This is a comment from my excellent friend Elizabeth regarding the article on conservation:
She said...
I love it, Max. It's funny, too, because I remember having an argument with you about this a few years ago and I've been curious ever since (quite seriously) to understand your point. What I'm getting from this is that in terms of conservation biology, you're in favor of limiting human impacts in wild areas and you're against the general idea of invasive species (for example) and the view of ecosystems as static. Conservation often involves too much human intervention... because preserving the natural order basically means getting out of the way. tack on to that the fact that we continue to view ourselves as being outside of the natural order, which is the way of thinking that has gotten us into the messes we're in. Sorry, just trying to process your argument.
I think that ultimately the view of conservation depends on a very personal philosophy (which inevitably ends up forming the philosophical basis for the actions of organizations, societies, and governments on the whole) about the role of humans on this earth and our responsibility to the planet and all its species. We're sentient beings that make one hell of an impact and we should know better than to take everything for ourselves and destroy everything in our path, and we should try to right the wrongs we've committed to the best of our abilities (si o no?). right and wrong are value-based and highly relative distinctions. So... what are you suggesting should be done (or not done)? (so many "shoulds," what a troublesome word.) What are the implications of your argument? You should send this to a magazine and try to get it published, in my opinion
I said...
Elizabeth-
I like your style. I think you've got the gist of my argument down pretty damn well. As for your thoughts, your absolutely right in saying that personal philosophy dictates the definition and importance of conservation on the individual level. The world is ours to exploit. Takers and leavers. All that. From a biological perspective, however, the philosophical range narrows substantially. The omniscient being gifting the world to us falls away as implausible. The idea that the planet can't survive without us disappears as ridiculous. We're on the same team on this one as far as the overlying concepts are concerned, and I think my views pertaining to our most intelligent and positive course of action boil down to a change in the target of conservation.
If, instead of attempting to conserve ecosystems as snapshots in time, we focused our energies on conserving the natural progression that leads to endless forms most beautiful, I know the ecological rebound we so short-sidedly attempt to ignite would happen. We need to conserve evolution. As for limiting our impact, you are, of course, right on. As the bullies on this playground, we have the duty to regulate ourselves. If we don't, some math club geek is going to kick our proverbial ass. That metaphor might have gotten away from me.
What I'm saying is that we are rendering our planet unfit for OUR survival. On the way to our doom, we are responsible for a shitload of collateral damage. However, as soon as we are out of the picture, which is looking more and more plausible every time we make a decision, life will again thrive and radiate. Just not human life. Will there be suffering? Yes. Will there be sadness? Definitely. Will we rely on technology to save our asses? Count on it. Will technology save our asses? In a word, 011001010010. That's binary for no (its not binary for no, but the joke wasn't worth me learning binary). So to me, our only chance is to take some HUGE steps back. From everything. It won't work.
My theory as to what will actually happen, is that we humas will experience outrageous population growth. Like, carrying capacity be damned, J-curve kind of growth. Duh. That's already happening. This will be followed by famine, disease, unrest, and eventually massive, we'll call them "decreases" in human population. Then, if we're ready, we can give it another shot.
Do you remember the old song 'In the Year 2525' by Zager and Evans? ...if man is still alive, if woman can survive, they may thrive. See you there...
love, Max
18 September 2010
12 September 2010
The Conservation Controversy
Is the salvation of the living world in the hands of the human race, or are we the real endangered species?
Conservation has become a buzz word lately. Conversations which used to be largely reserved for ecologists, hippies, and hippy ecologists have begun to surface from Saks to Starbucks. Even in times of economic chaos, the World Wildlife Fund and the Sierra Club had record donation years in 2009, and are on course to beat those records in 2010. Have we humans finally opened our eyes to the direct correlation between our actions and the health of life on this planet? Are we too late to save the pandas and polar bears? Or are we beginning to recognize that our actions are not making the planet uninhabitable for all life, but are simply rendering planet earth unfit for human life?
Whichever the case may be, conservation is appearing as an answer. The protection of wild lands and the species of flora and fauna which inhabit them is moving toward the forefront of western values. But do we understand enough about the natural world to counter our unintentional interferences with intentional ones?
conservation- noun
1. Preservation or restoration of the natural environment and wildlife. 2. Preservation and repair of archaeological, historical, and cultural sites and artifacts. 3. Careful use of a resource: i.e. energy conservation.
(Oxford English Dictionary)
The term conservation is often used to mean something different from what it is intended to describe. When the conversation surrounds resources it is well used, describing the need for raised awareness surrounding our consumption of non-renewable natural resources, as is illustrated in the third portion of the definition above. This is fine. When the term is used while conversing about the need for restoration of the ancient Puebloan ruins in Mesa Verde National Park, as the second part of the definition explains, it is correctly wielded. It is when the term is used as described by the first portion of Oxford’s definition that mistakes are made.
The research field that concentrates on this first part of the definition is called, fittingly, conservation biology. It is a field which attracts some of the most nimble and capable scientific minds of our and any time. These ecologists conceptualize research opportunities which serve to ask and answer far reaching questions with grace and data. This is not meant to undermine the work of men and women much more capable than I with a semantic dissection of their vocational moniker. The mistakes I refer to are semantic, but that is only the beginning of the problem.
Biologically speaking, conservation and preservation are synonymous, and many people believe that they refer to the health of an ecosystem, which they well might, for now. However, inherent in the term preservation is the idea of stasis, and this is the beginning of the problem. Nowhere in the 4.5 or so billion years that our planet has existed has stasis ever been a theme. The dynamic properties of the planet and of life itself are the only constant. While some will attempt to explain the potentially cyclical nature of our planet as a form of stasis, I believe this to be a gross oversimplification of our home world and its processes. The truth is that this planet is ever changing. So what was a healthy ecosystem yesterday might be a sick one tomorrow, all by itself.
The Benefits of Conservation
I assure you that I am not attempting to undermine or counter the expansion of consciousness regarding conservation that has happened and is happening throughout the western world. Quite the contrary, I am attempting to offer conversational fodder for those interested in taking another step towards understanding the human role in life on earth. The benefits of conservation are clear: improved overall health of the planet due to preservation of the interactions between plants and animals within all ecosystems, rebounds of many species due to restrictions and limitations on human use and abuse of certain areas, and an increase in information and awareness of our impact on the planet, to name a very limited few. These results of conservation-minded efforts are invaluable to our knowledge and understanding of our planet. Every recognized mistake is (hopefully) an avoided repetition.
