that had generally characterized the preceding centuries. Its greatest achievement perhaps was providing a natural explanation of physical phenomena and eliminating much of the reliance on the supernatural that was previously accepted by virtually everybody. If mechanism, and particularly its outgrowth into physicalism, went too far in some respects, this was inevitable for an energetic new movement.

Substantial numbers of people who cared deeply about such matters clung to an enduring intuitive sense that living things possessed qualities that could never be accounted for by physicalism (defined as the belief that physical entities are all that exist). A sort of countermovement—described collectively as vitalism—resulted, manifesting in different forms at different times. This philosophical vitalism originated in the 17^th century and held sway until the mid-1800s. Though never a unified “movement,” it was a reaction to mechanism, and its proponents focused on various issues they felt physicalism failed to take into account: the origin of adaptations and behaviors, the mystery of development and regeneration…the very nature of what animated living things.

Contrary to how naïve any vitalistic theories appear today, vitalism in its time was a legitimate alternative—not just to mechanism, but to the more sophisticated physicalism as well. Adherents of both schools were passionate in their beliefs and there were repeated periods of struggle between the ideologies. After all, physicalists of the mid- to late-19^th century employed their own nebulous concepts and poorly defined terms to describe phenomena that could not yet be understood. In addition, they often failed to address the main concerns of their intellectual adversaries.[2] However, with  unrelenting scientific advances, vitalism gradually faded into the background, in large part due to increasingly being seen as a metaphysical program unable to come up with coherent theories subject to being tested.

The complex history of cytology (the study of cells) encapsulates the transition between a vitalistic and mechanistic conception of living things—from initial discovery, through all the steps leading to an understanding of the cell’s central place in nature.

Cells were unknown before English polymath Robert Hooke, peering through an early microscope at a thin slice of cork, saw tiny and apparently empty four-sided compartments that reminded him of monks’ cubicles. Hooke had no idea what these minute chambers were but certainly wouldn’t have imagined he was observing the building blocks of all living things. Early microscopists were still influenced by a holdover from ancient Greek philosophy—atomism—and assumed that the basic constituents of life were invisible, indivisible, indestructible particles. (Not to be confused with the modern, scientific conception of atoms.)

By the end of the 18^th century it was an accepted fact that cells were the fundamental components of plants but it wasn’t until the 1820s that French botanist Henri Dutrochet first proposed that they were not just structural entities but physiological as well. Owing to his discovery of osmosis[3] and careful studies of respiration,[4] Dutrochet is considered the father of cell physiology. A confirmed anti-vitalist, his work was always focused on demonstrating that physics and chemistry lay behind life processes.

Dutrochet’s work led to a more wide-ranging cell theory that was independently put forward by two Germans: botanist Matthias Schleiden and a colleague, zoologist Theodor Schwann. In 1838, Schleiden proposed that all parts of a plant were composed of cells and that new cells arose from the nuclei of older cells, which were formed in some sort of unspecified crystallization process. (While the gist of Schleiden’s premises were correct, almost all the details were based on erroneous speculations.) The following year, Schleiden and Schwann had a discussion involving plant cells’ nuclei. Schwann recalled having observed similar structures in tissues from frog embryos.[5] Recognizing an important finding, they compared resemblances and confirmed a connection between the two phenomena. Schwann realized that animals as well as plants were composed of cells and that cells—not organs and tissues—were the elementary units of life. Shortly thereafter he published a paper on his ground-breaking hypothesis. Ernst Mayr: “Few publications in biology have ever caused such a sensation as Schwann’s magnificent monograph. It demonstrated that animals and plants consist of the same building blocks—cells—and that a unity therefore exists throughout the entire organic world…. It was a vigorous endorsement of reductionist thinking.”  

By 1852, after years of painstaking observation, the Polish embryologist Robert  Remak concluded that binary fission—that is, dividing in two—was the only means by which animal cells could multiply. He established without doubt that new cells were not the result of productions of the nuclei or unformed substances in intercellular spaces (the erroneous hypotheses of Schleiden and Schwann, respectively). His investigations, while slow to gain acceptance, paved the way to an entirely new model of how organisms developed. Unacknowledged in his lifetime (and even to this day), it was Remak’s work that helped clarify the muddled views surrounding animal cells’ origins.

