#I think I was hoping for something a but more porpoise dolphin like

[dancingdragon00]

Fathoms but make it a dolphin frog thing

[normmacdonald]

Jacques de Gautier (ft. Conan and Andy)

Norm: When I was young, there was a fella who went by the name Jacques de Gautier. And Jacques de Gautier, he was a fella that really thought. He was smart. He was our hope, I guess. And while I was scrabbling to get out of high school, Jacques de Gatineau had already... Conan: I think you just changed his name. Norm: Well, you know, a man grows. But this is the point: Jacques de Gatineau, he went to McGill University and he got three degrees, by golly. And he went over across the pond to the fellers with Cambridge and he even stood up to them. And we thought, he's going to be a great man. But then Jacques de Gatineau vanished! None of us knew where he went. Well, I started to do standup and travel from here to there and here again. One time I was in Niagara Falls, and by gosh I went over to SeaWorld. You know, with the fish? Conan: No, I don't know. Norm: And I look over, and who do I see? Conan: I hope it was that guy. Norm: No, it was an attendant. But then he showed me back to where they feed the baby dolphins, and who do I see? Jacques de Gatineau! And here he is, he's feeding the baby dolphins. And I go up to him and I say, "Jacques de Gatineau, I feel shame for you! You were our hope, you were to be a great man. We all pinned our hopes on you." Now, that's a hell of a burden for a man. Conan: It is. Norm: But I said, "I'm ashamed of you, Jacques de Gatineau, you could have done so many great things." And he said, "Well, I think I'm serving a youthful porpoise." Conan, yelling: NO! NO! Norm: (visible joy) Andy: That's like somebody saying "I gotta show you something" and then taking you on a four mile hike to show you a dog turd. Norm: (even more visible joy) Conan, pained: I love you. (x)

[whumpster-fire]

Something I haven’t really seen talked about in the His Dark Materials fandom (for all the like 2-1/2 weeks I’ve been here) but I think would definitely be a thing is Pre-Settling Anxiety.

Like, that story that sailor tells Lyra about the guy whose daemon settled as a dolphin and was never able to go ashore at all, and how he just more or less goes “Well if your daemon settles in a form you don’t like that sucks, but that’s life deal with it?” Lyra and Pan didn’t pay it that much mind because (a) they’re pretty darn resilient kids, and (b) they had a lot more immediate things occupying their minds.

But seriously... imagining pre-teen me, growing up in a world with daemons, Jesus Christ hearing shit like that would have traumatized me, and any living manifestation of my fucking soul would have been traumatized by that too, and I doubt I’d have been anywhere near the only one.

Because... I mean I’m still like this now but I’ve gotten better about it as an adult: when I was a kid I was not someone who just accepted that things were the way they were, I was someone who hyperfixated and worried. And not just about big stuff like climate change and politics and smaller but still out of my control shit like health issues and bad things happening to my family. I was scared of growing up, and not just in the sense of not wanting to have adult responsibilities and all that.

I remember, not so much when I was actually going through puberty (by then I was just depressed), but I remember in the years before, when I was being told that I would be changing soon, and of course not in a way that acknowledged that asexuality wasn’t just something you grew out of, and being exposed to the American media landscape of, like, old “teen” movies and other that portrayed puberty and adult sexuality in a really twisted, hypersexualized way that I don’t think was even accurate for the vast majority of allosexual people, I was afraid and repulsed. And not even in a Mrs. Coulter way: I was afraid on a deep, existential level that growing up would destroy the person who I was and I would become someone I didn’t like, someone I wasn’t comfortable with.

And growing up with a daemon would have made that so much worse, because then it wouldn’t have just been a fear of losing my identity and being unhappy with who I was, it would have been a fear of being unhappy with the one being I wasn’t unhappy with half the time, the one being who actually truly understood me and that I could always trust, and it’s not that humans and their daemons can’t argue or fight or be angry at each other - and God knows we probably would - but I think we’d have been the pair who had screaming matches and threaten each other’s lives knowing damn well what that meant, but could never stay angry at each other because the idea of losing that bond, of having it damaged, would be too terrifying.

So the idea of my daemon settling as a form that damaged that bond, that pushed us apart or limited us, would be such a huge source of anxiety. And that fear of becoming something I didn’t like, of not knowing and not being able to choose and not being able to control my self, is such a deep-seated part of me that I don’t believe for a second that my daemon wouldn’t be the same way.

We wouldn’t be like Jerry the sailor and Belisaria, who loved being a porpoise while her human worried about her settling that way, or like Lyra and Pantalaimon who kind of brushed it off and didn’t think about it. A being that was my soul given form would have to be just as much of a bag of nerves and insecurities as I was, and might never take a form like that again after hearing the dolphin story because we have the kind of personality that couldn’t not think about all the implications of being settled in a form, and what that meant losing. We’d be the sort to read an article or see a documentary about a daemon settling as a form that completely limited their lives, and the fear of changing and not being able to change back, of getting stuck like that, would always be at the back of both our minds. Because it doesn’t seem like daemons truly understand it either, and that would be scary.

And as we got older it would just get worse, because we’d be close and it could happen at any moment so taking a form she wouldn’t be okay with spending the rest of her life as, and that I wouldn’t be okay with her spending the rest of her life as, would be so risky. We’d be up until 2 AM making charts on spiral notebook paper and reading about animals on Wikipedia to try and feel some kind of control over it, and she’d just keep taking fewer and fewer forms.

Nothing aquatic because water is fun but being bound to it is obviously bad. No invertebrates because they’re so cool and different but they can’t feel things in quite the same way. No cold-blooded animals because what if she could never change into something with fur or feathers on a cold day again? Nothing too small that would have to be carried all the time in public, but definitely nothing too big to be carried at all because the fear of someone touching her by accident, kicking her or stepping on her or running into her in a crowd or being trapped and forced away from each other by a wall of oblivious human flesh. How could a wolf or a mountain lion daemon ever feel safe in a city? But nothing too small to defend itself from large daemons because other people are dangerous and anyone could be a threat. But no large birds that need to perch and their humans have to wear arm bracers or shoulder pads so they don’t hurt them and can’t just sit on their laps, and then no birds at all because being able to fly makes having to stay close together feel limiting since the tops of buildings are still out of reach and what’s the point of flying if you can’t go high?

And because of that fear of settling in the wrong form, the number of forms that were okay, that were safe to take, would just keep getting smaller and smaller, until one day we’d notice that she hadn’t changed for weeks, and we’d just be like...

Oh.

It’s already happened.

And then it’d probably be such a fucking relief just knowing it was okay and it couldn’t go wrong anymore. Occasional nightmares about just turning into an animal neither of us even liked completely against her will that wouldn’t stop until like halfway through college aside.

So yeah, I hope this is relatable to somebody out here in this community because seriously I think the uncertainty around settling would be a major source of anxiety for a lot of kids and a lot of daemons.

[justaboveyoursunrise]

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, I wrote this little one-shot, and happened to come across it in my saved emails just this weekend. Considering the Chiefs just won the Superbowl, it felt serendipitous that I came across it. Pretty sure it was supposed to be a series I never continued. Anyway, here we go, enjoy this untitled Dean teaching newly-human Cas the joys of football (and buffalo chicken) and being bros short fic.

—————–

“Dean, I still don’t-”

“For the last time, Cas, we’re doing this.  Now shut your face and sit down.”

There is a long silence. Blue and green clash in defiance of one another, the soundless war that stretches between them. They have talked about this already. More importantly, Dean Winchester has planned this day. No amount of Castiel’s self-doubt or apathy is going to change these plans. Dean, exasperated with his friend and this argument, throws his arms out with impatience, brows raised with expectation, daring the man – the man – staring back at him to try and put up another challenge. Castiel instead drops his eyes and frowns in resignation, a muttered “fine” declaring his surrender. Dean, with a roll of his eyes, disappears, taking with him the plastic bags of Styrofoam containers full of aromatics; something special, he has promised Castiel.

Castiel sits as directed, frown still etched into the corners of his mouth as he regards the muted computer screen before him. An elaborate stage sees five men sitting behind an elongated desk, polished and lit up with all manner of colored lights. Most of the men are older, a few portly, and they all seem to be doing nothing more than engaging in heated debates as images appear on the screen in small boxes superimposed below them: a blue star, a golden ram’s horn, an oddly colored dolphin – albeit the most aggressive and cartoonish dolphin that Castiel has ever seen. Certainly they don’t believe porpoises really look that way, he thinks. More symbols as the men pantomime: a crimson cardinal, a blue buffalo, a horse snout and orange mane, which he will soon learn is really meant to be a Bronco.  In spite of himself, Castiel is intrigued. What are all these symbols and why do these men continue to argue over them? An eagle, a raven, a fleur de lis, a Norseman outlined in royal purple.

By the time Dean returns, Castiel finds himself brimming with far too many questions. “These experts seem unable to agree on anything,” he states, his blue eyes lighting upon Dean.

“That’s because they aren’t really experts,” Dean tells him, matter-of-fact. His hands are full with the Styrofoam containers from the bags, and as Dean sits, he sets one in front of each of them. “I hope you’re ready for this,” he says, clearly pleased, rubbing his hands together with what Castiel knows to be a sign of enthusiasm.

Pulling the top away, Castiel finds his container full of what seem to be pieces of meat covered in a bright orange sauce. Despite the questionable coloring, though, they smell like nothing Castiel has ever before known. There is a spice that reaches in through the aroma, stinging in his nose, causing an autonomic and undeniable reaction in his mouth. It is, in every literal sense of the word, watering. Each strange, alien impulse pushing through Castiel begs him to dig in, to grab a handful of these oddly shaped, oddly colored pieces of meat and simply shove them all into his mouth at once. Was this how humans felt about food all the time? Suddenly, it seemed no wonder that they enjoyed the act of dining so frequently. Even his experiments with peanut butter and jelly had never resulted in this overwhelming need to eat.

Beside him, Dean watches, green gold burning into Castiel, waiting for a reaction. There is an expectation here, a necessitation of response for the introduction of something brand new, and Castiel obliges. “This smells delicious. Though I’m afraid it does look somewhat… unappealing.”

Dean chuckles, pleasing Castiel that he has not seemed to overstep a boundary. “Looks ain’t everything, Cas.”

“So the saying seems to go,” Castiel agrees. He notices for the first time that Dean has changed since returning to the bunker with the food, shed from his jacket and plaid, opting instead now for a simple t-shirt that the angel – the human – had never seen before. It must have been red at one point, but it was threadbare now, fading almost into a pastel with age and wash. Worn. Certainly worn well by Dean. Square in the middle of Dean’s chest rests a once-proud symbol, one Castiel cannot recall passing on the silent screen earlier. An eggshell white arrowhead, lightly lined in charcoal and housing an intertwined K and C, as near-pink as the rest of the shirt. It is a relic, Castiel thinks, from another life. He returns his attention back to the odd stack of meat and bones in front of him. “So, what exactly is this?”

“You, Cas, are about to partake in the age-old American tradition of Sunday football and buffalo wi—” Dean stops cold and pales. The only color is in his dingy, timeworn shirt.

Castiel furrows a brow at Dean’s abruptly unfinished word, searching Dean’s eyes for an answer, a frown once again perching on his lips.

“Buffalo chicken.” Dean finally recovers, weakly, unconvincing. He can no longer meet Castiel’s probing, worried gaze, choosing an indiscriminate spot somewhere through the laptop’s screen to focus. He waits, on edge, for the fallout to come from Castiel, for his ageless, newly human friend to understand just what he was about to say. How callous of him, how shameful, bringing this food to their table. He has quite unceremoniously mucked a well-intentioned day of introducing Castiel to hot-blooded American life through the country’s most lucrative pastime.

“Buffalo chicken?” Castiel repeats, clearly unsure of how exactly a buffalo like the blue one that had flashed onto the screen only minutes ago could be chicken. “That’s absurd. A buffalo cannot be chicken.”

Dean exhales, a wet, warbled laugh, the knot in his stomach loosening, but only just, insulting relief returning the flow of blood to his extremities, the color to his face. “It’s chicken, it’s dropped in a fryer then it’s covered in buffalo sauce.”

Castiel nods, poking uncertainly at a drumstick, the personification of curiosity and distrust. “So, then is the sauce made of buffalo?” he asks. “I’m not sure how well that would pair together.”

Dean sighs, beginning to realize just how massive an undertaking it was going to be to introduce his friend to the normalcies of human, mortal existence. Not that Dean could truly claim knowledge of anything resembling normalcy. Or mortality, for that matter. Still, he was Castiel’s best chance at becoming passably human, if his humble opinion counted for anything.

“Cas, it’s deep-fried meat in a spicy sauce, it originated in Buffalo, New York, and if you don’t shut up and eat, I’m going to shove that plated into your face and make you. And believe me, buddy, you get that sauce in your eye, it’s going to burn for the rest of your damn life.”

Castiel thinks to ask how associating pain with a food Dean is clearly so intent on making him try would cause it to become more appealing, but Dean’s lips are pursed, the lines are showing at the corners of spring green eyes. Once more, he is daring Castiel to buck against his better wisdom - again. Castiel thinks better of it then, and reaches for the drumstick he’d been prodding earlier, studying it with some obvious trepidation, the visible bone, the warm flesh, the unnaturally bright orange coloring that unevenly covers it all.

Satisfied, Dean grabs a drumstick from his own container and bites into the meat. It elicits a moan of gratification from him and he regards the drumstick with a tender reverence he seems to reserve only for food. He chews loudly, a pleasured praise of “ohh, yeah” slipping past his greasy, sauce-covered lips.

Taking his cue, Castiel bites into his own piece of chicken with the same abandon, the flavors of oil-crisped skin and soft, tender meat exploding against his tongue. It is almost the most exquisite thing he’s ever experienced in his short time as a true-blue human, but then the spice that had caused the salty, uncontrollable salivation of his mouth sets in. He wants nothing more than to make it stop immediately and does the only thing he thinks will help; he opens his mouth and lets the meat fall back into the container, a half-chewed, stringy, mess of poultry. He sticks out his tongue, waving his hand frantically in effort to eliminate the fire a simple orange sauce has ignited on it.

Dean, mouth full with the rest of his drumstick, laughs at Castiel’s furious motions and obvious predicament. With no deliberate rush, he drops the bone he’d already sucked clean onto the lid of his own container and makes his way to the kitchen, licking his fingertips clean as he goes. There’s a half-gallon of milk in the fridge, mostly gone now, and Dean doesn’t even bother with a glass. He brings the whole bottle to Castiel, who is still engaged in his attempt to wave his tongue cool again. “Drink,” Dean tells him, holding the bottle out.

Castiel, blue eyes shining with tears he has no intention of crying over something spicy, grabs the bottle, greasy fingers fumbling at first with the cap. When he’s finally able to twist it off, he drinks as instructed. The relief is so instant that Castiel does cry, the cold white liquid extinguishing the heat and ferrying the pain away from the point of impact and disposing of it safely down his throat and into his stomach. He empties the bottle and he looks up at a bemused Dean appreciatively. “Thank you,” he says, wiping his temples against his shirt. “How did you know it would help?” 

“Experience,” Dean shrugs.

