Journal articles on the topic 'Barrow Creek (N T )'

A new species of long-jawed harvestman, Taracus aspenae n. sp. is described from Catherine Creek Ice Cave, near Le Grande, Union Co., Oregon, USA. The new species is closest to T. pallipes (Banks, 1894) and distinct from the likely sympatric T. gertschi Goodnight & Goodnight, 1942.

A materials budget was estimated for the Magela Creek system during the 1982-83 wet season. This tropical system in northern Australia consists largely of a well-defined creek (Magela Creek contributes approximately 50% of the total inflow to the floodplain) flowing into an extensive wetlands area and then into the East Alligator River. Intensive sampling of creek water, rainfall and water flowing from the system provided the data base for the budget calculations. The annual transport of both dissolved and particulate matter by Magela Creek (area 600 km2) is very low, even when compared with other low-relief tropical systems. The annual load transported during 1982-83 was 1260 t (21 kg ha-1) of dissolved salts and 2330 t (39 kg ha-1) of particulate matter. Rainfall appeared to contribute all the sodium, potassium and chloride, and part of the calcium (c. 30%) and magnesium (25%) transported during the 1982-83 wet season by Magela Creek. Most of the manganese (c. 60%) (and probably iron) was contributed from weathering processes occurring in the catchment. Only small amounts of the trace metals copper, lead, zinc and uranium were transported by the creek. During the 1982-83 wet season, more trace metals were contributed in rainfall than transported from the catchment by the creek. However, this is probably atypical and resulted from dust particles that had entered the atmosphere in greater numbers due to the extended dry season. The vast bulk of the nutrients (total P 93%, NO3- N 86%, NH4+ N 98%) added to the catchment by rainfall was removed by the catchment, probably via uptake by the vegetation. Consequently, the creek transported only very small amounts of nutrients to the floodplain. An input-output budget for the Magela floodplain was calculated. The uncertainty in the net amounts deposited or released from the floodplain was estimated using a new quantitative method developed for this purpose. The uncertainties in the net values estimated were high, ranging from around 30% for bicarbonate to 500% for uranium. These data suggest that the Magela floodplain is a net source of the major ions (sodium, potassium, calcium, magnesium, chloride, sulfate and bicarbonate) and also of iron, and a net sink for suspended solids, nutrients (total phosphorus, nitrate and ammonia) and manganese. The floodplain also appears to be a net sink for the trace metals copper, lead, zinc and uranium.

Experiments were commenced in 1978 to evaluate the impact of the narrow-leafed lupin (Lupinus angustifolius L.) on production of subsequent wheat crops in the N-infertile, acidic soils of the Pilliga Scrub region of northern New South Wales. There were four sites. Production of lupin dry matter (shoots, roots) ranged from 5.0 (Florida A) to 11.4 t ha-1 (Kamala), reflecting seasonal rainfall and crop management. Lupin seed yields varied between 1.29 (Florida A) and 2.03 t ha-1 (Kamala); at two of the sites, yields were greater than the yields achieved by the adjacent wheat crops. At Spring Creek, the wheat was not harvested for grain due to the extremely poor plant growth. Seasonal profiles of C2H2 reduction by each of the four lupin crops reflected growth characteristics; maximum activity coincided with rapid accumulation of dry mater. Diurnal profiles of C2H2 reduction were unaffected by plant age. Rates peaked around noon after rapidly increasing from minimum pre-dawn levels. Total N2 fixed by each of the lupin crops was estimated by comparing N Yields of the lupin and wheat crops. The various methods used resulted in almost identical estimates of N2 fixation at Kamala (215-218 kg ha-') and Spring Creek (222-228 kg ha-'). Estimates . of N2 fixed by the two Florida crops ranged from 72 to 101 (Florida A) and from 82 to 134 kg ha-' (Florida B). The data indicate that large amounts of N can be fixed by field-grown lupins, amounts well in excess of the quantities of N harvested in the seed.

Ключові слова: скіфи, курган, Красногірка, катакомба, поховальний обряд, кінська вузда. Анотація Стаття присвячена аналізу матеріалів з розкопок кургану біля с. Красногірка на Кіровоградщині. Пам’ятка була розкопана у 1983 р. археологічною експедицією Кіровоградського державного педагогічного інституту (тепер Центральноукраїнський державний педагогічний університет імені Володимира Винниченка) під керівництвом Н.М. Бокій. У статті здійснена спроба розглянути матеріали пам’ятки у контексті інших старожитностей скіфського часу. Під насипом знаходилось поховання, здійснене у катакомбі степового типу. Вона належить до катакомб, у яких довгі стінки камери та вхідної ями були розташовані на одній осі. Подібні споруди використовувались у Північному Причорномор’ї протягом IV ст. до н. е. Встановлено, що поховання було майже вщент пограбоване у давнину. Кістяк похованого також був повністю поруйнований грабіжниками. В могилі знайдені лише рештки кісток та фрагмент бронзового наконечника від стріли. На сходах, що вели до катакомби розчищені рештки дерев’яного підносу із жертовною їжею та залізний підток від списа. У насипу виявлені елементи кінської вузди та стінки античних амфор. Віднайдені автором публікації аналогії дозволили датувати пам’ятку IV ст. до н. е. Курган біля Красногірки належить до групи пам’яток басейну Синюхи. Тривалий час дослідники пов’язують цей регіон з північним кордоном розселення скіфів на Правобережжі. Аналіз предметів матеріальної культури та поховального обряду вказує, що курган біля Красногірки був споруджений над похованням кочовика. Тип поховальної споруди, залишки озброєння та жертвоприношень дозволяють припустити, що власник гробниці належав до представників військової аристократії. Посилання Alekseev i dr., 1991. – Alekseev A.Yu., Murzin V.Yu., Rolle R. Chertomlyk (Skifskij czarskij kurgan IV v. do n. e.). 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Vasyns’kyy kurhan seredn’oskifs’koho chasu // Arkheolohiya i davnya istoriya Ukrayiny [Ukraine: Vasynskiy barrow of the Middle Scythian time // Archeology and ancient history of Ukraine]. Vyp. 2. K., 2019. S. 300–314 [in Ukrainian]. Kubishev i dr., 2009. – Kubishev A.I., Bessonova S.S., Kovalov S.S. Bratolyubovskij kurgan. [Russian: Bratolyubovsky barrow] K., 2009. 192 s. [in Russian]. Liberov, 1965. – Liberov P.D. Pamyatniki skifskogo vremeni na Srednem Donu. Svod arxeologicheskix istochnikov. D 1-31. [Russian: antiquities of the Scythian time in the Middle Don // A set of archaeological sources] M, 1965. 112 s. [in Russian]. Melyukova, 1964. – Melyukova A.I. Vooruzhenie skifov. Svod arheologicheskih istochnikov. D 1-4. [Russian: Armament of the Scythians // A set of archaeological sources]. M, 1964. 91 s. [in Russian]. Mohylov, Didenko, 2009. – Mohylov O.D., Didenko S.V. Skifskyi kurhan 448 bilia s. Zhuravka – pam’iatka perekhidnoho chasu v Potiasmynni // Arkheolohiia. [Ukraine: Scythian barrow 448 near Zhuravka – a site of transition time in Potyasminna // Archeology] 2009. № 3. S. 45-55. [in Ukrainian]. Mohylov, 2008. – Mohylov O.D. Sporiadzhennia konia skifskoi doby u Lisostepu Skhidnoi Yevropy. [Ukraine: Equipment of a Scythian horse in the Forest-Steppe of Eastern Europe]. Kyiv, Kam’ianets-Podilskyi, 2008. 439 s. [in Ukrainian]. Mozolevskyi, 1979. – Mozolevskyi B.M. Tovsta mohyla. [Ukraine: Tovsta barrow]. K., 1979. 252 s. [in Ukrainian]. Olhovskij, 1991. – Olhovskij V.S. Pogrebal’no-pominal’naya obryadnost’ naseleniya stepnoj Skifii (VII–III vv. do n. e.). [Russian: Funeral and memorial rites of the population of steppe Scythia (VII–III centuries BC)] M., 1991. 253 s. [in Russian]. Panchenko, 2015. – Panchenko K.I. Skifskyi kurhan bilia s. Krasnohirka na Kirovohradshchyni // Naukovi zapysky. Seriia: Istorychni nauky. Vyp. 22. [Ukraine: Scythian barrow Krasnohirka in the Kirovograd region // Scientific notes. Series: Historical Sciences. Issue 22]. Kirovohrad, 2015. S. 8–12. [in Ukrainian]. Petrenko, 1961. – Petrenko V.G. Kul’tura plemen pravoberezhnego srednego Pridneprov’ya v IV–III vv. do n. e. Materialy po arxeologii SSSR. [Russian: The culture of the tribes of the right-bank middle Dnieper region in the IV–III centuries. BC // Materials on archeology of the USSR] M., 1961. № 96. S. 51–102. [in Russian]. Petrenko, 1967. – Petrenko V.G. Pravoberezh’e Srednego Pridneprov’ya v V-III vv. do n. e. Svod arheologicheskih istochnikov. Vyp. D 1-4. [Russian: The Right bank of the Middle Dnieper region in the V–III centuries BC // A set of archaeological sources] M, 1967. 180 s. [in Russian]. Skoryj, 2003. – Skoryj S.A. Skify v Dneprovskoj Pravoberezhnoj Lesostepi. [Russian: Scythians in the Dnieper Right-Bank Forest-Steppe] K., 2003. 161 s. [in Russian]. Terenozhkin, Mozolevskij, 1988. – Terenozhkin A.I., Mozolevskij B.N. Melitopol’skij kurgan. [Russian: Melitopol barrow] K., 1988. 264 s. [in Russian]. 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Within Australia, carbon capture and storage (CCS) and carbon capture, utilisation and storage will play a significant role as part of an ‘all of the above’ approach to managing greenhouse gas emissions. Two CCS projects are currently operating: Gorgon and the Otway CCS project. The Gorgon and Jansz-Io fields contain approximately 14% carbon dioxide (CO2). The CO2 is brought to shore at Barrow Island and injected into the Dupuy Formation saline aquifer at a depth of 2500 m. While the project has experienced delays with start-up and operational issues, to July 2021 nearly 5 MMt of CO2 had been injected. The Otway CCS Project is a research facility used to study subsurface CO2 storage and behaviour within saline aquifers and depleted reservoirs. Since the start of the project in 2007 a total of 95 000 t of CO2 has been stored. Final Investment Decision was taken for the Moomba CCS project on 1 November 2021 and for the Leigh Creek Urea project in March 2021. In addition, feasibility studies are being carried out across multiple projects within Australia including the South West and Mid-West Projects in the Perth Basin, CarbonNet in Victoria’s Latrobe Valley and Gippsland Basin and the Moonie oil field EOR, Integrated Surat Basin Project and the ATP 2062-P Buckland Basalt projects in the Bowen-Surat Basin. A CCS hub at Bayu-Undan is being assessed as a possible option to reduce the carbon footprint of the Barossa, Caldita and Evans Shoals projects, and feasibility studies are underway into large-scale multi-user CCS hubs near both Darwin and Karratha.

Abstract Asparaginase (ASNase) is one of the cornerstones of the multi-drug treatment protocol that is used to treat acute lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL) in pediatric and adult patients. Recent studies monitoring ASNase kinetics in patients provide evidence of a large inter-patient variability of serum ASNase concentrations and call attention to the negative effects of ASNase underexposure on treatment response and relapse risk. Despite the fact that ASNase has been used in ALL treatment protocols for decades, little is known about the biodistribution and the mechanism of ASNase turnover in patients. We used in vivo imaging to study the distribution and pharmacodynamics of ASNase in a mouse model. We injected mice with 3,000 International Units (I.U.)/kg ASNase, which was labeled with 20-25 MBq Indium-111 (In-111) and acquired micro-SPECT/CT images up 18 hours post injection. At this timepoint, serum ASNase activity has dropped to levels close to the detection limits. In addition to the expected uptake in the liver, SPECT/CT imaging revealed a rapid, strong and specific accumulation of radiolabeled ASNase in the bone marrow and spleen (Figure 1). Accumulation in these organs was confirmed by quantitative measurement of radiolabeled ASNase in the dissected organs (Figure 2). We hypothesized that macrophages which are present in high numbers in these organs, efficiently phagocytose the ASNase, thereby rapidly clearing the active enzyme from the blood. Autoradiography of spleen sections indeed showed high uptake of radiolabeled ASNase in the macrophage-rich red pulp of the spleen. Immunohistochemical stainings confirmed the presence of ASNase in cells positive for the murine macrophage marker F4/80. To provide additional evidence for the potential role of macrophages in the turnover of ASNase, we pretreated mice with a single injection of clodronate liposomes, which almost completely depletes the relevant organs from phagocytic cells. This pretreatment diminished the accumulation of ASNase in the liver, spleen and the bone marrow (Figure 2). Consistent with this notion, we found that clodronate pretreatment more than doubles the circulatory half-life of serum ASNase activity. We conclude from these experiments that ASNase is rapidly cleared from the serum by phagocytic cells. In particular, the efficient uptake of ASNase by spleen and bone marrow resident macrophages may protect leukemic cells from the nutrient depriving action of this drug and could thereby compromise therapeutic efficacy. Figure 1: SPECT/CT image of Asparaginase uptake Figure 1:. SPECT/CT image of Asparaginase uptake Lateral (A) and ventral (B) 3-dimensional volume projections of fused SPECT/CT scans of mice injected with 111Indium-labeled asparaginase (pseudocolor images with red being least intense and yellow most intense), 18 hours post injection. Numbers indicate relevant organs: 1 sternum, 2 liver, 3 spleen, 4 spine, 5, pelvis, 6 femur, 7 tibia. Figure 2: Biodistribution of Asparaginase in control and clodronate pretreated mice. Figure 2:. Biodistribution of Asparaginase in control and clodronate pretreated mice. Asparaginase uptake is depicted as percentage of the injected dose per gram of tissue (%ID/g) at 19 hours after injection in control (empty liposomes) and clodronate pretreated mice. Results are mean + standard deviation (n=5 for each group). 2-tailed t-test was used to test for significance: * p<0.05, ** p<0.01, *** p<0.001 Disclosures No relevant conflicts of interest to declare.

Willow flycatchers (Empidonax traillii; WIFL) nest along the Owens River and Horton Creek in the Owens Valley. Migrating WIFL visit these sites as well as many other tributaries to both the Owens River and Mono Lake. We estimate there are approximately 35 WIFL territories in the Owens valley, or 5% of territories in California. Nesting WIFL in the Owens Valley are likely the federally endangered southwestern subspecies (E. t. extimus; SWIFL). The Chalk Bluff nesting site is particularly important as large nesting areas tend to be both rare and important for SWIFL and it contains more than half (63%) of all known WIFL territories in the region, which also represents 12% of all nesting SWIFL in California. Between 2014 and 2016, WIFL territory numbers declined from 37 to 27 across the three largest breeding sites. Territory numbers may have been influenced by drought conditions or brown-headed cowbird (Molothrus ater; BHCO) nest parasitism. In 2015 and 2016, comprehensive nest monitoring found nest parasitism rates were >40%, and nest success was lower in parasitized nests (16%; N = 5/31) compared with non-parasitized nests (60%; N = 31/52). BHCO management could potentially improve nest success for WIFL as well as many other open-cup nesting riparian birds in the Owens Valley.

