Pelicans Have Air Bags, Who Knew?

**A reflection I wrote for one of my classes this semester

“Why do so many people no longer consider the physical world worth watching?” ~Richard Louv

“Kur-plunk!” “Kur-plunk!”

I am sitting on the bank of an estuary in Mexico, watching brown pelicans dive into the water in search of fish. I am about a half hour drive from Bahia de Kino, a small coastal town located in the Mexican state of Sonora. Estuaro Santa Rosa is the name of the estuary, and although I am only about 30 minutes from civilization, I feel like I am in no man’s land. I am sitting where the Sonoran desert meets the ocean. It is a rugged, unforgiving landscape. Hundred year old cardon cacti tower over me, while twisted, gnarled elephant trees make a poor attempt at providing shade from where I sit. 

Estuaro Santa Rosa

An estuary is an ecosystem created from a body of fresh water that flows into the ocean. It is an area of transition where fresh water and salt water merge to create brackish water, and the surrounding landscape is influenced by the ebb and flood of the tides. In fact, the tide is currently ebbing. I sit and watch as the water level drops and smooth sand bars begin to appear in the channel of the estuary. Ospreys circle overhead as delicate long legged snowy egrets stalk along the shallows in search of prey.

And—“Kur-plunk!”

The silence is broken, as, dumbfounded, I watch several brown pelicans, 30 some feet in the air fold their cumbersome wings in close against their bodies and plummet, at what seems like breakneck speed, beak first into the murky depths of the estuary. Like rockets falling from the sky. “Mmmmrrrrrrrrrr—Kur-plunk!”

The birds hit the water, disappearing beneath the smooth surface, only to reappear a second later, gulping a fish down, seemingly unaffected by their face plant into the water. The sound of their diving echoes all around me. It is so loud I can hear it without even having to see the bird in action. Plunge diving is what this behavior is called. To me, it seems like a perfect way to get a headache, but to them, it appears to be an effective means of getting a meal.

I sit in utter fascination and watch the natural cadence of the estuary unfold around me. I realize that I have found the perfect location for a self-reflection on my relationship with the natural world. Why am I so enthralled with the simple act of a large bird plunging into water to catch a fish? How did I gain this sense of wonder that I often feel as I look upon a natural landscape? Why do we not all have this sense of wonder? Why are some people terrified by something as innocent as a butterfly?

These are the questions that plague me as I sit here watching nature go about its business. Louv states that “nature is imperfectly perfect, filled with loose parts and possibilities, with mud and dust, nettles and sky, transcendent hands-on moments and skinned knees” (p. 97, 2008). This quote speaks volumes to me. It makes me think of my childhood and hours spent in the bamboo patch, out behind our house, playing cops and robbers and hide and go seek with my brother. I think about the summers I spent roaming the large hill behind our barn, catching baby field mice and salamanders and bringing them home tucked in a pocket made by the hem of my shirt, held together by my grubby fingers.

I grew up in a rural area on a family operated dairy farm with acres and acres of land at my fingertips. By many, I was viewed as the poor kid in town, but to me, I was given a luxury that not many have access to today. I had a free, safe environment to explore in with parents who were determined to make me go outside rather than let me sit in front of the TV watching cartoons all day. Many children today do not have this. They live in urban environments where it is safer to just remain inside than to be outside playing. They do not have parents that work in an environment that allows them to be home with their kids outside and still be able to call it work. All of these variables make for a different experience and I totally understand this difference.

Although I do understand this, I still find myself wondering why is nature viewed so differently now? Why am I so comfortable in a natural setting and others are not? Is it because I had a huge backyard to play in? Is it because my parents encouraged me rather than forbade me from catching field mice or salamanders? The only rule I had to follow in regards to these little creatures was that they weren’t allowed in the house. Needless to say, I broke that rule as often as I could, due to the simple fact that it was a rule.

Society has changed even in the short amount of time that I have been an adult. There are less and less farms every day and more urban development. With more urban development comes the idea that being outside is a fearful place and children need to be protected from it. I agree with much of this, but how do we still encourage children to discover a sense of wonder? How do we encourage them to be able to look at a brown pelican and not feel fear, but rather wonder?

Upon my return from Estuaro Santa Rosa, I discovered that brown pelicans actually have internal air pockets along their front chest cavity. These air pockets are there to help cushion the bird against the force of their impact into the water while also providing buoyancy. It is these air pockets that make the bird pop up out of the water like a bobber on a fishing line just teased by a fish. I thought this to be fascinating. Brown pelicans have air bags, who knew?

The curiosity and sense of wonder I felt at the estuary is what encouraged me to discover more about this bird. I would like to do this as an educator, to expose others to the natural wonders of the outdoors in a safe enough and engaging enough manner that they go home and want to learn more on their own and then share their excitement with their parents. Perhaps if this practice was adopted in more schools, outdoor centers, youth groups, and by educators, mentors, and parents, we would make more progress in establishing curiosity and a sense of wonder toward the natural world. This doesn’t have to happen in a remote location in Mexico, it can easily happen in someone’s backyard or on the sidewalk in downtown Manhattan. It can happen anywhere.

References

Louv, R. (2008). Last child in the woods: Saving our children from nature-deficit disorder (2nd ed.). New York, NY: Workman Publishing Company, Inc.