Castiel nods, wiping at the cooling beads of sweat that have prickled at his hairline. “So does bovine lactation help with all burns?”

From above, Dean just gives a thin-lipped smile, swelling with affection for his friend. Here Castiel was, fallen from Heaven, Graceless, a hell Dean imagines is far worse than any Purgatory, than the former angel’s multiple trips to Hell, admiring how a simple drink of milk had saved him from the possibility of burning away the entirety of his tongue. Poor, sweet, socially-inept Cas, working through the myriad of human emotions he was unwittingly plunged into. If there was any one thing about human, that was it – no one had asked for this.

Castiel sets the empty plastic bottle on the table and reaches for a paper towel. His first (and he hoped only) experience had been enough, and he was certainly not going to follow Dean’s example again and lick his fingers clean. “I suppose this means that spicy food will not be a part of my diet.”

Dean snorts a laugh as he sits back down again, reaching for Castiel’s container and sliding it closer to his own. “You just have to get used to it. Embrace the spice, Cas. Clears your sinus and your colon. Double whammy.”

“Double whammy,” Castiel repeats, trying the new phrase on his recovering tongue, reaching for the context to imitate.

“Double whammy,” Dean agrees, going in for another win- another piece of buffalo chicken, this time dredging it through a smaller plastic container full of a thick, off-white paste dotted with what Castiel thinks must be moldy cheese. “Could you turn the volume back up?” Dean asks out of the side of his mouth.

Castiel sets the used napkin on the table beside the empty bottle of milk and hits the volume button on the keyboard until it’s loud enough for them to hear. The constantly-bickering men behind the desk have given way by this point to a green field nestled on the lowest level of a large outdoor stadium, thousands of red plastic chairs occupied by thousands of people in matching colors, red and white and gold. In the middle of the field rests the very same logo as the one on Dean’s shirt, vibrant and distinct.

“KC Spears?” Castiel ventures with no hesitation, and receives exactly the response he expects in Dean’s patient laugh.

“Kansas City Chiefs,” Dean corrects. “The logo is an arrowhead-“

“Like on weapons used by the natives of the Americas,” Castiel finishes for him.

Surprised, Dean nods slowly, the wind taken out of his sails. “I forget you’ve been around since time began.” It is Castiel who laughs now, pleased. Perhaps football would prove a more fortuitous endeavor than buffalo chicken.

“There’s no local team in Kansas,” Dean continues. “It’s a family tradition, so to speak, being a fan of the Chiefs. No one really knows why. They were the closest team by proximity, I guess. Some Sundays, if it was a good day, Dad would watch a game with Sammy and me. We’d all just sit around and eat wings and drink soda and yell at the TV.” Dean smiles from somewhere far away, soft and wistful, a single warm memory over the thousands of cold, a slice of apple pie in his dystopian world, of the Midwestern Americana that should have been his birthright. “The shirt is even Dad’s.” Dean picks, unaware, at the hem of the shirt, the team logo emblazoned on his breast all that’s left of his home. “I’m glad it has a reason to see the light of day again.”

Castiel is transfixed, noting the way the old shirt hugs the curve of Dean’s bicep, drapes snugly over his broad shoulders, curves along the length of his torso. Where earlier there had been watering and spice, only one of which had been remotely pleasing, now there was nothing. Castiel’s mouth has gone completely dry, his tongue now sandpaper as it slips over the ridged upper palette, each inhale agonizingly sharp against the back of his throat. “And I am glad that you have it,” he manages, hoarse. “For the light of day, of course.”

Dean hardly seems to have registered the straggled words, managing to stare through the computer screen again, still absently picking at the fraying hem, 13 years old in his father’s shirt, another disappointing Sunday gone by with no sign of Dad to speak of, moments away from the opening kickoff of yet another game. 

“Dean?” Castiel tries, pulling Dean from his reverie and back into the present, at least some of his family with him to watch a football game for the first time in years. “Dean, I heard one of these men call someone a tight end. Was that just aesthetic commentary?” The question seems absurd, but Castiel is so genuine, his features fret with confusion. “Some of these men on the field do seem to be wearing very tight pants.”

Dean can’t help the sound that escapes him, not quite a giggle but certainly not a laugh, coaxing a wan, curious smile out of his companion. “It’s a position,” Dean explains. “Every player on a team has a position. Like, linebacker, quarterback, wide receiver, tight end.” It makes both men laugh this time, the ridiculous terminology niggling that latent immaturity still hiding Dean, and sounding simply preposterous to Castiel. “A tight end plays offense, when a team has the ball. He’s a multi-functional player. He can play like a receiver, who will catch a ball thrown by the quarterback, or he can play like a lineman and help block the other team from getting to his quarterback. Some plays, he will even do both." 

Castiel nods, but in a way Dean understands to mean that his friend cannot begin to fathom the idea in practice. Never having seen a game before, of course, no one could really blame Castiel’s confusion.

“When the game starts, you’ll see,” Dean tells him, offering a reassuring pat to Castiel’s knee.

 –

It has taken two and a half hours and almost 3 of the 4 fifteen-minute quarters, but Castiel think he’s beginning to understand the barbaric sport. It seems simple enough at the start - crush the opposing player with the ball. But there is far more nuance than huge, grown men simply running into one another as hard as they can and wrestling to the ground. There are running plays and passing plays, nickel defenses and empty back fields, red zones and end zones, spread offenses and read options. It is dizzying, but the action and attraction is undeniable.

There is one point when the quarterback of the team in white jerseys (the snout and mane Broncos) throws the ball, but it is caught by a defensive player in red.

“YEAH!” Dean bellows, suddenly jumping to his feet, arms raised above his head in a celebratory fashion. “I-N-T, baby!”

“Int?” Castiel asks. 

“Interception,” Dean offers, and his smile is so brilliant one might be inclined to believe Dean had caught this so-called interception himself. “Get up, get up,” he urges, motioning for Castiel to stand.

Castiel does, regarding Dean curiously, wondering if he was about to be welcomed into this celebratory moment and hoping so, if only to share such a wide, careless smile for the sake of a swine hide being caught by a player on a team from a different state that Dean just so happens to like.

“Chest bump,” Dean tells Castiel, beating the palm of his hand against the arrowhead logo once, twice.

Castiel mimics the motion, unsure of why he and Dean are hitting themselves. “Dean, I’m not sure I follow.”

Dean, for all his patience in this matter of educating Castiel in the finer points of football, shakes his head. “No, Cas, like they do on the TV. You know, when two players literally bump chests.”

“Oh,” Castiel starts, then, “oh.” The chest bump seems a common form of congratulations after a meaningful play, much like the slapping of helmets and, for some reason, rear ends. Castiel equates it as football’s version of the high-five. “I see. Okay. Yes, chest bump.”

Dean seems pleased until the first attempt ends with his beer on the floor and his chin sore from having collided with Castiel’s forehead. Where Dean had jumped, Castiel had only stood, jutting his chest out as best he could.

“That was pathetic,” Dean laments, rubbing at his chin, a day’s worth of stubble scratching against the pads of his fingers. “This time, you jump, too.” Castiel, worrying at his forehead, nods in response. “All right, ready? One… two… three.”

This time, Castiel jumps, finding it much more difficult to jut his chest out in the air, but he seems to have it right. The two men collide, chest-to-chest, Kansas City crest shared between them. Arms out at their sides for balance, the two fall back to the floor and Dean whoops with a tactile joy Castiel is surprised to see. “Much better,” Dean asserts, a large hand patting Castiel’s shoulder.

“But I’m still not quite sure why we do this,” Castiel concedes, his dark features drawn as they have been since tight end, a constant state of perplexity. 

Dean shrugs. “Because it was a great play that ended well for us. Well, for our team.” 

“Exuberance does seem to be a defining factor of this sport.”

Dean wonders if a time will ever come when Castiel does not so consistently vex him. 

 –

The game turns into what the announcers coin a “real nailbiter.” The Chiefs hold on to a precarious 3-point lead, but the Broncos have the ball and are advancing down the field. Castiel has learned that a field goal, not taken after a touch down, results in 3 points when the ball is kicked between two upright posts, connected on the bottom by a horizontal post that the ball must also clear. The announcers, who haven’t proven to be anywhere near as helpful as Dean in explaining the game, make it clear that Denver, the Broncos, the team in white, is nearing their field goal kicker’s range. Another ten yards, another first down, and the Broncos have a chance to tie the game.

Castiel and Dean sit on the edge of their seats, hunched over, eyes glued to the action on the screen. The team in red, these Chiefs from Kansas City, have exhilarated Castiel, caused him concern and buoyance, incomprehension and pure elation, often doing so on consecutive plays. Now, he waits riddled with anxiety to see if the defense, their defense, can stand up to the test of Peyton Manning and his offense’s aerial attack. On the screen, Manning is calling out “Omaha, Omaha,” a signal Dean taught Castiel to mean that Manning was changing the play his team was set to run.

“Watch for the screen,” Dean warns no one in particular, because these are things Dean simply understands about the game, this terminology of play calls and penalties. Castiel has come to accept that even though the players cannot actually hear him, Dean will continue to talk, or more likely yell, at them anyway. Formation warnings, congratulations, taunts, obscenities, using player’s names, sometimes in full, as if they are old friends.

The ball is hiked. Dean and Castiel lean forward to the point of no longer sitting, breaths held as the play develops right front of them from a field in a stadium somewhere in Missouri. There is chaos at the line of scrimmage (one of many new terms Castiel has come to know), huge men shoving at one another to get to or get away from the quarterback. Receivers run their routes. Manning stutter-steps around in the pocket. A Chiefs player breaks free of his defender, prompting Dean to yell, “get after him!” but Manning deftly avoids the charging defensive end, plants his foot and releases the ball. It slices through the air, a perfect spiral, far enough now that a reception could spell disaster. The receiver reaches for the ball, juggles it off his fingertips, and into the arms of the safety defending him.

It is instantaneous. The two men jump up from their seats along with thousands of people hundreds of miles away, their respective shouts of “yeah!” bouncing off the walls and echoing through the bunker.

“I-N-T!” Castiel cheers, he and Dean requiring only one attempt now to pull off a successful chest bump that ends in a revelatory embrace.

They exist solely together in this moment, in the afterglow of an outcome they had no influence over, all smiles and flushed cheeks and adrenalin, abounding in high-fives, call-and-return “Go Chiefs!”

“So it’s over then?” Castiel asks. “There’s still time left.”

With a nod, Dean slaps Castiel’s arm, stepping back. “Not enough. The Chiefs can just kneel down for the next few plays and run the rest of the time out. They call it running out the clock.”

As they settle back into their chairs to watch the Chiefs run out the clock, finally able to relax knowing that victory is at hand, Castiel gives Dean a playful shove to the shoulder. “I do believe you’ve made a fan of me,” he says.

Dean raises his bottle of beer, tips it toward Castiel before draining the remnants, a celebration of his very own victory. Castiel returns to his beer, somehow a victor as well. A victor and a football fan. A Kansas City Chiefs fan.

“So this is what families do on Sundays then,” Castiel states, for no reason other than to seek clarification, to rid himself of the jumble of nerves the game has left him to try and deal with.

Dean smiles, all teeth and unbridled joy. “This is what our family does on Sundays.”

------------ ( @wanderingcas - ty!!)

[willow-salix]

Urghhh, boys...

Day 72 of Isolation on Tracy Island.

After yesterday’s posh day we were all feeling the need to be sloppy and just slob around the house but unfortunately Jeff had other ideas.

“You kids are not going to spend another day laying around the house in your pyjamas, I refuse to allow it. I know that the chance of us getting a call out is remote, but we have to be professional, we can’t let our standards slip...are you listening to me?”

Alan was snoring on my shoulder, Gordon was playing a game on his phone, Virgil was lounging on Scott and John hadn't even looked up from his book. None of us were dressed. The three older boys were wearing nothing but pyjama bottoms, only Alan was wearing a T-shirt with his.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Jeff muttered, giving up and walking away, no doubt to call one of his buddies and complain about us. Again.

I reached out a foot and nudged Gordon who was only wearing a pair of swim shorts. “Oi, Squidward, he wants us all to get dressed.” I couldn't talk, I was one of the people still in PJ bottoms (stolen) and a vest top and I had planned on staying that way all day too.

None of them made a move to get up, in fact Virgil stretched out further, draping his legs over his brother’s.

“Come on, guys, let's not annoy him too much today." I nudged Gordon again, I wasn't picking on him specifically, he was just the only one I could reach sandwiched between John and Alan as I was, I'd have to over stretch to reach the other two.

"Stop kicking me! Fine, I'll get dressed, but I'm not making any effort with it," Gordon huffed. "In fact, I'm going to find the oldest, scruffiest things I own and I'm going to wear them all day."

"That's actually a funny idea," Scott laughed, "he'd hate that, but you'd be doing exactly what he asked."

"Wanna do it too?" he asked.

"Maybe. Virg?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I suppose we could join in," Virgil agreed slowly.

"Excellent! John, you in?" Gordon asked.

"John?" Scott called when John, as usual, tuned Gordon out quite effectively.

"Yeah?" John didn't look up. I always admire his ability to just be completely in the zone and ignore everything else.

"Are you in?" Gordon asked him.

"In where? When was I out?"

"These numpties seem to think that the best response to your dad wanting us to get dressed is to wear the oldest, grungiest things they own. They want to know if you want to play too," I explained.

"Oh," he scratched his chin as he paused to think about it. "I guess so."

"What about Alan?" Virgil asked.

I nudged him gently. "Allie?" He didn't stir.

"Alan?" I jiggled my shoulder. Didn't work.

John reached over and flicked his forehead.

"Huh? Wah?" he jerked awake, a thin string of drool stretching from my shoulder to his mouth. He scrubbed at his cheek with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other looking so disoriented I couldn't help but smile even though I did have a soggy shoulder. John passed us kleenex from under the coffee table.

“Eww, sorry,” Alan groaned, horrified.

“It’s fine, boo,” I assured him as I wiped off my shoulder. I’d had worse and probably not for the last time. “Sorry to wake you after you had such a strenuous night killing zombies, but you need to get dressed.”

“We’re gonna wear the worst clothes we own,” Gordon told him.

“OK,” Alan agreed, not even bothering to ask why they were doing such a thing. That was one thing that always made me laugh about him, he just went along with anything without needing an explanation.

“I guess we’re going to look awful today,” I sighed, following them out the door.

I didn't have a lot to choose from since my staying at the Island had been a gradual thing and I still had my own place, so most of the clothes I had shoehorned into an already pretty full wardrobe consisted of things I’d worn while there for one reason or another, a few bits that I’d obviously packed at some point and left there and things I’d left behind because I’d stolen something of someone elses to wear to go home. There were a few things I’d picked up on shopping trips with Grandma but all my truly hideous old stuff was at home.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” I complained to John who had his head buried inside his wardrobe and was digging around at the back.

“You always say that and it’s always a lie,” he answered.

“I mean it this time, this isn't just that there's nothing that I want to wear, I truly don’t have anything to wear, I only had the dress I wore last night because I wore it to Penny’s party and didn't go home. I’ve only got stuff here that I actually like, nothing hideous or old.”