As variações nos ecossistemas naturais exigem uma atenção da sociedade para a água, pois o risco de desabastecimento não é um problema localizado, é uma questão nacional. Avaliou-se o efeito da sazonalidade na qualidade da água no furo do Muriá, Curuçá, Pará. As coletas de água foram realizadas em 21 pontos distribuídos ao longo do Furo, nos meses de fevereiro, março, outubro e novembro de 2015, durante as marés vazante e enchente. As variáveis abióticas foram determinadas in situ com utilização de sonda. As análises de OD foram determinadas pelo método de Winkler (Strickland e Parsons, 1972), taxa de saturação de OD segundo tabela da UNESCO (1973), os nutrientes conforme descritos em Grasshof et al. (1983), o N-amoniacal segundo APHA (1995) e Clorofila a segundo Teixeira (1973). As variáveis ambientais apresentaram diferenças significativas entre os períodos analisados (p<0,05), tendendo a um padrão sazonal, exceto N-amoniacal (p>0,05) logo não teve influência sazonal. Levando em consideração as marés as concentrações de salinidade, CE e clorofila-a foram significativas durante a maré enchente. A turbidez foi mais elevada durante as marés de vazante (p<0,05). Os parâmetros fosfato e N-amoniacal não apresentaram diferença significativa entre marés (p>0,05). O efeito da sazonalidade pode restringir à variação da qualidade do ambiente, logo indica a relevância do monitoramento do ambiente, assim servir de ferramenta em planos de políticas públicas de melhoria do saneamento da população. Sazonal Dynamics of Nutrients in Amazonian EstuaryA B S T R A C TVariations in natural ecosystems require society's attention to water, as the risk of shortages is not a localized problem, it is a national issue. The effect of seasonality on water quality in the Creek Muriá, Curuçá, Pará, Brazil, was evaluated. Water samples were collected at 21 points along the Creek during February, March, October and November 2015, during Tides and flood. Abiotic variables were determined in situ using probe. The parameters of Dissolved Oxygen (OD), saturation rate of OD (% OD), Chlorophyll a (Cl-a), Phosphate (Fosf), Nitrite (NO2), Nitrate (NO3) and N-ammonical (N- Master). The environmental variables presented significant differences between the analyzed periods (p <0.05), tending to a seasonal pattern, except for N-ammoniacal (p> 0.05), thus not having a seasonal influence. Taking into account the tides the concentrations of salinity, EC and chlorophyll-a were significant during tide flood. The turbidity was higher during tidal ebb tides (p <0.05). The phosphate and N-ammonia parameters showed no significant difference between tides (p> 0.05). The effect of seasonality may restrict the variation of the quality of the environment, thus indicating the relevance of environmental monitoring, thus serving as a tool in public policy plans to improve population sanitation.Keywords: Chlorophyll a; nutrients; tide

In the past decade, black walnut (Juglans nigra) trees throughout western North America have suffered from widespread branch dieback and canopy loss, causing substantial tree mortality (2,3). The fungus, Geosmithia morbida, vectored by the walnut twig beetle (WTB), Pityophthorus juglandis, has been associated with this devastating disease known as Thousand Cankers Disease (TCD) (2,3). In August of 2012, branch samples from TCD symptomatic black walnut trees (5 to 10 cm in diameter and 15 to 30 cm long) were collected on the North Carolina side of the Great Smoky Mountain National Park (GRSM) in Cataloochee Cove (35°37.023′ N, 83°07.351′ W) and near the Big Creek Campground (35°45.290′ N, 83°06.473′ W), in Haywood County. Five symptomatic trees near the Big Creek Campground and three from Cataloochee Cove displayed typical TCD signs including progressive crown thinning, branch flagging, and branch dieback; however, insect holes were not observed. Samples were double bagged in Ziploc plastic bags, sealed in a 19-liter plastic bucket, and transported to the University of Tennessee. Outer bark was removed from the samples and small, elliptical, necrotic cankers were observed. Wood chips (3 to 4 mm2) from cankers were excised and placed on 1/10 strength potato dextrose agar amended with 30 mg/liter streptomycin sulfate and 30 mg/liter chlortetracycline HCL and incubated on a 12-h dark/light cycle at 22°C for 5 to 7 days. Fungal isolates were tentatively identified as G. morbida by using culture morphology, and characteristics of conidiophores and conidia (2). The isolated fungus from the Cataloochee Cove location was grown in 1/10 strength potato dextrose broth at room temperature for 2 weeks. Isolates from Big Creek Campground were contaminated and were not analyzed further. Fungal colonies were tan to light yellow. Conidia were tan, subcylindrical, and catenulate. Conidiophores were multibranched, verticillate, and verrucose. To verify the morphological data, DNA was extracted from fungal mycelia using DNeasy Plant Mini Kit (Qiagen, Valencia, CA) according to the manufacturer's published protocol. Isolates from Cataloochee Cove were characterized using ITS1 and ITS4 universal primers (4). The putative G. morbida isolate (GenBank Accession No. KC461929) had ITS sequences that were 100% identical to the G. morbida type isolate CBS124663 (FN434082.1) (2). Additionally, fungal DNA from Cataloochee Cove was amplified using G. morbida-specific microsatellite loci (GS04, GS27, and GS36) (1). PCR products were analyzed with the QIAxcel Capillary Electrophoresis System (Qiagen) and were similar to those previously published (2). To date, all confirmed cases of TCD in the native range of black walnut have been in urban areas, along rural roadsides and/or fence rows. The report in North Carolina is the first finding of G. morbida, the causal agent of TCD, in a forest setting. References: (1) D. Hadziabdic et al. Conserv. Genet. Resources 4:287, 2012. (2) M. Kolarik et al. Mycologia 103:325, 2011. (3) N. Tisserat et al. Plant Health Progr. doi:10.1094/PHP-2011-0630-01-BR, 2011. (4) T. J. White et al. Page 315 in: PCR Protocols: A Guide to Methods and Applications. M. A. Innis et al., eds. Academic Press, San Diego, CA, 1990.

Abstract Kootenay Lake, B.C. (395 km2), has experienced a series of major perturbations in the past 50 years, resulting in the 1980s’ collapse of South Arm kokanee salmon stocks and a dramatic decrease in the abundance of North Arm stocks. Historical data indicate the collapse was due to reservoir construction together with subsequent impoundment and nutrient retention on both main inflow tributaries (Kootenai and Duncan rivers) to Kootenay Lake, combined with the introduction of an exotic mysid shrimp which is an efficient competitor with kokanee for zooplankton. Nutrients (47.1 t of P and 206.7 t of N) are now being added annually to the 174 km2 North Arm of Kootenay Lake (271.3 mg-m-2 P and 1,190.5 mg-m-2 N) in a 5-year (1992-96) experiment with the goal of restoring historical kokanee salmon biomass and productivity. The concentration of total phosphorus in the North Arm currently ranges from 4–10 µg-L-1 P, which indicates oligotrophic to mesotrdphic conditions, whereas the concentration of dissolved inorganic nitrogen remains in the oligotrophic range (i.e., &lt;200 mg L-1 N) throughout the year. The seasonal mean zooplankton density observed in 1994 was higher than in 1992 and 1993, and similar to the highest densities observed from 1972 to 1984. Cladocerans comprised about 7.5% of the zooplankton in the North Arm in 1994, 12% in 1993 and 7.5% in 1992 as compared with less than 5% between 1949 and 1991. Combined North Arm kokanee escapement (Lardeau River and Meadow Creek) was 1.25 million fish in 1994 and was the highest observed since 1986, but lower than some escapements observed in the 1970s. Kokanee spawner size and fecundity have also increased. No significant trends have been observed in the Gerrard rainbow trout population. To date, the fertilization experiment has been successful at increasing the abundance of clado-ceran zooplankton and restoring kokanee populations in the North Arm of Kootenay Lake.

BackgroundBrain immunity is largely myeloid cell dominated rather than lymphoid cells in healthy and diseased state including malignancies of glial origins called as gliomas. Despite this skewed myeloid centric immune contexture, immune checkpoint and T cell based therapeutic modalities are generalizably pursued in gliomas ignoring the following facts i) T cells are sparse in tumor brain ii) glioma patients are lymphopenic iii) gliomas harbor abundant and highly complex myeloid cell repertoire. We recognized these paradoxes pertaining to fundamental understanding of constituent immune cells and their functional states in the tumor immune microenvironment (TIME) of gliomas, which remains elusive beyond a priori cell types and/or states.MethodsTo dissect the TIME in gliomas, we performed single-cell RNA-sequencing on ~123,000 tumor-derived sorted CD45+ leukocytes from fifteen genomically classified patients comprising IDH-mutant primary (IMP; n=4), IDH-mutant recurrent (IMR; n=4), IDH-wild type primary (IWP; n=3), or IDH-wild type recurrent (IWR; n=4) gliomas (hereafter referred as glioma subtypes) and two non-glioma brains (NGBs) as controls.ResultsUnsupervised clustering analyses delineated predominant 34-myeloid cell clusters (~75%) over 28-lymphoid cell clusters (~25%) reflecting enormous heterogeneity within and across glioma subtypes. The glioma immune diversity spanned functionally imprinted phagocytic, antigen-presenting, hypoxia, angiogenesis and, tumoricidal myeloid to classical cytotoxic lymphoid subpopulations. Specifically, IDH-mutant gliomas were predominantly enriched for brain-resident microglial subpopulations in contrast to enriched bone barrow-derived infiltrates in IDH-wild type especially in a recurrent setting. Microglia attrition in IWP and IWR gliomas were concomitant with invading monocyte-derived cells with semblance to dendritic cell and macrophage like transcriptomic features. Additionally, microglial functional diversification was noted with disease severity and mostly converged to inflammatory states in IWR gliomas. Beyond dendritic cells, multiple antigen-presenting cellular states expanded with glioma severity especially in IWP and IWR gliomas. Furthermore, we noted differential microglia and dendritic cell inherent antigen presentation axis viz, osteopontin, and classical HLAs in IDH subtypes and, glioma-wide non-PD1 checkpoints associations in T cells like Galectin9 and Tim-3. As a general utility, our immune cell deconvolution approach with single-cell-matched bulk RNA sequencing data faithfully resolved 58-cell states which provides glioma specific immune reference for digital cytometry application to genomics datasets.ConclusionsAltogether, we identified prognosticator immune cell-signatures from TCGA cohorts as one of many potential immune responsiveness applications of the curated signatures for basic and translational immune-genomics efforts. Thus, we not only provide an unprecedented insight of glioma TIME but also present an immune data resource that can be exploited for immunotherapy applications.Ethics ApprovalThe brain tumor/tissue samples were collected as per MD Anderson internal review board (IRB)-approved protocol numbers LAB03-0687 and, LAB04-0001. One non-tumor brain tissue sample was collected from patient undergoing neurosurgery for epilepsy as per Baylor College of Medicine IRB-approved protocol number H-13798. All experiments were compliant with the review board of MD Anderson Cancer Center, USA.ConsentWritten informed consent was obtained from the patient for publication of this abstract and any accompanying images. A copy of the written consent is available for review by the Editor of this journal

A study was conducted across Canada to compare the herbage productivity of fodder galega (Galega orientalis Lam.) to that of traditional forage legumes, in order to assess its agricultural potential. Trials were established at latitudes ranging from 45 to 56°N with longitudes from 52°W (St. John's, Newfoundland) to 120°W (Dawson Creek, British Columbia). Herbage productivity was monitored for a maximum of 3 production years. The establishment characteristics of Gale fodder galega were comparable to those of Apica and Beaver alfalfa (Medicago sativa L.) and Altaswede red clover (Trifolium pratense L.), and somewhat superior to those of Dawn Alsike clover (T. hybridum L.) and Leo trefoil (Lotus corniculatus L.). Anik alfalfa (M. falcata L.) was far less uniform and vigorous in its establishment than any of the other species. The average annual dry matter yield of fodder galega ranked third among the seven legumes when averaged over the nine sites; it produced 5545 (SE 95) kg ha−1 compared to 3931 (SE 72) kg ha−1 for Dawn alsike clover, the lowest-yielding crop, and 6673 (SE 114) kg ha−1 for Apica alfalfa, the highest-yielding. The cumulative dry matter yields indicated that Gale galega is at least as well adapted across Canada as the other legumes, except possibly at Saskatoon where the M. sativa alfalfas were far superior to all the other legumes in their ability to establish and thrive. The performance characteristics of Gale fodder galega indicate that it has considerable agricultural potential as an additional, perennial, herbage legume for many regions of Canada, except in the semi-arid continental climate of the central Prairies where its growth may be limited by high air temperature and/or insufficient soil moisture. Key words: Fodder galega, Galega orientalis Lam., goat's rue, herbage production, forage legume

The success of all-trans retinoid acid (ATRA) in acute promyelocytic leukemia (APL) pioneered the concept of differentiation therapy. However, comparable approaches to overcome differentiation blockage for non-APL acute myeloid leukemia (AML) are hampered by lack of an effective drug discovery platform. Recently, we analyzed gene signatures of compounds (ATRA, arsenic trioxide, zalcitabine, and sodium butyrate) that trigger myeloid differentiation in the NCI-60 collection datasets and identified CD38 as the top gene upregulated by differentiation induction. We next initiated an in silico screen in the DTP database of &gt;20,000 compounds to identify compounds that increase CD38 levels. Among those retrieved from "CellMiner" with CD38 as input, we assessed the top 193 available from NCI (r&gt;0.6, p=0) for effects on differentiation utilizing a conditional murine myeloid differentiation-arrest model overexpressing estrogen receptor-HoxA9 (ER-HoxA9) fusion proteins (Cell, 2016). We identified NSC755985 (Nelarabine, NEL) in that screen. NEL is an orphan drug approved to treat relapsed or refractory T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL). NEL at clinically achievable doses (Cmax: 6.73 μM~ 26.91 μM, at a proposed adult dosing schedule of 1,500 mg/m2/day) markedly induced primary AML cell differentiation and death while sparing normal hematopoietic cells (AML vs normal, IC50: 14.7 ± 4.3 μM, n=7, vs 45.3 ± 1.3 μM, n=3), suggesting a therapeutic window in AML. Ex vivo NEL treatment compromised BM engraftment of CD34+ cells from one primary AML specimen in immunodeficient NSG mice at 12 weeks post-transplant (human CD45+ cells in BM: NEL 0.73% vs vehicle 33.42%, n=6/group, p&lt;0.01). NEL administration in vivo (130 mg/kg/day, i.v. for 5 consecutive days) reduced leukemic burden of NSG mice xenografted with luciferase-expressing U937 cells (Radiance: NEL 2.83×107 vs vehicle 1.65×108 photons/s/cm2, n=9/group,p&lt;0.01) and extended mouse survival. Transcriptome analyses in U397 cells and primary AML specimens revealed that NEL treatment upregulated RAS-related pathways. NEL-elicited RAS activation was confirmed by pull-down assay using a GST-Raf1-RBD affinity probe, followed by blotting with a pan-RAS antibody. We performed functional analysis by infecting ER-HoxA9 cells with lentiviral vector expressing oncogenic RAS and observed enhanced myeloid differentiation, as evidenced by increased CD11b/GFP levels relative to MOCK-infected controls. Given that NEL's active metabolite Ara-GTP perturbs guanine nucleotide metabolism, we asked if NEL-evoked RAS activation was associated with accrual of intracellular GTP. HPLC/MS analyses of U937 cells showed that NEL treatment resulted in a marked increase in GTP (approximately 5-fold higher than baseline at sub-millimolar levels) which was secondary to Ara-GTP. Importantly, either electroporation of GTP into U937 cells or indirect introduction of GTP by addition of guanine utilizing purine salvage pathways activated RAS and recapitulated differentiation induction phenotypes. To determine whether AML cells with higher RAS activity exhibited greater NEL sensitivity, we pretreated U937 cells with a RAS agonist KRA-553 or ectopically expressed RAS mutants and observed enhanced NEL inhibitory effects in both cases. We also observed enhanced vulnerability to NEL treatment in MLL-AF9 transformed murine hematopoietic cells from KrasLox-Stop-Lox (LSL) G12D/+/Vav-Cre mice (Blood, 2009) versus Cre+ counterparts. Relevant to AML line THP-1 which is poorly responsive to NEL (IC50&gt;100 µM), we observed extremely low levels of Ara-GTP, no GTP increase or RAS hyperactivation after NEL treatment; Ara-GTP is inactivated by SAM domain and HD domain-containing protein 1 (SAMHD1), a dNTP hydrolase, whose high expression reportedly underlies NEL resistance in T-ALL. Indeed, SAMHD1 deletion remarkably increased RAS activity in THP-1 cells treated with NEL, thereby fully reversing NEL resistance. Our study provides a preclinical basis for testing NEL efficacy in a large cohort of AML patients, given that RAS activity is generally high in AML, or even against other malignancies harboring RAS mutations, which are considered "undruggable". Additionally, further study to test whether SAMHD1 inhibition enhances NEL efficacy against RAS active cancers is warranted. Disclosures Marcucci: Pfizer: Other: Research Support (Investigation Initiated Clinical Trial); Novartis: Speakers Bureau; Takeda: Other: Research Support (Investigation Initiated Clinical Trial); Iaso Bio: Membership on an entity's Board of Directors or advisory committees; Merck: Other: Research Support (Investigation Initiated Clinical Trial); Abbvie: Speakers Bureau. Sykes:Clear Creek Bio: Current equity holder in private company, Other: co-founder.

