Author: Greta

Making biodiversity research more diverse and inclusive

As a group of young scientists who ventured from our homelands to pursue careers in biodiversity science in Europe, we found ourselves in a landscape of unparalleled research excellence. The scientific standards of this region are undeniably rigorous, and we are privileged to conduct research within countries with prosperous economies. As migrants, we bring diverse stories and backgrounds from our home of origin to the new places we live in. Several of us come from biologically and culturally mega-diverse countries. 

When we began exchanging our impressions and experiences of working in top-tier research institutes, we were soon faced with some striking contradictions. For instance, a large proportion of knowledge produced in globally recognised institutions is often disconnected from the regions under study. The primary causes for this disconnection are disparities in financial resources and limited involvement of researchers from biodiversity-rich regions—areas that are often economically disadvantaged and underrepresented in the biodiversity research landscape—in global networks and applied synthesis science. 

From our collective reflection, we identified four main challenges behind this systemic problem: (i) linguistic biases, (ii) undervalued research contributions, (iii) parachute science and extractive practices, and (iv) capacity constraints and accessibility. We decided to address this issue by publishing a set of strategies that aim to solve the problem in the journal Conservation Biology. 

Proposed actions to promote more inclusive biodiversity research

Embracing diversity and dismantling systemic barriers to equitable collaboration requires integrated actions directed toward four main stakeholders in biodiversity research: researchers, institutions, funders, and publishers. 

Researchers should reflect on their practices and encourage self-reflection among peers. This will increase awareness and promote meaningful, fair collaborations with local researchers from underrepresented regions. Additionally, researchers can improve research practices by broadening the scope of information sources, such as including literature from various languages and citing diverse authors. 

Institutions—such as universities and research centres—can establish bridges of cooperation between over and underrepresented regions, and allocate resources for initiatives that reach global audiences, particularly underrepresented researchers. 

Academic publishers could support multilingualism and improve the representation of researchers from underrepresented regions on editorial boards. Addressing financial barriers to publishing for low and middle-income countries is another action publishers can take to promote inclusivity. 

Finally, funders can impact resource allocation by supporting projects that build networks focused on local researchers and by revisiting research priorities. 

We conclude that, regardless of career stage and status, biodiversity research stakeholders can implement these actions to change the status quo and tackle the four main challenges hindering an equitable approach to biodiversity science. Collectively, these actions will have a cascading effect that positively impacts the way we do biodiversity research.

Further Reading:

Valdez, J., G. Damasceno, R. R. Oh, L. C. Quintero Uribe, M. P. Barajas Barbosa, T. Ferreira Amado, C. Schmidt et al. 2024. Advancing inclusive biodiversity research: Strategies for equitable practices and collective impact. Conservation Biology 38(6): e14325. https://doi.org/10.1111/cobi.14325. 
Martha Paola Barajas Barbosa Author & Illustrator
Gabriella Damasceno Author

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Managing cropland fragmentation for environmental and economic benefits in China

Feature image: Zhagana, Gansu Province, China. Photo credit: Ziyue Hong

The Kunming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework sets an ambitious goal: protecting 30 percent of the Earth’s land by 2030. This commitment may be at odds with the need for agricultural production, especially in regions with ‘fragmented croplands’. 

While many are familiar with forest fragmentation, the concept of cropland fragmentation is equally essential for conservation efforts. Fragmented croplands—areas smaller than 10 hectares that are not well connected to other farmlands—are often located in challenging terrain such as hills and mountains. These areas typically suffer from poor soil quality and lack of water resources. The lower productivity and economic challenges associated with fragmented croplands directly impact food security and rural livelihoods. 

In China, small-scale farmers play a dominant role in agricultural production, and fragmented croplands are widespread. This could impact the country’s ability to meet its Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs), specifically by posing obstacles to food security (SDG 2: Zero Hunger) and pushing rural families towards poverty (SDG 1: No Poverty). The question then becomes: How can fragmented croplands be managed to contribute towards both conservation goals and sustainable development? 

Here, I describe a new study that proposes a strategy to balance food production with environmental protection, offering potential solutions for managing fragmented croplands more effectively. This research aims to address the dual needs of agricultural productivity and ecological conservation in China’s complex agricultural landscape.

Shantou, Guangdong Province, China. Photo credit: Yanrong Chen

Ouping Deng and colleagues from Zhejiang University recently looked at how China manages its fragmented croplands. Their study, published in 2024, explored management policies that could lead to better environmental and economic results. Deng’s team used innovative simulations to predict China’s land use changes until 2050. Based on historical data, they considered factors like urban growth and shifts to large-scale farming. This approach helped forecast how different strategies might impact fragmented croplands, offering valuable insights into the country’s future agricultural landscape. 

Their study revealed an encouraging finding: 90 percent of China’s croplands are suitable for aggregation into larger farms exceeding 10 hectares. This presents a significant opportunity to address inefficiencies and environmental challenges associated with fragmented farmlands. The remaining 10 percent of croplands, which are often in remote areas, pose unique challenges. These areas contribute just 8 percent of the country’s total crop output, but consume 15 percent of nitrogen fertilisers.

So, how can these remaining fragmented croplands be improved? Deng and his team propose two potential solutions. The first involves changing the types of crops grown on these lands—a strategy known as ‘optimising crop structure’—and using some of the fragmented croplands for cattle grazing. This could reduce China’s beef imports, significantly cut nitrogen and greenhouse gas emissions, and boost animal food supply. Additionally, it could generate billions in economic benefits annually, offering a win-win solution for agriculture and the environment. 

The second strategy—‘displacement of cropland’—offers a bolder approach. It involves completely retiring these scattered farmlands. Farming would shift to more suitable areas, where large-scale agriculture is possible. This could transform China’s agricultural landscape, potentially boosting efficiency while allowing fragmented lands to recover naturally. This strategy also aligns well with the ongoing efforts in the region. It builds on the success of the Grain for Green programme, which has already retired many farms over the past two decades. This history demonstrates that large-scale land conversion is not only possible but a proven approach in the country’s agricultural policy. 

Moreover, the cropland displacement strategy could significantly boost China’s agricultural output, especially in livestock, vegetables, and fruits. It would also substantially reduce environmental impacts by cutting down nitrogen use and greenhouse gas emissions, and generate tens of billions in annual economic benefits, offering a transformative solution for agriculture.          

Sanming, Fujian Province, China. Photo credit: Ni Zhang

You might think that more intensive croplands don’t seem environmentally friendly. While counterintuitive, this approach can benefit biodiversity through a ‘land sparing’ strategy. Land sparing involves concentrating agriculture in some areas and leaving other regions to recover. It often contrasts with ‘land sharing’, where farming and nature coexist. In 2019, Andrew Balmford and colleagues conducted a comprehensive study comparing these strategies across different cultures and contexts. They found that land sparing generally outperforms land sharing for biodiversity conservation in most situations. 

While there are exceptions and nuances to consider, the 2019 study supports the idea that intensifying agriculture in some areas, as proposed for China’s fragmented croplands, can be an effective environmental strategy. Concentrating farming could free up more land for nature conservation, thereby benefiting biodiversity. Deng’s 2024 study highlights a crucial insight: croplands can play a vital role in achieving our biodiversity goals. This research reminds us that sustainable development isn’t just about nature conservation; it’s about creating harmony between human prosperity and environmental health. 

As we face global challenges like food security, climate change, and biodiversity loss, solutions must consider the interconnectedness of social and ecological systems. By rethinking our approach to agriculture, we can improve human well-being while protecting our planet. This recent study underscores the importance of collaboration between macroeconomists, environmental scientists, and policymakers to create holistic strategies that balance human needs with ecological conservation for a sustainable future.

Further Reading:

Balmford, B., R. E. Green, M. Onial, B. Phalan and A. Balmford. 2019. How imperfect can land sparing be before land sharing is more favourable for wild species? Journal of Applied Ecology 56(1): 73–84. https://doi.org/10.1111/1365-2664.13282. 

Deng, O., J. Ran, S. Huang, J. Duan, S. Reis, J. Zhang and B. Gu. 2024. Managing fragmented croplands for environmental and economic benefits in China. Nature Food 5(3): 230–240. https://doi.org/10.1038/s43016-024-00938-7. 

This RIT is part of a series: ‘Letters from China’, which periodically summarises new research from ecology and conservation from China. It is curated by Dr. Eben Goodale, Xi’an Jiaotong-Liverpool University, China, with editorial support from Chief RIT Editor Dr. Daniel J. Read. Click on the ‘Letters from China’ tag above the article title to read other RITs in this series. 
Xinlei Guo Author

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Me ora te Ngāhere: Visioning forest health through an Indigenous biocultural lens

Feature image: Participants from the study—representing multiple generations of the Ngāti Rangi—going out to test biocultural monitoring tools, with their sacred mountain Ruapehu in the background.

Note: The following text is described in the Ngāti Rangi mita (dialect), while concepts may be similar eg: Mouri = Mauri, the spelling reflects the tribal vernacular. 

In Aotearoa (New Zealand), the Department of Conservation’s biodiversity strategy implementation plan—Te Mana O Te Taiao—published in 2022, prioritises addressing the drivers of biodiversity loss. Importantly, this strategy identifies the need for integrated approaches that incorporate Te Ao Māori (the Māori world) knowledge and systems. 

Cultural-ecological constructs are key in relationships between Indigenous people and their environments. Biocultural approaches can contribute to reversing the current biodiversity crisis. Furthermore, the emphasis is on tools that can collect information to inform biodiversity protection with consideration for their environmental, social, cultural, and economic impacts. In our study, we developed a tool that is a step towards achieving these national goals.

We explored a biocultural monitoring tool based on mātauranga (Māori knowledge) to inform Ngāti Rangi (a central North Island Māori tribe) about the health of spatially separate but ecologically similar forests within their tribal estate. Here we report on the Ngāti Rangi example of parametrised metrics for forest health, embedded in their worldview, and how this expression supports the Ngāti Rangi’s assertion of rangatiratanga (self-determination) in their co-management aspirations.

We conducted a series of noho taiao (community workshops) and one-on-one interviews to collect values that express a Ngāti Rangi worldview, to measure the health of the ngahere (forest). Gradients and indicators were developed to apply as a measure of forest health. The interviews provided an observation of ngahere health and assessed inter-generational differences in how it’s perceived.

Rongoā (medicinal plants), manu (birds), ahua o te ngahere (nature of the forest), wai (water), and tangata (people) were themes prioritised by the Ngāti Rangi. An example of the metrics that the tribe wanted to measure was captured in Question 8: are there any significant trees present? This was related to significant roosting locations—such as that of their taonga or sacred bird species in the area—and cultural or spiritual practices that were held at these trees. This metric allowed the tribe to record the tree’s location, its name, and the use it was traditionally known for. This was recorded as either presence or absence, with the option to make notes on its significance and cultural heritage.

Another example of culturally important information was encapsulated in Question 13: what is the rongo of the wai in the ngahere? The rongo in this instance is related to the vibration or sound that the water makes, in relation to its interface within the forest. This was measured using a metric called mauri ora—the essence of healthy living—where key taonga species were abundant in quantity and diversity, receiving a ranking of ‘3’. The next rank ‘2’ reflected a reduction of the previous observations at each stage, until the metric reached ‘0’ or mouri te rongo, where the mouri was seen to be inactive or in a state of revealing or uncovering its living essence or vitality. At this stage, an absence of significant species and an overall decline in species diversity, presence, and vitality were observed. 

The above cultural tenets were considered the most relevant traits of a forest thriving from a cultural perspective. Through our study, we demonstrated a biocultural monitoring tool as one facet that the Ngāti Rangi can use to reconnect, reclaim, and build new knowledge around their forests. Biocultural approaches are an opportunity to reverse not just ecological declines but also socio-cultural impacts from colonial legacies.

These understandings exemplify what a biocultural approach can look like in place. A full sensory evaluation of forest health facilitating a deep relational connection to place, coupled with philosophies such as reciprocity and whakapapa (genealogical hierarchy highlighting connection to the environment through kinship relationships) are vital features of a biocultural conservation approach. 

Participants from the Ngāti Rangi whanau (extended family group) testing and providing feedback on the biocultural monitoring tool we developed.

Further Reading: 
Reihana, K. R., O’B. P. Lyver, A. Gormley, M. Younger, N. Harcourt, M. Cox, M. Wilcox et al. 2023. Me ora te Ngāhere: visioning forest health through an Indigenous biocultural lens. Pacific Conservation Biology 30: PC22028. https://www.publish.csiro.au/PC/PC22028.
Kiri Reihana Author

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When helping wildlife hurts

For years, I saw her come and go. She wandered the roads around my neighbourhood, at first cautiously but growing bolder each year. She raised several litters of kits in the woods nearby, finding food scraps humans left out for her, purposefully or not. My family enjoyed seeing the little grey fox family each year. The pups played through backyards and the mother brought food and taught them how to survive the dangers of cars and dogs. Then, she grew too brave, approaching humans and even accepting food from a neighbour’s hand. We didn’t see her again after that season.

Stories like this happen every day. As cities continue to grow and expand, the space for wild animals shrinks. Many of them adapt to become less and less wild. Humans provide food, through efforts to sustain wildlife and an abundance of waste. Some species, such as coyotes, are becoming braver and adapting to thrive in urban areas surrounded by humans. Urban coyotes behave differently than their rural counterparts, who live where humans are scarcer and more likely to chase them away or harm them. This difference in behaviour may lead urban coyotes to attack humans for food or simply because they do not fear them. Other species, like raccoons and squirrels, also lose their fear of humans when fed, and damage homes and yards as they come closer to find food and shelter.

We may mean well

Some well-intentioned actions, such as putting food out for wildlife, posting cute photos or bringing animals to wildlife rehabilitators, can have harmful effects.

Humans enjoy the connection they gain with wildlife they feed, not realising the dangers they create. Even bird feeders can be hazardous. They expose wild birds to disease by spreading bacteria and parasites if feeders are too crowded or not cleaned regularly. Feeding wildlife increases bold behaviours, puts humans and wildlife in risky situations, and may cause unintended selection of unnatural traits (like begging) that allow animals to gain more food.

Humans who love animals often share photos of them online. However, social media has proven dangerous for wild animals. It has encouraged humans to get too comfortable around wildlife by keeping them as pets or approaching them in the wild. Photos of individuals petting tigers and dressing monkeys in baby clothes support the illegal wildlife trade by increasing the demand for wild animals as pets. This creates dangerous situations when wild animals are obtained without the proper knowledge needed to care for them safely and appropriately.

Additionally, some humans rescue wild animals that do not need rescuing—for example, by separating babies from adults that have left momentarily or moving animals like turtles away from their homes. Deer, for instance, leave their babies alone for several hours while they forage. Fawns are sometimes picked up by well-meaning individuals who think they have been abandoned.

In many areas, keeping wildlife is illegal, though tales of humans raising raccoons and squirrels in their homes abound. Those laws protect humans from exposure to disease and injuries caused when frightened animals lash out. They also protect animals from receiving improper care. Wildlife rehabilitation centres can usually take these animals but will often caution against removing them from the wild if they are not injured.

Seemingly benevolent actions may help an individual animal for a short period of time, but ultimately, they can lead to that animal becoming dependent on humans for survival. Some do not survive. Others are released, only to become nuisances after frequently approaching humans for food. They may be killed to protect humans and pets, or placed in zoos or rescues. Efforts to relocate or haze wildlife, which involves frightening animals away from humans, may be made but often fail when humans continue to feed wild animals.

Knowledge is key

Educators can help provide knowledge and alternative actions to those engaging in dangerous activities with wildlife. They can supply them with better options to support or connect with wild animals, such as planting native plants in their gardens, providing a non-stagnant water source, or observing natural behaviours from afar. Humans are social animals. Many detrimental interactions with wildlife are caused by a desire to feel connected with them. Allowing humans to find that connection through safer avenues, while also providing information to help wild animals remain wild will—pardon the expression—kill two birds with one stone.

When educators cannot interact with other humans face to-face, the media can provide valuable links between humans, organisations and animals. When used effectively and responsibly, social media can benefit conservation by creating connections to wildlife that humans crave. It can introduce them to animals already in human care and provide their stories as sources of factual information and also help build empathy.

Tips to coexist

The coexistence of humans and wildlife means walking a thin line as we seek to help wildlife without making them dependent on us. One small action we can take to help wild animals is to leave natural areas in our backyards, including food sources, such as flowers or berries, and piles of fallen leaves, which provide invaluable habitat for pollinators, such as bees, during the winter. We can also secure trash containers to limit access for wild animals, clean bird feeders regularly, use healthy food in those feeders (such as sunflower seeds, millet and cracked corn), and keep pets indoors or supervised so they can’t harm wild animals.

On a larger scale, we can support conservation organisations like accredited zoos or nature centres, become more aware of what we put into the world that may cause harm—such as pesticides, litter and images presenting wild animals as pets—and spread the word that our world still has hope! We can all continue to learn about best practices regarding interactions with wildlife, knowing that best practices may change in the future. Just as wildlife adapt to coexist with us, we must keep adapting to coexist with them. Together, we have the power to make a positive difference!

Further Reading

Elliot, E. E., S. Vallance and L. E. Molles. 2016.Coexisting with coyotes (Canis latrans) in an urban environment. Urban Ecosystems 19(3): 1335–1350.https://doi.org/10.1007/s11252-016-0544-2.