“I beg to differ, that T-shirt you wear to bed is both old and hideous.”

“How dare you attack my muppets shirt, he of the disgusting dressing gown! That shirt happens to be my favorite and it’s vintage.”

He didn’t say anything in defense of his silk monstrosity, continuing to rummage for another minute before he backed out, dragging a box with him.

“What have you found?” I asked, genuinely interested. John wasn't one to keep a lot of things that were no longer useful to him, he had the same sentimental streak as the others but he was more practical with it and everyday items didn't seem to warrant the same loyalty as they did to me. I’m the type that won't throw out a broken pencil because I once wrote a shopping list with it. I’m a just in case type of person, it might be useful one day. If it's not useful straight away, John doesn't want it. Serve a purpose or get out.

“My college things,” he flipped open the lid and I got down on the floor to nose through with him. There were sweatshirts, T-shirts, sweatpants, athletic shorts, tank tops and a few T-shirts with witty slogans on them including “I was taught to think before I act, so if I smack you, rest assured I’ve thought about it and I am confident in my decision”, “I wasn't listening, so I’m going to smile and hope for the best” and “I’m not superman, but I am a communications engineer, so close enough.”

“These are absolute gold!” I laughed, dragging them out. “Why don’t you wear these?”

“They were all gifts,” he shrugged. He selected one at random ( “I may be wrong...but it’s highly unlikely”) and a pair of Harvard sweatpants and pulled them on.

“I’ve still got nothing to wear,” I groused. “Help me!”

He gave me a look that said he’d done all he could already and now I was on my own, there was just no helping some people.

“Why don’t you just ask everyone to donate one item and see what you end up with?” he suggested.

“No, that’s ridic-” I paused. “Actually not a bad idea,” I finished and started drafting a text.

***

Jeff walked into the lounge an hour later and stopped dead in the doorway, his eyes tracking from one to the other and then back again, as if he couldn't quite take it all in to start with.

Scott was wearing an old Air Force hoodie and a pair of sweatpants so old that they were skin tight on him and only reached to just below his knees and the T-shirt he wore underneath was so faded it was almost see through.

Alan had emerged in a very short and tight Batman playsuit he apparently had when he was eight to go to a birthday party.

Gordon had donned an old shirt that said “I kiss dolphins on porpoise” with a very faded, too short and too tight shirt that looked like it might have once had waves and a surfboard on it but now I couldn't be sure, and he’d finished it off with a pair of olympic speedos. It was a look, I’d give him that.

Virgil just looked a mess, a grungy, disgusting mess, not helped by the fact that his standard look this week had been homeless lumberjack. His jeans, which I ‘think’ were once blue, had so many grease stains and paint splatters on them it was hard to tell, they were so stiffly encrusted with grot, especially on the thighs were he had a habit of wiping his hands, they looked like they could stand up on their own. His T-shirt was in a similar state as Scott’s, it had been white but had worn so thin you could see through it and it too was covered in paint splotches and had grease stain hand prints on it. What did that boy do to his damned clothes?

I looked the worst of the bunch. They had come through for me in spectacular fashion. I was wearing a T-shirt of Alan’s that had some computer game logo on it and was ripped half way up one seam, a pair of Hawaiian board shorts from Gordon, an old flannel shirt of Virgil’s (yep, it was dirty too and had little holes in it where he’d been grinding something and sparks had flown everywhere) and for some reason Scott had presented me with a very strangely patterned bandanna he’s picked up in Egypt, which was tied around my head.

“Hey, Dad, we got dressed!” Gordon called out cherrily, waving from his spot on the couch.

“Don’t bother to tell me what is going on, I don’t even want to know,” he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. Without another word he turned around and walked straight back out again.

Poor Jeff, when he told us to be professionals he should have realised that he was asking the impossible.

[austinpanda]

Dad Letter 112220

22 November, 2020

Dear Dad--

What is it about today’s date? Took me a second; 11/22 is the Kennedy assassination. On that happy note, hello and happy Sunday, and day 19 of the 2020 general election! It was 22 degrees this morning and everything was covered with frost. Our Christmas tree is up, and little Horta is attempting to get every ornament off the tree so she can kill it and get spit all over it. 

Things here are going pretty well. I have finished my screenplay for The Legend of Hell House. I’m pleased with the way it turned out. I’m pretty sure I’d pay money to see it in a theater once. What I’m doing now is retyping the whole damn thing into proper script format using scriptwriting software. After that, I force Stacy and Zach to read it, and then I start shopping it around for representation by an agent. In the meantime, I’m working on my other project, a sort-of documentary about that plane crash in Sioux City, Iowa that I’m always talking about. I’m hoping that someone will at least agree to represent me as a screenwriter by the time my money runs out and I have to start looking for actual work. Wouldn’t it be something if I could be paid to write?

Since this plane crash has been on my mind, and I’m writing about it, and watching documentaries about it, and reading books about it, I wanted to tell you one more interesting thing about what happened in this accident. This was one of the little details that originally got the hook into me with this story. I learned a new word, I learned some new science, and I learned another way in which this whole thing sucked for the people on the airplane. 

What happened was, at 37,000 feet, the plane lost its #2 engine. That’s the engine on the tail. There’s engine #1 on the left wing, #2 in the tail, and #3 on the right wing. Because of the way they “lost” the engine, they also lost all their hydraulic fluid. The DC-10 needs that fluid to fly, period. Otherwise they can’t steer. Also the plane kept trying to roll over on its right side, which put them at risk of inverting, and then falling so fast the wings would come off. But after the flight crew figured out how to keep them right side up, the plane began to go up, and down, and up, and down, up, down, up, down, like a sine wave. If a given passenger made it this far without soiling himself in terror, he now had motion sickness to deal with, because the plane had become a rollercoaster. 

Up, down, up, down. Here’s the excellent word I learned: phugoid. (Pronounced just like it looks, few-goid. Avoid the phugoid!) The plane was flying in a phugoid. That’s when the plane goes up, and down, up and down. It’s interesting because you might think, “An airplane can’t go up and down, up and down, all by itself, that’s just crazypants.” Well, yes it can! It’s not an uncommon thing for planes to do when the pilot loses control of the flight surfaces. Here’s why it happens. 

The airplane is humming along at, say, 250 knots. It’s configured, or “trimmed” for 250 knots; it’s in harmony at 250 knots. Based on the way the plane is configured, it WANTS to fly at its trim speed; it wants to go 250 knots. But then you lose that #2 engine, and suddenly you’ve lost one third of your thrust, so you start to slow down. Soon you’re at 230 knots, 210 knots. This is when “the magic of physics” intervenes, and it pushes the nose of the plane down. The plane wants to fly at 250 knots, it’s going too slow, so it starts going downhill to pick up speed. Does this all by itself. 

So the plane starts going faster. Soon it’s back to 230, then 240, 250, hooray! Problem solved! Except, no, it’s still going downhill. It overshoots, and now it’s going 270 knots, 290 knots. The plane says to itself, “Going too fast, I want to get back to 250,” so the magic of physics intervenes again, and it pushes the nose of the airplane up. Now it’s going uphill, and the speed is decreasing. It reaches 250 again--hooray! Problem solved! Except, no, it’s going uphill now, and it overshoots. Now it’s down to 230, 210...the nose drops, it goes downhill to pick up speed and the process repeats. It’s also called “porpoising,” as in dolphins.  

So that’s what the pilot and co-pilot were dealing with. They had no hydraulics, which meant no ability to steer. The plane kept wanting to roll over to the right. They began the phugoid oscillations. The last, perhaps most important thing to know about the phugoid is this: The plane doesn’t return to the same altitude each time. Each time they complete another cycle, down, then up, they lose about 1,500 feet of altitude. 

Okay, that’s enough about my silly plane crash. If you ever saw the movie Fearless, with Jeff Bridges, it’s about a man and a woman (unknown to each other at the time) who both survive an accident just like this one. Perhaps not surprisingly, the crash begins to have some impact on their day-to-day, and they have psychological issues to work through. Good movie! Depressing as fuck. Also, oh my God, I’m still talking about the plane crash.

In completely non-plane-crash-related news, can you believe Thanksgiving is almost upon us? I’m unhappy about them deciding not to have a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade this year, although I can certainly understand it. Tuning in to that parade, watching for five minutes, and then turning the sound all the way down because I can’t stand how damn adorable all the commentary is, is one of my favorite holiday traditions. I enjoy not watching it just as much as I enjoy not watching the Tournament of Roses Parade.

But we’re planning on a good Thanksgiving. We have a couple of friends who have been as extra-cautious and hypervigilant about not getting Covid as we have, so we’re going to eat some food with them, and then I don’t know when we’re going to see them again. The coronavirus shit is getting so bad, even out here in the deep space of Maine, that we may have to lock down again, and stop seeing anyone except the folks we see at the grocery store. 

Almost forgot to tell you, I visited the endocrinologist this past Thursday. I don’t remember his name, so I’m just calling him Dr. Gonad in the privacy of my own thoughts. I wish I had more news to provide after having visited him, but the visit didn’t “move the ball” very far, because he has one set of testosterone numbers from the last blood work, and now he needs a second set of fasting blood work testosterone numbers before he can take any action. He did confirm that my testosterone was low, which I knew, and that I wasn’t growing boobs as a result, which is nothing but great, as far as I’m concerned. Boobs are lovely on other people, but I prefer my natural boobless state. 

I hope you have a good Thanksgiving. I’ll try to do something different over the next seven days, so I have something other than airplane accidents to talk about. Either way, you’re both in my thoughts, especially now during the holidays. All my love to you both!

[psychopersonified]

Can your AI do this?

Post Are we ever going to talk about this? and Where was the wooing? (AO3)

Highly recommended to read the series first to get emotionally invested in their story arc. This short piece will feel a lot more satisfying once you know their backstory. But you can still read this as a stand alone.

Q-Branch gets a pet (for science! purposes). Bond tests a new vehicle, and Q gets thoroughly... well you know 😉.

Tags: *Ahem* Fun-times content (be responsible), newly established relationship, humour, fluff with feeling, banter.

-------------------------------

SIS Building - Q-Branch

The little bug eyed bright yellow creature stares up at him from inside its glass terrarium. From that angle, it looks like its smiling up at them.

Q closes the cover after replacing the water dish, “We’re studying its movements and ability to adhere to surfaces. With all the sensitives around drone use and anti-drone capabilities these days, we’re thinking a robot that is a little more discrete would be more effective. Something small, quiet, that won’t trigger existing alarm systems and a much longer battery life. Potentially it might not even need to enter the premises, it could make its way up the side walls and observe from outside.“

“You’re just using that as an excuse to keep something cute.“ The creature raises itself on all fours, head head high, staring at Bond curiously.

“Well I’m not denying it’s good for morale as well.” Q waves his fingers at the creature and it responds by licking an eye with a pink tongue.

“Not mine. I’ve seen your little machine learning side project. You’re working on replacing me with an AI, and a robot gecko. So much for job security.”

“Oh don’t worry. Not until we can fit a miniaturised poison dart gun to the robot, we’ll still need you around.”

“Thanks,” Bond huffs, mildly put out. “So is there anything I can do for you at the moment? Or have you called me here just to insult me?”

Q isn’t fooled, he knew Bond was looking for any excuse to cut short his meeting with M and 009. Agent 007 has a low tolerance threshold for bureaucratic meetings; once past the hour mark, his attention span wanes significantly and he becomes disruptive.

Q smiles at him, “Believe it or not, I’ve actually called you here for legitimate reasons. This way please 007.”

——

London River Thames

They’re standing on the dock under the SIS building. Bobbing in the water attached to a boat is what can only be described as a watercraft bearing an uncanny resemblance to a dolphin.

“It’s a modified Seabreacher; we’ve enhanced its submersible capabilities up to 15 ft and of course added a light weapons system. We’ve also given it an electric motor for low speed stealth mode.”

Bond turns him, expression hopeful. Q has to quickly clarify, “Before you get excited, it’s not assigned to you. But I do need a test pilot today.”

Bond exhales; a put upon sigh. As if he wasn’t internally itching to get into the machine. Q waits for him to change into something more comfortable. When Bond returns, he is in a black turtleneck that showcases the muscles of his upper body to great effect. His holster worn over it and he has driving gloves on. He looks every bit the rouge he’s accused of being.

Q nearly looses his tablet stylus to the Thames when it drops out of his distracted hand and rolls perilously close to a gap between the planks of the dock. He saves it by stepping on it quickly.

They tow the Seabreacher a short distance upriver, somewhere between Battersea Bridge and Chelsea Bridge where river traffic is a little less busy. Bond has an excellent time testing out the craft, quickly getting the hang of barrel rolls, executing spin stops and 90 degree surface breaches and finally, porpoising through the water mimicking the movements of real dolphins. The stealth submersible mode works excellent too, but the Thames has disappointingly poor visibility so there’s not much to see. However it gives them a chance to try the newly installed underwater sonar navigation system. Pity they didn’t get to test the weapons system - the London City Council and the London Port Authority wasn’t too keen on allowing that.

All this acrobatic splashing about draws a crowd among the park visitors on both sides of the river and from the few boathouses docked on the northside of the bank. When the test ends, Bond pulls the craft up along side the waiting boat. He exits the cockpit to a smattering of appreciative applause from a passing tour boat - Americans on holiday likely. Native Londoners are unlikely to be this emotive. Bond smirks and gives them a curt wave.

He’s in such a good mood that once he’s jumped on board the tow boat, he stalks over to Q who had just finished tethering the craft, cups one side of his face with a gloved hand and pecks him quickly on the corner of the mouth in front of everyone.

“Can your AI do that?”

“You’re impossible,” Q lightly shoves him away. Mindful that they are still on the clock.

“And you love challenges.”

“Not impossible ones.”

“Says the man who is trying to replace me with a gecko.”

“You know what, I probably could program an autonomous mode into the thing. For starters, it’ll be far less infuriating.”

“I wasn’t talking about the craft...,” Bond reaches for Q again, this time swiping a thumb over the corner of his mouth where the agent just kissed.

“Get a room!… Sirs.” Nish yells at them from the helm of the tow boat. He’s still peeved that he lost money on the bet about them getting together.

——

Quartermaster’s Residence - Sexy times

Bond’s good mood extends all the way to the evening when they get home. Dinner was abysmally quick because a randy agent wouldn’t let Q sit down to eat; pressed up against him from behind, groping and palming him between the legs as he rushed through his food standing at the kitchen counter.

A quick shower later and they‘ve exiled the cats and seconded themselves in the bedroom.

“Talk to me about the Seabreacher again,” Bond instructs as he lowers a well prepared Q into his lap. The entry is tight but smooth. The heat of Q’s waiting body intoxicating.

Q savours the breach, the feeling of invading fullness as Bond pushes in. “Hmm... turns you on does it?“ Q wraps his arms around Bond’s neck and kisses him playfully before sucking on his bottom lip and nipping up the line of Bond’s jaw to give the agent’s earlobe a playful bite.

“How many horsepowers?” Bond rumbles, squeezing a fleshy cheek in retaliation and to prompt him along.

