All-black penguin discovered

By Stephen Messenger, TreeHugger

Posted Wed Mar 10, 2010 3:06pm PST

Related topics: Animals, Science, Nature

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Photo via Andrew Evans of the National Geographic.

King Penguins are notorious for their prim, tuxedoed appearance -- but a recently discovered all-black penguin seems unafraid to defy convention. In what has been described as a "one in a zillion kind of mutation," biologists say that the animal has lost control of its pigmentation, an occurrence that is extremely rare. Other than the penguin's monochromatic outfit, the animal appears to be perfectly healthy -- and then some. "Look at the size of those legs," said one scientist, "It's an absolute monster."

The under-dressed penguin was photographed by Andrew Evans of National Geographic on the island of South Georgia near Antarctica. As the picture circulated, some biologists were taken aback -- including Dr. Allan Baker of the University of Toronto. His first response was disbelief:

Wow. That looks so bizarre I can't even believe it. Wow.

While multicolored birds will often show some variation, Dr. Baker explains that what makes this all-black King Penguin so rare is that the bird's melanin deposits have occurred where they are typically not present -- enough so that no light feathers even checker the bird's normally white chest.

Andrew Evans:

Melanism is merely the dark pigmentation of skin, fur -- or in this case, feathers. The unique trait derives from increased melanin in the body. Genes may play a role, but so might other factors. While melanism is common in many different animal species (e.g., Washington D.C. is famous for its melanistic squirrels), the trait is extremely rare in penguins. All-black penguins are so rare there is practically no research on the subject -- biologists guess that perhaps one in every quarter million of penguins shows evidence of at least partial melanism, whereas the penguin we saw appears to be almost entirely (if not entirely) melanistic.

Whether or not the all-black look catches on in the penguin fashion world, it's nice to see someone dressing-down for once.

Stephen Messenger is a correspondent at TreeHugger, where this post originally appeared.

Frustration, Failure, and a Short Speach

     I have now been working out for about a month, in my pursuit of physical fitness and weight loss. The results on the scale and tape measure are somewhat discouraging. In the first two weeks I lost about 9 pounds and took 2 inches off my waist. Since then, I've actually gained 2 pounds back. That still leaves me 26 pounds and at least 3 waist inches from my goal. Fortunately I have a couple more months to accomplish this in.
     On the other hand, I have been able to increase both my speed and time on my running. I have been able to increase the weights when I work out, in some cases by as much as 30 or 40 pounds. While these are good things, they are still overshadowed in my mind by the lack of progress on the weights and measurements front.
     Am I telling you this just because I am having a pity party? Well, maybe a little bit. But it reminds me of a story that I'm sure most of us have heard before, the story of Abraham Lincoln. We are probably all familiar with the numerous setbacks and failures he had before he ever was elected president. Once in office, he faced the greatest struggle our nation has ever faced since its inception, the Civil War. There was nothing civil about it. More Americans died in that war than any before or since.
     It was while that war was going on that Mr. Lincoln was asked to give a speech. He did, and at the time, it was considered another failure. It was too short, too confusing, not worthy of the event were some of the criticisms leveled at the time.
     Please read the following words, and remember that what often seems like failure on the surface is actually not . . . it is triumph that takes time to grow! My struggles with weight are hopefully like that, what appears to be failure now, but in actuality are triumph that will grow.

     Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought on this continent a new nation conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure.  We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who hear gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
     But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here have consecrated it far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us - that from these honoured dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain, that this nation under God shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.


     The next time you feel like you are failing at something, remember the words of Mr. Lincoln, and recommit to being dedicated to the unfinished work, whatever it is. It may seem crass to compare my struggles with the Civil War, and if so, I apologize. I simply hope to show that in our struggles, hope remains, and that just like that great struggle which nearly broke our nation, we can triumph. Press on, my fellow Penguins . . . keep waddling!

More fun with labels

So I'm not going to get through all the labels in just two posts. There will be six remaining after this one. Maybe I can just scatter them throughout the next post. We'll see. I hope you enjoy this one. I had fun with it and the last one. Let me know what you think.

 "Welcome to the military, grunts!" the DI yelled, sounding ridiculously like Tom Bodet of Motel

 6 fame. 

     "This ain't no hospital where you get to lay around all day, and it sure ain't no golf camp, 

ladies!"

     His voice was making it hard not to laugh, and I needed to use the latrine. I struggled to 

keep the smile off my face, unsuccessfully.

     "We got us a funny boy here!" The DI yelled, stomping over to stand in front of me. "What's 

your name, Mr. Giggles?"

     "Cadet Thompson, Sir!" I managed to get out before he cut me off. 

     "Don't you 'Sir" me, Cadet. I work for a living. You will address me as 'Drill Instructor!' Do 

you understand me?" By now he was so close the spittle was landing on my face, allowing 

me to see the stubble on his right cheek where he had missed a spot shaving.

