Spirit of Adventure
Not Your Average Housemates
We live in tight quarters on Isla Boca Brava. We are a six person crew sharing the field house, but we aren’t the only ones sleeping under the roof. The sacrifice of personal space comes with the benefit of living on an exotic island and witnessing incredible animal behavior during the work day. There is never a dull moment while living in the tropics. One of the exciting aspects of Panama is having the biodiversity right outside your door. Lately, the biodiversity has been growing inside our house as well. Allow me to introduce you to a few of our housemates:
Roommate #1: Fruit bats. We have roughly 10 fruit bats living within our rooftop. The bats kindly roost outside, but they mysteriously made their way into the house after our second week on the island. Their roosting area is unfortunately directly over my bed, and I can hear them snickering and hissing as I fall asleep. After a month, the bat population began to grow to a concerning size. One ill-fated night a refugee bat in the house hit the ceiling fan above my bed and launched onto my chest in the middle of the night. I shook the creature off in my 2am stupor without realizing what exactly happened. I grabbed for my headlamp and shined a light to a bat with a broken wing crawling around my mattress. That’s when I began permanently using my bug net. The problem escalated when eight bats flocked into Emily’s bedroom at once in the middle of the night. They whooshed past her face as she tried to sleep. She finally attempted to let them out of the screen window, but her effort backfired when a flurry of wasps buzzed into the house. Another night, I woke up to my bug net jostling around me and found two bats crawling up the side of the fabric. I shook my net until they bounced away. I can’t say I slept well that night! I tried to console my thoughts with childhood memories of Stellaluna, but still had nightmares about vampires and rabies. With further inspection of the bat roosting area we finally discovered a hole in the ceiling. A few slabs of duct tape and our problem was fixed.
Roommate #2: Scorpions. Scorpions are cryptic because they love to hide away in damp, dark spaces, like our backpacks and boots. One time while I was taking a shower a scorpion scuttled up the side of the tile. As I followed the scorpion’s path to the high corner I noticed a bat roosting. Shower, suds, bats and scorpions – completely normal on Isla Boca Brava.
Roommate #3: Ants. We have various ant species in the house but the most common are the leaf-cutter ants. They mostly hang out in the kitchen to grab a snack from dirty dishes left in the sink. As mentioned in a previous post, we found them marching across the floor when we forgot to take the compost out. We have also found them deconstructing a papaya on the counter, which is rare of thick-skinned fruits. They have an amazing sense of smell and will seek out the smallest crumb. They are a great support to forest ecosystems and natural composters, but not in our kitchen. For this reason, cleanliness in the field house is very important. We sweep and clean counters on a nonstop basis in the house.
Roommate #4: Spiders. I have never met a person who likes spiders. They tend to span a range of intimidating sizes in the tropics and are usually venomous. In our house they seem to appear high on the walls out of reach. I always tuck my bug net tightly under my mattress when they linger out of sight.
These critters are only a few of the handful we encounter in the field. Once we step foot outside to start the work day the critter scale goes from about a 3 to a 10. Everyone on the crew is required to wear snake gaiters at all times in the field. Encountering snakes is not common, but the Fer-de-lance (extremely venomous pit viper) has been previously seen on the island, and it’s better to be safe than sorry. A more common encounter are the stinging acacia ants. These guys are fierce. The ants live symbiotically on the Bullhorn acacia tree. The tree provides nectar for the ants, while the ants groom the tree and the surrounding area. The ants clear away surrounding vegetation, giving the tree maximum sunlight and room for growth. The ants also protect the tree; anything that comes into contact with the tree will be attacked, humans especially. Unfortunately their sting is painful and creates red welts on your skin. I was unlucky to slip while hiking a steep hill, slide a distance, and save myself by grabbing an acacia tree and showering myself in ants.
The tropics can be an unforgiving and ruthless place. Some days the bugs feel relentless, especially when a wasp flies up your nose and stings you. Nonetheless, I have gotten used to hordes of mosquitoes keeping me company during behavioral observations, and I can identify an acacia tree before brushing by its leaves. Most days, the sun is bright, the breeze is cool, and there is an empty beach to relish after the work day.
Roommate #1: Fruit bats. We have roughly 10 fruit bats living within our rooftop. The bats kindly roost outside, but they mysteriously made their way into the house after our second week on the island. Their roosting area is unfortunately directly over my bed, and I can hear them snickering and hissing as I fall asleep. After a month, the bat population began to grow to a concerning size. One ill-fated night a refugee bat in the house hit the ceiling fan above my bed and launched onto my chest in the middle of the night. I shook the creature off in my 2am stupor without realizing what exactly happened. I grabbed for my headlamp and shined a light to a bat with a broken wing crawling around my mattress. That’s when I began permanently using my bug net. The problem escalated when eight bats flocked into Emily’s bedroom at once in the middle of the night. They whooshed past her face as she tried to sleep. She finally attempted to let them out of the screen window, but her effort backfired when a flurry of wasps buzzed into the house. Another night, I woke up to my bug net jostling around me and found two bats crawling up the side of the fabric. I shook my net until they bounced away. I can’t say I slept well that night! I tried to console my thoughts with childhood memories of Stellaluna, but still had nightmares about vampires and rabies. With further inspection of the bat roosting area we finally discovered a hole in the ceiling. A few slabs of duct tape and our problem was fixed.
Roommate #2: Scorpions. Scorpions are cryptic because they love to hide away in damp, dark spaces, like our backpacks and boots. One time while I was taking a shower a scorpion scuttled up the side of the tile. As I followed the scorpion’s path to the high corner I noticed a bat roosting. Shower, suds, bats and scorpions – completely normal on Isla Boca Brava.
Roommate #3: Ants. We have various ant species in the house but the most common are the leaf-cutter ants. They mostly hang out in the kitchen to grab a snack from dirty dishes left in the sink. As mentioned in a previous post, we found them marching across the floor when we forgot to take the compost out. We have also found them deconstructing a papaya on the counter, which is rare of thick-skinned fruits. They have an amazing sense of smell and will seek out the smallest crumb. They are a great support to forest ecosystems and natural composters, but not in our kitchen. For this reason, cleanliness in the field house is very important. We sweep and clean counters on a nonstop basis in the house.
Roommate #4: Spiders. I have never met a person who likes spiders. They tend to span a range of intimidating sizes in the tropics and are usually venomous. In our house they seem to appear high on the walls out of reach. I always tuck my bug net tightly under my mattress when they linger out of sight.
These critters are only a few of the handful we encounter in the field. Once we step foot outside to start the work day the critter scale goes from about a 3 to a 10. Everyone on the crew is required to wear snake gaiters at all times in the field. Encountering snakes is not common, but the Fer-de-lance (extremely venomous pit viper) has been previously seen on the island, and it’s better to be safe than sorry. A more common encounter are the stinging acacia ants. These guys are fierce. The ants live symbiotically on the Bullhorn acacia tree. The tree provides nectar for the ants, while the ants groom the tree and the surrounding area. The ants clear away surrounding vegetation, giving the tree maximum sunlight and room for growth. The ants also protect the tree; anything that comes into contact with the tree will be attacked, humans especially. Unfortunately their sting is painful and creates red welts on your skin. I was unlucky to slip while hiking a steep hill, slide a distance, and save myself by grabbing an acacia tree and showering myself in ants.
The tropics can be an unforgiving and ruthless place. Some days the bugs feel relentless, especially when a wasp flies up your nose and stings you. Nonetheless, I have gotten used to hordes of mosquitoes keeping me company during behavioral observations, and I can identify an acacia tree before brushing by its leaves. Most days, the sun is bright, the breeze is cool, and there is an empty beach to relish after the work day.
Please Pass the Beans
Have you ever been excited over a carton of milk? Boneless chicken? Or a jar of honey? I haven’t seen any of those items in a couple months and won’t for a while. I am a foodie at heart who indulges in gourmet food when close to the city, but in the field I don’t stand a chance eating most of my favorite foods. Living on an island in Panama poses many restrictions when it comes to food. Isla Boca Brava does not have a weekly garbage truck, and I would assume the same for the rest of Panama. We have a garbage pit outside of the house where we burn our trash on a daily basis. It is very important to burn our trash every day because the trash attracts insects and animals. One morning, after the compost accidentally did not get taken out, we had a marching band of leaf cutter ants in the kitchen carrying pieces of our banana peels outside. It is also important to keep our waste very minimal since we are burning it. I am proud to say we create a small plastic grocery bag worth of trash per day for six people. Burning our trash also means we cannot buy canned foods since aluminum does not burn. Of course we can’t give up the need to buy beer, so our cans pile up in the cardboard box outside. Luckily, there is a Panamanian who gets change for turning beer cans in, so he happily collects them from us.
Another strain to our groceries is that our project is on a very tight budget. Our meals are very minimal and simple. Our diet consists of oats, rice, beans, pasta, some meat, and occasionally cheese. Every morning we eat instant oats with powdered milk and raisins. Cereal goes bad quickly and is too expensive for our budget. Liquid milk is heavy to carry across the island after a grocery run and is not the most economical option for feeding six people. Every day for lunch we eat rice and beans or top ramen. For dinner we also eat rice and beans or pasta. Often times with dinner we also have chicken or beef, which is a great addition to the calorie content of a meal. But basically, we eat a lot of beans! And after two months, our crew has maxed out on variations of our available ingredients. We’ve cooked bean soup, bean stir fry, bean burgers, just plain beans, spaghetti, and, um… that’s about it. Meals can be bland and boring, and sometimes leave you hungry, but every now and then someone tweaks a recipe ever so slightly and the beans are exciting all over again. One time we had noodles with our beans. In one pot! It was like chili. What a concept. The great thing about beans is their protein content. Most beans contain 14g for every cup. Not too shabby for a legume! I am thankful for this attribute of beans, especially when I find my quads burning while hiking up a steep hill. Beans are also a great source of cholesterol-lowering fiber, antioxidants, folic acid, vitamin B6, and magnesium. One day, beans will rule the world. Right now, they are already ruling my world. Beans are amazing, you see, and I will continue to tell myself that while I have no other choice but to eat them. And rice! Do not overlook the value of rice. There is no other grain so white as rice that it beams on your plate.
Back to the powdered milk – have you ever had powdered milk? It is great for backpacking. It can also be great for baking because it incorporates consistently into dry ingredients. But add powdered milk to water, as directions follow, and you have yourself a clumpy situation. Most of the time, the powder doesn’t fully dissolve. I drink black tea with milk religiously in the morning, but when the milk is powdered my daybreak beverage is more like tea with soggy marshmallows. Alas, who doesn’t like marshmallows? I reminisce my childhood days at camp when I used to roast marshmallows, as I sip my clumpy morning tea.
But why am I ranting about food? In the end, food is just a mental struggle. Never mind that some of our groceries have labels stating “FOR EXPORT ONLY,” because they do not pass FDA regulations and cannot legally be sold in the US. All that matters is replenishing calories burned in a day. Even if your calories have specks of Teflon in them from old pots, you are still getting 14g per cup of protein from beans!
Let me tell you that today, April 7, 2012, I was doing a behavioral observation and saw one of the most elaborate courtship displays yet. Two male manakins were dancing on a small branch in the forest for a female, bouncing and cart-wheeling like acrobats in the most surreal fashion. It easily could have been on BBC Planet Earth. And for that reason, I will eat beans and rice for every meal.
Another strain to our groceries is that our project is on a very tight budget. Our meals are very minimal and simple. Our diet consists of oats, rice, beans, pasta, some meat, and occasionally cheese. Every morning we eat instant oats with powdered milk and raisins. Cereal goes bad quickly and is too expensive for our budget. Liquid milk is heavy to carry across the island after a grocery run and is not the most economical option for feeding six people. Every day for lunch we eat rice and beans or top ramen. For dinner we also eat rice and beans or pasta. Often times with dinner we also have chicken or beef, which is a great addition to the calorie content of a meal. But basically, we eat a lot of beans! And after two months, our crew has maxed out on variations of our available ingredients. We’ve cooked bean soup, bean stir fry, bean burgers, just plain beans, spaghetti, and, um… that’s about it. Meals can be bland and boring, and sometimes leave you hungry, but every now and then someone tweaks a recipe ever so slightly and the beans are exciting all over again. One time we had noodles with our beans. In one pot! It was like chili. What a concept. The great thing about beans is their protein content. Most beans contain 14g for every cup. Not too shabby for a legume! I am thankful for this attribute of beans, especially when I find my quads burning while hiking up a steep hill. Beans are also a great source of cholesterol-lowering fiber, antioxidants, folic acid, vitamin B6, and magnesium. One day, beans will rule the world. Right now, they are already ruling my world. Beans are amazing, you see, and I will continue to tell myself that while I have no other choice but to eat them. And rice! Do not overlook the value of rice. There is no other grain so white as rice that it beams on your plate.
Back to the powdered milk – have you ever had powdered milk? It is great for backpacking. It can also be great for baking because it incorporates consistently into dry ingredients. But add powdered milk to water, as directions follow, and you have yourself a clumpy situation. Most of the time, the powder doesn’t fully dissolve. I drink black tea with milk religiously in the morning, but when the milk is powdered my daybreak beverage is more like tea with soggy marshmallows. Alas, who doesn’t like marshmallows? I reminisce my childhood days at camp when I used to roast marshmallows, as I sip my clumpy morning tea.
But why am I ranting about food? In the end, food is just a mental struggle. Never mind that some of our groceries have labels stating “FOR EXPORT ONLY,” because they do not pass FDA regulations and cannot legally be sold in the US. All that matters is replenishing calories burned in a day. Even if your calories have specks of Teflon in them from old pots, you are still getting 14g per cup of protein from beans!
Let me tell you that today, April 7, 2012, I was doing a behavioral observation and saw one of the most elaborate courtship displays yet. Two male manakins were dancing on a small branch in the forest for a female, bouncing and cart-wheeling like acrobats in the most surreal fashion. It easily could have been on BBC Planet Earth. And for that reason, I will eat beans and rice for every meal.
Life in the Field: Expect the Unexpected
I wish I could say our time on Isla Boca Brava has been smooth sailing since my foot incident, but that is never the case in the field! All things considered, it has been a normal field season thus far; dangerous animals, quirky neighbors, and natural disasters are all to be expected in the field. I can sense my mother’s face cringing at that previous sentence, but let’s take a trip down memory lane momentarily. The Queensland flood crisis in Australia our last winter nearly pillaged our field site and left us stranded on one side of the river in front of our house – but we still managed to get a coworker to the airport. My second summer in Alaska offered extra excitement when a dominant grizzly charged me and my coworker in the field – but we still left our site unscathed, even after staying the night in tents. Let’s not forget the time Justin flipped off his ATV and broke his wrist from hitting a newly formed ditch on our site in Utah. Oh! And the time a meteor hit the refuge we were staying on in Botswana. There was also the time we were stuck in a horrendous storm while doing point-counts in the White Mountains of Alaska, and Justin and I were forced to ration our food to one Clif bar and a cup of dried couscous on our last day. But seriously, who doesn’t enjoy the carrot cake flavor on a hungry stomach? There is always a reason to rejoice, even when times are tough.
Our first week in the field on Isla Boca Brava was an intensive orientation to manakin research. We spent time learning to navigate the island and get situated with the twenty something lekking sites and dance perches. We also spent time recognizing the components of lance-tailed courtship displays for behavioral observations. Everyone on the crew has extensive mist netting experience, so we got straight to catching birds our first week. We fell into our daily routine the second week and began raking in the data. By mid day, everyone convenes at the house for lunch hour and discusses behavioral observations. One afternoon while the crew was reminiscing desirable food items in the US, we became inspired to step up our creativity with cooking. Our neighbor, Giulio, told us there was a small herb garden with cilantro up the hill by the abandoned house. Cilantro is Justin’s favorite herb, so we took no time for pondering and set out to satisfy our craving. We wandered up the trail with our eyes peeled. We came all the way to the abandoned house without finding anything. What we did find though, was the cleared lot in front of the house on fire. Could it be a controlled burn, we thought? It didn’t seem right for someone to burn their property on the windiest day yet. Gusts were strong enough to knock down a couple power lines already, which were probably causes of the fire. Clearly, we needed to find immediate help. We ran down the hill to get Giulio, who made a call to the hostel on the east end of the island. We sprinted to collect buckets from our house and ran back up the hill. Titi and Chuy from the hostel were already carrying buckets to the grass. Christina, a German woman who vacations on Boca Brava, was filling buckets from the faucet in her backyard, which bordered the fire. Now, I know what you’re thinking: What are a bunch of field biologists doing fighting a fire? Believe me, I’d rather not fight fires, but when your choices are limited to letting the fire run wild and possibly burning down a house, or taking care of the situation yourself before complete disaster strikes, you take initiation. Two hours of back-breaking labor in the blazing sun proved that solid team effort leads to positive results. Besides having sore biceps, I was drenched from water splashing out of my bucket while running through the spiny palms to put out the flames. Everyone was worn out from continually transporting heavy water bins. We made our way back to the house and collapsed onto the porch chairs and enjoyed cold water and snacks before getting back to work.
Our next day off was well deserved. Four of us signed up for a guided snorkeling trip. Sleeping in, touring the island reefs, and lounging on the beach is the best way to spend a day off! I have to say the snorkeling was not particularly impressive. I’ve snorkeled quite a few places and the Chiriqui Gulf was low on the list. Most of the coral was dead, which is happening to most reefs around the world, and the biodiversity of marine life was far from rich. I imagine the Caribbean side of Panama is the superior location when it comes to snorkeling and diving. Luckily our trip ended with a few exciting sea turtle sightings. We spent the last hours of daylight with a good game of Frisbee on the beach with magnificent frigate birds circling overhead.
Our first week in the field on Isla Boca Brava was an intensive orientation to manakin research. We spent time learning to navigate the island and get situated with the twenty something lekking sites and dance perches. We also spent time recognizing the components of lance-tailed courtship displays for behavioral observations. Everyone on the crew has extensive mist netting experience, so we got straight to catching birds our first week. We fell into our daily routine the second week and began raking in the data. By mid day, everyone convenes at the house for lunch hour and discusses behavioral observations. One afternoon while the crew was reminiscing desirable food items in the US, we became inspired to step up our creativity with cooking. Our neighbor, Giulio, told us there was a small herb garden with cilantro up the hill by the abandoned house. Cilantro is Justin’s favorite herb, so we took no time for pondering and set out to satisfy our craving. We wandered up the trail with our eyes peeled. We came all the way to the abandoned house without finding anything. What we did find though, was the cleared lot in front of the house on fire. Could it be a controlled burn, we thought? It didn’t seem right for someone to burn their property on the windiest day yet. Gusts were strong enough to knock down a couple power lines already, which were probably causes of the fire. Clearly, we needed to find immediate help. We ran down the hill to get Giulio, who made a call to the hostel on the east end of the island. We sprinted to collect buckets from our house and ran back up the hill. Titi and Chuy from the hostel were already carrying buckets to the grass. Christina, a German woman who vacations on Boca Brava, was filling buckets from the faucet in her backyard, which bordered the fire. Now, I know what you’re thinking: What are a bunch of field biologists doing fighting a fire? Believe me, I’d rather not fight fires, but when your choices are limited to letting the fire run wild and possibly burning down a house, or taking care of the situation yourself before complete disaster strikes, you take initiation. Two hours of back-breaking labor in the blazing sun proved that solid team effort leads to positive results. Besides having sore biceps, I was drenched from water splashing out of my bucket while running through the spiny palms to put out the flames. Everyone was worn out from continually transporting heavy water bins. We made our way back to the house and collapsed onto the porch chairs and enjoyed cold water and snacks before getting back to work.
Our next day off was well deserved. Four of us signed up for a guided snorkeling trip. Sleeping in, touring the island reefs, and lounging on the beach is the best way to spend a day off! I have to say the snorkeling was not particularly impressive. I’ve snorkeled quite a few places and the Chiriqui Gulf was low on the list. Most of the coral was dead, which is happening to most reefs around the world, and the biodiversity of marine life was far from rich. I imagine the Caribbean side of Panama is the superior location when it comes to snorkeling and diving. Luckily our trip ended with a few exciting sea turtle sightings. We spent the last hours of daylight with a good game of Frisbee on the beach with magnificent frigate birds circling overhead.
Isla Boca Brava, home for now
I’m writing you from Isla Boca Brava on my first day off in two weeks! I am exhausted to say the least, but enjoying my time here on this unique little manakin haven. It has been one month since we crossed the Costa Rica-Panama border and a considerable amount of excitement and drama has occurred.
Crossing the border from Costa Rica to Panama was surprisingly easy. Paso Canoas, the border town in which we crossed, is directly on the Inter-American highway, so we were warned of chaos and long lines. The border crossing was anything but chaos. We had trouble finding the Costa Rican immigration, but finally got our exit stamps after walking past the office twice, because the process was so laid back. We hauled our packs 100 meters and had our passports stamped into Panama without even waiting in line. The difference between developments on either side of the border was dramatic. Looking behind to Costa Rica the road was mostly dirt and gravel with rundown buildings, but the highway into Panama toward David was perfectly paved with guardrails and bright traffic lines.
We hopped into a mini bus and headed to David. The first realization of being in Panama was the use of US dollars. Panama has their own coins, but dollar bills were waving on the bus as riders paid their fees. It was odd, yet relieving, to see dollar bills. The best part about Panama using the US dollar, at least for American Citizens, is not having to hassle with exchange rates.
Justin and I spent a couple days in David before meeting one of our co-workers, Carla, for a pre-Island supply run. The city was very colorful with inventive paintings on the outside of most restaurants and hotels. We walked around Cathedral Square and ate chicken tamales and cinnamon pastries. We took the time to relax and enjoy our last days before heading out to our work site, Isla Boca Brava.
The mad rush of events started the morning of February 17. We met Carla at the grocery store and piled three weeks of food for six field biologists into multiple shopping carts. We reached a point where we stopped counting items, and just stacked a tower of food that appeared large enough. We made a last minute run to the cell phone store to purchase extra minutes, called a taxi, and loaded all of our gear and groceries into the bed of the taxi truck. A normal grocery run always involves taking the bus from the Island into David, but getting back to the island is usually via taxi due to the large quantity of food we have to shuttle. We squeezed in the back of the cab and took off down the Inter-American highway toward our Pacific destination. An hour into the journey we came to a halt behind a row of cars. Our taxi driver didn’t hesitate to pull onto the shoulder and bypass the whole line. We pulled up to the front and stopped at a blockade of people. A protest by the local community outside of Horconcitos was taking place over land ownership and natural resources (https://www.osac.gov/Pages/ContentReportDetails.aspx?cid=12103). Passing the blockade was not an option. Driving over the grassy field to the right of the road looked tempting, but it was clear this crowd of protesters meant business, so we sat tight. For two hours.
Just before sundown we finally made it to the boat dock in Boca Chica and loaded our supplies into a small motor boat. Isla Boca Brava, our final destination, was in clear sight across the water. It was exciting and relieving to finally see the island. Our boss, Emily, would be meeting us on the beach with the rest of our crew to help carry supplies to the house. I was soon to make a very clumsy and regretful mistake when the boat landed at shore.
Carla and Justin stepped in the water first and hauled a few bags onto the sand. Using poor judgment, I stepped into the knee-high water at the same instant a wave hit the boat. It seemed like the boat was small enough for me to shove it in the opposite direction while it collided into my body, but instead, the boat buried my foot into the sand and dragged it across the floor. My foot was pummeled by the sharp edge of the bow. The experience happened in a matter of seconds, and I cringed at the abrupt impact. I struggled out and made my way up to the sand. I tried to take a breather by walking it off – until I realized I couldn’t walk. I glimpsed down at my foot and an enormous blue and purple bump the size of an orange was growing quickly under my chacos. I threw off my shoe, and the pain was suddenly excruciating. I shuffled up the beach to find Justin and my coworkers. Before my boss could stick out her hand to introduce herself, she saw my foot, and I suddenly had a circle of people tending to me. Things proceeded to get ugly as I went into a dizzying shock and collapsed onto the sand. A tall man in his swim shorts grabbed a roll of medical tape and wrapped my foot. Emily ran to the house and grabbed her wallet and passport, and before I knew it Justin was carrying me back into the boat, and the three of us were heading back to David. “Hi, I’m Emily!” my boss proclaimed. “Don’t worry, your injury isn’t life threatening, but we need to go to the hospital!” I mulled over the reality of our situation briefly, and was disheartened that we had made it all the way to the island, only to turn around on my account.
I expected the worst when I got to the hospital, and was sure my foot was broken. After an x-ray and eager anticipation, I was happy to hear my foot was not broken. I most likely had a bone bruise with minor ligament damage and a big ugly bruise. The doctor insisted that I should have a cast with an additional boot around the cast. Emily and I looked at each other in skepticism and decided that obviously a cast was excessive for an unbroken foot, especially a cast and a boot.