The concept of conservation comes from the right place. The traditional biological philosophy has been, “Let’s find out what’s going on.” The conservation biology philosophy is, “Let’s find out what’s going on, figure out what we can do, and do it.” Sounds like a step in the right direction to me. And philosophically, it definitely is. The intentions are good, and the science is sound or at least as sound as it possibly can be. Conservation biologists have their hands tied by time and ecosystem complexity, not by incompetence.
The Problem with Conservation
So this is clearly a complicated subject. The science and scientist who work in the conservation biology field are among the best and the brightest. There’s a bit of confusion regarding some words, but nothing that linguistic evolution can’t explain. Where’s the controversy? The controversy exists in the unintended consequences, namely management of wild lands as static versus dynamic ecosystems. We as humans have been recording, observing, and attempting to explain our world since the first caveman met the second caveman. Our inquisitiveness is inherent to our existence. But Homo sapiens (that’s us) has only been around for about 200,000 years ago, and we certainly don’t have much record of the scientific musings of those early humans. Realistically, our information about the planet comes principally from research conducted within the last 2,000 years, and most comes from the last 300 years or so. Yet life has existed for over 4 billion years on this planet. 99.9% of all species that have ever existed are extinct. It’s part of the process. While I whole heartedly agree that our modern impact on life on this planet has certainly been less than beneficial, history shows time and time again that when we try to fix our mistakes, we magnify those mistakes.
A good example of this principle exists within the native species versus invasive (non-native) species debate. We tag plants and animals with these titles based on our anthropogenic history. If we know a plant to be found in North Carolina, and it colonizes in Nevada, it is considered a wicked invasive which is potentially competing with the friendly native species that never tried to invade anybody. By that rational, every plant and animal on the planet is an invasive. I don’t know of a single living thing that developed from a prokaryotic, unicellular organism into something else, and didn’t move around. Competition is at the heart of evolution. Yet we find it necessary to remove invasive species. REMOVE invasive species. Sounds sort of Third Reich doesn’t it. The argument I often get when I bring this up is that many aggressively invasive species reduce biodiversity by out-competing native species. Sound familiar? That’s right; humans fit the invasive bill pretty well. So are we trying to reconcile our own invasiveness by policing the ecosystems of the world? Now this psychological issue we may or may not have is not that terribly pressing. I mean, it is, but not within the context of this discussion.
What is pressing is that we are quite literally stifling evolution by becoming involved. Often people will counter this argument by saying that many of the invasive species we attempt to eradicate are there as a result of human introduction. So what? Are we not a member of the animal kingdom? Do you see camels pulling out grasses that hitched a ride in their fur and colonized a new area in order to restore their perceived balance to the ecosystem? Of course not. Yet we insist on involving ourselves further by trying to rectify something that has already happened.
The natural progression of life on the level of a single organism very closely mirrors the progression of life on the species level. Birth, growth, peak, decline, death. Conservation attempts to counter this natural progression by allowing certain species and habitats which are on the brink of extinction, for whatever reason, to perpetuate. What would Darwin say?
01 September 2010
Born on the Bayou
Let me set the scene before we begin. I’d ask you to close your eyes, but it might be difficult to follow along. I guess you could close one eye…
It’s hot, muggy. Everything around is dense and green. Think 4 lane highway with Amazon jungle on either side. Every car and truck you pass is either pulling a boat on a trailer, or has an official looking decal on the side of it, or both. As you near the marina, there are people everywhere with orange vests and hard hats. Before you can see the water, you see huge barges and tugboats moving in the distance. There are official signs and people in uniform everywhere. No one seems to be doing anything.
This is 7 in the morning every day, at the Venice Marina in southern Louisiana.
I am working for a company called BioDiversity Research Institute (BRI), out of Maine, in the Gulf of Mexico. Our work centers around collecting data on the effects and extent of the impact on birds in the area, due to contact with oil from the Deepwater Horizon. We collect these data for the United States Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS).
The first rule of working for USFWS is you cannot talk about the work you do for USFWS.
The second rule of working for USFWS is that YOU CANNOT TALK ABOUT WORK YOU DO FOR USFWS.
Tyler Durden, eat your heart out.
So, instead of putting my way of life in jeopardy by disregarding multiple confidentiality agreements, I’ll concentrate on what it’s like to work in the field for months and months, moving jobs and locations many times each year. Abandoning newly made friendships in order to concentrate on soon to be newly made friendships.
Traveling to far off and exotic places, meeting new and exciting people, and studying their birds.
Private Joker, eat your heart out.
A little about the presence here in the gulf:
There are a lot of people here, maybe 50, working for BRI. There are crews that trap and tag egrets, crews that tag and trap rails, crews that tag and trap pelicans, crews that track birds that have been trapped and tagged, and on and on. You get the picture. This is a logistical nightmare. Or it would be (and it sometimes is) if it weren’t for a team of bureaucracy ninjas. The slice and dice their way through permits and paperwork so we can go out on boats, helicopters, and planes to survey birds. Unfortunately, this doesn’t always go as planned.
It’s not because there is any groups attempting to slow the process purposefully, it’s just that there are SO MANY organizations represented down here. There are more acronyms to remember than you would find in a teenagers text message. NRDA this and LSFW that. It’s overwhelming. Luckily, I am not a bureaucracy ninja. I am but a lowly biologist, which suits me just fine. I live, eat, work among 50 very smart, very dedicated people, who all have wonderful ideas on how to streamline these processes.
Unfortunately, none of that matters, because in order to streamline the process, you would have to get multiple representatives for each of 30 or so organizations in the same room AND somehow have a productive conversation. Since this is less possible than human teleportation or losing weight by eating right and exercising, it’s not difficult to just give up and stop whining about it. Or it SHOULD be that easy. However, the main topic of conversation among the boat captains, inn keepers, and biologists is still, and will continue to be, “Why is it so difficult to recognize the goal, and get everyone on board to achieve it?” Good question.
