Lives on the Line

Sieng Darong FA Patrol Leader and Sab Yoh District Police patrol member

Last Saturday, in the Preah Vihear forest reserve in northern Cambodia, forest ranger Sieng Darong and police officer Sab Yoh confiscated some chainsaws from an illegal logging site. For them, it was routine work. Both had patrolled Cambodian forests for years, and were familiar with the country’s epidemic of illegal logging and wildlife poaching.

That night, they set up camp with two colleagues, planning to continue their patrol the following day. While they slept, an intruder armed with a high-powered weapon killed them both. Darong, 47, was survived by his wife and two daughters; Yoh, 28, is survived by his wife and daughter. One of their colleagues escaped, and the other is wounded but recovering.

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Life on Another Planet, The Atacama in Bloom

Atacama in bloomRain has been falling on the driest non-polar desert in the world, famous for parts of it not seeing a drop of rain for centuries. The Atacama Desert in South America is caught in the rain shadow of the Andes on one side, and cold dry air washing in from an Antarctica ocean current on the other. This year, el Niño is on. Warmer waters are pushing against the West Coast of South America allowing rain to come to a rainless place. Last March, seven years of rain in a place that averages less than 4 millimeters a year fell overnight.  The result has been an explosion of wildflowers, their seeds waiting in the hard dry soils for this very moment.

In August even more rain fell and a second even wilder bloom followed. A barren country where you can walk for days without seeing an ant, a fly, or a blade of grass erupted in a gloriously obscene display of flora.

I know the place in its other state: death. I went there for the desolation. I was writing about projections billions of years in the future when the sun begins to expand in one of its final acts. Naked under this searing light, oceans would boil away. The surface of the Atacama is all that remained, a barren floor of salt pillars lifeless pans. It was my end of the world. Continue reading

A Squee from the Field: Why I Love my Job

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Sometimes, while out on the job, I have to pinch myself and think, ‘hold on to this moment.’ Because the moments that make up my workday can be truly fabulous.

Here’s what last week’s pinch was for: I was squatting on the ground at the Bifengxia panda base in central China, on a cloudy but pleasantly warm October morning, snapping pictures of some of the 18 tiny panda cubs that were lurching around in the grass. How tempting to reach a hand into that panda pile, but I held back, as I hadn’t gotten permission to pet them. Instead, I put my chin down low to the ground to watch the cubs at their level. One of them pulled itself toward me, checking me out with wide eyes and squeaking for attention as it would to its mother. It was, indeed, a very good moment.

At times like that, I don’t even try to keep my own squishy-happy-heart sounds to myself. The latest term I’ve heard for this feeling and the noise that accompanies it is “squee” (thanks, Facebook), and on panda-kindergarten day I was squeeing all over the place. (Not as messy as it sounds.) In fact, I’d say it was totally within my job description, right then, to squee. Continue reading

Guest Post: Science Fail

6517253983_629eb83cb2_oWhen I was in 4th grade, my teacher gave everyone in class an ice cube. Our task, she said, was to keep it from melting for as long as possible. In a room full of 10 year olds, that task turned into a heated competition. But I wasn’t worried. I’d had a stroke of insight: I knew the ice cube needed to stay cold, and it just so happened there was a sink in the back of the classroom with a limitless supply of cold water.

So I ran back to the sink, held my ice cube under the cold running water … and … watched in horror as it melted away in a matter of minutes. In fact, my ice cube was the first to melt. Even the kid who had just left his on the desk in front of him outlasted me. Continue reading

The Last Word

Feet on a marker inscribed with the placenames along the Cotswold WayNovember 2 – 6, 2015

Our identities include our birth dates, says Sally. So what if you don’t have one?

Helen walked the Cotswold Way and entered the liminal state of all pilgrims.

How happy are clams, really, asks Cameron.

Guest Nicholas Suntzeff reminisces about the old tensions between Chile and Bolivia, and how losses are an important part of a nation’s story.

I visit Abu Dhabi and manage to fail in the most basic of tourist tasks: bird holding.

