Scuba diving Part IV: The Scientific Method and Infrasonic Warning: "Hey, Mitch is on His Way!"

The Scientific Method and Warnings of Hurricane Mitch


The Webster's® Dictionary defines infrasonic, or infrasound, 
as "1: having or relating to a frequency below the audibility range of the human ear; and 2: utilizing or produced by infrasonic waves or vibrations."

Infrasound emitted by earthquakes, pounding surf, waterfalls, calving of glacial ice, tidal waves, aurora borealis (0.1 - 0.01 Hz), solar flares, solar winds, hurricanes, thunderstorms, the jet stream (30-40Hz), and winds in caverns (20-30 Hz.), effects non-human wildlife and causes natural, instinctive reactions to the acoustics produced by these environmental events. Low-frequency noise (LFN) typically causes animals to flee, hide, or take other protective measures.

The otolithic organs in fish react to a broad range of frequencies, especially infrasonic warnings occurring from a category 5 hurricane (Saffir–Simpson Hurricane Scale) approaching a day away. Although I am neither a meteorologist or ichthyologist, nor an ichthyologist who would hypothecate about the meteorological effect of a hurricane on fish, I know for sure that this phenomenon exists, and I witnessed it on the barrier reef bordering Belize on October 25, 1998.

Fancy science often gets in the way of common sense. The scientific method is a simple step-by-step process that can be followed naturally, even by non-scientists. If you can remember back to high school it starts with the problem. For my dive partner and me it began on the morning of October 25, 1998 as we walked out to the dive shop on a rustic dock on Ambergris Caye in Belize. Carrie looked at a color weather map printed off an inkjet printer pinned to the back door of the little shack. “What’s that map showing there?” she asked innocently. “Oh, that?” one of the hearty, tanned employees replied sheepishly. “Just a little old picture of the forecast path of Hurricane Mitch, which is category 5 (Saffir–Simpson Hurricane Scale) btw, and headed this direction in a couple of days!” [not really, the answer was vague]. The first part of the scientific method is to find out exactly what it is you want to learn? We were curious about a map but the bigger questions should have been about the track and effect of Hurricane Mitch. Strike one and strike two.

As eager divers with one last dive left on our schedule that Sunday morning, we went below the surface to observe the beautiful undersea world we spent the week exploring. The second important step in the scientific method is observation. What we saw or did not see as the case may be, was the total absence of wildlife. Like the lonely sheriff, walking deserted streets before the Hole-in-the-Wall gang hits town, all the usual suspects were gone; no shark, snapper, reef fish, trigger-fish, nobody.

The dive plan was to hunt up some lobster and bake them on the beach but we decided to come back to the surface because all the lobster had left town. My distinct, scientific recollection was that all wildlife was absent in a world teaming with them just days before; and upon arriving back at the dock, our observation of this phenomenon produced a lively discussion at the dive shack. Now the radar tracking map from the WeatherChannel© seemed strikingly relevant! We observed the story as eyewitnesses.

Nature’s suggestion for the next step in our scientific road to discovery was that “something was up!” Divers are used to the dearth of sound from the environment under water; however the absence of life was insurmountably strange. The supposition that we missed an important warning made me feel like a banana that was past ripeness and starting to stink. Threatening infrasonic warnings issued to the fish and even to the divers were heeded or not, but it did not change the facts: one of the largest hurricanes in history was headed for our island paradise on a collision course with death.

Predictions of what came next flew around the island that evening as we packed to leave the next day. We helped the bartenders pack their hut and in the morning nailed plywood to the windows of the hotel; meanwhile the tracking map showed Hurricane Mitch poised to strike Belize in a couple of days. The turning point in the storm was the next day October 26, 1998, when it reached its strongest peak in pressure, speed, and force; as we waited helplessly at the small airport, along with everyone else on the island trying to leave Ambergris Caye. This category of hurricane is doubtless deadly and by Monday we were terrified.

The hypothesis that the undersea world was properly informed of the danger of Hurricane Mitch by LFN played out before our eyes that ominous day in 1998. We observed something in nature totally unusual, and concluded that there was an important reason the fish were gone. The prediction of impending disaster became critically serious once we studied the weather map and listened to the discussion about Hurricane Mitch later that day.