Short answer:
No one who is granted power relinquishes that power voluntarily. That goes for non-profit organizations doubly. Sometimes it is easy to feel so helpless that any illusion of influence is too tempting to disregard. Even if it is simply the power to postpone necessary data collection, people and businesses alike will allude themselves into thinking that they are the proverbial center of the universe. Collective ego.
Oiled birds, eat your hearts out.
It’s hot, muggy. Everything around is dense and green. Think 4 lane highway with Amazon jungle on either side. Every car and truck you pass is either pulling a boat on a trailer, or has an official looking decal on the side of it, or both. As you near the marina, there are people everywhere with orange vests and hard hats. Before you can see the water, you see huge barges and tugboats moving in the distance. There are official signs and people in uniform everywhere. No one seems to be doing anything.
This is 7 in the morning every day, at the Venice Marina in southern Louisiana.
I am working for a company called BioDiversity Research Institute (BRI), out of Maine, in the Gulf of Mexico. Our work centers around collecting data on the effects and extent of the impact on birds in the area, due to contact with oil from the Deepwater Horizon. We collect these data for the United States Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS).
The first rule of working for USFWS is you cannot talk about the work you do for USFWS.
The second rule of working for USFWS is that YOU CANNOT TALK ABOUT WORK YOU DO FOR USFWS.
Tyler Durden, eat your heart out.
So, instead of putting my way of life in jeopardy by disregarding multiple confidentiality agreements, I’ll concentrate on what it’s like to work in the field for months and months, moving jobs and locations many times each year. Abandoning newly made friendships in order to concentrate on soon to be newly made friendships.
Traveling to far off and exotic places, meeting new and exciting people, and studying their birds.
Private Joker, eat your heart out.
A little about the presence here in the gulf:
There are a lot of people here, maybe 50, working for BRI. There are crews that trap and tag egrets, crews that tag and trap rails, crews that tag and trap pelicans, crews that track birds that have been trapped and tagged, and on and on. You get the picture. This is a logistical nightmare. Or it would be (and it sometimes is) if it weren’t for a team of bureaucracy ninjas. The slice and dice their way through permits and paperwork so we can go out on boats, helicopters, and planes to survey birds. Unfortunately, this doesn’t always go as planned.
It’s not because there is any groups attempting to slow the process purposefully, it’s just that there are SO MANY organizations represented down here. There are more acronyms to remember than you would find in a teenagers text message. NRDA this and LSFW that. It’s overwhelming. Luckily, I am not a bureaucracy ninja. I am but a lowly biologist, which suits me just fine. I live, eat, work among 50 very smart, very dedicated people, who all have wonderful ideas on how to streamline these processes.
Unfortunately, none of that matters, because in order to streamline the process, you would have to get multiple representatives for each of 30 or so organizations in the same room AND somehow have a productive conversation. Since this is less possible than human teleportation or losing weight by eating right and exercising, it’s not difficult to just give up and stop whining about it. Or it SHOULD be that easy. However, the main topic of conversation among the boat captains, inn keepers, and biologists is still, and will continue to be, “Why is it so difficult to recognize the goal, and get everyone on board to achieve it?” Good question.
Short answer:
No one who is granted power relinquishes that power voluntarily. That goes for non-profit organizations doubly. Sometimes it is easy to feel so helpless that any illusion of influence is too tempting to disregard. Even if it is simply the power to postpone necessary data collection, people and businesses alike will allude themselves into thinking that they are the proverbial center of the universe. Collective ego.
Oiled birds, eat your hearts out.
27 June 2010
Clade 5: Wyoming: The Early Days
I’m back.
It’s been awhile; a few months, and I’m in a different country with a new project focusing on a different question altogether.
Wyoming: The Equality state: So named because women were granted the right to vote here in 1869, well before they were given that right nationally.
Wyoming isn’t known for its open-mindedness any longer. In fact, granting women the right to vote was based more heavily on a lack of overall population than the recognition of equality. But I’m not here to study the political climate. I’m here for the birds (and not the ones given the right to vote in 1869. Good one).
Quick rundown on the project:
The vegetation community in the mountains of southern WY (Wyoming, for those of you not studying the postal arts) is made up of Limber Pine, Sub-alpine Fir, and Englemann’s Spruce. Lumber has always been a big industry here. In the 80’s there was a movement to stop big clear cuts (clear cut- removal of all trees in an area, leaving it clear of trees) in favor of many, smaller clear cuts spread throughout a section of forest. The thought was that these smaller clear cuts, or patch cuts, would promote forest regeneration on a shorter timeline.
Studies had already been done showing the effects of large clear cuts on avian (bird) communities, so the US Forest Service wanted to see if there was a difference in the effects of patch cuts on avian communities and started a study to show just that. They did this by choosing an area that had been patch cut (Coon Creek) and an area very nearby and with the same forest composition that had not been patch cut as a control (East fork). This study went on for 12 years, form 1985 to 1997. In this time, there was a bunch of bureaucratic drama. Jobs were lost, jobs were gained, money was made available, money was squandered. Mistakes were made. Data was collected, but nothing was ever published. Nothing was ever even analyzed.
Enter the star of our show: the pine mountain beetle. This, as many of you know, is a voracious little eater with a taste for trees. AKA’d as the bark beetle, the Ips beetle, and the Forest Slayer (that’s mine), we are seeing huge impacts on forests, especially pine forests, because of this little insect. In this area, around 80% of the Limber Pine trees older than 40 years are dead. Yikes.
So now we have a defunct study that has 12 years of data regarding bird communities in a forest that has been decimated by a bug. Perfect! In short, what we are doing is sampling an area that has been hit by the Pine Mountain Beetle in order to compare our data with the data collected before the beetle infestation, so we can see what the effects on bird communities might be. There. Simple.
Methods. Sort of.
The way we do this is by walking. A lot. We revisit existing transects (lines) that are 2 miles long each. Every 200 meters there is a point. We count the birds we see or hear by species at every point for 10 minutes. We have to get there first which is a pain. There has been up to 96 inches of snow on the ground in the study site since the end of May. May!!! What the hell! That means that we have to use snowmobile to get to our transects, then snowshoes to walk the transects. Now the snow is mostly gone…at least you can navigate around it without needing snowshoes much, so we use ATV’s and 4wd trucks to get from camp to our transects. Not so bad.