Image: Helen reaches the final acorn.

30 seconds in the UAE

shutterstock falconI let the children have a go first and then reach out a recently hennaed hand, palm up, to accept the flannel armband from Mounir. The whole thing suddenly seems a little flimsy. Are birds supposed to wobble?

I’m a lot taller than those children, and my arm is accordingly further from the ground than the distance one would want a bird to fall. Do birds fall? Not generally, except as chicks from the nest, but this one is blindfolded, did I mention?

Because otherwise it would peck at my approaching hand with that beak I’ve just watched tearing through a plucked but still boned pigeon. Would a blindfolded falcon flap its wings if it lost its footing at dusk in the desert outside Abu Dhabi if there were a leather thingy covering its eyes?

Hang on, this isn’t a wobble, this is a lean. Those birdy legs are at an 80° angle to my arm, and the beak is correspondingly nearer to my shoulder, slash, head. Now it’s more like 75°. What’s happening, Mounir? This didn’t happen to the children. Get it off, I feel, but no, I think, I’ve been looking forward to this. Continue reading

Guest Post: How the Bolivian Navy Became Landlocked

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Cassandra wrote a post about the landlocked Bolivian navy in which she explained, in passing, that Bolivia once had a coast but lost it to Chile in the War of the Pacific.  One of the comments on that post, by guest poster Nick Suntzeff, was a post in itself and we thought you’d like to see it.

[Warning, my extended family is Chilean].

The 1880 War of the Pacific, which is essentially unknown here in the US, is still of vital interest in the Southern Cone. I think that a neutral version of the war would state that Bolivia imposed a tax on Chilean companies operating in Bolivia, in contradiction to a treaty between the countries. Chile protested, and Bolivia claimed that the dispute must be settled in Bolivian courts and not by international arbitration. Chile then claimed that the border treaty with Bolivia was therefore voided (a dubious claim), and sent troops to occupy Antofagasta. Unknown to Chile, Bolivia and Peru had signed a treaty in 1873 that the other country would come to its aid in case of war, bringing Peru into the fracas. Argentina was also in secret negotiation with Bolivia, being the eternal enemy of Chile, and while officially remaining neutral, did provide some scant aid to Bolivia and Peru. In return for not entering the war, Chile ceded the eastern part of Patagonia to Argentina.

With the occupation of Antofagasta by Chile, the war started, and I think to everyone’s surprise, including Chileans, Chile won the war. Peru and Bolivia were forced to sign a treaties (1904 and 1929) ceding land to Chile. The Chilean navy was trained by the the British Admiral Lord Cochrane which perhaps explains the victory, and to this day, all Chilean navy officers speak fluent English, wear British Admiralty uniforms, and secretly supported Britain in the Falklands War.

I lived in La Serena Chile for over 20 years, and the War of the Pacific, while known by all Chileans, had lost its primacy in their daily lives. In my city, there were reminders of the war – in one plaza are a series of rather treacly rococo statues stolen by the Chilean army from Lima and gifted to the city. Almost no one knows where they came from anymore, and they stand there, in uncomfortable corpulent alabaster poses from another century.

One local who did know where the statues came from joked to me that the statues were gifts from Peru when Chile “visited” – burned to the ground really – Lima during the war and gave the Peruvians the correct recipe for a pisco sour. Borders are important, but the history of pisco sours can even be more contentious in Chile and Peru. Never tell this joke in Lima.

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Clamming Up

Clams_999I find myself thinking about the word ‘clam’ more often than is decent, at least without some thought. I call certain pairs of pants ‘clamdiggers’, even though I’ve never worn them to do such a thing. When I scrounge around to find dollar bills in pockets and drawers—and then these clams disappear quickly into other pockets and piggybanks—I really do feel like I’m shelling out. And this morning, watching a new reader engrossed in a book with a contented, close-lipped smile, the first thing that I thought was, he really is as happy as a clam.

So I thought I’d find out more about them, those shellfish that bear so much metaphorical weight. What if clams have grumpy days, too? Continue reading