Hurricane Mitch (Satellite view 1998)

Fortunately we escaped the hurricane’s wrath, not having to test our scientific hypothesis; it made a precipitous turn south, narrowly avoiding the chain of islands. But for as long as I am a diver, I will never forget the day the fish were completely absent when they heard Mitch was coming. What happened to Honduras is testament to the power of this storm: unofficial reports totaled the rainfall in Honduras during this storm at 75 inches, and it was the deadliest Atlantic hurricane since 1780 (218 years).

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Scuba diving Part III: It feels like the First Time

My first diving buddy, George Hansen, could attest that when there is no visibility in a slimy green Texas dive park, it is hard to stay close to your partner. During an unusual September cold snap in Hill County, 14 years ago, together we descended the depths of Lake Whitney in 78° water while the dark skies drizzled rain above us. Taking only a couple 3 Lbs. weights on my belt and all the pool training of a neophyte with me, I set out to earn the SSI® Level 1 diver classification from the great Wm. Sandy Hardy, my dive master.

How does fresh-water certification diving compare to the real thing? Not as deep, not as clear, not as warm, not as much color, not as free, less enjoyable! Like watching 1970s-vintage public television on the tiny black and white Sony® TV in my parents’ study growing up, compared to watching modern cable-TV on today’s HD flat-screen behemoths. In just six weeks, back in 1998, I went from Lake Whitney in Texas to the underwater canyons outside San Pedro, near Ambergris Caye Belize, in Central America. Hello HBO®

Lumbering out of the skies onto the dirt airstrip of Ambergris Caye Belize, the heavy single-engine turboprop Cessna® Caravan dropped down to earth carrying a weighty load of divers and gear. Largely undiscovered fourteen years ago, this tiny Caribbean hamlet operated at a unhurried pace along the second largest barrier reef in the world. No one wore shoes on this tiny diver’s paradise; it seemed that we all had webbed feet.

image: Alberto Bradley

The Bradley family business services the active tourists flocking to the outer atolls on the Caribbean side of Central America. With a team of boys rotating through as fishing guides, jungle canopy leaders, and dive masters, the Bradleys showcase the wonders of this small country above and below sea level. Alberto Bradley took us to three major canyons along the coast: San Pedro, Victoria, and Tackle Box canyons.

Once outside the protective barrier reef, the waves slowly roll, punctuated by the occasional splash of frothy water, briny and blue in the mid-morning sun. The water temperature at ten degrees warmer than the freshwater in Texas made it quite comfortable. Visibility in the Caribbean Sea reached easily 100 feet; at the bottom of the canyon (110 feet) we looked up to see the boat waiting to pick us up. Seemingly scuba diving in a Godly aquarium, our dive group observed some of the finest excursions the ocean could offer.

One of the beguiling sensations of diving is swimming in the solitude and silence of deep water. Combined with the velvety abyss just over the blue horizon, a diver feels like an astronaut exploring a distant planetary seascape. Unlike the solar system, this world is teaming with life. Witnessing an undersea population explosion made fishing seem a lot easier looking up toward the surface, with millions of yellowtail snapper ready to take the hook. Small angelfish with their shimmering purple & gold skin caught my eye; and in a surprising example of cooperative living, I saw a spider crab inhabit the same apartment space as a 6-foot green Moray eel. Even in cramped quarters, they seemed to live together peaceably as neighbors.

just drop in a hook

During the first few dives in open water amidst the swirling Caribbean Sea, I learned that I am very small in relation to the rest of the world, especially one covered by salt water. My survivability existed within limited risk-management parameters compared to the danger of such a colossal ocean. Although we were trained for this adventure, inserting ourselves into vast, seemingly invisible currents limited our ability to maintain control over direction and speed of movement. Understanding human limits underwater fosters attitudes of patient, realistic, openness—anticipatory, actionless action* which requires a hopeful, situational awareness that this monstrous ocean will unfold in front of you at its own torpid pace. I wrote of this in a previous post (Part II) and will tell of a perfect example in a later post, as I describe a particular dive occurring on Sunday, October 25, 1998.