Abstract Abstract 4805 Background: Mesenchymal stromal cells (MSCs) constitute a population of multipotential cells giving rise to adipocytes, osteoblasts and chondrocytes. Combining with their engraftment promoting capacity and immunosuppressive property, MSCs may be therapeutically useful for haematopoietic stem cell transplantation. A small number of MSCs can be mobilized into circulation by appropriate stimuli, such as hypoxia. However, there is little evidence for clinically useful methods for MSC mobilization. In this study, we used animal model to determine whether MSCs can be mobilized into peripheral blood (PB) by electro-acupuncture (EA), a traditional Chinese medical method. Design and Methods: Adult male Sprague-Dawley rats (200–220g) were randomly divided into there groups: EA-7 days, EA-14 days and control groups. For EA treatment, the rats were immobilized. A pair of stainless needles of 0.35mm diameter was inserted into points ‘Jizhong’ (GV6) and ‘Mingmen’ (DU4) and was then connected with output terminals of an EA apparatus. Alternating strings of dense-sparse frequencies were selected and the intensity was adjusted to induce slight twitch of the skin, with the intensity lasting for 30 min. Electro-acupuncture was applied to rats once a day for 7days or 14days. The control rats were immobilized for the same period without EA. To quantify the number of MSCs and evaluate mobilization efficiency, PB and bone barrow (BM) samples of each group were collected and colony-forming unit fibroblast (CFU-F) assays were performed. Mobilized PB derived MSCs were identified by immunophenotype and trilineage differentiation. Mixed lymphocyte reactions (MLR) were done to evaluate the immunosuppressive potential of mobilized MSCs and the cytokine levels TGF-β1, HGF and IL-10 in the supernatants of MSCs culture were measured by ELISA. Results: We found that MSCs can be mobilized into PB by electro-acupuncture. CFU-F frequency in rat PB was significantly increased after electro-acupuncture for 7days (8.20 ±1.48 vs.1.40 ±0.55 CFU-Fs per 3×106 cells) (p<0.05, n=5). PB CFU-F frequency increased to 12.4±1.82 per 3×106 cells in rats treated with electro-acupuncture for 14 days. However, no significant differences were observed in BM CFU-Fs among varies groups (P>0.05). Mobilized PB derived adherent cells were positive for CD90, CD29 and CD44, but negative for CD34 and CD45. After adipogenic, osteogenic, and chondrogenic induction, adherent cells from mobilized PB were positive for specific stains. In addition, they expressed mRNAs of Lpl and Pparg2 (adipocytic markers), Bglap and Runx2 (osteoblastic markers), and Col2a1 and Col10a1 (chondrocytic markers). These results showed that mobilized PB-derived cells could differentiate into adipocyte, osteoblast, and chondrocyte, which indicated that they are bona fide MSCs. The levels of immunosuppressive cytokines TGF-β1, HGF and IL-10 in the supernatants of PB-MSC culture were similar as BM MSCs. Results of MLR showed that mobilized PB derived MSCs inhibited T lymphocyte proliferation. Conclusion: Taken together, these data revealed, for the first time to the best of our knowledge, that multipotential MSCs can be mobilized by electro-acupuncture. Our study provides a clinical useful method to mobilize MSCs with immunosuppressive potential and highlight a novel insight into the mechanisms of electro-acupuncture therapy. Disclosures: No relevant conflicts of interest to declare.

The effects of biochar and biochar combined with N-fertilizer on the content of soil organic matter in water-stable aggregates were investigated. A field experiment was conducted with different biochar application rates: B0 control (0 t ha-1), B10 (10 t ha-1) and B20 (20 t ha-1) and 0 (no N), 1st and 2nd levels of nitrogen fertilization on silt loam Haplic Luvisol (Dolna Malanta, Slovakia), in 2014. The N doses of level 1 were calculated on required average crop production using balance method. Level 2 included additional 100% of N in year 2014 and additional 50% of N in year 2016. The effects were investigated during the growing seasons of spring barley and spring wheat in 2014 and 2016, respectively. Results indicate that the B20N2 treatment significantly increased the proportion of water-stable macro-aggregates (WSAma) and reduced water-stable micro-aggregates (WSAmi). Aggregate stability increased only in the B20N1 treatment. The B20N2 treatment showed a robust decrease by 27% in the WSAma of 0.5-0.25 mm. On the other hand, an increase by 56% was observed in the content of WSAma with fractions 3-2 mm compared to the B0N0 treatment. The effect of N fertilizer on WSAma was confirmed only in the case of the B10N2 treatment. The proportion of WSAma with fractions 3-2 mm decreased by 42%, while the size fraction of 0.5-0.25 mm increased by 30% compared to the B10N0 treatment. The content of WSAma with fractions 1-0.5 mm decreased with time. On the contrary, the content of WSAma with particle sizes above 5 mm increased with time in all treatments except the B10N2 and B20N2 treatments. A statistically significant trend was identified in the proportion of WSA in the B10N2 and B20N2 treatments, which indicates that biochar with higher application levels of N fertilizer stabilizes the proportion of water-stable aggregates. In all treatments, the content of soil organic carbon (SOC) and labile carbon (CL) in WSAmi was lower than those in WSAma. A considerable decrease of SOC in the WSAma >5 mm and an increase of SOC in WSAmi were observed when biochar was applied at the rate of 10 t ha-1. Contents of SOC in WSAmi increased as a result of adding biochar combined with N fertilizer at first level. CL in WSA significantly increased in all size fractions of WSA.References Abiven S., Hund A., Martinsen V., Cornelissen G., 2015. Biochar amendment increases maize root surface areas and branching: a shovelomics study in Zambia. Plant Soil, 342, 1-11. Agegnehu G., Bass A.M., Nelson P.N., and Bird M.I., 2016. Benefits of biochar, compost and biochar–compost for soil quality, maize yield and greenhouse gas emissions in a tropical agricultural soil. Sci. Tot. Environ., 543, 295-306. Angers D.A., Samson N., Legere A., 1993. 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BackgroundDespite aggressive treatments and care, the median survival for GBM patients is 14.6 months, which has only modestly improved over the past several decades, highlighting the need for new therapeutic approaches. NK cells, innate cytotoxic effectors, are showing potential for cancer immunotherapy for GBM.1–3 However, tumor antigen heterogeneity and a severely immunosuppressive tumor microenvironment (TME) have rendered GBM highly resistant to most single antigen-based NK monotherapies.4–6MethodsTo overcome these challenges, our solution has been to develop a first multifunctional immunotherapy for GBM based on genetically-engineered NK cells bearing multiple simultaneous anti-tumor functions, including local tumor responsiveness and the ability to avoid antigen escape. The activity of these lentivirally-transduced multi-functional NK (E-pNK) cells were evaluated against patient-derived GBM cells both in vitro and in vivo.ResultsWe have designed and synthesized a multifunctional CAR construct that expresses an anti-CD73 scFv which is cleavable by GBM-associated proteases, and a dual CAR redirected against ligands for NKG2D and GBM-associated GD2 receptors (figure 1A-B). We have isolated primary NK cells (figure 1C) and genetically manipulated them to express NKG2D, anti-GD2 scFv and anti-CD73 scFv (figure 1D-E). E-pNK cells showed a significantly higher in vitro antitumor activity towards GBM43 targets, patient-derived GBM cells, including increased percentage of tumor killing, degranulation and IFN-γ production (figure 1F-G). E-pNK cells lacking the anti-CD73 scFv following uPA treatment displayed significantly decreased killing ability of target GBM43 cells after co-culture at E/T ratios of 2.5 and 5 for 4 h (figure 1H). In addition, after treatment with cleaved anti-CD73 scFv, GBM43 cells showed a significantly reduced ability to produce adenosine due to the inhibition of CD73 enzyme activity (figure 1I). Furthermore, E-pNK cells showed potent anti-GBM activity in subcutaneously GBM43 xenografts (figure 1J-L). In vivo-adoptively transferred E-pNK cells also showed superior intratumoral infiltration into GBM43 tumors when analyzed by IHC (data not shown).Abstract 134 Figure 1Multifunctional genetically-engineered NK cells for immunotherapy of GBM. (A) Schematic representation of transgene representing the complete multi-functional construct: tumor-responsive anti-CD73 scFv-secreting dual-specific CAR targeting NKG2DL and GD2. (B) Schematic representation of tumor-responsive anti-CD73 scFv secreting dual-specific CARs. (C) Flow cytometry data showing the purity of isolated peripheral blood-derived NK (pNK) cells (CD56+CD3-). (D) NKG2D expression on engineered pNK cells determined by flow cytometry after two rounds of lentiviral transduction. (E) Expression of anti-CD73 scFv and anti-GD2 scFv on pNK cells determined by flow cytometry after two rounds of lentiviral transduction. (F) In vitro cytotoxicity of pNK and E-pNK cells against different GBM43 at indicated E/T ratios over 4 h. (G) Degranulation (% CD107) and IFN-γ production of pNK and E-pNK cells (% IFN-γ) after 4 h coculture with GBM43 cells (E/T ratio, 5:1). (H) In vitro cytotoxicity of pNK and E-pNK (following aCD73 scFv cleavage) cells against GBM43 cells at indicated E/T ratios over 4 h. (I) CD73 activity of GBM43 cells after incubation with cleaved aCD73 scFv following cleavage from uPA-treated E-pNK cells. (J) Tumor growth of individual treatment groups, including PBS, pNK cells and E-pNK cells. Tumor size was determined by caliper measurements. (K) Average tumor weight of the mice in each treatment group after necropsy on day 28 post-start of treatment. (L) Changes in the body weight of the mice in each group during the treatment period. Note: the data shown in this study is for isolated pNK cells from one representative donor. Data are shown as mean ± SEM. *P < 0.05, **P < 0.01ConclusionsWe have generated E-pNK cells showing improved antitumor activity against GBM through increased resistance to the immunosuppressive TME via adenosinergic CD73 blockade and the simultaneous ability to specifically target GBM cells via dual CARs. Based on these results, we are currently building the orthotopic GBM mouse model to further evaluate their in vivo therapeutic effects.AcknowledgementsThis work is supported, in part, by a Ralph W. and Grace M. Showalter Research Trust award and a Walther Cancer Foundation Embedding Grant.Ethics ApprovalPrimary human NK (pNK) cells used in this study were obtained using Purdue University’s Institutional Review Board (IRB)-approved consent forms (IRB-approved protocol #1804020540).ReferencesSedgwick AJ, Ghazanfari N, Constantinescu P, Mantamadiotis T, Barrow AD. The role of NK cells and innate lymphoid cells in brain cancer. Front Immunol 2020;11:01549.Burger MC, Zhang CC, Harter PN, Romanski A, Strassheimer F, Senft C, et al. CAR-engineered NK cells for the treatment of glioblastoma: turning innate effectors into precision tools for cancer immunotherapy. Front Immunol 2019;10:2683.Wang J, Lupo KB, Chambers AM, Matosevic S. Purinergic targeting enhances immunotherapy of CD73+ solid tumors with piggyBac-engineered chimeric antigen receptor natural killer cells. J Immunother Cancer 2018;6:136.Lim M, Xia YX, Bettegowda C, Weller M. Current state of immunotherapy for glioblastoma. Nat Rev Clin Oncol 2018;15:422-442.Lynes JP, Nwankwo AK, Sur HP, Sanchez VE, Sarpong KA, Ariyo OI, et al. Biomarkers for immunotherapy for treatment of glioblastoma. J Immunother Cancer 2020;8:e000348.Wang J, Matosevic S. NT5E/CD73 as Correlative factor of patient survival and natural killer cell infiltration in glioblastoma. J Clin Med 2019;8:1526.

Ruth's golden aster (Pityopsis ruthii (Small) Small: Asteraceae) is an endangered, herbaceous perennial that occurs only at a few sites along the Hiwassee and Ocoee rivers in Polk County, Tennessee. This species is drought, heat, and submergence tolerant and has ornamental potential as a fall flowering landscape plant. In 2012, we vegetatively propagated various genotypes and established plantings in a landscape at Poplarville, Mississippi. In June and July of 2013, during periods of hot and humid weather, several well-established plants exhibited black or brown necrotic aerial blight symptoms including desiccation of stems and leaves. Blighted leaf samples were surface sterilized (10% commercial bleach, active ingredient 8.25% sodium hypochlorite, 1 min), rinsed in sterile water, air-dried, and plated on 2% water agar amended with 3.45 mg fenpropathrin/liter (Danitol 2.4 EC, Valent Chemical, Walnut Creek, CA) and 10 mg/liter rifampicin (Sigma-Aldrich, St. Louis, MO). Rhizoctonia sp. was identified based on hyphal morphology and cultures were maintained on potato dextrose agar. Colonies were fast growing, consisting of light tan to brown mycelia and tufts of crystalline aerial hyphae. Within 10 days, brown exudates were present in cultures and there was no pigmented reverse to the agar. Hyphae were a mean of 5.2 μm wide (4.6 to 6.1 μm; n = 10) and each compartment contained three or more nuclei. Hyphae were constricted at septa with right angle branching and no clamp connections, which is typical for Rhizoctonia solani (1). Light- to medium-brown, oblong to irregularly shaped sclerotia measuring 1.2 mm long (0.7 to 2.1 mm) × 0.9 mm wide (0.5 to 1.2 mm; n = 20) were formed in cultures after 3 weeks of growth. Total genomic DNA was extracted from two different colonies grown in potato dextrose broth for 7 days, amplified with PCR using ITS1 and ITS4 primers for amplification of the 18S rDNA subunit (2), the products purified, and sequenced. A consensus sequence of 657 bp was deposited in GenBank (Accession Nos. KF843729 and KF843730) and was 96% identical to two R. solani Kühn ITS sequences in GenBank (HF678125 and HF678122). R. solani was grown on twice autoclaved oats for 2 weeks at 21°C and incorporated into Pro-Mix BX, low fertility soilless medium (Premier Horticulture, Rivière-du-Loup, Quebec, Canada) at 4% (w/w) to inoculate seven P. ruthii plants grown in 10 cm-diameter pots; seven additional plants were grown in the same medium amended with 4% (w/w) sterile oats. Plants were grown in a greenhouse and covered with a plastic dome to maintain high humidity. After 2 weeks, six of the seven inoculated plants exhibited the same aerial blight symptoms as did the original infected plants from the field; none of the control plants developed disease symptoms. Colony morphology and hyphal characteristics as well as the sequence for the ITS region of rDNA from the re-isolated fungus were identical to the original isolate. To our knowledge, this is the first report of R. solani infecting Ruth's golden aster. We are not aware of the disease occurring in wild populations of the plant, but may impact plants grown in the landscape or greenhouse. References: (1) B. Sneh et al. Identification of Rhizoctonia Species. The American Phytopathological Society, St Paul, MN, 1991. (2) T. J. White et al. Page 315 in: PCR Protocols: A Guide to Methods and Applications. M. A. Innis et al., eds. Academic Press, San Diego, CA, 1990.