At 10pm we finally left the hospital. When we got to our hostel, Justin and Emily carried me to our room and then took off down the street to the grocery store to pick up a late dinner. They came back with a chicken, beans, buns, and tomaté de arbol. Nearly eight hours had passed since we all had eaten, and I hadn’t even noticed since there was so much commotion.
The next morning we took a taxi to the bus station and attempted the journey to Isla Boca Brava for the second time. I was glad to have Justin with me, because he carried me everywhere, including the half mile walk up hill to the field house. I spent the first two days off my foot, but was far too restless for anything more than that. I squeezed my boot over my foot (painfully) on the third day and stubbornly hiked around to start work. There’s no doubt I delayed the healing process, but one month after the incident my foot is free of pain with a small calcified bump.
An average work day on Isla Boca Brava consists of a combination of mist-netting (trapping) and one-hour behavioral observations in the field, followed by data organization in the evening. Mist-netting is only done in the morning until lunch, because the sun becomes too strong and it is often windy in the afternoon. Post-lunch, behavioral observations are done and the remainder of the day is dedicated to nest searching. We swap mist-netting days between our crew, so if it’s not your day to net, then additional behavioral observations are done in the morning, which usually rounds out to about 5 one-hour sessions in one day. Our work days start at 6:30am and end at 6pm, with a one hour lunch break at noon. I usually throw on my running shoes at 6pm and run until the sun goes down. The rest of the crew was shocked at first that I had the energy to run, but this always seems to be the case at every field site. If you know me, you probably aren’t surprised that I’m still running in high heat and humidity after a long work day. I love ending the day with a solid scenic run on a tropical island. “Free time” is a luxury around Boca Brava, because once at the house there is still data organization, house chores, cooking, and/or laundry. We don’t have a proper washer or dryer so all clothes are hand-washed at the outdoor sink and hung on clothes lines. By 9 or 10 o’clock, everyone is exhausted and we retreat to our beds.
Speaking of free time, I’ve used a good chunk to sit down and write. I’ll close my entry for now, but there will be more to come of the happenings on Isla Boca Brava in the last month, like wild fires, phosphorescence in the water, and dancing manakins!
Crossing the border from Costa Rica to Panama was surprisingly easy. Paso Canoas, the border town in which we crossed, is directly on the Inter-American highway, so we were warned of chaos and long lines. The border crossing was anything but chaos. We had trouble finding the Costa Rican immigration, but finally got our exit stamps after walking past the office twice, because the process was so laid back. We hauled our packs 100 meters and had our passports stamped into Panama without even waiting in line. The difference between developments on either side of the border was dramatic. Looking behind to Costa Rica the road was mostly dirt and gravel with rundown buildings, but the highway into Panama toward David was perfectly paved with guardrails and bright traffic lines.
We hopped into a mini bus and headed to David. The first realization of being in Panama was the use of US dollars. Panama has their own coins, but dollar bills were waving on the bus as riders paid their fees. It was odd, yet relieving, to see dollar bills. The best part about Panama using the US dollar, at least for American Citizens, is not having to hassle with exchange rates.
Justin and I spent a couple days in David before meeting one of our co-workers, Carla, for a pre-Island supply run. The city was very colorful with inventive paintings on the outside of most restaurants and hotels. We walked around Cathedral Square and ate chicken tamales and cinnamon pastries. We took the time to relax and enjoy our last days before heading out to our work site, Isla Boca Brava.
The mad rush of events started the morning of February 17. We met Carla at the grocery store and piled three weeks of food for six field biologists into multiple shopping carts. We reached a point where we stopped counting items, and just stacked a tower of food that appeared large enough. We made a last minute run to the cell phone store to purchase extra minutes, called a taxi, and loaded all of our gear and groceries into the bed of the taxi truck. A normal grocery run always involves taking the bus from the Island into David, but getting back to the island is usually via taxi due to the large quantity of food we have to shuttle. We squeezed in the back of the cab and took off down the Inter-American highway toward our Pacific destination. An hour into the journey we came to a halt behind a row of cars. Our taxi driver didn’t hesitate to pull onto the shoulder and bypass the whole line. We pulled up to the front and stopped at a blockade of people. A protest by the local community outside of Horconcitos was taking place over land ownership and natural resources (https://www.osac.gov/Pages/ContentReportDetails.aspx?cid=12103). Passing the blockade was not an option. Driving over the grassy field to the right of the road looked tempting, but it was clear this crowd of protesters meant business, so we sat tight. For two hours.
Just before sundown we finally made it to the boat dock in Boca Chica and loaded our supplies into a small motor boat. Isla Boca Brava, our final destination, was in clear sight across the water. It was exciting and relieving to finally see the island. Our boss, Emily, would be meeting us on the beach with the rest of our crew to help carry supplies to the house. I was soon to make a very clumsy and regretful mistake when the boat landed at shore.
Carla and Justin stepped in the water first and hauled a few bags onto the sand. Using poor judgment, I stepped into the knee-high water at the same instant a wave hit the boat. It seemed like the boat was small enough for me to shove it in the opposite direction while it collided into my body, but instead, the boat buried my foot into the sand and dragged it across the floor. My foot was pummeled by the sharp edge of the bow. The experience happened in a matter of seconds, and I cringed at the abrupt impact. I struggled out and made my way up to the sand. I tried to take a breather by walking it off – until I realized I couldn’t walk. I glimpsed down at my foot and an enormous blue and purple bump the size of an orange was growing quickly under my chacos. I threw off my shoe, and the pain was suddenly excruciating. I shuffled up the beach to find Justin and my coworkers. Before my boss could stick out her hand to introduce herself, she saw my foot, and I suddenly had a circle of people tending to me. Things proceeded to get ugly as I went into a dizzying shock and collapsed onto the sand. A tall man in his swim shorts grabbed a roll of medical tape and wrapped my foot. Emily ran to the house and grabbed her wallet and passport, and before I knew it Justin was carrying me back into the boat, and the three of us were heading back to David. “Hi, I’m Emily!” my boss proclaimed. “Don’t worry, your injury isn’t life threatening, but we need to go to the hospital!” I mulled over the reality of our situation briefly, and was disheartened that we had made it all the way to the island, only to turn around on my account.
I expected the worst when I got to the hospital, and was sure my foot was broken. After an x-ray and eager anticipation, I was happy to hear my foot was not broken. I most likely had a bone bruise with minor ligament damage and a big ugly bruise. The doctor insisted that I should have a cast with an additional boot around the cast. Emily and I looked at each other in skepticism and decided that obviously a cast was excessive for an unbroken foot, especially a cast and a boot.
At 10pm we finally left the hospital. When we got to our hostel, Justin and Emily carried me to our room and then took off down the street to the grocery store to pick up a late dinner. They came back with a chicken, beans, buns, and tomaté de arbol. Nearly eight hours had passed since we all had eaten, and I hadn’t even noticed since there was so much commotion.
The next morning we took a taxi to the bus station and attempted the journey to Isla Boca Brava for the second time. I was glad to have Justin with me, because he carried me everywhere, including the half mile walk up hill to the field house. I spent the first two days off my foot, but was far too restless for anything more than that. I squeezed my boot over my foot (painfully) on the third day and stubbornly hiked around to start work. There’s no doubt I delayed the healing process, but one month after the incident my foot is free of pain with a small calcified bump.
An average work day on Isla Boca Brava consists of a combination of mist-netting (trapping) and one-hour behavioral observations in the field, followed by data organization in the evening. Mist-netting is only done in the morning until lunch, because the sun becomes too strong and it is often windy in the afternoon. Post-lunch, behavioral observations are done and the remainder of the day is dedicated to nest searching. We swap mist-netting days between our crew, so if it’s not your day to net, then additional behavioral observations are done in the morning, which usually rounds out to about 5 one-hour sessions in one day. Our work days start at 6:30am and end at 6pm, with a one hour lunch break at noon. I usually throw on my running shoes at 6pm and run until the sun goes down. The rest of the crew was shocked at first that I had the energy to run, but this always seems to be the case at every field site. If you know me, you probably aren’t surprised that I’m still running in high heat and humidity after a long work day. I love ending the day with a solid scenic run on a tropical island. “Free time” is a luxury around Boca Brava, because once at the house there is still data organization, house chores, cooking, and/or laundry. We don’t have a proper washer or dryer so all clothes are hand-washed at the outdoor sink and hung on clothes lines. By 9 or 10 o’clock, everyone is exhausted and we retreat to our beds.
Speaking of free time, I’ve used a good chunk to sit down and write. I’ll close my entry for now, but there will be more to come of the happenings on Isla Boca Brava in the last month, like wild fires, phosphorescence in the water, and dancing manakins!
The Osa Peninsula: Hidden Paradise
We stood with our bags on a lonesome road, gazing at the overgrowing trees, which drooped so severely they crowded the passing for any vehicle. This is a road? I thought to myself. There was a sign in the distance that read “Corcovado National Park 78 km” with an arrow pointing straight, so I knew it must be right. A man selling watermelons in the opposite direction told us a bus would drive by eventually. We sat patiently and played cards. Nearly an hour passed and a bright blue Honda halted in front of us. “Need a ride? I’m headed to Puerto Jiménez if you’re interested.” It was exactly where Justin and I were going as well, so we threw our bags in the back and buckled up. Air conditioning, comfy cushions, and seatbelts! I almost thought I had left the country for a minute. The driver was an Israeli traveler in his 30s who owned a restaurant in Tel Aviv. He worked in the restaurant business for almost 10 years, until he decided to drop it cold turkey and burn his savings on seeing the world. I liked his outlook. The road to Puerto Jiménez was very secluded. The road had random stretches of nicely paved road with side rails, until suddenly you were bouncing across potholes and gravel again. Our approach downhill into Puerto Jiménez presented the most unbelievable view when we popped out of the trees. The greenest jungle imaginable stretched directly into the Golfo Dulce of the Osa Peninsula. Skipping diamonds of light were bouncing off the bay into the jungle creating a fluorescent green glow. No one in the car spoke a word as we were stunned by the dramatic scenery.
Puerto Jiménez is a lazy, quiet town. The bay has a handful of small fishing boats floating about. Small food shacks serving fresh ceviche and fried plantain cakes sat were found on the promenade. A few small hotels dotted the area, which seemed to be half full. Scarlet macaws and chestnut-mandible toucans sat in the tree above our cabiña as we checked in to the room. The Osa Peninsula is known for being the most exquisite destination in Costa Rica, so why were tourists elsewhere? I would guess the remoteness and travel time required to get to the Osa was keeping most travelers away. I’m definitely not complaining; the town was more than perfect for Justin and me as a quiet pocket of paradise.
The next day we spent sunrise to sunset in Corcovado National Park. We hired a local guide who had knowledge of the unmarked network of trails. There is no road that leads to the actual trailhead, so you must take the “cattle bus” to the closest town, and then hike to even enter the park. We strolled up the deserted beach of Caraté while caracaras, black hawks, and macaws flew over our heads. The beach was total paradise. The jungle spilled over the sand. The water was a glittery turquoise. We wove through primary forest up and down the side slope. We followed a creek back to the ocean and continued on the beach before meandering into secondary forest. The natural world around us seemed flawless.
We spent Valentine’s Day in Puerto Jiménez, which enhanced our vacation on the Osa. Justin made a special run to the bakery in the morning while I was jogging, and we ate sweet cakes and fresh strawberry tarts for breakfast. Every little restaurant and food shack had set out bouquets of flowers and red roses. We ate an exceptional dinner of local food on the water. It was clear in our minds that the Osa Peninsula would be in our future travel plans.
Puerto Jiménez is a lazy, quiet town. The bay has a handful of small fishing boats floating about. Small food shacks serving fresh ceviche and fried plantain cakes sat were found on the promenade. A few small hotels dotted the area, which seemed to be half full. Scarlet macaws and chestnut-mandible toucans sat in the tree above our cabiña as we checked in to the room. The Osa Peninsula is known for being the most exquisite destination in Costa Rica, so why were tourists elsewhere? I would guess the remoteness and travel time required to get to the Osa was keeping most travelers away. I’m definitely not complaining; the town was more than perfect for Justin and me as a quiet pocket of paradise.
The next day we spent sunrise to sunset in Corcovado National Park. We hired a local guide who had knowledge of the unmarked network of trails. There is no road that leads to the actual trailhead, so you must take the “cattle bus” to the closest town, and then hike to even enter the park. We strolled up the deserted beach of Caraté while caracaras, black hawks, and macaws flew over our heads. The beach was total paradise. The jungle spilled over the sand. The water was a glittery turquoise. We wove through primary forest up and down the side slope. We followed a creek back to the ocean and continued on the beach before meandering into secondary forest. The natural world around us seemed flawless.
We spent Valentine’s Day in Puerto Jiménez, which enhanced our vacation on the Osa. Justin made a special run to the bakery in the morning while I was jogging, and we ate sweet cakes and fresh strawberry tarts for breakfast. Every little restaurant and food shack had set out bouquets of flowers and red roses. We ate an exceptional dinner of local food on the water. It was clear in our minds that the Osa Peninsula would be in our future travel plans.
Down the Pacific Coast by bus
We left the Nicoya peninsula on a boat to Jaco beach, and I was already formulating a travel plan in my head for the next time we visit Costa Rica: rent a land rover and skirt the coast of the Nicoya Peninsula from the Nicaragua border over and around to Paquera. I imagine that all the little beach towns have their own Pacific groove, and I would love to experience it.
We jet across the ocean to Jaco and encountered a few dolphins along the way before landing in the armpit of Costa Rica. Jaco beach was a complete zoo. Chain hotels, restaurants, and shopping centers crowded the little town. I barely saw any Costa Ricans in our brief layover, probably because they had been pushed out. Jaco was starved of culture and replaced by burger joints, trashy sports bars, and tourists looking for western comforts within Costa Rica. To make Jaco’s image worse, Jaco is rampant with stories of girls gone wild. There is one story more scandalous than others, which entails of three prostitutes who called themselves “Las Dormilonas,” or “The Sleepyheads.” These three women were known for seducing men into their room for a high price, but instead of doing the dirty deed, they would drug the men and steal their wallets. They stacked up as much as $80,000 until they were caught and jailed. I was glad we only had to switch buses in Jaco. We sat in the 95 degree heat with our bags at a bench that was supposedly a bus stop. I’m glad we were on the edge of town too, because once the bus picked us up and we stopped at the next station, there were a heap of people trying to get out of town. Once there were enough people on the bus to barely breathe and spoon with your neighbor, we were on our way. Vamos á Dominical!
We putted down the highway in a bumpy fashion, and the crowd on the bus slowly dissolved. As we moved farther south, the gringo trail slowly dissipated. Four hours later, the bus stopped at the end of a dirt road. No one got off the bus until the driver shouted “Dominical!” The town was so small I didn’t even notice we arrived. We stepped off the bus into a serene atmosphere. Roaring waves of world class surf were in view, with a small strip about half a mile long lined with food stands, handicraft vendors, hostels, and surf shacks. We walked up to the first hotel to grab a room, dumped our bags in our little wooden cabiña, and walked the 100 meters to the beach. Surfers were out getting their last dose of waves and the rest of the town was watching the sun go down. It’s easy to be content by spending your evening watching the sunset on the beach.
The waves in Dominical were colossal. Unless you were an experienced surfer or an idiot, no one went past the breakers. Monster ripcurls fell down with a boom every time they broke. I was entranced by the massive barrels of water. My jaw dropped in astonishment every time a surfer caught a wave and survived the break. I found myself saying things out loud, because I was so stunned. Besides being a surfer congregation in Costa Rica, Dominical was known for its serious rip tide. Five swimmers had drowned the month before when swept out to sea from the forceful current. Red flags dotted the beach and were accompanied by signs of rip tide warnings. The beach also had paid lifeguards. Justin and I waded in the water at our hips, but any farther would have us turned into crab meat.
We jet across the ocean to Jaco and encountered a few dolphins along the way before landing in the armpit of Costa Rica. Jaco beach was a complete zoo. Chain hotels, restaurants, and shopping centers crowded the little town. I barely saw any Costa Ricans in our brief layover, probably because they had been pushed out. Jaco was starved of culture and replaced by burger joints, trashy sports bars, and tourists looking for western comforts within Costa Rica. To make Jaco’s image worse, Jaco is rampant with stories of girls gone wild. There is one story more scandalous than others, which entails of three prostitutes who called themselves “Las Dormilonas,” or “The Sleepyheads.” These three women were known for seducing men into their room for a high price, but instead of doing the dirty deed, they would drug the men and steal their wallets. They stacked up as much as $80,000 until they were caught and jailed. I was glad we only had to switch buses in Jaco. We sat in the 95 degree heat with our bags at a bench that was supposedly a bus stop. I’m glad we were on the edge of town too, because once the bus picked us up and we stopped at the next station, there were a heap of people trying to get out of town. Once there were enough people on the bus to barely breathe and spoon with your neighbor, we were on our way. Vamos á Dominical!
We putted down the highway in a bumpy fashion, and the crowd on the bus slowly dissolved. As we moved farther south, the gringo trail slowly dissipated. Four hours later, the bus stopped at the end of a dirt road. No one got off the bus until the driver shouted “Dominical!” The town was so small I didn’t even notice we arrived. We stepped off the bus into a serene atmosphere. Roaring waves of world class surf were in view, with a small strip about half a mile long lined with food stands, handicraft vendors, hostels, and surf shacks. We walked up to the first hotel to grab a room, dumped our bags in our little wooden cabiña, and walked the 100 meters to the beach. Surfers were out getting their last dose of waves and the rest of the town was watching the sun go down. It’s easy to be content by spending your evening watching the sunset on the beach.
The waves in Dominical were colossal. Unless you were an experienced surfer or an idiot, no one went past the breakers. Monster ripcurls fell down with a boom every time they broke. I was entranced by the massive barrels of water. My jaw dropped in astonishment every time a surfer caught a wave and survived the break. I found myself saying things out loud, because I was so stunned. Besides being a surfer congregation in Costa Rica, Dominical was known for its serious rip tide. Five swimmers had drowned the month before when swept out to sea from the forceful current. Red flags dotted the beach and were accompanied by signs of rip tide warnings. The beach also had paid lifeguards. Justin and I waded in the water at our hips, but any farther would have us turned into crab meat.
Birds and Beaches, Costa Rica
After landing in San Jose (the drab capitol of Costa Rica), we hopped a bus north to Puerto Viejo de Sarapiqui. There isn’t much to say about San Jose from our point of view, because we were staying at a janky hostel that couldn’t even fit our bags in the room because the twin bed was wall to wall. I’ve heard from fellow travelers that there are two high-end neighborhoods in San Jose with the best Costa Rican flare, but are quite expensive. Sarapiqui happens to be the same location of La Selva Biological Station, a research station where many of our fellow field biologists have spent a season. We heard the location should not be missed, so we planned to spend a good chunk of the week there. Our bed and breakfast, Posada Andrea Cristina, was run by a local birder who is well-known for his skills and conservation practices. He was an absolutely delightful Costa Rican and made us feel comfortable right away.
A small trail from the Bed and Breakfast wove through cattle fields and creeks until it reached the beautiful Sarapiqui River. We woke up at sunrise each morning to hike the trail and spent most of each morning birding along the river. Each day we saw new species, and usually had good luck with capturing a photo. In the afternoons we would lazily read in the hammock on our porch and later wander into town for empanadas and cosada. It was a laid back vibe, and Justin and I didn’t hesitate to take it easy since it was the beginning of our trip and we were getting into the groove of traveling again. Bite my tongue for saying this, but I was a little underwhelmed by Sarapiqui. Perhaps all the hype I had heard from fellow biologists gave me high expectations, but I didn’t exactly get blown away by the area. I would recommend the area to others who like to venture on the road less traveled, but don’t spend too much time there, or you’ll miss out on the especially vibrant and rich areas of Costa Rica that remain elsewhere.
We stopped through San Jose again before hauling west to Montezuma on the Nicoya Peninsula. We ran into our first unfortunate event here: 800,000 San Jose residents had just been let out on a brief holiday, and everyone was leaving town! Not a single ticket on the bus was for purchase for the next three days. Our taxi who was taking us to the bus station was extremely helpful in our desperate situation. He took us to almost all the stations to attempt buying tickets. We begged the ticket vendor for a ticket anywhere! Jaco, Punterenas, Montezuma direct, whatever! We just wanted to reach our next destination, where ever it may be. Our cab driver then made phone calls to shuttle services and graylines, but the prices were horrendous. 200 dollars for a 2 hour bus ride, I don’t think so Senor. We nearly gave up, and then our driver made an offer to drive us himself for half the price of the gray lines. He could take us to the Punterenas ferry and make a reservation under our name for the boat to be on our way. It was my 25th birthday that day, and I wanted to be on a white sand beach with a taco and cerveza before sundown, so we made the splurge. Happy birthday to me. Upon agreeing to pay our driver, he made a phone call to his wife and kids, and beamed as he reported into the phone (translated): “We are going to the beach this weekend!” I smiled when I realized we were paying for his family’s vacation. We swung by his house and his cute kids piled in the back of the car with Justin and me. His wife got into the front seat and offered us ginger ale and snacks. We flew down the highway for almost two hours, clenching our stomachs, hoping not to get car sick. We made it to the ferry in the nick of time. After sprinting onto the boat, we collapsed onto the bench to open our ginger ales, which drenched our shirts in explosion from all the jostling around.
Montezuma was delightful, genuine, rustic, and personal. Most travelers who make it this far will continue on to the popular Santa Theresa beach, which is a more bustling and busy beach town. Justin and I decided not to join the train of surfers, and rather enjoy what Montezuma had to offer. I absolutely loved the few days we spent there. We started each morning with a run down the dirt road that paralleled the empty beaches. We ran by rickety beach huts and charming jam shops. We ate Spanish tortillas for breakfast and had fresh papaya and pineapple smoothies in the afternoon. We swam in the fresh water hole of a waterfall, and bathed in the salty surf of the Pacific. I wish we stayed longer.
A small trail from the Bed and Breakfast wove through cattle fields and creeks until it reached the beautiful Sarapiqui River. We woke up at sunrise each morning to hike the trail and spent most of each morning birding along the river. Each day we saw new species, and usually had good luck with capturing a photo. In the afternoons we would lazily read in the hammock on our porch and later wander into town for empanadas and cosada. It was a laid back vibe, and Justin and I didn’t hesitate to take it easy since it was the beginning of our trip and we were getting into the groove of traveling again. Bite my tongue for saying this, but I was a little underwhelmed by Sarapiqui. Perhaps all the hype I had heard from fellow biologists gave me high expectations, but I didn’t exactly get blown away by the area. I would recommend the area to others who like to venture on the road less traveled, but don’t spend too much time there, or you’ll miss out on the especially vibrant and rich areas of Costa Rica that remain elsewhere.
We stopped through San Jose again before hauling west to Montezuma on the Nicoya Peninsula. We ran into our first unfortunate event here: 800,000 San Jose residents had just been let out on a brief holiday, and everyone was leaving town! Not a single ticket on the bus was for purchase for the next three days. Our taxi who was taking us to the bus station was extremely helpful in our desperate situation. He took us to almost all the stations to attempt buying tickets. We begged the ticket vendor for a ticket anywhere! Jaco, Punterenas, Montezuma direct, whatever! We just wanted to reach our next destination, where ever it may be. Our cab driver then made phone calls to shuttle services and graylines, but the prices were horrendous. 200 dollars for a 2 hour bus ride, I don’t think so Senor. We nearly gave up, and then our driver made an offer to drive us himself for half the price of the gray lines. He could take us to the Punterenas ferry and make a reservation under our name for the boat to be on our way. It was my 25th birthday that day, and I wanted to be on a white sand beach with a taco and cerveza before sundown, so we made the splurge. Happy birthday to me. Upon agreeing to pay our driver, he made a phone call to his wife and kids, and beamed as he reported into the phone (translated): “We are going to the beach this weekend!” I smiled when I realized we were paying for his family’s vacation. We swung by his house and his cute kids piled in the back of the car with Justin and me. His wife got into the front seat and offered us ginger ale and snacks. We flew down the highway for almost two hours, clenching our stomachs, hoping not to get car sick. We made it to the ferry in the nick of time. After sprinting onto the boat, we collapsed onto the bench to open our ginger ales, which drenched our shirts in explosion from all the jostling around.
Montezuma was delightful, genuine, rustic, and personal. Most travelers who make it this far will continue on to the popular Santa Theresa beach, which is a more bustling and busy beach town. Justin and I decided not to join the train of surfers, and rather enjoy what Montezuma had to offer. I absolutely loved the few days we spent there. We started each morning with a run down the dirt road that paralleled the empty beaches. We ran by rickety beach huts and charming jam shops. We ate Spanish tortillas for breakfast and had fresh papaya and pineapple smoothies in the afternoon. We swam in the fresh water hole of a waterfall, and bathed in the salty surf of the Pacific. I wish we stayed longer.