At least I know what to expect from an ATV. Snowmobiles slide on the ground. Slide. That is an action verb I have avoided since my baseball career ended. I do not slide. It implies a lack of control that is fundamentally dangerous, and especially uncomfortable. Maybe I’ll slide on a wood floor when I’m wearing cotton socks. But probably not. Not to mention the apparatus on which you are sliding weighs over 600 pounds (I mean the snowmobile, not me in cotton socks).
With an ATV, you hit the break, it stops. You turn the handlebars, it turns. You don’t have to hang off of the thing like a Cirque de’ Soleil acrobat to get it to ‘slide’ in your preferred direction. The wheels do that. That’s another thing. Wheels. Now there’s an idea I can get behind. Rolling, turning, solid, dependable wheels. With tires. Comfort in the little things.
So needless to say, I was glad to get through my first ‘snowmobile season’ with no crushing injuries. I also didn’t send the thing ‘sliding’ down a ravine to a fiery doom. Also an unexpected positive. The weather is now beautiful, we’ve hit our stride with data collection, meaning everyone knows there job, and we are all doing it. The rivers and creeks in the area have subsided to acceptable fishing levels, so we fish from time to time. Trout. Fun as hell.
All in all, it a pretty sweet gig. Working for the University of Wyoming (my direct employer and the inheritor of the USFS data) is great. We stay in camper trailers up on the mountain. We have a nice house down in the town of Encampment for the weekends, which we have off from work. They’ve given us a couple of nice 4wd Suburbans to use from the university fleet. We are well taken care of. And on a bad day, I wake up to walk in a pine forest during sunrise to watch and listen for songbirds. Eat your heart out, CPA’s.
It’s been awhile; a few months, and I’m in a different country with a new project focusing on a different question altogether.
Wyoming: The Equality state: So named because women were granted the right to vote here in 1869, well before they were given that right nationally.
Wyoming isn’t known for its open-mindedness any longer. In fact, granting women the right to vote was based more heavily on a lack of overall population than the recognition of equality. But I’m not here to study the political climate. I’m here for the birds (and not the ones given the right to vote in 1869. Good one).
Quick rundown on the project:
The vegetation community in the mountains of southern WY (Wyoming, for those of you not studying the postal arts) is made up of Limber Pine, Sub-alpine Fir, and Englemann’s Spruce. Lumber has always been a big industry here. In the 80’s there was a movement to stop big clear cuts (clear cut- removal of all trees in an area, leaving it clear of trees) in favor of many, smaller clear cuts spread throughout a section of forest. The thought was that these smaller clear cuts, or patch cuts, would promote forest regeneration on a shorter timeline.
Studies had already been done showing the effects of large clear cuts on avian (bird) communities, so the US Forest Service wanted to see if there was a difference in the effects of patch cuts on avian communities and started a study to show just that. They did this by choosing an area that had been patch cut (Coon Creek) and an area very nearby and with the same forest composition that had not been patch cut as a control (East fork). This study went on for 12 years, form 1985 to 1997. In this time, there was a bunch of bureaucratic drama. Jobs were lost, jobs were gained, money was made available, money was squandered. Mistakes were made. Data was collected, but nothing was ever published. Nothing was ever even analyzed.
Enter the star of our show: the pine mountain beetle. This, as many of you know, is a voracious little eater with a taste for trees. AKA’d as the bark beetle, the Ips beetle, and the Forest Slayer (that’s mine), we are seeing huge impacts on forests, especially pine forests, because of this little insect. In this area, around 80% of the Limber Pine trees older than 40 years are dead. Yikes.
So now we have a defunct study that has 12 years of data regarding bird communities in a forest that has been decimated by a bug. Perfect! In short, what we are doing is sampling an area that has been hit by the Pine Mountain Beetle in order to compare our data with the data collected before the beetle infestation, so we can see what the effects on bird communities might be. There. Simple.
Methods. Sort of.
The way we do this is by walking. A lot. We revisit existing transects (lines) that are 2 miles long each. Every 200 meters there is a point. We count the birds we see or hear by species at every point for 10 minutes. We have to get there first which is a pain. There has been up to 96 inches of snow on the ground in the study site since the end of May. May!!! What the hell! That means that we have to use snowmobile to get to our transects, then snowshoes to walk the transects. Now the snow is mostly gone…at least you can navigate around it without needing snowshoes much, so we use ATV’s and 4wd trucks to get from camp to our transects. Not so bad.
At least I know what to expect from an ATV. Snowmobiles slide on the ground. Slide. That is an action verb I have avoided since my baseball career ended. I do not slide. It implies a lack of control that is fundamentally dangerous, and especially uncomfortable. Maybe I’ll slide on a wood floor when I’m wearing cotton socks. But probably not. Not to mention the apparatus on which you are sliding weighs over 600 pounds (I mean the snowmobile, not me in cotton socks).
With an ATV, you hit the break, it stops. You turn the handlebars, it turns. You don’t have to hang off of the thing like a Cirque de’ Soleil acrobat to get it to ‘slide’ in your preferred direction. The wheels do that. That’s another thing. Wheels. Now there’s an idea I can get behind. Rolling, turning, solid, dependable wheels. With tires. Comfort in the little things.
So needless to say, I was glad to get through my first ‘snowmobile season’ with no crushing injuries. I also didn’t send the thing ‘sliding’ down a ravine to a fiery doom. Also an unexpected positive. The weather is now beautiful, we’ve hit our stride with data collection, meaning everyone knows there job, and we are all doing it. The rivers and creeks in the area have subsided to acceptable fishing levels, so we fish from time to time. Trout. Fun as hell.
All in all, it a pretty sweet gig. Working for the University of Wyoming (my direct employer and the inheritor of the USFS data) is great. We stay in camper trailers up on the mountain. We have a nice house down in the town of Encampment for the weekends, which we have off from work. They’ve given us a couple of nice 4wd Suburbans to use from the university fleet. We are well taken care of. And on a bad day, I wake up to walk in a pine forest during sunrise to watch and listen for songbirds. Eat your heart out, CPA’s.