Griffin, L. L. and S. Ciuti. 2023. Should we feed wildlife? A call for further research into this recreational activity. Conservation Science and Practice 5(7): e12958. https://doi.org/10.1111/csp2.12958

Svensson, M., T. Morcatty, V. Nijman and C. Shepherd. 2022. The next exotic pet to go viral: Is social media causing an increase in the demand of owning bushbabies as pets? Hystrix, the Italian Journal of Mammalogy 33(1):51–57. https://doi.org/10.4404/hystrix-00455-2021.
Kathleen Hankins Author
Upasana Chadha Illustrator
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2024 Dec
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Elephants and Ostrom

Feature image: Most human-elephant conflicts in northeast India are a result of crop damage by elephants, as seen here with this large bull eating ripened paddy. One such event can cause significant economic loss to farmers.

A dense fog envelops us as we sit atop a bamboo mat raised on stilts. Every few minutes, Dhan da flicks on the flashlight and tries in vain to penetrate the characteristic winter night fog of the floodplains of the Brahmaputra river in northeast India. We are guarding his paddy fields from elephants that use the cover of darkness to forage on the delicious crop.

Human-elephant conflict in this region claims the lives of a hundred people and tens of elephants every year. Massive deforestation coupled with nutritious paddy grown on the same land that elephants had historically used has led to these clashes becoming more serious each year. In order to understand how better to keep elephants and human beings safe from each other, I chose to study the two species in the floodplains of the Brahmaputra.

One of the most widespread consequences of human-elephant conflict on people is the constant fear that people live in, with the dread of losing their livelihoods or lives at any moment in the night. In order to remedy this, a simple solution in the form of a non-lethal fence was put into practice by the state of Assam and NGO partners. This fence delivers a sharp but non-lethal jolt to animals that come in contact with it, creating a psychological barrier and effectively securing the area it encloses. However, in order for this to work, it has to be maintained—the technical machinery needs to be checked regularly and undergrowth around the fence needs to be cleared. This is low-intensity, easy and quick work. Since these fences typically enclose villages, the households within the benefitting village are entrusted with the task of this maintenance.

Unexpectedly, and despite the high effectiveness of this solution, 65 percent of the fences in the landscape were not maintained. This was primarily due to the individuals in the community failing to come together and work collectively. I wanted to understand why this was the case for my Masters’ thesis. What were we missing that led to such a suboptimal, counter-intuitive and dangerous outcome?

On this journey, I came across the work of Elinor Ostrom, who dedicated her academic life to understanding how people avert the ‘tragedy of the commons’ in different contexts across the globe. She formulated a framework for social-ecological systems (SES) and wrote extensively on the factors that predicted their sustainable use over time. Not having worked on such problems previously, I was skeptical of whether I would be able to put this wide framework into practice during my fieldwork.

The author (second from the right) trying to understand the barriers to collective action by talking to local residents

However, within the first few days of being in the field, I was amazed at the power of this system. It proved to be a strong guide to identify factors that influence collective action in these complex, chaotic systems where society and ecology exert such strong influences on each other. For instance, right out of Ostrom’s principles, we found that the predictability of the system was of critical importance. There was the incentive to maintain fences when elephant raids were either very frequent or infrequent but unpredictable, as opposed to the cumulative damage incurred by a community (in the form of crop/ house damage and human injury or death). This was a novel insight for practitioners who generally went by the yardstick of the total damage to gauge the level of conflict.

We kept refining our provisional models with newer insights from the data being collected. This iterative process was a departure from conventional ecological studies where all the data is collected in one go and then analysed, to prevent one from getting biased by the data. Through this approach, we were able to explore the causal mechanisms driving the outcome of the fences in great detail. In particular, this helped us understand the non-material costs and benefits that people consider.

For instance, all the farmers in a village where a fence had failed due to poor maintenance mentioned that when duly maintained, the fence was 95 percent effective in deterring elephants and they reported a reduction in damage to their crops by at least half. In a purely economic sense, this saved orders of magnitude of crops. However, the fence had fallen into disarray after a tiny minority of households that lived in the center of the village refused to partake in maintenance efforts (which involves walking the perimeter of the fence, about 3 km/30 mins, once a month). This led the other individuals, including those for whom the material benefits greatly outweighed the costs, to voluntarily disengage from maintenance.

Ostrom has aptly termed this the ‘sucker effect’, where collective action fails because people do not want to feel like ‘suckers’ for keeping a promise that others are breaking. Over the course of our study, we found that non-material costs and benefits like these played a critical role in securing collective action.

Being an iterative process, we would collect data, analyse it back at the field base with my guides and then return to the field to pick on threads. On one of my visits, just as I made myself comfortable on the mud beside his fishing pond, Dhan da saw me, beamed a bright smile and said, “I love it when you come and speak with me — you keep asking the real questions—the most meaningful ones!” which I felt was a compliment to Ostrom’s SES and not really to me!

A large part of elephants’ ranges are outside protected forests, and include areas such as tea estates where they interact closely with humans

In another village, on discussing the monitoring and governance of these fences with a State Forest Department official, he said: “Actually, I just thought of this now—when we are establishing these fences, we largely think about how good it is, and that it is so much better than staying up all night and chasing elephants. But this is food for thought, we do not actively consider the length of the village, the number of people, and coordination amongst them, which is just as important—and makes or breaks a fence. I am definitely going to think about this next time.” This is identical to the layered governance systems aspect of the SES, which recommends looking at the geographic range and size of the system at scale.

We are currently implementing the findings of this study on the ground to create more robust community institutions to further human-elephant coexistence in uman-dominated areas. The results so far have been encouraging, with the State actors and community members actively drawing on these results in practice. Other studies from across the Indian subcontinent have used the SES successfully to explore the governance of urban lakes, forests, fisheries and drinking water. Established diagnostic tools like the SES can be of great help when working on interdisciplinary problems, especially in the conservation space.
Arjun Kamdar Author & Photographer
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2024 Dec
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How African penguins recognise each other

Penguins are fascinating creatures. Between their inability to fly and their unique vocalisations, is it any wonder that scientists find them a compelling subject of study?

More specifically, one group of scientists sought to understand how African penguins (Spheniscus demersus) recognised their partners among all the other penguins who lived nearby. These penguins are one of 18 species found globally and the only one to inhabit southern Africa.

Penguins have a sophisticated identification process based on vocalisations. In other words, they are able to recognise each other based on the sound of their calls—an impressive ability when you consider how loud and crowded penguin colonies can be. In addition to auditory cues, their sharp eyesight may also be important for recognising individuals. However, we still didn’t know much about how they use visual cues to identify other members of their species.

This was the question that scientists hoped to answer. Before continuing with our story, there are a few things to know about African penguins. First of all, they have monogamous, life-long partners, meaning that they will only nest with one other penguin throughout their lives. It is, therefore, essential for them to be able to quickly and accurately recognise their mate within the colony. Second, African penguins have a pattern of little dots on their bellies. Each penguin has a different pattern, making them unique to the individual. These are very useful to zookeepers and other humans who need to identify individual penguins.

Our scientists came up with a hypothesis: perhaps African penguins use these ventral dots to recognise their mates. If zookeepers can use these markings to tell penguins apart, isn’t it likely that the penguins might do the same?

Using a captive colony of African penguins in Rome, the researchers set up a range of tests. Each adult penguin, who already had a partner, was shown a pair of life-size pictures of two different individuals. Numerous variations of these pictures were presented to the test penguins, but the key variations were as follows:

Test 1 showed full-body pictures of their partner and a non-partner.

Test 2 had full-body pictures of their partner, and their partner but with the little dots removed.

Test 3 had full-body pictures of their partner and a non-partner, both without the dots.

Test 4 showed only the heads of their partner and a non-partner.

Test 5 showed only the bodies of their partner and a non-partner.

The penguins were shown these life-size pictures side by side, and the scientists measured the time they spent looking at each picture. The idea was that they would look at their partner longer than at a non partner, because their partner would be more interesting to them than a neighbour with whom they had no particular attachment. The scientists also hypothesised that if the little belly dots were missing, the penguins wouldn’t be able to distinguish their partner from a non-partner, and would pay equal attention to both pictures.

And that’s pretty much what ended up happening—when given the choice between their partner and a non-partner, they spent more time looking at their partner. But when the dots were removed, they didn’t exhibit any preference towards either of the pictures.

While this experiment doesn’t show that penguins depend exclusively on the dots to recognise their partners, it does demonstrate that these dots are an important visual cue and a feature that African penguins use to recognise each other.

This may seem like a small and insignificant conclusion, but in fact it is very useful for conservation biology.African penguins are unfortunately endangered, and anything we learn about them can inform conservation efforts. The possibility of understanding individual recognition—which is important for their breeding strategy—is essential for us. By connecting the dots between various studies, we can piece together a broader picture that will hopefully lead us to reversing the endangered status of African penguins.

Further Reading

Baciadonna, L., C. Solvi, F. Terranova, C. Godi, C. Pilenga and L. Favaro. 2024. African penguins utilise their ventral dot patterns for individual recognition. Animal Behaviour 207: 13–21. doi.org/10.1016/j.anbehav.2023.10.005.
Viola H. Ruzzier Author
Shrobontika Dasgupta Illustrator
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2024 Dec
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The path to community-led conservation: The Amur falcon story

“Falcon hunters become fervent preservationists” declared the New York Times in 2015. Just three years earlier, reports of thousands of Amur falcons being hunted in northeastern India shook environmentalists across the world. Today, the Amur falcon story is a well-known example of conservation delivering change. The rapid shift of the local community from hunters to protectors has been widely celebrated. But how was this change negotiated? How was such urgent and long-term change achieved?

The Amur falcon (Falco amurensis) is known for its journey from breeding grounds in northeastern China, Mongolia and eastern Russia (Amurland) to wintering grounds in Africa. During their migration, the birds stop in northeastern India and Myanmar and then the Indian subcontinent, before flying nonstop over 4000 km across the Arabian Sea to Africa—the longest continuous ocean crossing among birds of prey. A significant stopover site in northeastern India is the Doyang reservoir in the state of Nagaland. Amidst hills covered in swidden agriculture, millions of falcons come together and feed on insects over the large artificial reservoir.

This stopover site became famous in November 2012 when a group of conservationists discovered widespread hunting of the migrating falcons. The environmental portal Conservation India launched a media campaign against falcon hunting at the Doyang reservoir. Activists estimated that 120,000 to 140,000 birds were caught in 10 days, about 10% of the global population of adult birds. The media campaign and associated video titled ‘The Amur Falcon Massacre’ drew national and global criticism. India is a signatory to the Convention on Migratory Species; the government was obliged to protect the species.

Following the campaign, the Nagaland state government warned that they would stop funding development projects unless villagers stopped hunting falcons. Most hunters were said to be from the village of Pangti, so it was closely monitored. The Pangti Village Council—the apex governing body in the village—gave in to the pressure. Village leaders banned falcon hunting two months before the 2013 falcon migration season. The hunting and sale of falcons had been highly profitable because hunters would earn up to 10 times their monthly incomes in a single season.

Unsurprisingly, the ban on trapping and hunting falcons was deeply unpopular. Yet, the hunting ban has since been widely praised.

What can the Amur falcon story teach us?

The Pangti case study raises questions about whether and how a conservation initiative starts can shape future outcomes. At Pangti, Amur falcon conservation began with the government forcing villagers to stop hunting. Over time, villagers took over conservation efforts. How did Pangti shift towards community-led conservation? What changes can empower community leaders to protect biodiversity?

Environmental groups often use emotional wildlife imagery in media campaigns to pressure governments into action. Like in Pangti, these campaigns can lead to quick law enforcement. But they may also isolate and vilify local people, and create enmity within stakeholders. It can be challenging to meaningfully engage with the local community after such campaigns. Even harder is helping people feel pride and ownership towards biodiversity. To achieve such change, conservationists need to identify opportunities and gaps in local governance practices that can support environment-friendly rules.

Governance transitions for sustainability have been explored across various fields. So far, science has focused on efforts started and managed by local people or those started by governments. What makes Pangti unique is that conservation rapidly evolved from a government-pressured ban to a community based conservation programme. Thus, Pangti can offer a unique perspective on how conservation can shift towards bottom-up community-led models.

We recently published a paper that studies how governance evolved at Pangti since the first reports of falcon hunting in the journal Conservation Science and Practice. We interviewed 17 key stakeholders who shaped falcon conservation in Pangti village from 2012–19. These stakeholders included local and national NGO representatives, village leaders and government officers. The study provides an in-depth perspective into how the decisions that shaped one of the most wellknown conservation programmes in the world were made. A complete picture of conservation governance at Pangti can emerge by examining changes across time and complexity.

Lessons for Conservation Practitioners

Pangti has come a long way since the first reports of falcon hunting, but challenges still exist. Villagers have often felt disappointed because their hopes for development remain unfulfilled. Road infrastructure remains poor, limiting tourism. Equity issues may persist if those who lost seasonal incomes after the ban cannot benefit from tourism. The lack of alternative livelihoods and untapped tourism potential in a region with high deforestation and water scarcity are a missed opportunity for conservation. However, the falcons offer a promising chance to turn things around—not only in Pangti, but also at roosting sites across Nagaland, Manipur and Mizoram.

The case study of Pangti makes it clear that community support can be built even when conservation begins with criticism and threats. But this transition needs an open dialogue with local stakeholders. Outside actors, such NGOs and government officers, must respect the legitimacy of existing local institutions and the rights of local actors. While negotiating for conservation, it is important to be fair and transparent.

Further, rapid shifts towards conservation will often create losers and winners. Hence, managers should identify people who were negatively impacted by conservation. Minimising economic losses is critical to win broad popular support. Recognise local demands (e.g. development) that may be at odds with conservation, and design approaches to meet these demands in a clear, equitable manner. Equally important is fostering leaders who can cut through the red tape, share information and build institutional memory for future generations.

Further Reading

Herrfahrdt-Pähle, E., M. Schlüter, P. Olsson, C. Folke, S.Gelcich and C. Pahl-Wostl. 2020. Sustainability transformations: Socio-political shocks as opportunities for governance transitions. Global Environmental Change 63: 102097. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.gloenvcha.2020.102097.

Kudalkar, S. and D. Veríssimo. 2024. From media campaign to local governance transition: Lessons for community-based conservation from an Amur falcon hunting ban in Nagaland, India. Conservation Science and Practice 6(8): e13191. https://doi.org/10.1111/csp2.13191.

Salerno, J., C. Romulo, K. A. Galvin, J. Brooks, P. Mupeta-Muyamwa and L. Glew. 2021. Adaptation and evolution of institutions and governance in communitybased conservation. Conservation Science and Practice 3(1): e355. https://doi.org/10.1111/csp2.355.
Sahila Kudalkar Author
Diogo Veríssimo Author
Manvi Vakharia Illustrator
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2024 Dec
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Exploring fungal relationships: Lessons from ethnomycology

Note: This is an artistic rendering of fungi and their habitats, and is not intended to represent any specific species or habitats.

The blazing sun beat down on our backs as we knelt over a dry mound of earth in the village of Sadolpara, nestled in the heart of Meghalaya’s West Garo Hills. Nikre, a diminutive woman whose frame belied her powerful presence, dragged her sickle across the top layers of the mound to reveal indents. She bowed her head, speaking with barely concealed anguish. “This is where we find the dambongg (mushrooms)—gifts from our Creator. But this year, there is no rain. The dambongg are rotting underneath the earth.” With those words, she walked on with her bamboo foraging basket, as large as her and conspicuously empty.

We—Malavika and Prithvi—were staying in Sadolpara, graciously hosted by village elders Nikre and her husband Sotging. With a population of around 800, Sadolpara is one of the last remaining bastions of Songsarek, the local religion. As a part of the Fungi Foundation’s Elders Programme, we were there to learn about their relationships with fungi—from traditional foraging practices, recipes handed down over generations, and even their use of yeasts to brew bitchi, a fermented rice beer central to their spiritual and cultural practices.

The Elders Programme strives to bridge the gap between generations and preserve the ecological knowledge that is passed down through the ages. The continuation of this knowledge, concerning the relationships between human beings and fungal species, is at risk as social and environmental changes erode generational traditions.

The preservation of this ethnomycological knowledge is more than a cultural endeavour; it’s a vital strategy for climate resilience. This ancestral knowledge serves as a living map, guiding communities through changing environments with time-tested practices. As climate shifts alter familiar landscapes, the insights passed down through generations become invaluable tools for adaptation. Moreover, this knowledge embodies a profound connection to the land, teaching sustainable harvesting methods that maintain ecological balance. By safeguarding and passing on ethnomycological traditions, we aim not only to preserve the past, but also to equip future generations with the skills to navigate an uncertain climate future, rooted in ancestral wisdom.

Observation through absence

When we had first visited Sadolpara the previous winter to introduce ourselves and our work, Sotging and Nikre excitedly told us about different mushrooms they eat, such as dambongg. In A·chikku, the local language, dambongg is the word most commonly used for mushrooms belonging to the genus Termitomyces—a unique genus of fungi that are cultivated by termites, in elaborate subterranean fungal combs. The termites cultivate this fungus to help them digest plant matter, and have no use for the mushrooms that it produces. Those mushrooms, the dambongg, are instead harvested by people like Nikre and her family. Though Termitomyces species are the most prized edibles in the region, they are far from being the only ones consumed. They also told us about bol nachal (which translates to ‘wood ear’), a species from the Auricularia genus, and wa·gambal, an edible species from the Lentinus genus.