The Re-Awakening of Endless Exploration
Where did we leave off? Oh, right, Utah. Many months of silence in my writing space, but certainly not in my field travels. As a forewarning, I’m cramming 8 months into one word document, so bear with me on the frantic skipping around of topics and just use your imagination to fill in the blanks.
It was all a whirlwind once Justin and I set foot on a plane in Salt Lake City headed for interior Alaska. Our work contracts for Utah and Alaska were back-to-back. After finishing our last sage grouse counts in snowy Utah, we suddenly found ourselves in the boreal forest under the midnight sun counting birds. What a flash. We spent our third summer in Alaska working for the Alaska Bird Observatory counting birds in BLM’s White Mountain Wilderness. Justin and I make a point to return and reconnect with Alaska every year, because we value our time and our friends up north very much. Three years ago when I graduated college, I took a 180 turn away from a health career and dove head first into the Tanana Flats wetlands to learn all the brutal basics of field biology, the Alaskan way. I carried those lessons from that summer to every job thereafter. I always felt as though I owed it back to the organization that set me off on a great start to my career path. I could not think of a better way to spend my summer then to return to the last frontier. I was a little kid the night before Christmas, unable to sleep with excitement, each year before our flight to Fairbanks. It’s funny how things go about, because our favorite place soon became one of the most grueling memories of our field experiences this past summer. I’ll keep it short, but when I think about the White Mountains the following words scan my mind: unforgiving, ruthless, relentless, exhaustion, hunger, headache, lightning, hail, snow, rain, wet, rain, rain, and fox pups. After two days stuck in an emergency shelter because of weather, we glimpsed out to see the first light beaming down on a fox den with pups scampering around. They seemed to be as energized by the 5 minutes of sun as we were. The BLM project seems to be worth it when I glance back on my pictures from the summer and see the pups. The emergency shelter was actually amusing at times, with a good card game of hearts, four pounds of gummy bears, and good company. Aside from the difficulty of our project, I will be nostalgic when the time rolls around, and missing our dear friends who will still be up north. We took a breather between Alaska and our following field position. I questioned myself if wildlife biology was still the path I should be on. Justin slapped some sense into me, and encouraged us to apply for a position on Santa Cruz Island. It sounded like a drastically different ecosystem than the White Mountains, so I took a step forward into positivity and gave it a go. I had so many reservations about Santa Cruz Island that were clearly irrelevant, because I needed to let go of our experience in Alaska. I couldn’t help but think: What if we don’t stock enough food on the island and go hungry? What if the weather destroys our living quarters? And then I got there and was welcomed to the most benign field site in the world. No venomous snakes, no large life-threatening animals, no outrageous weather… because THIS is Santa Cruz Island! We went from black, to white. I soon remembered why I chose to work as a field biologist, and that I undoubtedly loved my job. There is no question that I will always hold my memories of Alaska close to me, but I would not be upset if I never returned to the White Mountains. Santa Cruz Island is part of the Channel Islands chain off the coast of southern California. The majority of the island (~75%) is owned by The Nature Conservancy, leaving the rest to the National Park Service. We had the privilege to be working on The Nature Conservancy side. We collected data mainly for two PhD students on projects involving seed dispersal, foraging, and genetic variation in Island Scrub Jays. It’s always difficult to describe the magnificence of a place. I regret not writing while I was on the island and my daily encounters were fresh in my head. We resided in private cabins in the central valley of the island with jutting rocky slopes slanting toward the ocean on either side. A large Eucalyptus stand blocked our eastern view and offered shade and a neighboring community of Acorn Woodpeckers. The days were perfectly warm, and the evenings comfortably cool. On hot days we found ourselves lounging on a private beach after work. Some evenings we ate fresh fish or prepared cobblers from the apple tree down the dirt road. The Jays seemed to be painted into the whole picture – an elaborate blue and black over the earthy chaparral landscape. Justin and I had our cabin to curl up in, and on cold December nights we set the woodstove ablaze to keep cozy. If I could return, I would in a heartbeat. Six weeks have passed since the end of our contract on Santa Cruz Island, and I am writing to you from Puerto Viejo de Sarapiqui, Costa Rica! Over the past two and a half years of field projects, I have found myself most intrigued and inspired by tropical avian ecology. We took a job in Panama and will go on to Ecuador from there, dedicating the next 9 months to tropical research. We hope to start our own graduate research fairly soon. We are slowly making our way across Costa Rica for the next two weeks before our contract in Panama starts in mid February. Once in Panama we will have internet access once every two weeks at the very most. I have high hopes to keep my blog up to date with exciting happenings in the field. Stay tuned – I’ll be posting soon from Montezuma of our travels thus far in Costa Rica. |
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Towed
Nothing Survives on Parker Mountain. That was the first thing I heard when Justin and I were given our work truck. It’s true; by the tail-end of our project half of our gear is in shambles. Telemetry cables and spotlights have been shot, a GPS lost, multiple ATV tires replaced, and our work trucks are constantly in and out of the shop. But in the scheme of fieldwork, this is not far from the ordinary. Wildlife research doesn’t attract a bulk of funding like other research, so if a piece of gear is missing, you make do.
Three days ago, Tara (another field technician) and I went to the east side of the mountain to do telemetry. Sunny weather had melted most of the snow from our most recent storm, so it was a nice day to work, not to mention we got to sleep in past 4am. Our project doesn’t have the funds to purchase radios, so our safety plan is more of a “waiting” plan, in case another technician doesn’t arrive back at the car in time. I carry my phone with me, but it is a rare day that I have service anywhere on the mountain. Luckily on my way from one peak to another, a miraculous bar appeared on my phone because I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Message from Tara read: “ATV dead. At Cedar Peak. Please come get me when you’re done!” Crap, I thought, I better not get stuck in a snowdrift or we’re both screwed! I made my way to Tara 45 minutes later to find her and the dead ATV. We attempted starting it again, which was unsuccessful, so I strapped on my trustworthy tow-strap and punched the engine. Cedar Peak, where I picked Tara up, is a rocky bumpy peak, so my little yellow ATV had a serious haul back to the car. We rolled down Cedar Peak, rounded a snowdrift, and made it to the dirt road. The car wasn’t more than two miles away, but with a single ATV carrying two people plus another ATV we were forced to keep it at a stroll and did not go above second gear. I got comfortable and enjoyed the bluebird day on the mountain and rolled slowly to the car. We crested the last hill, and a billow of smoke puffed out the side of my ATV; if we weren’t 20 meters from the car it would have been the end of our escapade. Our venture wasn’t over when we arrived at the car; we still had to push the ATV up a steep ramp to the bed of the truck. The average ATV weighs over 300lbs, so we got a good grip on the back and braced ourselves for an arm workout. Granted we were rolling the weight, we still huffed as we pushed. On our first attempt we gained a running start toward the car, and came to an abrupt stop once the ATV hit the ramp. Our second attempt was gradual, straining, and successful.
Mother Nature is an obvious burden to fieldwork, and the tow-strap is an important safety net. We rely on the weather to not only access our counts, but to record animal behavior. Southern Utah has had a freakishly long winter with excessive snowfall, which has presented a few barriers, leaving two of our lek complexes minimally checked because they are inaccessible. With that said, utilization of the tow-strap was not unfamiliar when Tara and I paraded down Cedar Peak. Two weeks ago, Justin and I made an attempt to check one of the leks higher on the mountain. We left ourselves plenty of time to drive around countless snowfields and bushwhack our way to each lek because the direct route was underneath an expansive blanket of knee deep snow. There was one thing on our mind that morning: Sage Grouse. Our spirits were heightened by the radio playing Foreigner and Berlin that morning. The sky was clear, which meant we didn’t have to worry about being snowed on. A 40 minute haul, mostly through sage brush and over an endless stretch of snow, finally got us to our first lek of the complex on time. There were no birds on the lek because of the surplus of snow, but we were still on a mission to finish the complex. From then on, the snow got thicker, and the terrain got rougher, as we were forced off road due to snow. Our morning turned into a backcountry rampage. We raced from lek to lek, flying through the powder, still seeing no birds. In 15 degree weather with wind blasting my face I was sweating from gripping the handlebars and controlling the ATV over rock beds. When the sun rose, heat skipped across the snow, and Justin and I plowed into a drift that forced us to use the tow-strap. We both knew it was time to turn around, or we would be stranded in a winter wonderland of soft snow and slush. Once again, the tow-strap saved the day. The only other thing I could have used after our complex count was a shoulder massage.
Three days ago, Tara (another field technician) and I went to the east side of the mountain to do telemetry. Sunny weather had melted most of the snow from our most recent storm, so it was a nice day to work, not to mention we got to sleep in past 4am. Our project doesn’t have the funds to purchase radios, so our safety plan is more of a “waiting” plan, in case another technician doesn’t arrive back at the car in time. I carry my phone with me, but it is a rare day that I have service anywhere on the mountain. Luckily on my way from one peak to another, a miraculous bar appeared on my phone because I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Message from Tara read: “ATV dead. At Cedar Peak. Please come get me when you’re done!” Crap, I thought, I better not get stuck in a snowdrift or we’re both screwed! I made my way to Tara 45 minutes later to find her and the dead ATV. We attempted starting it again, which was unsuccessful, so I strapped on my trustworthy tow-strap and punched the engine. Cedar Peak, where I picked Tara up, is a rocky bumpy peak, so my little yellow ATV had a serious haul back to the car. We rolled down Cedar Peak, rounded a snowdrift, and made it to the dirt road. The car wasn’t more than two miles away, but with a single ATV carrying two people plus another ATV we were forced to keep it at a stroll and did not go above second gear. I got comfortable and enjoyed the bluebird day on the mountain and rolled slowly to the car. We crested the last hill, and a billow of smoke puffed out the side of my ATV; if we weren’t 20 meters from the car it would have been the end of our escapade. Our venture wasn’t over when we arrived at the car; we still had to push the ATV up a steep ramp to the bed of the truck. The average ATV weighs over 300lbs, so we got a good grip on the back and braced ourselves for an arm workout. Granted we were rolling the weight, we still huffed as we pushed. On our first attempt we gained a running start toward the car, and came to an abrupt stop once the ATV hit the ramp. Our second attempt was gradual, straining, and successful.
Mother Nature is an obvious burden to fieldwork, and the tow-strap is an important safety net. We rely on the weather to not only access our counts, but to record animal behavior. Southern Utah has had a freakishly long winter with excessive snowfall, which has presented a few barriers, leaving two of our lek complexes minimally checked because they are inaccessible. With that said, utilization of the tow-strap was not unfamiliar when Tara and I paraded down Cedar Peak. Two weeks ago, Justin and I made an attempt to check one of the leks higher on the mountain. We left ourselves plenty of time to drive around countless snowfields and bushwhack our way to each lek because the direct route was underneath an expansive blanket of knee deep snow. There was one thing on our mind that morning: Sage Grouse. Our spirits were heightened by the radio playing Foreigner and Berlin that morning. The sky was clear, which meant we didn’t have to worry about being snowed on. A 40 minute haul, mostly through sage brush and over an endless stretch of snow, finally got us to our first lek of the complex on time. There were no birds on the lek because of the surplus of snow, but we were still on a mission to finish the complex. From then on, the snow got thicker, and the terrain got rougher, as we were forced off road due to snow. Our morning turned into a backcountry rampage. We raced from lek to lek, flying through the powder, still seeing no birds. In 15 degree weather with wind blasting my face I was sweating from gripping the handlebars and controlling the ATV over rock beds. When the sun rose, heat skipped across the snow, and Justin and I plowed into a drift that forced us to use the tow-strap. We both knew it was time to turn around, or we would be stranded in a winter wonderland of soft snow and slush. Once again, the tow-strap saved the day. The only other thing I could have used after our complex count was a shoulder massage.
Must be the Altitude
Since I’ve been in Utah I realized I haven’t mentioned the
altitude. Not that I’ve written a whole lot even to mention it, but it has
affected daily life in Teasdale in many areas. I would say I prefer being at
higher altitude because it favors training for a marathon, but I’m not training
for a marathon at the moment, I’m only getting a good whooping trying to stay
in shape at over 7,000ft. On the other hand, the altitude is not always
favorable for things like cooking, as I learned my first week here when I
attempted to make a simple loaf of pumpkin bread, which turned out to be a loaf
of molten pumpkin brulée.
After pulling into Teasdale in the middle of the night upon our arrival, I woke up the next morning to see one of the most beautiful and unexpected sceneries. If you’ve seen my pictures, they don’t do justice. When I step outside the house and stand in the middle of the four-way stop I stare straight at a massive wall of red rocks that look like chimneys in a disorderly row, stretching for miles. Rising above the red rocks is the flat peak of Thousand Lakes, covered in juniper. I turn to my left at the stop sign and Lion’s Head sits about a mile away at the surface of the reservoir trails. Behind me are enormous sandy boulders that also connect to the everlasting trails of Boulder Mountain. So what was the first thing I did that morning? I went for a run. I’d like to say it was a great jog to shake my legs out after driving all the way to Utah from Seattle, but it was just about the opposite. The only great thing about the run was my surroundings. The first 15 minutes was great, I guess. When I hit the first hill up from Bulberry Creek it was literally as if a 20lb weight was dropped on my chest. I assumed it would take an adjustment period once I started running in Utah, but altitude isn’t the only thing in Utah that pesters me on a run; the dry air of the desert left me coughing with cracked lips and gusting winds whipping my hair. I cringe when I write this, but besides cutting my mileage down and building up again, I walked that day. When I got to the top of the hill past Bulberry Creek I stopped and took a moment to realize that I was up high! It was a great run nonetheless, and six weeks later I am running a weekly circuit of high mileage comfortably enough to take in my surroundings and notice the little things around me. Every week there is a community volleyball tournament with the PTR drug rehab patients (Passage to Recovery), which is nothing like getting my heart rate up during a run, but spending a day on the mountain, going for a run, and then playing volleyball that evening will wipe you out! Besides exercise, volleyball is an entertaining pass time with a group of colorful individuals. Sports always bring the world together in one way or another.
In preparation for Utah I knew we were going to be living in a house with an oven. House and oven. I still can’t get over it. In Australia we also had the luxury of an oven, but our sleeping quarters were in a metal shed. The Grouse House is by far the cushiest field house I’ve experienced. Justin and I have a spacious private room, each with our own dresser and closet! The house is three floors with a bathroom on each one. It is very cozy to say the least. When visitors come for a weekend, they too also have an extra room downstairs. I have been taking full advantage of our kitchen and oven with a daily baking and cooking routine. Usually between field jobs when I am in Seattle for a few weeks I will go nuts in the kitchen, cook every night for my family, bake bread continuously, and then realize I’m leaving for the field in a week to be left without an oven and so I BAKE MORE BREAD! Now with a lot of time on my hands after a short field day I spend the evenings plotting the new things I will bake and cook the next day. Perhaps that is what has gotten in the way of me blogging more often. Tomorrow on the menu: Pierce Street chile, yeast-risen corn muffins, and apple cake with bourbon frosting.
After pulling into Teasdale in the middle of the night upon our arrival, I woke up the next morning to see one of the most beautiful and unexpected sceneries. If you’ve seen my pictures, they don’t do justice. When I step outside the house and stand in the middle of the four-way stop I stare straight at a massive wall of red rocks that look like chimneys in a disorderly row, stretching for miles. Rising above the red rocks is the flat peak of Thousand Lakes, covered in juniper. I turn to my left at the stop sign and Lion’s Head sits about a mile away at the surface of the reservoir trails. Behind me are enormous sandy boulders that also connect to the everlasting trails of Boulder Mountain. So what was the first thing I did that morning? I went for a run. I’d like to say it was a great jog to shake my legs out after driving all the way to Utah from Seattle, but it was just about the opposite. The only great thing about the run was my surroundings. The first 15 minutes was great, I guess. When I hit the first hill up from Bulberry Creek it was literally as if a 20lb weight was dropped on my chest. I assumed it would take an adjustment period once I started running in Utah, but altitude isn’t the only thing in Utah that pesters me on a run; the dry air of the desert left me coughing with cracked lips and gusting winds whipping my hair. I cringe when I write this, but besides cutting my mileage down and building up again, I walked that day. When I got to the top of the hill past Bulberry Creek I stopped and took a moment to realize that I was up high! It was a great run nonetheless, and six weeks later I am running a weekly circuit of high mileage comfortably enough to take in my surroundings and notice the little things around me. Every week there is a community volleyball tournament with the PTR drug rehab patients (Passage to Recovery), which is nothing like getting my heart rate up during a run, but spending a day on the mountain, going for a run, and then playing volleyball that evening will wipe you out! Besides exercise, volleyball is an entertaining pass time with a group of colorful individuals. Sports always bring the world together in one way or another.
In preparation for Utah I knew we were going to be living in a house with an oven. House and oven. I still can’t get over it. In Australia we also had the luxury of an oven, but our sleeping quarters were in a metal shed. The Grouse House is by far the cushiest field house I’ve experienced. Justin and I have a spacious private room, each with our own dresser and closet! The house is three floors with a bathroom on each one. It is very cozy to say the least. When visitors come for a weekend, they too also have an extra room downstairs. I have been taking full advantage of our kitchen and oven with a daily baking and cooking routine. Usually between field jobs when I am in Seattle for a few weeks I will go nuts in the kitchen, cook every night for my family, bake bread continuously, and then realize I’m leaving for the field in a week to be left without an oven and so I BAKE MORE BREAD! Now with a lot of time on my hands after a short field day I spend the evenings plotting the new things I will bake and cook the next day. Perhaps that is what has gotten in the way of me blogging more often. Tomorrow on the menu: Pierce Street chile, yeast-risen corn muffins, and apple cake with bourbon frosting.
Ghost in Cedar City
The Grouse
House ventured outside of Teasdale our first weekend in Utah. A couple graduate
students from Utah State University needed help tagging and trapping grouse, so we drove
south to Cedar City. A three hour drive to Cedar City seemed to put us in the
middle of nowhere off highway 15. Cedar City is your average suburbia hell with
a population around 20,000 of sprawling houses that have a serious lack of
character. If you like instant coffee and Velveta macaroni salad buffets, then
you must eat at The Pizza Factory on Main Street. And don’t miss out on the
assorted, unwrapped, crusty tootsie pops in the display window! Ok, I’m being a
little harsh; the root beer float I ordered that was served with Pepsi
satisfied my sweet tooth.
Complete with a sugar high, my field mates, and big boss Michael, we loaded the trucks just before the sun went down and drove three hours (don’t ask) toward the Nevada border, deep into the Great Basin Desert, mostly on a dirt road. In between the intermittent cussing of “Where the h*!@# are we going to meet these people?” we mulled over everything the desert has to offer when you’re really in the middle of the wilderness. In the past year, two bodies were found in the Great Basin after a fire broke out, likely dropped there from a gambling mishap in Las Vegas. Numerous trailers are busted every year for cultivating methamphetamines. In fact, a house in Loa, a neighbor country town to Teasdale, was just published in the local paper for being busted for meth, cocaine, and who knows what else. Our dusty drive beyond Cedar City would not be complete without the haggard trailer we passed two hours down the road. Shackled wooden barns, corrals, and deflated helium balloons are also popular run-ins to name a few more. Besides the commute, the first night was short-lived because there were no sage grouse; consequently I don’t have much to say about the rest of the evening, except that the three hour drive felt even longer on the way back. At about 3am I had reached a point of slight delirium from so much time in the car, and swear I saw a raccoon with spinning roadrunner legs on the side of the highway.
The second night in Cedar City was much more organized, reasonable, and constructive. Our drive was an easy 40 minute commute, which gave us more time in the field to trap and tag birds. We used the dirt road as a main dividing line for trapping groups. The lek (mating display area) was to the east of the dirt road, so three teams divided the east area and set out to catch birds. Andrew and I took the west side, and set out toward the rocky ridges to look for Sage Grouse. We cruised around the area, making our way slowly to the hills. The habitat was perfect in every corner, but where were the birds? We moved stealthily around the terrain and after a mere hour we stumbled upon an abandoned corral. Everything about it was crooked and crippled. Things seemed a little off, so we continued past the coral until we began passing a handful of large rusted orange stakes. Weird? The area had evidently been frequented. We were finally skirting the edge of the ridge and stopped to investigate the area for birds. And at that moment, the ugly feeling that we were being watched overcame me. We scanned for a minute or two with our spotlight and suddenly there was an unexpected light shine behind us, not far away. We stopped and shuddered. “What is that?” Andrew said. “I believe it’s a human with a flashlight.” The mood became grim. What exactly were they doing in the middle of the desert? The large light became two and swept across the ridge, much too fast for human speed. A little bit of cussing and confusion quickly turned us around on the ATV and we drove away. Repeatedly looking behind us, we realized we were being followed, or perhaps chased. We wove through the rock beds and knolls, and the light slowly disappeared. In our progress toward the car we stammered across a huge barrier: over 100 sheep. A massive herd was in our way and violent sheep dogs were darting around them. I didn’t feel threatened at first because my impression of sheep dogs are the delightful border collies in New Zealand. Until Andrew informed me of the desert sheep dogs, who might as well be wild, will inflict harm upon any threat that comes close to their herd. I made the decision at that moment, that I did not like Cedar City.
The rest of the night consisted of circling a small area with no sage grouse. The area was grazed by sheep, unfavorable to the birds. The dogs probably veer the birds away as well. A fellow technician we shared our story with was sure that we encountered a Mountain Lion. If Mountain Lions have eyes the size of tennis balls, then he was right.
Complete with a sugar high, my field mates, and big boss Michael, we loaded the trucks just before the sun went down and drove three hours (don’t ask) toward the Nevada border, deep into the Great Basin Desert, mostly on a dirt road. In between the intermittent cussing of “Where the h*!@# are we going to meet these people?” we mulled over everything the desert has to offer when you’re really in the middle of the wilderness. In the past year, two bodies were found in the Great Basin after a fire broke out, likely dropped there from a gambling mishap in Las Vegas. Numerous trailers are busted every year for cultivating methamphetamines. In fact, a house in Loa, a neighbor country town to Teasdale, was just published in the local paper for being busted for meth, cocaine, and who knows what else. Our dusty drive beyond Cedar City would not be complete without the haggard trailer we passed two hours down the road. Shackled wooden barns, corrals, and deflated helium balloons are also popular run-ins to name a few more. Besides the commute, the first night was short-lived because there were no sage grouse; consequently I don’t have much to say about the rest of the evening, except that the three hour drive felt even longer on the way back. At about 3am I had reached a point of slight delirium from so much time in the car, and swear I saw a raccoon with spinning roadrunner legs on the side of the highway.
The second night in Cedar City was much more organized, reasonable, and constructive. Our drive was an easy 40 minute commute, which gave us more time in the field to trap and tag birds. We used the dirt road as a main dividing line for trapping groups. The lek (mating display area) was to the east of the dirt road, so three teams divided the east area and set out to catch birds. Andrew and I took the west side, and set out toward the rocky ridges to look for Sage Grouse. We cruised around the area, making our way slowly to the hills. The habitat was perfect in every corner, but where were the birds? We moved stealthily around the terrain and after a mere hour we stumbled upon an abandoned corral. Everything about it was crooked and crippled. Things seemed a little off, so we continued past the coral until we began passing a handful of large rusted orange stakes. Weird? The area had evidently been frequented. We were finally skirting the edge of the ridge and stopped to investigate the area for birds. And at that moment, the ugly feeling that we were being watched overcame me. We scanned for a minute or two with our spotlight and suddenly there was an unexpected light shine behind us, not far away. We stopped and shuddered. “What is that?” Andrew said. “I believe it’s a human with a flashlight.” The mood became grim. What exactly were they doing in the middle of the desert? The large light became two and swept across the ridge, much too fast for human speed. A little bit of cussing and confusion quickly turned us around on the ATV and we drove away. Repeatedly looking behind us, we realized we were being followed, or perhaps chased. We wove through the rock beds and knolls, and the light slowly disappeared. In our progress toward the car we stammered across a huge barrier: over 100 sheep. A massive herd was in our way and violent sheep dogs were darting around them. I didn’t feel threatened at first because my impression of sheep dogs are the delightful border collies in New Zealand. Until Andrew informed me of the desert sheep dogs, who might as well be wild, will inflict harm upon any threat that comes close to their herd. I made the decision at that moment, that I did not like Cedar City.
The rest of the night consisted of circling a small area with no sage grouse. The area was grazed by sheep, unfavorable to the birds. The dogs probably veer the birds away as well. A fellow technician we shared our story with was sure that we encountered a Mountain Lion. If Mountain Lions have eyes the size of tennis balls, then he was right.