27 March 2010
Clade 4: Cat Fight!
This will be my last entry to The Phylogeny of Max while in the employ of the Baboon Research Unit of the University of Cape Town. Barring a mass migration (they’ve evaded before) of our beloved monkeys, we will finish our data collection on the evening of the 31st. Then I will no longer be a researcher here in South Africa. I will magically turn into a tourist! This is fine. Bittersweet, as they say. Few can say they’ve spent such an intimate and extended time with baboons, and of this I am thankful and proud.
That’s said, time for a beer or 5. The last week of work has been tumultuous, to say the least. Not between us humans; that part has been easy and fun. It’s the monkeys. They haven’t been getting along.
Possible reasons why:
It’s getting cold and they’re poorly rested and grumpy. Possible, not likely.
There is a new born infant (scrawny and funny looking, like my sister was when she was born). Maybe they have been kicking hell out of each other because they have baby envy, or the birth is upsetting the dominance balance. Ehhhh, maaaaybe.
Is there a new male around? Might be, but I haven’t seen one, and the other males are no more (or less) combative than usual.
They are sick of looking at our disgusting hairless (mostly) faces and changeable multicolored bodies? Wouldn’t blame them, but that doesn’t seem right.
All of those things seem stressful but not SOOO stressful that they would…wait a second! STRESS! That sounds right. It isn’t one thing, it’s many! The straw that broke the camel’s back kind of a thing. So these animals are stressed out. No shit, they have to find food and water every day, and they might get killed at any turn by a lion. In the case of my baboons, there are no more lions around, so replace lion with Toyota Avalon. The males always fight anyway, so we’re not really talking about them, although they definitely get involved with the females fisticuffs. The ladies are stressed out, and they kick ass when they’re stressed out. Watch your back.
There are plenty of reasons to be stressed out, so baboons, like good social animals, deal with stress as a group, or more accurately as many small groups. They groom each other. And they have favorites. It’s like the hair salon my grandmother used to go to. These old ladies would come in and spend the day gossiping and chatting and getting their hair done. There were (most likely) less mites and ticks hidden in Nanny’s blue locks than there are in the course manes of female baboons, but the stress relief is just as real. The baboons (and the grannies) leave feeling refreshed and relaxed.
But it isn’t as relaxing to go to a different hair salon each week, and gossip with different ladies. Too complicated. Too many personalities to appease and rules to remember. The ladies who have the most rewarding Saturday salon experience are the ones who regularly patronize the same spot, with the same group.
This is true of baboons, as well. The baboons with the lowest glucocorticoid (a compound found in mammals, and in elevated levels in stressed out mammals) levels in their poo are the ones who have small grooming groups. The baboons who groom with many more baboons still get a benefit from the behavior, just not as big of a benefit. Fewer, closer friends relieve more stress than many, peripheral friends.
So what is causing their stress? Like we said in the beginning during my brilliantly faked inquisition into the cause of all these fights (I knew where this was going all along), there are quite a few stressors. In a normal population of baboons, existing in a healthy ecosystem with all of its parts, 95% of adult baboons die by getting eaten by some other animal, mostly lions. I’d say that’s pretty damn stressful. If 19 out of 20 in your graduating class were going to be eaten by a lion, you’d be stressed out too. There are also the males in the troop.
Males are bigger, because they have to have something to offer to ensure they get picked to breed. What they have evolved to offer is protection. Unfortunately, the protection is most often from other males who want to kill the babies that don’t belong to them. But it’s protection, none the less. Females have to not only bare and rear the young, they also have to appease and bond with the males so they are protected. They do this by grooming and copulating. If a female copulates with many of the males in her troop, they will all protect her and her offspring because the baby MIGHT be theirs. Obviously only one of them is the proud papa, but they don’t know which, and neither does she.
When a new male shows up, an immigrant male, the females get stressed out. They have to get on this males good side right away, or they might become childless mothers very quickly, and that sucks. So they groom a lot. As long as they’re regular grooming crew is available.
What happens, though, when a grooming partner meets an untimely demise? How do baboons mourn? You guessed it! They get stressed out. If Doris and Esther are best pals, and are each other’s favorite grooming partner, what does Doris do if Esther takes a trip to the big sleeping site in the sky? Well, she has to replace Esther as best she can. This means she broadens her grooming circle. This is not only stressful to Doris. It is also a pain in the ass for all the other female baboons, because their grooming circles have to be broadened by proxy. So all the ladies are a bit on edge while they wait to see how everything will work out.
When Nanny’s favorite salon closed, I don’t think she got in more fistfights than usual, but I can’t say for sure. She fought a lot.
So that’s what’s going down in baboon town this week. I’m on my way out, the gals are fighting they’re way towards a less stressful existence, and the sands pour through the hourglass. Such are the days of our lives…
That’s said, time for a beer or 5. The last week of work has been tumultuous, to say the least. Not between us humans; that part has been easy and fun. It’s the monkeys. They haven’t been getting along.
Possible reasons why:
It’s getting cold and they’re poorly rested and grumpy. Possible, not likely.
There is a new born infant (scrawny and funny looking, like my sister was when she was born). Maybe they have been kicking hell out of each other because they have baby envy, or the birth is upsetting the dominance balance. Ehhhh, maaaaybe.
Is there a new male around? Might be, but I haven’t seen one, and the other males are no more (or less) combative than usual.
They are sick of looking at our disgusting hairless (mostly) faces and changeable multicolored bodies? Wouldn’t blame them, but that doesn’t seem right.
All of those things seem stressful but not SOOO stressful that they would…wait a second! STRESS! That sounds right. It isn’t one thing, it’s many! The straw that broke the camel’s back kind of a thing. So these animals are stressed out. No shit, they have to find food and water every day, and they might get killed at any turn by a lion. In the case of my baboons, there are no more lions around, so replace lion with Toyota Avalon. The males always fight anyway, so we’re not really talking about them, although they definitely get involved with the females fisticuffs. The ladies are stressed out, and they kick ass when they’re stressed out. Watch your back.