No offense to buddy George but in addition to the great visibility, my dive partner in Belize was so much easier to look at than he was. There were times she was so beautiful I thought it was a mermaid.

Diving taught me, that as in life, knowingly inserting yourself into a larger stream of consciousness and action, can carry you off to places to which you had not planned to go. Knowing the environment, watching the flow of circumstances, seeking experienced guides, observing forces, destinations and conclusions, often allow the diver or businessman to “plan the process” with some sort of foreknowledge or strategy. Otherwise, you go where the ocean current takes you.

writing ©Mark H. Pillsbury

(pictures are for personal use)
*note: again I am using an original application of these concepts to Scuba diving, learned reading Sue Monk Kidd's When the Heart Waits (HarperCollins 1990) see Ch. 2

Scuba diving Part II: The Diver Drop

Jumping In, Ready to Be Still

"Keep the line moving, miss," said the drudging government agent. The TSA may not seem like the quickest crew around, but they have to keep the line moving this spring break. 

There’s In-n-Out, Jiffy Lube, Quick Books, and Slim Fast. Moderns live by their calendars; and time seemingly accelerates at an ever increasing speed. Faster is better, right? Quick and easy are seductive words in this culture; slow and methodical just kills the buzz. Who wants to be still?

Underwater exploration is a life lesson in waiting, patience, and methodical skill. Scuba divers learn, train, practice, drill, equip, deliberate, plan, slowly descend, and patiently wait for the lifetime burning in every moment below the ocean surface. The ocean floor is God’s amusement park, but you cannot move through the snarled line and get to the ride any faster.

Diversity, color, and quiet. Those three things resonate in my “diving memory.”  The dark ocean I saw in Cozumel irradiated the deepest blue I had ever seen, even alluring in its pull. With colors as abundant as salt in the reefs of Belize, God designed vivid hues bursting forth like the strip in Las Vegas, but with natural beauty. Sometimes divers wish their faceplate contained a magnifying glass, for there are as many infinitesimal animals crawling around the reef as big fish swimming by. Diversity multiplied by one-thousand!

Once the diver assumes balance between his buoyancy and the weight belt, and breathing is slow; he is able to open himself to the wide vision of an explorer. This leveling is easier to describe than achieve. Slow breathing conserves the supply of air, and smooth swimming calms the body. The Chinese call this wu wei—expectant beingness*, below the water. Actionless action is opposite of conquest or conscious striving; instead the diver allows the ocean world to unfold before him, as a gracious sojourner in a foreign land.

Dive plans typically set out safety parameters, length and depth of diving, but should only propose basic goals for the dive. This does not get to the heart of expectations. Struggling against the ocean as an alien is fruitless, wasteful, and even foolish; each dive takes so much preparation and cost, divers often feel rushed. The few minutes of exploration rarely turn out as expected; indeed Scuba divers experience the wonder of marine exploration only when they move with the rhythm of the current and join in the gradual unfolding of undersea life as a respectful guest.

As I sit next to a busy Houston boulevard reading and writing about my diving experiences, automobiles routinely pass by in the background. The rhythmic surging of sound on the pavement reminds me of the crashing waves at surf’s edge. Not exactly observing the Caribbean Sea, yet my log book takes me back to these dives as if I hold my mask and regulator and flip backwards into the ocean. Here we go!

writing ©Mark H. Pillsbury
*note: concept discussed by Sue Monk Kidd in When the Heart Waits (HarperCollins 1990); my application to Scuba diving is original.

Scuba diving Part 1: Dive Like You Train, Train Like You Dive

Unencumbered, young, daring, athletic, honeymooning, just plain stupid. What adjective do you use to describe a SCUBA diver? [SCUBA is the acronym for Self-contained, underwater, breathing, adventurer!]

90% of earth’s surface is covered with water, but humans were not designed to be aquatic.  Without packaged air living underwater is impossible for over a couple of minutes. Conversely, fish do not live well on dry land. Is this too complicated?

Diver certification is like learning to be an astronaut; strangely, what becomes second-nature your body, it is not designed to do. Wearing layers of protective equipment, strapping on a weight belt so you will actually sink, and continuously breathing underwater is a very presumptuous act, but it is as freeing an experience one can feel, an audacious activity completely legal.