Teasdale, Utah pop. 71
You probably
have not heard of Teasdale, Utah, but you might have heard of Torrey, our
neighbor town which is the gateway to Capitol Reef National Park. Before coming
to South Central Utah, I knew nothing about Teasdale, except that Zion and
Bryce Canyon were a couple hours away. I used google-maps to find our field
site, Parker Mountain, but all I found was an array of dark topography lines
with few highways or towns, only a peak shy of 10,000ft.
Allow me to make the seemingly bold statement that being in the middle of nowhere is undoubtedly always epic. I’m not talking about being in the middle of a sprawling suburb of strip malls and Applebees, I’m talking about boondocks. Our front yard consists of The Red Velvets, a series of vivid red rocks stretching along the horizon for miles east through Capital Reef. The opposite direction consists of hidden scenic trails, one which takes you to the bumpy boulders of Lion’s Head, which towers in a ripple of bulging red smoky stacks, each with its own curve. A short jog behind the house takes me to trails that skirt Boulder Mountain, a completely different rocky landscape of sandy colored shelves, scattered with rich green Pinyon and Juniper trees. The area is prime country for running.
Although our natural surroundings are right outside our doorstep, the Sage Grouse are not. Our morning commute is a 40 minute drive on a dirt road up a couple thousand feet to Parker Mountain. As of now, the tail end of winter still has footprints of snow on the mountain, but is melting quickly from the sunny days from last week, shifting the soil into a soupy slush of mud and snow. Parker Mountain is still the high desert, so within weeks the terrain will be bone dry and dusty. What is right outside our doorstep is the tiny town of Teasdale. Most of our neighbors are conservative Mormons, and the extent of our interaction is a friendly wave from their car. One time I was running to the trailhead and I got chased by “Damnit” the dog, and the elderly owner stood in her lawn yelling “Damnit! Come here little Damnit!” Other town folk include the humble homemakers who are in Teasdale to enjoy the outdoors, which are my kind of people. They are the type who make you feel like home wherever you may be. The other homely feature to our field house (denoted The Grouse House) is having Sausage, the Border Collie, a furnished kitchen with an oven, and private bedrooms. Pretty plush and practically excessive for a field house, I would almost go as far to call it The Grouse Hotel.
Allow me to make the seemingly bold statement that being in the middle of nowhere is undoubtedly always epic. I’m not talking about being in the middle of a sprawling suburb of strip malls and Applebees, I’m talking about boondocks. Our front yard consists of The Red Velvets, a series of vivid red rocks stretching along the horizon for miles east through Capital Reef. The opposite direction consists of hidden scenic trails, one which takes you to the bumpy boulders of Lion’s Head, which towers in a ripple of bulging red smoky stacks, each with its own curve. A short jog behind the house takes me to trails that skirt Boulder Mountain, a completely different rocky landscape of sandy colored shelves, scattered with rich green Pinyon and Juniper trees. The area is prime country for running.
Although our natural surroundings are right outside our doorstep, the Sage Grouse are not. Our morning commute is a 40 minute drive on a dirt road up a couple thousand feet to Parker Mountain. As of now, the tail end of winter still has footprints of snow on the mountain, but is melting quickly from the sunny days from last week, shifting the soil into a soupy slush of mud and snow. Parker Mountain is still the high desert, so within weeks the terrain will be bone dry and dusty. What is right outside our doorstep is the tiny town of Teasdale. Most of our neighbors are conservative Mormons, and the extent of our interaction is a friendly wave from their car. One time I was running to the trailhead and I got chased by “Damnit” the dog, and the elderly owner stood in her lawn yelling “Damnit! Come here little Damnit!” Other town folk include the humble homemakers who are in Teasdale to enjoy the outdoors, which are my kind of people. They are the type who make you feel like home wherever you may be. The other homely feature to our field house (denoted The Grouse House) is having Sausage, the Border Collie, a furnished kitchen with an oven, and private bedrooms. Pretty plush and practically excessive for a field house, I would almost go as far to call it The Grouse Hotel.
Two Faced
I stepped off the plane from a 24
hour journey to Seattle from the Southern Hemisphere and had one thing in mind
when my brother picked us up from the airport: straighten my hair, paint my
nails, throw on my Sevens jeans and boots, buy a bottle of wine, and go to the
bars in Fremont with my friends – all of which we did, complete with a 2am run
to the Fremont taco stand before crashing on my brother’s couch. But field
biologists don’t DO that!?
Contrary to popular belief, some field biologists enjoy their social life outside of the wilderness. Before I write further I need to emphasize my passion for conservation and wildlife. This blog might seem contradictory to that during my stream of consciousness, but I didn’t work 7-days/week in the field, spending my entire savings, and sacrificing every simple daily comfort for nothing. The last six months has been a compilation of living on multiple farms, stretching pennies for every meal, lugging our life around in a backpack, and working from sunrise to sunset in the field, or doing manual labor – And I absolutely loved every second of it. I am ready to take off on our next voyage tomorrow. In fact, we began planning it during our last week in Australia.
It is hard to describe the urge for indulgence in society as a conservationist, but it was clearly present in my intentions the first week I was back in the Emerald city. I also have to admit, Justin and I were incredibly untidy after having things perfectly folded and organized in our backpacks since we carried such few things while traveling. Clothes and junk were strewn across the room and our bed, even while we slept. I literally had to weave through crap on the floor to get a pair of running socks. I took no time to unpack, because I was consumed by city lights, bars, shops, and everything “civilized.” How could I take the time to put clothes into the drawer when I needed to shower, tweeze, use electronic hair devices, and primp? I just gagged writing that last sentence, by the way. The point I am making is that even though society was irresistible and appealing to me, my mind was so twisted by the experience. I felt like I was violating every ethic I have as a conservationist. I even greased down the frizz in my hair with a squirt of chemical-packed faint-worthy gel that smelled like fruity battery acid. I utterly enjoyed the experience. I even bought a tank top at the mall. I must be the ultimate sinner.
Two weeks later I have found peace. I spend each day sitting on the couch by the fire, watching a little faithful hummingbird come to the feeder, while I listen to bluegrass and crochet or read. When I feel like getting up I cook and bake (I have to make a shout out to my favorite food blog www.arcticgardenstudio.blogspot.com/). I have taken the time to reflect on the last year, and my homecoming. My indulgence was like a release; a caged animal set free! And I believe it was nothing less than human instinct. Humans are a social species and rely on contact and communication. It can be seen in multiple species, mostly birds, that it is pure nature to impress a mate solely by looks. It is natural to care about your appearance – but please, let us not get too extreme here, or it might open a can of worms. Even so, we have evolved this way, and we cannot live without society for so many reasons. Human culture is rich with artistic fashion, architecture, music, and so much more art, that I believe is psychologically fulfilling and compelling, but it is obviously materialistic, if you will. I am completely content with minimal belongings and living in my tent most of the year. I am truly addicted to the lifestyle, and have become engulfed by the opportunity to embrace the outdoors in this manner. But I have also spent so much time trying to resist a few aspects of society that are impractical and unnecessary too when I come back to the city (although most people wouldn’t think so). But I’m only human, right?
Now we’re back to where we started, and my blog was one big circle. If you made it this far in my writing, then thanks for reading! I hope you took my ideas with a grain of salt. I’ll attempt to be more organized in my writing next time. I return to the field in two weeks and will be back to writing about all the little outdoor entertainments I find in my day, which will be in Wayne County, Utah, on Parker Mountain specifically. I will be capturing and tagging sage-grouse, as well as other general field protocols like telemetry and behavioral observations. For now – Viva the city!
Contrary to popular belief, some field biologists enjoy their social life outside of the wilderness. Before I write further I need to emphasize my passion for conservation and wildlife. This blog might seem contradictory to that during my stream of consciousness, but I didn’t work 7-days/week in the field, spending my entire savings, and sacrificing every simple daily comfort for nothing. The last six months has been a compilation of living on multiple farms, stretching pennies for every meal, lugging our life around in a backpack, and working from sunrise to sunset in the field, or doing manual labor – And I absolutely loved every second of it. I am ready to take off on our next voyage tomorrow. In fact, we began planning it during our last week in Australia.
It is hard to describe the urge for indulgence in society as a conservationist, but it was clearly present in my intentions the first week I was back in the Emerald city. I also have to admit, Justin and I were incredibly untidy after having things perfectly folded and organized in our backpacks since we carried such few things while traveling. Clothes and junk were strewn across the room and our bed, even while we slept. I literally had to weave through crap on the floor to get a pair of running socks. I took no time to unpack, because I was consumed by city lights, bars, shops, and everything “civilized.” How could I take the time to put clothes into the drawer when I needed to shower, tweeze, use electronic hair devices, and primp? I just gagged writing that last sentence, by the way. The point I am making is that even though society was irresistible and appealing to me, my mind was so twisted by the experience. I felt like I was violating every ethic I have as a conservationist. I even greased down the frizz in my hair with a squirt of chemical-packed faint-worthy gel that smelled like fruity battery acid. I utterly enjoyed the experience. I even bought a tank top at the mall. I must be the ultimate sinner.
Two weeks later I have found peace. I spend each day sitting on the couch by the fire, watching a little faithful hummingbird come to the feeder, while I listen to bluegrass and crochet or read. When I feel like getting up I cook and bake (I have to make a shout out to my favorite food blog www.arcticgardenstudio.blogspot.com/). I have taken the time to reflect on the last year, and my homecoming. My indulgence was like a release; a caged animal set free! And I believe it was nothing less than human instinct. Humans are a social species and rely on contact and communication. It can be seen in multiple species, mostly birds, that it is pure nature to impress a mate solely by looks. It is natural to care about your appearance – but please, let us not get too extreme here, or it might open a can of worms. Even so, we have evolved this way, and we cannot live without society for so many reasons. Human culture is rich with artistic fashion, architecture, music, and so much more art, that I believe is psychologically fulfilling and compelling, but it is obviously materialistic, if you will. I am completely content with minimal belongings and living in my tent most of the year. I am truly addicted to the lifestyle, and have become engulfed by the opportunity to embrace the outdoors in this manner. But I have also spent so much time trying to resist a few aspects of society that are impractical and unnecessary too when I come back to the city (although most people wouldn’t think so). But I’m only human, right?
Now we’re back to where we started, and my blog was one big circle. If you made it this far in my writing, then thanks for reading! I hope you took my ideas with a grain of salt. I’ll attempt to be more organized in my writing next time. I return to the field in two weeks and will be back to writing about all the little outdoor entertainments I find in my day, which will be in Wayne County, Utah, on Parker Mountain specifically. I will be capturing and tagging sage-grouse, as well as other general field protocols like telemetry and behavioral observations. For now – Viva the city!
Seasons Change, Things Rearrange
Almost two months ago the Donkey Farm faced the first downpour of the season. It wasn’t completely clear as to whether the rainy season would come early, because “early” in Queensland usually meant mid-December and it was barely November. The afternoon rain never stopped, and the thunder only roared louder. La Nina was clearly settled over Northern Queensland. A little rain never hurt anybody, right?
In the beginning, mornings were reliably clear, but once the sun passed high noon, there was no telling how many hours in the day were left in the field. The storms that passed over the Tablelands were isolated and intense, but the rain was an enjoyable tropical shower – thick but warm. As a Seattleite I’ve gone on many runs in the rain, so it wasn’t a much of a change from previous winters. The rainy season made a serious shift the week before Thanksgiving. Jill (another field tech) and I went for a run after getting back from the field. The main road was flooded over so we took the back route through the donkey paddock and had a nice jog out to one of the lookout points a few miles from the farm. Just as we approached the top of the hill, I could see the dangerously dark clouds rolling directly over us, and within minutes a raging downpour fell from the sky. We cruised back to the farm and accepted the rain above our heads. Somehow, by the minute, the rain kept falling harder, until it was nearly blinding, as if spears of water were plummeting over my face. Suddenly we were skipping over massive puddles of water, which frighteningly became calf high pools. And then the real storm came: shrieking thunder and lightning. OH! To be miles from shelter in a pool of water with lightning striking. Our jog to the donkey farm soon picked up to a three mile sprint through lakes of water overflowing the trails.
Two months later the rains have reached a record high for Queensland. The first cyclone of the season touched down near Townsville creating substantial damage and evacuations, and Brisbane made front page world news due to massive flooding. We have already been trapped on the farm a few times due to rain and were forced to hike out and hitch a ride from the neighboring farm to get one of our field techs to the airport. It’s no wonder the breeding season for birds has dramatically slowed. The day after Christmas I went to check the nests on my plot and three of my nests were literally washed away by the storm, without a trace of the nest. Birds I have never seen on my plot showed up, as if the land was shaken up and tossed around, leaving species in unfamiliar areas – for example, a White-Bellied Sea Eagle flew over my plot, and to remind you, we are a two hour drive from the coast. I also found one of my fairy wren groups with fledglings, who still have an active nest with unhatched eggs. Other groups are more than 600m from their usual tight territory. Half a mile from the farm there used to be a dry field, which is now a lake with a 5-foot waterfall running over the opposite side of the road. My daily run is now an obstacle, because there is no telling what the condition of the road will be like ahead. Our second site outside of the donkey farm has been inaccessible for more than a week now. The only thing left to do the last two weeks of the project is hang on, and hope for the best.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-pacific-12087870
In the beginning, mornings were reliably clear, but once the sun passed high noon, there was no telling how many hours in the day were left in the field. The storms that passed over the Tablelands were isolated and intense, but the rain was an enjoyable tropical shower – thick but warm. As a Seattleite I’ve gone on many runs in the rain, so it wasn’t a much of a change from previous winters. The rainy season made a serious shift the week before Thanksgiving. Jill (another field tech) and I went for a run after getting back from the field. The main road was flooded over so we took the back route through the donkey paddock and had a nice jog out to one of the lookout points a few miles from the farm. Just as we approached the top of the hill, I could see the dangerously dark clouds rolling directly over us, and within minutes a raging downpour fell from the sky. We cruised back to the farm and accepted the rain above our heads. Somehow, by the minute, the rain kept falling harder, until it was nearly blinding, as if spears of water were plummeting over my face. Suddenly we were skipping over massive puddles of water, which frighteningly became calf high pools. And then the real storm came: shrieking thunder and lightning. OH! To be miles from shelter in a pool of water with lightning striking. Our jog to the donkey farm soon picked up to a three mile sprint through lakes of water overflowing the trails.
Two months later the rains have reached a record high for Queensland. The first cyclone of the season touched down near Townsville creating substantial damage and evacuations, and Brisbane made front page world news due to massive flooding. We have already been trapped on the farm a few times due to rain and were forced to hike out and hitch a ride from the neighboring farm to get one of our field techs to the airport. It’s no wonder the breeding season for birds has dramatically slowed. The day after Christmas I went to check the nests on my plot and three of my nests were literally washed away by the storm, without a trace of the nest. Birds I have never seen on my plot showed up, as if the land was shaken up and tossed around, leaving species in unfamiliar areas – for example, a White-Bellied Sea Eagle flew over my plot, and to remind you, we are a two hour drive from the coast. I also found one of my fairy wren groups with fledglings, who still have an active nest with unhatched eggs. Other groups are more than 600m from their usual tight territory. Half a mile from the farm there used to be a dry field, which is now a lake with a 5-foot waterfall running over the opposite side of the road. My daily run is now an obstacle, because there is no telling what the condition of the road will be like ahead. Our second site outside of the donkey farm has been inaccessible for more than a week now. The only thing left to do the last two weeks of the project is hang on, and hope for the best.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-pacific-12087870
Audio Diaries of a Fairy Wren
One of our early morning duties on the Fairy Wren project involves recording and analyzing songs during the dawn chorus. As I mentioned in a previous blog, the Fairy Wrens are unique in having a dawn chorus, and are the first birds in their habitat to start singing before the sun rises. Dawn is therefore the easiest time to record Fairy Wren songs because they are constantly singing. The male roosts on the lantana branches, hops around the grass, and sings at the corners of his territory, while the female sings closer to her nest. Recording songs before sunrise makes for an early start to the day. My alarm goes off before 4am and I stumble to the kitchen, shove a handful of cheerios in my mouth, fiddle with the tea pot to get some caffeinated fluids in my system, and then I am out the door 15 minutes later with recording gear and headphones dangling from my neck. Going into the field before sunrise gives a brief chance to see nocturnal animals – so far I’ve seen a tree kangaroo (!), bettongs, possums, bandicoots, and an unidentified snake. The equipment has funny tricks to working it, such as the mic-sensitivity which works conversely with the pitch of the song, but generally it is user-friendly.
Fairy Wrens have a very chatty song which sounds cluttered between other bird songs in the forest. At dawn, when wrens are the first to sing, their song is surrounded by the silence of the still-sleeping forest, and their song is a clear and fluent noise. Every wren starts at a different time, the earliest being around 4:30am. Once the first wren sings, others will follow, and their songs echo through the forest like a rippling wave of music.
Humans are able to detect a frequency range from 0-1200. Fundamental fairy wren songs range from 5-10,000, but extend up to 22,000, so our ears obviously miss part of their song. When the recording is transferred to a frequency chart you can detect what cannot be heard. The rhythmic displays of black lines and waves that form a pattern on the frequency chart tell many stories that vary between species. Every sound comprises of harmonics (different frequencies at the exact same time from the same membrane). Human voices have rich harmonics relative to birds, but birds in turn have other attributes to their songs and calls, which manufactures them the unique singers that we know them as. One of the most interesting and impressive attributes I’ve learned about bird songs is that some species (cardinals and catbirds) “double sing.” This means they are able to control and use two different sides of their syrinx (which humans obviously can’t do). Double singing birds also have different harmonics for each side of the syrinx because they are two different membranes vibrating at two different frequencies. Double songs often result as very complex, but much more interesting to see on a frequency chart.
The first song we analyzed from one of my recordings had something that is not regularly seen in Red-Backed Fairy Wrens; there was a trill halfway through the song. A trill is a repeated note at the same frequency and pitch, at a fast pace, comparable in humans as “rolling an R” in the Spanish language. Trills are thought to attract females, because of the difficulty of the sound, and in sparrow species it has been seen that males with more trills attract more females. Other Fairy Wren species in Australia have a second song called a “trill song” which they sing during displays. Our crew is yet to see other Fairy Wren species, but we have been told of nearby locations and will be on the hunt in the next week! It would be a bonus if we also got to hear a trill song.
Fairy Wrens have a very chatty song which sounds cluttered between other bird songs in the forest. At dawn, when wrens are the first to sing, their song is surrounded by the silence of the still-sleeping forest, and their song is a clear and fluent noise. Every wren starts at a different time, the earliest being around 4:30am. Once the first wren sings, others will follow, and their songs echo through the forest like a rippling wave of music.
Humans are able to detect a frequency range from 0-1200. Fundamental fairy wren songs range from 5-10,000, but extend up to 22,000, so our ears obviously miss part of their song. When the recording is transferred to a frequency chart you can detect what cannot be heard. The rhythmic displays of black lines and waves that form a pattern on the frequency chart tell many stories that vary between species. Every sound comprises of harmonics (different frequencies at the exact same time from the same membrane). Human voices have rich harmonics relative to birds, but birds in turn have other attributes to their songs and calls, which manufactures them the unique singers that we know them as. One of the most interesting and impressive attributes I’ve learned about bird songs is that some species (cardinals and catbirds) “double sing.” This means they are able to control and use two different sides of their syrinx (which humans obviously can’t do). Double singing birds also have different harmonics for each side of the syrinx because they are two different membranes vibrating at two different frequencies. Double songs often result as very complex, but much more interesting to see on a frequency chart.
The first song we analyzed from one of my recordings had something that is not regularly seen in Red-Backed Fairy Wrens; there was a trill halfway through the song. A trill is a repeated note at the same frequency and pitch, at a fast pace, comparable in humans as “rolling an R” in the Spanish language. Trills are thought to attract females, because of the difficulty of the sound, and in sparrow species it has been seen that males with more trills attract more females. Other Fairy Wren species in Australia have a second song called a “trill song” which they sing during displays. Our crew is yet to see other Fairy Wren species, but we have been told of nearby locations and will be on the hunt in the next week! It would be a bonus if we also got to hear a trill song.
A Grassland Nest is a Hidden Nest...
The tropical cyclone season has crept up on Northern Queensland as the afternoons have become rumbly and rainy. The breeding season is also in full action and the birds are busy. The team has been nest searching like crazy as the Fairy Wrens are building and laying eggs – but the Fairy Wrens aren’t the only ones out there. There are plenty of other birds on our sites building and protecting their young, who can often be aggressive when it comes to guarding their territory and offspring. On my run yesterday I stopped to let a wallaby with her young cross the road, who was probably fresh out of the pouch, and they made a mad skittish dash up the hill. Even the cows who graze the opposite side of the river no longer calmly chew the grass and stare, they huff and stomp if you’re within fifty feet of their calves. Walking to my site is no longer a leisurely stroll through the woods - I have to weigh my options of the trailside nests I walk by – Death by Magpie Lark or Willie Wagtail?
Nest searching is one of my favorite parts of fieldwork. Often times the process can be frustrating and requires a great deal of patience, but the outcome is satisfying. The task sounds simple at first: Watch the birds, particularly the female, and take note on the area most frequented, especially if she is carrying nest material or food. Fairy Wrens are small (8g), fly low, and like to hop around in the grass out of sight, and their song is soft, so the task suddenly becomes slightly annoying. Usually if the bird is out of sight, you can follow you can follow the song, but the cicadas emerged a couple weeks ago and create a ringing sound so shrill it dominates all other sounds of the forest. This leaves the only way of finding Fairy Wrens by sight. Cicadas are among the loudest insects in the world. Cicadas have an empty chamber in their chest with a single organ that vibrates rapidly, pushing out air, to create sound. I used a Sound Pressure Level Meter (SPL) to measure the decibels in one of the loudest areas on our site, and it recorded a whopping 120 decibels! To give you an idea of how loud that is, a food blender is 90, and the threshold of pain is 130. Everyone on the crew has resorted to ear plugs in the more concentrated areas of cicadas.
On a non-field note, Thanksgiving was celebrated at the donkey farm with all of our Australian neighbors. A few of the field assistants are vegan, so I doubted the true holiday spirit of the day, and was delightfully surprised by creativity and delectable food. We had everything from corn casserole, to stuffing, to creamy mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, and apple crisp – all vegan! We scored a box of 40 mangos for $15 from a roadside fruit stand, so we incorporated mango into a few of the dishes as well, such as a mango pie. Of course I’d rather be at home with my family on Thanksgiving, but for a holiday out at the field station, it was one of the best! The hospitality and warm faces of our Australian neighbors combined with heaps of delicious food and wine made the holiday genuine.
Nest searching is one of my favorite parts of fieldwork. Often times the process can be frustrating and requires a great deal of patience, but the outcome is satisfying. The task sounds simple at first: Watch the birds, particularly the female, and take note on the area most frequented, especially if she is carrying nest material or food. Fairy Wrens are small (8g), fly low, and like to hop around in the grass out of sight, and their song is soft, so the task suddenly becomes slightly annoying. Usually if the bird is out of sight, you can follow you can follow the song, but the cicadas emerged a couple weeks ago and create a ringing sound so shrill it dominates all other sounds of the forest. This leaves the only way of finding Fairy Wrens by sight. Cicadas are among the loudest insects in the world. Cicadas have an empty chamber in their chest with a single organ that vibrates rapidly, pushing out air, to create sound. I used a Sound Pressure Level Meter (SPL) to measure the decibels in one of the loudest areas on our site, and it recorded a whopping 120 decibels! To give you an idea of how loud that is, a food blender is 90, and the threshold of pain is 130. Everyone on the crew has resorted to ear plugs in the more concentrated areas of cicadas.
On a non-field note, Thanksgiving was celebrated at the donkey farm with all of our Australian neighbors. A few of the field assistants are vegan, so I doubted the true holiday spirit of the day, and was delightfully surprised by creativity and delectable food. We had everything from corn casserole, to stuffing, to creamy mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, and apple crisp – all vegan! We scored a box of 40 mangos for $15 from a roadside fruit stand, so we incorporated mango into a few of the dishes as well, such as a mango pie. Of course I’d rather be at home with my family on Thanksgiving, but for a holiday out at the field station, it was one of the best! The hospitality and warm faces of our Australian neighbors combined with heaps of delicious food and wine made the holiday genuine.
The Land Down Under
The last month must have been lost in the whirlwind of flying across the Pacific Ocean twice in four days, awful food poisoning in Brunei, and diving into our new field project in Queensland, Australia. 48 hours in Seattle was short, but certainly sweet. We managed to board the plane home from Brunei after a violent bug and were greeted by the cool weather of Seattle and both of our families preparing an early Thanksgiving dinner. Aside from the mad rush of washing our clothes and repacking, I indulged in my favorite home foods, ran on my favorite trails, and lounged on the couch with my Italian Greyhound. In a blink of an eye we went from Asia to Seattle to Australia, and I suddenly found myself trudging through the Sclerophyll forest of the Tablelands in Queensland, Australia, chasing a little red and black bird, acquainting myself to their behaviors and antics.
