The Rain Forest

The rain forests you see on National Geographic are usually peaceful places with birds singing and monkeys hooting.  The rain forest that you actually walk through is something else.  Nat Geo doesn't mention the stuff that the camera doesn't see or that they would rather just ignore.  There are lots of unsavory things in the rain forests of the world:  you find rats -- big rats; there are leeches too -- not the kind that swim in the lakes of Minnesota but little inchworm-like creatures that creep along the forest floor looking for their next blood meal; their are several species of mosquitoes, including the aggressive tiger mosquito, and being bitten by a mosquito is the first step toward being infected with malaria, among other lovely pathogens.  Malaria is an infection people die from.  Mosquitoes also carry infections like Yellow Fever, Dengue Fever (a.k.a. break-bone fever), the West Nile Virus, and several other pathogens you really don't want to come in contact with.

But, if you fly over rain forests, especially in places where people are shooting at you, you need to know how to get along in a hostile place like a rain forest.  For that reason, The Powers That Be declared that all of us going into combat in Southeast Asia really needed to go through the Jungle Survival course that was taught at Clark Air Base, Philippines.  Since we were going into a war zone, our curriculum needed to include getting around on the rain forest floor, what you could eat, what you should leave alone, and what might eat you.  We also learned more than we wanted to know about all the creatures, too tiny to see, that could make you sick -- or even kill you -- and what steps you might be able to take to protect yourself from them.  We also learned how to obtain and keep that most precious commodity in the rain forest: water.  And, since if we found ourselves running around on the rain forest floor, there was every likelihood that that we got there because someone shot us down and would be coming to gather us up to be added to their collection of POWs in The Zoo in Hanoi.  We were taught all the nifty hiding places there are in the rain forest -- especially places like snake-infested stands of bamboo so thick you have to squeeze into them sideways.  To keep things upbeat, however, there was a fair amount of training in the procedures for being snatched out of the rain forest by a big rescue helicopter; that included actually being snatched out of the rain forest by a big rescue helicopter.  That was some good stuff to know.

So.  One fine September day in 1971, the pilot I had gone through EB-66 training with at Shaw and I arrived at Clark Air Base for our week long course in surviving in the jungle.  We went through several days of classroom training, interspersed with practice sessions in letting ourselves down to the ground from tall trees, how to board the gadget that a rescue helicopter might lower to us, and what to do when the helicopter hauled us up into the helicopter (hang on and don't let go until they pry your hands off the gadget).  We also got to hear some of the rain forest sounds, such as gibbons hooting, and see how high a six-foot long Philippine crocodile can leap in trying capture prey (about the length of its body).  We saw what all kinds of venomous snakes look like, including various species of cobra, bamboo vipers, habus, and some other venomous snakes I can't recall now.  I still wonder if there are any snakes in Southeast Asia that aren't venomous.  Oh, yeah.  Pythons aren't venomous, but they can kill you if you mess with them.

After several days in the classrooms and the training grounds at Clark Air Base, we were ready for our camping trip into the rain forest.  We climbed aboard a HH-3 one morning and were flown out to a base camp at the foot of what they told us was an extinct volcano.  The whole world learned about twenty years later that the volcano was not extinct; it was only dormant.  The volcano has a name:  Pinatubo.  Where we trekked and camped on its flanks a lake now exists.

The helicopter deposited us at a Negrito base camp.  There we teamed up with a Negrito who would be our guide for our sleep over out there in that lush rain forest.  Then we all trekked single file along a trail that lead off into the rain forest.  For the short time we were in the sun the heat and humidity really were oppressive, but as soon as we entered the rain forest the heat dissipated quite a bit.  I was near the end of the column as we snaked through the rain forest; then somebody farther up in the column let out a yelp.  A Philippine cobra decided to slide across the trail just as he put his foot down; the cobra slid right over his boot and disappeared.  Welcome to the jungle.

