Quintessential Appalachia

Or, more precisely, what I think must be a quintessential view of Appalachia: hills, shacks and beautiful white houses that stand firm yet lonely in the wide landscape. (I know this particular picture shows a blue house, but trust me: it's probably the only non-white house for miles around. Not that there are many houses within miles (an average of 3 houses per km² according to Wikipedia), but you know what I mean.

This blog is inspired by the yearly trek of the WVU astro group to their summer hideout at the Green Bank Observatory. Escaping the heat of the plains, this peculiar breed of scientist withdraws to the mountains to abstain from cell phones, microwave ovens and anything wireless. Throughout the few hours drive straight down the heart of the state, the ever decreasing population makes for a clear break from the city we normally inhabit. I would never have thought of calling Morgantown a city, but officially it is and seeing some more of the state, I'm starting to put things into context.



The endpoint of our trip - in the middle of the huge (bigger than Belgium) radio quiet zone - is the Green bank telescope ('the largest fully movable dish in the world' is a 100x110 m dish, which makes it just larger than the 100m diameter Effelsberg paraboloid). Now on the one hand I find it absolutely fascinating that such a large area could be made radio quiet by law (and I'm sure you're all just as postively enthousiastic), but at the same time there is of course the harsh reality that the military doesn't necessarily need to submit to this sort of thing, so you may have a large area without television transmitters or mobile phone coverage, but that doesn't mean you haven't got RFI (radio frequency interference). I guess you can't have it all.


Sitting in the even-more-middle-of-nowhere-than-Morgantown, my silly old prejudiced self assumed I'd find the die-hard hillbilly-redneck communities one generally tries to avoid except when making a certain kind of movie. I'm happy to say I was thoroughly misguided on this front. For starters, I came across this:

a solar-powered "slow-down-school-near" sign in the very middle of the state that survives on mining coal. I'm impressed. Next I found myself sporting a T-shirt that pronounced loud and clear my support for Third World debt relief while walking the thin white line that borders the oncoming traffic from the side of the road. In a redneck backyard of a redneck state that voted Republican even in 2008 - notwithstanding the tens of astronomers who surely must have tipped the balance a bit - and which housed (as I had been told) the headquarters of the KKK, I can only blame oblivion and lack of foresight for such inappropriate clothing. As it happens, though, the easily orchestrated 'accident' didn't arrive - all that happened was that an African-American nodded approvingly from his driver's seat. Of course, it may have had nothing to do with my T-shirt, but even so. (By now I've checked the internet and for as far as I can tell WV doesn't have - and never did have - a KKK headquarters.)

The next day I went to the local shop - the kind of small, darkish shop with the squeeking door you know from your standard Western - carrying my yuppie'ish, city-folk cotton shopping bag (save on plastic - save the environment!) Or so I thought. As it turns out the city isn't nearly as far ahead of the country as I imagined: instead of denigrating looks ("what does that fancy city-boy think he's doing here"), I got an approving nod accompanied with the assurance that "many people bring their own bags these days - just think of all the plastic we're saving; ain't that great".

So in brief, I've been happily surprised about the country: my fears were ungrounded, my prejudices outdated. As a final anecdote I'll mention the walk in the woods that became slightly unpleasant and worrisome when I heard shooting in the distance. Even though I thought hunting season is in autumn, walking in camouflage (did I mention my oblivion and lack of foresight?) while people are shooting doesn't sound like a thing you would like to do - not in WV. Upon arrival at the lodge, though, it turned out there was a shooting range - well away from where I was walking, once again making me look foolish in my worry. (It's only fair to add that the only story I've ever heard of an astronomer being shot at took place in Narrabri (AUS), not in WV. On that occasion, the shooting wasn't an accident but a determined attempt at getting people of private property. I must not be the only oblivious astronomer around.)

Out into the wild

Last week I had two days off and finally made it into the beautiful wilderness of Appalachia:


(Yeah, I only really have two pictures to show for two days of hanging out. But then there really is no way to capture these things in boring old pictures anyway. You'll have to come and check it out yourself :-P)

On Wednesday, Anneke (Praagman - should be known to most of you) came on a flash visit and brought a car, allowing us to make it to the Coopers Rock state forest: a pearl of tranquillity (which I take it is a slightly odd wording in that pearls don't necessarily have much to do with tranquility, but let's leave it at that anyway) not too far from town. After a long and tiring walk through the temperate forest on a warm spring day, we drove back to town to visit ... the arboretum - and have another tiring walk. So yeah, there you have it - visiting me does generally involve a reasonable amount of footwork...