Summary This work presents a new computational model for the non-isothermal gravitational compositional equilibrium. The works of Bedrikovetsky [Mathemathical Theory of Oil and Gas Recovery, Kluwer Academic Publishers, London, (1993)] (gravity and temperature) and of Whitson and Belery ("Compositional Gradients in Petroleum Reservoirs," paper SPE 28000, presented at the 1994 University of Tulsa Centennal Petroleum Engineering Symposium, Tulsa, 29-31 August) (algorithm) are the basis of the mathematical formulation. Published data and previous simplified models validate the computational procedure. A large deep-water field in Campos Basin, Brazil, exemplifies the practical application of the model. The field has an unusual temperature gradient opposite to the Earth's thermal gradient. The results indicate the increase of oil segregation with temperature decrease. The application to field data suggests the reservoir could be partially connected. Fluid composition and property variation are extrapolated to different depths with its respective temperatures. The work is an example of the application of thermodynamic data to the evaluation of reservoir connectivity and fluid properties distribution. Problem Compositional variations along the hydrocarbon column are observed in many reservoirs around the world.1–4 They may affect reservoir/fluid characteristics considerably leading to different field development strategies.5 These variations are caused by many factors, such as gravity, temperature gradient, rock heterogeneity, hydrocarbon genesis and accumulation processes.6 In cases where thermodynamic associated factors (gravity and temperature) are dominant (mixing process in the secondary migration), existing gravitational compositional equilibrium (GCE) models7,8 provide an explanation of most observed variations. However, in some cases8,9 the thermal effect could have the same order of magnitude as the gravity effect. The formulation for calculating compositional variation under the force of gravity for an isothermal system was first given by Gibbs10 $$\mu {ci}(p, Z, T)=\mu {i}(p {{\rm ref}}, Z {{\rm ref}}, T {{\rm ref}}) - m {i}g(h - h {{\rm ref}}),\eqno ({\rm 1})$$ $$\mu {ci}=\delta [nRT\,{\rm ln}(f {i})]/\delta x,\eqno ({\rm 2})$$ $$f {i}=f({\rm EOS}),\eqno ({\rm 3})$$where p =pressure, T=temperature, Z=fluid composition, m=mass, ? c=chemical potential, h=depth, ref=reference, EOS=equation of state, i=component indices, R=real gas constant, n=number of moles, f=fugacity, ln=natural logarithm, x=component concentration, and g=gravitational acceleration. In 1930 Muskat11 provided an exact solution to Eq. (1), assuming a simplified equation of state and ideal mixing. Because of the oversimplified assumptions, the results suggest that gravity has a negligible effect on the compositional variation in reservoir systems. In 1938, Sage and Lacey12 used a more realistic equation of state (EOS), Eq. (3), to evaluate Eq. (2). At that time, the results showed significant composition variations with depth and greater ones for systems close to critical conditions. Schulte13 solved Eq. (1) using a cubic equation of state (3) in 1980. The results showed significant compositional variations. They also suggested a significant effect of the interaction coefficients and the aromatic content of the oil as well as a negligible effect of the EOS type (Peng-Robinson and Soave-Redlich-Kwong) on the final results. A simplified formulation that included gravity and temperature separately was presented by Holt et al.9 in 1983. Example calculations, limited to binary systems, suggest that thermal effects can be of the same magnitude as gravity effects. In 1988, Hirschberg5 discussed the influence of asphaltenes on compositional grading using a simplified two component model (asphaltenes and non-asphaltenes). He concluded, that for oils with oil gravity &lt;35°API, the compositional variations are mainly caused by asphalt segregation and the most important consequences are the large variations in oil viscosity and the possible formation of tar mats. Montel and Gouel7 presented an algorithm in 1985 for solving the GCE problem using an incremental hydrostatic term instead of solving for pressure directly. Field case applications of GCE models were presented by Riemens et al.2 in 1985, and by Creek et al.1 in 1988. They reported some difficulties in matching observed and calculated data but, in the end, it was shown that most compositional variations could be explained by the effect of gravity. Wheaton14 and Lee6 presented GCE models that included capillary forces in 1988 and 1989, respectively. Lee concluded that the effect of capillarity can become appreciable in the neighborhood of 1 ?m pore radius. In 1990, an attempt to combine the effects of gravity and temperature for a system of zero net mass flux was presented by Belery and Silva.15 The multicomponent model was an extension of earlier work by Dougherty and Drickamer16 that was originally developed in 1955 for binary liquid systems. The comparison of calculated and observed data from Ekofisk field in the North Sea is, however, not quantitatively accurate (with or without thermal effect). An extensive discussion and the formal mathematical treatment of compositional grading using irreversible thermodynamics, including gravitational and thermal fields, was presented by Bedrikovetsky17 in 1993. Due to the lack of necessary information on the values of thermal diffusion coefficients, which in general are obtained experimentally only for certain mixtures in narrow ranges of pressure and temperature, simplified models were proposed. In 1994, Hamoodi and Abed3 presented a field case of a giant Middle East reservoir with areal and vertical variations in its composition.

This article presents a study that dialogued with masters and doctoral researches that took the mathematical training of teachers of the early years, in Pedagogy courses. Such researches were developed between 1978 and 2012 and consisted of the mappings performed in two works (FIORENTINI et al. 2002; FIORENTINI; PASSOS; LIMA, 2016). The study composed the doctoral thesis of the first author, who investigated what revealed by narratives of graduates of the Pedagogy course of XXX, built during the training, about playfulness, the teaching of mathematics in initial education and the constitution of a teacher who teaches math in the early years. The data discussed here were delimited from the object of the doctoral research and in a way indicated what could be produced from unheard of. The research source raised by the mapping was taken as a source of data, with the focus on the works that had “playfulness” as an important aspect of the initial teacher education that will teach mathematics in the early years and / or used “narratives” or if presented as “narrative research” - elements that articulate to the research puzzle (CLANDININ; CONNELLY, 2015), we relate 41 researches. In dialoguing with the authors of the research we seek in this article to know concepts presented in them, confronting them with theoretical frameworks that defend the playfulness and the writing of narratives in the initial teacher education that teaches mathematics in the early years.ResumoEste artigo apresenta um estudo que dialogou com pesquisas de mestrado e de doutorado que tomaram a formação matemática de professores dos anos iniciais, em cursos de Pedagogia. Tais pesquisas foram desenvolvidas entre 1978 a 2012 e constaram dos mapeamentos realizados em dois trabalhos (FIORENTINI et al. 2002; FIORENTINI; PASSOS; LIMA, 2016). O estudo compôs a tese de doutoramento do primeiro autor, que investigou o que revelam narrativas de licenciandos do curso de Pedagogia da Universidade Federal de São Carlos (UFSCar), construídas ao longo da formação, sobre a ludicidade, o ensino de matemática na formação inicial e o constituir-se professor que ensina(rá) matemática nos anos iniciais. Os dados aqui discutidos foram delimitados a partir do objeto da pesquisa de doutorado e de certo modo indicou o que de inédito poderia ser produzido. Tomou-se como fonte de dados as pesquisas levantadas pelos mapeamentos, com o olhar voltado para os trabalhos que tiveram a “ludicidade” como aspecto importante da formação inicial do professor que ensinará matemática nos anos iniciais e/ou utilizou “narrativas” ou se apresentaram como “pesquisas narrativas” – elementos que se articulam ao puzzle (CLANDININ; CONNELLY, 2015) de pesquisa, relacionamos 41 pesquisas. Ao dialogar com os autores das pesquisas buscamos neste artigo conhecer conceitos apresentados nas mesmas, confrontá-los com referenciais teóricos que defendem a ludicidade e a escrita de narrativas na formação inicial de professores que ensinam(rão) matemática nos anos iniciais.Palavras-chave: Formação do professor, Ensino de matemática, Ludicidade, Narrativas.Keywords: Teacher education, Math education, Playfulness, Narratives.ReferencesALARCÃO, I. Professores reflexivos em uma escola reflexiva. São Paulo: Cortez, 2003.AMARAL, M. J.; MOREIRA, M. A.; RIBEIRO, D. O papel do supervisor no desenvolvimento do professor reflexivo: estratégias de supervisão. In: ALARCÃO, I. Formação reflexiva de professores: estratégias de supervisão. Porto: Porto, 1996. p. 89-122.BOLZAN, D. P. V. Formação de professores: compartilhando e reconstruindo conhecimentos. Porto Alegre: Editora Mediação, 2002.BRASIL. Parecer CNE/CP nº 09, de 08 de maio de 2001. Institui as diretrizes curriculares nacionais para a formação de professores da educação básica, em nível superior, curso de licenciatura, de graduação plena. Brasília, DF, 2001.CLANDININ, D. J. Engaging in narrative inquiry. Walnut Creek: Left Coast Press. 2013.CLANDININ, D. J.; CONNELLY, F. M. Pesquisa Narrativa: Experiência e História em Pesquisa Qualitativa. Uberlândia: EDUFU, 2015.COSTA, S. C. S. O professor que ensina Matemática nos anos iniciais do Ensino Fundamental: limites e possibilidades do curso de Licenciatura em Pedagogia. 2011. 171 f. Dissertação (Mestrado) – Universidade Cruzeiro do Sul (Unicsul), São Paulo, 2011. Orientador: Edda Curi. Disponível em: https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BzWBKwxWqsbtdTMteURzWkR5UXMCUNHA, R. B. Lembranças de escola na formação inicial de professores. In: PRADO, G. D. V. T.; CUNHA, R. B. Percursos de autoria: exercícios de pesquisa. Campinas: Alínea, 2007. p. 97-112.CURI, E. Formação de professores polivalentes: uma análise de conhecimentos para ensinar matemática e de crenças e atitudes que interferem na constituição desses conhecimentos. 2004. 278 f. Tese (Doutorado) – Pontifícia Universidade Católica de São Paulo (PUC-SP), São Paulo, 2004. Orientador: Célia Maria Carolino PiresDARSIE, M. M. P. A reflexão distanciada na construção dos conhecimentos do professor em curso de formação inicial. Tese de Doutorado. Universidade de São Paulo. São Paulo. 1998.FERNÁNDEZ, A. O Saber em jogo: a psicopedagogia propiciando autorias de pensamento. Tradução de Neusa Kern Hickel. Porto Alegre: Artmed, 2001.FIORENTINI, D. et al. Formação de professores que ensinam matemática : um balanço de 25 anos de pesquisa brasileira. Educação em Revista, Belo Horizonte, 2002. 137-159.FIORENTINI, D.; PASSOS, C. L. B.; LIMA, R. C. R. Mapeamento da pesquisa acadêmica brasileira sobre o professor que ensina matemática: período 2001 - 2012. Campinas: FE/Unicamp, 2016.FLORES, M. A. Person and context in becoming a new teacher. Journal of Education for Teaching, v. 27, p. 135-148, 2001.FLORES, M. A.; DAY, C. Contexts which shape and reshape new teachers’ identities: a multi-perspective study. Teaching and Teacher Education, v. 22, p. 219- 232, 2006.HUIZINGA, J. Homo Ludens: o jogo como elemento da cultura. 7ª. ed. São Paulo: Perspectiva, 2012.LARROSA BONDÍA, J. Tecnologias do eu e educação. In: SILVA, T. T. D. O sujeito da educação: estudos foucaultianos. Petrópolis: Vozes, 1994. p. 35-86.MEGID, M. A. B. A. Formação inicial de professoras mediada pela escrita e pela análise de narrativas sobre operações numéricas. 2009. 219f. Tese (Doutorado) – Universidade Estadual de Campinas (Unicamp), Campinas, 2009. Orientador: Dario Fiorentini. Disponível em: https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BzWBKwxWqsbtMlBjTDFOeThRc1EOLIVEIRA, R. M. M. A. Narrativas de formação: Aspectos da trajetória como estudante e experiências de estágio. Interacções, Portugal, vol.7. nº18. 2011. 229-245.PIMENTA, S. G. Formação de professores - saberes da docência e identidade do professor. Revista Faculdade de Educação, São Paulo, julho 1996. 72-89.RITZMANN, C. D. S. O jogo na atividade de ensino: um estudo das ações didáticas de professores em formação inicial. 2009. 191f. Dissertação (Mestrado) – Universidade de São Paulo (USP), São Paulo, 2009. Orientador: Manoel Oriosvaldo de Moura. Disponível em: https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BzWBKwxWqsbtOFAzSGtONy1NYUESANTOS, S. A. Experiências narradas no ciberespaço: um olhar para as formas de se pensar e ser professora que ensina Matemática. 2009. Dissertação (Mestrado em Educação) ? Universidade Federal do Rio Grande do Sul, UFRGS, Porto Alegre (RS). Orientador: Samuel Edmundo López Bello. Disponível em: http://www.lume.ufrgs.br/handle/10183/21385SANTOS, S. M. P; CRUZ. D. R. M. O. O lúdico na formação do educador. 9ª. ed. Petrópolis: Vozes, 2011.SERRAZINA, M. D. L. M. A formação para o ensino de matemática: perspectivas futuras. In: SERRAZINA, M. D. L. M. A formação para o ensino da matemática na educação pré-escolar e no 1° ciclo do ensino básico. Porto: Porto Editora, 2002. p. 9- 19.SILVA, A. J. N. S. Querido diário... o que revelam as narrativas sobre ludicidade, formação e futura prática do professor que ensina(rá) matemática nos anos iniciais. 2018. Tese (Doutorado em Educação) - Universidade Federal de São Carlos, campus São Carlos, São Carlos. 2018.SILVA, A. J. N. S. A ludicidade no laboratório: considerações sobre a formação do futuro professor de matemática. Curitiba: Editora CRV, 2014.SOUZA, E. C. A arte de contar e trocar experiências: Reflexões teórico-metodológicas sobre história de vida em formação. Revista Educação em Questão, Natal, Janeiro 2006. 22-39TORICELLI, L. A colaboração em um grupo de alunas da Pedagogia que ensinam (ou ensinarão) Matemática. 2009. 184 f. Dissertação (Mestrado) – Universidade São Francisco (USF), Itatiba, 2009. Orientador: Regina Célia Grando. Disponível em: https://drive.google.com/open?id=0BzWBKwxWqsbtc1hWWEJlODlqU28ZABALZA, M. Diários de aula: contributo para o estudo dos dilemas práticos dos professores. Porto: Porto Editora, 1994.e3631066