There are plenty of reasons to be stressed out, so baboons, like good social animals, deal with stress as a group, or more accurately as many small groups. They groom each other. And they have favorites. It’s like the hair salon my grandmother used to go to. These old ladies would come in and spend the day gossiping and chatting and getting their hair done. There were (most likely) less mites and ticks hidden in Nanny’s blue locks than there are in the course manes of female baboons, but the stress relief is just as real. The baboons (and the grannies) leave feeling refreshed and relaxed.
But it isn’t as relaxing to go to a different hair salon each week, and gossip with different ladies. Too complicated. Too many personalities to appease and rules to remember. The ladies who have the most rewarding Saturday salon experience are the ones who regularly patronize the same spot, with the same group.
This is true of baboons, as well. The baboons with the lowest glucocorticoid (a compound found in mammals, and in elevated levels in stressed out mammals) levels in their poo are the ones who have small grooming groups. The baboons who groom with many more baboons still get a benefit from the behavior, just not as big of a benefit. Fewer, closer friends relieve more stress than many, peripheral friends.
So what is causing their stress? Like we said in the beginning during my brilliantly faked inquisition into the cause of all these fights (I knew where this was going all along), there are quite a few stressors. In a normal population of baboons, existing in a healthy ecosystem with all of its parts, 95% of adult baboons die by getting eaten by some other animal, mostly lions. I’d say that’s pretty damn stressful. If 19 out of 20 in your graduating class were going to be eaten by a lion, you’d be stressed out too. There are also the males in the troop.
Males are bigger, because they have to have something to offer to ensure they get picked to breed. What they have evolved to offer is protection. Unfortunately, the protection is most often from other males who want to kill the babies that don’t belong to them. But it’s protection, none the less. Females have to not only bare and rear the young, they also have to appease and bond with the males so they are protected. They do this by grooming and copulating. If a female copulates with many of the males in her troop, they will all protect her and her offspring because the baby MIGHT be theirs. Obviously only one of them is the proud papa, but they don’t know which, and neither does she.
When a new male shows up, an immigrant male, the females get stressed out. They have to get on this males good side right away, or they might become childless mothers very quickly, and that sucks. So they groom a lot. As long as they’re regular grooming crew is available.
What happens, though, when a grooming partner meets an untimely demise? How do baboons mourn? You guessed it! They get stressed out. If Doris and Esther are best pals, and are each other’s favorite grooming partner, what does Doris do if Esther takes a trip to the big sleeping site in the sky? Well, she has to replace Esther as best she can. This means she broadens her grooming circle. This is not only stressful to Doris. It is also a pain in the ass for all the other female baboons, because their grooming circles have to be broadened by proxy. So all the ladies are a bit on edge while they wait to see how everything will work out.
When Nanny’s favorite salon closed, I don’t think she got in more fistfights than usual, but I can’t say for sure. She fought a lot.
So that’s what’s going down in baboon town this week. I’m on my way out, the gals are fighting they’re way towards a less stressful existence, and the sands pour through the hourglass. Such are the days of our lives…
15 March 2010
Clade 3: The Pink Ladies vs. The Bookworms
With all the social drama going down in the troop, I couldn’t help but think of high school. Yes, that wonderful time when no one feels good about themselves but everyone acts like they know the story, like they have been living in a grown up body for years, when really everyone is living in total fear of being found out as a mere teenager. Love, hate, violence, sex. High school has it all.
Well, here at Baboon High, the grapevine is boiling about the new boy. He is getting the attention of all the girls, and the once popular guys are not happy about this. He’s a little bigger, and mysterious…
Everyone knows, however, that the real social posturing happens between the gals. Baboons are no exception. In fact, female baboons put humans to shame.
First, you have a dominant female baboon (we’ll call her Debbie). She gained the favor of all the boys, and is protected from fights, no matter what. Now, you would think that another adult lady baboon would be next in line, maybe Debbie’s bff (best friend forever, duh). Not so. Before any other lady baboons can take a place in the social hierarchy, all of Debbie’s daughters get a spot, and inversely according to age.
So it breaks down like this:
Debbie is at the helm, followed by her youngest daughter. Then comes the middle daughter, followed by the oldest daughter. Then comes Debbie’s bff, Lucy, and her daughters, and so on. This is very defined. A little squirt of a juvenile female can walk up and snatch the food right out of the hand of a socially inferior adult female with no consequences. Rude.
Now, where this social structure really comes into play is when the non-dominant adult female (Lucy) that had her lunch money stolen by Debbie’s little daughter gets pissed, and smacks Lil’ Debbie (yum) around for the mugging.
First:
Baboons have a very limited number of vocalizations. They don’t make a bunch of different sounds, they just make a few. They are so aware of all of the social relationships in the troop, however, that all they really have to say is “look, something’s going down over there” and all the other baboons will glance over, and instantly know who is doing what to whom, and if that is cool, or if it upsets the normal balance.
Back to the lunch money revenge story:
So Lucy got her milk money swiped by Lil’ Debbie, and instead of taking it on the chin like she’s supposed to, she gave Lil’ Debbie the what for. Lil’ Debbie has a few moves. 1) She could fight back. Yeah right. Lucy is a grown ass lady baboon and would kick Lucy’s ass. 2) She could let it slide. Yeah right. Lucy is lower on the social totem pole, and should have handed over the goods quietly like a good subordinate. She needs to be punished. 3) She could scream her ass of like she just had her leg bitten off by a lion. We have a winner. We call this “The Drama”, as in,
”Did you hear that cat being strangled?”
“Oh don’t worry, it was just Lil’ Debbie pulling out The Drama.”
So Lil’ Debbie starts to scream bloody murder. Immediately and subconsciously, every baboon knows that Lil’ Debbie should not be messed with by Lucy, and that there is something seriously strange going on. Everyone stops what they are doing and gathers around. Lil’ Debbie’s mom and sisters get into the mix, and they all chase Lucy, hold her down and bite the hell out of her, amongst the frenzied screams of the onlookers. Just like high school, right?