Survival Rule One is set up some shelter.  We all were provided with a parachute canopy with shroud lines attached.  We were to go out into the forest and construct a para-hammock between two trees.  It took me a while to find two appropriate trees, string the hammock between the trees, tie off the hammock, and arrange a rain shelter and insect barrier over the hammock.  My partner, the pilot, got the job done quicker than I and already had his poncho on when the afternoon rain began to fall.  I was still struggling with the slippery shroud lines but eventually got my shelter set up.  But I was thoroughly soaked; putting on a poncho would have been a waste of time.

After we all got our camp sites set up it was time for a combination nature walk and foraging expedition.  The Negrito led the column and would stop here and there to show us plants that were edible -- and some that we should avoid.  He would take some of the edible plants, such as cassava, and things I can no longer recall.  We would eat those plants and roots with our evening meal.  All the while we were on our afternoon trek, the rain steadily drizzled through the forest canopy.  I didn't dry out much -- but then most of the rest of group were also soaked.  We had ample opportunity to note that the wet volcanic soil was extremely slippery; everyone was pretty well mud caked by the time our trek was over.  I can see why leather boots don't last long in the rain forest.  Back at camp, we got a course in jungle cooking and cuisine courtesy of our Negrito guide.  We found a stand of green bamboo and cut several lengths as thick as my forearm.  These became jungle pressure cookers/steamers.  The Negrito found some dead and dry bamboo and gave us a demonstration of how you can make a fire in a wet rain forest without needing matches.  He literally rubbed two pieces of bamboo together to get a fire going.  There is more detail to it than that, but I still am able to make a fire that way; all I need is a few pieces of dry bamboo and a large knife.

Following the instructions of our Air Force instructor and the Negrito, we put the gatherings from our afternoon foraging, along with some rice, into the green bamboo segments and threw them onto the camp fire.  In short order the green bamboo pressure cookers/steamers were sizzling and sputtering.  A few minutes later we pulled the bamboo cookers out of the fire and emptied their contents onto rain washed banana leaves.  We supplemented that with canned rations the USAF had thoughtfully provided.  It was pretty tasty, especially the cassava.  Our instructor told us to be sure and throw the empty ration tins into the fire and keep the fire going for a while.  Failure to do that would draw rats into the camp site.  Of course that advice was largely ignored.

After eating, we had a few more lessons in signaling using day/night flares, pen gun flares, and rocket flares.  That was entertaining -- especially when the pen gun flares ricocheted off of tree limbs.  The Negrito also gave us a demonstration in how to tap a large tree for its water.  With all the lessons completed for the day it was time to retire to our para-hammocks for the night.  It was pitch black out there in the rain forest, but I recalled about where my hammock was and stumbled along, with the help of a flashlight, until I found it.  I carefully crawled into the hammock, wet boots and all, and pulled the mosquito netting down around me.  There is only one way to lay in a hammock:  on your back.  In a para-hammock, the nylon stretches a lot and your body takes on the shape of a U; it is not the most comfortable way to spend the night.  But it beats sleeping on the jungle floor.

Shortly after I got situated in my hammock, my partner, the pilot, found his hammock several feet away and hopped in.  I could hear him arranging the mosquito netting.  Then there was a loud KA-RASH; that was followed by a long string of expletives.  I knew what had happened:  my partner's hammock had come loose from one of its moorings and dumped him on the ground.  From the string of obscenities coming from him I knew he hadn't been hurt.  Still, trying to suppress a snicker, I asked, "are you okay?"  He was.  Since it was pitch black, he declared that he was not going to try to retie the hammock and that he would be spending the night next to the camp fire.  Off he went toward the dying embers of the camp fire.

When Partner got to the camp fire he discovered three or four others still hanging around the camp fire.  They were too spooked by the blackness to go wandering out into the forest to find their hammocks.  So there were four or five people lying on the ground next to the embers of the former camp fire.  Then they heard the clinking and clanking of the ration cans that didn't make it into the camp fire.  The rats had come into the camp site to feed on whatever they could find.  So.  Four or five jungle survival students, lying there like so many corpses, on the muddy ground, next to an almost dead camp fire, when they all sat up in unison.  "What was that?", someone said.  Someone else said, "I don't know."  My partner, the pilot, said, "It was a rat!"  "How do you know it was a rat?", said a voice in the dark.  Partner said, "Because it had four wet feet and a long wet tail -- and it just ran across my face!"  With that news the rest of the folks around the camp fire lost their fear of the inky blackness of the rain forest.  It became imperative to revive that camp fire.