During this visit, however, the region was experiencing an extreme heatwave. Ordinarily, May would bring regular pre-monsoon showers to soak the earth and enable mushrooms from the Termitomyces genus to emerge. But as we walked the regular foraging routes with our guides, their faces reflected the bleak landscape.

“The dambongg would have been here,” Nikre muttered, the crack in her voice mirroring the cracks in the parched earth. Deeper in the jungle, she gathered roselle leaves and banana flowers, describing how she would cook them with mushrooms—if any were found.

Back in the nok-A·chik, the traditional thatched grass house, we listened to Nikre and Sotging talk about how the forests had changed since their childhoods. “The gods are angry with us, because we don’t practise Songsarek the way we used to,” Nikre lamented.

“When our ancestors came, they took care to preserve the traditions and not a single seed was lost, but no more,” the pain in Sotging’s voice is evident. He narrated the Songsarek creation myth for us once again. Nuru Mande, the first human, followed divinities as they rose through seven layers of the earth. He mimicked their songs and their dances, learning their ways to honour the land. In a community so deeply rooted in the cycles of the land, it stands to reason that the changing of culture is seen as inextricably linked to the changing of forests.

As Nikre passed us a gourd of bitchi, we were reminded that our aim is to understand the multiplicity of relationships between native communities and their landscapes, ensuring they have a voice in the larger conversations around fungal conservation.

Sustaining generational practices

The following week, we watched the landscape transition as we travelled from the Garo Hills to the Khasi Hills. In contrast to the former’s subtropical to tropical climate, the Khasi Hills experience a more temperate climate in higher altitudes and a subtropical climate in lower regions, fostering lush evergreen forests, montane grasslands and subtropical pine forests. Areas such as Mawsynram and Sohra in the Khasi Hills have long held the title of ‘wettest place on earth’, but here too, heatwaves have become more frequent.

In a young forest near Miarang in the Khasi Hills, we walked through Pinus kesiya trees with Kong Queency Thiangkhew and her group of elder foragers. Kong Queency is worlds apart from Nikre—a devout Christian woman and a retired horticulturist, she forages not for subsistence but for the pleasure of the act itself. Over the years, she has gathered a group of nearly 20 women, who collect only enough mushrooms for their own kitchens and to share with their friends, keeping this traditional practice alive.

The Khasi name of each of the species refers to its shape. For example, tit thnat syiar means ‘chicken foot mushroom’ and refers to the chicken-foot shape of the Clavulina species. The prized Turbinellus floccosus is called tit tyndong, referring to its funnel-like shape. The foragers rattled off a dozen different names, as we scrambled to note them down.

Picking up a massive specimen of Neolentinus lepideus, Kong Queency beckoned us over for a lesson. “You see, before the monsoon, the mushrooms are full of poison, even the edible ones,” she explained. “When the rain is intermittent, the ground is full of snakes and insects, who bite the mushroom and leave their poison in it. That’s why we wait for the storms—the thunder and lightning imbue the mushrooms with vitality, and the rain washes out the poison.”

Kong Mem, another forager explained that when they were children, such lessons about identifying edible and poisonous mushrooms were a part of daily life in the monsoon, especially for the women of the home. They went into the forests with their mothers and grandmothers, learning how to identify around 30 different edible species. But with the changing economic landscapes, younger generations are no longer able to learn and practise these traditions. Without the wisdom of generations, many fall into the trap of misidentifying poisonous species as edible ones.

A recent spate of poisonings was one of the reasons we had come to learn more about the traditional methods of mushroom identification. In the face of climate catastrophes that can leave communities isolated and cut off supply chains, traditional knowledge of wild foods is a lifeline. Yet, it is in those desperate times that people are most vulnerable to misidentification and subsequent poisoning. That’s why the preservation and continuation of such oral traditions are so important.

On our drive back to Shillong, Kong Queency gazed wistfully at the pines that rushed past us. “Every year, the forest shrinks…” her voice was barely above a whisper. “Logging is ruining our traditions.” With these words, the joy that usually emanates from Kong Queency took on a poignant tinge. Illegal logging, particularly for charcoal production, has become a severe threat to the forest cover and environment in the West Khasi Hills district. The region is a hotbed for the illegal charcoal mafia, producing and transporting over 6000 tons of charcoal annually. This rampant felling of trees, including pine, for charcoal-making has led to a reduction in forest cover, loss of biodiversity and habitat fragmentation.

Though she has cultivated a foraging practice steeped in leisure, the grief of losing the landscapes that sustained the generational tradition of foraging is clear in her voice. To Kong Queency, the felling of trees is more than the degradation of biodiversity—it’s the destruction of a multi-species relationship between the pines, the mushrooms, and the communities that rely on them.

“These days, young people don’t have time to learn foraging. Even my children don’t have time—they are busy with their jobs. That’s why I keep going, keep teaching others,” Kong Queency tells us. Despite the changes all around her, she is determined to protect the practices of her ancestors, and we are privileged to be allies in her efforts.

Indigenous wisdom influences scientific inquiry

Reflecting on our experiences in the Khasi and Garo Hills, we are humbled by Kong Queency’s unwavering passion and the resilience of the residents of Sadolpara. They both serve as poignant reminders of the importance of integrating indigenous perspectives into scientific inquiries. After all, the depths of the inter-species relationships cultivated by cultures like the Garo and Khasi place India in a unique position. Unlike the West, where ethnomycological practices are being revived after being nearly lost, cultures around India are at a transition phase where these traditions need to be sustained rather than rediscovered.

Documenting and preserving this indigenous knowledge is therefore not only an academic exercise, but also an attempt to cultivate new perspectives on conservation that shape our future actions. Given that mycology is a relatively young science, an interdisciplinary approach such as this one may offer us a path to better comprehend the intricacies of fungal relationships with other species.

By integrating ancient wisdom with modern academic knowledge, we can ensure these invaluable traditions continue to thrive, enriching our understanding and guiding our conservation efforts. In doing so, we aim not only to preserve the past but also to equip future generations with the skills to navigate an uncertain climate future, rooted in ancestral wisdom.

Further Reading

Gogoi I, A. Borthakur and B. Neog. 2023. Ethnomycological knowledge, nutritional and nutraceutical potential of wild edible macrofungi of Northeast India. Studies in Fungi 8:12.

Karlsson, B. G. 2011. Unruly Hills: A Political Ecology of India’s Northeast. Oxford: Berghahn Books.

Villani M., C. Moreno and G. Furci. 2023. Ethnomycology Ethical Guidelines. Fungi Foundation.
Malavika Bhatia Author
Prithvi Kini Author
Athulya Pillai Illustrator
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2024 Dec
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Stop! Don’t post that wildlife selfie

More than 5 billion people across the world use social media, including many wildlife scientists, conservation practitioners, and zoo and aquarium professionals. There are many reasons for a wildlife professional to be on social media—it can be a great platform for science communication, fundraising and educating the public about conservation threats to species.

But there is also a downside to it. Posts showing people interacting directly with wildlife can inadvertently set a bad example for the public about how to behave around wild animals. These include “wildlife selfies”—photos wildlife professionals intentionally take and post with the goal of sharing their work. Such selfies are often posted with captions stating the professionals’ qualifications to interact with wildlife as a disclaimer for the public that they should not do the same.

Images and videos depicting people interacting with primates are particularly risky. For example, a 2013 study examined the comments of a YouTube video of a pygmy slow loris (a CITES-I listed species) being “tickled”. The video went viral because the loris’ natural threat response behaviours were perceived by the audience as being cute and funny. It accumulated over 12,000 comments, with more than 11 percent of commenters stating without prompting that they would like one as a pet.

Social media facilitates the primate pet trade, by connecting sellers and buyers and by fuelling demand for animal photo opportunities. Previous research has demonstrated that simply seeing images of humans interacting with endangered primates has negative effects on their conservation by decreasing viewers’ perception that these animals are endangered and increasing their desire to physically interact with the animals, including keeping them as pets. Primates, like other wild animals, should never be kept as pets: primates sold in the pet trade are often taken directly from their mothers in the wild, a traumatic experience. Not only are they deprived of their natural existence, but they can also pass diseases back and forth with their human owners. Larger primates, such as chimpanzees, are extremely strong and can seriously injure people.

To investigate whether wildlife professionals can responsibly post images of themselves with primates on social media, we designed an experiment to test whether “disclaimer” captions are effective in mitigating the potentially harmful perceptions generated by these images. We created two sets of mock Instagram posts, one set showing an image of a person near a mountain gorilla and the other an image of a person holding a slender loris. Each set of posts, designed to appear as if they were posted by a generic user, ‘mark545’, was identical except for the captions. One set had a very simple caption introducing the animal in the image. The other had a longer caption introducing the animal and stating that the “poster” was a researcher who had proper permits and training to interact with the animal. Then, using an online survey platform, we presented one of these four mock Instagram posts to each of 2,977 survey respondents, asking them questions about their perceptions of the animal in the image.

We discovered that disclaimer captions do not mitigate the potential harm of posting images of people alongside primates. Respondents who saw one of the mock Instagram posts with a disclaimer caption were 9.5 percent more likely to strongly agree that the image depicted wildlife research, so we know they read the captions. However, these respondents were just as likely to report they would seek out an opportunity to interact with the gorilla or loris—around 70 percent of survey respondents agreed or strongly agreed with this statement. Around 57 percent of survey-takers who were shown the gorilla image responded they would like it as a pet, with about 62 percent of respondents who saw the loris image stating the same.

Another striking result was that about 60 percent of respondents agreed or strongly agreed that they would like to have a gorilla or loris as a pet. While this doesn’t mean all those people are actively trying to obtain a primate pet, the prevalence of that sentiment is much higher than we expected.

The real-world implication of our findings is clear: wildlife professionals—particularly those who work with primates—should refrain from posting selfies with their study animals on social media. While we cannot say for sure whether our findings extend to images of other animals, in the absence of evidence that they do not, we highly recommend they act with the animals’ best interests in mind. The conservation and animal welfare risks simply do not outweigh the science communication benefits.

Further Reading

Freund, C. A., K. A. Cronin, M. Huang, N. J. Robinson, B. Yoo and A. L. DiGiorgio. 2023. Effects of captions on viewers’ perceptions of images depicting human-primate interaction. Conservation Biology: e14199. https://doi.org/10.1111/cobi.14199.

Nekaris, K. A. I, N. Campbell, T. G. Coggins, E.J. Rode and V. Nijman. 2013. Tickled to death: Analysing public perceptions of ‘cute’ videos of threatened species (Slow lorises – Nycticebus spp.) on Web 2.0 sites. PLOS ONE 8(7): e69215.https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0069215.

Norconk, M. A., S. Atsalis, G. Tully, A. M. Santillán, S. Waters, C. D. Knott, S. R. Ross et al. 2020. Reducing the primate pet trade: Actions for primatologists. American Journal of Primatology 82: e23079. https://doi.org/10.1002/ajp.23079.
Cassie Freund Author
Karunya Baskar Illustrator
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How to ask and answer sensitive questions

Imagine going about your day, when a researcher approaches and asks if they can ask you a few questions about your life. You agree. However, the questions aren’t quite what you were expecting.

“Have you had a child die? Or have you lost a family member in traumatic circumstances?” “Have you ever done something illegal?” “Have you ever lost livestock to predators?”

Perhaps you feel a bit affronted at being asked these questions, or you don’t feel like answering. Perhaps you have complex feelings such as distress, shame or grief associated with your ‘true’ answer. You might be worried about the consequences of sharing information and try to avoid further questions or potential repercussions by evading the question. Or perhaps you tell the researcher what you think they want to hear, so that they will leave you alone sooner.

These are all examples of questions asked by conservationists interested in understanding human behaviour. Child mortality is often used as a measure of household poverty; there is an increased interest in understanding people’s compliance with conservation rules, meanwhile extreme climatic events and interactions between wildlife and people are increasing, sometimes resulting in the loss of livelihoods, property and even life.

Failing to consider how questions make people feel can affect participants negatively and cause psychological distress. In turn, such a lack of consideration can raise ethical questions, result in poor quality data, and harm both the research process and the success of conservation outcomes. It is therefore important that as conservationists we first consider whether such questions are necessary to ask, we ensure our questions are appropriately phrased, and we consider how asking these questions may affect participants.

So, what makes a topic sensitive?

Social scientists recognise that while any topic has the potential to become sensitive, some are more likely than others, particularly if they present some kind of threat to participants. For example, if topics ask about breaking of rules, people may fear legal or social repercussions, or if providing information potentially impinges on the interests of powerful elites, people may have concerns about their safety. In many contexts, discussing logging, mining or land ownership can be risky. Alternatively, topics that include deeply personal experiences, such as violence, loss of life or property, may be sensitive because they evoke strong emotional responses. Finally, some topics may be sacred and simply not discussable with strangers.

To be safe, we may err on the side of caution, and assume a topic is sensitive. In recent years, this has led to an increase in the use of specialised questioning techniques in conservation. While these methods may offer participants more protection, they may also mean that we use more complex methods than necessary. Yet, there is relatively little guidance for formally assessing sensitivity in advance of asking questions. Recognising the need for guidance in this area, we, members of the Conservation and Human Behaviour Research Group based at Bangor University (UK), wanted to develop and test tools to help researchers assess topic sensitivity.

To do so, we used a case study of rule breaking around protected areas and assessed several different approaches. First, we developed five questions that could be asked of individuals about specific behaviours. These questions aimed to capture information about things such as prevailing social norms, personal morals as well as general comfort discussing specific topics. For example, we asked individuals whether they thought specific behaviours were ‘good’ or ‘bad’, and whether important people in their lives, such as their friends and family, would approve of these behaviours. We then combined answers from these questions to create a Sensitivity Index for each behaviour, where higher scores represented more sensitive topics.

We also developed two group exercises. The first involved asking groups of people to list all the reasons they went to protected areas, and all the challenges they faced from living alongside them. Here, we wanted to generate discussion to see whether people mentioned forbidden activities of their own accord, and to assess any costs of living alongside protected areas. The second group exercise consisted of a pilesort: here participants were provided with cards showing a range of different livelihood activities (including some prohibited ones, such as killing certain wildlife species). Collectively, groups were asked to discuss each card and sort them into piles depending on how willing they thought people in their community would be to discuss the topic.

We tested these methods in two locations: the Leuser Ecosystem in northern Sumatra, Indonesia, and the Ruaha-Rungwa ecosystem in central-southern Tanzania. Both landscapes are of global importance for biodiversity. Gunung Leuser is the last place on Earth where Sumatran rhinos, elephants, tigers and orangutans coexist. Ruaha-Rungwa is home to some of the largest remaining populations of carnivores found in Africa, including lions, leopards and hunting dogs. Each landscape comprises multiple protected areas, each with different regulations. Importantly, both landscapes are culturally diverse and are home to thousands of people, many of whom use natural resources from within the protected areas to support their households.

What did we find?

Overall, we found topics to be much more sensitive in Tanzania than Indonesia. All four behaviours investigated using our Sensitivity Index in Tanzania (hunting wildlife, grazing livestock, eating bushmeat and entering the protected area without a permit) were considered more sensitive than the most sensitive behaviour, logging, in Indonesia. Similarly, the pile-sort revealed that groups in Tanzania categorised a higher proportion of topics as very sensitive or sensitive, compared to groups in Indonesia.

Varying perceptions of sensitivity could be attributed to several factors including differences in legislation, communities’ awareness of laws, their experiences of law enforcement, as well as varying cultural perspectives and norms regarding these behaviours. For example, in general, knowledge of conservation rules was higher amongst participants in Tanzania than Indonesia.

During group exercises, Tanzanian participants often cited laws that outlined how all wild life belongs to the state and described rules which prohibit entering National Parks or Game Reserves for any reason. They also believed that if they did so, it was highly likely they would incur sanctions. For example, one participant outlined that if they killed elephants for their ivory they would “stay in jail until the bars broke”. In other groups, sensitivity became apparent through silence. For example, participants were reticent to engage in the exercise, looked uncomfortable, or cautioned others from speaking.

In Indonesia, rules were generally not as well known, but talking about activities that were known to be prohibited was generally considered sensitive. Interestingly, in Indonesia, some behaviours which were illegal (e.g., hunting sambar (Rusa unicolor)) were openly discussed, possibly because of poor knowledge of rules, but also perhaps because low levels of enforcement meant participants associated less risk with discussing the behaviour.

Importantly, participants in Tanzania reported various challenges with living alongside protected areas, which might explain some of why people there may find it difficult to discuss topics such as hunting wildlife openly. For example, communities living near Game Reserves reported more challenges coexisting alongside wildlife, with crop damage, livestock depredation and human fatalities listed. Discussions often became emotive, with participants describing the grief, trauma and anxiety theyexperienced from living alongside large and dangerous species.

In contrast, participants near Ruaha National Park focussed more on how the park was managed, including negative interactions with park rangers and uncertainty associated with changes to the park boundary. Such topics were sensitive because participants were suspicious of our research motives, and conservation actors more broadly. While participants in Indonesia also reported challenges associated with living alongside wildlife and protected areas, these were not reported as often by participants, and conversations did not evoke such strong emotional responses. While this may reflect cultural differences in how emotion is portrayed, it may also be an artefact of our sampling strategy and unequal coverage across the landscape.