The Red-Backed Fairy Wren project is a long-standing research project, run by the Webster lab of Cornell. It’s exciting to look at past data and see that some of the Fairy Wrens have been returning to the site every breeding season for ten years – some with the very same mate! There are many facets to the Fairy Wren project, which is nice as a field assistant because we get to mix and match different tasks depending on the day. On any given day we catch and band birds, take audio recordings, nest search, or monitor. Fairy Wrens are one of the few birds with a pre-dawn chorus, meaning they start singing before all the other birds in the forest, and it is quite a bold and obvious song. It is thought Fairy Wrens exhibit this behavior as a territorial marking. I’ve already developed a deep interest in Fairy Wrens, because they are a great bird to research. They are incredibly stable against manipulation or disruption, including catching them in the mist net (can withstand a longer processing time), which has given all the field assistants an opportunity to perfect banding and bleeding techniques so we may independently do so in the field. The first few weeks in the field we spent grouping all the birds and learning their territories, and just recently began nest searching as they began to build. Fairy Wrens are grass-nesters, which has been a new twist to what I’m used to from past projects (shrub nesters). Nest searching is 100% behavioral based, unlike shrub nesters, where you can find a nest by watching the general location/tree a bird flies to and poke around. With grass nesters you must know the exact location, which requires patience.
There is no doubt Australia is a land of enchanting scenery and fascinating animals. Every morning we are laughed at by the Kookaburras and stir up Wallabies from the grass. One morning on my hike to my site, I was startled by a brown Tree Kangaroo jumping to a trunk directly in front of me. Every day we likely see Scarlet Rosellas, Cockatoos, Honey Eaters, Wedge-Tail Eagles, Wagtails, and a snake if we’re lucky. A Platypus even lives on the reservoir at one of our sites. The field crew is not alone at the field house; we are situated on a farm with 29 donkeys, which adds great character to our lonesome shack miles down a dirt road. We have a few rural neighbors, including Brenda and Davey who live in a trailer at the foot of our backyard, Tim the Donkey Whisperer, Margaret, a fellow Australian biologist, and a family of three at The Silver Cottage Farm. Having friendly Australian neighbors with charming accents brightens the foreign experience. We were introduced to Australian hospitality our first week at the Donkey Farm with a block party.
We work six days/week, sometimes seven, depending on the status of the fairy wrens, so if we aren’t too exhausted, we take off on a jam-packed tourist adventure for 24 hours. Our first weekend we rented a catamaran and snorkeled the Great Barrier Reef, which has been the highlight since our arrival. I was stunned by the colors and dramatic coral formations, especially after snorkeling in equatorial waters of the Malaysian peninsula where the coral was barren and obviously dying. The Great Barrier Reef is still endangered of vanishing, because every reef is dependent on one another, no matter where it falls in the world’s water. On our other days off we have enjoyed swimming in local lakes and exploring what Cairns has to offer. We were also lucky to be given a three day weekend and take off on a road trip down the coast to Mission Beach.
For the next few months I will attempt field and travel updates, but the daily routine at the Donkey Farm doesn’t always leave enough free time to sit down and write. Until next time…
The Red-Backed Fairy Wren project is a long-standing research project, run by the Webster lab of Cornell. It’s exciting to look at past data and see that some of the Fairy Wrens have been returning to the site every breeding season for ten years – some with the very same mate! There are many facets to the Fairy Wren project, which is nice as a field assistant because we get to mix and match different tasks depending on the day. On any given day we catch and band birds, take audio recordings, nest search, or monitor. Fairy Wrens are one of the few birds with a pre-dawn chorus, meaning they start singing before all the other birds in the forest, and it is quite a bold and obvious song. It is thought Fairy Wrens exhibit this behavior as a territorial marking. I’ve already developed a deep interest in Fairy Wrens, because they are a great bird to research. They are incredibly stable against manipulation or disruption, including catching them in the mist net (can withstand a longer processing time), which has given all the field assistants an opportunity to perfect banding and bleeding techniques so we may independently do so in the field. The first few weeks in the field we spent grouping all the birds and learning their territories, and just recently began nest searching as they began to build. Fairy Wrens are grass-nesters, which has been a new twist to what I’m used to from past projects (shrub nesters). Nest searching is 100% behavioral based, unlike shrub nesters, where you can find a nest by watching the general location/tree a bird flies to and poke around. With grass nesters you must know the exact location, which requires patience.
There is no doubt Australia is a land of enchanting scenery and fascinating animals. Every morning we are laughed at by the Kookaburras and stir up Wallabies from the grass. One morning on my hike to my site, I was startled by a brown Tree Kangaroo jumping to a trunk directly in front of me. Every day we likely see Scarlet Rosellas, Cockatoos, Honey Eaters, Wedge-Tail Eagles, Wagtails, and a snake if we’re lucky. A Platypus even lives on the reservoir at one of our sites. The field crew is not alone at the field house; we are situated on a farm with 29 donkeys, which adds great character to our lonesome shack miles down a dirt road. We have a few rural neighbors, including Brenda and Davey who live in a trailer at the foot of our backyard, Tim the Donkey Whisperer, Margaret, a fellow Australian biologist, and a family of three at The Silver Cottage Farm. Having friendly Australian neighbors with charming accents brightens the foreign experience. We were introduced to Australian hospitality our first week at the Donkey Farm with a block party.
We work six days/week, sometimes seven, depending on the status of the fairy wrens, so if we aren’t too exhausted, we take off on a jam-packed tourist adventure for 24 hours. Our first weekend we rented a catamaran and snorkeled the Great Barrier Reef, which has been the highlight since our arrival. I was stunned by the colors and dramatic coral formations, especially after snorkeling in equatorial waters of the Malaysian peninsula where the coral was barren and obviously dying. The Great Barrier Reef is still endangered of vanishing, because every reef is dependent on one another, no matter where it falls in the world’s water. On our other days off we have enjoyed swimming in local lakes and exploring what Cairns has to offer. We were also lucky to be given a three day weekend and take off on a road trip down the coast to Mission Beach.
For the next few months I will attempt field and travel updates, but the daily routine at the Donkey Farm doesn’t always leave enough free time to sit down and write. Until next time…
Blogging on the Cheap
Justin and I have reached the tail end of our Asian adventure before commencing fieldwork down under. Our backpacks have become rough around the edges, my shoes have holes in them, my wrist watch has lost its plastic band, a few items have been stolen from us here and there, and our clothes have a permanent aroma to them. Sure it’s cheap to buy a pair of flip flops on the street in Thailand, and even a Spiderman wrist watch, but as you may gather, the funds are low. Things are always done on the cheap for us in the spirit of backpacking, but at this particular time in our travels we are stretching every dime we have.
Our last day in Laos, we found a great deal on a bag of peanuts! This has been a challenge, because peanut butter and other nut products seem to be expensive in Laos relative to other Asian countries. Nuts are a great way to get calories, so we jumped on the opportunity to get a giant bag of peanuts for 20,000 kip (~2$). We also found a cheap place to do laundry. We debated waiting until we arrived back in Malaysia, because they commonly charge by the load rather than the kilogram, but our running clothes smelled like a living organism so we decided it was time. We have made great attempts to reach every destination by foot, including the airport at times. Our longest walk yet was just over an hour hike with our bags through busy roads in Luang Prabang, which is a reasonable distance relative to big cities in the United States. Burn calories, not gas? In Vang Vieng we ate the same sandwich for 1$, twice daily, which was smothered in caloric condiments. In the beginning, we stuck to street food for the experience. Now, we graze the street stands for absurdly cheap deals. I will always have a special spot for the donut lady in Vientiane, who gave us a 3-for-1 deal.
I never imagined myself bragging about doing things in a cheap manner, because I usually budget for the sake of being minimal, but the last week has become somewhat of a game that Justin and I are able to laugh about. Heck, I’m even blogging on the cheap! I am currently sitting outside of McDonald’s using their internet. After a great trek through Thailand and Laos, we are treating ourselves to the airport floor as we wait for our flight to Borneo in the morning.
Top 5 cheapest moments in ascending order:
5. WWOOFing (www.wwoof.org) Nothing like working 10 hours/day 7 days/week for some rice and curry the fifth night in a row!
4. Justin eating a chicken sandwich for breakfast AND dinner, 4 days in a row
3. Sleeping in the airport. Twice. We would thoroughly like to thank KLIA and the Low-Cost Carrier Terminal for your well-cushioned tile flooring.
2. Spending three hours walking around Luang Prabang asking 30+ hostels their room rates, and ending up at the first hostel because we saw bananas on the table (free breakfast!)
1. Sleeping in the dungeon because it was a dollar cheaper than the other hotels (“Mixay Guesthouse”). It’s a funny feeling when your toothpaste runs through your toes after spitting in the sink because the drain goes straight to the floor.
I’d like to add an honorable mention: spending three hours at the all-you-can-eat buffet in Perhentia Kecil (that means we skipped breakfast and lunch).
*Picture is of the beloved donut lady
Our last day in Laos, we found a great deal on a bag of peanuts! This has been a challenge, because peanut butter and other nut products seem to be expensive in Laos relative to other Asian countries. Nuts are a great way to get calories, so we jumped on the opportunity to get a giant bag of peanuts for 20,000 kip (~2$). We also found a cheap place to do laundry. We debated waiting until we arrived back in Malaysia, because they commonly charge by the load rather than the kilogram, but our running clothes smelled like a living organism so we decided it was time. We have made great attempts to reach every destination by foot, including the airport at times. Our longest walk yet was just over an hour hike with our bags through busy roads in Luang Prabang, which is a reasonable distance relative to big cities in the United States. Burn calories, not gas? In Vang Vieng we ate the same sandwich for 1$, twice daily, which was smothered in caloric condiments. In the beginning, we stuck to street food for the experience. Now, we graze the street stands for absurdly cheap deals. I will always have a special spot for the donut lady in Vientiane, who gave us a 3-for-1 deal.
I never imagined myself bragging about doing things in a cheap manner, because I usually budget for the sake of being minimal, but the last week has become somewhat of a game that Justin and I are able to laugh about. Heck, I’m even blogging on the cheap! I am currently sitting outside of McDonald’s using their internet. After a great trek through Thailand and Laos, we are treating ourselves to the airport floor as we wait for our flight to Borneo in the morning.
Top 5 cheapest moments in ascending order:
5. WWOOFing (www.wwoof.org) Nothing like working 10 hours/day 7 days/week for some rice and curry the fifth night in a row!
4. Justin eating a chicken sandwich for breakfast AND dinner, 4 days in a row
3. Sleeping in the airport. Twice. We would thoroughly like to thank KLIA and the Low-Cost Carrier Terminal for your well-cushioned tile flooring.
2. Spending three hours walking around Luang Prabang asking 30+ hostels their room rates, and ending up at the first hostel because we saw bananas on the table (free breakfast!)
1. Sleeping in the dungeon because it was a dollar cheaper than the other hotels (“Mixay Guesthouse”). It’s a funny feeling when your toothpaste runs through your toes after spitting in the sink because the drain goes straight to the floor.
I’d like to add an honorable mention: spending three hours at the all-you-can-eat buffet in Perhentia Kecil (that means we skipped breakfast and lunch).
*Picture is of the beloved donut lady
Vang Vieng Culture: Gained or Lost?
Seven hours of climbing hills and winding down narrow roads brought us to the small village of Vang Vieng. The road in Laos is known to be bumpy, which proved true on our bus ride when half the people on board got sick. It crossed my mind that perhaps most of the Laos people weren’t used to being in cars, only motorbikes, which caused them to be more susceptible to getting car sick. Justin and I dozed to sleep for most of the ride to keep from feeling nauseous, waking up every so often to snap a picture of the spectacular mountain view from the window.
Vang Vieng is a small village, with a serious lack of any Lao culture due to the domination of western food stands, night clubs, bars, and tourists coming to tube down the river. All of the restaurants and bars have the same “tropical hut” theme along the river, and if there is a TV hanging on the wall, which happens to be in most of the eateries, they play nothing but reruns of American shows such as Friends and Family Guy. There is no Lao food at the restaurants, only sandwiches, fruit shakes, pancakes, spaghetti, steaks, etc. Vang Vieng is an interesting place to say the least, because the overrun tourist features of the town help bring jobs to the local community and boost the economy of such a small country, but only at the extent of starving their culture and former traditional lifestyle. Not to mention the local families have to put their kids to sleep in a shanty that is vibrating from the blasting music around town at night.
I have mixed feelings about Vang Vieng. It was one of my favorite places during the day. Justin and I would hike down the dirt roads outside of town toward the caves and the blue lagoon and wander through the rice fields. Limestone fixtures towered beyond the river, rising in every direction. In the afternoon, we would lounge at one of the restaurant huts and drink smoothies and play cards. It all seemed quiet and pleasant during the day, until the night hours came and the little town blew up into a parade of drinking and blaring techno music. Letting yourself loose is always fun for a night, but the experience seemed so far detached from actually being in Asia. I think most tourists enjoy what this little village has to offer at night because the experience is so social and can bring much comfort of being home, which is ironic because what’s the point of traveling then? You might not even remember your time in Laos if you spend too much time in Vang Vieng. One American we conversed with in the street who had been in Vang Vieng a few days already had no idea that the blue lagoon or any types of caves existed around Vang Vieng. I realized today that for the first time in my life I am traveling without a background purpose (ie, school or fieldwork), and perhaps my mixed feelings about most of the places I am visiting are arising on this account.
It is obvious Justin and I are a little detached from the norm when it comes to travel and recreation. We enjoy being far from any American comfort, in fact we strive for it while traveling. I am addicted to the lifestyle of field research and biology, because it is the perfect way to be dropped in the middle of the wilderness, with no outside influence, and interact with a pure environment in every sense. Often times in Alaska, some of our survey plots had never been frequented by humans – no roads, no trails, no city lights in the distance, no nothing! Just the raw environment at your finger tips, offering exactly what it was and always had been. Completely natural. I love experiencing cultures in this sense as well. But if I wander into an indigenous area of Indonesia, never exposed to outside influence, am I skewing the natural development of a culture?
This brings me back to the topic of globalization, a love-hate relationship I hold. I strongly believe the positives outweigh the negatives on this topic, but Vang Vieng would not have evolved into the tourist town it is today without the impact of globalization. And we find ourselves again at the beginning of the circle…
Vang Vieng is a small village, with a serious lack of any Lao culture due to the domination of western food stands, night clubs, bars, and tourists coming to tube down the river. All of the restaurants and bars have the same “tropical hut” theme along the river, and if there is a TV hanging on the wall, which happens to be in most of the eateries, they play nothing but reruns of American shows such as Friends and Family Guy. There is no Lao food at the restaurants, only sandwiches, fruit shakes, pancakes, spaghetti, steaks, etc. Vang Vieng is an interesting place to say the least, because the overrun tourist features of the town help bring jobs to the local community and boost the economy of such a small country, but only at the extent of starving their culture and former traditional lifestyle. Not to mention the local families have to put their kids to sleep in a shanty that is vibrating from the blasting music around town at night.
I have mixed feelings about Vang Vieng. It was one of my favorite places during the day. Justin and I would hike down the dirt roads outside of town toward the caves and the blue lagoon and wander through the rice fields. Limestone fixtures towered beyond the river, rising in every direction. In the afternoon, we would lounge at one of the restaurant huts and drink smoothies and play cards. It all seemed quiet and pleasant during the day, until the night hours came and the little town blew up into a parade of drinking and blaring techno music. Letting yourself loose is always fun for a night, but the experience seemed so far detached from actually being in Asia. I think most tourists enjoy what this little village has to offer at night because the experience is so social and can bring much comfort of being home, which is ironic because what’s the point of traveling then? You might not even remember your time in Laos if you spend too much time in Vang Vieng. One American we conversed with in the street who had been in Vang Vieng a few days already had no idea that the blue lagoon or any types of caves existed around Vang Vieng. I realized today that for the first time in my life I am traveling without a background purpose (ie, school or fieldwork), and perhaps my mixed feelings about most of the places I am visiting are arising on this account.
It is obvious Justin and I are a little detached from the norm when it comes to travel and recreation. We enjoy being far from any American comfort, in fact we strive for it while traveling. I am addicted to the lifestyle of field research and biology, because it is the perfect way to be dropped in the middle of the wilderness, with no outside influence, and interact with a pure environment in every sense. Often times in Alaska, some of our survey plots had never been frequented by humans – no roads, no trails, no city lights in the distance, no nothing! Just the raw environment at your finger tips, offering exactly what it was and always had been. Completely natural. I love experiencing cultures in this sense as well. But if I wander into an indigenous area of Indonesia, never exposed to outside influence, am I skewing the natural development of a culture?
This brings me back to the topic of globalization, a love-hate relationship I hold. I strongly believe the positives outweigh the negatives on this topic, but Vang Vieng would not have evolved into the tourist town it is today without the impact of globalization. And we find ourselves again at the beginning of the circle…
Sabaidee, Luang Prabang
Luang Prabang, a UNESCO world heritage site, is the old capital of Laos. The rising temples of Phou Si sit in the middle of the city on a hill and look across the river to the abandoned temple of Wat Pa Huak, buried in a green thicket. The city is surprisingly calm, and is especially quiet during night hours. Luang Prabang has a large monk community which may explain the tranquil vibe. There is a mesh of Asian and European culture throughout the central area of town that seems to flow without too much irony. Coffee shops, bakeries, and boutiques are layered between the multitude of Wats. The local people will often offer a smile with the Laos greeting of “Sabaidee!”
After two long days on the slow boat, we lugged our bags through town, and found ourselves refreshed by such a charming city. We spent the next few days exploring on foot, walking through all of the temples, climbing Phou Si hill, and enjoying the Laos food. Most dishes are similar to that of Thai food, but with less flare and spice, so I have to say I’m a bigger fan of Thai food. Laos is a former French colony, and the influence is obvious from all the coffee shops and bakeries, but also from the numerous street stands selling baguettes with nutella. French translations can also be found on most street signs. The morning market in Luang Prabang was the first time Justin and I had been exposed to so much Western food since we’ve been traveling. It can’t be denied that a baguette sandwich tastes pretty good when the only bread that’s been around your face in the last two months is flimsy tasteless wonder bread.
Most of Laos thus far has been heavily occupied by tourists. Every so often I ran into a Lao local who seemed disgruntled by the foreigners. Tourism has helped the Lao economy tremendously, but my “Lao” experience, was just as much an experience of the local culture that it was mingling between all the other foreigners speaking English, whether I was at the Kuang Si waterfall, or the morning breakfast market. It is unfair for me to smirk at this aspect of Luang Prabang because I am a tourist myself. The increase of travel is one facet of globalization as people around the world desire to adopt new foreign practices, and enjoy the differences of other cultures. I clearly value travel in my own life, and encourage it without end to others.
After two long days on the slow boat, we lugged our bags through town, and found ourselves refreshed by such a charming city. We spent the next few days exploring on foot, walking through all of the temples, climbing Phou Si hill, and enjoying the Laos food. Most dishes are similar to that of Thai food, but with less flare and spice, so I have to say I’m a bigger fan of Thai food. Laos is a former French colony, and the influence is obvious from all the coffee shops and bakeries, but also from the numerous street stands selling baguettes with nutella. French translations can also be found on most street signs. The morning market in Luang Prabang was the first time Justin and I had been exposed to so much Western food since we’ve been traveling. It can’t be denied that a baguette sandwich tastes pretty good when the only bread that’s been around your face in the last two months is flimsy tasteless wonder bread.
Most of Laos thus far has been heavily occupied by tourists. Every so often I ran into a Lao local who seemed disgruntled by the foreigners. Tourism has helped the Lao economy tremendously, but my “Lao” experience, was just as much an experience of the local culture that it was mingling between all the other foreigners speaking English, whether I was at the Kuang Si waterfall, or the morning breakfast market. It is unfair for me to smirk at this aspect of Luang Prabang because I am a tourist myself. The increase of travel is one facet of globalization as people around the world desire to adopt new foreign practices, and enjoy the differences of other cultures. I clearly value travel in my own life, and encourage it without end to others.
The Mekong Experience
We soaked up our last few days in Thailand in the small town of Chiang Rai. The streets were not as busy as those of Chiang Mai, and there seemed to be more of a Thai feeling in the air. The night market in Chiang Rai was one of the best we’ve experienced, with lots of fried waffles filled with coconut shreds. The running trails were also reachable without having to weave through busy traffic.
After our stay in Thailand, we decided to take the popular route into Laos via the small Thai town of Chiang Khong, and take a long-boat down the Mekong River to Luang Prabang. The road in Laos is bumpy and slow, and is not fit for travelers on a tight schedule, but is well known for its jaw-dropping scenery and peaceful culture. At the border crossing in Chiang Khong, we took a small boat over the Mekong into Laos, got our passports stamped, and paid the ridiculous visa fee. While waiting in line, a Laos man walked in front of the window while holding a stack of foreign passports in his hand and conversed with the immigration officer. Sketchiness was nothing but the ordinary in the Golden Triangle, which is also known for drug trafficking. Justin and I glanced at each other, with a look reading the secret code of hold onto your stuff.
The next morning we caught a two day slow boat down the Mekong River to Luang Prabang. There are faster options of getting to Luang Prabang, such as the bus, which is also cheaper, but the ride is 15 hours, and the road is often impassible at some points during the rainy season. Speed boats can get to Luang Prabang in one day, but have fatal accidents every few months from crashes. Like I said, Laos is not a place for travelers on a tight schedule, and it is worth your safety to take the slower route. We were told the boat would leave around 10am the next morning, so we woke up early to run through the farm roads of rural Laos, and then buy tickets at the pier. There wasn’t much communication between the passengers and the Lao boat crew, so there was no telling what time we would actually set out or when we would arrive in Pak Bheng (the half-way point and layover during our trip). Once there were enough people to sink the boat, we finally commenced our cruise down the Mighty Mekong. The seats were better then I expected, and the boat had a lot of character to the inside, with a classy and comfortable feel.
Within two 8 hour boat rides in a row, I finished my book, caught up on sleep, and enjoyed the roaring green hills that sat at the edge of the Mekong. Our layover was in the small village of Pak Bheng, which I found to be a highlight of the Mekong experience. In a lazy cruise down the river we were dropped off at a small Lao village in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but local food and great views! The next morning when Justin and I ran before catching the boat, we made our way down a narrow road of rolling hills and small communities; I truly felt far from home and absorbed in my surroundings.
Once we arrived in Luang Prabang after the tiring ride, we dropped our bags at the cheapest hostel we could find and set out to explore the old capital city.
After our stay in Thailand, we decided to take the popular route into Laos via the small Thai town of Chiang Khong, and take a long-boat down the Mekong River to Luang Prabang. The road in Laos is bumpy and slow, and is not fit for travelers on a tight schedule, but is well known for its jaw-dropping scenery and peaceful culture. At the border crossing in Chiang Khong, we took a small boat over the Mekong into Laos, got our passports stamped, and paid the ridiculous visa fee. While waiting in line, a Laos man walked in front of the window while holding a stack of foreign passports in his hand and conversed with the immigration officer. Sketchiness was nothing but the ordinary in the Golden Triangle, which is also known for drug trafficking. Justin and I glanced at each other, with a look reading the secret code of hold onto your stuff.
The next morning we caught a two day slow boat down the Mekong River to Luang Prabang. There are faster options of getting to Luang Prabang, such as the bus, which is also cheaper, but the ride is 15 hours, and the road is often impassible at some points during the rainy season. Speed boats can get to Luang Prabang in one day, but have fatal accidents every few months from crashes. Like I said, Laos is not a place for travelers on a tight schedule, and it is worth your safety to take the slower route. We were told the boat would leave around 10am the next morning, so we woke up early to run through the farm roads of rural Laos, and then buy tickets at the pier. There wasn’t much communication between the passengers and the Lao boat crew, so there was no telling what time we would actually set out or when we would arrive in Pak Bheng (the half-way point and layover during our trip). Once there were enough people to sink the boat, we finally commenced our cruise down the Mighty Mekong. The seats were better then I expected, and the boat had a lot of character to the inside, with a classy and comfortable feel.
Within two 8 hour boat rides in a row, I finished my book, caught up on sleep, and enjoyed the roaring green hills that sat at the edge of the Mekong. Our layover was in the small village of Pak Bheng, which I found to be a highlight of the Mekong experience. In a lazy cruise down the river we were dropped off at a small Lao village in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but local food and great views! The next morning when Justin and I ran before catching the boat, we made our way down a narrow road of rolling hills and small communities; I truly felt far from home and absorbed in my surroundings.