All the rest of the night I could hear "chop, chop, chop, chop" and see flashlights floating through the darkness as the camp fire folks searched for enough dry bamboo to keep the rats at bay.  At some point in the early morning darkness a loud rolling CRASH came from up slope of us.  It had to be either a big tree toppling or a land slide; I don't know which.  In any case the sound died away rather than get louder.  Finally, the sky started to lighten as morning twilight arrived.  My body had been in a U-shape for several hours by that time and I had to pee.  I briefly considered trying to pee over the edge of my hammock but it looked like that might result in me lying face down in the mud, so I carefully pulled up the mosquito netting and worked my way to a sitting position in the hammock.  Looking over the side of the hammock I could see a nice fat red leech inchworming along forest floor.  That was one leech who had recently had breakfast.

Everyone gathered around the smoldering remains of the camp fire and awaited the instructor and the Negrito.  We ate whatever rations we had left for breakfast.  That turned out to be a mistake for me.  This was the last day in the rain forest and we would be practicing our E&E skills.  We formed a column and hiked to a place where we would practice hiding from the Negritos.  The incentive for the Negritos was a pound of rice for every evading student they found.  They would get five pounds of rice for rescuing a student in distress.  We were each given a loop that had several plain metal dog tags and one red one.  The red one indicated you were in distress; the rest just indicated that a Negrito had earned another pound of rice.

We were given to time to fan out and try to find a good hiding place.  I ended up in a low spot in the ground that was open to the sky.  There were some bamboo clumps around, but I could just feel all the beady reptilian eyes watching me so I didn't try disturbing whatever snakes were lurking in the bamboo.  There were lots of vines covering the ground so I decided to hide in plain sight.  I lifted the vines, which were like a huge green blanket, and crawled under.  I curled up into as small a ball as I could and just lay there on my side.  A hat with mosquito netting over it broke up the features of my face.  And then the Negritos came hooping and hollering after us.  Several ran right through the patch of vines I was hiding under but never saw me.  One almost stepped on my head.  I lay there quietly trying not to move at all.  At some point some kind of insect started boring into my left cheek as I lay there.  I ignored it for as long as I could and then, ever so slowly, I started to ease my left hand to my cheek to get rid of what was chewing on me.  I had barely moved when I heard a small voice:  "I see you."  I froze.  The voice came again:  "I see you."  I stayed still.  This time the elderly Negrito came over to the vines and pulled them back.  He looked down at me and said, one more time:  "I see you."  Busted.  I gave him a dog tag and headed into the common area where we were supposed to go after "capture." 

We were given a debriefing by the instructors and told to go back out and hide again.  I would have, but I was beginning to feel queasy.  Those rations I had for breakfast were coming back to haunt me. I sat there for a while awaiting the inevitable and then proceeded to unload my stomach contents a few times.  Having done that, and not feeling much better, I heard the call to load up.  Training was over and we were going to be trucked back to Clark Air Base.   It was raining again.  We were loaded into the back of an uncovered six-by and off we went.  I had another go at emptying my stomach in the back of that rain soaked truck.

After that, it was get dry.  Get cleaned up.  And catch the next ride for Korat Royal Thai Air Base.

Hey look. Sharks.

Like every other trainee destined for the EB-66, I had to go through the TAC Sea Survival course before going to RTU at Shaw.  The TAC Sea Survival course was at Homestead AFB, Florida.  That was more fun than work and as a bonus I actually learned a lot of stuff – unlike most of the ATC-run schools I’ve been to.

The highlight of the course is the parasailing that is done in the last two days.  For those unfamiliar with the course, we were given one orientation ride on the parasail to get us used to the sensation.  For me, at least, it was a real attention getter, but a bit like a roller coaster ride, my immediate impulse was to want to do it again.  Nothing like an adrenalin high.  The second parasail ride is with all the survival gear on and ends with the class bobbing around in Biscayne Bay for a while practicing with survival gear.