Which method worked best?

It depends on what you want to learn! All three of the methods that we tried elicited useful information, but the type of information differed. The Sensitivity Index provided a quantitative assessment per person for specific behaviours. While this data can be modelled against predictors, and direct comparisons can be made across behaviours and study sites, it requires larger sample sizes (>200) than group exercises and doesn’t reveal why specific topics are sensitive. In contrast, the group exercises are more flexible, require fewer participants and provide much richer insights about what people think.

Importantly, who asks questions really matters. When we enter communities as researchers, people often have preconceptions about who we are, what we want and the power we hold. These ideas can influence their willingness both to engage in research, but also to share information. Equally, we also have our own preconceptions about how topics will be construed, and why. As individuals we belong to and identify with a range of different groups (e.g., depending on our gender, age, class, religion, ethnicity, nationality, etc), and our experiences in these groups inform our norms and values, and therefore our conceptualisations of sensitivity.

To recognise these biases, it is important to take a step back and critically assess our own assumptions, to inwardly reflect on our own identity, and to assess how these factors may affect the research process and outcomes. Known as reflexivity, this process is increasingly promoted in conservation, alongside practices that require researchers to consider their positionality, and the power-relations between themselves and participants.

Perhaps your next piece of research will focus on understanding what people do, and why. It may involve some topics that you think could be perceived as sensitive. What should you do? First, make sure you include enough time and money in your research project so that you can spend time in the research context first, learn what people think and feel about different topics. Not only will this help you to decide which methods to use, but it will also help to identify any specific ethical issues and risks that may emerge. Also spend time thinking carefully about who is most appropriate to collect the data, is it you? Or might someone else be better placed? Doing so could help produce more informed, more accountable and more accurate findings. To this end, we encourage others to engage with the tools we developed and tested when making decisions about how to research potentially sensitive topics.

Further Reading

Ibbett, H., J. P. G. Jones, L. Dorward, E. M.Kohi, A. A. Dwiyahreni, K. Prayitno, S.Sankeni et al. 2023. A mixed methods approach for measuring topic sensitivity in conservation. People and Nature 5(4): 1245–1261. https://doi.org/10.1002/pan3.10501.
Harriet Ibbett Author
Freya St John Author
Karunya Baskar Illustrator
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2024 Dec
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Painfully delicious: Discovering natural history knowledge through angling

Feature image: The maze rabbitfish (Siganus vermiculatus) is named for the intricate maze-like patterns that adorn its body.

My red and white float vanished beneath the laterite-orange waters of the Mandovi River, not with the usual bobbing of small fish but with a steady pull—I had hooked something! Instead of jerking the line, with a firm grip I guided the rod towards the steps, carefully hauling the fish out in a long single drag. The rabbitfish thrashed on the steps at Reis Magos, where my son Noam and I, along with three other anglers, had been fishing. Its venomous spines fanned out as it fluttered. I stopped it with a gentle step on its head, gripping it by the gills to safely remove the hook without being pricked.

I held up the fish, admiring its beautiful maze pattern of golden-brown lines. Aptly called the maze rabbitfish (Siganus vermiculatus), locally escrivão, the Portuguese name for clerk/writer attributed to the same maze script.

The fish jerked and fluttered, making me loosen my grip. It fell on the steps and began bouncing its way down the stairs once again. I made the mistake of sticking out my hand to prevent it from falling back into the river—which I successfully did, but one of its erect spines jabbed my little finger, a sting that I felt instantly. Similar to a hypodermic needle, each spine of the rabbitfish has a groove that runs along its edge which delivers a toxic venom. My finger was bleeding, andthe pain got worse with every passing minute. Its Konkani name baanoshi is attributed to its toxic spines—where baan refers to an arrow.

An angler standing nearby said that the pain can get so intense that some even wet their pants, giving the rabbitfish its other name: muthri in Konkani, pisser in English.

Rabbitfish venom is similar in its makeup to that of the highly venomous stonefish, which is often considered the most dangerous fish in the sea, sometimes causing lethal stings. While rabbitfish venom isn’t as severe, that sting will be difficult to forget.

Aaron displays a freshly caught rabbitfish, which raises its venomous spines in a defensive response.

A fish of the monsoon

The best time to fish for rabbitfish in Goa is soon after the onset of the monsoon. In 2023, they arrived unusually late, but when they did it poured incessantly—so much so that the state received half its average annual rainfall in less than a month (by the end of July). The monsoons in Goa have traditionally always been a time for anglers because the seas are just too rough for commercial fisheries to be venturing out to sea, besides being a great “time pass”.

Most coastal states in India have a two-month monsoon fishing ban, which was put in place to prevent the industrial (mechanised) fishing sector—including trawlers and purse seiners—from overfishing resources during this period. This ban excludes the traditional fishers who use passive and less destructive techniques. Goa has six major rivers/backwaters and a large network of waterways which come alive with both fish and anglers during the monsoons.

In this season, high levels of nutrients washed by the rains are carried down by the rivers, all the way from the hills to the ocean. While there are a large number of marine algae species in Goa, particularly luxuriant is the growth of a long, stringy, bright green algae which can be seen growing on and coating the intertidal rocky shores of Goa. This seaweed Ulva intestinalis, locally called shelo in Konkani, is an ephemeral resource, abundant only for a short period during the monsoon. A diversity of herbivorous fish including rabbitfish, surgeonfish and rudderfish arrive in mixed shoals to graze on the tender blooms of marine algae.

Ingenious anglers have figured out the value of this fast-dwindling seaweed resource. Fattened on the seaweed, these fish venture up the estuary where they deposit thousands of eggs among the tangle of mangrove roots upriver, which provide the young refuge and food. The trick used by the anglers is to follow the baanoshi as they migrate up the river. In the muddy backwaters, the seasonal shelo which thrives on the rocky shoreline becomes a scarce commodity and using it upriver invites bites in rapid succession.

Fresh blooms of filamentous seaweed, known locally as shelo, flourish on Goa’s rocky shores during monsoons, fuelled by nutrient-rich runoff from land to sea.

In search of shelo

Noam and I had spent the previous evening stripping shelo off exposed rocks that had not yet been discovered by other anglers. We managed to collect two fistfuls, which we stored in a small plastic box with a little water collected from the vicinity to prevent it from drying up. As divine fate would have it, the skies opened up the following afternoon, which unsurprisingly brought out a large number of anglers from their homes. Our rig setup was relatively simple—a bamboo rod with line float, a small lead shot weight and a small treble hook attached to each line. A treble hook looks like an anchor with three evenly spaced barbed prongs extending from a single shaft. The hair-like seaweed bait is wrapped along all three prongs to disguise the hook and increase the chances of catching a rabbitfish during angling.

However, for reasons I am unsure of, using shelo as bait only works in the early half of the monsoon. Anglers who know their rabbitfish switch to using small pieces of fish or shrimp as bait, because they won’t take to shelo when the monsoon begins to wane. I don’t know the ecological basis, but it could just be because the algal blooms at the onset of the monsoons are tender and possibly more nutritious and digestible, as compared to the more mature patches. Another reason is that the algal resource tends to dwindle as the season progresses.

Successful fish

There are approximately 30 species of rabbitfish that are distributed in the Indo-Pacific and the Eastern Mediterranean. They are important to fisheries in most of their range, particularly artisanal fisheries, and constitute an important source of food to many coastal communities.

Being herbivores and the fact that seaweed is ubiquitous, rabbitfish occur in a range of environments from brackish estuaries like the Mandovi to marine environments, including clear coral reefs, and are even found in very degraded marine habitats. There are also other aspects of their biology such as their high fecundities (they lay a large number of eggs) that allow them to withstand even heavy fishing pressures. Rabbitfish are also known to be highly adaptable, moulding their behaviour and biology to adapt to a new environment, making them “phenotypically plastic”.

In fact, these species have been so successful that they’ve colonised regions where they were once non native. When the Suez Canal opened in 1869, connecting the Mediterranean and the Red Sea, it drastically shortened travel time and reduced shipping costs between Europe and Asia. However, few considered the long-term ecological consequences. Over the years, hundreds of species migrated from the Red Sea to the Mediterranean—a process known as the Lessepsian migration, named after Ferdinand de Lesseps, who oversaw the canal’s construction. Many of these species have outcompeted the native Mediterranean fish, becoming dominant in local ecosystems. Today, they form a significant part of regional fisheries and have even become integral to local cuisine.

Among the Lessepsian migrants are two species of rabbitfish—the marbled rabbitfish (Siganus rivulatus) and the dusky rabbitfish (Siganus luridus), both native to the Red Sea. These species entered the Mediterranean via the Suez Canal, first recorded in 1924 and 1956, respectively. Since then, they’ve established large populations in the Eastern Mediterranean, outcompeting native herbivorous fish by the early 2000s. In Lebanon’s coastal lagoons, for example, they make up 80 percent of the herbivorous fish population. Marbled rabbitfish have even been recorded as far west as Malta, and in parts of Turkey and Crete, they’ve overgrazed marine algae, creating barren areas. They now constitute a significant portion of fish catches in the Eastern Mediterranean.

Climate change is also driving the movement of the tropical rabbitfish to temperate parts of the world which they have now happily made their homes.

Eating the rabbitfish

We took our rabbitfish home. Noam, like he typically does, insisted he wanted it cooked the same evening. I steamed it as is done in many parts of Southeast Asia—in a colander with finely chopped ginger and garlic in soy sauce. He decided to use chopsticks, deftly peeling back the skin to reveal the steaming white flesh. I always found the skin of rabbitfish bitter. It was cooked to perfection, the flesh tender yet firm.

While I have eaten rabbitfish for some years now, they are among a few species whose consumption during a particular season can cause what is called hallucinogenic fish inebriation or ichthyoallyeinotoxism. I haven’t yet heard of cases such as these from Goa yet. We slept well that night.

Aaron and his son Noam on one of their regular fishing trips

Further Reading

Mebs, D. 2017. Biology and distribution of venomous marine animals. In: Handbook of Clinical Toxicology of Animal Venoms and Poisons. (eds. White, J. and J. Meier). Pp 85-88. Boca Raton: CRC Press.

Metar, S. Y., V. H. Nirmale, U. Gurjar, M. M. Shirdhankar, V. R. Sadawarte, N. D. Chogale, A. N. Sawant et al. 2023. Feeding habits and reproductive biology of the rabbitfish, Siganus vermiculatus, along the central west coast of India. Journal of the Marine Biological Association of India: 65(1): 91–96.

Sala, E., Z. Kizilkaya, D. Yildirim and E. Ballesteros.2011.Alien marine fishes deplete algal biomass in the eastern Mediterranean. PLOS ONE 6(2): e17356.
Aaron Savio Lobo Author & Photographer
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2024 Dec
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Reconciling Conservation Paradigms: Biodiversity, People and Tigers

India is unique among the populous tropics in having a high population density, while still retaining a large amount of unique biodiversity. However, as in many other parts of the world, this biodiversity faces considerable pressures and is rapidly declining in many areas of the country. Madhav Gadgil and Ullas Karanth are among a handful of internationally-known conservation biologists who, along with their many students and associates, have dominated the conservation scene in India for more than the last three decades. Their respective memoirs offer unique, and somewhat contrasting, insights into the world of nature, indigenous people, and everything in between. These insights can help us save not only the extant biodiversity, but also much more, once we start reversing current trends and restoring nature in India and elsewhere.

In the 1940s as a child, Gadgil grew up in a home with a well-stocked library under the wings of a scholarly father and an aunt, immersing himself not only in the natural world, but in the ways farmers farmed land and fisher folk fished. In the mid to late 1960s, his forays into a diverse range of disciplines in science, such as ecology, genetics and mathematics, continued while he pursued doctoral studies at Harvard. There, he had an opportunity to rub shoulders with the likes of Ed Wilson, Ernst Mayr, William Bossert and Robert Trivers. It’s no wonder that following his return to India, his contributions to conservation biology encompassed a wide range from work on the social behaviour of animals to peoples’ protection of sacred groves, from the evolution of life history traits in animals and plants to citizen documentation of biodiversity in biodiversity registers, and from studies of local ecosystems to policies for conserving entire biodiversity hotspots.

Karanth similarly developed an early interest in wildlife and acquired a diverse background which enabled him to offer unique insights to the conservation of biodiversity. With a foundation in in engineering, he became interested in tagging tigers with radio collars to understand the movements and behaviour of this ultimate icon of biodiversity in the land of tigers itself. An encounter with Mel Sunquist, a pioneer in radio tracking for tigers, in 1983 led to a stint at the University of Florida, where Karanth earned a doctoral degree. His passion for wildlife and his keen desire to continue working on tigers led him to pioneer methods, based on rigorous science, to better estimate tiger numbers at a time when government agencies all over India used crude estimates based on pugmarks. 

The fundamental issue that concerns both Gadgil and Karanth— and remains crucial in global conservation today—is the coexistence of people and biodiversity, particularly in the regions of the world where wildlands, rivers and seascapes are the sources of livelihoods and the homes of local communities, including indigenous people. 

Concerned about shrinking habitats for large carnivores such as tigers, Karanth has spent a lifetime advocating for the voluntary relocation of local people to settlements outside protected areas, where they do not have to constantly respond to the vagaries of the environment, including serious injuries and deaths from large carnivores and elephants, and where they have access to education, public health, government sponsored programmes, and a diversity of livelihoods. In his book, he cites examples of successful relocation efforts he has led. Karanth concedes the potential for coexistence of people and tigers in very large landscapes. 

Gadgil has a broader and more expansive view of biodiversity. Having served on a government task force to review the declining number of tigers in the early 2000s, he recognises the importance of flagship species holding ecosystems together and requiring adequate habitats. However, he argues, in the long run, the conservation of biodiversity requires appropriate policies and their implementation through congruous governance regimes in which local farmers, herders and fisherfolk play a central role. For him, people are not a part of the problem, but rather the solution. Gadgil cites cases where, with the use of existing policies such as the Forest Rights Act, indigenous groups are developing plans for sustainable management of biodiversity in their habitats. 

Ironically, both Gadgil and Karanth are deeply concerned about wildlife and biodiversity; both have spent a lifetime working in the same landscape, in the southern Western Ghats of India; both have integrated their science into policy making at the highest levels; both have founded, nurtured, and sustained highly impactful conservation centres in the same city, Bengaluru; and both cite inspiration from the same people including, for example, George Schaller. Yet, their sweeping accounts of conservation of biodiversity in one of the world’s most populous countries are highly personal, without any reference to each other’s work. Perhaps their own individual journeys are so rich that they have no room for those of others. 

Their two contrasting approaches to conservation also highlight the complexity of the world we live in. Human pressures on biodiversity, exacerbated by climate change, will continue to intensify. Such pressures, Gadgil argues, stem from relatively affluent “biosphere people” who consume and access resources from a much broader base than the “ecosystem people” who rely on local resources for their livelihoods. For Karnath, in ever shrinking natural habitats, the coexistence of big cats and “ecosystem people” is not feasible. Most would agree that regardless of the sources of pressure, conservation in an open society will remain elusive without the active engagement of people.

Conservation biology as a scientific discipline emerged only in the mid-1980s. Forty years later, the field, having recognised the importance of local community perspectives, other  social, economic and political factors, and emerging technologies, has become much more nuanced. Despite these advances, the decline of biodiversity has intensified. Sustaining biodiversity in a rapidly changing world, Gadgil concludes, will require a commitment to equity, social justice, decentralised governance and an end to perverse subsidies to industry. Adhering to these principles, he hopes, the new “welcome generation” will lead the way. 

Indeed, both Gadgil and Karanth demonstrate to this new generation that thinking beyond one’s discipline and confronting social and political realities are necessary for protecting the natural world in a large and complex country such as India. For the new generations, they leave  not only their stories about how things work, but also well-endowed centres to learn and practise the art of conservation—a monumental legacy that will generate capable stewards of India’s vast and diverse natural landscapes.

Further Reading

Gadgil, M. 2023. A Walk Up the Hill: Living with People and Nature. Penguin Random House India.
Karanth, K. U. 2023. Among Tigers: Fighting to Bring Back Asia’s Big Cats. Chicago Review Press.
Kamaljit Singh Bawa Author

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Bridging the Forest

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The Mata Atlântica is known as the Brazilian Atlantic Forest, and growing up it had always been Elena’s happy place. Mata Atlântica is a place of beauty and nature, filled with creatures of all colours and plants unlike anywhere else. In her 11 years, Elena had come to know every fern and every moss and had smelled every air plant that clung to the trees and vines. Elena had climbed each Pau-Brasil redwood tree and had made friends with nearly every animal and bug that crawled, climbed or flew across the terrain.

This morning, as she did every morning, Elena was walking along the small dirt path which led from her house to school. It was the first day back from summer break, and this year Elena would be joining Room 9 in the schoolhouse.

Skipping through the trees, Elena soaked in the sounds and smells of the forest around her. The Mata Atlântica was magical in the mornings as the birds began to chirp and the early pollinators began spreading the sweet smell of flower pollen and nectar.

Lost in her thoughts, Elena was jolted back to reality when she came across a new feature of her forest. It was a road. A two-lane road for cars. Elena stopped and stared at the fresh-laid tar. It had not been there two months ago on the last day of school.

