A colleague who was with me for one year in Ohio and with whom I've now reunited in New England introduced me to the essay "The Student, The Fish and Agassiz." I don't know whether that first exposure stuck with me or whether that was the first of many encounters with it. Somewhere over the years, I became sufficiently impressed with it to include in within our book chapter about observing. Here is an excerpt as a reminder:
On my return, I learned that Professor Agassiz had been at the museum, but had gone and would not return for several hours. Slowly I drew forth that hideous fish, and with a feeling of desperation again looked at it. I might not use a magnifying glass; instruments of all kinds were interdicted. My two hands, my two eyes, and the fish; it seemed a most limited field. I pushed my fingers down its throat to see how sharp its teeth were. I began to count the scales in the different rows until I was convinced that that was nonsense. At last a happy thought struck me—I would draw the fish; and now with surprise I began to discover new features in the creature. Just then the professor returned.It turns out that my guide was correct in speculating that two significant features of our recent expedition were obviously connected to this fish tale. First, Mount Agassiz was the dominating peak that we lo
“That is right,” said he, “a pencil is one of the best eyes.” (Scudder, 1879, p. 450)
oked up to throughout our expedition. The other was Lake Scudder, the calm lake next to our final campsite. According to the Utah Geologic Survey, these two features are named after these two scientists. Our worry that the calm water boasting of so many large dragonflies was named after a different Scudder can now be dispelled. The Scudder of insect paleontology fame is that same guy who was made to stare at a fish.Turns out that a Google search to find the burial site of a paleontologist produces LOTS of links, none of which reveal his gravesite. Instead, lots of older fossils are described.