Once we arrived in Luang Prabang after the tiring ride, we dropped our bags at the cheapest hostel we could find and set out to explore the old capital city.
Doi Suthep
After three days of walking endless miles around Chiang Mai, drinking lots of tea, and touring all the Wats, markets, and boutiques, we decided to rent a motorbike and venture outside the gates to the mountain of Doi Suthep. This was my favorite outing in Chiang Mai. Once outside the city, there was an endless green forest. The weather was also cooler as we ascended up the road to Doi Suthep. Fig trees and bamboo hovered the road, and every other mile would offer a trail head to a waterfall or Wat. The temple at the top of Doi Suthep was jaw-dropping and nearly outdid every temple we toured in Malaysia! The design from the stairs to the top was ornate and colorful, with golden dragons and complicated tile patterns. We toured the shrine at the top with coconut waffles and sweet corn cups from a street stand, which made the experience more elaborate. On our ride down from Doi Suthep, Justin laid eyes on a hidden sign that read “cave”, with a small trail. We pulled off and stumbled through the bamboo trees until we found the trail. It wasn’t maintained, but it obviously lead to somewhere if it still had a sign at the trail head. After some rock climbing and bush-whacking we stumbled up to a small cave – which happened to be somebody’s home. A monk was sitting by the waterfall outside of the opening, meditating with a few candles. I could see inside the cave there a mattress of some sort and other minor household type items. He looked up and nodded at us. We nodded back, and turned around to hike back to the road. I grinned inside at the encounter with the monk; brief and unexpected, yet notable.
We continued our ride and scooted through town, and came out on the opposite side of Chiang Mai. There was a food market we had stopped through on our walk from the train station to town, which had become our favorite daily eatery. The market was not far from the main road, but I would have missed it if it wasn’t for Justin happening to glimpse down one of the alleys, spying on the swelling smoke from the stalls. This market was huge, and was more like a cafeteria of endless food stands. There was Thai writing everywhere without a trace of English or tourists, jackpot! The two of us were tourists of course, and immediately we were approached by a Thai man, “Are you lost? Chiang Mai that way, you ride in Tuk-Tuk.” We laughed and said “No we’re hungry!” He smiled and said “This food very spicy.” I smiled back. Another man came up to us, and asked “How did you find this place?” Justin and I just looked at each other and shrugged. The man said “I never see tourist here before.” He too tried to convince us that the food would be too spicy and that it was not a formal sit-down restaurant like the tourist restaurants in town. There was no way of explaining that we actually liked this atmosphere and food better. We ordered our food mostly by pointing, and filled our little table with as much as we could fit. Every dish was mouth-watering. I wondered why more tourists didn’t come here? It was clearly the best food and the best price. Justin and I seemed to have found the place by accident, and were the only ones from the train station who didn’t take a tuk-tuk into town. We were practically bombarded by every taxi service for the first half mile, and people thought we were absurd for walking the whole two kilometers into town. A lonely planet writer who spends enough time in one place with the intention to scope out such areas must have walked through this market, but why didn’t they write about such a superb place? The water came straight from the sink and the hygiene standards were low compared to other stands in town, which might be a factor. Perhaps it remains a secret in effort to protect a part of the culture; at least I would hope so.
We continued our ride and scooted through town, and came out on the opposite side of Chiang Mai. There was a food market we had stopped through on our walk from the train station to town, which had become our favorite daily eatery. The market was not far from the main road, but I would have missed it if it wasn’t for Justin happening to glimpse down one of the alleys, spying on the swelling smoke from the stalls. This market was huge, and was more like a cafeteria of endless food stands. There was Thai writing everywhere without a trace of English or tourists, jackpot! The two of us were tourists of course, and immediately we were approached by a Thai man, “Are you lost? Chiang Mai that way, you ride in Tuk-Tuk.” We laughed and said “No we’re hungry!” He smiled and said “This food very spicy.” I smiled back. Another man came up to us, and asked “How did you find this place?” Justin and I just looked at each other and shrugged. The man said “I never see tourist here before.” He too tried to convince us that the food would be too spicy and that it was not a formal sit-down restaurant like the tourist restaurants in town. There was no way of explaining that we actually liked this atmosphere and food better. We ordered our food mostly by pointing, and filled our little table with as much as we could fit. Every dish was mouth-watering. I wondered why more tourists didn’t come here? It was clearly the best food and the best price. Justin and I seemed to have found the place by accident, and were the only ones from the train station who didn’t take a tuk-tuk into town. We were practically bombarded by every taxi service for the first half mile, and people thought we were absurd for walking the whole two kilometers into town. A lonely planet writer who spends enough time in one place with the intention to scope out such areas must have walked through this market, but why didn’t they write about such a superb place? The water came straight from the sink and the hygiene standards were low compared to other stands in town, which might be a factor. Perhaps it remains a secret in effort to protect a part of the culture; at least I would hope so.
Bangkok for Dinner, Chiang Mai for Breakfast
Cities don’t attract me like the countryside does when I travel, because the rural areas tend to offer a more genuine cultural experience. Being a nature enthusiast also contributes to my urge to get out of the concrete and into the green. A general rule of thumb by region is that once you’ve seen one city, you’ve seen them all. My preconceived notions about the city soon changed once we arrived in Southeast Asia’s hub of Bangkok. We planned our trip to Thailand about four days before leaving, so there was no time to think much about plans or create expectations.
Once we arrived in Bangkok, I immediately felt as though we had been dropped in a dramatically different part of Asia. For one, Thailand is not a Muslim country like Malaysia, so there were no faces cloaked by veils, which gave me the impression of equality between the people. Also, Malaysian cuisine consists mostly of fish, ginger, lemongrass, and soy sauces. On our walk through the city streets of Bangkok to the train station I was overwhelmed by the aroma of basil, ground peanuts, and fiery peppers. I knew we would have no problem finding spicy food in Thailand. The Thai people are a very peaceful breed, and everyone was willing to help with directions or give time and patience to us while we tried to order a meal. Elephants play a huge part in their culture, and in rural parts of Thailand you will find them roaming the streets. There are endless art pieces in every form of elephants amid the hustle and bustle of the city. My first wildlife-related job was my senior year of college, focusing on the developmental behavior of an Asian Elephant calf, so as you might assume, Thailand hit home and stole my heart!
After our brief time in Bangkok, we took a night train to Chiang Mai. The so-called “cultural hub” of Thailand is Chiang Mai. I beg to differ. I might sound snobby in writing this, but Chiang Mai suits every western-travelers needs to keep one comfortable while in a foreign country. There are more western coffee shops (ie, Starbucks), knock-off market stands, “sports” bars, pizza joints, night clubs, and restaurants that seem to be “Thai-gone-American” by serving traditional food in a western style restaurant, than I have ever seen! Mind I’ve been in very rural areas, but all these elements came as a shock. Of coarse all the comforts of home can be entertaining and fun, my only point is you don’t see any Thais going to the coffee shops, or buying knock-off Luis Vuitton, or getting drunk at the clubs. I suppose the city can be surprising no matter where you are in the world, after being in the field or a rural area for so long. Justin and I outright love Thailand, we are just getting used to the change of pace. There is obviously a lot of tourism in this country for a reason – this place is awesome! I’ve also swayed a bit far from the outer gates of Chiang Mai which includes a series of stunning misty mountains, with temples and winding forested roads. Still in the end, my opinion is the same: if you want raw authentic Thai, get outside the city.
Once we arrived in Bangkok, I immediately felt as though we had been dropped in a dramatically different part of Asia. For one, Thailand is not a Muslim country like Malaysia, so there were no faces cloaked by veils, which gave me the impression of equality between the people. Also, Malaysian cuisine consists mostly of fish, ginger, lemongrass, and soy sauces. On our walk through the city streets of Bangkok to the train station I was overwhelmed by the aroma of basil, ground peanuts, and fiery peppers. I knew we would have no problem finding spicy food in Thailand. The Thai people are a very peaceful breed, and everyone was willing to help with directions or give time and patience to us while we tried to order a meal. Elephants play a huge part in their culture, and in rural parts of Thailand you will find them roaming the streets. There are endless art pieces in every form of elephants amid the hustle and bustle of the city. My first wildlife-related job was my senior year of college, focusing on the developmental behavior of an Asian Elephant calf, so as you might assume, Thailand hit home and stole my heart!
After our brief time in Bangkok, we took a night train to Chiang Mai. The so-called “cultural hub” of Thailand is Chiang Mai. I beg to differ. I might sound snobby in writing this, but Chiang Mai suits every western-travelers needs to keep one comfortable while in a foreign country. There are more western coffee shops (ie, Starbucks), knock-off market stands, “sports” bars, pizza joints, night clubs, and restaurants that seem to be “Thai-gone-American” by serving traditional food in a western style restaurant, than I have ever seen! Mind I’ve been in very rural areas, but all these elements came as a shock. Of coarse all the comforts of home can be entertaining and fun, my only point is you don’t see any Thais going to the coffee shops, or buying knock-off Luis Vuitton, or getting drunk at the clubs. I suppose the city can be surprising no matter where you are in the world, after being in the field or a rural area for so long. Justin and I outright love Thailand, we are just getting used to the change of pace. There is obviously a lot of tourism in this country for a reason – this place is awesome! I’ve also swayed a bit far from the outer gates of Chiang Mai which includes a series of stunning misty mountains, with temples and winding forested roads. Still in the end, my opinion is the same: if you want raw authentic Thai, get outside the city.
Perhentian Paradise
The Perhentian Islands sit off the northeast coast of the Malaysian peninsula in the South China Sea. There are two Islands; Perhentian Basar and Perhentian Kecil (“kecil” means small in Malay). Perhentian Kecil has some very cheap accommodations which attracts the backpacking community, so this was our chosen destination from Kuala Lumpur. Justin and I had never heard of the Perhentians, and decided to travel with one of my Seattle friends to the so-called paradise. The Jungle-Line train goes from Kuala Lumpur to Wakaf Bharu, just below the border of Thailand. It would have been easy to hop a chap flight, but the train gets its name from the stunning views of the rainforest and highlands which the train runs through, and is also far more environmentally friendly!
After a 10 hour train, 3 hour bus to the pier, and a boat ride to the island we made it to destination paradise. With all our plans on a whim and slim expectations, the scene of reaching the nearly vacant island and walking along the dock over crystal blue water was very dramatic. The long trek of traveling is always worth it! The dorm we were staying in was part of a high-class resort. The resort had transformed a business meeting room into a bunkhouse and charged six dollars/night, and we were welcome to use all the hotel amenities. Why doesn’t everyone travel this way ;)?
The Perhentian Islands belong to Pulau Redang National Marine Park, which thankfully prohibits the acts of fishing, collecting coral, or littering. Most travelers come to the Perhentians for the world class diving that is offered. Justin and I are not certified, but nonetheless the three of us signed up for a day long snorkeling trip around both islands. I have to throw in the bonus of hiring our own boat, pancake breakfast included, and six different destinations for 8 dollars total! Our snorkeling escapade wound up to be one of my favorite days in our travels so far.
Most biologists know the marine world is close to gone, and the coral reefs are nothing of what they used to be 10 years ago. One of my professors in college told me that only 3% of the world’s coral reefs are still alive and protected (two years ago), and it is clear that the reefs we swam around were on their last leg. Most of the coral comprised of white tips, which is a red flag of death to come. Some of the coral was bleached and barren amongst the fish and anemones. The fact of the matter is sad, but I was so grateful to experience the magic of the reef while it is still here. We saw so many colorful fish, sting rays, squid, and a hawksbill turtle! The Perhentians are home to a significant turtle population, although frequent oil spills in the past, habitat destruction, and pollution have brought the population down.
I could lecture about marine conservation and global change that is affecting different ecosystems for paragraphs, but I will leave you with the reminder for us to all do our part in sustainable living.
After a 10 hour train, 3 hour bus to the pier, and a boat ride to the island we made it to destination paradise. With all our plans on a whim and slim expectations, the scene of reaching the nearly vacant island and walking along the dock over crystal blue water was very dramatic. The long trek of traveling is always worth it! The dorm we were staying in was part of a high-class resort. The resort had transformed a business meeting room into a bunkhouse and charged six dollars/night, and we were welcome to use all the hotel amenities. Why doesn’t everyone travel this way ;)?
The Perhentian Islands belong to Pulau Redang National Marine Park, which thankfully prohibits the acts of fishing, collecting coral, or littering. Most travelers come to the Perhentians for the world class diving that is offered. Justin and I are not certified, but nonetheless the three of us signed up for a day long snorkeling trip around both islands. I have to throw in the bonus of hiring our own boat, pancake breakfast included, and six different destinations for 8 dollars total! Our snorkeling escapade wound up to be one of my favorite days in our travels so far.
Most biologists know the marine world is close to gone, and the coral reefs are nothing of what they used to be 10 years ago. One of my professors in college told me that only 3% of the world’s coral reefs are still alive and protected (two years ago), and it is clear that the reefs we swam around were on their last leg. Most of the coral comprised of white tips, which is a red flag of death to come. Some of the coral was bleached and barren amongst the fish and anemones. The fact of the matter is sad, but I was so grateful to experience the magic of the reef while it is still here. We saw so many colorful fish, sting rays, squid, and a hawksbill turtle! The Perhentians are home to a significant turtle population, although frequent oil spills in the past, habitat destruction, and pollution have brought the population down.
I could lecture about marine conservation and global change that is affecting different ecosystems for paragraphs, but I will leave you with the reminder for us to all do our part in sustainable living.
Can We Make it to Kuala Lumpur in time?
After a few weeks in Sarawak, Borneo on the farm we parted ways to our next destination: Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia’s capital on the western peninsula. Before buying tickets, two of my best friends from Seattle were traveling in Hong Kong and wrote me a spontaneous email of the possibility of meeting in Malaysia. If they were to buy tickets it would be the day after I got to Kuala Lumpur, so I just planned to take the local bus into town. All of our plans ahead were exciting and seemed that they would go smoothly – but as we learned from our escapade on Luzon in the Philippines, things don’t always go as planned.
Kuala Lumpur was not originally in our plans, but we got in touch with another WWOOF host (trading farm work for food and housing) and jumped on the opportunity. We got to the Kuala Lumpur airport fairly late and took a train to the central station to meet our hosts, Peter and Rachel. They were a young Chinese-Malay couple who just moved into their first apartment together, and needed help putting their place together. This was not your typical WWOOF experience, seeing that there was no farming involved. Peter and Rachel’s apartment was actually not in Kuala Lumpur, as we found out after getting into the car for a three hour drive into the Klang Valley. Peter and Rachel were settled in a small town called Klang. I will attempt to describe Klang in five words: polluted, trashy, smoggy, crowded, and crime-ridden. Klang is known as Malaysia’s industrial hub, and all the locals know all too well that Klang holds no natural beauty, unlike the rest of the country.
We got to their apartment and threw our bags in an upstairs room, and came back down for a drink and snacks. There was no furniture in the apartment, so we all sat in a circle on the barren entry floor of white tiles. The space was small and empty. We asked Peter what he would like us to start working on for the next day.
“Well not much, maybe pull any weeds out of the yard that you see” he said. Justin and I gazed out to the small patio with a patch of grass about 5’x5’.
“And when we’re done?” I questioned.
“You can watch tv” he said. We nodded at him and then finished our water and went off to bed.
The next morning I woke up to run before “weeding.” Every street I ran down reeked of rotten trash. The faces I saw on the sidewalks offered no smiles, only stare-downs and cat calls. All the houses were the same, with big locked gates in front, and piles of garbage everywhere. In my sulky mood while running I tried to convince myself I would get used to this atmosphere. The Philippines was the poorest area I’ve lived in yet, with even lower standards, but the people were friendly, and the scenery of the jungle beyond the huts was stunning. By the end of my run, my mood hit a low, because I realized a quick trip into town on the local transport to meet my friends was not a practical option since we were a day’s journey away by public transport.
I walked into the house and got a drink of water. Justin was sitting on the kitchen floor eating bread for breakfast. “Mary and Betty are coming to Kuala Lumpur today, right?” he asked.
“Ya,” I said, and tapped my foot on the white tile, looking around the blank space of the apartment. I thought to myself, what are we doing here? We have been WWOOFing with hosts because it is a free way to travel and we are on a tight budget. At this point, we’ve been traveling enough to realize that quality of life and happiness is more important than saving money. Not to mention Mary and Betty changed their travel plans to swing through Kuala Lumpur to try and meet up. Clearly, I should be bending backwards to find my friends who did the same for me. When will I ever have the chance again to see two of my closest friends half way around the world?
“Wanna ditch this place?” I said. Justin nearly choked on his slice of bread.
“Seriously? When? Tomorrow” he stuttered.
“No. Now.” I replied.
“Are we allowed to do that? Should we wait until Peter gets home?”
“Betty only has two days in Kuala Lumpur.” I marched upstairs and started throwing my clothes in my pack. Justin ran upstairs in a flurry.
“Do I have time to shower?”
“Next bus leaves in 15 minutes, make it a quick one!”
We swung our packs over our shoulders and waltzed out of the house. I locked the door behind us and tossed the keys back in through the open window. They landed perfectly in the center of the white tiles. And just like that, we were gone. On to the next adventure!
It took us around five hours to get into the central station and catch the monorail to the Golden Triangle, our planned meeting spot. Without fail, I met my friends in great excitement. We all shared a huge wave of enthusiasm and energy. I was overjoyed to have made it all the way to the right hostel in the city center. It was relieving to be out of Klang, and always refreshing to be around close friends. With no time to lose, we set out for the evening to explore the city of Kuala Lumpur.
Kuala Lumpur was not originally in our plans, but we got in touch with another WWOOF host (trading farm work for food and housing) and jumped on the opportunity. We got to the Kuala Lumpur airport fairly late and took a train to the central station to meet our hosts, Peter and Rachel. They were a young Chinese-Malay couple who just moved into their first apartment together, and needed help putting their place together. This was not your typical WWOOF experience, seeing that there was no farming involved. Peter and Rachel’s apartment was actually not in Kuala Lumpur, as we found out after getting into the car for a three hour drive into the Klang Valley. Peter and Rachel were settled in a small town called Klang. I will attempt to describe Klang in five words: polluted, trashy, smoggy, crowded, and crime-ridden. Klang is known as Malaysia’s industrial hub, and all the locals know all too well that Klang holds no natural beauty, unlike the rest of the country.
We got to their apartment and threw our bags in an upstairs room, and came back down for a drink and snacks. There was no furniture in the apartment, so we all sat in a circle on the barren entry floor of white tiles. The space was small and empty. We asked Peter what he would like us to start working on for the next day.
“Well not much, maybe pull any weeds out of the yard that you see” he said. Justin and I gazed out to the small patio with a patch of grass about 5’x5’.
“And when we’re done?” I questioned.
“You can watch tv” he said. We nodded at him and then finished our water and went off to bed.
The next morning I woke up to run before “weeding.” Every street I ran down reeked of rotten trash. The faces I saw on the sidewalks offered no smiles, only stare-downs and cat calls. All the houses were the same, with big locked gates in front, and piles of garbage everywhere. In my sulky mood while running I tried to convince myself I would get used to this atmosphere. The Philippines was the poorest area I’ve lived in yet, with even lower standards, but the people were friendly, and the scenery of the jungle beyond the huts was stunning. By the end of my run, my mood hit a low, because I realized a quick trip into town on the local transport to meet my friends was not a practical option since we were a day’s journey away by public transport.
I walked into the house and got a drink of water. Justin was sitting on the kitchen floor eating bread for breakfast. “Mary and Betty are coming to Kuala Lumpur today, right?” he asked.
“Ya,” I said, and tapped my foot on the white tile, looking around the blank space of the apartment. I thought to myself, what are we doing here? We have been WWOOFing with hosts because it is a free way to travel and we are on a tight budget. At this point, we’ve been traveling enough to realize that quality of life and happiness is more important than saving money. Not to mention Mary and Betty changed their travel plans to swing through Kuala Lumpur to try and meet up. Clearly, I should be bending backwards to find my friends who did the same for me. When will I ever have the chance again to see two of my closest friends half way around the world?
“Wanna ditch this place?” I said. Justin nearly choked on his slice of bread.
“Seriously? When? Tomorrow” he stuttered.
“No. Now.” I replied.
“Are we allowed to do that? Should we wait until Peter gets home?”
“Betty only has two days in Kuala Lumpur.” I marched upstairs and started throwing my clothes in my pack. Justin ran upstairs in a flurry.
“Do I have time to shower?”
“Next bus leaves in 15 minutes, make it a quick one!”
We swung our packs over our shoulders and waltzed out of the house. I locked the door behind us and tossed the keys back in through the open window. They landed perfectly in the center of the white tiles. And just like that, we were gone. On to the next adventure!
It took us around five hours to get into the central station and catch the monorail to the Golden Triangle, our planned meeting spot. Without fail, I met my friends in great excitement. We all shared a huge wave of enthusiasm and energy. I was overjoyed to have made it all the way to the right hostel in the city center. It was relieving to be out of Klang, and always refreshing to be around close friends. With no time to lose, we set out for the evening to explore the city of Kuala Lumpur.
Selamat Hari Raya!
It has been hard to sleep the last few weeks in Kuching – not from the heat or the mosquitoes, but from the loud booms of firecrackers exploding in the night. Malaysia is predominantly Muslim, and has been fasting the last month for Ramadan. Every evening around sunset there are voices heard across town from the Muslims extending an invitation for prayer during Ramadan. The local muslims stand at their doorstep with a microphone, calling for prayer, and it is quite loud. Afterwards, there are a series of random fireworks, and it seems that they land in every direction. Every other night, one lands on the stainless steel roof of our bungalow and Ian, Justin, and I wake up in surprise thinking bullets are flying through the jungle. Finally on September 10, the mood made an appearance above Kuching, indicating the end to the Ramadan fast. The week following calls for a celebration of eating, known as Hari Raya.
On Thursday afternoon, Justin and I were walking along the Kuching waterfront enjoying the Main Bazaar, and found ourselves in conversation with the owner of a local art gallery. After a few minutes of small talk, she held my hand and said “You must join my family for Hari Raya.” Justin and I couldn’t resist the offer. “I will pick you up in front of Little Lebanon tomorrow at 2pm.”
I can’t express how kind the families were that brought us to their homes this weekend. It started with one house, which lead to another, and another… until late in the evening we already had plans to attend houses the next day. There was an ungodly amount of food at each house. Traditional layer cake was found on every table, which is unique to Sarawak cuisine. There were curries, rice cakes, satay, you name it! In the midst of the parties and eating, one woman pulled me upstairs in her home and gave me a traditional Muslim dress. The dress was her eldest daughters, who had grown out of the blue flowing silk, and insisted I must wear it for the rest of Hari Raya. I felt awkward at first, because I’m not Muslim, and I didn’t want to be offensive towards their culture, but all the women encouraged me to wear the dress. From then on, I stuffed my face in Muslim style. Hari Raya was a great end to our time in Sarawak. I will always be reminded of the hospitable people when I think of our time in Kuching.
On Thursday afternoon, Justin and I were walking along the Kuching waterfront enjoying the Main Bazaar, and found ourselves in conversation with the owner of a local art gallery. After a few minutes of small talk, she held my hand and said “You must join my family for Hari Raya.” Justin and I couldn’t resist the offer. “I will pick you up in front of Little Lebanon tomorrow at 2pm.”
I can’t express how kind the families were that brought us to their homes this weekend. It started with one house, which lead to another, and another… until late in the evening we already had plans to attend houses the next day. There was an ungodly amount of food at each house. Traditional layer cake was found on every table, which is unique to Sarawak cuisine. There were curries, rice cakes, satay, you name it! In the midst of the parties and eating, one woman pulled me upstairs in her home and gave me a traditional Muslim dress. The dress was her eldest daughters, who had grown out of the blue flowing silk, and insisted I must wear it for the rest of Hari Raya. I felt awkward at first, because I’m not Muslim, and I didn’t want to be offensive towards their culture, but all the women encouraged me to wear the dress. From then on, I stuffed my face in Muslim style. Hari Raya was a great end to our time in Sarawak. I will always be reminded of the hospitable people when I think of our time in Kuching.
Breakfast is Served, Iban Style.
Dare you ask about this so-called delicious delicacy? Sago worms are mostly a delicacy between the indigenous population (Iban tribe) in Sarawak, Borneo, and thought of as more of an adventurous meal between the rest of the Malaysian community. The worm lives on the trunk of the Sago Palm, and when they are sold at the market, there are often chunks of the tree thrown into the bowl to keep them alive and moving.
After going to the Indonesian market by the border, we stopped by a stand that had squiggles in a bowl. The swell of Sago Worms in the bin looked like gnocchi with a chocolate tip at first sight, until I realized they were shimmying around the bowl like cheese curds with an electric current. I remembered immediately a story from a woman I met in Alaska – her name was Carol Donovan. She was motivated by birds to travel, and made it around the globe in the last 50 years. She was also a serious budgeter. When I met her and heard her stories, she said she often ate Sago worms when in Borneo while hiking. Everyone loves a free meal right?