Eminent pathologist Rudolf Virchow, after having initially been  skeptical of Remak’s findings, became an enthusiastic supporter. (Virchow famously popularized the Latin aphorism, Omnis cellula e cellula—“Every cell from another cell”—a motto that is permanently associated with his name.) By the mid-1850s, in addition to authoring an influential book on pathology, a series of well-received lectures by the charismatic scientist helped lead to wider acceptance of this new cell theory—further eroding belief in spontaneous generation, which still held sway at the time. Virchow was an outspoken advocate of mechanism and early promoter of the concept that life is essentially a mechanical process. His popularization of these ideas helped expand research into the finer details of cell division, which was then being greatly aided by improved microscopes and novel staining techniques.[6]

Biologist Walther Flemming studied the process of cell division and, thanks to the new staining methods, was the first person to see threadlike structures (later to be named “chromosomes") in the nuclei of cells taken from salamanders. Flemming observed these “colored bodies” and their distribution in daughter cells, naming this process (mitosis) in a detailed report of his findings in 1879. Though unable to actually witness the chain of events, his important book, Cell Substance, Nucleus and Cell Division, published four years later, provided the first definitive account of cell division. Also of note is that Flemming—in common with all his peers—was unfamiliar with Gregor Mendel; otherwise, he may well have perceived the link between chromosomes and heredity. (As it turned out, two decades passed before the re-emergence of Mendel’s investigations revealed the significance of Flemming’s own important discoveries.[7])

At the beginning of the 20^th century, cell theory had achieved a degree of coherence: it was recognized that both plant and animal tissues are composed of cells; that new cells arise through binary fission; that all organisms start out as a single cell formed by the union of egg and sperm; that these germ cells each carried a set of hereditary elements, or factors (later, genes); that these factors were duplicated during cellular division, becoming two identical sets of genetic material (chromosomes); and that each new cell thus received a copied set of factors from the parent cell. It was a start.

The physicalist viewpoint was further bolstered by the discoveries of German-born physiologist Jacques Loeb. In 1891 Loeb immigrated to the United States where, along with several successive professorships, he taught physiology (while also conducting research on various marine invertebrates) at the now-famous biological laboratory in Woods Hole, Massachusetts.[8] Already long committed to a “biological engineering” approach in his experimental work, Loeb’s landmark book, The Mechanistic Conception of Life, published in 1912, described experiments involving sea urchin eggs whose development he was able to induce without their first being fertilized; his results (initially attained in 1899) provided dramatic evidence supporting the mechanistic model of cellular functions. This procedure later became routine, but in those simpler times his results created a sensation; newspaper headlines all but claimed that Loeb could create life in a test tube.[9] He became one of the most famous scientific figures in America, and was influential in helping biology transition to a largely experimental science. 

Mendel’s recently exhumed research results provided solid evidence that heredity was indeed controlled by molecules, providing a significant boost to Loeb’s (and other committed mechanists’) investigations. And it was Loeb who insightfully recognized that Mendel’s findings pointed the way to biology’s next big mission: to discover the chemical substances within chromosomes that were responsible for passing on hereditary traits. Though it may have taken longer than expected, biochemists James Watson and Francis Crick made a monumental breakthrough in the early 1950s that would all but finish off vitalism. Boyce Rensberger noted that “by applying a purely reductionist approach to the study of life, they would vindicate the mechanist view spectacularly with the discovery of…DNA and the cracking of the genetic code.”

That tremendous leap forward captivated the literate world. It epitomized science at its best and what a new breed of scientists were capable of and, regardless of their level of comprehension, everyone was talking about the wonderful double helix. A torrent of breakthroughs followed, along with increased research funding and the development of truly impressive new technologies. Thanks to enthusiastic media attention, in addition to popular books written by intriguing men-of-learning, the public was led to a widespread and virtually unquestioned perception of cells as tiny machines—very complicated machines, yes, but comprehensible nonetheless.