Reflections of a Graduate Student

“Success is not a good teacher, failure makes you humble.” ~Shahrukh Khan

Two nights ago I cried for the first time since becoming a graduate student. I remember thinking last winter, while I filled out the application, that at some point during my tenure as a student, I would be brought to tears. Ideally it would happen as I am being handed my Master’s Degree and it would be tears of joy. However, two nights ago, that was not the case.

Instead, they were giant, anxiety induced tears caused by an overwhelming sense of lack of control and the complete inability to find myself and know what I wanted. It is January and the start of my second semester is a mere week away and I felt completely lost. I was to a point where I was ready to toss the towel in and call it quits. This realization in itself only brought more tears. Tears of frustration and anger. Anger over my inability to understand and articulate the ideas circulating around in my brain, and frustration over the Prescott system that I have no control over. 

You see, I don’t quit things often or easily. So for me to be brought to a point of wanting to toss the whole kit and caboodle and wipe my hands clean of the matter, it was a big deal. Or at least, in the moment it felt like a big deal.

That was two nights ago in Prescott, AZ. Today, at 0800am, I found myself walking down a sandy stretch of beach in Bahia de Kino, Mexico, my home for the next couple of weeks. Bahia de Kino (Kino Bay) is located in the state of Sonora, and I am here until February 3rd assisting with a Sea Kayaking Natural Marine History course with the undergraduate program at Prescott College. I am essentially partially responsible for the safety and education of six undergraduate students, a slightly hefty weight to bare. 

(Photo taken from a Google search--not one of mine)

This responsibility and management of safety is nothing new to me. I am an outdoor educator. It is part of my job to manage safety and risk in the field, ensuring that everyone comes out safe and healthy, something I take very seriously. Yet, I didn’t feel on top of my game. My confidence was like a turtle tucked into the security of its shell, unwilling to stick its neck out, for fear of failure. 

What was wrong with me? Why am I having anxiety attacks when I get to spend two weeks in Mexico with white sandy beaches, palm trees, and intense sunshine, doing what I love to do? It can’t really get any better. So what was the problem? I pondered these questions as I wandered down the beach, listening to the gentle lap of the waves against the sand, the keening of sea gulls competing over a school of fish they’d found in the water. 

Was it really a big deal that I didn’t have a thesis statement or a definitive plan for my degree? Do I need to have all the answers right now? Could I not just relinquish the control for once, and go with the flow. See where it takes me? Here at Prescott College, they have a saying, “trust the process.” Could I trust the process? 

This is a challenging thought. My biggest fear, when deciding to pursue graduate school, was that I wouldn’t make the cut. I wouldn’t remember how to write a research paper. I wouldn’t be able to “think critically” or write at a “scholarly level.” I can do all of these things I’ve realized. However, it’s been challenging to trust others to make the decisions and let them lead me where I need to go. I’ve been in charge of my life for the past decade and suddenly, my future has been put into the hands of strangers and I feel as fragile as an abandoned egg jostling around in a basket. Will I crack under pressure? Will they handle me with care or will they drop me and let me splatter all over the pavement? I feel alone in this process of trying to figure out how to navigate degree plans, practicums, and formulating a thesis statement. Yet, I’m not really alone. Many others have gone before me and have made it. Somehow, some way I can make it too. And this is what I needed to remember and trust in. I would make it.

While walking down the beach, I realized that it was almost exactly thirteen years ago when I arrived in La Paz on the Baja side of Mexico to embark on an experience that would forever change my life. January 20th, 2002. I was a mere 20 year old, about to disappear into the remote wilderness of Baja Sur California for 80 days and learn how to sail, sea kayak, and backpack. I had been a poor farm kid who had never been away from home, had never flown in an airplane, had never been in a foreign country, had never seen the ocean, and had never carried a 70lb backpack or pooped outside in the backcountry. Everything about it had been scary and unfamiliar, and yet, I had had the courage to take on the challenge. 

Turning to make my way back to the Prescott College Kino field station, I looked down the beach from where I had come. Several students were scattered out across the sand, some with field guides in their hands working to identify bird species, some with cameras or binoculars glued to their faces, others sitting in the sand staring out across the ocean, listening and taking it all in. They all had one thing in common. They had a look of wide eyed wonder on their faces. I realized then that that had been me thirteen years ago. Stumbling into Baja with a permanent look of wonder plastered on my face and someone had taken the time to nurture that wonder so I could learn and understand the experiences I was being exposed to. 

It has always been my goal to be impacted in some positive way by the experiences I choose to have. To become a better person in the end when all is said and done. When deciding to pursue graduate school, I realized that my need for growth had come to incorporate a need to help and inspire others. This is what brought me to Prescott College. As I watched the students, I realized that in my anxiety, I had forgotten why I was here. Their wonderment was inspiring. Their wonderment was giving me the courage to step to the plate and deliver. As an educator, I am realizing that learning cannot be forced. The teacher can open the door to learning, but only the student can make the decision to step through into the world of knowledge. 

This is why I am here in Mexico. Someone had faith in my abilities and choose me for this position as adjunct and that is a humbling realization. Now it is time for me to have faith in my own abilities and to share a passion of mine: sea kayaking and natural history. This is why I am pursuing graduate school at Prescott College. To open the door to wonderment and exploration for others. And with that realization, I step over the threshold of my own wide open door and accept the challenges being handed to me.