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Life on the Edge

Intimations of Isolation

Keith K. Howell

The wild plants and animals that have multiplied successfully on the isolated islands of São Tomé and Príncipe in the Gulf of Guinea are something of an enigma. Despite their proximity to the coast of Africa, these oceanic islands were never connected to the continent. Like the Hawaiian chain, they were formed by volcanic activity as the Atlantic plate moved across a hot spot, a break in the Earth’s crust where magma escapes. So how did the freshwater fish arrive, or the burrowing amphibians, or the warm-blooded shrew? Robert Drewes and his colleagues from the California Academy of Sciences recently visited the islands in search of answers. Their ideas and reflections are outlined in “Islands at the Center of the World.”

Another habitat that has flourished in isolation are California’s vernal pools. As described in this issue’s “A Closer Look” column, every year, when and if the winter rains come, water puddles on hard clay soils, and an ecosystem that has lain dormant springs again to life. The activity within and around a pool often spans just a few weeks. As the pools dry up, they leave behind rings of different flowers, each species attuned to slightly different conditions. Meanwhile, fairy shrimp, frogs, and flora have matured through their brief life cycle and buried themselves or their offspring, back in the still-moist soil, ready to endure another eight months of hot sun. And they are even ready when the rains don’t come. Some species have evolved to emerge every second, third, or more years. It would be hard to catch these landlocked islands unprepared for any eventuality — except, of course, the human bulldozer.

One might imagine galaxies to represent the ultimate in isolation, yet on the scale of the universe that turns out not to be so. As more and more powerful telescopes take us further into space and farther back in time, giving us a broader perspective of the heavens, astrophysicists such as the Smithsonian’s Margaret Geller are discerning clear patterns in the distribution of matter. Maggie McKee in “Great Clumping Galaxies” describes the quest to uncover the cosmic forces at work.

On a far smaller scale is a species that has evolved to avoid the company of its own kind: the seemingly truncated mola. It floats leisurely through the Pacific, pauses at occasional paddies of floating kelp to be cleaned, swims to greater depths in search of jellyfish, and then hangs out at the surface where the sun’s heat can recharge its batteries. The mola is featured in “Secrets of the Ocean Sunfish” by Alice Cascorbi.

And then there is human isolation, one that San Franciscans will feel all too keenly when a large-magnitude earthquake next hits the city, and its inhabitants are temporarily marooned. In “It’s Everybody’s Fault,” Betsy Mason explains what may happen and what is being done to mitigate the consequences.

But there are other humans who, like the sunfish, choose routes untraveled and who are enraptured by activities beyond the imagination of the rest of us. “Headhunting is lonely work, hours spent walking on empty beaches with seagulls and surf the only company. The solitude, and excuse to be outside, suits Bandar just fine,” writes Senior Editor Kathleen Wong in “A Man for All Skulls.” Ray “Bones” Bandar, an associate of the California Academy of Sciences, has spent his life gathering skulls and has accumulated what must be among the largest collections in the world, without spending a cent on commercial acquisitions. He heard his calling over 50 years ago and has followed the lonely sound of the siren skulls ever since. Many of his finds are featured in a current exhibit at the Academy.


Keith K. Howell is Editor of California Wild.