When she made it to her tiny schoolhouse, Elena made sure to ask about the road.

The teacher Miss Martins explained, “That road was built over the summer, so that people do not have to drive all the way around the large forest to get between cities anymore. Unfortunately, some of the trees had to be cut down to make room for the new road.”

With her question answered, the rest of the day passed quickly. Pretty soon, Elena was waving goodbye to her friends outside.

As she made her way home after school, Elena listened to the sounds of the forest. That’s when she heard a new sound. It was a high-pitched chirping, similar to that of a small bird’s call. Curious, Elena followed the sound down the road and away from the schoolhouse. She walked until her little legs were nearly tired. At last, she found the source.

It was perched on a branch far above Elena’s head. The critter was smaller than a cat, had a tail longer than its body and bright orange fur the colour of fire. Elena was a curious girl who was not afraid of the strange animal. She kept her distance and observed.

“Are you stuck?” she asked.

The colourful creature looked down at her from its branch. “Yes,” it said, “I can’t get across.”

The orange ball of fur scurried down the tree branches and closer to Elena. “I’m a golden lion tamarin; I live in the trees. The problem is I cannot get across whatever this is,” the critter gestured at the dark tar.

“That’s a road,” Elena said. “It was built so that humans could travel through the forest.”

The golden lion tamarin looked sad. “But now I can’t travel through the forest.” “Can I help?” Elena asked. “I don’t think so.”

Disappointed she couldn’t help, Elena continued on her way home. The golden lion tamarin behind her skittered through the trees, continuing to look for a way across the road.

The next day, as Elena was once again heading home from school, she heard the call of the golden lion tamarin in the trees. This time, she found it closer to the schoolhouse. She decided to introduce herself. “I’m Elena.”

“I’m Mico,” the golden lion tamarin said.

“Where did you come from?” Elena asked.

Mico replied, “I live much deeper in the forest with my family. We live in a group.”

“Where are you going?”

“There are more groups of families like me that live all over the forest and in the other fragments. I’m trying to visit them, as well as my friend Preguiça, the maned sloth. I have not seen him in a while and wanted to visit, but now I can’t get across and have been looking for a new path.”

Elena was surprised. She had never seen a golden lion tamarin before, and now to know there were more of them was surprising. This was one of the many reasons why she loved the forest, she learned something about the environment and animals each time she went outside. But she did not understand; Elena could get across the road, why couldn’t Mico? “I’m arboreal,” Mico explained, “and my species likes to travel through the forest using the tree branches and vines. We don’t like to walk on the ground. It is slow and exposes us to predators like snakes and ocelot cats. Plus those big scary animals that people ride move much faster than I can. I’m afraid to cross.”

Mico retreated back into the forest to continue his search for a safe place to cross the road. Over the next few days, Elena continued to think about Mico’s plight, and soon she saw more creatures gathered with Mico who could not get across. Marmosets, capuchin monkeys, opossums and other species of lion tamarins all struggled to cross the road. Mico and Preguiça, still separated by the road, sat on tree branches across from each other to wave hello.

One day, Elena’s kind heart could not take it any longer. When the class was looking for their yearly conservation project, she saw her chance and raised her hand.

“Miss Martins,” Elena said, “I have noticed there are a lot of animals that cannot get across the new road. Perhaps we could help them.”

“Great idea!” Miss Martins said. “Does anyone know how we could do this?”

One classmate suggested carrying the animals across. Miss Martin said that wild animals like those in the forest should not be handled by humans. Another classmate suggested a crosswalk and crossing guard. Someone else suggested a miniature helicopter that could be remotely controlled from the schoolhouse. Miss Martins said that both ideas would be distracting from regular class time. The last idea came from Elena’s friend Lalo. Lalo suggested stringing a rope across the road, from one tree to another, that the animals could climb across.

“That’s a good start, Lalo,” Miss Martins said. Lalo smiled with pride. “How can we expand on that idea?” Miss Martins wondered.

Elena raised her hand, “What if we made bridges?” she asked. “Ones that could hang from the trees above the road?” The suggestion felt wild, but Elena imagined it so clearly, she knew it would work.

And so began Room 9’s yearly conservation project: building bridges across the new road. The students of Room 9 avoided using any more of the precious forest’s resources by collecting twigs from the forest floor and from their backyards. They also collected rope and string from their homes and neighbourhoods that could be recycled. Very quickly the kids had collected enough recycled materials to construct the first bridge. They worked together to design a strong bridge that looked natural so that all the different animal species would feel comfortable using it. The first of Elena’s forest friends to use the bridge was the primate who started it all—Mico the golden lion tamarin.

“Thank you, Elena,” Mico said. He was perched on a low branch, having crossed the bridge successfully. His friend, Preguiça the maned sloth, was at last sitting beside him. “Now Preguiça and I can visit each other again, all thanks to you and your classmates.”

Elena looked up at the bridge. Many animals were already flowing across in both directions. Her classmates were standing on either side of the road, studying which species were using the bridge. Their next project was going to be how to improve the future bridges based on what species were using them.

Elena smiled at Mico and Preguiça. “I am so happy to be able to help,” she replied. “I did not realise before how something like a road could affect so many species. Our class is going to make a bunch more bridges to go along the whole road. Then you do not have to travel too far to a bridge. We’re going to do it using recycled materials so we don’t take away any more of the resources that you and your friends rely on.”

Just then, Elena heard a sound behind her. More of Mico’s friends had arrived, along with his family group, who had travelled from deep within the forest. They were carrying a variety of fruits and flowers from native plants within the forest. They were thank you gifts for Elena and her fellow students.

“We can never thank you enough,” Mico said, “for reuniting and bridging our forest.”

Wildlife bridge crossing the four-lane BR-101 highway in Brazil. The bridge connects the Poço das Antas Biological Reserve to the Igarapé Farm that is being reforested by Associação Mico-Leão-Dourado and their partners. (Photo: Christy Frank)

MEET THE CHARACTERS

Mico the golden lion tamarinMico is a golden lion tamarin (mico-leão-dourado in Portuguese). His species name is
Leontopithecus rosalia. Other species of tamarin in Brazil include golden-headed lion tamarin black lion tamarin and black-faced lion tamarin. All are very small monkeys that are endemic to the Mata Atlântica (meaning they can only be found there). All four species of lion tamarin are critically endangered due to deforestation and habitat fragmentation.
Preguiça the maned slothPreguiça is a maned sloth (preguiça-de-coleira in Portuguese). His species name is Bradypus
torquatus. Maned sloths are endemic to the Mata Atlântica and are the most threatened species of sloth in the world due to deforestation and habitat fragmentation.
Snakes of the Mata AtlânticaMany different snake species live in the Mata Atlântica, and some are known to feed on
golden lion tamarins, including anacondas, rainbow boas and pit vipers. Snakes aren’t all
bad though! They help disperse seeds and are part of nature’s pest control.
Ocelot catsOcelots, Leopardus pardalis, are a carnivorous species of cat that hunt at night. They
are found throughout the southwestern United States, Mexico, Central and South
America, and in various climates.
MarmosetsThe common marmoset, Callithix jacchus, also called the white-tufted or white-tufted-ear
marmoset, are small monkeys that live throughout Brazil. They have become invasive in
some states like Rio de Janeiro and are often targeted in the illegal pet trade.
Capuchin MonkeyMany different species of capuchin monkeys can be found throughout Brazil and in the
Mata Atlântica. Capuchin monkeys are primarily arboreal primates that are omnivores,
snacking on fruits, leaves and insects.
OpossumOpossums are members of the marsupial order, along with animals such as kangaroos
and koalas. Several species of opossum can be found in the Mata Atlântica including
Wildlife bridge crossing the Brazilian slender opossums, white-eared opossums and Brazilian gracile opossums.
Tiffany Hamilton Author
Abigael Molsee Illustrator
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2024 Nov
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How to become an everyday bird conservationist

Did you know that birds are one of nature’s gardeners? They spread seeds and pollinate plants wherever they go. On top of this, their great variety, different colours and melodic songs can improve our happiness and health.

However, birds face many dangers every day, which are often caused by our actions. For example, to produce lots of crops as quickly as possible, farmers often rely on spraying crops with chemicals and pesticides that are harmful not only to insects, but also to the birds that feed on these insects. Modern buildings often remove the nesting places found in older buildings, while their large glass windows can also cause bird collisions. One of the biggest threats to birds are pets, because cats and dogs can attack birds and can scare them away from their nests.

As a result, around 12 percent of bird species worldwide face extinction, which means that they are at risk of disappearing forever. This may sound a little scary—and we need to act fast to save as many species as possible— but there is something everyone can do to help protect our winged friends: become an everyday bird conservationist.

Whilst some actions to protect birds require lots of special training, there are many activities we can all easily do to help them. Depending on what you enjoy doing, there is an everyday bird conservationist role for you, such as an ambassador, a detective or a hotelier. Let us introduce you to these roles.

How can you become a bird ambassador?

A bird ambassador is someone who actively encourages bird conservation. Their main goal is to raise awareness about birds and the threats they face. Are you a sociable person who enjoys talking to others? If so, then becoming a bird ambassador could be a great way for you to help!

Talking to your family, friends and classmates about why birds are important and how we can protect them is a great starting point. You could discover interesting bird facts and share what you have learned with your friends, your school or online. You could even send this article to others! You never know, you might inspire them to become a conservationist too!

You can become an even more active ambassador by supporting an environmental organisation that helps birds. These organisations aim to educate people about the importance of birds for the environment, and they often run events and awareness campaigns for both children and adults. With lots of support, these organisations can influence important government decisions that affect birds.

Go online and find out how you can get involved. A great organisation helping birds is BirdLife International, which has lots of information about them and provides advice on ways to help support conservation locally.

How can you become a bird detective?

A bird detective is someone who is especially curious about birds. A detective’s tasks include watching and recording different bird species and their behaviours, such as feeding, mating, and nesting. Becoming a bird detective helps you learn a lot about nature while also contributing to avian conservation. If you like being outside and watching birds, this could be the right conservation role for you!

As a bird detective, you will need to learn the behaviours, markings, and sounds of various species so that you can accurately identify them. Binoculars or a spotting scope are useful tools for this. Scientists can then compare your discoveries to the findings of others from previous years, which will help them to identify changes in bird populations. If bird populations are being threatened or birds are seen in new locations, conservation actions can then be put in place to help protect them.

To be a bird detective, simply head outdoors to your nearest park, woodland or field, and count the different types of birds you see. Keep a record and report your findings to a local environmental organisation. They will also be able to provide more advice on how best to record what you see.

How can you become a bird hotelier?

A bird hotelier is someone who provides birds with food and nesting opportunities. Would you like to welcome birds to your home, watch them up-close and play an important part in their conservation? In that case, the role of bird hotelier might be perfect for you!

The best way to help birds at home is to have a diverse garden with lots of different native trees, flowers and weeds. Of course, this is not always possible, but there are still lots of things a bird hotelier can do. Hanging up bird feeders can help them find enough food, especially in winter, when other food sources are scarce.

Importantly, like us humans, different bird species like different types of food, so make sure you provide insects or seeds that the birds native to your area like to eat. In summer, you can put out a bird bath, which helps birds to keep cool in hot weather and gives them an important source of drinking water.

Being a hotelier also means giving birds a place to nest. Choose a nest box that is suitable for your local bird species and install it out of reach of predators, soon you will have your first guests to stay!

There are many ways you can join the mission to protect birds. You can raise awareness of the importance of birds, study birds outside and create bird-friendly spaces. Whether you become a bird ambassador, detective, hotelier, or anything else, your actions can help support the conservation of birds. Now that you have discovered several ways to help, which role will you choose?

This Day in the Life story is based on a research project of the biology didactics lab at Osnabrück University, Germany. The aim of this study was to identify the best and most effective bird conservation behaviours. You can find the full article under the following citation: Büscher, M., Lange, F., Bröckel, M., Höfer, S., Stemberg, E., Folsche, E. Eylering, A., & Fiebelkorn, F. (submitted). Quantifying behavioural impact and plasticity to prioritise bird conservation efforts.
Milan Büscher Author
Annike Eylering Author
Ambika Karandikar Illustrator
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2024 Nov
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Shorelines and Sea Slugs: A Slippery Adventure!

Armed with a flimsy macro lens and waterproof trainers, Nara was ready to take on the tide pools of Mumbai. While most kids enjoy a break from waking up early in the morning during the summer holidays, Nara delighted at the thought of trekking towards the shoreline and venturing on a search for marine creatures as dawn enveloped the city.

In Mumbai, people gather along the sea face from Marine Lines all the way to Bandstand Promenade to enjoy the sea breeze and watch the waves crash against the city. But, as the tide recedes, this stretch of coastline unveils patches of rocks that are home to numerous marine creatures. 

Mornings spent tide-pooling along the coast of Mumbai had introduced Nara to a myriad of creatures—corals, sea anemones, crabs and barnacles, to name a few—but today she was on a mission to find the most intriguing of all: the sea slug. 

Rocky coastlines give rise to unique microhabitats, such as tide pools. Tide pools are formed as seawater gets trapped between the rocks, once the tide recedes. Contrary to popular belief, these pools brim with life, inhabited by curious creatures that have adapted to live in a continuously changing environment. 

Sea slugs are marine invertebrates, related to snails, that have lost their external shell. These soft-bodied creatures are found globally, but are most abundant in shallow tropical waters. Some are dull-coloured which allows them to easily blend with their surroundings, while others are brightly coloured and boast mesmerising patterns. These vivid hues are not just for show, they serve as a warning message to predators: “We are toxic. Do not consume us!”

Sea slugs are marine invertebrates, related to snails, that have lost their external shell. These soft-bodied creatures are found globally, but are most abundant in shallow tropical waters. Some are dull-coloured which allows them to easily blend with their surroundings, while others are brightly coloured and boast mesmerising patterns. These vivid hues are not just for show, they serve as a warning message to predators: “We are toxic. Do not consume us!”

Skipping from one rock pool to another, Nara observed hermit crabs scrambling across the surface. Zoanthids—a type of soft coral—clumped together, forming irregularly shaped carpets on the rocks. Peering into tide pools, she occasionally spotted a sea anemone, its tentacles resembling the petals of a flower. As she skipped and hopped and quite regularly slipped in a hurry to reach the next pool, her trainers protected her feet from both the rocky surface and the sharp protective shells of barnacles. Nara knew that she would have to spend a long time scanning each tide pool in search of any movement that indicated a sea slug’s presence. Given its small size and ability to conceal itself, finding a sea slug was nearly impossible. 

Her first spotting came in the form of a tiny leaf-like slug: Elysia hirasei. A closer look at a patch of rock covered with marine algae revealed a large group of Elysia chomping through the algae. They obtain their green colour from feeding on the algae, which helps them camouflage effortlessly with their feeding grounds. The mildest of water currents would cause their frills to gently ripple. To Nara, they looked like cattle grazing across a lush green field while she, a giant, peered at them from above. Although to any passerby, Nara too would look weird, laying on her belly atop a rock, gazing into a shallow stretch of water. 

After spending a long while watching the sea slugs go on with their business, Nara dusted herself off and continued on her search for more sea slugs. Time flew by as she scuttled from one pool to another. Nara knew that she would soon have to give up her search and return home. But her determination to find more sea slugs drove her across the expanse of the rocky shoreline.

And then, she spotted something that stole her breath away: nestled between a sea sponge and a rock lay the splendid Goniobranchus bombayanus. The Bombay sea slug gets its name from the city. First described in 1949, it remained hidden from the residents of its namesake for decades due to the relative lack of interest in sea slugs among people. Only recently has the slug come back into the spotlight. What started as a motley group of naturalists exploring Mumbai’s coastal flora and fauna, slowly budded into gatherings of nature enthusiasts and city dwellers seeking a break from their daily mundane routine. The subsequent excitement surrounding these largely unknown marine animals brought the city’s shoreline to the forefront, and along with it the ‘rediscovery’ of the Bombay sea slug, its vivid colours and name catching the attention of everyone. 

The bright yellow border and dots of rich purple scattered across its milky-white body instantly caught Nara’s attention and wonder. Approximately the size of a paper clip, the mostly flat slug remained stationary in its little nook. Two rod-like structures rose from its head while the other end held a cluster of feather-like structures arranged like the petals of a flower that glistened in the sunlight. She recalled a guided shore walk that she had attended, during which the accompanying marine biologist informed her that these structures allowed the animal to breathe and sense its surroundings. At present, she watched the sea slug with delight in her heart. Her hard work and determination had paid off in the most wonderful way. Coming across a Bombay sea slug in the city’s tide pools was a rare occurrence, so Nara couldn’t believe her luck with sighting one. 

As the sun began beating down its harsh rays, Nara gathered her things and began her walk back home. A part of her understood that the city’s shoreline would drastically change over time due to construction projects that were slowly reclaiming land from the sea, climate change and rising sea levels. Her grandfather had once shown her black-and-white pictures of Mumbai’s shoreline, but it looked nothing like the seafront today. For now, she couldn’t wait to share her exciting sea slug adventure with anyone who would care to listen and show them the countless blurry pictures she had taken of these fascinating creatures. 

