An Exercise in Poo-Tility: Scientist Tries to Make a Knife Out of Poop

Courtesy of Metin Eren
Courtesy of Metin Eren

Having a career in science often means enjoying the thrill of discovery. Gaining a better understanding of the world around us is among the most noble of professional pursuits. Other times, you may find yourself crafting a knife out of frozen feces.

In an experiment reported by Sapiens, researchers at Kent State University recently tested the validity of an old and possibly apocryphal tale involving an Inuit man whose family wanted him to join them in a new settlement. When he insisted on living a solitary life on the ice, the family took away his tools. The man indignantly used his bowel movement to forge a blade to kill a dog for his rib cage and hide—which he repurposed as a sled—and disappeared into the countryside. Scientists wanted to see if it would really be possible to create a bladed tool out of poop.

The study, published in the Journal of Archaeological Science, contains a spoiler in its title: “Experimental Replication Shows Knives Manufactured from Frozen Feces Do Not Work.” Lead author Metin Eren, director of archaeology and assistant professor of anthropology at Kent State, fully committed to the task, eating a high-protein diet typical of the Inuit for eight days and preserving his excrement. “Raw material collection did not begin until day four,” he writes, though it’s unclear whether that was due to a need to create distance from the remnants of a contemporary diet or whether he was constipated.

The waste was manipulated into two blades, one shaped by hand and the other by a knife mold, then frozen at -20°C. Immediately prior to use, they were subjected to dry ice at -50°C to ensure firmness. A metal file was used to hone the cutting edge.

A knife made from human feces is pictured pressed against pig hide
An exercise in poo-tility: The knife is unable to penetrate pig hide.
Courtesy of Metin Eren

Armed with this weaponized fecal matter, Eren tried to mimic how the Inuit would have used such a tool, attempting to cut into animal hide with it—in this case, pig hide. Lacking the properties of steel, the waste simply turned to mush when pressed against flesh. This remained the case even when Eren solicited the bowel contents of a colleague eating a more traditional Western diet. (A conversation that was unfortunately not recounted.) Only the most pliable subcutaneous fat of the pig could be penetrated before the knife became blunted.

“…Our results suggest that knives manufactured from frozen human feces are not functional,” Eren writes, adding that “we gave our knives the best possible chance to succeed and they still could not function.”

The value of a poop-based tool appears to be nil, but the story might still have resonance: scholars familiar with the tale believe it could have been a figurative attempt to describe the resourcefulness of the Inuit.

[h/t Sapiens]

Lítla Dímun: The Smallest of the Faroe Islands Has Its Very Own Cloud

While some islands are known for their unusual geography or unique history, Lítla Dímun is notable for its weather. The island, which is the smallest of Denmark's Faroe Islands chain, is often capped by a lens-shaped cloud, making it resemble a scene from a fairytale.

According to Mental Floss's own Kerry Wolfe writing for Atlas Obscura, the cloud floating above Lítla Dímun is a lenticular cloud. This type of cloud forms when moist air flows over a protruding geological feature, like a mountain top. When the wind moving up the landmass hits the air current directly above it, a sort of wave is created on the downwind side of the mountain. The moist air falling down this wave evaporates and then condenses into a large, flying-saucer-shaped cloud atop the mountain peak as a result.

Another factor that makes Lítla Dímun distinct is that it's the only one of the 18 main Faroe Islands without human inhabitants. Visitors to the mystical location will instead find a thriving population of sheep. Originally, Lítla Dímun was home to a group of feral sheep likely dating back to the Neolithic era. But they were hunted to extinction in the 19th century. Domesticated sheep were introduced there around the same time, and today, farmers visit the island once a year to round up their flocks.

One of the few signs of human life are the ropes farmers use to scale the cliff faces bordering the island. Even if you have rock-climbing skills, Lítla Dímun may be dangerous to visit. A boat ride to the rocky shore is only possible when the surrounding sea is calm.

[h/t Atlas Obscura]

Why Are Sloths So Slow?

Sloths have little problem holding still for nature photographers.
Sloths have little problem holding still for nature photographers.
Geoview/iStock via Getty Images

When it comes to physical activity, few animals have as maligned a reputation as the sloth. The six sloth species, which call Brazil and Panama home, move with no urgency, having seemingly adapted to an existence that allows for a life lived in slow motion. But what makes sloths so sedate? And what horrible, poop-related price must they pay in order to maintain life in the slow lane?

According to HowStuffWorks, the sloth’s limited movements are primarily the result of their diet. Residing mainly in the canopy vines of Central and South American forests, sloths dine out on leaves, fruits, and buds. With virtually no fat or protein, sloths conserve energy by taking a leisurely approach to life. On average, a sloth will climb or travel roughly 125 feet per day. On land, it takes them roughly one minute to move just one foot.

A sloth’s digestive system matches their locomotion. After munching leaves using their lips—they have no incisors—it can take up to a month for their meals to be fully digested. And a sloth's metabolic rate is 40 to 45 percent slower than most mammals' to help compensate for their low caloric intake. With so little fuel to burn, a sloth makes the most of it.

Deliberate movement shouldn’t be confused for weakness, however. Sloths can hang from branches for hours, showing off some impressive stamina. And because they spend most of their time high up in trees, they have no need for rapid movement to evade predators.

There is, however, one major downside to the sloth's leisurely lifestyle. Owing to their meager diet, they typically only have to poop once per week. Like going in a public bathroom, this can be a stressful event, as it means going to the ground and risking detection by predators—which puts their lives on the line. Worse, that slow bowel motility means they’re trying to push out nearly one-third of their body weight in feces at a time. It's something to consider the next time you feel envious of their chill lifestyle.

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