It was the second day of parasailing and everyone was on deck listening to the instructors give us last minute instructions on what we were supposed to do.  Out of the corner of my right eye I saw a couple of porpoises break the surface of the bay, maybe fifty yards to starboard.  I nudge the guy standing next to me and said, “Hey, look.  Sharks.”  The instructor heard me and spoiled the fun by pointing out the several porpoises that were now frolicking to starboard. 

The rest of the day  went as planned and I ended up getting my one and only ride in an H-21B.

Chill'n With My Buds

We had signed into the 28^th Air Refueling Squadron, Ellsworth AFB, South Dakota, in June of 1961.  We didn't have school assignments, yet, to the KC-135 upgrade at Castle AFB, California, but we did spend endless days doing replots of celestial navigation legs done by other squadron navigators who were on numbered crews.  It turned out to be pretty good practice.  Finally, in early August, if I recall correctly, John Walker and I drove out the front gate of Ellsworth AFB, bound for the KC-135 upgrade school.  We spent about three months at Castle and were back at Ellsworth sometime in October of 1961.  From there we started doing some serious training on our way to becoming SAC navigators.

By December, we had not yet been assigned to crews, but we had pretty much covered all the flight training, the positive control training, the SAC-specific procedures, and who knows what other things we were supposed to know as a navigator on a SAC KC-135 crew.  Then the squadron chief navigator told Walker and me that we would be doing the local survival course in about a week.  It would be a few days of fun and frolic in the Black Hills of South Dakota.  In winter.  In deep snow.  In a para-teepee – that we had to build ourselves.  Okay.

Walker and I bought some provisions – enough to last for three or four days, as best I recall.  We had on all of our winter flight gear, including winter flying boots, winter flight jacket and gloves, thermal underwear, and some kind of headgear to keep our ears from freezing.  We met with two survival instructors, loaded ourselves and our kits into a blue USAF pickup truck and off we went, in moderately falling snow, to the survival training site in ponderosa pine forests, in the vicinity of Nemo, South Dakota.  Oh.  And by the way, on this particular trip into the Black Hills, there was a tag along:  an airman from the base Public Affairs office was going to record our training.  He was armed with a camera.

At the survival camp site there was a small cabin.  That housed the survival instructors and served as a classroom whenever that need arose.  We did not stop at the cabin.  Instead, we were taken to the opposite end of the clearing in the mighty ponderosa pines and told to unload our kits.  Survival Lesson One:  build a shelter as soon as possible.  The instructors helpfully gave us a couple of axes and explained that we were going out into a stand of "dog hair pine" to cut some poles for the para-teepee we were going to build.  It was easy to cut enough teepee poles; dog hair pine is just overcrowded and stunted ponderosa pine.  We cut and dragged, maybe, a dozen poles to our camp site, and the instructors gave us few quick lessons in para-teepee construction.  As I recall, we had at least two standard size parachute canopies with us, including all the shroud lines.

In fairly short order, we had erected a proper para-teepee.  Next we had to take our trusty axes back out into the forest and cut some pine and spruce bows to serve as mattresses.  Survival Lesson Two:  you don't want to sleep directly on top of snow.  With two of nature's finest mattresses constructed, we stowed our gear inside the para-teepee.  Our gear, by the way, included two down-filled sleeping bags from survival kits.  Each, of course, had two holes in it where the screw that had kept it compressed inside its fiberglass shell had passed when it was manufactured.

Then we went off to do a lot of other things I don't remember anymore but can be generally described as woods lore and living off the land.  I do recall that, in spite of the cold, there was one source of running water available to us, and it didn't even need water purification tablets – at least not that I recall.

At the end of the first day, the instructors and the tag along airman retired to their cabin, heated by a nice warm stove, while Walker and I retired to our para-teepee and worked out how to get a small fire going so we could cook some of our provisions.  It actually worked out pretty well.  In spite of the near-zero temperature outside, the small fire warmed up the para-teepee pretty well. 