“300 from the twin supercharged intercooled ICE alone…,” Q breathes into his ear, “…another 50 from the electric motor... Ah!” Q grinds down to meet his upward thrust.

-Fuck YESSss-. He didn’t think it possible, but Bond feels himself stiffen further. He snakes a hand from behind, into Q’s hair and tugs his head back. “Weapons?” He mouths against the delicate column of Q’s pale exposed neck, latching on and sucking with every intention to bruise.

“Ngghhh!… Dorsal mounted assault rifle. Ah!... Two rounds of compact mini underwater torpedos.. Ooh... with blast force that could sink a yacht—“ the next thrust sends Q wailing “—Jaaaames!” Feeding right into his ego.

Bond kisses Q deeply. -God how he loves this man-, “Manoeuvrerbility?”

“Jet nozzle trust vectoring— *gasp*…full tail articulation… *gasp* …giving the pilot complete control to execute high speed 360 degree barrel rolls—“ Bond changes angle suddenly, “Fuck! James!” Q’s grip around the agent’s shoulders tightens to brace himself against it. The things this man does to him! The sudden intensity of sensation as Bond hits the right spot brings tears to his eyes.

“Mmm… What else can it do?” Bond demands, pulling Q downwards even as his hips snap up - growling with the force it.

It takes a few seconds for Q to recollect his thoughts, gritting his teeth, eyes squeezing shut. “High speed, 90 degree underwater to surface breaches… Oh God!… Submarine mode up to 15ft dept …*gasp* …electric powered stealth mode up to five…*gasp* …five nautical miles—,” Q buries his face in the crook of Bond’s neck moaning, “… Bullet proof cabin pod.”

Q is panting hard now, fingernails biting into the muscles of Bond’s back, riding through the staccato rhythm the best he can. “James, please. I can’t think anymore…” he begs.

Bond tips them over onto the bed so he’s on top and continues their practiced rhythm. Alternating between deep and shallow thrusts. With most of Q’s weight now supported by the bed, Bond can put all of his strength into his hip movements.

The intensity has Q gasping his name at every inward shove, which just fuels Bond’s possessive fire. It turns into a blaze - spurring him on; harder, deeper. Q’s previously restrained cries turn into outright wails and Bond has to muffle them with deep consuming kisses lest they scare the cats or the neighbours call the police on them.

Soon, the friction between their bodies along with the sweet repetitive drag of Bond’s unyielding girth and length inside him, angled just right, has Q whimpering for release; for mercy. His entire body is shaking -Too much!- “Please James!… Please… I need…. I need…,” Bond swallows every word of his plea with greedy possessive kisses, all the while not missing a stroke.

When Bond finally responds, his voice is low, gravelly and teasing, “Yes love, what do you need?” The gentleness of his tone a direct contrast to the unrelenting strength of his thrusts. The bastard knows exactly what he needs!

Frustrated, Q bites down on a thickly muscled shoulder, but that serves only to stoke Bond’s cruelty. His pumping slows, turning into deep powerful grinds. The pleasure is agonisingly drawn out, the sustained feeling of fullness, arguably more torturous.

“Oh God! Jaa—mees please!… I can’t… Ah!…” Q sobs in desperation, his body strung so tight, clawing for release, wanting, needing.

“Sshhh…” Bond soothes, strong hands caressing the length of Q’s body but his hips do not relent. Then comes more deep claiming kisses - stealing the very breath from him before Bond finally reaches down between them, grabs a firm but gentle hold of him and starts stroking, from root to tip, milking him exactly as he likes it.

Q moans brokenly. Body shuddering. One more deep angled thrust and a slow swipe of a calloused thumb over his leaking tip and Q arches his back in absolute unconditional surrender.

Pleasure rips trough his body, muscles tightening and spasming with his release - clamping down hard around the fullness still inside him for long seconds before slowly going lax. His brain shuts down into safe mode.

When he first comes to, he’s vaguely aware that James is still thrusting into him, face buried in his neck. With a final stuttering push he too tips over the edge, rooting deeply and coming in long spurts. The loud rapturous moan that escapes him is one of unreserved release. Never has Q heard him this vocal on missions, the sounds of pleasure usually only coming from his marks - 007 is himself usually silent, a few grunts and he’s done.

James collapses on top of him, their chest rising and falling in synchronised rhythm. Once they’ve finally caught their breaths, they’re kissing again, slow languid kisses of pure affection. James is still on top, propped up on his elbows, Q’s head cradled in his hands, his heavy warm weight a secure blanket. Q has never felt this completely possessed yet this utterly worshipped at the same time than when he is with James.

With a final noisy kiss, Bond reaches for the towel he’d set aside the bed earlier. Q’s brain finishes rebooting while Bond gently disengages and cleans up the mess between them.

The first coherent thought that comes to Q’s mind is, “You know, I think there might still be space to fit an auxiliary air supply unit to extend the submersible range.”

Bond pauses his clean up ministrations to kiss him again, “Careful love, keep saying those things and you just might instigate a second round.”

Q grins cheekily up at him, “Oh you like that do you? Wait till I tell you about the car we’re planning for you... Ah! James!!”  

The next day Q has to wear a hideous brown and grey stripped turtleneck to work and explain to Ops why MI6 received a notification that a police patrol unit was dispatched to his residence at 12:30am that morning.

——FIN——

If anyone would like to name the gecko, I’m open to suggestions.

Notes: If you liked this story, there’s more on the blog or AO3. Please like, reblog, comment etc. Enjoy!

[kahran042]

Encyclopedia Brown thoughts: book 22

Encyclopedia Brown and the Case of the Slippery Salamander

General:

This book is dedicated to the memory of Rebecca Blackwell, who died before her second birthday. :,(

The Case of the Slippery Salamander:

What, no references to Idaville's banks and delicatessens? :)

Maybe it's just me, but a reptile/amphibian exhibit seems more suited to a zoo than an aquarium. Making matters worse is the fact that The Case of Bugs’s Zebra establishes that Idaville has a zoo.

Now I'm imagining a case where someone steals a $300 ferret from a pet store, and is given away when he claims to be an expert on "ferrets and other rodents."

The Case of the Banana Burglar:

I wonder if Bugs willingly signed up for Art in the Park out of a genuine interest in art, if he signed up to make trouble, or if his parents made him sign up.

I love Bugs' chutzpah here with his "All I've eaten today is a lousy banana" remark. ^_^

Does Monsieur LeBlanc have a real name, or is his first name Monsieur?

If I were Pablo, I wouldn't want my job back, considering how much of an asshole Monsieur LeBlanc is.

The Case of the Dead Cockroach:

Scorpions are arachnids, so they probably shouldn't be competing in an insect race.

Um, @brownencyclopedia, you know that the roach is Bugs' freakin' pet, right? Sure, he's just using it to frame Encyclopedia for killing it, but still. :P

I've never seen a real roach, but if I did, I don't think I'd be learning anything about how they look when they die... of natural causes, that is. ;)

The Case of the Roman-Numeral Robber:

Charlie is ten, and he doesn't know what Roman numerals are? o_O

Whatever happened with the real Roman-Numeral Robber? Personally, I would have had Mr. von Martin turn out to have been the Roman-Numeral Robber all along.

Uh, Sobol, you do know that jewelers presumably know how to use Roman numerals correctly when not making watches, right? After all, even watches with IIII in place of IV don’t have VIIII in place of IX.

In addition to watches, tower clocks also usually use IIII instead of IV. Just thought I'd mention it.

The Case of the Runaway Judge:

A rose grower from Bloomington... yes, yes, very clever, I'm sure.

By "garden mazes," do they mean hedge mazes or something else?

Awfully convenient that Roberta Garnet happened to be the winner... or did Ms. Wedgwood just pick her because she could easily encode her name? I can't seen her being able to encode, say, Karyn Meyers or Alexander Findlay so easily.

The Case of the Peacock's Egg:

So, is it Wilford who doesn't know that peacocks don't lay eggs, or does he just assume his customers won't? I'm leaning toward the latter.

The Case of the Umpire's Error:

Interesting how both teams have alliterative names. I hope that Idaville is only the "Indians" because Sobol couldn't think of anything else that started with I.

That being said, I'd probably be rooting for the Porpoises, if only because I like dolphins.

On a related note, is there really any difference between a porpoise and a dolphin?

If I were an umpire, I wouldn't want to be polite to a crowd that were being total assbutts to me. But that's probably why I'm not an umpire.

The Case of the Calculating Kid:

It really doesn't seem to me that Encyclopedia and Sally randomly ducked into the convention center, but that they knew that the boat and fishing show had set up there and decided to go there to beat the heat.

"Yacht" is a funny word. Sorry, just had to bring it up.

Shells and More Shells isn't just a "company that sold seashells". For one thing, they aren't a company, but just a booth, and they also sell shell-decorated objects. That being said, the name does sound kind of fakey, so I would be suspicious of them, although not for the reasons that @brownencyclopedia is.

Amazing Grace is kind of a stupid name for a yacht, IMHO. What's worse is that Sobol had come up with at least two cooler yacht names - Coral Reef (The Case of the Pirated Yacht) and Defiance (The Case of the Blond Wig) - before this.

"These are" Mr. and Mrs. Hinton, not "This is," dammit! And Chief Brown is supposed to be smart?

What kind of tricks can you play with a calculator?

Lucky that Kent was able to recognize the face of the Shells and More Shells guy. I probably wouldn't be able to, not would I have had the presence of mind to enter "577345" into my calculator to finger my kidnapper. So I like this kid!

Seriously, though, "Shells and More Shells" sounds only slightly more believable than "Alkali Products Incorporated" from The Great Brain Reforms.

The Case of the Presidential Auction:

I’m sorry, but Gwendolyn doesn’t seem any different from Winslow Brant. Why is it wrong for her to do basically the same thing as him? Is it because Winslow is Encyclopedia’s friend, or because Gwendolyn is a teenager?

It should be Harry S Truman, without the period, because his middle name was just the letter S.

The Case of the Stolen Surfboard:

Final appearance of Benny Breslin, and good riddance.

Is this the same heat wave from The Case of the Calculating Kid?

Todd and Garth Breslin return, with the exact same description as in their first appearance. -_-

Why doesn't the lifeguard get a name if Benny knows him?

[2251bluewhales]

Week 8

Earlier this week, one of my favorite topics of discussion came up and was very casually debated among ourselves during our weekly seminar: the issues associated with cetacean captivity.

We’ve all heard the Blackfish arguments, and the advocacy for retiring and/or releasing captive marine mammals back into the wild. While there certainly is discrepancy among scientists and between marine park curators, biologists, and the general public on the ethics, complications, and realities of rehabilitating captive cetaceans, let me preface everything I’m about to say with the following:

Whether or not captivity is stressful or inherently damaging to the physiological and psychological health of marine mammals is not up for debate. There is simply too much evidence that supports the claim that captivity results in maladaptive and otherwise abnormal behavior, including self mutilation, stereotypic behavior, hyperagression, and increases the chances of reproductive complications, rejection of offspring, disease exposure/contraction, harm from element exposure, and increases heightens mortality rates in most species of marine mammals commonly maintained in captivity, notably orcas, bottlenose dolphins, belugas, pilot whales, pacific white-sided dolphins, and false killer whales (DeMaster & Drevenak, 1988 ; Perrin et al., 2009 ; Jett & Ventre 2011).

In the wake of documentaries like Blackfish, what now becomes of captivity? Has it truly lost all its value? Is there anything we can benefit from or learn by attempting to maintain these complex and demanding animals in captivity, all commercial purposes aside?

The answer: maybe.

We’ve all been there, and by “there” I mean Sea World, or Vancouver Aquarium, or Georgia Aquarium, or Marineland... you get the point.

I’ll be honest with you, my first encounter with a killer whale was in a captive environment when I was very young and impressionable and obviously ignorant to the complexities of ethics surrounding captivity. As I aged, I learned about the commercial whale and dolphin trade, and the problems that come with for-profit marine parks (*cough*) as well as the facilities that affiliate with them. It becomes an incredibly muddy and sensitive grey area to tread when one, especially a biologist, goes about listing the nuances and pros/cons to maintaining marine mammals in captivity. 

As I maintained earlier, my personal opinions do not necessarily reflect those of Cascadia Research Collective, so please bear this in mind as I go about offering my two cents here. Here we go...

Pros

Public attention / Exposure; Such as in my case, aquarium facilities can provide a wonderful foundation for the general public to see whales and dolphins up close and personal and, supposedly, develop an appreciation for them and foster a culture of love for the environment. Granted this is my own bias, I became acquainted with the orca and marine life at an aquarium. Later on down the line I also learned how that orca came to arrive at that aquarium (maybe some of you are familiar with Bjossa, a killer whale caught from Iceland in 1980?) and consequently shifted my interest in working with captive marine mammals to studying those in the wild. Today, I would never advocate for the deliberate capture of marine mammals for commercial purposes, ever, but when it comes to facilities that maintain rescued marine mammals, some animals cannot be successfully released to the wild given their circumstances and complicated social hierarchies. These individuals may remain in permanent captivity where they are used as ambassadors for their species and educational tools** to promote the conservation of wild animals and their natural environments. Personally, I would now prefer that people learn through documentaries and books, and maybe that’s unfair of me, but knowing what captivity does to these animals, I can’t bring myself to recommend it. **Personal opinions may vary on the ethics of doing this, and some may argue that nature should be allowed to take its course, as deaths in the wild are natural and normal and direct human intervention is unusual. It is common for captive cetaceans to experience chronic illness and be given constant veterinary attention in unsuitable artificial confines, and that begs the question of “what kind of life is that?”, but good God, is that another can of worms.

Research opportunities; In addition to developing improved husbandry techniques, which could lead to better veterinary care and general maintenance of marine mammals in captivity for the purpose of rescue and rehabilitation, there are still some research opportunities to be had in a captive environment. Some areas of study include examining the use of sonar echolocation in marine mammals, the results of which are intended to better our understanding of sound dynamics and perchance find ways to reduce the chances of entanglement in fishing nets and strikes by vessels. 

Rehabilitation and Release; short-term captivity for preparation for rehabilitation and eventual release is something I wish more aquarium facilities could refine and focus on. As it is, maintaining marine mammals in captivity is logistically and financially difficult to nearly impossible, depending on the species, but some respond better to captivity than others. Consider seals and sea lions for example at the Marine Mammal Center in California and at Vancouver Aquarium in British Columbia. Cetaceans can be more difficult to rehabilitate, again, due to the complexities in their biology and behavior and susceptibility to stress (Zagzebski et al., 2006 ; Simon et al., 2009), although it has been done! Springer (A73), a killer whale from the Northern Resident Community in British Columbia was found emaciated and orphaned in Washington back in 2002. She was taken into a seaside pen and released back to her family unit after a breif period of time in human care. She now has two calves of her own and is alive and well. Several successful releases of smaller oceanic dolphins after maintenance in short-term and long-term captivity have occurred as well (Gales & Waples, 1993 ; Balcomb, 1995 ; Wells et al., 1998 ; UNIST, 2018), but follow-up has been inconsistent in many cases.