For more information on Mumbai’s marine life, visit www.inaturalist.org/projects/marine-life-of-mumbai. If you’re in Mumbai, you can join a guided shore walk with Marine Life of Mumbai (MLOM). See www.coastalconservation.in/marine-life-of-mumbai or follow @marinelifeofmumbai on Instagram for updates. 
Clarita Iona Mendes Author
Siddhi Vartak Illustrator
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CC Kids 18

2024 Nov
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Kungfu Aunty vs. The Garbage Monsters

I sit on my balcony each morning to soak in some sun and do a little reading. It overlooks a street corner inhabited by generous piles of rotting waste from almost every house in the neighbourhood. I’m routinely greeted by the stench. Flies, mosquitoes, rats and cockroaches are mundane. 

Actually, that’s just what I’m reading about in Shweta Taneja’s new book— but it’s beginning to feel all too real to be called fiction. Kungfu Aunty vs. The Garbage Monsters is the story of Kabir and his sister Leela, who battle the tyrannical rule of Trash Rajah, with the help of their mother’s crazy invention—a fantastical cleaning bot named Kungfu Aunty. 

Kabir and Leela live in what’s called a dystopian society. A dystopia is an imaginary world marked with great suffering and injustice, a setting that science fiction writers absolutely love. ‘Pretty city’ is under the control of an all-powerful garbage-eating monster, Trash Rajah, who forces its inhabitants to produce enormous amounts of trash to satisfy his insatiable appetite. Living in filth is now the norm, and everyone has to pretend they love it all. What’s a tiny bit frightening about most dystopian literature is that it doesn’t seem that far off from reality. Just like Kabir and Leela, we live in a world ruled by powerful businesses that encourage us to keep buying more, hence we produce more waste. They’re the Trash Rajahs of our Pretty Cities.

This book falls into an interesting genre called eco-punk fiction, which explores environmental themes and ecological issues in a dystopian future. These stories also feature a lot of fun, imaginative tech, such as holograms, hoverboards and, of course, robots like Kungfu Aunty. 

Most dystopian tales are quite grim, but thanks to the author’s wacky sense of humour, this one’s too entertaining to ruin your mood. I especially enjoyed the fun names she’s given the places and people. Trash Rajah is only one of many. As you move through the story, you’ll meet Mayor Junkfan, discover Lethal Lake and scale Puke Peak! 

Even the ‘pests’ that we’re familiar with in our world—flies, rats and cockroaches—have undergone a fictional reincarnation to have mutated into monstrously large creatures: fatflies, bloat-rats, monsterquitoes and dog-roaches—the Trash Rajah’s minions who enforce his rule over Pretty City. Similar to the little minions in our cities, they thrive on improperly disposed rubbish. They are his loyal disease-carrying army, his garbage monsters. Though their portraits are quite frightening to imagine, they’re hilariously dim-witted, which makes most of their appearances in the story a comical delight. When it comes to action for change, there are the doers who are ready to light the way, and then there are those of us who need a little nudge (or sometimes even a shove) from the doer folks. 

Kabir, like many of us, is frozen in inaction. He sticks to the Rajah’s tyrannical rules and avoids upsetting anybody. Who’d blame him? Taking on an army of garbage monsters can be a tad overwhelming. Sometimes, doing the right thing for the planet can mean standing up to our leaders, our schools, and sometimes, even our parents—which can feel just as difficult as fighting an army. 

It takes unbridled, unafraid spirits like Leela and her mother to inspire the Kabir in all of us to come together and fight to protect what we love.

Is there someone out there who inspires you? Or makes you wonder about things you’d never thought about before? They could be your favourite writer, artist, or even a loved one— the Leela to your Kabir.
Karunya Baskar Author
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CC Kids 18

2024 Nov
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Planet Dance

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Section 1: Joy

In a world so rich, where oceans meet the shore,
Lived lives galore, whom we couldn’t ignore.
The sun-kissed sky, as it set and it rose,
A rhythmic dance, full of ebbs and flows.

Beneath the waves, where the corals sway,
Schools of fish play, and practice ballet.
The rhythm of the tides, the song upbeat,
A watery waltz, sweet and complete.

On land so wide, the meadows our guide,
Animals glide, in a joyous stride
Hooves and paws in a lively prance,
Nature’s rhythm, a harmonious dance.

Streams full of frogs, get in for a soak
starting to croak and rhythm awoke
Mountain deserts the cool airs bring
Shadows dance swing, and lizards sing

In the skies and the light, where the birds take flight,
Feathers dance till night, a spectacular sight.
With melodies sung by the feathery choir,
A dance in the air, that never would tire.

Section 2: Struggle

But, alas, change was spreading in the air,
A whisper of worry, the need for care.
The rhythm of nature began to wane,
The world faced a challenge, a growing pain.

Pollution caused by humans alone
Infecting the world with a new tone
Once beautiful now tied in a knot
Coated in smog the Earth got hot

The oceans wept, as the tide lost its song,
The coral ballet, a memory so strong.
Animals hesitated in their lively race,
As pollution spread, leaving a gloomy trace.

Amphibians, sit in their puddles dry,
Earth is shy and begins to cry.
Life in the desert begins to erase,
Pollution’s touch a strong embrace

Birds in the sky, their chorus grew weak,
A silent dance, a world turned bleak.
The trees stood still, leaves barely swayed,
The once vibrant colours started to fade.

Section 3: Hope

But hope wasn’t lost, for the children arose,
With dreams of a planet where nature still glows.
They joined hands together, a determined band,
To bring back the rhythm, their beloved land.

They planted new trees, in the meadows they played,
Picked up the litter that humans had laid.
Reduced, reused, recycled with glee,
A pledge to the planet, a dance for the free.

With each green step, the rhythm returned,
The sun brightly burned, and lessons were learned.
The beat as one, through changes so drastic
Life more fantastic with each piece of plastic

Waltz, ballet, a croak, and a choir
Rekindled fire, the world a supplier
The beat now in a new kind of song
Of how it went wrong and came back so strong

Singing with swing, tap and the tide
Humans in stride, nature allied
New kinds of dance a future so bright
Where beats unite, a perfect light

And so, in this tale of a planet’s chance,
A reminder to all in a rhythmic trance.
To cherish the Earth with every glance,
For together we sway, in the planet’s dance.
Evan Radivoyevitch Author
Princy Rawat Illustrator
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2024 Nov
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The Great Apes 

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Gorillas 

Crash!!! The sound of breaking branches and rustling bushes can be heard throughout this national park in Uganda. The source of the noise is a 200-kg silverback gorilla and his family. They call this mountain forest their home. A gorilla troop like this one usually has around 10 members, but the largest troop ever recorded, in Virunga National Park in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, had a staggering 65 individuals. That’s a pretty big family!

An adult male mountain gorilla can grow to be over five feet tall when standing on all fours, not quite the size of King Kong but still pretty impressive. They have thick black hair covering their bodies and as they mature the hair on their backs acquires a silver sheen, earning them their names as silverbacks. 

Gorillas eat leaves, shoots, roots and bark from a variety of plants. As their food is fairly low in nutrients, they need to consume up to 45 pounds or 20 kg of food, equivalent to eating 125 apples every day! Adult gorillas usually will need to rest for the better part of the day, after eating all that food, while younger gorillas spend the day playing and exploring. 

Gorillas are a peaceful, social ape. But occasionally, silverbacks are known to show aggression when defending their families. At these times, silverbacks will beat their chests, bare their impressive set of canine teeth to threaten rival male gorillas or even charge at intruders when sensing danger. A fully grown gorilla can be six times as strong as a human. 

Apart from the mountain gorilla (Gorilla beringei beringei), there are three other subspecies of gorilla, including the eastern (Gorilla beringei graueri) and western lowland gorillas (Gorilla gorilla gorilla) and the extremely rare cross river gorilla (Gorilla gorilla diehli). Researchers say there are fewer than 300 cross river gorillas left in the wild due to loss of habitat and hunting. 

Did you know? A gorilla will sing when eating their favourite food. A combination of hums and groans to show they have found a treat too good to share. 

Chimpanzees 

In the same forests as the gorillas, are an even larger and noisier family of apes: the chimpanzees. This family contains many males, females and young ones of all ages.

These apes are percussive in their communication. Chimpanzees drum on tree roots to grab the attention of other chimpanzees, and perform impressive displays of their strength by ripping up plants and breaking branches to show their neighbours who’s in charge. One can often hear this display as distant drumming echoing through the forest. 

Chimpanzees are loud, energetic and mischievous. The dominant male in a troop of chimpanzees forms a close bond with his brothers, uncles, cousins and sons and protects this family fiercely as this band of brothers will remain in the group for the rest of their lives. The females are much freer—they often leave their natal group after reaching sexual maturity and find a new community when they are ready to start their own families. 

Chimpanzees eat fruits, nuts and seeds like the gorillas, but also seek out ants, termites, lizards and even hunt a monkey occasionally as a tasty treat. These apes are extremely intelligent and are known to use tools for a variety of reasons, such as using sticks for extractive foraging in termite mounds and rivers and using rocks for weapons during disputes with other chimpanzees. 

Did you know? Chimpanzees cannot swim but love to splash around in shallow water and fish for water plants and algae to eat in the dry season. 

Bonobos 

Further east in the Congo River basin lives the smallest of the great apes: the bonobos. Bonobos were once known as pygmy chimpanzees because they look very similar to chimpanzees, but ancestors of this species actually split from the chimpanzee line around two million years ago. Bonobos were only discovered as a separate species in 1928 and it is thought that the natural formation of the Congo river separated them from chimpanzees. This separation was so long that they are now a distinct species. 

Even though chimpanzees and bonobos look alike, their behaviour could not be more different. Unlike the chimpanzees or the gorillas, the bonobos do not show off their size and strength to intimidate others but instead use alliances and affiliations to settle disputes. Here, the females are in charge of the family, deciding where the group will sleep, travel and forage for food. 

A bonobo group will often befriend neighbouring troops and individuals will move more freely between groups than the gorillas and chimpanzees. Multiple groups may also come together to form large gatherings of up to 70 animals and will talk to each other using hoots, barks, screeches and screams. 

These apes have a tell-tale feature: a rather impressive hairdo. Bonobos characteristic centre parting is one of the easiest ways to distinguish them from their chimpanzee cousins. 

Did you know? Chimpanzees and bonobos share over 98 percent of their DNA with humans. 

Orangutans 

In Asia, in the dwindling forests of Borneo and Sumatra, we find the only ape who prefers to live alone: the orangutan. Known as the red ape for their orange hair, these apes are long-armed tree dwellers who spend much of their time high up in the treetop canopy rather than on lower branches or on the forest floor like their African cousins. They spend their days feeding on fruit, seeds and leaves, and make nests out of branches to rest in throughout the day.

Even though orangutans are the least social of all the great apes, they regularly interact with each other. Young ones engage in play, adolescent males often follow other adults to learn the ways of the forest, young females may travel together or feed in the same tree as other females, and mothers will remain with their infants for up to 10 years, teaching them what they need to know to survive in the wild. Even after young females have reached maturity, they will visit their mothers often and may even share the same area of forest for many years after. 

Orangutans are very clever, just like the other apes, but unlike gorillas, chimpanzees and bonobos, orangutans also have a lot of patience. They spend a long time figuring out solutions to problems and have been known to use a variety of homemade tools to collect food and water, extend their reach and make themselves more comfortable. Orangutans have been reported to have used leaves to make umbrellas to keep dry and cups which they fold and fill with water. They have been observed using sticks for fishing rods, stones for hammers and branches as weapons. 

Did you know? Researchers recently discovered that orangutans use herbal remedies that they find in the forest to treat illnesses and injuries. 

Humans 

This brings us to our fifth and final ape: humans. These apes are far less hairy and can be found all over the world. Humans are just as diverse in shape, colour, preference and foraging and mating behaviours as seen in the other great apes. Some are short and some are tall, some are large and some are small. Some are shy and quiet, while others are loud and bold. Some have black hair and some have red hair and some may not have any hair at all! Some eat meat and some only eat vegetables. Some have large extended families and some live alone. 

As a species, humans are biologically very similar to other great apes in our broader anatomy and physiology, but what makes us unique are the individual differences between us in appearance, behaviour and lifestyle, which can be largely attributed to culture. 

Like other great apes, different populations of our species found in different geographical locations often have distinct cultures. The products of cultures, such as what we eat, how we communicate, our behaviours, our priorities and how we spend our time are passed down from generation to generation. All of the great apes exhibit some form of varying cultures which makes us all connected but wonderfully unique. 
Lorraine Miller Author
Boski Jain Illustrator
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CC Kids 18

2024 Nov
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Exploring the Arctic Tundra with Lumi

Hello! My name is Lumi, and I’m an Arctic fox. My name means snow in Finnish, or at least that’s what some humans said. I don’t think we’ve met. I cannot wait to tell you all about where I live and what I do every day. 

Life with Lumi

I live in the frigid Arctic tundra. This habitat stretches across countries like Russia and Canada. You might be wondering, what’s a tundra? The humans call this area a tundra because of its freezing temperatures and for the lack of trees. There aren’t many forests around here! When I look out of my den, the land is flat practically everywhere. 

It is cold for most of the year, but I don’t worry much about it. I have thick white fur for the winter months. It keeps me warm and helps me blend into the snow. I also have extra layers of fat under my skin that keep me nice and toasty in my coat. When it is warmer out, I shed my thick white coat and grow thinner brown fur. That helps me blend in better with the dirt on the ground and around my den. 

Right now, it’s winter, so my fur is white and shiny. This morning, as it is many mornings in winter, the snow seems to turn orange and yellow as the sun rises higher in the sky. It’s lucky that today we have some sun. Many days in the winter, there are clouds. The sky and everything else turn pale grey. 

Lumi’s morning routine

I climb out of my den and stretch my neck up and up. I imagine that my nose could touch the sun if I reach high enough. I take a deep breath in and smell the whole tundra around me. I have a keen sense of smell—I’ll catch your scent before laying eyes on you! Especially with the wind blowing all the time, another trait of the tundra. 

Every Arctic fox has its own territory in which to live. I know my boundaries with my neighbours and stay in my space. I am a carnivore or a meat eater. I must hunt for food in my territory. I am pretty hungry, so I’ll hunt for small animals like mice and voles today. Mice and voles are practically cousin species! 

I can’t wait for summer. That’s when food is the best! When it’s warmer, there are many plants around. I eat berries and fruits, too. If I ever explore near the ocean, I’ll even try seafood, like urchins and shellfish. I’ll stick to what I can find now that it’s cold. I use my sense of smell to find the prey first. The humans have a name for this, too! They say I’m an opportunistic feeder. That must mean that I look for good opportunities to find food, no matter what that is. 

There! 

I smell a vole! Luckily for me, I have furry, padded feet that help me keep quiet as I march through the snow and ice. I inch closer and closer to where I smell the vole burrowing in the snow. You may not know this, but I have a unique trick when hunting burrowing voles. 

Three,

Two,

One,

POUNCE! 

I leap into the air and slam my nose into the snow! Gotcha! I pull my nose out of the ground with a juicy vole for me to eat. This is my first time seeing it since I had just smelled it under the snow. This one is round with brown fur, like a rabbit, and fits perfectly in my mouth. I’ll take it to my den, where I can eat without worrying about predators or the icy winds.

Home is where the den is 

My den is the most important part of my life in the Arctic tundra. That’s where I sleep, where I eat, where I hide from predators, and where I will one day raise my pups. Growing up, I had 13 brothers and sisters, so I think that’s a good number of pups to have as an Arctic fox. I’ve worked extremely hard on my den. It took a long time to dig out and shape to my liking. I built it all by myself. I tried to copy the cosy den that my own mother raised me in when I was just a pup. That was long before I was out on my own. 

I remember my mother’s den being snug, warm and safe. In the winter, it was covered in snow. When the sun shone exactly right, the snow outside the den would sparkle like stars in the night sky. That’s why I worked so hard on my den. I wanted to make it as safe and cosy as my mother’s den. Now, in the wintertime, snow covers my den’s entrance, and the sun shines on it perfectly, too. I get to see the light sparkle through the snow, just like when I was a pup. 

Why my den is best

Now that I’ve lived in my den for a while, I’ve noticed some curious things about it. Many more plants are near my den than in other areas of the tundra! There are lots of grasses and some plants that grow flowers in the spring. I bring many snacks into my den to eat without any interruptions. I leave my leftovers outside my den if I bring too much, and then after a while, if no one gets to it first, the bugs and worms eat the rest, and it breaks down into the dirt. That’s how all the pretty plants grow! 

The humans call me an ecosystem engineer. It took some time to think about this, but I think I finally figured out what that means. An engineer is someone who builds or creates something. An ecosystem is a place where lots of animals and plants live together. So, the humans have named me a builder in the Arctic tundra ecosystem. They said that I’m a keystone species, too. I guess I am also a key part of this ecosystem, another name humans use to describe a place where lots of plants and animals live together. The humans gave me good names because I do have a den that gets visitors. 

That must be why caribou visit my den so often. I have some of their favourite snacks growing right outside my front door! Caribou aren’t the only ones. I get all kinds of visitors. I’ve seen big animals like polar bears, grizzly bears, geese, eagles and even snowy owls! Those are always a little scary to see so close to my home, but usually, they just come for the leftovers I leave behind. Either way, I’ll stay in my favourite corner of my den until they are gone. It’s best to give big predators their space. 