Bed time was a learning experience.  Those down sleeping bags had been cold soaking all day at the ambient temperature.  The instructors told us it was best to strip down to our underwear, crawl inside the sleeping bag, and endure the bone-chilling cold until our body heat warmed up the sleeping bag.  There was one half-hearted attempt at doing what the instructors had advocated, then we both crawled into the sleeping bags with enough clothing to prevent contact with the cold interiors of those icy sleeping bags.  We passed the night in reasonable comfort, but that bag never did really warm up down near my feet.

For the next day or so we learned about land navigation, including how to use the compass from the survival kits, using the 7.5 minute quadrangle charts, map reading on the ground (considerably different than when you are looking down on the terrain from an aircraft), and general tips on cross-country hiking.  The next day, which would be our last day of survival training, we would be plotting a course to a specific pickup point and hiking to that point.  The airman with the camera would be going along to record the event.

Walker and I duly plotted our course and got the approval of the instructors for what we wanted to do.  They did suggest another route, but ours looked better than theirs.  In hindsight, since they knew the lay of the land, maybe we should have listened to them.  In any case, off we went to our pickup point.  We were in a small valley and paralleled a ridge that was between us and our pickup point.  Our plan had been to find a specific gap in the ridgeline, climb through the relatively narrow and steep gap, and descend the other side to our destination.  Maps don't depict actual conditions on the ground.

The actual conditions were that we were in a pretty dense ponderosa pine forest and there were patches of dog hair pine scattered all over that ridgeline.  Although our ETA to our gap in the ridgeline turned out to be pretty good, we walked right past it because it was hidden in dog hair pine.  On down the ridgeline we plodded until it became clear that we had missed the gap.  We stopped to orient ourselves.  Off in the direction opposite of where we needed to go I saw a prominent hill; it was depicted on the map and the terrain lines even matched what I was seeing.  Walker wasn't so sure.  I took a compass bearing on the hill and plotted it.  Even though it was a single LOP it pretty well matched up with where I thought we should be.  Walker disagreed.  I turned around toward the direction we needed to go and scanned the terrain:  there was a gap in the ridgeline right about where the terrain lines on the map indicated a gap.  A heated discussion ensued between Walker and me as to where we were, where we should go next, and generally every detail of terrain we were standing on.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see the airman looking back and forth between Walker and me.  Finally, Walker declared that he was going his way and I could go wherever it was I wanted to go.  Okay.

For some reason, the airman decided to follow me.  In any case we started up through the gap in front of us.  It was full of dog hair pine and the going was slow.  As we ascended for longer than I expected that we would, I kept hearing crashing and thrashing off to our right.  As we finally got to the top of the gap, Walker appeared through the dog hair pine. 

Although the descent was not as difficult as the ascent through the gap it was still a challenge.  Finally we got down to the road we knew was there.  Since we had overshot our turn point, we knew to turn right to get to our pickup point.  The pickup point was, maybe, a quarter to a half mile away from us.

The instructors had started to get concerned and were honking the truck horn.  We had missed our ETA by quite a bit because of our extra excursion down the other side of the ridgeline.  After a critique on how we did, we bundled up for our last night in the freezing pine forests.  Next day we got back to Ellsworth and proceeded to try to wash all the grime and soot that had accumulated on us from the past several days.

It was good to be back in something a bit more civilized than where we had just been.

Cypripedium reginae

Finally.  After, probably, five years of tending to it, the sole surviving hardy lady slipper orchid, the Showy Lady Slipper, has finally bloomed.  These are fairly rare orchids native to North America.  This one lives in one of my gardens and survives temperatures that can get as low as -20 degrees F.

This one came from Vermont Ladyslipper Company.

The Internet is Watching...

...and it's sometimes amusing at how wrong the profiling is.

My household buys diabetic supplies.  Once a month we buy a bottle of ReliOn Humulin N from Walmart, along with 100 syringes for injecting insulin.  We also buy Bayer Keto-Diastix and litmus strips.  We have been doing that for five years now.  If you were keeping track of our purchases you would believe that there is a diabetic in the house, and you would be right.