Training begins in learning the basic standards of the atmosphere underwater and the proper use of all the equipment. After that, teamwork in a pool separates the swimming-Sams from the panicky-Pauls. Surprises and accidents that happen 100 feet below the surface turn into risky, often dangerous circumstances that must be identified, simulated, and practiced. “Best-practices” replaces thrill-seeking, and timid careful routines are learned and repeated so they become rote.

Exploratory diving’s purpose is to get safely to depth and let the ocean wonders float by, then safely ascending so that the diver lives to tell of the exciting sights he/she witnessed. There are no surprises in the procedures, only in the viewing. SCUBA diving is touring God’s oceans as a visitor, or alien; always looking at the clock to see when you have over-stayed your welcome in the fish’s living room.

Life at these depths requires balance. Buoyancy’s balance is achieved slowly and with proper weighting. Once the diver is comfortably gliding through the water breathing calmly; the weightless flight often transports the inner-consciousness to another universe. The unearthly quiet of a deep dive, peering into the abyss is transformative, but it is not without cost.

Early training must instill this search for inner calm and the quiet peace of marine exploration. Anything that encumbers that mission must be rooted out and conquered or the certification delayed. Diving is a grown-up sport one cannot undertake half-heartedly, or casually. Achieving other-worldly joys, floating through the ocean forests, a qualified diver must be disciplined, teachable, and resilient.

Panic kills. Panic is the enemy. It can cause the delay and mayhem that lead to bold mistakes. Panic takes away the enjoyment of the adventure, replacing it with fear, dread, fatigue, and stress. Obeying the standards of certified diving is like an insurance policy against panic. Dive trainers experiment with everything they know in practice to fluster, frighten, and rattle the diver so that in real time under salt water, an unexpected glitch doesn’t cause the diver to freak out. Pre-planning and training for each dive destination is essential; the buddy-system seeks survival because if one diver goes to pieces, the buddy calms her down and assists in recovery of whatever control was lost (like oxygen).

Fortunate to have the wise old divemaster Bill "Sandy" Hardy train me in 1998, I learned the basics for weeks in a pool before I was allowed to do a check-out dive and apply for SSI® certification. That September, he threw us into the harshest of environments on a cold spring day in dark Lake Whitney, Texas, with no underwater visibility. The conditions starkly contrasted the warm water Caribbean diving which dominates the rest of my log book. I am going to dig that thing out and swim through my underwater experiences over the next few installments, without having to travel anywhere, or make a safety stop. Let’s go diving! (Part I)

writing ©Mark H. Pillsbury
pictures are for personal use

See Part II of the Diving Series:
https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3449292245013585645#editor/target=post;postID=2272327813620171355;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=42;src=postname

Poll Shows Popularity Of Pro Football Continues Growing While Baseball Slides - SportsBusiness Daily | SportsBusiness Journal

Poll Shows Popularity Of Pro Football Continues Growing While Baseball Slides - SportsBusiness Daily | SportsBusiness Journal:

'via Blog this'

Much has been written about baseball, the national pastime, although it almost defies description. Resembling chess with finely shaded details and subtle strategies; it is as common as many things in our history, each player standing around in familiar positions. Its languid pace, long season, saturation of coverage through the large network of minor leagues, huge field of play, and history dating back to the late 1800s make it a unique part of American culture.

Some like baseball for its cleanliness, the stark white home uniforms and exact chalk baselines. It is a game in which numbers tell a story: baseball fans recall vital statistics better than football fans. Author George F. Will believes overall its fans are smarter than their gridiron counterparts. Nevertheless, as Sports Business Daily reported (see link above) Jan. 26, 2011, Harris-interactive poll shows those adults surveyed favored professional football over baseball by a wide margin. As an example, television ratings for any big NFL game amount to a 20 share compared to a 10 share for baseball. Football involves careful pacing, repetition, and the short attention span of the male observer; men huddle, agree to a plan, line up, hit each other, run around like crazy, call time, rest, regroup, and then try again. Over and over this goes up and down like the returns on a stock. It is violent, yet stylized warfare, where combatants can get a bonus for damaging another man's body. Baseball is intricate, comfortable, and convivial, like a picnic game only with occasional crowd noise.

