35. Tips-of-the-hat

Jeremy Wade

Phone rings:

Shaving 4: “Are you watching this?”

ML: “Watching what?”

Shaving 4: “Are you watching this?”

ML: “Watching what!?”

Shaving 4: “Turn on Animal Planet”

 

And there he was, the River Monster guy fishing India’s Great Kali (the river not the wrestler) for goonch, aka, man-eating catfish.

 

That the goonch eat people seems likely as the locals’ burial practice involves funeral pyres, on the river’s edge, after which the partially burnt deceased is pushed into the river. People eat a lot of catfish and catfish eat a lot of anything that comes by; fair’s fair.

 

The “problem” was that live people, not far from shore and in plain view, were suddenly going under.  Now I do not think that a catfish goes about eating people the way a shark goes about eating people; catfish dentation isn’t really well designed for dismemberment. On the other hand, people can drown really quickly esp. with a +100 pound fish, with a lot of forward gripping teeth, hanging onto your heel. So I’ll go along with man-grabbing catfish. What happens next is a technical detail of minor interest to the principal and family/friends.

 

The sawed-off TOTH (almost tooth…I like it!!) goes to Mr. Wade’s technique when, towards the show’s close, he finally gets something big on his line. He’d caught a few smallish goonch up to this point but here was what he was looking for. The fish heads downstream towards trouble (from Mr. Wade’s perspective) so , rod held high, he swims across the river to ultimately land a goonch I would not want on my foot.

 

And that, ladies and germs, is SAWED-OFF FISHING!

 

Steve Irwin

On TV there’s this guy, lying on his stomach, chin ~ on the ground, real close to some death dealing viper (stomach & chin also on the ground) talking like he wants to buy the snake a drink. Continued viewing of The Crocodile Hunter led me to conclude: a) hotdog but b) really great hotdog.

 

And so are we all familiar with Mr. Irwin’s general approach to wildlife….great affection and knowledge of their likely next three moves.

 

Two particular encounters come to mind. The first was atypical of his general approach but underscored the snake’s universal reputation of profoundly dangerous: black mamba. Everybody lived but Mr. Irwin gave the snake its due, i.e. stay on the balls of your feet.

 

The second encounter (TOTH) was Steve Irwin at his loving, deeply experienced, finest. There’s this pig running through the high grass. Mr. Irwin tackles her, lays on top of her muttering “oh my pretty”. Then he lets the pig up to shoe her on her no-worse-for-wear way. The pig stands up, shakes off the dust and charges. Now me, I’d have fainted dead away but Mr. Irwin simply grabs the pig by its ears, says something along the lines of “Now, now, all in good fun”, points the pig in the right direction and off she goes. Like I said, a GREAT hotdog.

 

Nobody’s perfect and “ain’t no horse that can’t be rode etc.”. I’m sure that sting ray business came as a big surprise. In the end a) “too bad he didn’t live but then again….” and/but b) all those “moments” that were not lost.

 

All Catfish Noodlers

These guys are CRAZY and my reason for billing myself as a sawed-off sportsman, not THE sawed-off sportsman. The fear being that if  I billed myself as THE I would run into one of these characters who would first say “oh?” and then invite me on an outing.

 

I’ve got to hand it to them (as some may need a replacement) sticking your hand in an underwater hole and wiggling your fingers until something bites it is SAWED-OFF². I take that back; it is log₁₀ SAWED-OFF! = TOTH!!

 

ML

5 June, 2014

34. Powdered sugar cottonmouth

It was a standard sawed-off family return trip from south Florida; i.e. split the distance home by spending the night at the Black Lagoon lodge.

Upon arrival we spotted a lobby sign about a gathering the next morning of the FSU psychobiology graduate program (from which I had emanated long ago). “Now my wife she says” (Kicliter) you should go there and see them. I thought maybe yes, maybe no as they had business to discuss and we had to make it back home that day. So I slept on the possibility/opportunity which had the attraction of sort of dropping out of the sky with no early warning, a favorite sawed-off tactic.

As was also standard practice, the next early AM, shavings and I headed off to St. Marks to see what was happening after a gas station breakfast (= powdered sugar donuts, cokes, slim Jims, whatever ≡ bribes to go along on the adventure). What was happening was a small cottonmouth was dead on the road but in pretty good shape after a few chiropractic adjustments. This was an opportunity to take a nice picture of said, dead, cottonmouth sitting at the base of a cypress tree. As the most readily available cypress tree base was in the Black lagoon’s swimming area I put the model in the empty powdered sugar donut box.