But who is nosy enough to track our purchases of diabetic supplies?  Well, we have bought insulin from several sources before we discovered the generic ReliOn brand at Walmart so several different pharmacies in the area have sold us insulin.  Likewise the insulin syringes and the other test equipment.  We even have a blood glucose test meter, which manufacturers will be happy to provide free.  It turns out that the meter is the cheap part of being diabetic,  It is the test strips that cost a lot, and you end up using a lot of test strips -- if you are a human diabetic.  Other than the pharmacies where we buy our supplies, there is the credit card issuer who knows where we make our purchases and, generally, what the purchases are.  There is also the syringe manufacturer.  Even though modern one-use insulin syringes are made to a pretty high standard, there are still manufacturing flaws that aren't caught until it comes time to actually use the syringe.  We have had instances of bent needles; needles that pierced the protective cap; needles with manufacturing residue on them; and needles without a point at the end.  Whenever we find something like that we contact the manufacturer and supply the lot number on the box.  In short order we get  special container to return the defective syringe and a coupon for another free box of syringes.

Aside from the pharmacies, our credit card issuer, the glucose meter manufacturer, and the syringe manufacturer, I am not aware of anyone else who would know about our purchases of diabetic supplies.  But someone does.  I have received unsolicited calls asking me if I check my blood glucose levels regularly.  There have been a few instances of adds for diabetic supplies appearing on the web pages I visit.  This morning I got an e-mail from PJ Media with a blaring advertisement for some cockamamie "new" diabetic spice treatment that is supposed to be superior to conventional treatment.

Ginger the diabetic dog

So.  Someone is watching and trying to attract my attention.  They think I am the diabetic in this household -- and they are spectacularly wrong. 

We have been buying diabetic supplies for the past five years in order to keep our Australian terrier alive.  Now, you don't treat a case of canine diabetes like you do a human case.  In humans you try to regulate the diabetic condition; with a dog you simply try control in a general way the blood glucose level to keep it from going too high or too low.  Getting a blood glucose reading from a dog is not for amateurs; we usually let the veterinarian do that, when necessary.  In fact, I have gotten only one successful blood glucose test from Ginger before I decided that the process was too stressful for the both of us.  Now I collect a urine sample twice a day and check that for glucose; I also check the urine pH value as part of Ginger's daily routine.  We try to keep good care of our diabetic doggie.

I have been aware for a while now that in spite of my efforts to be invisible on the world-wide web, that is not possible.  I do seem to have given the web watchers erroneous indications, however, and the watchers arrive at some amusing conclusions as a result.  I suppose that this post will cause them to update my profile again.

Rummy

I met Donald Rumsfeld today.  That is Donald H. Rumsfeld, former Secretary of Defense under George W. Bush.  I shook his hand, introduced myself and asked him a question that has been on my mind for about 40 years.

I met Rummy at the Offutt Air Force Base Exchange; he was there for a two-hour book signing gig promoting his book Known and Unknown:  A Memoir.  The book signing was originally scheduled for last summer, but the death of Betty Ford caused him to postpone his visit to Offutt until today.  The signing was scheduled to last from 1100 to 1300, and I got there at 1100.  There was already a line that stretched out the main exchange door, and down the mall.  Surprisingly there where a substantial number of younger adults there and even a few teenagers.  Some older men were dressed in suits, but maybe that was because they had gone to church earlier in the day.  Some people came prepared with family members or friends holding cameras to record the historic moment.  Some had multiple copies of the Rumsfeld book, probably for themselves as well as the folks back home.  I thought of none of that and was there by myself , book in hand.