Now let’s reverse the field and see what happens. Same scenario: Lucy gets her snack cakes jacked by Lil’ Debbie, but instead of going upside her head, Lucy takes option 3 and screams. A quick glance by the troop will confirm that they don’t care. Lucy is allowed, neigh, supposed to get bullied. Nothing out of the ordinary here. Might as well keep feeding while Lucy keeps screaming. Even her own daughters don’t care that mom was just seriously wronged by a pipsqueak of a lady baboon. Such is life.
This happens with the males, too. If a dominant male gets mean with a sub-dominant and whips him, it’s business as usual. Like a band geek (sorry band geeks, but you have a stereotype to overcome) getting bullied by a jock (sorry jocks, but you have a stereotype to overcome). No one really notices. People might gather in the hall to watch for a minute, but they soon go back to necking behind the lockers. If the band geek were to take an alto sax to the jocks dome, however, the crowd would certainly take notice, and the band geek would be a hero. Right up until the other jocks showed up and shoved his alto sax up his…well, you get it. Such are the woes of a social animal. High school. Baboons. Science.
Well, here at Baboon High, the grapevine is boiling about the new boy. He is getting the attention of all the girls, and the once popular guys are not happy about this. He’s a little bigger, and mysterious…
Everyone knows, however, that the real social posturing happens between the gals. Baboons are no exception. In fact, female baboons put humans to shame.
First, you have a dominant female baboon (we’ll call her Debbie). She gained the favor of all the boys, and is protected from fights, no matter what. Now, you would think that another adult lady baboon would be next in line, maybe Debbie’s bff (best friend forever, duh). Not so. Before any other lady baboons can take a place in the social hierarchy, all of Debbie’s daughters get a spot, and inversely according to age.
So it breaks down like this:
Debbie is at the helm, followed by her youngest daughter. Then comes the middle daughter, followed by the oldest daughter. Then comes Debbie’s bff, Lucy, and her daughters, and so on. This is very defined. A little squirt of a juvenile female can walk up and snatch the food right out of the hand of a socially inferior adult female with no consequences. Rude.
Now, where this social structure really comes into play is when the non-dominant adult female (Lucy) that had her lunch money stolen by Debbie’s little daughter gets pissed, and smacks Lil’ Debbie (yum) around for the mugging.
First:
Baboons have a very limited number of vocalizations. They don’t make a bunch of different sounds, they just make a few. They are so aware of all of the social relationships in the troop, however, that all they really have to say is “look, something’s going down over there” and all the other baboons will glance over, and instantly know who is doing what to whom, and if that is cool, or if it upsets the normal balance.
Back to the lunch money revenge story:
So Lucy got her milk money swiped by Lil’ Debbie, and instead of taking it on the chin like she’s supposed to, she gave Lil’ Debbie the what for. Lil’ Debbie has a few moves. 1) She could fight back. Yeah right. Lucy is a grown ass lady baboon and would kick Lucy’s ass. 2) She could let it slide. Yeah right. Lucy is lower on the social totem pole, and should have handed over the goods quietly like a good subordinate. She needs to be punished. 3) She could scream her ass of like she just had her leg bitten off by a lion. We have a winner. We call this “The Drama”, as in,
”Did you hear that cat being strangled?”
“Oh don’t worry, it was just Lil’ Debbie pulling out The Drama.”
So Lil’ Debbie starts to scream bloody murder. Immediately and subconsciously, every baboon knows that Lil’ Debbie should not be messed with by Lucy, and that there is something seriously strange going on. Everyone stops what they are doing and gathers around. Lil’ Debbie’s mom and sisters get into the mix, and they all chase Lucy, hold her down and bite the hell out of her, amongst the frenzied screams of the onlookers. Just like high school, right?
Now let’s reverse the field and see what happens. Same scenario: Lucy gets her snack cakes jacked by Lil’ Debbie, but instead of going upside her head, Lucy takes option 3 and screams. A quick glance by the troop will confirm that they don’t care. Lucy is allowed, neigh, supposed to get bullied. Nothing out of the ordinary here. Might as well keep feeding while Lucy keeps screaming. Even her own daughters don’t care that mom was just seriously wronged by a pipsqueak of a lady baboon. Such is life.
This happens with the males, too. If a dominant male gets mean with a sub-dominant and whips him, it’s business as usual. Like a band geek (sorry band geeks, but you have a stereotype to overcome) getting bullied by a jock (sorry jocks, but you have a stereotype to overcome). No one really notices. People might gather in the hall to watch for a minute, but they soon go back to necking behind the lockers. If the band geek were to take an alto sax to the jocks dome, however, the crowd would certainly take notice, and the band geek would be a hero. Right up until the other jocks showed up and shoved his alto sax up his…well, you get it. Such are the woes of a social animal. High school. Baboons. Science.
12 March 2010
Clade 2: New kid in town
I don’t have much time, but here’s an interesting situation we researchers have found ourselves in:
There are 6 baboon troops that utilize the park in which I work. 5 of the troops are known to raid the houses of locals and the cars of anyone for food. I work with the one troop that does NOT see humans as a food source. That is precisely why we are researching this troop. They are untainted by the lovely flavors of bread and cheese.
A few days ago, my troop was crossing the main road, something they do most days. Sometimes they linger on the road. People stop to gawk, and they are curious animals, so it’s not THAT surprising. On this day however, something strange happened…
Back story:
We think we might have an immigrant male in the troop. That is to say that an adult male from another troop is attempting to join our troop. There are already 6 adult males in our troop. We think there’s a new guy because the fighting has increased a LOT. The males have become protective of the young, which is not there way. This is because a new male will try to kill the other male’s kids, so he can breed with the gals, and have only his genes perpetuated. Selfish, but expected. No infanticide…yet.
Back to the story:
So Sam and I are watching the troop on this particular day that they have decided to linger on the road. People have started getting out of their cars to take pictures (bad move, also not my place to do anything but say “Bad idea.” All of the sudden, Sam saw a male baboon get into an empty car (guess who). He ran down there and realized that the baboon had opened a car door itself. Behavior our troop doesn’t know, but that the other troops know well. Uh oh. At this point we know we’ve got a bad influence on our hands. We start thinking about ways to mark it: squirt guns filled with peroxide, paint balls, etc.