Upon return to the lagoon I went down to the swimming area, positioned the small cottonmouth at the base of a cypress tree, and took a few pictures. It was still too early for this…..activity…. to ‘interest’ the general public (pity) but I thought it unwise to leave the snake, dead or not, where he was positioned. So I put him back in the donut box and the box in my pocket as I planned  on a toss-out-the-window burial up the road.

We breakfasted again in the elegant Black Lagoon lodge dining room (table cloths, china, silverware) by which time Mrs. Sawed-off had prevailed upon me to swing by the psychobiology gathering.

When I walked into the room someone I didn’t know was arranging papers into piles. As I explained my presence from behind comes “Well, as I live and breathe (Berkley), “Look what the cat dragged in” (Smith). I turned and greeted old committee members/friends.

Among them was Glayde Whitney, a behavioral geneticists/sensory systems, who had arrived at FSU a few years before my departure. We exchange generalities then

Glayde says “My son is into snakes too.”

ML: Well good, what’s he got?”

Glayde rattles off a list and then tosses in

GW: “Yea he’s really into snakes.”

ML: ~ back to “That’s great.”

GW: (crossing a line I was prepared to defend) “ Yea, I think he’s more into snakes than you.”

ML: “More than me?”

GW: Yea, more than you”

ML: “Glayde, let me show you something.”

taking the donut box out of my pocket and revealing its contents.

 

GW: long pause then “Ok, not more than you”  

 

Ah you should have been there.  (and now you are)

 

ML

8 May, 2014

33. The eagles of Lake Purdy

It was probably fall 2007, late evening, when Shaving 4 and I saw a large bird circling high overhead. The bird looked so large and so high that I wondered out loud if it might not be an eagle.

November 8, 2008, a clear Saturday morning, Shaving 3 had agreed to take a cruise with the new outboard as I promised to ~ not fish (= trolling only). This time there was no doubt. Two bald eagles, white heads & all, were cruising tree top high around the west end of Goat Island. They were in plain view for some time and one actually took a swing at something on the surface not far from another boat up against the mountain. We returned to the dock and ask Gary if he knew he had two bald eagles out there. His reply was “TWO??” Our reply was “two!”

I called Ken M., chairman of biology and vertebrate adventurer, to report the sighting. He said it was the time of year that they paired up for nesting.

It was likely 2009 when I ask Gary if anybody had been seeing the eagles. Gary said “there’s a nest”. I say “where?” Gary looks up the lake, down the lake, then at me and says “I don’t tell everybody” (which of course meant don’t you tell everybody). Fair enough.

Since Ken M. had speculated on future nesting I had been trying to guess where eagles would decide to put a nest. In the event I was completely, wrong but the location they picked made sense upon further reflection.

The eagles’ presence, if not nest location, became widely known when what has got to be one of, if not the, weirdest ever eagle photograph hit the Birmingham News September 1, 2010.

 

Standing shoulder to shoulder, in knee (?) deep water, on the lake’s edge with a real wading bird in the foreground. [It just now occurs to me that the heron eats fish too and maybe the eagles were simply studying an alternative technique]. That the photo produced a predictable flurry of local nature interest could be determined by simply listening to the marina’s end of the phone calls. “Yes ma’am we see them around. No ma’am it’s hard to tell just when or where. Etc, etc.” I told them to figure out when the slowest day was for boat rentals and tell interested bird watchers frequent sightings were then…far shore. He spoke of one inquiry where he told the caller he hadn’t seen them in a while and, just then, an eagle flies through the parking lot and landed in a nearby tree.

            By spring 2011 Gary said a photographer had nest photos and there were young. They appear to continue to make a go of this location.

And other locations. Around 9AM, about two years ago, Shaving 4 & I are pulling out of ‘upper Choccolocco’ and a big bird circles away from us tree top high. I was saying things like “What the heck is that? Not exactly right for a heron.”  Apparently overhearing the conversation of undue respect, the bird did a slow left hand bank over our heads just so we could get a good look at whose presence we were in.

            Saw 5 ospreys at Lake Purdy three days ago.

ML

4/15/14

32."Bats on the ground, bats on the ground...

….Nambou, there are BATS… ON…. THE…. GROUND!! Let’s go pick them up before the Uncles get them.”

So spoke Nambou (the lab tech), riding up on his motor cycle, to Nambou (the volunteer, aka Shaving 4) as we walked home from getting a coke & checking on the tailor’s progress on Mrs. Sawed-off’s new local fashions.

