Lonesome George, the last la Pinta tortoise, died earlier today. As the last of his species, he became a symbol of the precariousness of the Galapagos ecosystems. I had the opportunity to visit the Galapagos Islands and Lonesome George more than a decade ago. A page from my Galapagos Scrapbook, featuring at least one picture of Lonesome George (the...

Yesterday, an upsettingly large proportion of my fellow North Carolina citizens voted to amend the constitution of our state to forbid a subset of loving, consenting adults from enjoying the legal benefits of marriage. Today, I am ashamed. As a human being that loves my friends, my family, and my fiance, I am ashamed that other members of my species...

The old winch groaned under the strain of a full net. Captain Willis sighed. A heavy haul was a bad sign. “Well, that’s the last cast this season, probably the last I’ll ever do.” He had said the same thing the year before. The net cleared the ship’s deck. It bulged with the unmistakable quiver of a thousand tire-sized jellies, each one a tiny ecosystem....

the island In those hours before sunrise, while the water is still new, my father and I walk down to the pilings to dip our lines in the murky Severn. We would bait our hooks with grass shrimp from the corner store, or dangle old meat from a string, to lure out the crabs, who would scuttle across that weathered dock, then vanish between missing planks. My...

docking approach, from the west the falling tide pushes the bow out, into the channel. a half turn left angles the motor, compensates. idle slowly, into position, the narrow slip. too far, the oysters will take your hull. too short, the current will drag you back, circle for another pass. no, throttle up, like tossing a dart against the wind, slide...

Those Pens I never seem to lose the crappy pens, those cheap plastic ballpoints with flimsy caps or the clickers that jam with pocket lint. Those pens, the unwanted, are everywhere. Now, the pens I like, the magnificent pens with thick, dark ink and confident lines that rest in that defining joint, as if they were always meant to be there. Those pens, who...