Captive breeding; No, I don’t mean for the commercial trade. I mean captive breeding for the purpose of wild repopulation. Now, let me be the first to say that I don’t think this is the best concept to experiment with, especially with endangered cetaceans where it would be most logical for this type of intervention to take place. Take the recent last-ditch efforts to save the Vaquita porpoise. Acute stress as a result of capture was believed to be the cause of death of one of the last remaining critically-endangered Vaquita porpoises when it was captured for the purpose of captive breeding (Pennisi, 2017). The resulting offspring as well as its parents would have later been released back into the wild in hopes of boosting their numbers.  Because of stress associated with the capture of marine mammals, this is a practice that has barely been attempted, and maybe is best left a concept, although its a nice thought and often a better conservation effort when it comes to terrestrial or more adaptable animals.

Cons

Chronic/Sustained Stress; as a result of capture and confinement to small spaces, as well as unnatural social groupings, cetaceans may experience heightened stress levels over the long-term from having certain instincts and natural behaviors repressed. As we know, stress can have a severe negative impact on the bodies of organisms, and cetaceans are no different. This can increase their susceptibility to disease and increase the likelihood of experiencing reproductive complications such as miscarriages, stillbirths, and calf rejection. (Perrin et al., 2009; Rose et al., 2009; Jett & Ventre, 2011)

Maladaptive/abnormal behavior and repression of natural behavior; cetaceans often exhibit abnormal behavior in captivity, including stereotypic behavior like floating motionlessly, resting for unnaturally long periods, circle-swimming, chewing on foreign objects, hyperaggression towards their handlers and tankmates, self mutilation. This can also result in skewed observational data when observing marine mammal behavior in captivity, as often times there is little natural behavior exhibited by cetaceans in captive environments. Additionally, because of the difficulties associated with replicating natural social structures and habitats in captivity, this disallows these animals to engage in natural behaviors such as deep-diving, (specialized) foraging behavior, dispersal, long-term social associations, etc. which can further exacerbate stress. (Perrin et al., 2009; Rose et al., 2009; Jett & Ventre, 2011)

Increased mortality; many cetaceans on average live drastically shorter lifespans in captivity than their wild counterparts, despite being kept in relatively sterile environments free of contaminants, predators, and other threats present in their natural environments. This is particularly noticeable in pilot whales, orcas, bottlenose dolphins, and belugas.  (DeMaster and Drevenak, 1988; Jett & Ventre, 2011; NOAA’s National Marine Mammal Inventory, 2016)

Expensive/logistically difficult to maintain marine mammals; Marine mammals require spacious habitats with powerful filtration systems to be properly maintained, however, even with these factors accounted for, it become difficult to satisfy the dietary, environmental, and social needs of cetaceans in particular in an artificial environment (Perrin et al. 2009). Some animals are incredibly specialized hunters, gregarious and sociable, or originate from marine habitats that can be difficult to replicate on the large scale (deep, pelagic environments, or dynamic coastal environments, for example). Some aquariums have attempted to incorporate kelp forests and natural substrates in aquaria, while maintaining multiple species of live, schooling fish (for example) to stimulate hunting behavior, but this is not a common practice across the board.

Stimulates commercial industry; the display of captive cetaceans can be the inspiration for developing countries and regions outside of North America to begin their own captive whale and dolphin trade for commercial purposes. Dolphinariums are popular tourist attractions that annually generate millions of dollars in revenue, and these marine parks and aquariums, as well as the fisheries that supply wild-caught animals, can help stimulate local economies. This is both a good thing and a bad thing, as developing countries can greatly benefit from job production and economy stimulation, but this can also put unnecessary pressures on wild stocks of marine mammals and may lead to the collapse of some populations of whales and dolphins such as in the case of the Southern Resident orcas of Puget Sound in the 60′s and 70′s when marine parks were rising in popularity across North America.

Sends the wrong message (Questionable ethics/“respect” for nature); Again, this is personal bias, but I think it illustrates the issues that surround public exposure to marine mammal captivity. When I first was introduced to whales and dolphins in an aquarium setting, I was not inspired to work with them in the wild, but rather wanted to train captive orcas and be in the water with them. When we view marine mammals in captivity (or at least, prior to Blackfish), we see a positive image of keeping these animals in captivity. It also masks the complications and dangers that are associated with their captive maintenance through the use of marketing and PR tactics to hold these aquarium facilities and marine parks in a positive light while ignoring some of the hard and blatant realities of this practice. My love for other marine animals like many of the great whales and oceanic sharks did not stem from seeing them in an aquarium, but rather from reading about them in field guides and watching them in their natural habitats through documentaries. Additionally, with today’s technological advances in the virtual reality and animatronics, as well as the use of films, preserved specimens and museum-quality replicas and models, one can create an educational and entertaining exhibition without the unethical and dangerous use of live animals in aquaria. Attitudes continue to change in the wake of public enlightenment regarding the captivity industry, and I can only hope we rightly shift our attentions from the animals in captivity to the ones in the wild where it really matters in the grand scheme of things. I’m not saying forget about the captives, in facts many still need our help when it comes to holding these facilities accountable for their husbandry practices and contributions to research and conservation. But we are at the risk of losing the world’s oceans, and we need to address that now.

What do you guys think about captivity? For research and conservation? For commercial purposes? 

[orcinus-ocean]

The case for captures

Captures, collections, kidnapping, whatever you call them, are one of the most controversial topics about cetaceans in human care. I have been asked about this a lot lately, since with the recent reveal of the nine whales at Ocean Kingdom, people noticed I was far less disgusted by this than almost everyone else. And since it’s a bit too long and complicated to take in one personal message for everyone who asks, I’m making this post.

I don’t expect to persuade or convince anyone by writing this, I’m simply writing it to make my case and because several people asked.

My views on this started out as pretty much everyone else’s. It’s a terrible thing to do to animals we profess to love and care about, and in our modern, enlightened world, we know better. Taking animals away from their pods, subjecting them to the enormous stress of being placed in an alien environment, and risking them becoming stuck in nets during capture and drowning, is indefensible and completely unnecessary, especially since we already have many of them in captivity to begin with.

Since then, over the last couple of years, I have become a bit more nuanced in my view and not quite so black and white, in an issue most people think should be black and white.

First off, the alleged extreme stress the animals suffer during capture. There’s no doubt that being corralled, netted and lifted onto a boat by strange creatures from an alien world must be very stressful.

Some say it is cruel because “it is the first time they feel the weight of their own bodies”, but that isn’t necessarily true. We already know there are populations of at least both killer whales and bottlenose dolphins who hunt by willingly beaching themselves. Although that is still different because then they are taught that by their mothers in untraumatic circumstances, and do it willingly, rather than being lifted out of the ocean under very stressful circumstances.

Anyhow, similar or not, I don’t think the temporary stress of being lifted out of the water for the first time is an argument enough to not do it. We sometimes have to subject any animal to stressful or even traumatic handling, we need something more to argue against the collections of wild cetaceans, especially as a price against the benefits.

Separating animals permanently

So, what about “tearing” the animals away from their families? Surely that is terrible enough to make it inhumane and unethical? Now cetaceans are extremely diverse and not all species and populations have the tight-knit, lifelong bonds of the resident killer whales in the Northeastern Pacific, a very common misunderstanding.

Photo: WinkyintheUK

We know that the Northern and Southern residents of Washington and British Columbia stay with their mothers all their lives, males and females alike, and that is the very specific social structure that they have found works for them. Because they are among the most well-studied populations of marine mammal in the world, and so well-known, people frequently believe ALL cetaceans live like this, or at least all killer whales. This is as far from the truth as them all looking the same or eating the same prey.

For example, Icelandic fish eating (resident) killer whales have the males leave the pod when they grow up. The transient killer whales of the American west coast live in very loose, smaller groups, without the tight family bonds of residents, and adult males sometimes live completely alone. This is not biology as much as taught behavior, “culture”.

Photo: Brian Walter

Bottlenose dolphins too have much looser pod structures than Pacific resident killer whales. Males live alone or in very small groups, apart from the females, who live together in small pods along with their young offspring. Even these associations between adult females are loose however, with individuals going back and forth between groups often, sometimes on a daily basis.

I thus don’t think it is some unforgivable crime to separate some of these animals permanently, since they are unlikely to miss and grieve each other in the way humans would.

Furthermore, we frequently move animals between captive facilities, for breeding, for social cohesion, etcetera. That is naturally less stressful than capture since it is simply an animal or group of animals being moved from one artificial facility with humans to another, but it still means that two animals that knew each other, perhaps grew up together in the same group, will never get to see each other again, which also makes it a weak argument against wild capture.

Mortality rates

But if we’re talking about killer whales specifically, since they’re both the most controversial and at the same time the easiest to get reliable data on, how many died soon after capture? There is no doubt that capture and moving between facilities both put a lot of stress on the animals, and mortality was the highest within twelve months of capture. Note that this was in the 1960s to 1980s, and does not necessarily have to be the same today. We won’t know the mortality rates today until we know what happened to all the Russian whales.

I found before that 25% of killer whales caught from the 1960s to 1990s (only Argentina and Japan in the 90s) died within twelve months of capture, and I think this is an indefensible statistic. But then I checked the rate per facility, which of course makes for very small samples, but it looks like this:

(Facility: Survived/Died = %) SeaWorld: 14/2 = 12.5% (So 14 survived at SeaWorld, 2 died out of 16, 16 / 2 = 8 = 12.5%) Marineland Antibes: 6/1 = 14.2% Marineland Ontario: 5/3 = 37.5% Marineland of the Pacific: 6/1 = 14.2% (That one whale was Wanda, the first killer whale ever caught, who was also very sick when found and died only after two days) Marine World: 4/1 = 20% Sealand of the Pacific: 6/2 = 25% Kamogawa Sea World: 10/0 = 0% Nanki Adventure World: 6/4 = 40% Taiji Whale Museum: 3/2 = 40% Mundo Marino: 3/1 = 25%

As you see, SeaWorld, Marineland Antibes and the defunct Marineland of the Pacific had a lower than average mortality rate for newly caught whales, and Kamogawa had their ten whales (Chappy, Jumbo, Caren, King, Patty, Maggie, Bingo, Stella, Oscar and Bubba) all survive their first year. Meanwhile, at Marineland Ontario, Nanki Adventue World and Taiji Whale Museum, it looks much worse.

These are mostly very small samples, but out of the 75 whales here (I obviously excluded a lot of smaller facilities, this is nowhere near the entire population), a total average of 21.2% died within twelve months.

Again, this is quite terrible and until we know more about the Russian whales captured since 2012, we can only speculate and hope that it is much lower today.

The same goes for the captures themselves. Allegedly, eleven whales died during the captures in the Pacific northwest, when they got entangled in the nets and drowned. This is also unacceptable, but should be able to be eliminated entirely, and I’ve been told (no source on this) that they’ve been working to make captures more humane in Russia, than what was done elsewhere in previous decades.

I believe this, because not just avoiding animals drowning during capture (something that would be very counter-productive to whale hunters who have a strict quota on them), they seem to not be in the business of hauling whales onto boats and letting them lie there, suffocating under their own weight, but instead putting them in stretchers filled with water, something I see as a huge improvement.

Again about stress in general, we shouldn’t generalize between species. Killer whales and bottlenose dolphins for example, seem very adaptable and interactive with humans by nature, as are false killer whales (described in the late 1960s as more adaptable to captivity than the smaller dolphins) and pilot whales. Compare this with Dall’s porpoises and common dolphins for example, which live far more specialized lives and don’t take to captivity as well.

Emptying the oceans

Another objection to taking animals out of the wild, other than the stress it puts on the individual animals themselves, would be that it may deplete the wild populations. If we profess to care about the survival of the species and individual populations as one of our chief concerns for taking them into human care in the first place, we can’t go out emptying the oceans of whales.

There is no doubt that the capture of just over 30 whales from the Southern residents between 1965-1973 was a very hard hit on the population. However, in those days we didn’t know they were endangered, we didn’t even know there were unique populations of killer whales, and there were no quotas; fishermen could take as many whales as they wanted and sell them to anyone.

The Russian population is known to contain between 700 and 800 whales, and the quota in 2017 is set for a capture of a maximum of 10 whales, but in the years of 2012-2016, only 1-6 whales have been taken per year, or 0.125-0.85% of the entire population, per year. They are in no way threatened or endangered, and this commercial capture will not make them so.

Compare this to a quota for 800 beluga whales in the same waters, mainly for food for indigenous people, but also for selling. This is out of a population of only a few thousand whales.

Why?

This might be the biggest question. Why do it? What’s the benefit? If you are under the very common misconception that whales, dolphins and other wild animals are simply kept for human “entertainment”, obviously seeing a top predator taken out of its natural habitat to be put in a pool to balance balls in front of an audience is very upsetting to you. This may have been true in the past, and still is in some parts of the world (see traveling marine mammal circuses in Russia for example - none of those will ever own a killer whale however), but it is a completely different world from a modern zoological facility.

These animals aren’t being captured for “entertainment”, though since the public mostly sees them performing in shows rather than in their off time, that is easy to believe. They are there for (beware, fancy words ahead) captive propagation and display of their species, meaning the breeding and showing to the public of a wild animal species people wouldn’t otherwise ever see, and in our world of increasing disconnect from nature, people need to see the very animals they can help either make extinct or protect for the future, face to face.

Even aside from being viewed by the public and inspiring them to care for these species in the wild and their environment, zoological facilities play an irreplaceable part in research. Without the likes of SeaWorld and their immensely successful breeding program, we wouldn’t know a fraction of what we know about killer whale biology and behavior today, and thus would be unable to protect them in the wild. As a species they aren’t endangered, but several populations are endangered, critically endangered, or even functionally extinct. And a top predator can only function with a healthy ecosystem beneath it.

Protect the top predator, and you save the entire ecosystem.

Photo: Antony Pranata

But I’m not here to sell you on the benefits of keeping cetaceans in human care. I’m assuming you’re already okay with marine mammal aquariums like me, visits marine mammal facilities and are as upset by the ending of breeding programs and anti-animal activists implementing bans as I am.

I am here to argue that it doesn’t make sense to be for the continued propagation of certain species, while still being 100% against the wild capture of healthy animals. The main reason being gene pools.

There are currently over 2000 bottlenose dolphins in human care around the world. Most of them unrelated, only a small number of the 500 in North America and 300 in Europe are closely related. This makes it entirely unnecessary to capture more bottlenose dolphins, as they have been breeding successfully since the 1950s, and the gene pool is huge enough to last indefinitely, if only facilities across the world made it their goal, rather than just catching new dolphins. (This is already the case in North America and western Europe, while the rest of the world is still buying dolphins from Japan and the Black Sea.)

Pacific white-sided dolphins have a population of just over 100 individuals in human care, only 14 of which were captive-bred and still not closely related, which gives them a fairly large gene pool if facilities in Japan (where almost all of them live) actually aimed for breeding them, thus making the capture of lags rather unnecessary as well.

Photo: Oceanogràfic, Valencia

Belugas, the same thing. There are over 200 of them in human care, but they are mostly spread across poorer facilities in Russia, China and eastern Europe. The US has about 30 of them that need new blood in order to continue, but Marineland Ontario has about 25 wild-caught whales and as many captive-bred at the facility, which they could share with the rest of North America, if only they wanted to. In any case, there is no need to let the American beluga population go extinct or become inbred, with the number of whales there are in parks across the world. Captures aren’t really necessary.