It took an hour of standing in a very slow-moving line before I finally got up to the desk where Donald Rumsfeld was signing copies of his book.  He had an assistant standing at the edge of his table; the assistant opened each book to the title page and slid the book in front of Rumsfeld at the appropriate moment.  The base exchange had thoughtfully provided an upholstered office chair so that Rumsfeld could sit comfortably.  Each person shook Rumsfeld's hand and got to exchange a few words with him.  I was standing behind a youngish family of six:  Mom and Dad, plus four kids, two of whom were riding in a double stroller.  The kids were amazingly quiet.  Dad was carrying a bag with three copies of the book in it.

My turn with The Man came next.  Donald Rumsfeld is not a physically large man by any means, but he gives every impression of a high level of mental sharpness and a zest for life.  He leaned forward in his chair and extended his hand.  I shook his hand and told him my name and that I had 25 years of active duty service.  He congratulated me on that.  I told him I had a question for him, if he had a moment; of course, he did.  My question was this:  I recall Linebacker II and the bombing of Hanoi with B-52s in December 1972, and less that a year later we went to DEFCON 3 during the Arab-Israeli Yom Kippur War.  It has always seemed to me that Henry Kissinger's finger prints are all over those two events.  Am I wrong?  His answer was a finesse.  He reminded me that at that time he was US ambassador to NATO and living in Brussels, Belgium.  He said he didn't know the details of what was going on back in Washington and that going to DEFCON 3 had surprised him too.

So now my copy of Known and Unknown:  A Memoir has been signed by the author himself.  From his book I have learned that he and I share similar opinions about NATO.  I am going to finish reading it, and then I am going to give it to my daughter so that she and her daughters can learn a bit of what really happened in the Cold War and its aftermath.  Who knows.  Maybe someday book collectors will value a signed copy of a memoir by Donald H. Rumsfeld.

Energy Policy -- Or What Passes For It

Last night, all the people in the USA whose lives are governed by a clock set all their clocks to read one hour later than it actually is (by the Sun, at least) and then went to bed.  This morning they pretended they forgot they had done that last night and got up an hour earlier than they ordinarily would have.  That is what passes for federal energy policy these days.

We are now in the Daylight Saving Time mode and will be until next November 4th.  This is part of the Energy Policy Act of 2005, which was signed into law by George W. Bush.  Now, there are many provisions to the Energy Policy Act of 2005, but mandating the switch to Daylight Saving Time at the times now called for in the law, and calling it an energy conservation measure, is willful ignorance.  It seems to assume that the citizenry of the USA is stupid.

I hear people say every summer that they are glad to have an extra hour of daylight.  Clearly, they are not thinking -- or they are not thinking clearly.  I used to volunteer as a docent at the Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha, Nebraska.  During the summer months we volunteers gave tours of the zoo grounds.  There is a large sundial there and it is on the tour route.  When we passed the sundial I would ask everyone on the tour to look at their watches and check what the sundial indicated.  It is a pretty accurate sundial, so it invariably showed the time to be an hour earlier than what everybody's watches indicated.  I would ask the tour group why there was an hour difference between their watches and the sundial.  Most could not even hazard a guess.

Daylight Saving Time is an illusion; it only works in the part of the year when there are more hours of daylight over the course of a day than there are hours of darkness.  That part of the year begins, more or less, at the Vernal Equinox and ends at the Autumnal Equinox.  From the first day of Autumn to the first day of Spring, there are more hours of darkness over the course of a day than there are hours of daylight, so Daylight Saving Time is pointless.  Daylight Saving Time appears to work because people -- at least those who live by the clock, and that is most people -- get up an hour earlier than they did the morning before DST went into effect.  It does not even appear to work now because we are still in Winter and there are more hours of darkness that daylight over the course of a day.  People who live by the clock should have noticed that their bedrooms were darker this morning when they got up than they were yesterday morning, but I doubt that anyone did.

The traditional rules for implementing Daylight Saving Time were to start on the first Sunday in April and end on the first Sunday in October.  There is a good reason why that was so:  there are more hours of daylight than darkness in that part of the year.

I would like to ask the true believers in Daylight Saving Time where that extra hour of daylight is right now and next Halloween.  The fact is, it isn't there.  I will also ask the members of the US Congress why they believe that implementing Daylight Saving Time at all saves energy.  I don't expect any rational answers there either.