Notes in Comparative Entomology and Whistle Output: The Susato D and Two Arthopods

By Prof. Casey O'Rourke

[abstract:]


This paper examines and compares the fight-or-flight reaction of the common
woodland tick (Ixodes) and the large, dark brown spiders dwelling in my
cellar (S. horribilus) to the high B note produced by the Susato D whistle.]

(or)

why there is a tick on my butt

by

Casey O'Rourke

I currently possess a number of tin whistles, most in the key of D, and a
low D whistle. The social constellation in my dwelling is currently such
that, in order to acquire additional whistles, I am required to learn to
play the ones already in my possession.

Lacking a teacher here in Austria, I am trying to reach this goal through
diligent practice, in combination with intensive listening to recordings of
pure whistle music or music in which whistles are among the instruments.

As well as playing from written music.

Two characteristics are common to all tin whistles: a high tone and not
inconsiderable volume. Although these two characteristics vary from whistle
to whistle, and are variously described by cognoscienti, detractors commonly
employ two adjectives in all cases: shrill and loud.

An unfortunate shortfall of whistle connoisseurs at my house (whistle fans:
self, and 2-year old daughter; whistle tolerators: 9-year old daughter,
wife; whistle haters: two cats, 1 spider) have resulted in my developing a
severe case of Whistle Guilt, with symptoms such as practice-avoidance,
practicing in more remote locations (car, cellar work room) and avoiding the
loudest whistles (the Susato in question) in favor of "quieter" whistles
(such as Clarke original, which unfortunately has a tendency to clog with
moisture (lung condensate and saliva) due possibly to an incident involving
a two-year-old whistle lover and a tile floor which narrowed the air
passage).

My WG has also resulted in a tendency to "try to play quietly" which is
impossible with the whistle - a certain amount of vigor or "attack" is
necessary both to obtain notes in the second octave and for proper phrasing.

Especially with the Susato, this resulted in notes "cracking", etc. and a
vicious circle of less and more isolated practice, quieter playing, and
declining ability.

Hoping to break out of this vicious circle, I enrolled in a workshop given
last week by visiting tin whistle and flute player Deidre Havlin.

In order for this experience to be merely embarrassing and not humiliating,
I upped my daily practice again, in my car before work and in my celler tool
room in the evenings.

It is in the tool room where the spider segment of the experiment was
carried out. My cellar is the typical dark, cluttered cellar. Sitting at my
workbench, trying to get a jig out of the whistle, I felt something moving
in my hair but thought nothing of it, don't ask me why. I was playing my
Susato because the Clarke had just clogged. The jig included a high B note,
which I hit and held, because I had lost my place in the music and was
looking for the next note. This extended high-pitched tone resulted in
temporary paralysis of the spider on my head (dark brown, shape roughly of a
brown recluse, abdomen the size of a walnut, legs like Marlene Dietrich),
which fell (or jumped: flight reaction) from my head. Upon landing, it
recovered instantly from its paralysis and scurried off under the pile of
wood scraps in my shop. This marked the end of both the spider part of the
experiment and the practice session.



Tick segment:

The workshop was held in the Austrian countryside, at a rural location in
the middle of a wide expanse of hay fields set amidst evergreen forests:
ideal habitat for ticks.

Less so for hay-fever sufferers.

It turns out the Susato is Deidre Havlin's whistle of preference: she plays
the set of three with an interchangeable head (i.e. interchangeable
mouthpiece/fipple on the whistle; Deidre Havlin's head is not
interchangeable, as far as I know). She is an excellent flute and whistle
player, a gracious person with a good sense of humor and she repeatedly
tolerated my showing her pictures of my kids on my new digital camera.

The workshop was not even embarassing, let alone humiliating. It was very
enjoyable and I learned a lot and got a lot of ideas for the future. Where
to put ornamentation, possible variations of songs.

I also got an idea for a future study involving the effects of 8 hours of
high-pitched tones (15 whistles) on the human nervous system.

Besides whistle-related lore, I also learned one thing: take antihistamines
next time I head for the country.

Especially if I'm planning to sleep outdoors under the stars in the middle
of a huge hay field in full bloom, set at the center of miles of evergreen
forest, likewise in full bloom.

When i woke the next morning, I thought, This may not have been the best of
the ideas I have had.

I noticed my car was covered in a half-inch of yellow pollen.

To kill time before the second day of the workshop started, I strolled down
the road, up a hill, and back through a chest-high hay field.

Which was also a bad idea. I remember thinking that at the time, and that I
no doubt should check myself for ticks. I thought it might be funny to see
how fellow participants reacted if I were to say, "Hey, hows about we go
check each other for ticks?" but decided to save that for a future study as
well.

At any rate, the second day of the workshop and my allergic reaction to the
massive overdose of pollen began simultaneously. There were many jokes
involving the effect of sneezing on my phrasing, etc.

A woman graciously gave me a small white pill, which within five minutes
stopped my allergic reactions completely. I'm talking KILLER antihistamines.
Of course, it also had the same effect on my playing as jumping head first
into a dry swimming pool.

Before giving up entirely and driving home (very carefully) I practiced some
more, in an isolated spot, but it was useless.

Except that it proved that a tick's flight reaction is not triggered by
whistle playing. Because one has burrowed in good where I sit.