Now then, to the big topic... killer whales.

Outside of the Russian whales, there are only nine wild-born killer whales still alive (Corky, Lolita, Katina, Kiska, Kasatka, Ulises, Stella, Kshamenk and Morgan), only 2-4 of which will ever breed again and contribute to the gene pool (Kshamenk, Morgan, Stella and Ulises, though Stella is pretty irrelevant as she has six descendants alive now). I’m assuming now for the sake of argument that SeaWorld’s breeding program will never be reinstated, but that the semen of some males like Ulises may be used in other facilities.

The whales at SeaWorld’s parks now descend from Katina, Kasatka, Gudrun, Kandu 5 (though she was likely never going to get grandchildren anyway), Kenau, Haida 2, Winston, Orky 2, Kanduke, Kotar, Tilikum, Ulises, Kshamenk, Sharkan and Kim 2 (15 whales).

Photo: Loïc Ventre

Loro Parque, Marineland Antibes and Kamogawa Sea World have stated that they have no intention to stop breeding, so the genes of Kim 2, Sharkan, Freya, Ulises, Katina, Winston, Kasatka, Kotar, Gudrun, Kanduke, Tilikum, Bingo, Stella and Oscar are assured, as well as Morgan and Kshamenk. That makes for a gene pool of 16 whales.

There are rumours that there is stored semen around from Splash among others, which would add the genes of Kandu 7 and Nootka 5, but since this isn’t confirmed but only a rumour, I have to ignore it. In any case, it’s less than 20 base individuals, and the loss of SeaWorld’s breeding program means the loss of the genes of only a handful of whales (Haida 2, Kandu 5, Kenau, and Orky 2, the last three of which would probably never leave descendants).

I see many SeaWorld fans that are disgusted by the wild captures saying “this is because of the breeding ban, if SeaWorld was allowed to breed, these facilities could get captive-bred whales instead”. As you can see, the gene pool was never large enough to sustain the zoological population of killer whales indefinitely.

Even if SeaWorld hadn’t ended their breeding program, and even if Marineland Ontario’s killer whale program hadn’t been a total failure (adding only Kandu 7, Nootka 5 and Kiska to the gene pool), it still wouldn’t be enough without adding new blood.

And in any case, it’s not like SeaWorld was going to become the killer whale breeding center of the world, shipping their whales to new parks and aquaria across the world. The Loro Parque situation was unique and I doubt they would ever repeat it, even without the Blackfish debacle.

We can’t rely on occasional unreleasable rescues either, since when Springer was rescued in 2002, she was the first killer whale to be rescued anywhere in the world in 23 years. A young male was rescued by Kamogawa Sea World in 2006 but he died within days, and a baby, newborn Pascuala, was rescued in Mexico in 2007, but she died after Greenpeace blocked her transfer to SeaWorld, where her survival would have been assured.

When Morgan was found three years later, she looked just as bad as the Japanese male but survived of course, and she is the longest-lived rescued whale to date (the others who lived were all in the 1970s however).

Also, since the huge success of Morgan, it has become harder and harder to rescue killer whales (and only killer whales) in Europe, North America and New Zealand, rescue often being stopped or delayed by activists and pseudoscientist researchers who put their anti-captivity agenda before the animal’s well-being and chance of survival.

In any case, these events are so rare they can’t be relied upon as a way to add blood into a tight gene pool.

So there it is. If you want to have killer whales in human care for the indefinite future, if you realize the benefits of keeping them and don’t want to see them going away, it does not make sense to be against humane, sustainable captures of healthy wild animals.

Like I said at the beginning, I don’t expect to be convincing anyone here, but I do hope that wild captures can become less opposed and more accepted, if not supported, in the future. As usual, people oppose humane and ethical things being done to killer whales that we do all the time to other species, even cetaceans, and we don’t blink an eye, or are at least far less outraged. This does not make sense. Killer whales being huge, majestic and beautiful top predators, and a romantic “symbol of the wild” in people’s minds, does not make them worth more than other animals.

I want to see killer whales having a future in human care, and so the addition of twenty-something Russian whales to the gene pool, captured ethically from a non-threatened population, is invaluable. I am not ashamed of this stance in the slightest, and if you agree at all, neither should you.

[rjzimmerman]

A deceased vaquita, killed by gillnet gear used for catching totoaba, is pictured here.  Credit:  Omar Vidal/NOAA Fisheries West Coast/Flickr

Another story about my pet project, the vaquita. I’ll keep posting every article and story I find about the vaquita if it contains new information, until these little guys either recover or become extinct. The latter is more likely, since only 30 are left.

This story tells us that the Center for Biological Diversity has sued the US government for failure to enforce international laws against Mexico that would protect the vaquita. To me, that lawsuit is wrong, because I think Mexico has been taking reasonable steps to protect the vaquita. The real criminal here is China and the Chinese people who pay thousands and thousands of dollars for the bladder of another fish, the totaoba, which is also endangered, so they can get bigger boners and their skin can be pretty and shiny. When the pirates fish for the totaoba, they use gillnets, which also capture (and drown) the vaquita.

So what good is it to fight the US and Mexico for a problem caused by China? Seems really a waste of time and effort and money and creates false hope. Stop the pirates working for Chinese merchants. How? Not by chasing them in helicopters and boats. Something more dramatic is required. Little dolphins are more precious to us than humans who happen to be pirates? Yep.

[blaze-art]

The Search for Kukui (Mermaid AU): Chapter 2

It was Saturday, two days after Leia meet the dolphin merboy known as Hau. She missed him dearly even though she didn't know him for very long, looking down at the ocean, sitting on the docks of the Hau'oli City Marina, lost in thought whilst her dangling foot was just barely scraping the waters surface. She looked at the transmitter device her mother gave to her before she headed out, the device was something that the ecologists such as her mother created. They hoped they can use it to report and find any injured pokemon or large amounts of pollution. Since she was going to the beach, her mother gave her one and told her to use if she encountered something troubling.

A sudden splash caught her attention, looking up from the transmitter, she saw the silhouette of a dolphin on the horizon. Her mouth agape in anticipation and stuffing the transmitter into her bag, although she liked to believe he returned, there was a small voice of doubt saying he was never coming back. However her mind clung onto that bit of hope as the dolphin swam close to her, a bright flash of blue and bubbles appeared underwater as it was mere inches from her.

Leia's smile was wider than ever as she saw none other than Hau, resurfacing quickly, splashing the young girl with a bit of water as he did so. "Hau! I'm so happy to see you again! I've been thinking about you since you left! Did you find your missing king and grandpa?" Leia excitedly greeted the merboy, resisting the urge to jump in and hug him right on the spot. "No...things have only gotten worse!" Hau replied in a dim voice seldom heard, he had to take a break between words, heavily panting between them. "Slow down, take your time...What do you mean?" Leia questioned, waiting patiently for Hau to catch his breath.

"All sorts of weird things are happening in the kingdom! Oh, it's too hard for me to explain it all...If only you could see it." Hau told her, unable to shape all that he's seen into words. "I'll go back there with you! Then the both of us can get to the bottom of it." Leia suggested. Hau looked at her with a slightly confused expression "Nice one, Leia. But leave the jokes to me. Human lungs would never last where i'm from" Hau chuckled, admiring her eagerness to help, not taking her idea seriously.

"Oh but I can! There's some diving gear in the facility that's just my size, let me go with you, please!" Leia pleaded. "Well now that you mention that...Okay! I could use all the help I can get!" Hau agreed, delighted in knowing now that she could aid him on his mission despite their physical differences. "I'll be right back, wait for me right here" Leia instructed and ran off to the Nether Facility to fetch the diving suit (and her trash bag).

A few minutes later, she arrived back at the marina to find Hau waiting, swimming around in small circles. She took a moment to put on the fins, gloves, and mask. After strapping on the oxygen tank to her back, she jumped into the water. "Alright, now that you're ready i'll lead the way!, hop on and strap on tight!" Hau told her, Leia grabbed onto his dorsal fin and hopped onto his back as if he was giving her a piggyback ride.

Hau swam out onto the ocean sea now with Leia on tow, both of them could spot a large yacht on the horizon. Swimming even closer towards it, they saw a large stream of oil and garbage seeping through an open hole on the side of the black and white decorated ship. "Ew...I certainly wasn't hoping to see such filth right away..." Leia murmured to herself. "I believe you humans call that "bilge", right?" Hau commented. "That's one way to call it, utterly revolting would be another" Leia muttered, thinking she was being clever.

"I don't think I've ever seen a ship like that before" Hau said, eyeing the patterns and giant skull symbol plastered on it. Leia's eyes widened at the sight of the familiar skull decal. "Oh I have...Skull Industries..." She replied in a terrified manner. "Who?" Hau grew curious after she mentioned who owns the yacht. "Skull Industries is a business corporation, they mostly sell oil, but also some other things like sharpedo tooth necklaces and all sorts of "bling" " Leia explained, Hau shook at the mention of the necklace. "My mother told me that they used to be just a bunch of hooligans that disrupted events and stole peoples pokemon for money...but now...they've moved on from that, and definitely not in a good way..." She continued. "They're why the Nether Agency was created...to stop their toxins from harming and spreading further...so to speak."

Eyeing the stream of trash, she got off of Hau's back and swam towards it. Taking out her trash she stuffed some of the rubbish into it, except for a clear jar, which she stowed it away in her regular bag, feeling it might come in handy. "For now we should focus on finding your king...and your grandpa." She suggested to him after clearing a narrow pathway through the bilge. Hoping on Hau's back once again, the two made their way through the garbage and filth and continued their way to his kingdom.

"You know...until know, I only thought merpeople existed in fairy tales. That there was no way any human-like life was living under the sea." Leia told Hau, slightly bored of the silence going on between them as they made their way. "What other "porpoise" would I have to disguise myself as a regular dolphin?" Hau joked, Leia chuckling at his pun. They usually did that to find food as well, but that was beside the point.

Hau stopped in a spot between a little far away from the islands, but close enough were you could see all four out on the horizon, Leia got off his back when she got the hint that they were there. "Time to dive, Leia! We're close to my kingdom, Tapulia. You still want to continue, right?" Hau told her. "Of course, Hau! Do you think your friends will let me help?" Leia asked. "Maybe not at first, Leia, They're a little afraid of humans, you know. Humans have given us some pretty bad experiences, you know" Hau answered. "But i'm sure you'll do just fine! So, get ready to dive!" Hau reassured her.

Leia checks the pressure in her tanks, wets her mask, and clears her regulator. After giving Hau a thumbs up, the two submerged themselves into the deep blue sea.

The two swam downwards towards a big area of tangled seaweed "That's a lot of seaweed up ahead...maybe there's another way to get to your kingdom." Leia suggested nervously "We got to go through, Kukui used to clear a path for us....but it's gotten overgrown. But don't worry! Just follow my lead!" Hau told her. "Okay...I'll try" Leia replied, unsure of herself.

Hau swam through the seaweed with Leia tailing behind him. When the two made it through, Leia's eyes widened at the sight of the kingdom. It was large, as big as Alola itself, there were many buildings made up of old ruins, statues made of bronze and stone adorned the place. "Wow..." Leia muttered in astonishment, "She's beautiful, isn't she? Her name is Tapulia, my home" Hau said, the two then swam towards courtyard of the largest building.  

"You should go talk to Burnet, she's the king's wife, If anyone would know what you need to do to help us, It would be her. I'm going to go see what's been going on since I left. I'll be at the town if you need me. Good luck, Leia" Hau instructed her, then swam eastward towards his hometown. Leia swam into the large, more futuristic looking building.

Inside the building, there were two thrones, one for the king and the other for the queen. The king's throne was empty, while upon the other sat a figure. The bottom half was that of a Basking Shark, while the top half was that of a tan skinned woman with spiky white hair and yellow eyes. "Ah! A human! What brings you here to our glorious kingdom?" The woman greeted her, a little startled that a human was in the kingdom, but still in a rather friendly manner, that "glorious kingdom" thing clearly didn't live up.

"My name is Leia, I was brought here by Hau. I want to help the kingdom!" Leia told her. "Queen Burnet" the women replied, introducing herself. "He told me to see you, he said you might know about what I should do" Leia explained the situation. Burnet thought for a moment, before remembering "Well, Leia, the books (made with paper made of seaweed) speak of a prophecy. That if the kingdom be in danger, a human child would come to aid us in our time of need" Burnet told her.  

"A human child...could that be me?" Leia asked, unsure if she was fit for the job. "It's hard to say right now...tell you what, If you can prove yourself by giving me a symbol of trust from the citizens, then i'm sure you can save the kingdom." Burnet told her. Leia hesitated for a moment "I'll do my best..." Leia told the queen and left the throne room.

                    [End of Chapter 2, To be Continued in Chapter 3]

[fleurdelissaswords-blog]

Appetite for Deception, The Best Guns N’ Roses Tribute Band: Concert Review and More…

Ok, truth be told, I had not planned on making it to this show. My parents suggested it but we’re going to be gone that weekend, but somehow, quite by chance, I ended up there anyway. And WOW, WHAT A SHOW!!!

Some of you have heard my story of seeing the real GNR back in 1992, and how it has always remained one of my favorite shows to this day… right up there with Nine Inch Nails on my list. I grew up in a musical family. One parent was an ex-rockstar. Now before you start thinking this made for a killer childhood of popularity and invites to every party, it wasn’t like that! They were strict, and we weren’t really allowed to tell peers about this… their rockstar days were over, settled into a quiet life and new careers.

Probably owing to their experience in the Rock N Roll world, they were strict in their parenting style. They were protective of me, naturally. Of course I grew up hearing stories of backstage parties with the members of Heart, private dinner parties with Stevie Nicks, etc. But for a musical family, MTV was woefully under perpetual parental control! “The state of music these days is awful anyway” I’d hear when there was a live concert airing on MTV, us kids wanted to see. And I was a young naive teenage girl learning to play guitar and with stars in my eyes. And my biggest starry eyes were for Axl Rose! My parents were appalled. “Oh God, she’s gonna go into the rock scene!” Lol.

But because my folks were protective, I had to beg for months to be allowed to see GNR live back then. I had to get good grades for 2 months. I had to all my chores. I even did some extra chores just to be safe. And finally they relented with some strict curfew rules. My entire high school class was basically going. I would be no exception.

But when we got tons of prank calls with some school mate blaring my parent’s song that was AGAIN on the stupid oldies rock station for “has beens,” and laughing then hanging up, only to repeat it again the next day, it did not make for a glorious childhood. My folks would get pissed. I was embarrassed that classmates did this whenever they heard the song. But when my folks played it at home for us kids at campfires, it was like our own private show! Beat that jerk bullies!

Looking back I realized my peers were jealous. But back then it felt like I was the biggest geek for having a “has been” for parents. But I loved them and admired their musical abilities until all of us kids were learning different instruments, and singing renditions of Puff the Magic Dragon around the bonfire on family camping trips.