Fast forward 3 days. Matt and I are in the field, and we hear 'bang...bang, bang'. The troop takes off, which implies that they know what that sound means. We catch up and keep watching, and then the bad boy walks up. He’s bleeding from his chest like a stuck, well, baboon. He doesn’t seem to mind. He goes on feeding. He gets in some more fights. He “spend time” with the troop females. Today (3 days hence the shooting) he is still bleeding, slowing down, but still eating, moving, shagging. The drama continues…
There are 6 baboon troops that utilize the park in which I work. 5 of the troops are known to raid the houses of locals and the cars of anyone for food. I work with the one troop that does NOT see humans as a food source. That is precisely why we are researching this troop. They are untainted by the lovely flavors of bread and cheese.
A few days ago, my troop was crossing the main road, something they do most days. Sometimes they linger on the road. People stop to gawk, and they are curious animals, so it’s not THAT surprising. On this day however, something strange happened…
Back story:
We think we might have an immigrant male in the troop. That is to say that an adult male from another troop is attempting to join our troop. There are already 6 adult males in our troop. We think there’s a new guy because the fighting has increased a LOT. The males have become protective of the young, which is not there way. This is because a new male will try to kill the other male’s kids, so he can breed with the gals, and have only his genes perpetuated. Selfish, but expected. No infanticide…yet.
Back to the story:
So Sam and I are watching the troop on this particular day that they have decided to linger on the road. People have started getting out of their cars to take pictures (bad move, also not my place to do anything but say “Bad idea.” All of the sudden, Sam saw a male baboon get into an empty car (guess who). He ran down there and realized that the baboon had opened a car door itself. Behavior our troop doesn’t know, but that the other troops know well. Uh oh. At this point we know we’ve got a bad influence on our hands. We start thinking about ways to mark it: squirt guns filled with peroxide, paint balls, etc.
Fast forward 3 days. Matt and I are in the field, and we hear 'bang...bang, bang'. The troop takes off, which implies that they know what that sound means. We catch up and keep watching, and then the bad boy walks up. He’s bleeding from his chest like a stuck, well, baboon. He doesn’t seem to mind. He goes on feeding. He gets in some more fights. He “spend time” with the troop females. Today (3 days hence the shooting) he is still bleeding, slowing down, but still eating, moving, shagging. The drama continues…
03 March 2010
Clade 1: Introduction to a New Animal.
So, here we go…
I arrived in Cape Town, South Africa just short of a week ago. Flight was fine, blah blah blah. Met at the airport, blah blah blah.
The World Cup, for those of you not savvy to the most popular sport in the world, is to be hosted by South Africa in a few short months. June, I believe. This is very apparent upon arrival to the country. It’s everywhere. They advertise it on the inside of the bathroom stalls, as if to say, “We KNOW you’ll be here for a minute, and since we have your attention, have you heard about the World Cup?”
I was greeted by my boss, a guy named Matt Lewis. He’s a grad student at the U of Cape Town. It was late, so we went to his house, in what he described as the suburbs. The neighborhood had an entrance sign (that screams suburbs). The median was landscaped (again SUUUUBURBS!). All the houses were nice, modest, and landscaped (suburbs). Oh and there were laser grids patrolling each front yard (subur….wait what the hell!). Evidently Ronald Regan is in charge of home security in the suburbs of Cape Town. Point illustrated: South Africa is a bit grittier than the newly remodeled, brushed stainless steel airport and the flashy World Cup veneer would have you believe. Regardless, Matt’s home was great, and he and his mom made me feel right at home.
I met up with my friend Sam the next day. He’s the guy who tipped me off about the job. He and his gal Lindsay showed me around Cape Town a bit. It was more of a drinking and appetizer tour, than an historical immersion. Fine with me. Another day for logistics and food buying, and we were in the Cape Point National Reserve.
Here is a very brief synopsis of the work:
Baboons are monkeys (red backsides, not blue. The blue one is the Mandrill and the Drill, found in the tropics of equatorial western Africa. Close, but different). They live in troops of many males and females. They spend their days looking for and eating different foods. In this part of South Africa, some of the baboons eat marine life, such as limpets and shark eggs. Matt wants to know how much of their diet is made up of marine invertebrates, and if that changes anything we think we know about baboons as a species.
We go out each day to the place where we left the baboons to sleep and watch them wake up. They get up really early. We then follow them around all day and record their behavior for 3 minutes every 7 minutes. We do this all day. From about 6:15 am to about 7pm. Every 7 minutes. This is a relatively typical conversation leading into a behavior scan:
Observer 1: The Coen Brother’s film, The Big Lebowski, is clearly a metaphor for Operation Desert Storm, with The Dude playing the role of the clueless American populous…
Observer 2: Male, adult, rocky outcrop, social, copulate. Female, sub-adult, rocky outcrop, social, copulate…
Observer 1: Slow down! Did you say sub adult or juvenile?
And so on…
The baboons don’t really care that we are there. These particular baboons don’t see humans as potential food sources…yet. Not like they would eat us, but other troops will swipe your bag in a heart beat.
Sometimes they get pissed at each other and fight. Like, for REAL fight. Blood and gashes. So far the only way I know how to differentiate between individuals is with names such as gash head, gash face, and gash arm. Oh, there’s scar face too. I think he was gash face last month.
The do some really, really gross stuff too. Like deviant G.R.O.S.S. stuff. I don’t want to get into it. You can ask me later, but not over dinner.
Sometimes they involve us in the fights. We carry sticks for this purpose. Not to beat the baboons with, because that wouldn’t do anything, but because they get confused when you hold a stick out toward them as the charge you. They’ll get right up to it and then just stop, look at it, and walk away. We don’t have to yell or make ourselves look tough or anything. Just don’t look them in the eyes, and hold out a long stick. They’ll probably disregard the stick someday, but hopefully not in the next month.
There are tiny little baby baboons everywhere. They look like little furry human babies that can jump like 10 feet in the air. That would seriously freak me out. Walk up to a woman pushing a stroller, coo at her infant, and then stand back as it dunked a basketball. Weird.
So that’s what I do. It’s absolutely beautiful here. I like everybody. I sleep like a rock every night, and walk with baboons for 12 hours every day. I love it.
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