Like our country’s history, baseball’s place in my own story is significant. I played the game every year from grade school on, although not well; attending games through high school, college, and law school. I’ve been to Wrigley, Fenway, Comiskey, and Yankee Stadium; Fulton County for a World Series and Omaha for a College World Series. My first summer of college, UT won the NCAA national championship, and at the old Arlington Stadium I saw Nolan Ryan’s seventh no-hitter. It weaves in and out of my life like a tapestry, its timelessness sealed within memories. I courted my wife at the Ballpark and watched the strangest World Series (game 6) ever last October with my parents. Many of baseball’s great moments are “mano-a-mano” showdowns similar to a duel in the streets, lived out in slow motion; one punch at a time. It seems more like art than sport, a reflection of culture, as well as an integral part of it.

Maybe because of its history, baseball is a frequent canvass on which is depicted modern culture: George Will’s Men at Work, Movie: The Natural, Jim Bouton’s Ball Four, John Feinstein’s Play Ball, Movie: A League of Their Own, Roger Kahn’s The Boys of Summer, Movies: Moneyball, Field of Dreams, Bull Durham, the road trip saga by David Lamb, called A Stolen Season, Don DeLillo’s Underworld about the shot heard round the world, or Chad Harbach's debut novel, The Art of Fielding, is as much about literary fiction as it is about baseball. These few examples come to mind, but it is a sport which for decades has been discussed voluminously in all kinds of media. Authors love to write about this sport.

During the 2009 season, despite the nation’s worst economic downturn in 80 years, 30 Major League Baseball clubs drew 73,418,479 fans during the season, producing the fifth largest total attendance in MLB history. New stadiums, often financed by public funds, have been built in place of almost all the monolithic old concrete wonders of the 1970s. Youth leagues produce local product woven into the fabric of small-town America, culminating each year with the Little League World Series, a spectacle not unlike the World Cup in its international coverage. Baseball is still popular even though the research shows that football is the preferred national sport in the new century.

Popularity over Preference

Football is more technological, with slow-motion TV replay an integral part of officiating. It is like the modern mechanized corporate world in which we live, often called the ultimate team sport. When cultures change so do their games; baseball harkens back to more serene, agricultural economy which works with no deadlines, only outcomes. Until you get 27 outs the game is uncertain. Football has a time clock, used almost like a factory laborer punches out, ending the work day.

Quoting George Carlin, “football the object is for the quarterback, also known as the field general, to be on target with his aerial assault, riddling the defense by hitting his receivers with deadly accuracy in spite of the blitz, even if he has to use shotgun. With short bullet passes and long bombs, he marches his troops into enemy territory, balancing this aerial assault with a sustained ground attack that punches holes in the forward wall of the enemy's defensive line.” Carlin concludes, “Baseball’s object is to go home! And to be safe! - I hope I'll be safe at home!”

Demographics is Destiny

Another relevant question is whether baseball has been eclipsed by other sports within the growing minority cultures of African-Americans and Hispanic-Americans?

In traditional Hispanic markets the World Cup draws much higher interest than baseball and in poor African-American high schools, the chances of earning college scholarships are much better in football than baseball. "A Division 1 football program can give out 85 scholarships, and baseball teams only 11.7," said Jimmie Lee Solomon, and EVP of MLB. "If you're an African American kid and you need help to go to school, do the math."

A regular fan of the sporting life enjoys many different games, the balls and rules representing all the facets of the athletic pop-culture. Baseball will have to live with a smaller market share and aging fan base, as it plays with a smaller ball; like the paradigm shift brought on my Billy Beane in Moneyball, focusing on base-runners getting across home plate. Baseball continues to drive fans to big stadiums, reaching mostly the 40+ age group with family friendly daytime experiences in beautiful pastoral settings. Conversely, live professional football and basketball venues resemble a gentlemen’s club, or worse a strip joint. Super Bowl halftime shows don't fit within the confines of the modern ballpark.

