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Resource Acadia is offering a workshop in which participants will learn about and participate in research into rockweed population genetics along the intertidal areas around Schoodic Point.
Yesterday, after we finished our morning walk, Molly the dog and I encountered two young moose. They were surprised to see us and made for the woods. I tend to think of moose as big and ungainly, but their movement, though quick, was graceful as they ran across an open area into the forest. Their disappearance was sudden and complete once they were in the woods. Gone.
Molly has seen moose before, and she is obviously impressed with them. Her response has been the same each time. She moves from standing to sitting and then watches, looking at the spot where the moose were last visible before disappearing.
I am impressed too. There is something thrilling about seeing a big animal in the Park. Part of the thrill, to be sure, is that such sightings are uncommon.. But the thrill reaches deeper than that, to something more basic in my own animal makeup. My guess would be that seeing big animals sharpens my sense that the Park still has some wildness left.
Some coastal brook trout spend all their lives in fresh water. Others head out to sea for a few months or a year and then return to fresh water to spawn. The ones that move back and forth are called “salters” or “sea run brook trout.” The technical term for this movement out to sea and then back to fresh water for spawning is “anadromy.” Nobody knows why some brook trout are anadromous and others are fresh water residents all their life. Biologists do believe, however, that the number of anadromous fish is declining. They are not sure why, but roads and culverts blocking the movement of the fish are one possible factor, among others.
As is the case with so much other ecosystem research in and around Acadia National Park, the first step toward understanding the bigger questions is an assessment of the current situation. How many fish are moving back and forth? Where does the migration happen? Where does it NOT happen?
An opportunity to participate in a Saturday morning workshop with a researcher doing leading-edge work in rocky intertidal ecosystem dynamics .
In March Acadia National Park brought together more than 50 scientists in a series of workshops with the goal of identifying important Park research questions. When the scientists were asked what the Park should be doing now in anticipation of future changes and impacts, there was broad consensus that Acadia was likely to be changed in important ways by global warming.
The Maine Forest Service is looking for a volunteer in the greater Schoodic area to operate an “insect light trap†from mid-June to mid-August. The operation of the trap is quite simple and all materials and instructions associated with the project are supplied by the Forest Service. There is also a $200 stipend provided to offset electricity costs associated with operating the light
David Olson, a graduate student at the University of Maine, is conducting research on how visitors use different intertidal zones in Acadia National Park. He needs volunteers who can sit, observe, and complete a checklist that describes visitor frequency and activity.
One of the most consistent, striking messages to come from the research opportunity catalog work that took place here at SERC in March was that the Park really does not have a complete inventory of the different species of plants and animals in the Park–and does not have a full understanding of important natural systems. This is not just because funds are short–which they are– but also because of the way that scientific work is valued. It seems to us that the valuation does not reflect the full “market” of information needs and of sources of financial support. It is the kind of problem that Acadia Partners was created to solve.
A couple of days ago I began a series of three short articles about Richard Louv’s important book, Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our Children From Nature-Deficit Disorder. In the first article, I described Louv’s compellingly simple story about how Americans have changed the way that they relate to nature. Currently, it appears that children are growing up disconnected from nature. In the second article I summarized some of Louv’s thinking about how we got into this spot and about what it might take to get out of it. I ended with the observation that Louv’s description of the problem is simpler and more compelling than is his solution. Today I try own hand at finding a perspective that opens up a bigger picture and some insight toward reconnecting children and nature.
First–up until the end of the 19th century–we set out to use and conquer nature. Then, with much of the conquest behind us, we romanticized our view of nature and decided to protect some of it, setting aside the National Parks as an inspiration to future generations. But the surprising dilemma is that the future generations aren’t paying attention. The iconic images for children are no longer cowboys and Indians or Davy Crockett out on the frontier, but rappers on the city streets. For most children growing up today, nature is simply not relevant. So … what do we do now?