Eating ourselves (and the planet) to death

As cheap food has proliferated (i.e., junk food), obesity has increased, overall health decreased, and the environment suffers. That is not news to anyone, and no one who is informed and "in their right mind" would deny it. The god of cheapness is a lie, but it is an idol far too many choose to worship.

Today the Toronto Star published part 1 of a 3-part series ... Where We Grow Our Junk Food. The significance of this piece is not just its content, but also the incredible writing itself. It is so well structured, with clarity of writing that I asked myself, "Who is Margaret Webb?" It turns out Margaret Webb has impressive credentials (the photo is NOT from the farm outside Barrie where she grew up ... there are no mountains near Barrie ... Blue Mountain is more like "Blue Bump"!) and no doubt seeking out more of her work will be rewarding.

Growing up in the US Midwest where corn and beans are king, I am all to familiar with the denial that exists when vested interests are confronted with the disaster of cheap food. Not only do the agribusiness royalty not cotton to having their empires threatened, but the spin-off economies are substantial. Of course, a sane food policy would be even better for the everyone, but who can envision that when they were blinkers?

I have two nephews on my wife's side, one of whom is really, really angry, mostly about the state of the world. His Facebook wall is covered with anti-government, anti-authority, anti-Obama rants. While I could discuss contrary views with him, it struck me that what is really important is the anger itself ... and that instinctively he knows that the system is really screwed up ... the whole agribusiness/cheap food/advertising conglomerate is one of the subsystems that is killing people and putting our future at risk. What is unfortunate is that like a lot of people of his age (18-ish), he has not had the rearing and training to handle the anger itself, to translate the anger into positive energy. I don't blame him for that.

Perhaps this type of well-written piece can help provide a foundation for action for him and others.

Top of the Chain

What happens when a species at the top of the food chain disappears? If one species of whale, say a species with a relatively small population, were to go extincet, what would be the consequences?

I suspect many, if not most, people would guess that the rest of the food chain, on which the top species was perched, would simply flourish, and that any follow-on effects would be minimal or none.

While it is true that species directly below likely will increase their numbers, a chain of changes will inevitably follow. Rather than speculate about the disappearance of a species of whale, the polar bear or other species at risk, a look at a species that was eradicated from a confined area can serve as a good example.

Wolf eradication in Yellowstone (and surrounding areas) came as a result of ranchers who blamed wolves for excessively preying on their cattle. What the exact number of losses were is probably not truly known, but what is known is that wolf predation on commercial livestock was largely a result of the elimination of bison (buffalo) herds, a primary food source for wolves. At the time, however, hard science, even if it were available, didn't matter. The wolf had been made an object of fear and hatred, to the benefit of a particular economic interest.

With the removal of the grey wolf population, however, the elk population, having also been an important food source to wolves, increased dramatically. The increased elk herds overgrazed various species of vegetation, including pine trees. The loss of enough pine and other vegetation resulted in soil erosion, loss of ground cover for other species, and the loss of food for still more species.

The soil erosion was significant enough to cause flooding problems, further disturbing the ecosystem.

Whatever one thinks might be the specific effects of ecosystem disturbance or change, no matter how refined one's modeling, there are always at least a few unanticipated results. Ecologists are paid to understand ecosystems and provide at least guidance, if not accurate and specific predictions of ecological change. Given that there is no such thing as 100% accuracy, the combination of uncertainty and the lack of immediate consequences presents a danger to public policy making and societal knowledge of ecological issues. This is especially true with matters of global scale. As humans, we focus on our immediate surroundings and what we can see now.

Lake Superior -- Top of a Chain

The example of wolves in Yellowstone is a relatively simple example of how changes precipitate unintended and unwanted consequences. The same principle obviously applies to geologic systems. The sheer size and power of Lake Superior deceives most into believing it is immutable -- that it cannot be moved, cannot be adversely affected by anything but events of a nuclear scale.

I think most people experience Superior through something akin to a drive-by shooting "Stop here! That's a great picture!". So 99% of its visitors are probably caught in the spell of magnitude and beauty. Absolutely this is essential to understanding our planet, our home.

Three times in my life, out of four trips to Superior, I have been able to stop and live for a bit on the shore. These times have not been simply pleasant vacations, but have been "incrementally" transformative, if that makes any sense.

This last trip was a bit longer. Perhaps not long enough in an absolute sense (permanent residence would be appropriate), but long enough to calm my soul while opening it to "small" things that open up a world not often noticed, hidden behind size and power.


The image that best illustrates this, I think, is this photo of moss & cedars growing from pre-Cambrian rockface of the shore. The whole concept of organisms that break down rock -- and granite at that -- has always amazed me. The conversion to soil as a result of whatever chemical action that is employed is remarkable. In this case, it challenges one to consider that the "food chain" is actually inverted. We would normally consider granite one of the most permanent features of this ecosystem, yet it is lowly moss & lichen that reign. Without species that can convert ancient rock to soil, other species such as the cedars cannot survive.

I am not a working biologist, even though my undergraduate degree is in Biology with an emphasis on invertebrate zoology and my strongest interest continues to be aquatic ecosystems. I am sure that I have oversimplified things with this example. So I admit to being a bit of a wannabe, despite my original grounding in the sciences, and I do welcome comments, corrections and any additional input.

Despite feeling that I have missed something important by not having pursued a work career in my field of study, I am encouraged that I can choose to "reclaim" that study as a foundation for the finale of my life, and combine a renewed interest with my experience and vision in photography and my love of the water.