The next day was no less entertaining and also resulted in a healthy tiredness at the end of it: together with most of the astro-students and a couple senior staff, I participated in the inaugural astro white water rafting trip! (The fact that two of the party of nine were actually plasma physicists is a detail we'll be happy to omit.) Since cameras are of course nothing you would want to bring on such a trip, you'll have to believe me when I say I courageously took the hot spot and valiantly guided my raft through the thunderous, perilous rapids of South-Western Pennsylvania. (That's right, we actually went right across the border since that turned out to be the nearest good spot to go.)

And what do you know? We didn't capsize, I didn't fall out (even though the front seat didn't really have any hooks for my feet - or any support at all, for that matter), didn't bash my head against the rocks we glided past and I still do not regret choosing the cheapest health-care plan. All in all it was a nice experience, floating down the river through the forests, seeing the imaginary natives of centuries past sneak through the bushes in hunt for turkeys and black bears. Noticing the settlers arrive at the river - yet another obstacle to overcome. Finding a derailed railway carriage and deducing from the large trees that stand all around it, that it must have lain there for quite some time - perhaps ever since the robbers of the West - the American Ned Kellys - put up a scheme and grabbed whatever was there. Or ever since a tree came down as the train thundered past, though such realistic explanations of course don't rouse my fascination and imagination quite as much.

I must admit, the landscape here never fails to get me dreaming. It must be incredibly easy to write a historical novel about life in the Americas in times past, because the imagery is all right there: the trees, streams, mountains - granted, there's the occasional power line, but apart from that - there's so much room down here! There are so few people on such a massive continent... And so much has happened so recently!

If you think I'm losing it again, consider this: in the BeNeLux, there are on average 371 people per square kilometer. While Australia is a whole lot less dense, Melbourne sure isn't. In West-Virginia, that number is 29 - more than ten times less! On top of that, Flanders fought the French in 1302 - and we still talk about it. My little country back home has of course been the field for many other armies to fight, from Waterloo to WWII. But that's all messy warfare - one ruler comes, throws out the previous one, raids our churches, steals our art and takes whatever taxes he can before the next invader comes knocking. To my mind, Belgian history is the boring constancy that primary school history lessons are composed of.

Not so with North-America. This is the land where Winnetou once roamed the plains. The land where famished Irish built a new life on their up-and-at-them attitude. The place where strong men delivered ad-hoc justice, mounted on their fierce stallions and sporting the guns that defended the weak and harmless. This is the land where a Don Quixote could be brave and valued without needing to be mad. Forgive me for being entirely unrealistic, but it's true that America is the continent of which we read fascinating stories and see exciting movies.

Of course I know that country (which must have been much harsher and probably didn't have any of the romanticised titbits Karl May and Clint Eastwood would have us believe in) has long since disappeared: nobody lives randomly in the wild - except for campers, like everywhere else - and there are no settlers trekking through the wilderness: settlers these days have a 4WD and airplanes. But there's so much unspoiled, free, empty and (in sharp contrast to most of Australia:) livable land around here that I keep on being reminded of those stories of old - the great promised land out West. So as mad as I may be, please don't blame me for continuing to expect finding John Wayne besides a camping fire every time I see a creek or a rotting tree trunk.

"Wild" West

Some time ago, I had the chance to wonder at the wide landscapes of grass-covered hilltops that seem to stretch out past the town and into the great beyond. The sight instilled me with the wonder and excitement of discovery that must have captured the heart and soul of every settler that ever moved West - the great feeling of discovering something new, making a new start - the great feeling of boundless possibilities. Then suddenly, the prairies I beheld were filled with a Native American hunting party, chasing down bisons with bows, arrows and spears, expertly catapulted from the backs of their dust-obscured, galloping mustangs...

Snapping back to reality, I felt de concrete beneath my feet and became aware of the vast tarmac of parking lots bordered by the most humungous stores one ever comes across. The Indians have long gone, as have the buffalos. The thrill of discovery has made room for the ease of a car-driven, laid-back society of concrete. In fact, upon closer inspection of Wikipedia, West Virginia isn't the far West, nor has it ever been. The bison-chasing Americans were never even part of West Virginia - before the Europeans came over, this land was covered in thick native forest, inhabited by turkeys and rattle snakes. The fact that Pocahontas county (where the Green Bank Telescope is) is so nearby, should have given me a hint on what to expect. Anyway. The forest has long gone, farming and coal mining have taken over. That doesn't mean the landscape isn't beautiful anymore - there still are forests and even when they're gone, the hills still roll through the country, towards the horizon. Western civilisation has made its impact - it has tar-covered some of the hills, but it hasn't defeated the beauty of the country. If only I could see more of it without requiring a car.