     Chords of the Wagner's Ring Cycle ran through my head, along with the pictures of the 

opening scenes of a war movie whose name I couldn't remember. "Yes, Drill Instructor!" I 

replied in almost as loud a voice as his.

     He seemed satisfied, because he backed away and addressed the group again. "You 

ladies have just learned the first of many lessons. Your in-processing to the Air Corps began 

30 seconds ago at that building across the way. YOU ARE LATE. MOVE IT!

     As the group broke into a run, my self-examination began. "What are you doing here, 

Thompson?" I asked myself. "Who is John Galt?" the sarcastic reply came back from the 

funny little man who lived inside my head. I knew the answer to the first question. I had not 

had much choice in the matter. It was join the Air Corps to get away from the mafia, or spend 

another summer in Antarctica with the penguins and my very eccentric mother, "who just 

ordered nine pizzas" I automatically added under my breath.

     As all 30 of us tried to crowd through the door at once, my mind jumped to another topic. 

Each person I jostled with received one of several labels; "sanctified Bible thumper," "scared 

witless", "Not gonna make it," "wanna-be tough guy." The predictions came effortlessly, and 

looking back now, I see that most were accurate.

     We processed quickly through the building, giving vital information such as name, date of 

birth, next-of-kin, and such. We were each issued the usual PT shorts, shoes, socks, 

underwear, fatigues, boots, belt, toothbrush, razor, soap, shower sandals, toothpaste, shaving 

creme, teeny-tiny towel and an even more microscopic washcloth. As we exited the other

side, we were rushed across the pavilion into a bunk house where we dumped our gear onto 

the nearest empty bunk, changed into the PT gear as instructed and formed up again 

outside.

     A pompous looking man with stacks of ribbons on his chest was waiting on us, with what 

seemed to be a swagger stick tucked under his right arm. When we were all assembled, he 

addressed us. "Today begins your life in the Air Corps. We will train you to fly, fight, and win. 

In the air, or on the ground." And that's when the swordplay began. He put on a display of 

bladed weapon fighting technique that I have never seen rivaled. I, the most decorated 

swordsman on 4 continents. I, the head of the Air Corps saber dueling program. I, the second 

most decorated swordsman to ever live, was privileged to witness first-hand, and be trained 

by the greatest sensei of any age, General Tso!

    

It's Alive! Mwahahaha!

     Thanks to some encouraging words from Peyton over at Scatterbrained, I am now blogging. How long it lasts is up to you, the reader. If, for some crazy reason you encourage me in this endeavor, it will continue. If not, well, at least I will be able to say I've done something new this year.
     What makes me qualified to blog, you might ask? Well, there are no qualifications required to blog, just a desire to make one's voice heard in the morass that is the internet, the voice of one crying in the wilderness, if you will. And, I have that. Also, I think that I have an occasional unique insight that others might want learn about. So, here goes.
     You might be wondering about the name. There is a story there, and those of you who know Kari and I well might remember this story. But for the rest, here goes. I was raised in Alaska, and Alaska is still in my blood. I had the privilege of vacationing there this past December with my family, but that isn't pertinent to the story. What is relevant is the fact that when Kari and I first started hanging out, she asked me a question after learning I was from Alaska. That question was, "Did you have any pet penguins growing up?"
     Now those of you who are Alaskans know that there are NO penguins in Alaska, only puffins. Penguins are confined to the Antartic, primarily the continent of Antartica itself, but also the tip of South America, occasionally New Zealand or near South Africa. I'm not completely sure of the extent of their natural range, but know that it is confined to the southern hemisphere.
     I thought everybody knew that, so when Kari asked me that question, my assumption was that she was making fun of me! It turned out that she was asking an honest question, without malice aforethought. Since then, we have had a running joke about Alaskan Penguins. Her first two trips to Alaska, she was able to bring back souvenir penguins, perpetuating the joke. So now you know where the penguin portion of the blog name comes from.
     And penguins themselves hold a fascination for me. On land, they waddle and are ackward, the way I often feel. But get them in the water, and they SOAR. While I feel that I spend most of my time on land, I relish those "water moments" when all is right. Can you relate?
     Wondering/Wandering is a play on the similarity of the two words. I am a wanderer by nature. Kari and I have lived in approximately 1 house/year for each of our nearly 12 years of marriage. I have been to Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Florida, Hawaii, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Missouri, Mississippi, Nevada, New Mexico, New York and Tennessee in the U.S.; Ghana, Africa by way of Holland and Niger, Iraq by way of Germany and Quatar, back to the U.S. through Ireland . . . so in short, I wander. And as I wander, I wonder, A LOT! But that is material for another blog.
     So welcome, feel free to look around and make suggestions. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Come back soon!

Robert