Now that I have lived in my den for some time, I have noticed the caribou herds travelling closer to my den, but not too close. They really like the plants that grow near my den, so now they’ve chosen a new route that puts them closer to me. That makes me an ecosystem engineer, too! Thanks to my den, I’ve changed where the caribou herds move in the tundra. When the caribou herds move, other predators like wolves and other foxes will follow them to hunt. 

I had no idea a little fox like me could make such an enormous difference in this vast, snowy habitat. I shape the Arctic tundra and where the animals here move to. I never realised just how important foxes are until I heard some humans talk about them. I’ll definitely have to teach that to my pups! I learned so much by listening to them and discovering things on my own. The humans I’ve heard from far away called themselves scientists, explorers and teachers. Humans should listen to them more—they know a lot. I hope humans teach their pups to learn and explore too!
Viviana Moreno Author
Reechik Banerjee Illustrator
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CC Kids 18

2024 Nov
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Focusing on saltwater crocodile habitats and connectivity to safeguard Myanmar’s coastal biodiversity

Species with wide ranges often require extensive habitat patches to enable populations to remain viable. Furthermore, if species are to remain viable over extended periods, there is a need to mitigate habitat-fragmentation driven loss of population connectivity and gene flow. As a case in point, saltwater crocodiles (Crocodylus porosus) have experienced significant habitat loss in certain parts of their territory in Myanmar. Within Myanmar, the species is currently only found in a single protected area—the Meinmahla Kyun Wildlife Sanctuary, an island in the Ayeyarwady Delta. Its population in the Ayeyarwady region was estimated to be no more than 80 individuals in 2019, and this number continues to decline under unprecedented socioeconomic pressures on their mangrove habitats. 

Yet, despite the decline in population over recent decades and inadequate habitat protection in the Ayeyarwady region, no recent assessments have investigated the range-wide habitat patterns, occupancy conditions and population status of saltwater crocodiles in Myanmar. Therefore, there is an urgent need to obtain such critical information to effectively manage and conserve its populations.

Through a comprehensive analysis using 20 years of data, we identified suitable habitats, range-wide corridors and regional pathways that facilitate saltwater crocodile dispersal, thereby enhancing connectivity between habitat patches. The optimal dispersal corridors were identified based on expert-driven landscape resistance surface modelling. This method reflects the level of difficulty saltwater crocodiles face while moving through different geographical landscape features, allowing for the mapping of the most efficient routes to reconnect fragmented habitats.

The study identified extensive habitat patches in the Rakhine, Ayeyarwady, Yangon, Mon and Tanintharyi regions—approximately 1247 km2 along the coastline, with only 12 percent aligning with the IUCN-defined extent of occurrence of saltwater crocodiles in Myanmar. The Ayeyarwady Delta boasts more extensive and suitable habitat coverage compared to the Rakhine and Tanintharyi regions, where marginal habitats are highly fragmented and largely unprotected. We also identified bottleneck areas where the movement of saltwater crocodiles will be constrained due to high landscape resistance and few alternative routes. Notably, while several suitable patches of habitat exist, many are currently unconnected, and dispersal may not be possible between such habitats.

Myanmar currently designates less than one percent of the country’s total area as marine and coastal protected areas, which includes two internationally important wetland sites—Nanthar Island and Mayyu Estuary, and Meinmahla Kyun Wildlife Sanctuary. Expanding legally designated protected areas to include important wetland sites, such as the Gulf of Mottama (GOM), identified habitat corridors and dispersal bottlenecks, is vital for increasing this percentage and boosting conservation efforts of the saltwater crocodile ecosystem. To this end, we identified five key priority areas for protection, restoration and monitoring. These five areas align with the Key Biodiversity Areas within four coastal zones, namely Ramree Island and Kyeintali (Rakhine), Ngapudaw-Phone Taw, Dedaye-Kungyangon (Ayeyarwady Delta), GOM-Bilugyin-Kyaikkhami (Mon) and Myeik Archipelagos (Tanintharyi). 

Mangrove restoration and biodiversity monitoring programmes along those habitat corridors and dispersal pathways could enable population recovery, and in turn, improve population resilience to future environmental changes. Our study emphasises the pivotal role of habitat connectivity, particularly in Myanmar’s overlooked coastal wetlands, and provides a complement to the 30×30 global biodiversity target. This habitat connectivity framework offers valuable insights for conservation practitioners and scientists seeking effective measures to safeguard biodiversity through facilitating conservation planning to better reflect connectivity. 

Our study lays the groundwork for establishing a protected areas network in Myanmar’s coastal regions, utilising saltwater crocodiles as an umbrella species to facilitate comprehensive conservation planning and connectivity efforts for the region’s’ biodiversity and ecosystems.

Further Reading:

Than, K. Z., Z. Zaw, R. C. Quan and A. C. Hughes. 2024. Biodiversity conservation in Myanmar’s coastal wetlands: Focusing on saltwater crocodile habitats and connectivity. Biological Conservation 289: 110396.
Alice C. Hughes Author
Kay Zin Than Author

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Why democratic efforts matter in managing forests and our health

Feature image: A conceptual illustration arguing a multifaceted, and democratic approach in managing forest-, and human-health. Design by V. Jithin; Icon credits to Pixabay.

In 2023, the theme for the UN’s International Day of Forests was ‘Forests and Health’. Although not new to a lot of us, recent pandemics and the rise of emerging infectious diseases made this theme more relevant than ever before. While global schemes like One Health conceptually embrace the multifacetedness of the forest-human health relationship, local implementation of such projects face a lack of participatory approaches and awareness at the individual level. Hence, we argue here for a fresher, more democratic approach to managing forests and our health.

What is a forest?

For each of us, the definition of a forest can be different. Is it merely a large patch of trees, a verdant valley, our primary home or something else entirely? From being a source of timber to producing oxygen, can forests exist beyond the services they offer humankind? Typically, our schools and society illustrate forests as a collection of trees. This often leaves out many elements of nature that are critical in shaping forests. Can forests be seen as ecosystems, where plants, animals and other organisms interact with each other to form a lively network? Or a landscape that serves as a vital lifeline for diverse forms of life including us? An entity that transcends political and social boundaries? 

It might feel as if modern humans have come a long way from being hunter-gatherers, but in reality, we are always interacting with forests—directly or indirectly—irrespective of our location in an ‘urban jungle’ or near an actual forest. Except for a few indigenous communities, forests are often considered a separate entity from humans. Consequently, we forget to acknowledge that forests influence our lives and we influence their existence. Nevertheless, at certain points, we realise the power of these invisible connections. This is especially true when we consider human health—a key value in our lives. 

Forests are crucial for human health

Health encompasses more than the basic functioning of organs or clinical vitals. It includes our physical, mental and social well-being, often closely associated with our surroundings. An IPBES report published in 2019 classified several human health-related benefits from forests, such as nutritional availability, prevention or buffering the impact of natural hazards, prevention of communicable and non-communicable diseases, improved mental health and medicines of forest origin. 

Cardiopulmonary diseases, diabetes and cancer are known to cause 71 percent of global deaths, of which 77 percent occur in low and middle income nations. Although there are no direct studies that trace exactly how forests protect us from such diseases, several studies have indirectly shown that forest-related activities (walking, running, climbing, swimming, etc.) enhance our bodily functions by improving our immune system, as well as reducing blood pressure, mental stress and anxiety. Other studies have shown how exposure to forests supports the growth of healthy children, and their importance in reducing pollution-associated mortality—a major issue in developing countries. 

Another important health-related benefit is the production of synthetic medicines as a result of intensive scientific research in forests. Many of these medicines have their origins in our traditional knowledge and the bioactive compounds that are serendipitously discovered from various organisms in our forests. For example, Himalayan Yew (known locally as ‘thuner’) is a source of taxol, which is used to treat cancer; ‘Arogyapacha’ (Trichopus zeylanicus), a plant endemic to the southern tip of the Western Ghats and used by the nomadic Kani tribes, resulted in an anti-fatigue formulation; and the Cinchona tree gave us the antimalarial drug quinine.

Hence, forests are often described as “repositories of medicines that can make pivotal changes in our health and scientific field”. However, it is regrettable that many undiscovered organisms with potential benefits are disappearing from these repositories before scientists can study and document them. This loss is particularly concerning because these organisms may hold valuable insights into ecological processes, provide new sources of medicine or contribute to agricultural productivity. 

Emerging diseases and increasing fear of forests

Forests are invaluable. However, the recent emergence of zoonotic diseases like MXPV (monkeypox) across the globe and re-occurrences of regional diseases like the Kyasanur Forest Disease in the Western Ghats, have contributed to the multi-layered fear of forests among common people. Increasing human-wildlife interactions without precautionary measures often lead to disease transmission from animals to humans. For example, monkeypox occurs when humans come in contact with or consume infected animals, such as rats and squirrels. It has been shown that MXPV spreads due to land use changes associated with forest disturbance in the Democratic Republic of Congo. 

The spread of novel diseases due to forest degradation has become a serious concern globally. When we reflect on recent events such as the COVID-19 pandemic, it is clear that such diseases have affected everyone, regardless of race, gender and nationality. Half of infectious diseases have been known to originate from animals or spread through them as intermediate agents—scientifically known as zoonotic diseases—and a third of these are triggered due to deforestation, and increased human activities in the interior forests, usually associated with land use change. Human-made changes in forest landscapes increase the chances of disease-causing organisms crossing species barriers, as often the pathogens are hosted by a specific group of host organisms and reach humans eventually. To prevent these spillovers due to increased human-wildlife interactions, we need to discourage the alarming rates of forest land conversion and degradation. 

This underscores the need for more data on disease transmission, host species, their habitats and interactions with humans in order to take action at the root level. Unfortunately, we do not have much of this information, due to a lack of in-depth research and ignorance of this critical subject. The helplessness arising from this makes us fear forests and see them as reservoirs of unknown diseases. This view often results in alienating ourselves from forests or developing a tendency to destroy them in an attempt to prevent diseases.

One Health, a holistic approach

In 2023, a Nipah virus outbreak rattled Kerala—a small state on the western coast of India, nestled within the Western Ghats landscape. People’s opinions were divided by WhatsApp messages, with some arguing against the killing of bats and others fearing that bats could spread viral infections through fruits. But thanks to awareness campaigns by ecologists and the healthcare system, people as well as bats were saved. 

It is important to consider the role of each stakeholder in developing preventive measures in the face of a public health emergency. People working in various fields, with strong scientific and sociological foundations and with experience in managing people on the ground have to work together. These include forest guards who identify and communicate potential human-wildlife interactions, health care workers, village council members, wildlife researchers, NGOs, virus research centres and various tiers of the government. 

The One Health approach has recently gained global attention among public health and science professionals. The founding principle of One Health is to maintain the holistic and individual health of human society by conserving the health of natural ecosystems and their components. The success stories of this initiative from several nations underscore the importance of a broad, multi-dimensional approach.

Consider how Papua New Guinea, where 85 percent of the population lives in remote areas, welcomed the One Health approach. In association with the Tree Kangaroo Conservation Programme in the region, they implemented the “Healthy Village, Healthy Forest” programme, by recognising that sustainable environmental and public health management is only possible through practical solutions. The project focused on public health by ensuring basic government health facilities, enhancing village infrastructure and conducting peer group gatherings to make people aware of forest-health relationships, along with research activities. At present, the community is successfully producing sustainable coffee, while a dedicated, locally-owned area is reserved for conserving tree kangaroos by controlling the hunting pressure. This example demonstrates why our health cannot be viewed in isolation, nor that of wildlife or an ecosystem.

Are we ready on the ground?

What would your response be if a virus such as Nipah is increasingly reported in your locality? Would that response change if you were near the source of the disease? What if you were a health professional or a wildlife researcher? What if you were a forest watcher or the head of the Forest Department or the Minister of Forests, a police officer or the representative of a local body? Many people from different sections of society will be required to act during these situations, directly or indirectly. 

Learning how to respond in such circumstances can help us grasp the intricacies of managing difficult situations. For example, insufficient and unreliable socio-scientific anecdotes become a major hindrance in tackling miscommunication and the spread of pseudoscientific news on zoonotic diseases. This is exacerbated by our limited capacity to communicate the scientific underpinnings of these issues efficiently. This can be only addressed by getting information directly from public health and ecology experts, and effectively communicating this to media specialists through science communicators, in consultation with other relevant stakeholders. In addition to this, the spread of false information can be prevented by a dedicated community of fact checkers at the regional levels. 

Similarly, other aspects also need cooperation from people of various backgrounds across professional and social strata to tackle critical issues such as research funding, adoption of certain policies and management practices. While the international community is shifting its focus to these aspects, we have to ensure that the diverse dimensions of programmes like One Health, its different perspectives, possibilities and challenges need to be discussed with the public at the local scale. If these programmes confine themselves to the top of the social hierarchy and are technically difficult for common people to comprehend and participate in its functioning, it will not reach full potential at the bottom level.

Top-down or bottom-up?

As human health and forest health are tightly interconnected and their disconnectedness will result in cascading effects on us, we have to think about how we can ensure their intactness. One crucial point is to understand that we need a broad network of people and processes. This can only be achieved through brainstorming, research and policy making at multiple levels, starting from the local governments and other stakeholders who interact with forests and public health. In order to ensure bottom-level information is used in the health monitoring of local forests, animals and people, we will need the democratic involvement of people in the process, similar to the People’s Biodiversity Register Programme in India. 

In this proposed process, we imagine people assessing their neighbourhood forests and human health using appropriate indices, such as biodiversity intactness, frequency of human-animal interactions, disease spillover chances and livestock-wild animal health to generate zoonoses probability maps. This can be facilitated by a spatial data collection system implemented at the state or regional levels, to which data is gathered at the finest level through people’s participation. This will help implement appropriate preventive measures at multiple levels, from local residential societies to the national level, with inputs of all stakeholders. We believe that such parallel top-down and bottom-up efforts can add momentum to global healthcare schemes like One Health, by linking some of the missing elements such as local-level information and participatory involvement of people from all strata.

In parallel, we also need a collective effort from all stakeholders to prevent interior forest degradation and to ensure the needs and rights of forest-dependent communities. Basic and applied research, supported and carried out by these stakeholders, will help us understand the deeper connections between forests and us. There must be scope for scientists, journalists and the public to talk to each other. That way, research findings can be effectively shared with the common people. 

We need grassroot-level intervention and interactions where both decision-makers and common people can mutually benefit. Current discussions about nature and humanity often frame them as opposing forces, leading to binary thinking like forest vs. development or forest vs. urban dwellers. However, when we recognise that these dimensions can coexist only through trade-offs, we begin to understand just how deeply interconnected forests and humans truly are.

Further Reading:

Berrian A. M., M. Wilkes, K. Gilardi, W. Smith, P. A. Conrad, P. Z. Crook, J. Cullor et al. 2020. Developing a global One Health workforce: the “Rx One Health Summer Institute” approach. Ecohealth 17(2):222-232. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10393-020-01481-0.

S. Díaz, J. Settele, E. S. Brondízio, H. T. Ngo, M. Guèze, J. Agard, A. Arneth et al. 2019. Summary for policymakers of the global assessment report on biodiversity and ecosystem services of the Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services. IPBES secretariat, Bonn, Germany. 

Gadgil, M., P. R. Seshagiri Rao, G. Utkarsh, P. Pramod and A. Chhatre. 2000. New meanings for old knowledge: The people’s biodiversity registers program. Ecological Applications 10(5): 1307-1317.
Jithin Vijayan Author & Illustrator
Ashiq PP Author

More in Perspectives

The Unicorn Crisis

Feature image: Great-Indian-one-horned-rhinoceros-at-Kaziranga-national-park-in-Assam-India by Mayank1704 – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, httpscommons.wikimedia.orgwindex.phpcurid=49547280

In the safe havens of Nepal, one may chance upon a creature reminiscent of the unicorn of legend. The story of Rhinoceros unicornis, commonly known as the greater one-horned rhinoceros, is one of conservation positivity, especially for a species whose relatives still lie dangerously close to extinction due to illegal take, habitat loss and fragmentation and climate change. Once classified as Endangered, conservation efforts have increased its numbers, resulting in the species’ downlisting to Vulnerable on the IUCN Red List.

Chitwan National Park is home to the majority of Nepal’s rhino population. Recently, researchers from Tribhuvan University, Nepal, noticed that the rhinos’ habitat within the park has changed. The eastern area of the park which was heavily populated by rhinos 20 years ago was largely abandoned in favour of the western region. For a species that has made such a strong recovery, could this be a new warning sign? 

Rhinos prefer riverine areas, riverbeds and grasslands with scattered trees and dominated by wild sugarcane. They avoid dense forests—since their huge size affects their ability to move around—and humans as much as possible. Nearly two decades ago, both the eastern and western regions provided such habitat conditions, but the rhinos were now more abundant in the western region for unknown reasons.

So, what changed their preferred region of the park? In recent years, grasslands have reduced drastically in both the eastern and western regions due to human activities that have changed the landscape of Chitwan National Park. The building of dykes and spurs along the river reduced its intensity and altered its flow. As a result, dense forests started taking over the grasslands and the riverbanks became less “rhino-friendly”. Anthropogenic activities such as livestock overgrazing, incessant cutting of grasses, illegal take and settlement in rhino habitats further reduced the species’ habitat. As barren lands and dense forests started to replace the grasslands in the eastern region, the invasive “American rope” vine (Mikania micrantha) outgrew the native wild sugarcane, rendering the rhinos foodless.