I was never the stellar musician like my folks were. My skills were in singing, but I hadn’t discovered that at the time. I wanted to learn drums but my parents, fearing a LOT of endless loud banging noise, told my band teacher no, when he approached them at a school talent show asking if they would enroll a promising student in the music program. They needed a drummer and I wanted to learn. So I ended up on guitar and keyboard. But I had the best teacher at home! I just wasn’t disciplined enough, because I wanted to learn drums. Years later, I am now learning the drums finally. So the love of music, especially rock, was instilled in me.

I also grew up hearing lots of amazing stories of my parents opening for bands like Heart, dating members of The Turtles, and a lot of crazy rock n'roll stories. Let’s just say, my folks were the most popular on my school’s Career Day when parents came to discuss their professions. Lol. But after that I got bullied relentlessly for having the parents I had.

My siblings were too young to go to that awesome show back in 1992, just after the GNR riots had been all over the media. My folks feared the crowd would get violent… it was a possibility! I had 6th row seats and couldn’t have been more excited for one of my first concerts when sophomore year came around. But my siblings finally got to see them live just this past year on their reunion tour, which I missed. So this Tribute band show made up for that in a big way. Oh now my folks will inform me about good shows to see… I think they’ve given up on trying to keep me away from the music scene, and we’re all older now. My folks are honestly much cooler and fun to go to live shows with. In fact it was my parents who told me about this GNR Tribute show, and said I should go and they would too except they had prior obligations, but that the band was a notable good one they liked. So with their vote of confidence, I entered.

At the show, the venue was packed! It was like 1992 all over again! The fans looked like the same fans aged 20 years still in their GNR t-shirts and sexy black dresses.

The venue was packed! And I mean packed. Nursing a leg injury, I needed a spot to sit… so, having been to over 200 live shows during my lifetime, a few tricks came in handy. “Weave and duck, weave and duck, find a nook on the side of the stage and park it there! Find a sitty-spot! THEN, GET ALL THE FOOTAGE!!!” The roady saw me struggling at my first live show in a while, and allowed me to sit on the side of the stage for the show due to my injury. They actually gave up tbeir seat ON the stage where they were watching the show, which was truly kind, as I was in pain, and I ended up getting what is probably this band’s best footage ever! You’re welcome you awesome guys. And I remember it feeling so much like the real band, not nearly as cheesy and cliche as I thought, more people should know about this awesome band. So I decided to turn what would have just been some random live footage posted, into an entire review article and interview with the band, which they were gracious enough to (I’ve only ever seen 2 tribute band shows… both disappointing, so didn’t pursue it.)

During the show, Axl Rose, played meticulously by the handsome Mark Thomas, made a comment about looking for more live footage from fans from previous shows. Welp… I had TWO devices on me, DONE! He showed off the same impressive vocal range that Axl himself has, which isn’t easy to pull off. What women know as a beautiful haunting combination of loud screaming and low register soulful notes, Mark knocked it out of the ballpark. He even INSISTED on paying for his post-show drink, even when it was offered on the house. Now, that I had never seen in all my years of attending shows, and probably impressed me just as much as his singing and swaying… yes he does the whole Axl sway and leg kicks, and yes it’s HOT!

I was a bit late to the show, but arrived just in time to hear literally all of my favorite GNR songs. Btw, since coming from a grocery store, I had to bring a bag of food in with me, and have the guys behind the bar keep an eye on it for me… I hope whoev at the venue who stole my Halloween cookies, enjoyed them!!! 😡 I will now call you the Bob Guccione of the night bruh! Bad form dude. But now the world knows. I love your venue, your pool tables need some work, your drinks are great, your food is bomb, so eat yer own food, not mine! I lost My cookies at this show, and not for the typical reason a concert-goer does. I WANT MY COOKIES BACK!!! Thank God my other snacks made it home.

This was definitely a Use Your Illusion Era show set, which Mark later told me they don’t always play so much material from these albums, but are admittedly his favorites… the audience agreed. He wasn’t out to just play every notable number one single from GNR, they played songs you could tell, they loved themselves and sounded good together on. And Mark, as Axl, told the story of each song in between. I haven’t seen that done since seeing Stevie Nicks (another Bucket List band I waited my whole life to see, after hearing stories of her in the music scene growing up). Mr. Thomas even made the classic “Rocket Queen” joke about how he “effed another band member’s girlfriend” for the song tracks. This was one song I was excited to hear, as the original GNR never played it back in 1992 that night.

But my favorite GNR era has got to be the Use Your Illusion era. The musical composition was at its very best, mixing classical piano into rock ballads that went for almost ten minutes and left you scratching your head as to its meaning. I mean why did GNR need dolphins (which were actually porpoises) for their Estranged video? Dolphins don’t swim around downtown LA… unless someone knows something I don’t about the area? 🤔

Their rendition of Estranged had me transfixed and I really believed I was back in ‘92 watching GNR play on that stage again. Mark did the classic side-to-side jaunt Axl is known for. He wore the headband. He reluctantly gave “Slash” all of his due solos. Slash, played by Brandon Cook, has a music degree, and agreed to talk to me after the show for this article, and pose for some killer still shots. He also can play bass, I learned later. He had the same guitar Slash uses, that beautiful Les Paul I’ve been wanting my whole life, so much ogling of instruments did occur. Lol. And the top hat must get hot during shows.

Since I’m learning how to play drums, I payed particular attention to “Matt Sorum,” played by Andrew Greene… I am nowhere near that good yet but I can appreciate a good drum solo by a trained player! He just inspired me to practice harder… got those paradiddles down now yo! I was also envying his drum set. When Paradise City hit its chorus, he showed his skills and made the song, even though it was originally played by Steven Adler not Mat Sorum. People always say that Steven Adler was the powerhouse player and Mat Sorum more technical, so of course whoev played this set had to be both, and he was. And it was amazing to watch.

During our interview, Mark said it was their Izzy Stradlin, played by Michael Killian who was the one who posted for auditions for a GNR tribute band on Craigslist that made this band of amazing musicians a reality. He apparently had some sunset strip under his belt from the same era, which is always nice to hear in a tribute band. That they know the genre and area it comes from, and the culture of the times, to portray live on stage.

Throughout the show, I got the chance to speak with several fans in the audience. Some of them had seen this band before and said they were in rare form this night. Others traveled from other places to see the show, as seasoned fans. They sounded great! For a smaller venue, where the sound can be a bit iffy for live performers, this band, being professional, had it worked out so every note came through beautifully.

I didn’t know much about this band, except for my parents saying they were good. And I trust their judgement obviously. So at home after the show I did some digging to learn more about them for this article. They also played with Jeremy Walker as Duff. The day they all arrived at the audition for this band, Mark commented it was their preparedness of the material, and how good they all sounded together at the initial audition despite having never even met, that gave this band that extra spark of something special that translates well to fans. It’s called Chemistry, and not every band has it so naturally as these guys do! So if you ever get the chance to see Appetite for Deception, do so. You’ll love it.

When it came time for audience participation during Paradise City, the venue lit up and everyone chipped in. Mark Thoma, as Axl, held the exact same mic out over the audience, and I’m betting the voices filled the entire city block! People were clapping and singing along and cheering… a few of you especially rowdy fans managed to sneak cameos into my footage with devil horns in the air. Lol. It got wild. And we were all old school rockers now. Needless to say it was a fun night of nostalgia and I’m glad I went.. it was actually better than the real GNR show the month before sound-wise, and I did not expect to say that after comparing footage. And I still envy Slash’s guitar to this day… hey if you ever wanna sell bruh, look me up.

Songs played ran the course of GNR’s musical career, from their Appetite days, with Paradise City, to Don’t Cry, and one of my favorites Knockin on Heaven’s Door, as the audience participated in the chorus. I loved their Estranged, where yes, I did imagine porpoises swimming around downtown LA for some strange reason. And of course Rocket Queen is always a crowd favorite. I never got to hear it back in 1992 when the real band played. At the time I remember being a bit upset one of their more controversial songs hadn’t made the set list, so bucket list item: check!… I must have missed Sweet Child O Mine during this tribute show somehow, but I arrived a bit after the show started, cuz the checkout line for my cookies ran longer than expected.

And thanks Uber driver for waiting and getting me to the show, and not being a creep. That always helps!

Look for the other projects by these band members: Steelhorse – Bon Jovi Tribute, SOS – Motley Crue Tribute, Jukebox Heroes – Foreigner Tribute, Bad Ellie – Original project, The Penalty – Original project, Sovereign – Original project, BAM – Acoustic Trio.

The band would also like to thank Jason Fellman of J-Fell Productions. He has a full lineup of other good tribute acts I hear!

Mark Thomas "Axl," also has a petition you might be interested in signing, if you are an animal lover like the rest of us: https://www.change.org/p/theresa-may-mp-stop-this-evilness-and-save-the-elephant-species/fbog/810582541?recruiter=810582541&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=facebook&utm_campaign=psf_combo_share_initial.combo_new_control_progress_bar&utm_term=autopublish&pt=AVBldGl0aW9uAPH8vQAAAAAAWdb7SR%2BCrnVmMWIyODI1Ng%3D%3D%3Frecruiter%3D807962854

You can find out more at http://j-fell.com/ For booking shows in other states, Mark Thomas does the bulk of communicating and planning for those gigs. They are all availble on Facebook at: https://m.facebook.com/AppetiteForDeception/ And: http://www.j-fell.com/a4d/

[bngnews]

Activists call for whale refuges, but can they stay afloat?

By CALEB JONES, Associated Press

WAIMANALO, Hawaii (BNG)(AP) — A Hawaii marine park's purchase of Kina, a 40-year-old false killer whale long used in echolocation research, has reignited a debate about captive marine mammals and the places that care for them.

Most of the world's captive cetaceans - dolphins, whales and porpoises - are now born in marine-park breeding programs, though some are still taken from the wild. Since they're so expensive to care for, even marine mammals used solely for research, like Kina, often end up at attractions like Oahu's Sea Life Park.

Animal-rights activists are calling for the creation of ocean-based refuges, where they say captive marine animals could retire and live a life closer to nature. At least two groups already are working to create such sanctuaries, but experts question whether they can stay afloat.

A closer look at the discussion:

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HOW DO MARINE MAMMALS END UP IN CAPTIVITY?

In the past, many were captured from the wild, taken from their family pods and put in marine parks.

In Japan, fishermen would round up scores of dolphins and whales in coves, killing most but selecting some for sale to parks. That fishery has been widely criticized, and most marine parks no longer take its animals.

Kina is believed to be the last living captive animal in the United States taken from a Japanese dolphin drive.

Today, most marine mammals in parks are born in captive breeding programs that originated when wild animals were taken from the ocean.

Parks and aquariums have long moved animals among different facilities to ensure genetic diversity but can now mail sperm from their animals to other parks to ensure a healthy population.

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WHAT TYPES OF SITES HOLD THESE ANIMALS?

Most research labs around the world that keep marine mammals solely for science have closed because of funding problems, said Paul Nachtigall, founder of the University of Hawaii's Marine Mammal Research Program.

His sea pens where Kina lived at the university were among them. It cost nearly $1 million a year to keep three animals at the lab.

Scientists agree most captive whales wouldn't survive if released into the wild.

Keiko, the orca that starred as Willy in the 1993 blockbuster "Free Willy," is an example of the difficulty involved in releasing captive animals. In the film, a boy helps set the captive whale free. But in real life, Keiko was rescued after the movie because of an outcry over his conditions at a Mexico park. The whale eventually was released into the wild but died a short time later.

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WHAT ARE OCEAN SANCTUARIES?

Animal-rights activists are proposing establishing refuges for retiring show animals by netting off large areas of coastal ocean.

The sanctuaries would be much larger and deeper than tanks and pools at family attractions, though the animals would still require constant care. Advocates say the refuges would employ trained staff similar to those at marine parks.

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ARE ANY IN THE WORKS?

Yes. A group called The Whale Sanctuary Project is raising money and hopes to open a sea sanctuary in the coming years.

Project organizers started with about 100 possible sanctuary sites and have narrowed that to 20 locations in British Columbia, Nova Scotia and Washington state. They will begin pursuing permits for two or three promising locations next year, President Lori Marino said.

The refuge will publish observational data on its whales and dolphins but will not allow in-depth, invasive research on them, Marino said.

Meanwhile, the National Aquarium in Baltimore last year announced it will retire its dolphins into a "pioneering" ocean pen by 2020.

People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals welcomed the news, and the CEO of the Humane Society of the United States blogged that the head of the aquarium "has done something terribly important."

"There's no model anywhere that we're aware of for this," aquarium CEO John Racanelli told The Associated Press in an interview ahead of the announcement. "We're pioneering here, and we know it's neither the easiest nor the cheapest option."

___

WOULD THESE FACILITIES WORK?

Nachtigall says sanctuaries are a great idea, but he worries they'll face the same money problems his research program experienced.

The animals need quality food, veterinary care and stimulation, which requires a large staff and expensive infrastructure.

"If you're going to care for the animals the best way you can, you have to have the funding to do it," he said. "The best way to bring in funding consistently is to have a paying public."

Marino believes a shift in thinking — and funding — could be the answer. She says her project, which was incorporated last year, has raised about $1 million of the $20 million needed to get off the ground. Continued funding of about $2 million per year would come from donors and public education programs.

If marine parks collaborated with sanctuary creators, she says, more dolphins and whales could be swimming in the ocean. "I think there are people in the captivity community that want to see this happen."

[jeantparks]

Updated: R2AK leaders near the top of Vancouver Island

UPDATE, 9 p.m. 6/13/17:

Some news at the front of the pack. The Burd brothers, in the lead, left Malcolm Island to port and went up through George Passage. Bad Kitty, in second, appeared to gamble, leaving Malcolm Island to starboard and went through Broughton Strait. Big Broderna, in third, followed the Burd Brothers. As of 2100 Tuesday night, it appears the gamble didn’t work. Bad Kitty is now in third and Big Broderna is in second trying to reel in the Burd Brothers. They’re all at the top of Vancouver Island with a lot of water ahead of them, so one can’t get too confident or disappointed.

Team 3 and ½ Aussies is alone in 4th place about midway in Johnstone Strait and Ketch me if you can is in 5th starting their run at Johnstone.

Five teams above the Narrows but slack is 9:19 with six teams at Campbell River with more arriving shortly. Two of those six, Roger Mann on Discovery and West Coast Wild Ones, appear poised to take advantage of the evening slack. The others may wait until either the 3:51 a.m. slack or perhaps the 8:58 slack. Between the evening slack and the 3:51 slack the current is moving in the right direction, but with strong eddies and whirlpools. Arriving near peak current last night, the Burd brothers faced a choice. Wait and watch their lead diminish or go for it. I’m not privy to their deliberation, but their description was great:

They recalled the entry into the narrows as the “darkest of dark you can imagine and nearly max current”.  Fading wind, little steerage but they were prepared – hatch covers, Ocean Rodeo suits, headlamps, and deck vests on. As they entered “the gut of the narrows” they could hear, but not see, breaking waves. “Here we go!” they thought. Only to find that the breaking waves were really a school of 30 to 40 porpoises. I suspect they were Pacific Whitesided Dolphins, but in any case the porpoises/dolphins played with their bow and made an already memorable trip that much more memorable.

