Monsoons
by SOS! SOS!!
Reprinted from a future Huffbo Chiente

Monsoons are God's gift to the heat stricken folk of tropical Asia from Pakistan to Papua New Guinea. Monsoon seasons vary in each region but they usually come as a relief from the blistering heat.
There are two theories that try to explain monsoons. One has something to do with the jet stream changing direction as the seasons change. But the more accepted theory is that when summer comes to the Indian subcontinent a vast area of low pressure settles over the region. This in turn creates what Ross Perot (remember him?) might call a "giant sucking" bringing moist, high pressure clouds over the Indian Ocean north to fill in the vacuum (which Nature can't stand) of the low pressure- and dumping what seems like the whole Indian Ocean on the ground. By the way, why does Ross Perot always talk about giant sucking?

In many places windy dust storms precede the monsoons or even get mixed in, creating a sort of falling mud storm. My theory is that a monsoon is a big patch of ocean, turned into clouds, swept up by winds and dumped on my head. But after 115-degree days I'm NOT complaining.

Actually monsoons are a lot like sex. They're hot, wet, occasionally but not necessarily dirty. A lousy one is better than none at all. You really appreciate one after a long dry spell Smokers light up afterwards because it's hard to do so during the event. And you never, ever forget your first one.

In the summer of '89 your Overseas Nature Correspondent was in Peshawar, Pakistan. Temperatures often approached 120 and I kept complaining about the heat. "Relax Mr. SOS. Insha Allah the monsoons will come in July and the weather will be better."

"It's already July!"

"Mr. SOS, it's only first of July. You must be patient!"

The next afternoon I was standing on a hospital roof looking east. This was where the monsoon would be coming from... if it was coming. The eastern sky was changing from a glaring blue to a hazy hue. Then it became dusty. A powerful wind swept in pushing me back a few steps. Swirling dust stung my eyes. I took refuge in a tent where a hospital worker lived. I was hopeful, having been told that dust storms often preceded monsoons. But after 15 minutes of seeing dust fall over Peshawar I began to wonder if this was just a dry run.

Then it came. Sheets-not drops-of rain washed down from the sky as if a giant fire hydrant had burst open. I stepped out from the tent and let the warm shower thoroughly soak me.

When the rain subsided a bit I walked downstairs, hopped on my trusty one-speed Sohrab Pakistani bicycle and pedaled eastward into the storm. The rain stayed light although a gust of wind stopped me in my tracks once. Just before reaching my hotel, it came down even heavier than before.

That was my first monsoon. I've had many others since, some better, some not. Some lasted for hours, others were just quickies. I've enjoyed them all and I even think I've been good for some of the monsoons as well. And I'll never forget my first one.

Roadkill: Driving Animals to Their Graves
by Mark Mathew Braunstein.

These are some excerpts from the article published in the Fall 1998 edition of Animal Issues, by the Sacramento-based Animal Protection Institute.

• Every day in the U.S.A., 190 million motor vehicles hit the road, and as many as 1 million animals get hit by motor vehicles. That's counting cars, buses, motorbikes, and trucks, but not ATV's, snowmobiles, and other off-road vehicles. And that's counting mammals, birds, reptiles, and amphibians, but not insects and bugs with boneless backs, who somehow never count...
• In an annual funeral procession, our nation's experimenters kill 20 million lab animals, hunters 200 million game animals, and motorists nearly 300 million road animals. Only America's meateaters take a larger toll than its motorists, because for animals the roads that lead to slaughterhouses are all dead ends...
• The internal combustion engine automobile was invented 114 years ago. That's merely three or four human generations, and merely thirty or forty animal generations. While some species have gotten "street" smarter, most species have only gotten scarcer...
• Woodland caribou survive as a single herd of 50 diehards in northern Idaho and southern British Columbia. The U.S. Forest Service blames roadkills, not habitat loss, as the greatest threat to their survival. British Columbia Highway 3, which bisects their remaining range in the Selkirk Mountains, was built along their traditional trail. But now it is their road less traveled...
• Of our nation's large mammals, Florida panthers hover nearest extinction. During the early 1980s, the panthers suffered nine roadkills-half their entire population...
• Fewer than 300 of Florida's sub-compact size Key deer survive, most of them on Big Pine Key. Still, a Key deer is struck down by a Mercury Cougar or its ilk an average of once a week. In 1995, of 89 confirmed fatalities, 65 were roadkills. In 1996, of 104 deaths, cars claimed 67. Despite a 15 mph speed limit, vacationers and retirees remain the deer's worst enemy..."