[Technical note: all village second sons are Nambou which leads to “uncles” being numerous]

Nambou’s (the lab tech) excitement was not out of the blue as about 50 yards down the road a large tree had been felled (power company cutting trees along the road for the rumored coming of electricity to Bitchabe) with a flock (?) of fruit bats circling above it. What did not compute was a) why one would want to pick up fruit bats and b) what were some doing on the ground in any event?

Shortly after Nambou’s (the lab tech) call to action we passed two kids carrying about four bats each. This indicated the wide spread enthusiasm for the fruit bats (to eat) and that they were on the ground seemed a more parsimonious explanation of two 7 year olds with eight bats between them than the only alternative; the kids could fly. [But then again…“Africa has many mysteries” (Wadja)]

 

This was not the last time non-bird flying food came up. Yao, our excellent driver while in Lomé, on our night time run to the airport said that the largish insects flying around the street lights were good to eat. Mrs. Sawed-off ask what they tasted like –[I know what you’re thinking…WRONG] –Yao said crickets; mole crickets to be exact. And his description of the local mole cricket matched exactly the mole cricket from around these parts.

 

When first assigned to Africa, the Peace Corp said there was no dangerous wildlife in Togo….except the snakes. Without going laundry list, the western green mamba (some deaths in the 30 minute range) and the African rock python (including the ingestion of a few people) come to mind. That theses players are not merely rumored is the Peace Corp volunteer that got clipped by a small green mamba on the ground at night (go figure) who recalled hallucinating on the ride to the antivenin. She lived. Then there was the volunteer (I met this guy) who shortly after his arrival saw an African rock python eating a goat.

The Togolese are surprisingly matter of fact about snakes despite, perhaps because of, their proximity to some very serious players. They are not oblivious to the problem as Shaving 4 relayed an early rhyme he heard; “First you cry, then you die”. However there is none of the over-the-top apprehension one encounters in America. As example, we were visiting a coffee grower (Kodjo) in the hills above Kpalima. We took a short walk down hill and then back up. On the return, Yao reaches down and picked up the tail end of a recently shed snake skin lying on top of a bush about 18 inches off the ground; nobody spotted the skin when we first passed the spot about 10 minutes earlier. Yao was of the opinion that it was the shed of a green mamba. What he did next was reach up and shake the end of a couple of tree limbs within reach; the purpose being clearly to get whoever left the skin moving so we could see it.  As I said, the Togolese are matter of fact about their snakes.

Along with being matter of fact about snakes Bitchabeians are knowledgeable on some details. In listening it became clear they were making a distinction between “python” and “boa”. I was more interested in exactly what they were referring to than delivering a suspect taxonomic point of ‘no boas in Africa’. Mrs Sawed-off conducted several cross cultural interviews but I took this opportunity to toss in a question of. …How long is a “python” and how long is a “boa”. Kokou (who it turns out was the one who came up with the questions for the internet) said the “python” was about one meter. Nambou (the lab tech) added may be up to 1.5 meters. The “boa” was up to 21 feet, but not so common. This pretty much sealed the “python” as a ball python and their “boa” as the African rock python.

 

Though more or less surrounded by deadly mambas and human eating boa/pythons for ten days, the point of my greatest concern came upon arrival when you turn in those one page forms to customs regarding where you’re from, why you’re here, any weird stuff with you? The guy takes one look at what I handed him and tells me it is “offensive”. Now, in my wild and crazy youth (see next week), I am not above giving “offense” to bureaucrats. HOWEVER, being so far from home and having Shaving 4 on the other side of the security zone giving “offense” was THE LAST THING I WISHED TO DO!!

It turned out that the problem was I had filled the form out in pencil which was not proper. Live & learn.

 

ML

4/8/14

31. The Questions of Togo

As noted earlier, Shaving 4 joined the Peace Corps and went to Togo, the village of Bitchabe.

From time to time he travels to the nearest big city, Bassara, to conduct his affairs.

The Bitchabeians are by nature inquisitive and routinely converse when passing. The abstract of these exchanges could be ~ “How’s it going?” but in the event it’s apparently a long list of rapid fire questions…”how’s your wife, how’s your crops, how’s the kids, what’d you eat last night” (I made that last one up but you get the picture).

Preparing for a motor cycle/taxi trip to Bassara inquiries were made as to (abstract) “why?” Shaving 4 tells them he has to go to the post office, bank, and use the internet. Apparently they got to “what’s the internet?” quickly.

Think about it. Subsistence farmers (turns out they do ok) in sub-Saharan West Africa ask YOU…”What’s the internet?” Ol’ Shaving 4 had a good reply; “It’s something you look up the answers to questions with”. [DRUM ROLL] The citizens of Bitchabe quickly upped their game, cross examination wise.