Baseball is still an innocent game, despite the recent PED scandals, and congressional hearings. Since the Black Sox threw the World Series in 1919, scandal revisits periodically and baseball proves resilient. Symmetrical stitches endlessly wrap around the baseball, just as hope renews with training camp every year in warm destinations as the first bright days of spring burst into blue skies. The season ends in the cold chill of approaching winter. Cyclical like the laces of the ball itself, there is never a greater hope for fans as there is in spring training, the whole season in the future. As fans do every year in the dry Arizona heat, or looking at prospects in the Florida sun, let us join in the wonder: could this be their season?

©Mark H. Pillsbury
(composed 03/07/2012, pictures for personal use and historical reference)

OTBN--Open That Bottle Night 2012

Faithful reader, did you see my blogger profile before you started to consume my writing? I list there oenology and viticulture as (amateur) passions. You will find out more from experts like Mark Lewis, Emile Peynaud, Denman Moody, Kyle Kelley, Hal Rose, George Schalles, David Maggard, Lowell Lebermann, Dorothy J. Gaiter, John Brecher, Charles Gordon, J.D. Hasenbank, Norma Hunt, and George Basu; but I know what I like. After learning nuances from the aforementioned wine mentors, in the end, exploration and enjoyment come from increasing knowledge, and sensory education comes best through personal experimentation. That is a gulp-full... Bottom line: it's only grape juice, friends.

So what wine do you like? Full-bodied, reds from an appropriate vintage and grape; earthy, fruity, spicy, woody; I am open to any region as long as it has good oomph to it! The dark purple color of a black currant, chocolaty oak Cabernet probably grabs my attention the most, but I realize two other factors play heavily into your wine experience: the price of what you paid for the wine and the people with whom you drink it. They don't list those on the UC Davis wine wheel!

Cellaring is what can get you in the OTBN dilema because you think you have to hold onto that particular bottle until the time is exactly right; or you are a slave to synergy of pairing the right wine with that dish you have been meaning to prepare. In an effort to worry less about the perfect moment to open the wine, and more about what was a good moment for us, we whipped out the corkscrew last night and took a chance! 

So much is discussed about wine today: terrior is not a dog, it's pronounced ter-Wah and it means the land from which the wine came. However, like the French wine I know nothing about, I don't know terrior (French) other than we all love their dear old vines. I think blending of wine and people is probably a good idea, but I'll never know the percentages. Blending is something left to the experts, and I wouldn't know how to compare vinography versus pornography; but I hear they are both popular on cable right now (I don't subscribe to cable TV).

Last night, after saving a luscious, 2006 Caymus® (Cabernet Sauvignon) from the Napa Valley [produced and bottled in Rutherford, California], we decided it was the right night to OTB. This was a perfect gift from dear friends who can afford this kind of artisan wine, and we opened it last night to celebrate a wonderful occasion at the end of a long week. It did not disappoint, although it was still a little "hot" even after de-canting and being "cellared" in our wine fridge for months. (14.8% alcohol by volume (ABV)). This was a memorable bottle and you would expect nothing less from a pro like Chuck Wagner and a vineyard that was founded 40 years ago in the middle of Napa Valley.

This wine was so hearty it was like eating meat. We could taste the oaky barrels and gravelly soil from which it came, as well as various berries and even some chemicals in the aroma. I don't know if it was the Srihachi  red pepper paste on my Pei-Wei® Thai chicken, or the Cabernet, but my dreams were haunted by all the villains I face in today's world. I tossed and turned all night, but it was worth it. [Maybe I should have paired the food with an innocent Sauvignon Blanc?]

My fortune cookie was appropriate: "A bird does not sing because it has an answer; it sings because it has a song!" A wine does not sit on the shelf as the "perfect" response to your evening; it is poured out as a drink offering to the love of the people surrounding it. All the expertise in the world will not add to the friendship of the gathering, nor does it improve the taste of the wine on the best of occasions. Once again OTBN celebrates people over wine, love over viticulture, taste over cost, and communion over expertise. We were blessed with the gift of 2006 Caymus and it came to our party like a song, over-flowing with love, beauty, and melody, as did my betrothed. It was a great night. Cheers!