In addition, by the latter half of the 19^th century, science had assumed an aura of authority that complemented the climate of those times. A new picture of reality  emerged that attested to a world operating by simple, rational laws: predictable, reasonable, and comprehensible (even if this was not always strictly the case). Importantly, it was a reality no longer seen as inherently mysterious—somewhat like the Newtonian world-view, but a version charged with new power and accessibility through being extended to encompass the study of life. The establishment of relativity, Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, and quantum theory injected mystique back into the universal view but their effect did little to dent a new confidence in Earth-bound empirical science.                           

The announcement of DNA’s discovery via a two page article in the April 1953 issue of Nature began a whole new chapter of modern life; from a cultural standpoint, science’s role in everyday living was a perfect addition to the atmosphere of optimism and progress following WW II’s conclusion. Religious views continued to be influenced by the lasting impact of Darwin’s radical ideas; as his theory of natural selection gained ever greater acceptance, people felt the wider effects of being further liberated from the church’s stifling dictates and lingering superstitions (a course first set in motion by Newton). Even devoutly religious people saw the light and were tentatively embracing a perspective that permitted both God and science to illuminate their worldview. The never-ending introduction of fantastic new machines and technologies, plus an escalating adoption of mechanical terminology (and, later, computer jargon) to describe biological processes, lent credence to the notion that living things are essentially machines as well—a supposition that has only grown stronger with passing time.    

     ©2016 by Tim Forsell     draft                       8 Apr 2016

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[1] Pantheism is the belief that the Universe (or nature as the totality of everything) is identical with divinity, or that everything composes an all-encompassing, immanent god. Pantheists thus do not believe in a distinct personal or anthropomorphic god. Such concepts date back thousands of years, and some religions in the East continue to contain pantheistic elements.

[2] Mayr again: “It is ironic that the physicalists attacked the vitalists for invoking an unanalyzed ‘vital force,’ and yet in their own explanations they used such equally unanalyzed factors as ‘energy’ and ‘movements.’ The definitions of life and the descriptions of living processes formulated by the physicalists often consisted of utterly vacuous statements. For example, the physical chemist Wilhelm Ostwald defined a sea urchin as being, like any other piece of matter, ‘a spatially discrete cohesive sum of quantities of energy.’… [Pioneer embryologist] Wilhelm Roux…stated that development is ‘the production of diversity owing to the unequal distribution of energy.’ These [and other] physicalists never noticed that their statements about energy and movement did not really explain anything at all.”

[3] Osmosis is the tendency of a solvent—such as water—to diffuse from a region where dissolved substances are less concentrated to a region where they are more so. Unless checked, osmosis continues until the concentrations of the substances are in equilibrium.

[4] The movement of oxygen (from air) to tissues and cells and subsequent elimination of carbon dioxide (as a waste product).

[5] It should be noted that little was then known about animal cells; in contrast to plants, it was much harder to prepare animals’ relatively delicate tissues for study under a microscope. Also, animal cells are typically much smaller than those of plants.

[6] Staining visually enhances specific parts of the generally colorless cellular interior, by means of a number of chemical agents and treatments. Their use was first developed by François Raspail, progenitor of the study of cytochemistry.

[7] Flemming’s identification of chromosomes and mitosis are considered to be among the 100 most important scientific discoveries.

[8] Loeb’s was the first major discovery to come out of the Marine Biological Lab (1899).  

[9] The press’ coverage of Loeb’s discovery evidently gave birth to the (mis)use of that hackneyed expression. According to Boyce Rensberger, “Loeb’s experiments, in a seaside laboratory and on marine organisms, became so mixed up in the popular mind with the allegedly mysterious powers of the sea that unmarried women were advised not to bathe in the ocean. Childless couples, on the other hand, rushed hopefully to beach resorts. Loeb even received letters from desperate couples asking him to give them a child.”