The next 10 hours or so will be great to watch on who makes what decision. I suspect the 8:58 slack will be a busy one for R2AK, although the aggressive may try earlier.

Pear Shaped Racing has formally retired and Team Kairos is having some issues with their row cruiser and trying to make repairs.

Sistership hit some rocks exiting Active Pass and has posted some heartbreaking posts. Their centerboard is jammed in the up position and they were just towed back to Nanaimo. They’ll need to be hauled out of the water and then make the decision whether or not to carry on and go for Ketchikan. It’s tough watching the live posts they’ve made — the disappointment is palpable.  I’m hoping they go for it as they can still find their race picking off the slower craft. They’ve got a good boat and a good crew.

If there’s a most improved boat, team Kelp had a good day. Would have been better had they gotten up a little earlier the past few days (ahem:).

More on the smaller human powered boats later – they are holding their own and the North2Alaska guys are really making a fine accounting of themselves.

As this missive closes, I’m thinking about Roger Mann, alone in his boat, making the 9 p.m. slack. He’s not going to get much sleep tonight.

UPDATE, 9 a.m. 6/13/17: 

Team Pure & Wild/Freeburd, Team Bad Kitty and Team Big Broderna are building a lead in Johnstone Strait. Click on the image to view tracker live.

The overall picture hasn’t changed much, but the Burd brothers didn’t wait for slack and took Seymour Narrows on shortly after midnight. Bad Kitty and Big Broderna also got through the checkpoint at Campbell River and are through the Narrows. The Burd brothers hold roughly a 15 nautical mile lead over Bad Kitty, slightly less than what they had leading up to Campbell River. The wind is blowing and they’ve got an adverse current at present.

Roger Mann was up early as were the boys in North2Alaska and Matt Prius in Viz Reporter.

A quick note on North2Alaska: When I was in Port Townsend, I looked at this boat. It’s a high school project, a home made welded aluminum sharpie. Their oars appeared to be crude affairs so heavy they were counter balanced with zincs. The unstayed masts wobbled and the thought of five souls aboard (four teenagers just graduated from high school plus one dad), made me shudder. Privately I didn’t give them much of a shot to make it to Victoria much less Ketchikan. There’s still a lot of water between them and Ketchikan, but they have put in long days and the last two mornings beat the sun up getting underway.  Ahead of some faster, more capable boats, these guys are bring their A game and then some. This morning they left Lasqueti Island and are headed north. In any case, my earlier assessment of their chances was flat wrong. And being wrong on something like this makes me very happy as it’s exactly that type of performance by young people that provides hope for the future.

Team Sistership took an odd turn last night, getting out of the strait and pulled into French Creek. No movement yet this morning. Hope all is well with them. The rest of the field is scattered throughout Georgia Strait.

It’s another day for R2AK!

Original Post, 9:30 p.m. 6/12/17:

Screen shot of the race tracker at 9:32 p.m. Click on the image to view the tracker live.

R2AK is off and running. Similar to the start at Port Townsend, the Victoria re-start was in calm weather. Unlike the Port Townsend start, the forecasted calm wind was supposed to last all day.

Unfortunately, when the racers took off from Victoria Harbour at high noon on Sunday it was marred by a collision between a powerboat and team Oaracle. The powerboat came up behind the rowers and caused some damage, but fortunately no injuries.   Clearly the overtaking and hence burdened vessel, the powerboat’s operator yelled at the rowers and reportedly took off — the equivalent of an aquatic hit and run.

Just days before, the Port Townsend to Victoria race was really two races. Or, more candidly, a race then a fight for survival. The predicted heavy wind arrive and, in the words of Jake Beattie, “went from zero to 50 as if it had something to prove.” For a full recap of that leg, Jake’s writing is well worth a read.

As of this writing, Monday afternoon, Team Pure and Wild/Freeburd, with the brothers Burd ( Tripp, Chris and Trevor) are opening up a commanding lead, charging up the Strait of Georgia despite hitting something hard last night. Overnight and earlier into the morning Pear Shaped Racing had been giving them competition, but a log strike at 8 knots sent them into Nanaimo for inspection.

The Burd brothers vessel has a nice combination of fast sailing, an effective propulsion system (Pedal powered) and three athletic young men as crew. They can deal with calms, they can deal with wind and they don’t have to stop. They were the first sailboat to arrive in Victoria, arriving just minutes before Pear Shaped Racing, PT Watercraft and Bad Kitty. All fast boats, but the log strike certainly impacted the Pear Shaped team and PT Watercraft has a crew of one, who will need to sleep. Bad Kitty and Big Broderna are sure to provide some competition, but it’s setting up to have the Burd brothers get through Seymour Narrows a slack or two before their nearest rival. They’re aiming for the slack around 2000 hours tonight.

Of the three paddleboarders, Karl Kruger is showing how it’s done. He was up early this morning and moving – currently the first of the primarily human powered craft.  Following close behind is Rod Price in his canoe (looks like a kayak with training wheels, but he’s got a single sided paddle and technically it’s a canoe) and Viz Reporter (Matt Prius). All three opted to avoid Dodd Narrows and went through False Narrows shortly after noon. The other two paddle boarders, Luke Burritt and Edrogan Kirac with ‘Stoked on Fuel” have been at Van Isle Marina all morning but got underway shortly after noon and opted to go through Sansum narrows. So far, all the other teams going up the inside opted to take Trincomali Channel.

Roger Mann opted for open water and surprisingly is ahead of larger boats with larger crews. If he slept at all last night, it wasn’t for very long.

The rest of the fleet is split between ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ with the larger cats and tri’s headed outside and the primarily human powered craft going inside through the Gulf Islands. For the smaller teams unable to go 24 hours a day, the length of their day will make a difference. The Port Townsend high school boys were up and at it early this morning as were many of the teams.  Some chose to sleep in. As we’ve seen before, the cumulative effect of those different habits will string out the fleet over the next week.

Some of the teams did a hybrid approach, going up the inside, but escaping the Gulf Islands through one of the passes. Kelp and Sistership opted for Active pass, and North2Alaska and Adventourists took Porlier Pass.

Speaking of what’s coming next, it’s wind. There’s a strong wind warning in Johnstone Strait later today, tonight and tomorrow.  Thursday will be 25 – 35, but out of the southeast. From personal experience in a small boat with less than a foot of freeboard, Johnstone Strait can be brutal, but at least it’ll be a following sea on Thursday. The wind will pick up in Georgia Strait as well, making up for the earlier easy time for the human powered craft. Look for the racers to spread out. Some will take advantage of the wind and charge forward, others will try and avoid the wind respecting their vessels and perhaps their own limitations. This isn’t really a race. But then again, it is.

Read More Here ….

The post Updated: R2AK leaders near the top of Vancouver Island appeared first on YachtAweigh.

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[janetgannon]

Updated: R2AK leaders near the top of Vancouver Island

UPDATE, 9 p.m. 6/13/17:

Some news at the front of the pack. The Burd brothers, in the lead, left Malcolm Island to port and went up through George Passage. Bad Kitty, in second, appeared to gamble, leaving Malcolm Island to starboard and went through Broughton Strait. Big Broderna, in third, followed the Burd Brothers. As of 2100 Tuesday night, it appears the gamble didn’t work. Bad Kitty is now in third and Big Broderna is in second trying to reel in the Burd Brothers. They’re all at the top of Vancouver Island with a lot of water ahead of them, so one can’t get too confident or disappointed.

Team 3 and ½ Aussies is alone in 4th place about midway in Johnstone Strait and Ketch me if you can is in 5th starting their run at Johnstone.

Five teams above the Narrows but slack is 9:19 with six teams at Campbell River with more arriving shortly. Two of those six, Roger Mann on Discovery and West Coast Wild Ones, appear poised to take advantage of the evening slack. The others may wait until either the 3:51 a.m. slack or perhaps the 8:58 slack. Between the evening slack and the 3:51 slack the current is moving in the right direction, but with strong eddies and whirlpools. Arriving near peak current last night, the Burd brothers faced a choice. Wait and watch their lead diminish or go for it. I’m not privy to their deliberation, but their description was great:

They recalled the entry into the narrows as the “darkest of dark you can imagine and nearly max current”.  Fading wind, little steerage but they were prepared – hatch covers, Ocean Rodeo suits, headlamps, and deck vests on. As they entered “the gut of the narrows” they could hear, but not see, breaking waves. “Here we go!” they thought. Only to find that the breaking waves were really a school of 30 to 40 porpoises. I suspect they were Pacific Whitesided Dolphins, but in any case the porpoises/dolphins played with their bow and made an already memorable trip that much more memorable.

The next 10 hours or so will be great to watch on who makes what decision. I suspect the 8:58 slack will be a busy one for R2AK, although the aggressive may try earlier.

Pear Shaped Racing has formally retired and Team Kairos is having some issues with their row cruiser and trying to make repairs.

Sistership hit some rocks exiting Active Pass and has posted some heartbreaking posts. Their centerboard is jammed in the up position and they were just towed back to Nanaimo. They’ll need to be hauled out of the water and then make the decision whether or not to carry on and go for Ketchikan. It’s tough watching the live posts they’ve made — the disappointment is palpable.  I’m hoping they go for it as they can still find their race picking off the slower craft. They’ve got a good boat and a good crew.

If there’s a most improved boat, team Kelp had a good day. Would have been better had they gotten up a little earlier the past few days (ahem:).

More on the smaller human powered boats later – they are holding their own and the North2Alaska guys are really making a fine accounting of themselves.

As this missive closes, I’m thinking about Roger Mann, alone in his boat, making the 9 p.m. slack. He’s not going to get much sleep tonight.

UPDATE, 9 a.m. 6/13/17: 

Team Pure & Wild/Freeburd, Team Bad Kitty and Team Big Broderna are building a lead in Johnstone Strait. Click on the image to view tracker live.

The overall picture hasn’t changed much, but the Burd brothers didn’t wait for slack and took Seymour Narrows on shortly after midnight. Bad Kitty and Big Broderna also got through the checkpoint at Campbell River and are through the Narrows. The Burd brothers hold roughly a 15 nautical mile lead over Bad Kitty, slightly less than what they had leading up to Campbell River. The wind is blowing and they’ve got an adverse current at present.

Roger Mann was up early as were the boys in North2Alaska and Matt Prius in Viz Reporter.

A quick note on North2Alaska: When I was in Port Townsend, I looked at this boat. It’s a high school project, a home made welded aluminum sharpie. Their oars appeared to be crude affairs so heavy they were counter balanced with zincs. The unstayed masts wobbled and the thought of five souls aboard (four teenagers just graduated from high school plus one dad), made me shudder. Privately I didn’t give them much of a shot to make it to Victoria much less Ketchikan. There’s still a lot of water between them and Ketchikan, but they have put in long days and the last two mornings beat the sun up getting underway.  Ahead of some faster, more capable boats, these guys are bring their A game and then some. This morning they left Lasqueti Island and are headed north. In any case, my earlier assessment of their chances was flat wrong. And being wrong on something like this makes me very happy as it’s exactly that type of performance by young people that provides hope for the future.

Team Sistership took an odd turn last night, getting out of the strait and pulled into French Creek. No movement yet this morning. Hope all is well with them. The rest of the field is scattered throughout Georgia Strait.

It’s another day for R2AK!

Original Post, 9:30 p.m. 6/12/17:

Screen shot of the race tracker at 9:32 p.m. Click on the image to view the tracker live.

R2AK is off and running. Similar to the start at Port Townsend, the Victoria re-start was in calm weather. Unlike the Port Townsend start, the forecasted calm wind was supposed to last all day.

Unfortunately, when the racers took off from Victoria Harbour at high noon on Sunday it was marred by a collision between a powerboat and team Oaracle. The powerboat came up behind the rowers and caused some damage, but fortunately no injuries.   Clearly the overtaking and hence burdened vessel, the powerboat’s operator yelled at the rowers and reportedly took off — the equivalent of an aquatic hit and run.

Just days before, the Port Townsend to Victoria race was really two races. Or, more candidly, a race then a fight for survival. The predicted heavy wind arrive and, in the words of Jake Beattie, “went from zero to 50 as if it had something to prove.” For a full recap of that leg, Jake’s writing is well worth a read.

As of this writing, Monday afternoon, Team Pure and Wild/Freeburd, with the brothers Burd ( Tripp, Chris and Trevor) are opening up a commanding lead, charging up the Strait of Georgia despite hitting something hard last night. Overnight and earlier into the morning Pear Shaped Racing had been giving them competition, but a log strike at 8 knots sent them into Nanaimo for inspection.

The Burd brothers vessel has a nice combination of fast sailing, an effective propulsion system (Pedal powered) and three athletic young men as crew. They can deal with calms, they can deal with wind and they don’t have to stop. They were the first sailboat to arrive in Victoria, arriving just minutes before Pear Shaped Racing, PT Watercraft and Bad Kitty. All fast boats, but the log strike certainly impacted the Pear Shaped team and PT Watercraft has a crew of one, who will need to sleep. Bad Kitty and Big Broderna are sure to provide some competition, but it’s setting up to have the Burd brothers get through Seymour Narrows a slack or two before their nearest rival. They’re aiming for the slack around 2000 hours tonight.

Of the three paddleboarders, Karl Kruger is showing how it’s done. He was up early this morning and moving – currently the first of the primarily human powered craft.  Following close behind is Rod Price in his canoe (looks like a kayak with training wheels, but he’s got a single sided paddle and technically it’s a canoe) and Viz Reporter (Matt Prius). All three opted to avoid Dodd Narrows and went through False Narrows shortly after noon. The other two paddle boarders, Luke Burritt and Edrogan Kirac with ‘Stoked on Fuel” have been at Van Isle Marina all morning but got underway shortly after noon and opted to go through Sansum narrows. So far, all the other teams going up the inside opted to take Trincomali Channel.

Roger Mann opted for open water and surprisingly is ahead of larger boats with larger crews. If he slept at all last night, it wasn’t for very long.

The rest of the fleet is split between ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ with the larger cats and tri’s headed outside and the primarily human powered craft going inside through the Gulf Islands. For the smaller teams unable to go 24 hours a day, the length of their day will make a difference. The Port Townsend high school boys were up and at it early this morning as were many of the teams.  Some chose to sleep in. As we’ve seen before, the cumulative effect of those different habits will string out the fleet over the next week.

Some of the teams did a hybrid approach, going up the inside, but escaping the Gulf Islands through one of the passes. Kelp and Sistership opted for Active pass, and North2Alaska and Adventourists took Porlier Pass.

Speaking of what’s coming next, it’s wind. There’s a strong wind warning in Johnstone Strait later today, tonight and tomorrow.  Thursday will be 25 – 35, but out of the southeast. From personal experience in a small boat with less than a foot of freeboard, Johnstone Strait can be brutal, but at least it’ll be a following sea on Thursday. The wind will pick up in Georgia Strait as well, making up for the earlier easy time for the human powered craft. Look for the racers to spread out. Some will take advantage of the wind and charge forward, others will try and avoid the wind respecting their vessels and perhaps their own limitations. This isn’t really a race. But then again, it is.

Read More Here ….

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