Ramps and scaffoldsThe lifting of large stones during antiquityUntil well into the 18th century, many scholars thought that megaliths were erected by giants. Less supernatural theories did not occur in print until the 19th century. One of these was expressed in a small pamphlet from 1857, “On the Building Manner of the Passage Graves of the Antiquity”, written by the Danish King Frederik the Seventh. Earlier (1853), the king had been convinced that first the capstones had been placed on a mound and then the uprights had been placed in holes dug out under the capstone (fig. 7). When all uprights were in place, the remaining earth was removed. This so-called mound theory is almost completely forgotten, but it surfaced sporadically in the 20th century, last when J. Osenton was reconstructing dolmens in the Cotswold Hill Quarry by Cheltenham in England in 1996-97.In 1857, Frederik the Seventh put forward the ramp theory, according to which the capstone is pulled up on a ramp to the already finished chamber (fig. 7-8). According to Frederik the Seventh’s proposal, the ramp was built from earth lengthwise covered with timber, on top of which the capstone would have been pulled up on rolls.However, the king had not invented this theory. It was known in Scandinavia and Holland already around 1800. In 1815, N. Westendorf in Holland suggested the use of earth ramps, and the following years the Dutch developed the ramp theory further.Both the early Dutch antiquarians and others referred to the fact that from the 16th to the 19th century (after the Spanish conquest), Inca workers in Peru, when erecting large buildings, used earth ramps for pulling large stones in place. During their golden age (1300-l500 AD), the Incas were masters in building with large stones that weighed up to well over 200 metric tons. Perhaps the know ledge of Inca earth ramps inspired the early European antiquarians to suggest that the megaliths had also been pulled in place by the use of ramps.In 1983, an experiment was carried out in Skånes Djurpark (Scania’s Animal Park) under G. Burenhuldt’s supervision: the building of a long barrow. The capstone was mounted on a wooden sledge and pulled in place using a rope and a 16-m long earth ramp covered with timber lengthwise (fig. 9). The gradient of the ramp was 5 degrees. It took fourteen men a mere twelve seconds to pull op the capstone.In Indonesia, the use of wooden ramps for pulling up grave capstones is well known. Such a situation was docu mented in 1910, when four hundred people pulled the stone in place without the use of rolls (fig. 10-11). In Holland, postholes suggesting the use of a similar method have been found in connection with some megalith graves (fig. 12).When using the scaffold method, one end of the stone is lifted using one or more levers while timber is being pushed under the stone. Then the other end is lifted and timber pushed underneath. The stone is then lifted again, and timber is pushed under in the opposite direction of the previous layer of timber – and so forth, until the stone has reached the planned height (fig. 13-14). The stone is lifted up on a steadily growing scaffold, so to speak. When the lever is high up, ropes are attached to it for pulling. This method was used in Denmark during the 19th century, when the National Museum was placing capstones that had fallen from their original position back onto the megalith graves. In 1897, the Danish archaeologist Sophus Müller suggested that the capstones of the megalith graves had origin ally been positioned in this way. In 1979, J.P. Mohen initiated an experiment in Bougon, France, involving the lifting of a 32-tons copy of a capstone (fig. 15).The lifting was carried out using three levers, each operated by twenty men. By pushing timber under the stone, it was easily lifted one meter. During the same experiment, twenty men easily lifted the stone using a single lever. In 1994, in Ramioul in Belgium, the scaffold method was also used for placing a capston e on a newly built alleé couverte. In Cotswold’s Hill Quarry, England, J. Osenton built three dolmens in 1996-97. A five-ton capstone was lifted one meter by two persons, one using a 3.5-meter long lever, the other pushing timber underneath.Levers are thus very effective, as heavy loads may be lifted using small effort. According to the lever principle, Kl x L1 = K2 x L2, where L1 and L2 are the long and short arm (divided by the fulcrum) respectively, Kl is the force used for pulling, and K2 is the force, which in combination with L2 has an effect on the stone itself. If using a completely regular stone, like an over-sized brick, it will be merely half of the stone’s weight that is lifted, as its edge is resting on the support. However, as the stones are usually irregular, the lifted weight in the following calculations is estimated to be 60% of the total weight.At Cotswold Hill Quarry, the relation between effort and load was 1:100, hence, one man had to pull with a mere power of 30 kg in order to lift the heavy stone. At Bou­gon, each of the 60 persons had to pull with a force of 32 kilos, if the relation was 1:10, in order to lift the 32-tons block. A capstone in the Spanish passage grave Cueva de Menga weighs 180 metric tons. It could be lifted by 72 men each pulling 50 kg, if the relation was 1:30.It appears that capstones may be easily lifted using a scaffold. When the stones reached the level of the top of the uprights, they could be pulled in over the chamber. At the experiment at Ramioul, Poissonier and Collin used a method in spired by the transportation of stones in a quarry. In the ends of the round timber just under the stone were drilled holes, in which sticks were placed. When the sticks were turned, the stones could be rolled in position over the chamber (fig. 16 ). The use of Stone’s A-frame, which will be mentioned later, would have been very effective indeed, even when very large stones had to be moved from the scaffold onto the chamber.At Stonehenge, the large sarsen stones were erected 2400 BC towards the end of the late Stone Age (fig. 17). The lintels of the large circle weigh approximately seven tons and are positioned at 4.3 meters above the earth. In the middle of the circle is the “horse shoe” consisting of five thrilitons (a thriliton is a pair of uprights carrying a lintel). These lintels weigh up to 16.5 metric tons and are raised seven meters above ground level.In 1924, the engineer E.H. Stone suggested that the lintels had been pulled up an earth ramp that had been so large that it had a platform on top. Here the final adjustment of the lintel could take place using levers.In 1935, another – simpler – technique, the scaffold method, was suggested by colonel R.H. Cunnington. The engineer C.A. Gauld later developed his idea further. He advocated the use of a rather complicated scaffold, which completely surrounded the uprights (fig. 19).In 1991, the engineer P. Pavel carried out an experiment by Strakonice in the Czech Republic (fig. 20). A copy of two uprights in the Stonehenge circle had been erected, and a lintel was to be put in position. The height was 3.5 meters, and the lintel weighed five metric tons. The procedure was surprisingly simple. Using levers and ropes, the stone was pulled up a ramp made from two heavy stems. The pulling was done in 30-cm tugs, and behind the lintel was a“brake rod”, which was moved along to prevent th e stone from sliding down. The levers were of spruce, 4.5 m long and 25 cm in diameter. The ropes were 3 cm thick. The stone was pulled up in three days by ten men.In 1994, M. Whitby was carryin g out experiments near Stonehenge. They included the placin g of lintels using both ramp and scaffold. For this purpose, concrete copies of two uprights and a lintel had been made. The lintel weighed ten metric tons and had to be lifted seven meters. First, it was lifted using the scaffold method. As this went easily, and it was obvious that it could be easily lifted in place, the experiment was called off The scaffold was a simple one, which did not surround the uprights. The lintel was pulled up a metal ramp, which served as an earth ramp. On the surface, the ramp had three tracks of timber lengthwise, and 90 people pulled up the stone in three ho urs. T he pu llin g was don e usin g an A-frame, which works as anupright lever (fig. 21). E.H. Stone had suggested this method in 1924 when the uprights were erected (fig. 22). Whitby’s experiment had the special point that the timber on the ramp surface was separated at the top, so that it would tip with the stone when it reached the top.One or the other? A ramp or a scaffold? The huge disadvantage of the earth ramp is that it would have taken a very long time to both build it and remove it. It would be faster and easier to use Pavel’s wooden ramp, strengthened and supported by timber and then pull up the stone either using Pavel’s method or an A-frame. Finally, there is the scaffold method, which Whitby and Richards found very rewarding. However, this method seems too simple and undramatic as opposed to the ramps. At any rate, many scholars have become obsessed by the ramps and will not consider the scaffold as an alternative. The theories of how Egypt’s large pyramids were erected are a fine example of this.The Great Pyramid was build for the Pharaoh Cheops, who died around 2580 BC. It is an impressive monument, which was originally 146.5 meters high, with each side measuring 230 meters. It was built from 2.300.000 box-shaped stones, each weighing approximately 2.5 metric tons or less.How the Egyptian pyramids were built is still a matter of speculation. The many suggested methods can be divided into two groups: ramps or gradual raising using levers (the scaffold method). The ramp method is preferred by most, but the shape of the ramps remains a mystery (fig. 23). Ramps have been found next to some very small and unfinished pyramids, but they were less than seven meters high. These ramps were made from limestone rubble, sand, gypsum, and clay. It seems obvious that ramps may have been used for the building of small pyramids and for the lower parts of larger pyramids. However, in the case of the great pyramids, the ramps would gradually become very steep and very long, or both, when the pyramid rose upwards.In his book, “The Complete Pyramids” (1997), Mark Lehner, one of the leading pyramid scholars, strongly advocates the ramp theory. In 1996, he took part in the building of a 6-m high pyramid “to test some of the current theories of armchair pyramid builders and try out ancient theories”. The small pyramid was built using a ramp. The scaffold method was also tested for the raising of a stone weighing two metric tons. The experiment was unsuccessful and therefore dismissed. However, elementary mistakes were made, as for instance using boards stacked in layers as a substitute for heavy timber.In spite of this, there are in fact numerous advantages of lifting the stones step by step. For instance,several teams can work simultaneously on each step; the distance is shorter; there is no long return with an empty sledge; and huge ramps do not have to be built and removed again .When Herodotus visited The Great Pyramid around 440 BC, he was told that it had been built by lifting the stones step- by-step using special devices (mechania). This information was omitted in “The Complete Pyramids”.The method used for building a large pyramid could have been a combination of the two techniques. Ramps were used at first, until they became too large or steep or both, then stones were lifted step- by-step using levers. This change may well have taken place at a height of 50 meters, when 72% of the stone mass was already in place. Also, the use of ramps and scaffolds does not have to be an either/or. Perhaps both methods were used.The heavy bluestones at Stonehenge, each weighing between 3 and 4 metric tons, were quarried in antiquity in the Preseli Mountains in Wales. The 80 bluestones were transported more than 350 km across land and water. In 2000, a group of volunteers wanted to repeat this great achievement of the past by transporting a 3-ton stone along the same route. The project, called The Millenium Stone, was a total failure and had to be given up. The participants met too many obstacles on the way and had to use modern techniques; the stone was transported far shorter distances a day than expected; a crane had to be used for lifting the stone on to a vessel, which later sank in 17 meters of water. One important reason for the poor out come was not just the lack of technical skills, but also lack of planning, expertise, and motivation among the participants. These factors are indeed the prerequi site for a successful implementation, in the past as well as now.The experiments at Bougon, Cotswold, and Strakonice showed that a few people were able to lift the stones. However, in the antiquity this would have taken place at community events, which gathered huge crowds. This was certainly the case when dolmens were built in Indonesia in modern time. Here, the presence of many people gave prestige to the organizers, who in return demonstrated their wealth and hospitality by throwing large parties where the guests were lavishly entertained. For both organizers and participants these occasions offered the possibility of making or renewing agreements and alliances.One of the many reasons behind the erection of the megalith graves was its stabilizing effect on society. The megalith builders would have been highly motivated and very determined, as the balance of their social and spiritual universe depended on a successful completion of the work with the huge stones. The muscle power of hundreds of men is not enough; it also takes a foreman with ingenuity, coordination and determination (fig. 24). The foremen of the English archaeologist, C.L. Woolley, were good at moving large stones. Once, Woolley showed his foreman, the Arab Hamoudi, the large stone, measuring 21.5 x 4.3 x 4.2 meters, which during the first century AD was placed at seven meter’s height in the wall of Acropolis in Baalbek in Syria. “He sat in silence, looking at it for perhaps twenty minutes, and then rose to his feet.‘I must go away,᾿ he said,‘my head aches᾿; and as he went, I heard him murmur: ‘By Allah, what a foreman!᾽”In this context, Woolley mentions that at his time (1953), such a stone could not be lifted that high by machines, but that the people of the antiquity were able to do it because they lacked machines!Palle EriksenRingkøbing MuseumTranslated by Annette Lerche Trolle

The T. N. Coles site (41RR3), also known as the Mustang Creek site, is an Early Caddo period (ca. A.D. 1000-1200) site with a single burial mound constructed on a tributary to the Sulphur River in East Texas. The site was never investigated by a professional archaeologist, but the available information about the site and the artifact findings indicate that the burial mound contained (and may still contain) at least one burial with multiple interments, very similar to Early Caddo period shaft tombs at the Gahagan and Mounds Plantation sites on the Red River in Northwest Louisiana, the Crenshaw site on the Red River in Southwest Arkansas, and the George C. Davis and Boxed Springs sites on the Neches and Sabine rivers in East Texas.

Presented on Tuesday 17 May: Session 8 Within Australia, carbon capture and storage (CCS) and carbon capture, utilisation and storage will play a significant role as part of an ‘all of the above’ approach to managing greenhouse gas emissions. Two CCS projects are currently operating: Gorgon and the Otway CCS project. The Gorgon and Jansz-Io fields contain approximately 14% carbon dioxide (CO2). The CO2 is brought to shore at Barrow Island and injected into the Dupuy Formation saline aquifer at a depth of 2500 m. While the project has experienced delays with start-up and operational issues, to July 2021 nearly 5 MMt of CO2 had been injected. The Otway CCS Project is a research facility used to study subsurface CO2 storage and behaviour within saline aquifers and depleted reservoirs. Since the start of the project in 2007 a total of 95 000 t of CO2 has been stored. Final Investment Decision was taken for the Moomba CCS project on 1 November 2021 and for the Leigh Creek Urea project in March 2021. In addition, feasibility studies are being carried out across multiple projects within Australia including the South West and Mid-West Projects in the Perth Basin, CarbonNet in Victoria’s Latrobe Valley and Gippsland Basin and the Moonie oil field EOR, Integrated Surat Basin Project and the ATP 2062-P Buckland Basalt projects in the Bowen-Surat Basin. A CCS hub at Bayu-Undan is being assessed as a possible option to reduce the carbon footprint of the Barossa, Caldita and Evans Shoals projects, and feasibility studies are underway into large-scale multi-user CCS hubs near both Darwin and Karratha. To access the presentation click the link on the right. To read the full paper click here

I'll grow up some time then you'll be mine I want to screw you down whilst my mind is on the ground I want to move your switch make you go squish my desiring machine -- Sonic Youth A small story: the other saturday night, having just completed my saturday ritual of visiting the video shop and the beer shop, I was sitting at a bus-stop. And it just so happens that on this saturday evening, the bus-stop I was sitting at was opposite a catholic church in the middle of the mass. Now, its been many years since I was a catholic -- I am in fact happily pagan -- however, I strongly identify with that well-known atheist and socialist (and co-incidentally, British Minister of Overseas Development) Clare Short, who nonetheless describes herself as 'culturally catholic' (as they say, 'once a catholic always a catholic'). And so, as I was sitting at this bus-stop, I found myself having the usual internal conversation I seem to have whenever I pass a catholic mass, in which I imagine I'm having to justify just why I'm not in there as well and why I think their beliefs are theoretically unsustainable and politically regressive. During this internal dialogue however, I realised that what the micks were doing in their mass -- that is, expressing a desire to connect with something outside of themselves -- was the same thing I did whenever I witnessed a sabbat or esbat, or visited a stone circle, fairy mound or burial barrow. Admittedly, whereas I achieve this experience of being with something outside myself through the earth, the sun, the moon, the passing of time, and my relationships with my friends and lovers, they did it through a submissive appeal to a fetishised figure of an alien God. And that this wasn't much different from or any worse than the mindless commodity fetishism practiced by so many materialists within our advanced industrialised economy. And all of this led me to speculate on just what the nature of desire is: that perhaps desire is the self's experience, within the self, of something outside of (or greater than) the self -- desire as theology, that is. If I can be a bit clearer: that perhaps desire is a recognition, not of a lack, but of the necessary and perpetual circulation across the threshold of the self -- if i can put it that way -- of the array of subjectless individuations that collectively constitute us as 'human'. This is not at all to suggest that desire is what makes us 'better', or that it is solely a positive thing -- and not simply because I refuse the implication that desiring to be with the Christian God can ever be positive. In formulating desire as a circulation of affects across the boundary of the self, I am explicitly refusing the narrative of original sin of the self, either in its Christian 'guilt' or psychoanalytic 'lack' manifestations that desire is often framed in. What I am suggesting here is that 'desire' is the name for that perpetual and spontaneous process of 'becoming' through which the self is continuously constructed and reconstructed, and that this process is by definition circulatory. The obvious analogy here is with meteorological phenomena, in particular frontal systems. The cold front that brings rain with it, and usually marked on the evening television weather forecasts with a thick, identifiable line, is in fact a fictional construct. It marks, in practice, a perpetual and spontaneous exchange of heat, through a thermodynamic process, between a relatively warmer body of air and a relatively colder one behind it. The front, so lively on the weather map, marching across the continent with martial purpose, in fact moves only as it is drawn by pressure differentials, by the rotation of the earth, and by the very process of heat exchange that it signifies. As a line, an interface, a boundary, the front is permeable, unstable, fractal and undefinable; an effect that becomes a metonym for the process it represents. Similarly, the thing we call 'the self' -- myself, yourself, themselves -- is an effect, an ever-shifting, fluid and variable effect of a circulation of affect that is called desire. This is not at all to suggest that desire is what makes us 'better', or that it is solely a positive thing -- and not simply because I refuse the implication that desiring to be with the Christian God can ever be positive. In formulating desire as a circulation of affects across the boundary of the self, I am explicitly refusing the narrative of original sin of the self, either in its Christian 'guilt' or psychoanalytic 'lack' manifestations that desire is often framed in. What I am suggesting here is that 'desire' is the name for that perpetual and spontaneous process of 'becoming' through which the self is continuously constructed and reconstructed, and that this process is by definition circulatory. The obvious analogy here is with meteorological phenomena, in particular frontal systems. The cold front that brings rain with it, and usually marked on the evening television weather forecasts with a thick, identifiable line, is in fact a fictional construct. It marks, in practice, a perpetual and spontaneous exchange of heat, through a thermodynamic process, between a relatively warmer body of air and a relatively colder one behind it. The front, so lively on the weather map, marching across the continent with martial purpose, in fact moves only as it is drawn by pressure differentials, by the rotation of the earth, and by the very process of heat exchange that it signifies. As a line, an interface, a boundary, the front is permeable, unstable, fractal and undefinable; an effect that becomes a metonym for the process it represents. Similarly, the thing we call 'the self' -- myself, yourself, themselves -- is an effect, an ever-shifting, fluid and variable effect of a circulation of affect that is called desire. In one sense this definition is almost a truism, because as Deleuze & Guattari make explicitly clear in A Thousand Plateaus, almost all formations can be described in some sense as fasiscular, and even the most rhizomatic formation can have aborescent knots. That is, the distinction between rhizomatic and aborescent schemas is not dualistic, there is "no ontological dualism between here and there, no axiological dualism between good and bad"; rather their relationship is processual: The important point is that the root-tree and canal-rhizome are not two opposed models: the first operates as a transcendent model and tracing, even if it engenders its own escapes; the second operates as an immanent process that overturns the model and outlines a map, even if it constitutes its own hierarchies, even if it gives rise to a despotic channel. ... No, this is not a new or different dualism. (Deleuze & Guattari 20) Thus, as Deleuze & Guattari are at pains to explain, what they call rhizomatic formations are neither better or worse than arborescent formations, nor are they two mutually exclusive, they are two different ways of organising and doing things which can each lead to the other or contain the other. In this sense, Probyn is not suggesting anything new to say that desire can be considered as rhizomatic, as engendering an uncountable array of unruly connections, because the possibility that anything might be thusly considered is contained within the princples of 'the rhizome' that Deleuze & Guattari provide. What I am suggesting however, is that desire is more than simply an excellent example of this processual movement between and across rhizomes and arborescences. For whilst the arborescent knots, the despotic formations of desire are readily apparent -- who isn't familiar with the disappointment that is an inevitable and integral part of commodity fetishism; the desolation of unrequited loves or the destructive capacity of satiated desires -- I am suggesting that desire is solely and strictly rhizomatic, and that as a rhizome that subverts, subtends and extends the self, it processually defines 'the human'. In his insightful commentary upon deleuzoguattarian philosophy entitled A User's Guide to Capitalism and Schizophrenia, Brian Massumi states that desire, "in its widest connotation" is the plane of consistency as multiple cocausal becoming ... on the human level, it is never a strictly personal affair, but a tension between sub- and superpersonal tendencies that intersect in the person as an empty signifier. (82) For Massumi then, desire is a profoundly anti-human, or more accurately nonhuman, process, whose operation has the effect of causing what he calls 'the person' to be precipitated. Desire is, therefore, the definition of the machinic auto-poiesis -- the immanent and pragmatic functioning of the process of becoming -- that generates each of us as human subjects. Contra Massumi however, I would suggest that the resultant effect of desire -- that is, the instantiation of the person -- is far from being an empty signifier, a precipitious by-product. Even the most inchoate desire, the most mute and directionless 'I want', articulates a connection beyond the self that carries within it an implicit enunciation of what the self might be. As Michel Foucault argued in a somewhat different context, the trangressing of a boundary by a productive process -- such as desire -- does not ipso facto circumvent that boundary or render it devoid of meaning, although it might have that effect; the function of crossing or trangressing a limit is to liminalise it, to re-inscribe it (for two differing examples, see Foucault, The History of Sexuality Volume 1 45, and Foucault, "Revolutionary Action: Until Now" 226). For although 'the person' does not pre-figure desire, and is in fact constituted and re-constituted through the operation of desire, it is neither an empty signifier nor a level playing field. "The word religion", says the French philosopher Michel Serres, could have two origins. According to the first, it would come from the Latin verb religare, to attach. Does religion bind us together, does it assure the bond of this world to another? According to the second ... it would mean to assemble, gather, lift up, traverse or read. (47) But, observes Serres, we are rarely told what sublime word our language opposes to the religious, in order to deny it: negligence. Whoever has no religion should not be called an atheist or unbeliever, but negligent. (48) The process, perpetual and spontaneous, of attachment to things, subjects, objects-multiplicities-outside of ourselves, whether it is to an unseeing God, the earth, one's friends, family and lovers or that funky new consumer durable, that we call desire, is what defines us as human. "Without love", says Serres "there are no ties or alliances" (49). Thus, the rhizomatic functioning of desire as a process of becoming continually produces, in a transversal fashion, the articulation of the self: we are each the product of desire. Desire, as a thermodynamic process, is thus the engine of 'the human', of a form of contingent humanism -- although a humanism that isn't simply limited to people: a becoming that liminalises the self through its incorporation of subjectless individuations beyond the self, within the self, through which the self is processually experienced and embodied. Whether it is the desire for the reified God, the becoming-another of the carnal and corporeal, the longing for the fetishised commodity or the 'I want to believe' of the search for extra-terrestrials, desire is the motive force that defines us as human, our raison d'être, our theology. And all this from sitting at a bus-stop. References Deleuze, Gilles and Félix Guattari. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Trans. Brian Massumi. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1987. With foreword by Brian Massumi. Foucault, Michel. The History of Sexuality, Vol. 1: An Introduction. Trans. Robert Hurley. London: Penguin, 1978. Foucault, Michel. "Revolutionary Action: Until Now." Language, Counter-Memory, Practice: Selected Essays and Interviews by Michel Foucault. Ed. Donald Bouchard. New York: Cornell UP, 1977. Massumi, Brian. A User's Guide to Capitalism and Schizophrenia: Deviations from Deleuze and Guattari. A Swerve Edition. Cambridge, MA.: MIT P, 1992. Probyn, Elspeth. Outside Belongings. New York and London: Routledge, 1996. Serres, Michel. The Natural Contract. Trans. Elizabeth MacArthur and William Paulson. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan P, 1995. Sonic Youth. "Female Mechanic on Duty." A Thousand Leaves. Compact Disc. Geffen, GEFD-25203, 1998. Citation reference for this article MLA style: Sean Aylward Smith. "[ t o b e a n d t o h a v e ]." M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2.5 (1999). [your date of access] <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9907/be.php>. Chicago style: Sean Aylward Smith, "[ t o b e a n d t o h a v e ]," M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2, no. 5 (1999), <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9907/be.php> ([your date of access]). APA style: Sean Aylward Smith. (1999) [ t o b e a n d t o h a v e ]. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 2(5). <http://www.uq.edu.au/mc/9907/be.php> ([your date of access]).