 

1. Why do people suffer?
2. Why are some people more intelligent than others?
3.  Why can’t some people have babies?
4.  Why are some people albinos?

 

These questions were discussed in a phone call soon thereafter. On question #1 I suggested a Genesis answer; Garden of Eden, sin, man expelled (25% Christian, 25% Muslim, 50% animist). Shaving 4 says “No, that’s not what they mean.” Apparently, the Bitchabeians know other people have more stuff than they do:  their neighbors in the country to the west, the citizens of Lome, occasional visitors from elsewhere, etc.

Mrs. Sawed-off and moi are about to go visit. We’re taking gifts for shaving 4’s closest friends. Knives (a real big one for the pig butcher), snake banded hats (the rabbit guy is apparently into hats) and 30 Macanudo cigars (which are very popular) for the men, ear rings for the ladies, hard candy for the kids... and a copy of WEALTH OF NATIONS & a HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY textbook!

 

ML

3/20/14   

30. The Great Osinski

This sawed-off sportsman never played baseball; afraid of the ball.

 

This sawed-off sportsman is opposed, on principle, to having equipment that’s better than he is or coaching things about which he knows nothing.

So when Shavings 2, 3 and 4 took to the diamond I was perfectly happy to watch, get the drinks & snacks when the family’s time in the rotation came up and occasionally yell “keep your eye on the ball” or “stop picking dandelions”.

As time passed and Shaving 3 and 4 were slated to move up to machine-pitch, and a real baseball, I naturally and vehemently demurred on any coaching opportunities. Then there came a phone call from a prominent community leader and neighborhood parent with a son in the same league who says to me “If you don’t coach the team your two sons are on there won’t be any team for them to be on.” 

In the arena of neighborly coercion this constituted the proverbial offer that could not be refused. And it could not be refused precisely because there was an iron clad defense when events unfolded disastrously, as I was sure they would. All I had to do was repeat the threat and say “I never said I knew what I was doing.” However, to my coaching recruitment was added…”And there’ll be two 90 minute coaching clinics Tuesday and Wednesday evenings”. While two coaching clinics were unlikely to offset my baseball disadvantaged youth (spent chasing snakes) I had to at least show up. I was mistaken about the effectiveness of two baseball coaching clinics delivered by The Great Osinski.

The best indicator of the effectiveness of The Great Osinski (TGO) is how I felt before and after those two 90 minute sessions. Before, I was filled with great fear as the schedule called for one game and two coaching sessions (by me) per week for about twelve weeks. The games didn’t worry me too much as I could just yell “keep your eye on the ball” and “stop picking dandelions.” I hoped the kids would know where to stand on defense and I’d just line them up in the dugout on offense. It was the coaching sessions that worried me as manically repeating “keep your eye on the ball” for 90 minutes twice a week for twelve weeks was likely to lose their attention. However, after two coach training sessions with TGO I was filled with the joyous feeling of now knowing more about how to play baseball than I could possible impart to my team in the season’s allotted time. I’ve listened to a lot of lectures, on a lot of topics; TGO is the greatest.

It turned out, much to my surprise, that there are known (= tried & true) ways to catch a ball, throw a ball and hit a ball (running is pretty much self-evident but there are issues about when).

 

For example, hitting the ball involves cock (a subtle up & back bat movement), step, and…..”throw the head of the bat through the ball”. TGO never said “keep your eye on the ball”

(given the flash lag effect the proper prompt is more likely “keep your mind on the ball” but I digress). Catching involved using bear hands to catch a soft toss; turns out everybody puts their thumbs together. Do it that way with the glove on! Throwing was the best instruction. First, the mostly incompetent adults lined up and, with arm level threw the ball by rotating forearm only from the elbow. This seemed an odd movement but explained why all pictures of real pitchers had them doing the same movement. Who knew? Next, and preceding the odd elbow rotation, was “elephant trunk” which amounted to starting with the ball sort of up & behind your head. Combining elephant trunk & elbow rotation produced immediate success of a) the ball sailed forward and b) my shoulder quite hurting. Shaving #2 was having trouble throwing. I show her elephant trunk; “problem solveeed”

Aside from the baseball skills TGO instruction turned out to afford a potent rhetorical comeback. As I recall the timing (the question & answer will live forever) we’re in the dugout before the first game and Truman Fitzgerald (classically) says; “you ever play baseball?” I paused, thought, and replied; “No, but I studied under The Great Osinski that should serve us well.”

 

There’s more “inside baseball” (ha, ha) but I know the final question to which the answer is….7 and 5, Southside Indians, spring of 1997.

 

ML

3/18/14