Pukaskwa Part Deux ... Paddling the Calm

The day after the morning mist paddle, the weather was extremely calm and the lake nearly as smooth as glass. While one can never count on the weather holding, I felt very confident that the day would be fine for hours. So I headed out with cameras, water and a snack. I was mentally prepared to be gone the whole day, but was open to staying out only as long as I felt comfortable.

I headed out of Hattie's Cove, the entrance to which is a small "notch" (duh, it's a cove) that faces more or less south. My intention was to go north, past Horseshoe Bay, then proceed to the mouth of the Pic River. Horseshoe Bay is the bay adjacent to our campsite; a trail led past our campsite to the bay, and the latter part of the trail is a boardwalk, as the trail traverses a delicate, sandy ecosystem.






The first photo shows the calm waters on today's trip. The bay is somewhat protected, but when the weather is "up", the surf can be quite strong. The second photo (taken on a different day) shows the surf on a typical good weather day. The log in the foreground is blurred because it is actually in motion, being propelled by the incoming surf. I chose a shutter speed that would somewhat freeze the waves in the background, but that was slow enough to hint at the movement of the log.

Even though the surf on photo two is not that heavy, it has enough energy to shove the tree trunk back.


These dunes are north of Pukaskwa proper, on the north side of the Pic River. One of the park's interpretive programs is a trip to the dunes.



Turning up river I paddled to the ceremony grounds for the Pic River First Nation. Near this pavilion are small cottages and trailers, housing some of the band members during the summer. I definitely want to come back here during powwow days and find out more of the history of this site, the people, etc. Pic River people have been here for thousands of years; there's a lot to be gained by learning.



Coming back in, there is a small island at the mouth of Horseshoe Bay. It was fun to paddle around and make at least cursory notice of the flora. By this time I was so "emotionally relaxed" that I really didn't work too hard at making "good" photos. Being relaxed and not thinking too much normally produces better work for me. But this time I was simply more attuned to being where I was, to absorbing rather than creating. That was a good place.

Heading back in for the final leg, I actually missed the entrance to Hattie's Cove. So I ended up paddling around Pulpwood Bay, casually exploring before returning to the cove.


To say I was exhilarated would be a monumental understatement. The day was topped off with the simple elegance of relaxation in a camp chair .... absorbing campfire wood smoke, a bottle of 2003 Hillebrand Estates Showcase Chardonnay and grilled chicken.

In the works

More Superior text and photos are in the works. In the meantime, one photo from the first paddling day.

Pukaskwa 1 -- Wilderness Silence

Note: In mid-August of 2007, my wife and I, along with her 16-year-old nephew, took a two week vacation. It involved a lot of driving (2352 miles), and the bulk of our time was spent at Pukaskwa National Park, near Marathon, Ontario. (Pukaskwa is pronounced "PUH-kuh-saw".) To me, Lake Superior is sacred. You can interpret the word sacred in any way you want; I know what it means to me.

Pukaskwa is a special place in that sacred place, a place set aside not only for the enjoyment of those who find her, but as a protection of wilderness. This is the first of some posts about that trip. Undoubtedly there will be tangents into the ecological, philosophical, photographic and spiritual domains. As I write this post, the bulk of the photos I made are either in transit to/from processing (the Kodachrome), or awaiting some darkroom sessions in the case of the 4x5 Tri-X. Additional posts will come as I receive and process more film.


One of the most unexpected, almost startling things about camping at Lake Superior was the silence. It was most noticeable at night, but my wife also noticed it since there were little, if any, birdsongs in the mornings.

At night when everyone settled in, the only sound was the waves on the beach and the pre-cambrian shield shoreline. Even that was muted on calmer days. The individual campsites are well separated at Pukaskwa, so we normally heard no activity from nearby sites; Pukaskwa's normal campers are very quiet types, not party animals.

This silence seemed to almost disturb, or at least annoy, my wife. To me it was fascinating. While I understand the practice of meditation from an intellectual perspective, and have sometimes successfully meditated, this silence was like someone really explaining the silence of meditation to me by using a palpable, physical example.

I also thought of the social and cultural implications. Any people, but especially pre-contact native communities, undoubtedly have their psyches influenced and formed by such an environment. For example, it aids sustaining sensory sensitivity such as is necessary for tracking, awareness of approaching people from outside the community, alertness to weather changes, etc.

While the whole issue of noise pollution and human detachment/alienation from the natural environment has been raised as a serious social issue from time-to-time, it never seems to sustain a longer, serious discussion and reach the level of an important social concern. It occurs to me that this is most likely because so few people have really experienced the phenomenon of real and nearly complete silence.*

It would be an interesting experiment to place people in such an environment and record their feedback -- both conscious and bio-feedback. I'm sure this has been done, but it still interests me. One additional thing that strikes me is that I am at a loss as to how to describe my reaction. To say that it put me into state something like altered consciousness doesn't really hit the mark, but is as close as I can come at this point. Cleared my mind? Sort of, but it was more like cleansing of soul or spirit. Not that I am totally clean, but I feel cleaner.

If this were the only value of wilderness, it would be enough. I am persuaded that without periods of regular silence immersion, it is not possible to fully connect with the environment.

*For the record, the silence of our particular location was frequently interrupted by helicopter flights. Some were likely from flights to resupply back country campsites with "government issue" bear buckets, and others, I suspect, were taking searchers into and out of Rainbow Provincial Park, where a camper had gone missing while taking a morning run. This did not spoil the experience, rather it seemed to heighten it.