This single and critical case study evaluated a faith-based natural family planning program's salient features using a framework on implementation fidelity. Multiple focus group discussions were conducted, with three groups of stakeholders (n=100), to gather qualitative data on their knowledge and experience of the program. Overall, the findings showed that the program primarily adhered to the essential elements of implementation fidelity, such as content, frequency, duration, and coverage prescribed by its designers. Three lessons were drawn to address some issues that have influenced the degree of fidelity in which the program was implemented. The first is the need to secure adequate and sustained human and financial resources. The second is the need to strengthen its partnership with government and non-government organizations that have provided them with much-needed assistance. Finally, there is also the need to provide extensive training, materials, and support to its service providers to preserve their morale and interest. Other faith-based organizations may hold this case as an indicator of how and why an NFP program works and the extent to which the need for family planning can be met adapted to their local conditions and needs. References Arbuckle, Gerald A. Refounding the Church: Dissent for Leadership. Quezon City: Claretian Publications. 1993. Arevalo, Marcos. "Expanding the Availability and improving the delivery of natural family planning services and fertility awareness education: providers' perspectives. Adv Contracept. Jun-Sep 1997; 13(2-3):275-81. Arévalo, Marcos, Victoria Jennings, and Irit Sinai. "Efficacy of a new method of family planning: the Standard Days Method." Contraception 65, no. 5 (2002): 333-338.Arévalo, Marcos, Irit Sinai, and Victoria Jennings. "A fixed formula to define the fertile window of the menstrual cycle as the basis of a simple method of natural family planning." Contraception 60, no. 6 (1999): 357-360. Atun, Jenna (2013). Religiosity and Contraceptive Use among Filipino Youth. Philippine Center for Population and Development. (2013) Accessed April 15, 2019, from http://www.pcpd.ph/.../religiosity-and-contraceptive-use- Authority, P. S. ICF Philippines national demographic and health survey 2017. Quezon City, Philippines, and Rockville, Maryland, USA: PSA and ICF, 2018. Authority, Philippine Statistics. "Philippine statistics authority." Accessed from Philippine Statistics Authority Web site: https://psa. gov. ph/vegetable-root-crops-main/tomato (2018). Authority, P. S. “Philippine statistics authority.” Accessed July 20, 2019, from Philippine Statistics Authority Web site: https://psa. gov. ph/vegetable-root-crops-main/tomato.(2016) Authority, P. S. “ICF Philippines national demographic and health survey.” Quezon City, Philippines, and Rockville, Maryland, USA: PSA and ICF, 2017. Bamber, John, Stella Owens, Heino Schonfeld, Deborah Ghate, and Deirdre Fullerton. "Effective Community Development Programmes: a review of the international evidence base." (2010). Barden-O'Fallon, Janine. "Availability of family planning services and quality of counseling by faith-based organizations: a three-country comparative analysis." Reproductive health, 14, no. 1 (2017): 57. Baskarada, Sasa. "Qualitative case study guidelines." The Qualitative Report 19, no. 40 (2014): 1-25. Accessed July 25, 2019, from http://www.nova.edu/ssss/QR/QR19/baskarada24.pdf Beaubien, Louis, and Daphne Rixon. "Key performance indicators in co-operatives: directions and principles." Journal of Co-operative Studies 45, no. 2 (2012): 5-15. Booker, Victoria K., June Grube Robinson, Bonnie J. Kay, Lourdes Gutierrez Najera, and Genevieve Stewart. "Changes in empowerment: Effects of participation in a lay health promotion program." Health Education & Behavior 24, no. 4 (1997): 452-464. Breitenstein, Susan M., Deborah Gross, Christine A. Garvey, Carri Hill, Louis Fogg, and Barbara Resnick. "Implementation fidelity in community‐based interventions." Research in nursing & health 33, no. 2 (2010): 164-173. Carroll, Christopher, Malcolm Patterson, Stephen Wood, Andrew Booth, Jo Rick, and Shashi Balain. "A conceptual framework for implementation fidelity." Implementation Science 2, no. 1 (2007): 40. Casterline, J.B., A.E. Perez & A.E. Biddlecom. “Factors Affecting Unmet Need for FP in the Philippines," “Studies in Family Planning, (1997). (3):173-191. Accessed November 02, 2019, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/2137886. Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines. (2011). Guiding Principles of Population Control. Accessed September 27, 2019, from www.cbcponline.net/ Catholic Church. Bishops' Conference of the Philippines. (1992). Acts and Decrees of the Second Plenary Council of the Philippines. Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines. Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines. (1990). A Pastoral Letter on the Population Control Activities of the Philippine Government and Planned Parenthood Association. Accessed November 24, 2019, from cbcponline.net/v2/?p=324. Cleland, John, and Kazuyo Machiyama. "Unmet need for family planning: past achievements and remaining challenges." In Seminars in reproductive medicine, vol. 33, no. 01, pp. 011-016. Thieme Medical Publishers, 2015. Costello, Marilou P., and John B. Casterline. "Fertility decline in the Philippines: current status, prospects." asdf (2009): 479. Creel, Liz C., Justine V. Sass, and Nancy V. Yinger. "Overview of quality of care in reproductive health: definitions and measurements of quality." New Perspectives on Quality of Care 1 (2002): 1-8. Cronin Jr, J. Joseph, Michael K. Brady, and G. Tomas M. Hult. "Assessing the effects of quality, value, and customer satisfaction on consumer behavioral intentions in service environments." Journal of retailing 76, no. 2 (2000): 193-218. Crous, M. "Quality service delivery through customer satisfaction." (2006). D’Arcy, Catherine, Ann Taket, and Lisa Hanna. "Implementing empowerment-based Lay Health Worker programs: a preliminary study." Health promotion international 34, no. 4 (2019): 726-734. Dane, Andrew V., and Barry H. Schneider. "Program integrity in primary and early secondary prevention: are implementation effects out of control?" Clinical psychology review 18, no. 1 (1998): 23-45. David, Clarissa C., and Jenna Mae L. Atun. "Factors affecting fertility desires in the Philippines." Social Science Diliman 10, no. 2 (2014).Accessed August 12, 2019, from jounals.upd.edu.ph/index.php/socialsciencediliman/article/viewFile/4407/3999. Ewerling, F., Victora, C. G., Raj, A., Coll, C. V., Hellwig, F., & Barros, A. J. (2018). Demand for family planning satisfied with modern methods among sexually active women in low-and middle-income countries: who is lagging? Reproductive health, 15(1). (2018): 42. Francisco, J.M. “Letting the Texts of RH Speak for themselves: (Dis) continuity andCounterpoint in CBCP Statements.” Philippine Studies: Historical and Ethnographic Viewpoints, 223. (2015). Accessed October 17, 2019, from www.philippinestudies.net. Franta, Benjamin, Hilly Ann Roa-Quiaoit, Dexter Lo, and Gemma Narisma. "Climate Disasters in the Philippines." (2016). Fehring, Richard Jerome, Mary Schneider, and Kathleen Raviele. "Pilot evaluation of an Internet‐based natural family planning education and service program." Journal of Obstetric, Gynecologic & Neonatal Nursing 40, no. 3 (2011): 281-291. Glickman, Norman J., and Lisa J. Servon. "More than bricks and sticks: Five components of community development corporation capacity." Housing Policy Debate 9, no. 3 (1998): 497-539. 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Washington, DC: Georgetown University. (2011). Accessed February 11, 2019, from http://www.ccih.org/FBOs_as_Partners_in_FP_Report.pdf. Ledesma, Antonio. J. “All-NFP: A Way Forward.” Philippine Daily Inquirer (2012). Accessed August 04, 2019, from https://opinion.inquirer.net/35848/all-nfp-a-way-forward#ixzz5zAroo0oo Ledesma, Antonio. J. “Al-Natural Family Planning: Going beyond the RH Bill.” Accessed April 15, 2019, from https://archcdo.wordpress.com/ Lundgren, Rebecka, Jeannette Cachan, and Victoria Jennings. "Engaging men in family planning services delivery: experiences introducing the Standard Days Method® in four countries." World health & population 14, no. 1 (2012): 44. Lundgren, Rebecka I., Mihira V. Karra, and Eileen A. Yam. "The role of the Standard Days Method in modern family planning services in developing countries." The European Journal of Contraception & Reproductive Health Care 17, no. 4 (2012): 254-259.Mikolajczyk, Rafael T., Joseph B. 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Introduction: Brutal?The word “brutal” has associations with cruelty, inhumanity, and aggression. Within the field of architecture, however, the term “Brutalism” refers to a post-World War II Modernist style, deriving from the French phrase betón brut, which means raw concrete (Clement 18). Core traits of Brutalism include functionalist design, daring geometry, overbearing scale, and the blatant exposure of structural materials, chiefly concrete and steel (Meades 1).The emergence of Brutalism coincided with chronic housing shortages in European countries ravaged by World War II (Power 5) and government-sponsored slum clearance in the UK (Power 190; Baker). Brutalism’s promise to accommodate an astonishing number of civilians within a minimal area through high-rise configurations and elevated walkways was alluring to architects and city planners (High Rise Dreams). Concrete was the material of choice due to its affordability, durability, and versatility; it also allowed buildings to be erected quickly (Allen and Iano 622).The Brutalist style was used for cultural centres, such as the Perth Concert Hall in Western Australia, educational institutions such as the Yale School of Architecture, and government buildings such as the Secretariat Building in Chandigarh, India. However, as pioneering Brutalist architect Alison Smithson explained, the style achieved full expression by “thinking on a much bigger scale somehow than if you only got [sic] one house to do” (Smithson and Smithson, Conversation 40). Brutalism, therefore, lent itself to the design of large residential complexes. It was consequently used worldwide for public housing developments, that is, residences built by a government authority with the aim of providing affordable housing. Notable examples include the Western City Gate in Belgrade, Serbia, and Habitat 67 in Montreal, Canada.Brutalist architecture polarised opinion and continues to do so to this day. On the one hand, protected cultural heritage status has been awarded to some Brutalist buildings (Carter; Glancey) and the style remains extremely influential, for example in the recent award-winning work of architect Zaha Hadid (Niesewand). On the other hand, the public housing projects associated with Brutalism are widely perceived as failures (The Great British Housing Disaster). Many Brutalist objects currently at risk of demolition are social housing estates, such as the Smithsons’ Robin Hood Gardens in London, UK. Whether the blame for the demise of such housing developments lies with architects, inhabitants, or local government has been widely debated. In the UK and USA, local authorities had relocated families of predominantly lower socio-economic status into the newly completed developments, but were unable or unwilling to finance subsequent maintenance and security costs (Hanley 115; R. Carroll; The Pruitt-Igoe Myth). Consequently, the residents became fearful of criminal activity in staircases and corridors that lacked “defensible space” (Newman 9), which undermined a vision of “streets in the sky” (Moran 615).In spite of its later problems, Brutalism’s architects had intended to develop a style that expressed 1950s contemporary living in an authentic manner. To them, this meant exposing building materials in their “raw” state and creating an aesthetic for an age of science, machine mass production, and consumerism (Stadler 264; 267; Smithson and Smithson, But Today 44). Corporeal sensations did not feature in this “machine” aesthetic (Dalrymple). Exceptionally, acclaimed Brutalist architect Ernö Goldfinger discussed how “visual sensation,” “sound and touch with smell,” and “the physical touch of the walls of a narrow passage” contributed to “sensations of space” within architecture (Goldfinger 48). However, the effects of residing within Brutalist objects may not have quite conformed to predictions, since Goldfinger moved out of his Brutalist construction, Balfron Tower, after two months, to live in a terraced house (Hanley 112).An abstract perspective that favours theorisation over subjective experiences characterises discourse on Brutalist social housing developments to this day (Singh). There are limited data on the everyday lived experience of residents of Brutalist social housing estates, both then and now (for exceptions, see Hanley; The Pruitt-Igoe Myth; Cooper et al.).Yet, our bodily interaction with the objects around us shapes our lived experience. On a broader physical scale, this includes the structures within which we live and work. The importance of the interaction between architecture and embodied being is increasingly recognised. Today, architecture is described in corporeal terms—for example, as a “skin” that surrounds and protects its human inhabitants (Manan and Smith 37; Armstrong 77). Biological processes are also inspiring new architectural approaches, such as synthetic building materials with life-like biochemical properties (Armstrong 79), and structures that exhibit emergent behaviour in response to human presence, like a living system (Biloria 76).In this article, we employ an autoethnographic perspective to explore the corporeal effects of Brutalist buildings, thereby revealing a new dimension to the anthropological significance of these controversial structures. We trace how they shape the physicality of the bodies interacting within them. Our approach is one step towards considering the historically under-appreciated subjective, corporeal experience elicited in interaction with Brutalist objects.Method: An Autoethnographic ApproachAutoethnography is a form of self-narrative research that connects the researcher’s personal experience to wider cultural understandings (Ellis 31; Johnson). It can be analytical (Anderson 374) or emotionally evocative (Denzin 426).We investigated two Brutalist residential estates in London, UK:(i) The Barbican Estate: This was devised to redevelop London’s severely bombed post-WWII Cripplegate area, combining private residences for middle class professionals with an assortment of amenities including a concert hall, library, conservatory, and school. It was designed by architects Chamberlin, Powell, and Bon. Opened in 1982, the Estate polarised opinion on its aesthetic qualities but has enjoyed success with residents and visitors. The development now comprises extremely expensive housing (Brophy). It was Grade II-listed in 2001 (Glancey), indicating a status of architectural preservation that restricts alterations to significant buildings.(ii) Trellick Tower: This was built to replace dilapidated 19th-century housing in the North Kensington area. It was designed by Hungarian-born architect Ernő Goldfinger to be a social housing development and was completed in 1972. During the 1980s and 1990s, it became known as the “Tower of Terror” due to its high level of crime (Hanley 113). Nevertheless, Trellick Tower was granted Grade II listed status in 1998 (Carter), and subsequent improvements have increased its desirability as a residence (R. Carroll).We explored the grounds, communal spaces, and one dwelling within each structure, independently recording our corporeal impressions and sensations in detailed notes, which formed the basis of longhand journals written afterwards. Our analysis was developed through co-constructed autoethnographic reflection (emerald and Carpenter 748).For reasons of space, one full journal entry is presented for each Brutalist structure, with an excerpt from each remaining journal presented in the subsequent analysis. To identify quotations from our journals, we use the codes R- and N- to refer to RB’s and NC’s journals, respectively; we use -B and -T to refer to the Barbican Estate and Trellick Tower, respectively.The Barbican Estate: Autoethnographic JournalAn intricate concrete world emerges almost without warning from the throng of glass office blocks and commercial buildings that make up the City of London's Square Mile. The Barbican Estate comprises a multitude of low-rise buildings, a glass conservatory, and three enormous high-rise towers. Each modular building component is finished in the same coarse concrete with burnished brick underfoot, whilst the entire structure is elevated above ground level by enormous concrete stilts. Plants hang from residential balconies over glimmering pools in a manner evocative of concrete Hanging Gardens of Babylon.Figure 1. Barbican Estate Figure 2. Cromwell Tower from below, Barbican Estate. Figure 3: The stairwell, Cromwell Tower, Barbican Estate. Figure 4. Lift button pods, Cromwell Tower, Barbican Estate.R’s journalMy first footsteps upon the Barbican Estate are elevated two storeys above the street below, and already an eerie calm settles on me. The noise of traffic and the bustle of pedestrians have seemingly been left far behind, and a path of polished brown brick has replaced the paving slabs of the city's pavement. I am made more aware of the sound of my shoes upon the ground as I take each step through the serenity.Running my hands along the walkway's concrete sides as we proceed further into the estate I feel its coarseness, and look up to imagine the same sensation touching the uppermost balcony of the towers. As we travel, the cold nature and relentless employ of concrete takes over and quickly becomes the norm.Our route takes us through the Barbican's central Arts building and into the Conservatory, a space full of plant-life and water features. The noise of rushing water comes as a shock, and I'm reminded just how hauntingly peaceful the atmosphere of the outside estate has been. As we leave the conservatory, the hush returns and we follow another walkway, this time allowing a balcony-like view over the edge of the estate. I'm quickly absorbed by a sensation I can liken only to peering down at the ground from a concrete cloud as we observe the pedestrians and traffic below.Turning back, we follow the walkways and begin our approach to Cromwell Tower, a jagged structure scraping the sky ahead of us and growing menacingly larger with every step. The estate has up till now seemed devoid of wind, but even so a cold begins to prickle my neck and I increase my speed toward the door.A high-ceilinged foyer greets us as we enter and continue to the lifts. As we push the button and wait, I am suddenly aware that