I went back to the farm with a handful of worms, and kept them in a cool dry place for breakfast the next morning. I didn’t plan on eating them, but Ian and Justin were bold souls and insisted they would try the delicacy. Andrew put together a traditional recipe for the morning.
The worms were still moving about the next morning. Andrew made a spicy sauce and fried them up. Sago Worms are often eaten alive, but can also be fried in a dish called Kadazan. They are fried for less than a minute on each side – just enough for a little crisp! We toasted cinnamon rolls to go with the meal, and set the table. Ian and Justin seemed to have no problem popping the worms in their mouth! They each had five on their plate. Andrew and I made faces as they chewed the rubbery worms and described the taste as a scallop with a pungent flavor. They insisted I tried one or I would seriously regret the moment. I closed my eyes and shoved one down my throat. The worm tasted like a scallop indeed, but rather rotten and fishy. The smell and feeling of the worm lingered in my mouth the rest of the day. How did Carol eat these everyday? I thought to myself.
After going to the Indonesian market by the border, we stopped by a stand that had squiggles in a bowl. The swell of Sago Worms in the bin looked like gnocchi with a chocolate tip at first sight, until I realized they were shimmying around the bowl like cheese curds with an electric current. I remembered immediately a story from a woman I met in Alaska – her name was Carol Donovan. She was motivated by birds to travel, and made it around the globe in the last 50 years. She was also a serious budgeter. When I met her and heard her stories, she said she often ate Sago worms when in Borneo while hiking. Everyone loves a free meal right?
I went back to the farm with a handful of worms, and kept them in a cool dry place for breakfast the next morning. I didn’t plan on eating them, but Ian and Justin were bold souls and insisted they would try the delicacy. Andrew put together a traditional recipe for the morning.
The worms were still moving about the next morning. Andrew made a spicy sauce and fried them up. Sago Worms are often eaten alive, but can also be fried in a dish called Kadazan. They are fried for less than a minute on each side – just enough for a little crisp! We toasted cinnamon rolls to go with the meal, and set the table. Ian and Justin seemed to have no problem popping the worms in their mouth! They each had five on their plate. Andrew and I made faces as they chewed the rubbery worms and described the taste as a scallop with a pungent flavor. They insisted I tried one or I would seriously regret the moment. I closed my eyes and shoved one down my throat. The worm tasted like a scallop indeed, but rather rotten and fishy. The smell and feeling of the worm lingered in my mouth the rest of the day. How did Carol eat these everyday? I thought to myself.
"Living off the Land"
This has been a hot topic at the dinner table at The Kebun. Most people travel to Borneo for an experience that’s off the beaten track. The Kebun in particular, sits deep within the dipterocarp forest, and there is not another house in sight, only the Rayu River, which winds through the middle of the longhouse and animal coops. The compound is framed by more than 90 species of palms and orchids. The misty peaks of Gunung Selang and Gunung Sendok are among the backdrop, shadowed by Gunung Serapi at 3,000ft. The Kebun grows every fruit tree imaginable native to Borneo – star fruit, dragon fruit, bread fruit, jack fruit, bananas, pineapple, lychee, cat’s eye, and durian. Our breakfast consists of eggs from the chickens and quails, and we cook with the vegetables from the garden. The rice is grown locally, and sometimes we eat meat from the farm by slaughtering a goat or duck. Sounds sustainable at first glance. But what about the fuel you burn in your car to buy the rice? The extra food you buy at the store, like the chili sauce to put on your stew? You can’t grow your own salt or flour, and everyone loves a hot cup of coffee in the morning. Ya, I know – blah blah blah. The classic dilemma we find ourselves in as conservationists.
When it comes down to the nitty gritty of our daily lives, I often feel good about my carbon footprint if I am making every effort within my comfort zone to be sustainable. It’s one thing to obsess over every piece of plastic around the house and how much gas you burn in your car, but if the weather’s nice, ride your bike.
The topic has been a popular discussion because Adrian is formulating a layout for an eco-hut, and is trying to make it entirely sustainable. Yet he feels that no one will be intrigued to stay in such simple living conditions on a vacation. My opinion – Sign me up! Eco-tourism is on the rise and of all places such as Borneo people would seek out such an option. The brain storming of ideas has been fun between a wide range of generations at the dinner table. There are ideas of people sleeping straight on the ground, to hand-built bamboo beds which Andrew has offered to construct (he is a furniture builder after all). There is a big backpacking community out there, but there are also well-off families trying to educate their children about the environment. An eco-hut at the Kebun would make for a very eclectic community of individuals.
*Picture is of the longhouse that is currently being constructed by hand by all the workers. A slow process that is coming together nicely!
When it comes down to the nitty gritty of our daily lives, I often feel good about my carbon footprint if I am making every effort within my comfort zone to be sustainable. It’s one thing to obsess over every piece of plastic around the house and how much gas you burn in your car, but if the weather’s nice, ride your bike.
The topic has been a popular discussion because Adrian is formulating a layout for an eco-hut, and is trying to make it entirely sustainable. Yet he feels that no one will be intrigued to stay in such simple living conditions on a vacation. My opinion – Sign me up! Eco-tourism is on the rise and of all places such as Borneo people would seek out such an option. The brain storming of ideas has been fun between a wide range of generations at the dinner table. There are ideas of people sleeping straight on the ground, to hand-built bamboo beds which Andrew has offered to construct (he is a furniture builder after all). There is a big backpacking community out there, but there are also well-off families trying to educate their children about the environment. An eco-hut at the Kebun would make for a very eclectic community of individuals.
*Picture is of the longhouse that is currently being constructed by hand by all the workers. A slow process that is coming together nicely!
The Kebun
I’ve been asked by a few people what exactly I’m doing at The Kebun, so I thought I’d write a small outline of my daily routine. Every day includes different chores, but a few things must always get done, like feeding the animals. This is what a general day in the life of Claire currently looks like:
5:30am wake up, out the door at 6am for a sunrise run through Kubah National Park, which is less than a quarter mile from The Kebun.
7:30am back from my run, chug some water, and start mixing!
I feed all the animals in the front, and Justin takes the back. While feeding the turkeys, chickens, and quails, I collect any eggs that have dropped for our breakfast. I let the goats out, and take them through a trail into the jungle so they can eat plant matter before eating the mixture I’ve prepared – if they don’t eat plant matter before the mixture they will not digest the food properly and be prone to Colic. After a half hour I let the goats in and feed them. The food I mix for the animals consists of pressed coconut rind (fat), unpolished rice grounds (protein), and corn (carb).
9:00am eat breakfast
9:30am from now until lunch, our chores are dependent on current projects, such as helping with the construction of the longhouse or planting seeds in the new nursery. Yesterday I cleaned the boat that Justin and I will be using to map wildlife habitats for future tours on the Rayu River. I also planted Cassava and Papaya trees by the longhouse. Every day is different.
11:30am cooking lesson from Olivia and preparation of lunch. We eat by 1pm.
1-3pm is rest hour, and everyone will retreat to their bungalows and enjoy a cold shower and nap. At this time of day the sun is the hottest, so having a couple hours makes the day very manageable.
3:30pm mix more food and feed the animals their second meal.
5pm the day is done! We take turns cooking dinner, unless Olivia is still around, then she will cook.
If there aren’t guests staying at The Kebun or not many chores need to be done after the morning feeding of the animals, Adrian usually takes us on an outing. We have been to the Kuching waterfront, the main bazaar, and the Matang Wildlife Center. One day after we fed the animals, Adrian took us to a small Malaysian village called Serian, and we wined and dined on different local foods. Justin and I love it here, we feel pretty spoiled. Adrian is quite the character, and everyone gets along well. There’s nothing to complain about when you always have good food in front of your face with good company.
5:30am wake up, out the door at 6am for a sunrise run through Kubah National Park, which is less than a quarter mile from The Kebun.
7:30am back from my run, chug some water, and start mixing!
I feed all the animals in the front, and Justin takes the back. While feeding the turkeys, chickens, and quails, I collect any eggs that have dropped for our breakfast. I let the goats out, and take them through a trail into the jungle so they can eat plant matter before eating the mixture I’ve prepared – if they don’t eat plant matter before the mixture they will not digest the food properly and be prone to Colic. After a half hour I let the goats in and feed them. The food I mix for the animals consists of pressed coconut rind (fat), unpolished rice grounds (protein), and corn (carb).
9:00am eat breakfast
9:30am from now until lunch, our chores are dependent on current projects, such as helping with the construction of the longhouse or planting seeds in the new nursery. Yesterday I cleaned the boat that Justin and I will be using to map wildlife habitats for future tours on the Rayu River. I also planted Cassava and Papaya trees by the longhouse. Every day is different.
11:30am cooking lesson from Olivia and preparation of lunch. We eat by 1pm.
1-3pm is rest hour, and everyone will retreat to their bungalows and enjoy a cold shower and nap. At this time of day the sun is the hottest, so having a couple hours makes the day very manageable.
3:30pm mix more food and feed the animals their second meal.
5pm the day is done! We take turns cooking dinner, unless Olivia is still around, then she will cook.
If there aren’t guests staying at The Kebun or not many chores need to be done after the morning feeding of the animals, Adrian usually takes us on an outing. We have been to the Kuching waterfront, the main bazaar, and the Matang Wildlife Center. One day after we fed the animals, Adrian took us to a small Malaysian village called Serian, and we wined and dined on different local foods. Justin and I love it here, we feel pretty spoiled. Adrian is quite the character, and everyone gets along well. There’s nothing to complain about when you always have good food in front of your face with good company.
The Land Beneath the Wind
Justin and I have reached paradise. Borneo earned its reputation as “the land beneath the wind” because it sits below the tropical typhoon belt, and almost never experiences harsh storms. Borneo is a tropical rainforest, and sits directly on the equator, so there is rain year round. Borneo is the third largest island in the world, and is known as a mega-biodiversity hotspot in biology terms. The island is home to a handful of exotic and rare species you will find nowhere else in the world. Wonder why we came here?
After our wild goose chase to get to Sarawak, Adrian, the owner of The Kebun (the B&B we are working for) picked us up from the airport. He took one look at us and sarcastically said we were too skinny to start doing manual labor on the farm so we must go into town and get a big morning meal. We ate traditional Malaysian food in the heart of Kuching – wontons, pickled vegetables, pork noodles, and satay. As I wrote in previous blogs, we were deprived of nutritious food in the Philippines, and found ourselves hungry at all hours from the lack of food. The Malaysian delight we found ourselves enjoying was one of the most fantastic meals, partly at the cost of being deprived for so long. Adrian noticed how hungry we were and continued to order food, “more wontons for the lady!” he said. I knew we had come to the right place.
After the meal, we got the grand tour of The Kebun. We got acquainted with the farm animals we would be taking care of and learned how to prepare their food. I met Adrian’s wife, Olivia, who would be teaching me how to cook traditional Malaysian food for the guests. We met the two other workers, Andrew from Australia, and Ian from South Africa, who were constructing a 12-room longhouse for future guests, which Justin would also be helping with. There are also three luxury bungalows for guests, one which Justin, Ian, and I share. It is the most traditional bungalow in Malaysian terms, of the three. It has a large living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, two large bedrooms, and a wrap-around porch with an outside dining room and fire pit. Wait a minute, am I the luckiest girl in the world?
We got to work that day, and learned how/what to feed all the animals. Five chicken coops, 70 turkeys, quails, geese, ducks, and goats. Lots of heads to feed, all with different mixtures of food, so the process takes over a couple hours. By the time it was lunch, I began my first cooking lesson with Olivia and prepared lunch for everyone. We steamed Tilapia caught fresh from the river, with ginger, peppers, garlic, and sour plums, with rice and a few side dishes. We took a long lunch break to eat and relax, before we got to work for the afternoon shift.
In the last week we have fallen into a rhythm of work. There is lots of manual labor involved, but I don’t find it very difficult when I’m surrounded by the jungle, seeing new animals every day. Not to mention we are eating well, and Adrian is always bringing home different tropical fruits and traditional treats for us to try. He said “we must try every fruit and Malaysian dish before we leave.” Sounds good to me…
After our wild goose chase to get to Sarawak, Adrian, the owner of The Kebun (the B&B we are working for) picked us up from the airport. He took one look at us and sarcastically said we were too skinny to start doing manual labor on the farm so we must go into town and get a big morning meal. We ate traditional Malaysian food in the heart of Kuching – wontons, pickled vegetables, pork noodles, and satay. As I wrote in previous blogs, we were deprived of nutritious food in the Philippines, and found ourselves hungry at all hours from the lack of food. The Malaysian delight we found ourselves enjoying was one of the most fantastic meals, partly at the cost of being deprived for so long. Adrian noticed how hungry we were and continued to order food, “more wontons for the lady!” he said. I knew we had come to the right place.
After the meal, we got the grand tour of The Kebun. We got acquainted with the farm animals we would be taking care of and learned how to prepare their food. I met Adrian’s wife, Olivia, who would be teaching me how to cook traditional Malaysian food for the guests. We met the two other workers, Andrew from Australia, and Ian from South Africa, who were constructing a 12-room longhouse for future guests, which Justin would also be helping with. There are also three luxury bungalows for guests, one which Justin, Ian, and I share. It is the most traditional bungalow in Malaysian terms, of the three. It has a large living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, two large bedrooms, and a wrap-around porch with an outside dining room and fire pit. Wait a minute, am I the luckiest girl in the world?
We got to work that day, and learned how/what to feed all the animals. Five chicken coops, 70 turkeys, quails, geese, ducks, and goats. Lots of heads to feed, all with different mixtures of food, so the process takes over a couple hours. By the time it was lunch, I began my first cooking lesson with Olivia and prepared lunch for everyone. We steamed Tilapia caught fresh from the river, with ginger, peppers, garlic, and sour plums, with rice and a few side dishes. We took a long lunch break to eat and relax, before we got to work for the afternoon shift.
In the last week we have fallen into a rhythm of work. There is lots of manual labor involved, but I don’t find it very difficult when I’m surrounded by the jungle, seeing new animals every day. Not to mention we are eating well, and Adrian is always bringing home different tropical fruits and traditional treats for us to try. He said “we must try every fruit and Malaysian dish before we leave.” Sounds good to me…
Are We There Yet?
21 days is all that is granted to US citizens by the Filipino Department of Immigration as a tourist visa, unless you choose to extend it for quite the price. We got in touch with a home stay farm in Sarawak, Borneo, and decided to take the opportunity to work in Malaysia and learn about organic farming. This was our original back up plan if we ended up having a hassle with our visas since we were living in a remote area, but even so, the idea became intriguing to see more of Asia once we set foot in this part of the world.
Air Asia offers cheap flights for less than 50 bucks to lots of international cities, but not always through main airports, and you have to go out of your way to fly with them, so we gave ourselves a long layover in Manila.
We woke up for a sunrise run through Bilar, caught the early bus to Tagbilaran, and started the long haul to Borneo. After our bus ride to the port, it was another two hour ride on the boat to Cebu City, taxi to the airport, flight to Manila, and a three hour taxi/car hire to Pampanga to catch our flight to Kuching, Sarawak, with a connection in Sabah. Everything was going smoothly, keeping our layovers within a comfortable time period. I wasn’t too excited about driving out of Manila and through Luzon to get to a separate airport. The city was crowded with traffic, and I probably got the black lung just sitting in the cab, and my eyes were blinded from all the billboards.
We were cruising up the expressway, making good time, and then the car made a rough sound. We suddenly slowed to a pathetic 20 mph, and the front hood started smoking. The car putted along the shoulder, and the driver insisted we would make it the final 10km to the airport, but I was not convinced. He pulled over and stopped the car, and the engine was overheated to the extent that the hood was warped! Justin and I looked at each other, what’s plan B? I stood on the side of the highway next to the broken down car, while the driver frantically fanned the hood with his shirt, and tried to stick my thumb out. Just then, a monsoon rain rolled over Luzon and began dumping on us. “We are screwed!” I thought to myself. Within five minutes of the rain, two police officers pulled over behind the cab and asked what was going on. We tried to communicate, but there was clearly a language barrier. After some fuss and panic in the downpour, the officers said they could take us to the next exit off the highway, and help us find a cab to the airport. The clock was ticking.
We drove five minutes up the highway and rolled into Dau, a small shanty town, which clearly had no cabs. The officers said they were not allowed to take us to the airport after I offered to pay them, and that they would try and find someone who had a car that would drive us. I was slowly losing hope as we drove by every corner of town. Finally we pulled up to a man driving a Jeepney – a very old truck used in the war, gutted out from the inside that had no seats, just couch cushions against the sidewall. “He can take you,” the officers said. I don’t think we had another choice. We jumped in the back of the Jeepney, “Let’s go!!!” The clock was still ticking.
We drove down the crowded streets toward the airport in the pouring rain. The Jeepney had no windows, so we huddled in the corner, still getting soaked from head to toe by the rain gusting through the window frames. The Jeepney also had no window wipers, so the man driving would occasionally pull out a piece of a broken wiper and scrape it across the window. Well we made it to an airport, or rather an Air Force Base. The driver had no idea where we were going. We stopped in front of some of the ROTC barracks, and the driver looked at me through the rearview mirror as if I should give him directions. How do you say “WE ARE LOST” in Filipino?
We got out of the car and tried to ask some of the students in uniform where the airport was, but they clearly had no idea either. I got in the car, beyond flustered, realizing we might be fined for overstaying our visa, and be sleeping on the streets of Dau in Pampanga. The clock was ticking fast, and I was about to give up. I ran out in the pouring rain down the street to a stop light where a guard was sitting in a booth. “Please tell me you know where the airport is!” Yes, he did. And he even wrote down descriptive directions for me in perfect English. I fled back to the Jeepney where Justin was staying with our backpacks. “Got a second wind?” he said. “Yes, let’s get to the damn airport!”
Ten minutes down the road we pulled up in front of the terminal, and went flying through the Pampanga airport, just in time to catch our flight to Sabah, Borneo. Our final flight to Sarawak was not until the next morning, so we waltzed around the miniature airport, got our first taste of Malaysian cuisine, and found a comfortable place to set up camp for the night on a bench in the airport. The next morning we caught our flight to Sarawak, and we were picked up by Adrian, the owner of the farm we are working on. 40 minutes later we rolled up to the Kebun Farm Bed & Breakfast. We stepped out of the car and Adrian showed us to our bungalow. We threw our backpacks in the living room and smirked at each other, “I can’t believe we made it.”
Air Asia offers cheap flights for less than 50 bucks to lots of international cities, but not always through main airports, and you have to go out of your way to fly with them, so we gave ourselves a long layover in Manila.
We woke up for a sunrise run through Bilar, caught the early bus to Tagbilaran, and started the long haul to Borneo. After our bus ride to the port, it was another two hour ride on the boat to Cebu City, taxi to the airport, flight to Manila, and a three hour taxi/car hire to Pampanga to catch our flight to Kuching, Sarawak, with a connection in Sabah. Everything was going smoothly, keeping our layovers within a comfortable time period. I wasn’t too excited about driving out of Manila and through Luzon to get to a separate airport. The city was crowded with traffic, and I probably got the black lung just sitting in the cab, and my eyes were blinded from all the billboards.
We were cruising up the expressway, making good time, and then the car made a rough sound. We suddenly slowed to a pathetic 20 mph, and the front hood started smoking. The car putted along the shoulder, and the driver insisted we would make it the final 10km to the airport, but I was not convinced. He pulled over and stopped the car, and the engine was overheated to the extent that the hood was warped! Justin and I looked at each other, what’s plan B? I stood on the side of the highway next to the broken down car, while the driver frantically fanned the hood with his shirt, and tried to stick my thumb out. Just then, a monsoon rain rolled over Luzon and began dumping on us. “We are screwed!” I thought to myself. Within five minutes of the rain, two police officers pulled over behind the cab and asked what was going on. We tried to communicate, but there was clearly a language barrier. After some fuss and panic in the downpour, the officers said they could take us to the next exit off the highway, and help us find a cab to the airport. The clock was ticking.
We drove five minutes up the highway and rolled into Dau, a small shanty town, which clearly had no cabs. The officers said they were not allowed to take us to the airport after I offered to pay them, and that they would try and find someone who had a car that would drive us. I was slowly losing hope as we drove by every corner of town. Finally we pulled up to a man driving a Jeepney – a very old truck used in the war, gutted out from the inside that had no seats, just couch cushions against the sidewall. “He can take you,” the officers said. I don’t think we had another choice. We jumped in the back of the Jeepney, “Let’s go!!!” The clock was still ticking.
We drove down the crowded streets toward the airport in the pouring rain. The Jeepney had no windows, so we huddled in the corner, still getting soaked from head to toe by the rain gusting through the window frames. The Jeepney also had no window wipers, so the man driving would occasionally pull out a piece of a broken wiper and scrape it across the window. Well we made it to an airport, or rather an Air Force Base. The driver had no idea where we were going. We stopped in front of some of the ROTC barracks, and the driver looked at me through the rearview mirror as if I should give him directions. How do you say “WE ARE LOST” in Filipino?
We got out of the car and tried to ask some of the students in uniform where the airport was, but they clearly had no idea either. I got in the car, beyond flustered, realizing we might be fined for overstaying our visa, and be sleeping on the streets of Dau in Pampanga. The clock was ticking fast, and I was about to give up. I ran out in the pouring rain down the street to a stop light where a guard was sitting in a booth. “Please tell me you know where the airport is!” Yes, he did. And he even wrote down descriptive directions for me in perfect English. I fled back to the Jeepney where Justin was staying with our backpacks. “Got a second wind?” he said. “Yes, let’s get to the damn airport!”
Ten minutes down the road we pulled up in front of the terminal, and went flying through the Pampanga airport, just in time to catch our flight to Sabah, Borneo. Our final flight to Sarawak was not until the next morning, so we waltzed around the miniature airport, got our first taste of Malaysian cuisine, and found a comfortable place to set up camp for the night on a bench in the airport. The next morning we caught our flight to Sarawak, and we were picked up by Adrian, the owner of the farm we are working on. 40 minutes later we rolled up to the Kebun Farm Bed & Breakfast. We stepped out of the car and Adrian showed us to our bungalow. We threw our backpacks in the living room and smirked at each other, “I can’t believe we made it.”
Coconuts 101
Did you know the Philippines is the largest producer of coconuts around the world? There are multiple species too, each one with its own unique flavor. Nearly every part of the coconut can be utilized. The coconut is classified as a nut and a fruit, but technically is not a true nut, and has three layers to it, like a true fruit. The endocarp, or the “meat” is the most delectable part in my opinion, but others might argue the tastiest is the juice that collects in the center.
Sunday was the ultimate coconut tasting. We had the day off after a long week of catching and tracking tarsiers, and stuffed our faces by the hour with fresh mangoes and coconut dishes. We were lounging like bums on the hostel couches, when our friend Mark and a few of the students from campus came back from church and asked if we wanted to go to his friend Jhay’s house for mangoes. We joined the parade and trekked to the house, which was surrounded by a gorgeous garden and clumps of mango trees and many other fruit bearing plants and palms. We grabbed sticks and started knocking down as many mangoes we could find, until we had a pile in the grass. Then we had a peeling party inside, and filled plates with mangoes. One of the Jhay’s neighbors came over to climb one of the palm trees and knocked down three coconuts to add to our feast. Jhay cracked the coconuts, and we drank the juice from the center, which was incredibly sweet and filling. Once halved, we scooped the flesh from the inside. We ate ourselves silly with all the fruit, and Jhay’s mom gave us squares of cassava cake to add to our stuffed stupor.
We walked back on the main road to campus, but the daily feast was not over yet. Tutu and his wife Judith prepared more coconut dishes! They made special sweet milk with the clear juice from the inside to start. Judith then preceded to make a coconut jelly with an aged coconut, and shredded it manually, before squeezing out the milk. She poured the coconut jelly over steamed cassava, which made for my favorite of the coconut dishes. Finally, she made Alopé by grinding rice with the coconut meat and steaming it inside a banana leaf. To end the evening celebration of food, Justin and I bought two cooked chickens from the market for everyone and continued to eat through the night.
Sunday was the ultimate coconut tasting. We had the day off after a long week of catching and tracking tarsiers, and stuffed our faces by the hour with fresh mangoes and coconut dishes. We were lounging like bums on the hostel couches, when our friend Mark and a few of the students from campus came back from church and asked if we wanted to go to his friend Jhay’s house for mangoes. We joined the parade and trekked to the house, which was surrounded by a gorgeous garden and clumps of mango trees and many other fruit bearing plants and palms. We grabbed sticks and started knocking down as many mangoes we could find, until we had a pile in the grass. Then we had a peeling party inside, and filled plates with mangoes. One of the Jhay’s neighbors came over to climb one of the palm trees and knocked down three coconuts to add to our feast. Jhay cracked the coconuts, and we drank the juice from the center, which was incredibly sweet and filling. Once halved, we scooped the flesh from the inside. We ate ourselves silly with all the fruit, and Jhay’s mom gave us squares of cassava cake to add to our stuffed stupor.