carpet has replaced bricks beneath my feet. A homely sensation spreads, my breathing slows, and for a brief moment I begin to relax.We travel at heart-racing speed upwards to the 32nd floor to observe the view from the Tower's fire escape stairwell. A brief glance over the stair's railing as we enter reveals over 30 storeys of stair casing in a hard-edged, triangular configuration. My mind reels, I take a second glance and fail once again to achieve focus on the speck of ground at the bottom far below. After appreciating the eastward view from the adjacent window that encompasses almost the entirety of Central London, we make our way to a 23rd floor apartment.Entering the dwelling, we explore from room to room before reaching the balcony of the apartment's main living space. Looking sheepishly from the ledge, nothing short of a genuine concrete fortress stretches out beneath us in all directions. The spirit and commotion of London as I know it seems yet more distant as we gaze at the now miniaturized buildings. An impression of self-satisfied confidence dawns on me. The fortress where we stand offers security, elevation, sanctuary and I'm furnished with the power to view London's chaos at such a distance that it's almost silent.As we leave the apartment, I am shadowed by the same inherent air of tranquillity, pressing yet another futuristic lift access button, plummeting silently back towards the ground, and padding across the foyer's soft carpet to pursue our exit route through the estate's sky-suspended walkways, back to the bustle of regular London civilization.Trellick Tower: Autoethnographic JournalThe concrete majesty of Trellick Tower is visible from Westbourne Park, the nearest Tube station. The Tower dominates the skyline, soaring above its neighbouring estate, cafes, and shops. As one nears the Tower, the south face becomes visible, revealing the suspended corridors that join the service tower to the main body of flats. Light of all shades and colours pours from its tightly stacked dwellings, which stretch up into the sky. Figure 5. Trellick Tower, South face. Figure 6. Balcony in a 27th-floor flat, Trellick Tower.N’s journalOutside the tower, I sense danger and experience a heightened sense of awareness. A thorny frame of metal poles holds up the tower’s facade, each pole poised as if to slip down and impale me as I enter the building.At first, the tower is too big for comprehension; the scale is unnatural, gigantic. I feel small and quite squashable in comparison. Swathes of unmarked concrete surround the tower, walls that are just too high to see over. Who or what are they hiding? I feel uncertain about what is around me.It takes some time to reach the 27th floor, even though the lift only stops on every 3rd floor. I feel the forces of acceleration exert their pressure on me as we rise. The lift is very quiet.Looking through the windows on the 27th-floor walkway that connects the lift tower to the main building, I realise how high up I am. I can see fog. The city moves and modulates beneath me. It is so far away, and I can’t reach it. I’m suspended, isolated, cut off in the air, as if floating in space.The buildings underneath appear tiny in comparison to me, but I know I’m tiny compared to this building. It’s a dichotomy, an internal tension, and feels quite unreal.The sound of the wind in the corridors is a constant whine.In the flat, the large kitchen window above the sink opens directly onto the narrow, low-ceilinged corridor, on the other side of which, through a second window, I again see London far beneath. People pass by here to reach their front doors, moving so close to the kitchen window that you could touch them while you’re washing up, if it weren’t for the glass. Eye contact is possible with a neighbour, or a stranger. I am close to that which I’m normally separated from, but at the same time I’m far from what I could normally access.On the balcony, I have a strong sensation of vertigo. We are so high up that we cannot be seen by the city and we cannot see others. I feel physically cut off from the world and realise that I’m dependent on the lift or endlessly spiralling stairs to reach it again.Materials: sharp edges, rough concrete, is abrasive to my skin, not warm or welcoming. Sharp little stones are embedded in some places. I mind not to brush close against them.Behind the tower is a mysterious dark maze of sharp turns that I can’t see around, and dark, narrow walkways that confine me to straight movements on sloping ramps.“Relentless Employ of Concrete:” Body versus Stone and HeightThe “relentless employ of concrete” (R-B) in the Barbican Estate and Trellick Tower determined our physical interactions with these Brutalist objects. Our attention was first directed towards texture: rough, abrasive, sharp, frictive. Raw concrete’s potential to damage skin, should one fall or brush too hard against it, made our bodies vulnerable. Simultaneously, the ubiquitous grey colour and the constant cold anaesthetised our senses.As we continued to explore, the constant presence of concrete, metal gratings, wire, and reinforced glass affected our real and imagined corporeal potentialities. Bodies are powerless against these materials, such that, in these buildings, you can only go where you are allowed to go by design, and there are no other options.Conversely, the strength of concrete also has a corporeal manifestation through a sense of increased physical security. To R, standing within the “concrete fortress” of the Barbican Estate, the object offered “security, elevation, sanctuary,” and even “power” (R-B).The heights of the Barbican’s towers (123 metres) and Trellick Tower (93 metres) were physically overwhelming when first encountered. We both felt that these menacing, jagged towers dominated our bodies.Excerpt from R’s journal (Trellick Tower)Gaining access to the apartment, we begin to explore from room to room. As we proceed through to the main living area we spot the balcony and I am suddenly aware that, in a short space of time, I had abandoned the knowledge that some 26 floors lay below me. My balance is again shaken and I dig my heels into the laminate flooring, as if to achieve some imaginary extra purchase.What are the consequences of extreme height on the body? Certainly, there is the possibility of a lethal fall and those with vertigo or who fear heights would feel uncomfortable. We discovered that height also affects physical instantiation in many other ways, both empowering and destabilising.Distance from ground-level bustle contributed to a profound silence and sense of calm. Areas of intermediate height, such as elevated communal walkways, enhanced our sensory abilities by granting the advantage of observation from above.Extreme heights, however, limited our ability to sense the outside world, placing objects beyond our range of visual focus, and setting up a “bizarre segregation” (R-T) between our physical presence and that of the rest of the world. Height also limited potentialities of movement: no longer self-sufficient, we depended on a working lift to regain access to the ground and the rest of the city. In the lift itself, our bodies passively endured a cycle of opposing forces as we plummeted up or down numerous storeys in mere seconds.At both locations, N noticed how extreme height altered her relative body size: for example, “London looks really small. I have become huge compared to the tiny city” (N-B). As such, the building’s lift could be likened to a cake or potion from Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland. This illustrates how the heuristics that we use to discern visual perspective and object size, which are determined by the environment in which we live (Segall et al.), can be undermined by the unusual scales and distances found in Brutalist structures.Excerpt from N’s journal (Barbican Estate)Warning: These buildings give you AFTER-EFFECTS. On the way home, the size of other buildings seems tiny, perspectives feel strange; all the scales seem to have been re-scaled. I had to become re-used to the sensation of travelling on public trains, after travelling in the tower lifts.We both experienced perceptual after-effects from the disproportional perspectives of Brutalist spaces. Brutalist structures thus have the power to affect physical sensations even when the body is no longer in direct interaction with them!“Challenge to Privacy:” Intersubjective Ideals in Brutalist DesignAs embodied beings, our corporeal manifestations are the primary transducers of our interactions with other people, who in turn contribute to our own body schema construction (Joas). Architects of Brutalist habitats aimed to create residential utopias, but we found that the impact of their designs on intersubjective corporeality were often incoherent and contradictory. Brutalist structures positioned us at two extremes in relation to the bodies of others, forcing either an uncomfortable intersection of personal space or, conversely, excessive separation.The confined spaces of the lifts, and ubiquitous narrow, low-ceilinged corridors produced uncomfortable overlaps in the personal space of the individuals present. We were fascinated by the design of the flat in Trellick Tower, where the large kitchen window opened out directly onto the narrow 27th-floor corridor, as described in N’s journal. This enforced a physical “challenge to privacy” (R-T), although the original aim may have been to promote a sense of community in the “streets in the sky” (Moran 615). The inter-slotting of hundreds of flats in Trellick Tower led to “a multitude of different cooking aromas from neighbouring flats” (R-T) and hence a direct sensing of the closeness of other people’s corporeal activities, such as eating.By contrast, enormous heights and scales constantly placed other people out of sight, out of hearing, and out of reach. Sharp-angled walkways and blind alleys rendered other bodies invisible even when they were near. In the Barbican Estate, huge concrete columns, behind which one could hide, instilled a sense of unease.We also considered the intersubjective interaction between the Brutalist architect-designer and the inhabitant. The elements of futuristic design—such as the “spaceship”-like pods for lift buttons in Cromwell Tower (N-B)—reconstruct the inhabitant’s physicality as alien relative to the Brutalist building, and by extension, to the city that commissioned it.ReflectionsThe strength of the autoethnographic approach is also its limitation (Chang 54); it is an individual’s subjective perspective, and as such we cannot experience or represent the full range of corporeal effects of Brutalist designs. Corporeal experience is informed by myriad factors, including age, body size, and ability or disability. Since we only visited these structures, rather than lived in them, we could have experienced heightened sensations that would become normalised through familiarity over time. Class dynamics, including previous residences and, importantly, the amount of choice that one has over where one lives, would also affect this experience. For a full perspective, further data on the everyday lived experiences of residents from a range of different backgrounds are necessary.R’s reflectionDespite researching Brutalist architecture for years, I was unprepared for the true corporeal experience of exploring these buildings. Reading back through my journals, I'm struck by an evident conflict between stylistic admiration and physical uneasiness. I feel I have gained a sympathetic perspective on the notion of residing in the structures day-to-day.Nevertheless, analysing Brutalist objects through a corporeal perspective helped to further our understanding of the experience of living within them in a way that abstract thought could never have done. Our reflections also emphasise the tension between the physical and the psychological, whereby corporeal struggle intertwines with an abstract, aesthetic admiration of the Brutalist objects.N’s reflectionIt was a wonderful experience to explore these extraordinary buildings with an inward focus on my own physical sensations and an outward focus on my body’s interaction with others. On re-reading my journals, I was surprised by the negativity that pervaded my descriptions. How does physical discomfort and alienation translate into cognitive pleasure, or delight?ConclusionBrutalist objects shape corporeality in fundamental and sometimes contradictory ways. The range of visual and somatosensory experiences is narrowed by the ubiquitous use of raw concrete and metal. Materials that damage skin combine with lethal heights to emphasise corporeal vulnerability. The body’s movements and sensations of the external world are alternately limited or extended by extreme heights and scales, which also dominate the human frame and undermine normal heuristics of perception. Simultaneously, the structures endow a sense of physical stability, security, and even power. By positioning multiple corporealities in extremes of overlap or segregation, Brutalist objects constitute a unique challenge to both physical privacy and intersubjective potentiality.Recognising these effects on embodied being enhances our current understanding of the impact of Brutalist residences on corporeal sensation. This can inform the future design of residential estates. Our autoethnographic findings are also in line with the suggestion that Brutalist structures can be “appreciated as challenging, enlivening environments” exactly because they demand “physical and perceptual exertion” (Sroat). 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Introduction: Technology EnthusiasmEnthusiasts are people who have a passion, keenness, dedication or zeal for a particular activity or hobby. Today, there are enthusiasts for almost everything, from genealogy, costume dramas, and country houses, to metal detectors, coin collecting, and archaeology. But to be described as an enthusiast is not necessarily a compliment. Historically, the term “enthusiasm” was first used in England in the early seventeenth century to describe “religious or prophetic frenzy among the ancient Greeks” (Hanks, n.p.). This frenzy was ascribed to being possessed by spirits sent not only by God but also the devil. During this period, those who disobeyed the powers that be or claimed to have a message from God were considered to be enthusiasts (McLoughlin).Enthusiasm retained its religious connotations throughout the eighteenth century and was also used at this time to describe “the tendency within the population to be swept by crazes” (Mee 31). However, as part of the “rehabilitation of enthusiasm,” the emerging middle-classes adopted the word to characterise the intensity of Romantic poetry. The language of enthusiasm was then used to describe the “literary ideas of affect” and “a private feeling of religious warmth” (Mee 2 and 34). While the notion of enthusiasm was embraced here in a more optimistic sense, attempts to disassociate enthusiasm from crowd-inciting fanaticism were largely unsuccessful. As such enthusiasm has never quite managed to shake off its pejorative connotations.The 'enthusiasm' discussed in this paper is essentially a personal passion for technology. It forms part of a longer tradition of historical preservation in the United Kingdom and elsewhere in the world. From preserved railways to Victorian pumping stations, people have long been fascinated by the history of technology and engineering; manifesting their enthusiasm through their nostalgic longings and emotional attachment to its enduring material culture. Moreover, enthusiasts have been central to the collection, conservation, and preservation of this particular material record. Technology enthusiasm in this instance is about having a passion for the history and material record of technological development, specifically here industrial archaeology. Despite being a pastime much participated in, technology enthusiasm is relatively under-explored within the academic literature. For the most part, scholarship has tended to focus on the intended users, formal spaces, and official narratives of science and technology (Adas, Latour, Mellström, Oldenziel). In recent years attempts have been made to remedy this imbalance, with researchers from across the social sciences examining the position of hobbyists, tinkerers and amateurs in scientific and technical culture (Ellis and Waterton, Haring, Saarikoski, Takahashi). Work from historians of technology has focussed on the computer enthusiast; for example, Saarikoski’s work on the Finnish personal computer hobby:The definition of the computer enthusiast varies historically. Personal interest, pleasure and entertainment are the most significant factors defining computing as a hobby. Despite this, the hobby may also lead to acquiring useful knowledge, skills or experience of information technology. Most often the activity takes place outside working hours but can still have links to the development of professional expertise or the pursuit of studies. In many cases it takes place in the home environment. On the other hand, it is characteristically social, and the importance of friends, clubs and other communities is greatly emphasised.In common with a number of other studies relating to technical hobbies, for example Takahashi who argues tinkerers were behind the advent of the radio and television receiver, Saarikoski’s work focuses on the role these users played in shaping the technology in question. The enthusiasts encountered in this paper are important here not for their role in shaping the technology, but keeping technological heritage alive. As historian of technology Haring reminds us, “there exist alternative ways of using and relating to technology” (18). Furthermore, the sociological literature on audiences (Abercrombie and Longhurst, Ang), fans (Hills, Jenkins, Lewis, Sandvoss) and subcultures (Hall, Hebdige, Schouten and McAlexander) has also been extended in order to account for the enthusiast. In Abercrombie and Longhurst’s Audiences, the authors locate ‘the enthusiast’ and ‘the fan’ at opposing ends of a continuum of consumption defined by questions of specialisation of interest, social organisation of interest and material productivity. Fans are described as:skilled or competent in different modes of production and consumption; active in their interactions with texts and in their production of new texts; and communal in that they construct different communities based on their links to the programmes they like. (127 emphasis in original) Based on this definition, Abercrombie and Longhurst argue that fans and enthusiasts differ in three ways: (1) enthusiasts’ activities are not based around media images and stars in the way that fans’ activities are; (2) enthusiasts can be hypothesized to be relatively light media users, particularly perhaps broadcast media, though they may be heavy users of the specialist publications which are directed towards the enthusiasm itself; (3) the enthusiasm would appear to be rather more organised than the fan activity. (132) What is striking about this attempt to differentiate between the fan and the enthusiast is that it is based on supposition rather than the actual experience and observation of enthusiasm. It is here that the ethnographic account of enthusiasm presented in this paper and elsewhere, for example works by Dannefer on vintage car culture, Moorhouse on American hot-rodding and Fuller on modified-car culture in Australia, can shed light on the subject. My own ethnographic study of groups with a passion for telecommunications heritage, early British computers and industrial archaeology takes the discussion of “technology enthusiasm” further still. Through in-depth interviews, observation and textual analysis, I have examined in detail the formation of enthusiast societies and their membership, the importance of the material record to enthusiasts (particularly at home) and the enthusiastic practices of collecting and hoarding, as well as the figure of the technology enthusiast in the public space of the museum, namely the Science Museum in London (Geoghegan). In this paper, I explore the culture of enthusiasm for the industrial past through the example of the Greater London Industrial Archaeology Society (GLIAS). Focusing on industrial sites around London, GLIAS meet five or six times a year for field visits, walks and a treasure hunt. The committee maintain a website and produce a quarterly newsletter. The title of my paper, “If you can walk down the street and recognise the difference between cast iron and wrought iron, the world is altogether a better place,” comes from an interview I conducted with the co-founder and present chairman of GLIAS. He was telling me about his fascination with the materials of industrialisation. In fact, he said even concrete is sexy. Some call it a hobby; others call it a disease. But enthusiasm for industrial archaeology is, as several respondents have themselves identified, “as insidious in its side effects as any debilitating germ. It dictates your lifestyle, organises your activity and decides who your friends are” (Frow and Frow 177, Gillespie et al.). Through the figure of the industrial archaeology enthusiast, I discuss in this paper what it means to be enthusiastic. I begin by reflecting on the development of this specialist subject area. I go on to detail the formation of the Society in the late 1960s, before exploring the Society’s fieldwork methods and some of the other activities they now engage in. I raise questions of enthusiast and professional knowledge and practice, as well as consider the future of this particular enthusiasm.Defining Industrial ArchaeologyThe practice of 'industrial archaeology' is much contested. For a long time, enthusiasts and professional archaeologists have debated the meaning and use of the term (Palmer). On the one hand, there are those interested in the history, preservation, and recording of industrial sites. For example the grandfather figures of the subject, namely Kenneth Hudson and Angus Buchanan, who both published widely in the 1960s and 1970s in order to encourage publics to get involved in recording. Many members of GLIAS refer to the books of Hudson Industrial Archaeology: an Introduction and Buchanan Industrial Archaeology in Britain with their fine descriptions and photographs as integral to their early interest in the subject. On the other hand, there are those within the academic discipline of archaeology who consider the study of remains produced by the Industrial Revolution as too modern. Moreover, they find the activities of those calling themselves industrial archaeologists as lacking sufficient attention to the understanding of past human activity to justify the name. As a result, the definition of 'industrial archaeology' is problematic for both enthusiasts and professionals. Even the early advocates of professional industrial archaeology felt uneasy about the subject’s methods and practices. In 1973, Philip Riden (described by one GLIAS member as the angry young man of industrial archaeology), the then president of the Oxford University Archaeology Society, wrote a damning article in Antiquity, calling for the subject to “shed the amateur train drivers and others who are not part of archaeology” (215-216). He decried the “appallingly low standard of some of the work done under the name of ‘industrial archaeology’” (211). He felt that if enthusiasts did not attempt to maintain high technical standards, publish their work in journals or back up their fieldwork with documentary investigation or join their county archaeological societies then there was no value in the efforts of these amateurs. During this period, enthusiasts, academics, and professionals were divided. What was wrong with doing something for the pleasure it provides the participant?Although relations today between the so-called amateur (enthusiast) and professional archaeologies are less potent, some prejudice remains. Describing them as “barrow boys”, some enthusiasts suggest that what was once their much-loved pastime has been “hijacked” by professional archaeologists who, according to one respondent,are desperate to find subjects to get degrees in. So the whole thing has been hijacked by academia as it were. Traditional professional archaeologists in London at least are running head on into things that we have been doing for decades and they still don’t appreciate that this is what we do. A lot of assessments are handed out to professional archaeology teams who don’t necessarily have any knowledge of industrial archaeology. (James, GLIAS committee member)James went on to reveal that GLIAS receives numerous enquiries from professional archaeologists, developers and town planners asking what they know about particular sites across the city. Although the Society has compiled a detailed database covering some areas of London, it is by no means comprehensive. In addition, many active members often record and monitor sites in London for their own personal enjoyment. This leaves many questioning the need to publish their results for the gain of third parties. Canadian sociologist Stebbins discusses this situation in his research on “serious leisure”. He has worked extensively with amateur archaeologists in order to understand their approach to their leisure activity. He argues that amateurs are “neither dabblers who approach the activity with little commitment or seriousness, nor professionals who make a living from that activity” (55). Rather they pursue their chosen leisure activity to professional standards. A point echoed by Fine in his study of the cultures of mushrooming. But this is to get ahead of myself. How did GLIAS begin?GLIAS: The GroupThe 1960s have been described by respondents as a frantic period of “running around like headless chickens.” Enthusiasts of London’s industrial archaeology were witnessing incredible changes to the city’s industrial landscape. Individuals and groups like the Thames Basin Archaeology Observers Group were recording what they could. Dashing around London taking photos to capture London’s industrial legacy before it was lost forever. However the final straw for many, in London at least, was the proposed and subsequent demolition of the “Euston Arch”. The Doric portico at Euston Station was completed in 1838 and stood as a symbol to the glory of railway travel. Despite strong protests from amenity societies, this Victorian symbol of progress was finally pulled down by British Railways in 1962 in order to make way for what enthusiasts have called a “monstrous concrete box”.In response to these changes, GLIAS was founded in 1968 by two engineers and a locomotive driver over afternoon tea in a suburban living room in Woodford, North-East London. They held their first meeting one Sunday afternoon in December at the Science Museum in London and attracted over 130 people. Firing the imagination of potential members with an exhibition of photographs of the industrial landscape taken by Eric de Maré, GLIAS’s first meeting was a success. Bringing together like-minded people who are motivated and enthusiastic about the subject, GLIAS currently has over 600 members in the London area and beyond. This makes it the largest industrial archaeology society in the UK and perhaps Europe. Drawing some of its membership from a series of evening classes hosted by various members of the Society’s committee, GLIAS initially had a quasi-academic approach. Although some preferred the hands-on practical element and were more, as has been described by one respondent, “your free-range enthusiast”. The society has an active committee, produces a newsletter and journal, as well as runs regular events for members. However the Society is not simply about the study of London’s industrial heritage, over time the interest in industrial archaeology has developed for some members into long-term friendships. Sociability is central to organised leisure activities. It underpins and supports the performance of enthusiasm in groups and societies. For Fine, sociability does not always equal friendship, but it is the state from which people might become friends. Some GLIAS members have taken this one step further: there have even been a couple of marriages. Although not the subject of my paper, technical culture is heavily gendered. Industrial archaeology is a rare exception attracting a mixture of male and female participants, usually retired husband and wife teams.Doing Industrial Archaeology: GLIAS’s Method and PracticeIn what has been described as GLIAS’s heyday, namely the 1970s to early 1980s, fieldwork was fundamental to the Society’s activities. The Society’s approach to fieldwork during this period was much the same as the one described by champion of industrial archaeology Arthur Raistrick in 1973:photographing, measuring, describing, and so far as possible documenting buildings, engines, machinery, lines of communication, still or recently in use, providing a satisfactory record for the future before the object may become obsolete or be demolished. (13)In the early years of GLIAS and thanks to the committed efforts of two active Society members, recording parties were organised for extended lunch hours and weekends. The majority of this early fieldwork took place at the St Katherine Docks. The Docks were constructed in the 1820s by Thomas Telford. They became home to the world’s greatest concentration of portable wealth. Here GLIAS members learnt and employed practical (also professional) skills, such as measuring, triangulations and use of a “dumpy level”. For many members this was an incredibly exciting time. It was a chance to gain hands-on experience of industrial archaeology. Having been left derelict for many years, the Docks have since been redeveloped as part of the Docklands regeneration project.At this time the Society was also compiling data for what has become known to members as “The GLIAS Book”. The book was to have separate chapters on the various industrial histories of London with contributions from Society members about specific sites. Sadly the book’s editor died and the project lost impetus. Several years ago, the committee managed to digitise the data collected for the book and began to compile a database. However, the GLIAS database has been beset by problems. Firstly, there are often questions of consistency and coherence. There is a standard datasheet for recording industrial buildings – the Index Record for Industrial Sites. However, the quality of each record is different because of the experience level of the different authors. Some authors are automatically identified as good or expert record keepers. Secondly, getting access to the database in order to upload the information has proved difficult. As one of the respondents put it: “like all computer babies [the creator of the database], is finding it hard to give birth” (Sally, GLIAS member). As we have learnt enthusiasm is integral to movements such as industrial archaeology – public historian Raphael Samuel described them as the “invisible hands” of historical enquiry. Yet, it is this very enthusiasm that has the potential to jeopardise projects such as the GLIAS book. Although active in their recording practices, the GLIAS book saga reflects one of the challenges encountered by enthusiast groups and societies. In common with other researchers studying amenity societies, such as Ellis and Waterton’s work with amateur naturalists, unlike the world of work where people are paid to complete a task and are therefore meant to have a singular sense of purpose, the activities of an enthusiast group like GLIAS rely on the goodwill of their members to volunteer their time, energy and expertise. When this is lost for whatever reason, there is no requirement for any other member to take up that position. As such, levels of commitment vary between enthusiasts and can lead to the aforementioned difficulties, such as disputes between group members, the occasional miscommunication of ideas and an over-enthusiasm for some parts of the task in hand. On top of this, GLIAS and societies like it are confronted with changing health and safety policies and tightened security surrounding industrial sites. This has made the practical side of industrial archaeology increasingly difficult. As GLIAS member Bob explains:For me to go on site now I have to wear site boots and borrow a hard hat and a high visibility jacket. Now we used to do incredibly dangerous things in the seventies and nobody batted an eyelid. You know we were exploring derelict buildings, which you are virtually not allowed in now because the floor might give way. Again the world has changed a lot there. GLIAS: TodayGLIAS members continue to record sites across London. Some members are currently surveying the site chosen as the location of the Olympic Games in London in 2012 – the Lower Lea Valley. They describe their activities at this site as “rescue archaeology”. GLIAS members are working against the clock and some important structures have already been demolished. They only have time to complete a quick flash survey. Armed with the information they collated in previous years, GLIAS is currently in discussions with the developer to orchestrate a detailed recording of the site. It is important to note here that GLIAS members are less interested in campaigning for the preservation of a site or building, they appreciate that sites must change. Instead they want to ensure that large swathes of industrial London are not lost without a trace. Some members regard this as their public duty.Restricted by health and safety mandates and access disputes, GLIAS has had to adapt. The majority of practical recording sessions have given way to guided walks in the summer and public lectures in the winter. Some respondents have identified a difference between those members who call themselves “industrial archaeologists” and those who are just “ordinary members” of GLIAS. The walks are for those with a general interest, not serious members, and the talks are public lectures. Some audience researchers have used Bourdieu’s metaphor of “capital” to describe the experience, knowledge and skill required to be a fan, clubber or enthusiast. For Hills, fan status is built up through the demonstration of cultural capital: “where fans share a common interest while also competing over fan knowledge, access to the object of fandom, and status” (46). A clear membership hierarchy can be seen within GLIAS based on levels of experience, knowledge and practical skill.With a membership of over 600 and rising annually, the Society’s future is secure at present. However some of the more serious members, although retaining their membership, are pursuing their enthusiasm elsewhere: through break-away recording groups in London; active membership of other groups and societies, for example the national Association for Industrial Archaeology; as well as heading off to North Wales in the summer for practical, hands-on industrial archaeology in Snowdonia’s slate quarries – described in the Ffestiniog Railway Journal as the “annual convention of slate nutters.” ConclusionsGLIAS has changed since its foundation in the late 1960s. Its operation has been complicated by questions of health and safety, site access, an ageing membership, and the constant changes to London’s industrial archaeology. Previously rejected by professional industrial archaeology as “limited in skill and resources” (Riden), enthusiasts are now approached by professional archaeologists, developers, planners and even museums that are interested in engaging in knowledge exchange programmes. As a recent report from the British think-tank Demos has argued, enthusiasts or pro-ams – “amateurs who work to professional standards” (Leadbeater and Miller 12) – are integral to future innovation and creativity; for example computer pro-ams developed an operating system to rival Microsoft Windows. As such the specialist knowledge, skill and practice of these communities is of increasing interest to policymakers, practitioners, and business. So, the subject once described as “the ugly offspring of two parents that shouldn’t have been allowed to breed” (Hudson), the so-called “amateur” industrial archaeology offers enthusiasts and professionals alike alternative ways of knowing, seeing and being in the recent and contemporary past.Through the case study of GLIAS, I have described what it means to be enthusiastic about industrial archaeology. I have introduced a culture of collective and individual participation and friendship based on a mutual interest in and emotional attachment to industrial sites. As we have learnt in this paper, enthusiasm is about fun, pleasure and joy. The enthusiastic culture presented here advances themes such as passion in relation to less obvious communities of knowing, skilled practices, material artefacts and spaces of knowledge. Moreover, this paper has been about the affective narratives that are sometimes missing from academic accounts; overlooked for fear of sniggers at the back of a conference hall. Laughter and humour are a large part of what enthusiasm is. Enthusiastic cultures then are about the pleasure and joy experienced in doing things. Enthusiasm is clearly a potent force for active participation. I will leave the last word to GLIAS member John:One meaning of enthusiasm is as a form of possession, madness. Obsession perhaps rather than possession, which I think is entirely true. It is a pejorative term probably. The railway enthusiast. But an awful lot of energy goes into what they do and achieve. Enthusiasm to my mind is an essential ingredient. If you are not a person who can muster enthusiasm, it is very difficult, I think, to get anything out of it. On the basis of the more you put in the more you get out. 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