We walked back on the main road to campus, but the daily feast was not over yet. Tutu and his wife Judith prepared more coconut dishes! They made special sweet milk with the clear juice from the inside to start. Judith then preceded to make a coconut jelly with an aged coconut, and shredded it manually, before squeezing out the milk. She poured the coconut jelly over steamed cassava, which made for my favorite of the coconut dishes. Finally, she made Alopé by grinding rice with the coconut meat and steaming it inside a banana leaf. To end the evening celebration of food, Justin and I bought two cooked chickens from the market for everyone and continued to eat through the night.
Beginner's Luck?
The early evening is my favorite time of day on Bohol. The air is calm and cool. The locals have stopped their daily hustle and bustle and returned to their huts. The sun is no longer blazing on my face, and the pores on my skin finally cease to drench my clothes in sweat. The forest smells sweet from the cracked coconuts harvested from the day. As the light dims, it becomes golden, and the rows of water in the rice fields glow. When half the world falls asleep, another wakes up…
The poachers have constructed a bamboo bench at a central spot in the field. It took them about ten minutes to find the right sticks and throw the thing together. Their skills are always impressing! While Justin and I wait for the sun to go down, we sit on the bench and observe the rhythm of the night unfold. Sometimes we hum songs to entertain ourselves, like “Turn off the Lights” by Nelly Furtado, or “Goodnight and Go” by Imogen Heap. Other times we just sit. The clock strikes six and we grab our antennas and start tracking.
Thursday night was an exciting one, with two tarsiers caught. As if I wasn’t lucky enough to witness a catch, Friday night another tarsier was caught! This time, we partook in the action. Usually the lead poacher, Julius, will whistle a loud and obvious tone to the others, and they will go running to the tree and surround the animal, until someone has the right position to grab it. Friday night, the moment came – we knew a tarsier was in reach from all the commotion and Julius came running to the bench, waving and whistling, and pointing at us. Justin and I looked at each other and shrugged, grabbed the bags and went sprinting down the trail, following Julius in full speed. Must be a feisty one, I thought. Over stumps and fallen branches, we raced through the forest! We tromped through the buffalo meadow and found the other poachers around a lonesome tree. We were just in time to corner the tarsier, as it jumped to the ground and we made a circle around the animal. It became a circus act from here – the little fuzz ball jumped around, and all the men shined their flashlights in every direction, and Justin held the bag open. The poor tarsier frantically tried to get away, and finally Julius grabbed it and put it in the sack. This is a lot of stress for an animal to go through, so from here, we work fast. We immediately head for the farm, which is a five minute walk out of the forest. Monika and Jane meet us there from campus, and then we assemble away! The radio-collar is attached, the tarsier is weighed, and a hair and fecal sample is taken. Afterwards we take the tarsier back to the same tree it was captured from. This is when I got some good pictures of the critter, and got to observe its behavior first hand. They are fascinating animals, and I think it can be agreed they are adorable!
The poachers have constructed a bamboo bench at a central spot in the field. It took them about ten minutes to find the right sticks and throw the thing together. Their skills are always impressing! While Justin and I wait for the sun to go down, we sit on the bench and observe the rhythm of the night unfold. Sometimes we hum songs to entertain ourselves, like “Turn off the Lights” by Nelly Furtado, or “Goodnight and Go” by Imogen Heap. Other times we just sit. The clock strikes six and we grab our antennas and start tracking.
Thursday night was an exciting one, with two tarsiers caught. As if I wasn’t lucky enough to witness a catch, Friday night another tarsier was caught! This time, we partook in the action. Usually the lead poacher, Julius, will whistle a loud and obvious tone to the others, and they will go running to the tree and surround the animal, until someone has the right position to grab it. Friday night, the moment came – we knew a tarsier was in reach from all the commotion and Julius came running to the bench, waving and whistling, and pointing at us. Justin and I looked at each other and shrugged, grabbed the bags and went sprinting down the trail, following Julius in full speed. Must be a feisty one, I thought. Over stumps and fallen branches, we raced through the forest! We tromped through the buffalo meadow and found the other poachers around a lonesome tree. We were just in time to corner the tarsier, as it jumped to the ground and we made a circle around the animal. It became a circus act from here – the little fuzz ball jumped around, and all the men shined their flashlights in every direction, and Justin held the bag open. The poor tarsier frantically tried to get away, and finally Julius grabbed it and put it in the sack. This is a lot of stress for an animal to go through, so from here, we work fast. We immediately head for the farm, which is a five minute walk out of the forest. Monika and Jane meet us there from campus, and then we assemble away! The radio-collar is attached, the tarsier is weighed, and a hair and fecal sample is taken. Afterwards we take the tarsier back to the same tree it was captured from. This is when I got some good pictures of the critter, and got to observe its behavior first hand. They are fascinating animals, and I think it can be agreed they are adorable!
The Catch!
The last few weeks I have been tracking tarsiers, but there may be a little bit of a misconception, because although I’m following the critters, I never see them. Tarsiers are hard enough to spot because of their small size, and being in the dark doesn’t make chances any better for seeing them, unless they are right in front of your face. We have a handful of tarsiers radio-collared at the moment, which we follow and record the position of the animal via triangulation. If the signal on the radio is especially strong, then it is apparent you are close to the animal, but still, the critter is invisible in the dark. As I wrote in a previous blog, Milada hired the local poachers to help us catch the tarsiers and radio-collar them. The last 8 days, Justin and I have met the poachers before nightfall, set up the mist nets, and waited for them to catch an animal. We take turns staying with the poachers while the other radio-tracks the already collared tarsiers. Each night we twiddle our thumbs in the darkness, trying to focus on work, but stir with great anticipation. The conversation is always the same when we check-in at the mist nets; Did you catch one? No.
Yesterday was judgment day. Two tarsiers caught in one night! The poachers were following a female, and were able to corner her. Just as they grabbed her, they noticed a male less than a meter away. This particular instance of two tarsiers being close to one another is rare. There has been little research done with tarsiers, but it has always been thought that tarsiers are solitary animals. The week before Justin and I came to Bohol, a female was caught, and coincidentally she was within a close distance to two other tarsiers! This was thought to be the first recording of tarsiers displaying any type of social behavior. And now, last night was the second. A lot of ideas are running through everyone’s heads, and I’m sure Milada has some interesting ideas with future data, now that we have tarsiers within close distances being tracked.
We had the poachers over to our hostel and celebrated with rum and coke. Seeing the tarsiers was a rewarding element to the project. I would be down on myself if I came here and never saw one! Having interacted with the tarsiers, I now have a new wave of motivation to keep myself up at night tracking their movement.
Yesterday was judgment day. Two tarsiers caught in one night! The poachers were following a female, and were able to corner her. Just as they grabbed her, they noticed a male less than a meter away. This particular instance of two tarsiers being close to one another is rare. There has been little research done with tarsiers, but it has always been thought that tarsiers are solitary animals. The week before Justin and I came to Bohol, a female was caught, and coincidentally she was within a close distance to two other tarsiers! This was thought to be the first recording of tarsiers displaying any type of social behavior. And now, last night was the second. A lot of ideas are running through everyone’s heads, and I’m sure Milada has some interesting ideas with future data, now that we have tarsiers within close distances being tracked.
We had the poachers over to our hostel and celebrated with rum and coke. Seeing the tarsiers was a rewarding element to the project. I would be down on myself if I came here and never saw one! Having interacted with the tarsiers, I now have a new wave of motivation to keep myself up at night tracking their movement.
Logarita Springs
Finally, two days off! What a treat! It is so nice to sleep during night hours when the world seems quiet and calm. Justin and I are once again rested and geared up for another week in the field. We will switch shifts with the other pair of workers, and will work 6pm-12am instead of the graveyard shift through morning. Ah, normalcy.
The longhouse we are living in is shared with 8 Filipino students that attend the University. We have our own rooms, and there is a shared communal area with a sink and a few chairs. They are very easy to live around, and always smiling. They have been waiting for us to take a day off, and planned an outing with us. At high noon, we hiked a few miles to the east hills, and made a long haul across the rice fields before we trekked up one of the highest hills. At the top is Lagunita Springs, your average jungle swimming pool. There is a paved road with a gate you can take to the springs, which is the official entrance, but foreigners are charged 100 pesos. With the students at our side, we got the local rate of 5 pesos, and also took the more scenic route. The water from the springs flows down a few small waterfalls into a man-made pool. Of coarse there is the ocean to go to on hot days, but the water is like a bathtub. Taking a dip in the springs is so refreshing! After an afternoon of swimming, we continued on the trails to Magsaysay National Park, on the other side of the hilltop. The forest at Magsaysay is different from the one we work in, and consists of mostly primary growth trees, with lots of Ficus species. There are Macaques, flying Lemurs, and a lot of butterflies. Bohol has more endemic species of butterflies than any other Philippine Island, so when I say “a lot,” it is no exaggeration! There are nearly 350 species of butterflies. After a long day of hiking, we feasted on two roasted chickens from the market, sweet rice, and papayas.
We have been more adventurous with our food, and the students have also been bringing us fresh fruit and treats from Oikos Farm, by campus. Tutu (ie, “rice-cake man”) makes soups in the morning, which we’ve been avoiding because of the meat, but decided it was time to make the dive. Halong-Halong is a traditional Filipino soup with chicken, and is known for being spicy, which has been a favorite of Justin’s. Tutu also makes a lentil-cabbage soup with a mango sauce, which has been my preferred breakfast lately. As long as I get a fresh mango or pineapple each day, I am quite satisfied with my diet. I still haven’t been able to convince myself to try to fried fish heads…
The longhouse we are living in is shared with 8 Filipino students that attend the University. We have our own rooms, and there is a shared communal area with a sink and a few chairs. They are very easy to live around, and always smiling. They have been waiting for us to take a day off, and planned an outing with us. At high noon, we hiked a few miles to the east hills, and made a long haul across the rice fields before we trekked up one of the highest hills. At the top is Lagunita Springs, your average jungle swimming pool. There is a paved road with a gate you can take to the springs, which is the official entrance, but foreigners are charged 100 pesos. With the students at our side, we got the local rate of 5 pesos, and also took the more scenic route. The water from the springs flows down a few small waterfalls into a man-made pool. Of coarse there is the ocean to go to on hot days, but the water is like a bathtub. Taking a dip in the springs is so refreshing! After an afternoon of swimming, we continued on the trails to Magsaysay National Park, on the other side of the hilltop. The forest at Magsaysay is different from the one we work in, and consists of mostly primary growth trees, with lots of Ficus species. There are Macaques, flying Lemurs, and a lot of butterflies. Bohol has more endemic species of butterflies than any other Philippine Island, so when I say “a lot,” it is no exaggeration! There are nearly 350 species of butterflies. After a long day of hiking, we feasted on two roasted chickens from the market, sweet rice, and papayas.
We have been more adventurous with our food, and the students have also been bringing us fresh fruit and treats from Oikos Farm, by campus. Tutu (ie, “rice-cake man”) makes soups in the morning, which we’ve been avoiding because of the meat, but decided it was time to make the dive. Halong-Halong is a traditional Filipino soup with chicken, and is known for being spicy, which has been a favorite of Justin’s. Tutu also makes a lentil-cabbage soup with a mango sauce, which has been my preferred breakfast lately. As long as I get a fresh mango or pineapple each day, I am quite satisfied with my diet. I still haven’t been able to convince myself to try to fried fish heads…
Bohol Cuisine
Working long days is typical in fieldwork, but it can be hard on your body without adequate nutrition. We don’t have a kitchen, and there are no grocery stores or restaurants because we are in a very remote area. A few of the local Filipinos set up hot food stands outside their huts, and most of the community will gather to the houses and pay for a meal. We stick out like sore thumbs, walking around the huts buying food from the locals, but we have made a few friends in the process. There is an unnamed man at the far end of the main road we have dubbed “rice-cake man.” He grinds rice behind his house, mixes it with coconut milk, wraps it in a decorative banana leaf, and steams it over a pot. Sometimes he stuffs the rice cakes with vegetables, and pours papaya syrup in the center. Fried bananas are popular, and tasty, but the most popular dish of all are the fried fish heads. No thanks! The smell of fish is very prominent around the huts during meal hours. Rice is always available at the huts, as well as cooked noodles, and a small selection of cooked vegetables. They eat the same selection of food for all three meals, and as you can see, there aren’t many options for protein except the fried fish heads and sometimes grilled chicken feet (I don’t know where the other parts of the chicken went). Sometimes eggs are available, but they are deep friend in fish oil. I can definitely feel the effects from a lack of protein. On Sundays we go to the market at the main town of Bilar, which is very small, but there are mangos and pineapples available, which are some of the best I’ve had.
My body has slowly adjusted to a straight-carb diet, but it doesn’t always make hiking easy! Viva rice and green beans.
My body has slowly adjusted to a straight-carb diet, but it doesn’t always make hiking easy! Viva rice and green beans.
Tarsier Chase
Working at night is not something your body adjusts to easily. I have found somewhat of a rhythm, but the last week Justin and I have been working the graveyard shift from midnight to 6:30am. We usually sleep from 6pm-11pm, and then again the next morning. During the day we enter data from the night before and analyze it on a Quantum GIS mapping program. Sometimes we track the animals during the day as well, or build new trails if they moved to new ranges during the night. We don’t have much free time, and working hours can add up to an excessive amount. So it is the life of a fieldworker, I suppose. Normally there are more assistants to help with the project, but people have backed out here and there so we are pulling a little more weight than expected. By this Sunday we will have our first day off in over a week, and then we will switch the schedule to the earlier shift from 5pm-midnight, which will be a nice change.
In between the radio-tracking, we have also been trying to catch tarsiers by setting up mist-nets. The mist-nets are not the most effective way to catch tarsiers, because tarsiers are able to free themselves easily and climb up the net, so Milada has made a deal with the local poachers. A strange approach to fieldwork, especially conservation related, but the poachers are experts at finding animals and catching them. Two nights ago was the first night we met with the poachers. There were two of them, walking barefoot through the trails. We set up the mist nets, and then they switched their flashlights off and spent the next three hours walking through the trails with no light and no shoes. It’s incredible how intuitive they are! They silently weaved through the bushes and listened for tarsier calls, which sound like dim crickets. Tarsiers are unique as a nocturnal species, because they have no tapedum lucidum – a translucent cover over their eyes, which often glows, making them visible. This makes it harder to find the tarsiers, and you can only listen for their dim calls. We’ve had no luck thus far in catching the tarsiers, but we have had a few birds and a flying fox catch in the net. Last night, the poachers went home early, because a monsoon swept over the forest, and lasted almost the whole night. Justin and I waited for a couple hours, but the rain was horrendous, and the trails were starting to flood, so we called it a night, and nearly swam back to the hostel! Even the main road had water well over our knees.
In between the radio-tracking, we have also been trying to catch tarsiers by setting up mist-nets. The mist-nets are not the most effective way to catch tarsiers, because tarsiers are able to free themselves easily and climb up the net, so Milada has made a deal with the local poachers. A strange approach to fieldwork, especially conservation related, but the poachers are experts at finding animals and catching them. Two nights ago was the first night we met with the poachers. There were two of them, walking barefoot through the trails. We set up the mist nets, and then they switched their flashlights off and spent the next three hours walking through the trails with no light and no shoes. It’s incredible how intuitive they are! They silently weaved through the bushes and listened for tarsier calls, which sound like dim crickets. Tarsiers are unique as a nocturnal species, because they have no tapedum lucidum – a translucent cover over their eyes, which often glows, making them visible. This makes it harder to find the tarsiers, and you can only listen for their dim calls. We’ve had no luck thus far in catching the tarsiers, but we have had a few birds and a flying fox catch in the net. Last night, the poachers went home early, because a monsoon swept over the forest, and lasted almost the whole night. Justin and I waited for a couple hours, but the rain was horrendous, and the trails were starting to flood, so we called it a night, and nearly swam back to the hostel! Even the main road had water well over our knees.
Philippines by Night
Almost a week now has flown by since we’ve been in the Philippines. The crew here is awesome and the field site is dramatic. The jungle is so lush and green; it is beyond what I imagined before arriving. The scenery is a series of hills in all directions that are steep and bursting with fig trees, palms, and other tropical plants. Everything is bigger in the tropics – there are leaves the size of my body, and bats the size of hawks. But all of this becomes dark during the night hours, as we radio-track the tarsiers, because they are nocturnal. I have survived my first few nights in the jungle, and it has been quite a trip. Just as the sun goes down we start our hike to the field, down the dirt road behind campus. We wind through the huts and shanties for a couple miles, tell off stray dogs and buffalo, and end up at a local farm where we keep water and simple supplies. From here, there are no more dirt roads, just the jungle. We skirt past the rice fields along the Loboc River, and cross the water on a very wobbly bamboo bridge, about four shoots wide. Once we cross the river we reach the edge of our field site in a meadow between the hills. Lots of buffalo graze the meadow, and their beady eyes light up across the field. Anything that is flat in the Philippines is a rice field, so the only place for the Tarsiers is the hills. This means we hike the hills, and only the hills… and these are not your average hills. The hills on Bohol are a rare geological formation from limestone that has shifted upward from tectonic action. This makes for a rocky climb up the hills, with lots of talus and uneven walking. It is a good thing there is lots of vegetation to grab, because every so often, because it is monsoon season, there is a torrential down pour, and the path can be slippery. This happened one night already, and you just have to throw your rain coat on, get comfortable, and wait for the rain to stop until you can track again.
My first night in the field I went out with Jane and Monica to track two of the females we had just relocated after radio-collaring. I had just learned the techniques of radio-telemetry that day while the tarsiers were sleeping – a good opportunity to use the antenna, because the tarsiers are not moving. To sum up the experience… it was really dark. This is something I need to get used to, because I know I am surrounded by a beautiful green forest, but I can’t see the most of it! This has still shown me the jungle in a different light (or lack there of). There were mushrooms on some of the trees glowing in the dark, and of coarse lots of unfamiliar sounds from animals that aren’t active during the day. Like I wrote earlier, the bats were massive. When they first came out at dusk, their wings were beating like hawks. I noticed the shape of their wings, and realized it was the biggest bat I’d ever seen.
I’m enjoying the radio-telemetry and the sense of being on the go, tracking an animal. More to come soon about the field and life on Bohol…
My first night in the field I went out with Jane and Monica to track two of the females we had just relocated after radio-collaring. I had just learned the techniques of radio-telemetry that day while the tarsiers were sleeping – a good opportunity to use the antenna, because the tarsiers are not moving. To sum up the experience… it was really dark. This is something I need to get used to, because I know I am surrounded by a beautiful green forest, but I can’t see the most of it! This has still shown me the jungle in a different light (or lack there of). There were mushrooms on some of the trees glowing in the dark, and of coarse lots of unfamiliar sounds from animals that aren’t active during the day. Like I wrote earlier, the bats were massive. When they first came out at dusk, their wings were beating like hawks. I noticed the shape of their wings, and realized it was the biggest bat I’d ever seen.
I’m enjoying the radio-telemetry and the sense of being on the go, tracking an animal. More to come soon about the field and life on Bohol…
Straight to the Field
After a 24 hour layover on the beach in Hawaii, we hopped our flight to Manila and spent our first night in Cebu at your average backpacker’s hostel for 8 bucks/night. We caught the boat to Bohol early morning, and just when I thought I was going to get sea sick we pulled into the Tagbilaran port. Tagbilaran is the biggest city on Bohol, but only with ~5,000 people (I’m guessing). The Philippines is a developing country, with most of the population living in poverty. There seemed to be a lot of ads for tourist attractions online and through different trip advisors, but the Philippines is not touristy to any extent. There are no high class hotels, even in the busier cities. On Bohol itself, the only accommodation is a primitive “hotel” that is halfway constructed. There is still a small hotel staff, but the place is missing a few walls and windows. If you want to travel to Visayas (Central Philippines), you have to be willing to rough it and sleep on someone’s floor or in a cheap hostel. With all of that being said, Justin is the only white person I have seen since I arrived, even at the hostel in Cebu. The minute we got off the boat on Bohol it was all stares. “White girl, where you from?”… “Oh, America, the free country!”
We took a motor-tricycle to the bus station to catch a bus to Bilar, which is near the center of Bohol. All the buses are recycled school buses painted with local art and religious-sayings. This is when the adventure really started, and I knew that where we were going was much more remote than I anticipated. Into the hills we went!
Two hours later we got dropped off at the far end of Bilar, in front of BISU (Bohol Island State University). BISU does not have any resemblance of a typical University, and consists of a few concrete buildings with hostels for high school Filipinos to go to school for agriculture and farming.
Waiting at the bus stop was Milada, the project leader, with her boyfriend who is also helping collect data. Milada has been working in the Philippines for almost two years with the Tarsius Project. She is very experienced in the field, and I am looking forward to learning from her. Milada’s masters student, Monica, will also help train us in the field. There is also one more volunteer, Jane (pronounced “Yan-ah” in Czech) who we will work with. They are all from the Czech Republic, and psyched about the project.
After an overview of the project and what we will be doing while on Bohol, we got together our day packs, and set out for the field to find the nocturnal and elusive tarsier…
We took a motor-tricycle to the bus station to catch a bus to Bilar, which is near the center of Bohol. All the buses are recycled school buses painted with local art and religious-sayings. This is when the adventure really started, and I knew that where we were going was much more remote than I anticipated. Into the hills we went!
Two hours later we got dropped off at the far end of Bilar, in front of BISU (Bohol Island State University). BISU does not have any resemblance of a typical University, and consists of a few concrete buildings with hostels for high school Filipinos to go to school for agriculture and farming.
Waiting at the bus stop was Milada, the project leader, with her boyfriend who is also helping collect data. Milada has been working in the Philippines for almost two years with the Tarsius Project. She is very experienced in the field, and I am looking forward to learning from her. Milada’s masters student, Monica, will also help train us in the field. There is also one more volunteer, Jane (pronounced “Yan-ah” in Czech) who we will work with. They are all from the Czech Republic, and psyched about the project.
After an overview of the project and what we will be doing while on Bohol, we got together our day packs, and set out for the field to find the nocturnal and elusive tarsier…
"525,600 Minutes"
Three days before take-off on our Hawaiian Airlines flight to Manila, Philippines, and I've already packed my bags. That's the beauty of carry-on! It's also my tendency to be a tad on the anal side of preparation and organization. Fellow fieldworkers reading this understand that traveling to a field station (at least internationally) is impossible without baggage other than carry-on. Can you imagine rolling a 50 lb bag on a weight-restricted boat, and then a mile down a narrow dirt trail, and wheeling it into a small cabin or tent? This is our expected route to the site we will be living at on the island of Bohol, and you better believe I'll be carrying everything on my back! The research station was founded by the Decin Zoo in the Czech Republic, and most of our co-workers will be Czech. We will be using radio-telemetry to track Tarsiers (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tarsier), a native species, known as one of the smallest primates in the world. Tarsiers are a nocturnal species, so we will be working during the night hours. August through October is also the typhoon season in Asia, so we are bracing ourselves to get wet and muddy!
So off I go, 18 hours of flying, a 2 hour boat across the Cebu Strait, and a 3 hour bus ride to the village of Carmen. Lots of time to wait and think. In all this traveling I've gathered so much inspiration from fellow fieldworkers, fellow travelers, and my family. When I'm feeling beaten up by the process, I always remember, there are other people doing the same thing. I'm not the only one trying to wait out a bumpy bus ride, and I'm not the only one sleeping on a hard surface or stuck at an airport with a delayed flight. I'm really just a micro-effort of the bigger picture, trying to make a little change here and there, and contribute to society in a positive way. Last January, this reality made a strong impact on me after I lost one of my fellow peers, and dorm-mate from college, in the earthquake in Haiti. Molly Hightower was volunteering at the Fr. Wasson Center for orphaned and disabled children in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Molly gave up her comfortable life in the states, and contributed her time to something of higher importance that she was passionate about - the children. She serves today, and always, as a selfless and inspirational portrait of how to make value out of your time. There is not a day I don't think about Molly, and remind myself to enjoy what traveling has to offer, and not just travel, but make value of my time while traveling. I chose this path because I am passionate towards the environment. After turning down the opportunity to start graduate school in Occupational Therapy, I promised myself I will never choose a path I am not fully satisfied with that makes me feel I am contributing in a manner that makes our world a better place. In the spirit of Molly, here's to the next 525,600 minutes...
http://mollyinhaiti.blogspot.com/