The loss of their favoured grassland habitat and food source in the eastern region of the park caused the rhinos to move to the relatively untouched western area, which has an abundance of wild sugarcane and close proximity to water. However, the western region of the park has also experienced a drastic loss of grasslands and is vulnerable to losing wild sugarcane due to human interference and climate change. The latter also poses a threat to the riverine forests and water abundance—resources that make the habitat closest to the ideal one for rhinos.

The takeaway of this study is that simply declaring a region as a national park or a wildlife sanctuary is not enough to protect a species; maintenance of suitable habitat within the protected area is also needed. It took immense efforts to restore the greater one-horned rhinoceros’ population to a safe number after the last population decline. If the right measures are not taken now, all that conservation effort will be nullified. The crisis will return, and this unicorn may truly become an animal of myth.

Further Reading:

Kuikel, P. R. and K. Bassnet. 2023. Land use change pattern of the greater one-horned rhinoceros (Rhinoceros unicornis) in Chitwan national park of Nepal. Asian Journal of Conservation Biology 12(1): 66–72.  
Adit Shah Author
Andrea D. Phillott Author

More in Research in Translation

Among Tigers

Among Tigers is an engrossing and captivating book by Dr. K. Ullas Karanth, one of the world’s finest tiger biologists and conservationists. It chronicles Karanth’s lifelong mission to save India’s wild tigers from extinction, as well as his transformation from an engineer to a conservationist. Spanning nine chapters, the book touches upon myriad aspects of tiger biology, ecology, evolution and conservation, while also taking readers on a journey through some of Karanth’s most poignant experiences and learning curves, which have made him the tiger expert he is today. 

Karanth provides eloquent and detailed descriptions of capturing tigers and being the first one to radio collar them in India. He articulates the entire process of a ‘tiger beat’—which involves tranquillising the tiger—and explains how it combines modern scientific methods and technologies with ancient hunting techniques and jungle craft practised by local communities. He darted his first tiger, Mudka, in the Nagarhole Tiger Reserve in 1990, followed by three more—Sundari, Das, and Mara—detailing their physical traits and the compassion and caution with which he and his team captured and radio-tagged them.

Karanth also touches upon his association with his team members, many of whom came from indigenous communities. While appreciating their jungle craft and traditional knowledge, he also expresses views that place the onus of the historical decline of tigers in India on oppressed and marginalised communities. Although he mentions sport and trophy hunting by native kings and colonial overlords, he subtly shifts the larger blame onto the subaltern classes. This perspective tends to whitewash the deeds of colonial officials and privileged Indian royalties, who often butchered hundreds of tigers and other wildlife for entertainment. 

Throughout the book, Karanth consistently acknowledges Mel Sunquist— a professor of wildlife ecology at the University of Florida— from whom he learned the art of tracking tigers and the professionalism required for capturing animals. He emphasises his responsibility as a scientist towards the well-being of captured animals and the safety of his team. 

Pratibha, Karanth’s wife, is a key figure in his life, who remained a pillar of strength despite his prioritisation of tigers and work over family. He frequently expresses deep gratitude towards her, yet also regrets being an emotional burden and not a responsible husband and father during his professional hardships. This struggle to balance work and family, especially in conservation, is something that is rarely discussed.

Tiger census

A staunch critic of the highly inaccurate pugmark count census used by the state forest departments, Karanth pioneered camera trapping to estimate tiger numbers in India. This was an important period in his life, and he discusses the hardships of being villainized after a series of tiger deaths in the early 1990s, following the death of his first radio-collared tiger, Mudka, which led to the project’s termination by the state forest minister. Tribal youth protested against him with slogans like “Karanth the Tiger Killer” and “Karanth the Enemy of the Tribal.” Local tabloids defamed him with sensational headlines such as “Blood on the Collar” and “Karanth’s Tiger Scandal,” which eventually reached national media. 

He felt targeted due to his upper caste background, especially by a Dalit forest minister—a perspective that seems exaggerated and unfairly puts marginalised communities on the spot. These assertions need careful scrutiny because they risk oversimplifying the socio-political dynamics and may inadvertently reinforce caste-based biases. In 2004, Karanth and his colleagues were charged with financial irregularities and trespassing in the park, which he claims were plotted by the mining mafia and corrupt forest officials. It took nine years of legal struggle to get acquitted in 2013.

This struggle for academic freedom transformed Karanth into a conservationist who needed powerful connections to navigate such challenges. He writes: “Conservation theory preached from academic ivory towers was not of much use to the practice of conservation in the real world. Every step toward being an effective conservationist made it harder for me to pursue my science.” 

This insight is crucial for anyone wanting to engage in conservation beyond academia. Conservation theory has its limitations, and applying this knowledge in practice is an entirely different challenge. Dealing with various stakeholders can be tremendously stressful, often requiring one to compromise on moral values, become part of the system and engage in political manoeuvring, as the logic of science does not work everywhere.

On the conservation front, Karanth realised that making indigenous allies is crucial for tiger conservation. He began networking to integrate indigenous social movements with conservation efforts, believing that the survival of tigers must align with the needs and aspirations of the communities living in tiger habitats. However, this optimistic view and goodwill toward the communities seem paradoxical to some of his other views expressed in the book. 

Fortress conservation

The last three chapters of the book are filled with statements and opinions that support old-time, colonial, preservationist and exclusive models of conservation. I found striking parallels between Karanth’s grand wish of having 15,000 tigers in India and Prof. E.O. Wilson’s ‘Half-Earth Theory’.

Prof. Edward Osborne Wilson— a renowned evolutionary biologist and researcher— is widely known for his work in biodiversity and conservation. In one of his most influential ideas, the Half-Earth Theory, he proposed that in order to preserve our planet’s biodiversity, half of the Earth’s surface should be designated as protected areas devoid of human presence. While this theory aims to curb the mass extinction of species by providing undisturbed habitats, it has been widely criticised for its exclusion of human communities, particularly indigenous and local populations who have coexisted with these ecosystems for millennia.

Karanth and Wilson, both in their respective magna opera, have strongly opposed people-centric conservation approaches and favour only science-based wildlife conservation which has no place for the concept of coexistence or even cohabitation. Both vehemently pitch for “fortress conservation” with exclusive areas for wildlife without humans and propose the so-called “voluntary relocation” or the displacement of some of the most marginalised communities from their lands. 

Both Karanth and Wilson support large, corporate-style conservation NGOs with histories of racial and ethnic oppression. They criticise social scientists, undermining the importance of integrating social sciences and humanities into conservation. Karanth goes so far as to mock social scientists and activists as “emancipators”, claiming that they deprive marginalised communities by promoting traditional practices and human-animal coexistence. Both Karanth and Wilson tend to blame habitat degradation and declining wildlife on indigenous communities without acknowledging and introspecting on their own privileged identities, positionalities and socio-economic capital. 

The most striking convergence between Karanth and Wilson lies in their unwavering belief in the capitalist mode of production and governance, coupled with their recurrent disdain for socialist ideology. Wilson’s vision for large-scale conservation aligns with capitalist principles of efficiency and control, often at the cost of social equity and justice. Similarly, Karanth’s writings echo these sentiments, dismissing the critical role of social equity in conservation efforts. Their optimistic reliance on the supposed benefits of a free-market capitalist economy is paradoxical and deeply flawed.

By advocating for the exclusion of people from natural habitats, they undermine the pursuit of socio-ecological justice and conveniently overlook the fundamental causes of the climate crisis and biodiversity loss. This oversight neglects the reality that under capitalism, both human and non-human nature suffer profoundly. The battle for nature conservation is inextricably linked to the struggle for social justice, as one cannot exist without the other. Their perspectives, thus, highlight a significant disconnect between their conservation ideals and the broader imperative for equitable and just environmental stewardship.

Given India’s dense population and socio-political challenges, Karanth’s ideas of creating exclusive tiger habitats and promoting voluntary relocations appear increasingly unrealistic. His vision of establishing 15,000 tigers in the country overlooks the fact that most tiger habitats are inhabited by people. Achieving this ambitious target would inevitably clash with the needs and livelihoods of marginalised communities. His fortress conservation model does not align with contemporary practices that prioritise community involvement and sustainable development.

Today’s conservation landscape emphasises integrating scientific research with community engagement and socio-economic considerations. While Karanth’s contributions remain invaluable, his vision for tiger conservation must evolve to embrace the complexities of contemporary India. Instead of creating inviolate areas excluding humans, promoting coexistence between tigers and local communities is imperative. This approach ensures long-term tiger survival while safeguarding human livelihood and safety by fostering tolerance and resilience.

In conclusion, Among Tigers is a thought-provoking book that offers an intimate and insightful look into one of the world’s most awe-inspiring creatures. It is more than just a repository of scientific knowledge; it is a heartfelt narrative reflecting Karanth’s deep connection with tigers. The book’s strength lies in provoking critical thinking about the broader implications of conservation. Karanth’s forthright opinions on fortress conservation and conservation-induced displacements may be polarising, yet they compel readers to reflect on the ethical and practical dimensions of modern conservation.

Ultimately, Among Tigers leaves readers with a profound appreciation for the complexities of wildlife conservation and a renewed sense of urgency to protect tigers. Karanth’s writing is eloquent and detailed, and is highly recommended for anyone interested in the journey of a wildlife biologist. The book serves as a powerful reminder that effective conservation requires not only scientific expertise but also unwavering commitment, passion, resilience and adaptability to make a real change.

Further Reading

Dattatri, S. 2024. ‘We can easily reach 10,000 tigers’: Dr K. Ullas Karanth. Frontline. https://frontline.thehindu.com/environment/conservation/interview-dr-k-ullas-karanth-leading-tiger-expert-we-can-easily-reach-10000-tigers/article66763095.ece. 

Karanth, K. U. 2016. Among Tigers: Fighting to Bring Back Asia’s Big Cats. Chicago Review Press.

Wilson, E. O. 2016 . Half-Earth: Our Planet’s Fight for Life. WW Norton.
Ashraf Shaikh Author

More in Bookshelf

The Tree That Could Walk

There once was a tree. 

A very special tree. 

A tree so special, it could walk.

– – – – – – – – – 

It could walk. It could run.

It could skip. It could dance.

– – – – – – – – – 

It could stroll with the giraffes. 

And race with the leopards. 

It could even climb a mountain if it wanted to.

– – – – – – – – – 

But all it did was stand.

It just stood there. 

Staring at the sky. 

All day. And all night. 

Stuck in one place like any other tree.

– – – – – – – – – 

“What a waste of a gift,” cried all the other trees.

Oh, if only they could walk and run and skip and dance. 

The places they would go. 

The wonders they would see.

“Oh if only we could move,” sighed all the other trees.

– – – – – – – – – 

But the tree that could walk, 

just stood there all day. 

Staring at the sky.

– – – – – – – – – 

Every morning the wind would stop by. 

It would tickle the tree. 

Rustle the leaves. 

Shake the branches. 

Puff its cheeks and blow.

But the tree that could walk, 

would not budge. 

It just stood there all day. 

Staring at the sky.

“Such a waste of a gift,”

the wind would wheeze. 

And blow away in a huff.

– – – – – – – – – 

Some days 

the clouds would drop low 

to see this wonder. 

A walking tree.

“Walk. Run. 

Please dance. 

We’ve never ever seen a tree 

that can move.”

They would plead and pray, 

drizzle and flash.

But the tree that could walk, 

would not move. 

It just stood there all day. 

Staring at the sky.

“What a waste of a gift,”

the clouds would thunder. 

And slowly slowly all drift away.

– – – – – – – – – 

The animals, the birds, 

the ants and the bees, 

they would all come by. 

To see if the tree had moved today. 

Maybe an inch, maybe more.

But the tree was always standing there. 

In the same spot. Staring at the sky. 

All day. And all night. 

Stuck in one place like any other tree.

Such a wonderful gift to walk,”

they would mutter and sigh. 

And leave to return the next day.

– – – – – – – – – 

The tree that could walk never said a word. 

It would just stand there all day. 

Staring at the sky.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Now there was one more thing special 

about this special tree.

– – – – – – – – – 

The gayak bird.

– – – – – – – – – 

This was no ordinary bird, the gayak bird.

It had wings like rubies and eyes like pearls.

A golden beak that shone like the sun.

And a song it would sing in a thousand voices, all at once.

– – – – – – – – – 

It was the only gayak left in the forest.

Even maybe the world.

And it lived in this special tree.

Singing all day long.

Flying from branch to branch

to cloud to sky and back.

– – – – – – – – – 

And the special tree would just stand there. 

Staring at the sky.

Watching the gayak bird glide and dive, whirl and fly.

“Oh! If only I could fly like the gayak,”

wished the tree that could walk.

“The sky it would touch. The stars it would reach.

Oh what a wonderful gift it would be to fly.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – 

One fine night,

when nobody was watching,

and the forest had gone to sleep.

The tree that could walk,

spread out its branches,

flapped them like wings,

and jumped.

– – – – – – – – – 

It flapped and jumped.

Flapped and jumped.

But all that happened 

was thump, thump, thump.

It fell back to the ground 

with a bump.

– – – – – – – – – 

The gayak was startled awake.

It fluttered and flew out of the branches,

only to settle back again with each thump.

– – – – – – – – – 

That night, when the tree was finally done jumping,

the gayak quietly went back to sleep.

It didn’t say a word. Nor did the tree.

– – – – – – – – – 

Now this happened every night.

The tree tried to fly. But couldn’t.

But yet it tried. And it tried. And it tried.

Flap and jump. Flap and jump.

But thump, thump, bump.

– – – – – – – – – 

Soon, this special tree forgot it could walk.

It just stood there. All day. In one place.

Staring at the sky. Waiting for the night. 

To try jumping once again. 

And maybe this time, fly. 

– – – – – – – – – 

And it would have stood there forever, 

if it wasn’t for the greedy man that appeared one day.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

One day a man came along carrying a sack full of birds.

When he saw the beautiful gayak asleep high up in the branches, 

he dropped his sack and began to climb the tree.

– – – – – – – – – 

The special tree rustled its leaves and shook its branches. 

But the gayak slept deep. 

It hadn’t slept the previous night. 

Waiting for the special tree to be done jumping.

– – – – – – – – – 

The man climbed higher and higher. 

Getting closer and closer to the gayak.

– – – – – – – – – 

Now the tree decided to do something.

– – – – – – – – – 

The tree that could walk or run, 

spread out its branches, 

flapped them like wings, 

and jumped.

– – – – – – – – – 

It’s didn’t fly, 

but the man was thrown to the ground. 

And the gayak awoke.

Startled, the man ran away.

– – – – – – – – – 

Only to return a few days later.

– – – – – – – – – 

And this time he came with an axe, 

twenty coils of rope, a big cage, 

and many more men.

They were going to catch the gayak, 

and take the special tree too.

– – – – – – – – – 

Seeing the men walk towards the tree, 

the animals and the birds, 

the deers and the bees began to shout. 

“Run, special tree, run.”

– – – – – – – – – 

The gayak woke up with all this noise.

 And flew out into the sky.

– – – – – – – – – 

The clouds came down low and shouted too. 

“Run, special tree, run. Save yourself. Run.”

– – – – – – – – – 

The tree that could walk and run, 

spread its branches, 

flapped them like wings and jumped.

– – – – – – – – – 

The men were startled at first, 

but soon they began to laugh. 

How strange a sight to see 

a tree that thought it could fly.

– – – – – – – – – 

The wind came by now, and huffed and it puffed. 

“Run, special tree, run,” it wheezed. 

But the tree simply flapped and jumped. 

Flapped and jumped. 

Flapped and jumped.

– – – – – – – – – 

All the other trees rustled their leaves 

and shouted, “Run, special tree, run. 

Save yourself from the greedy men.”

But the special tree simply flapped and jumped. 

Flapped and jumped. 

Flapped and jumped. 

Getting more and more tired 

with every jump.

– – – – – – – – – 

The men wrapped their ropes 

around the tree and held it tight. 

Some began to climb, 

collecting the ruby feathers 

that the gayak had left behind.

– – – – – – – – – – – 

Suddenly. 

– – – – – – – – – 

Suddenly the tree began to rise in the air. 

The animals, and the trees, the birds and the bees, 

all began to cheer. 

“Fly, special tree, fly. 

Fly away from these wicked men, fly.”

– – – – – – – – – 

The men were thrown to the ground. 

Their ropes snapped as the tree broke free.

And the special tree flew away.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – 

But did it really fly? 

And did it really reach the stars and touch the sky?

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

No. 

It didn’t.

– – – – – – – – – 

It did not fly, no. 

It was the gayak that saved it that day.

– – – – – – – – – 

This was the other special thing about this bird. 

It could lift the heaviest weights if it needed to. 

But the weight would hurt its wings, 

and it would never fly again.

– – – – – – – – – 

The gayak knew this. 

And yet it carried the special tree to safety.

Hurting its wings along the way.

– – – – – – – – – 

The special tree was sad.

It shook its leaves, and hung its head.

If only it had run today, its friend the gayak would still be flying. 

It realised what a silly fool it had been.

– – – – – – – – – 

But the gayak, it began to sing.

It sang in its thousand voices, all at once.

It sang the most beautiful song the forest had ever heard.

And as it sang, the special tree took a step forward. 

Then another. And another.

– – – – – – – – – 

With each step, the tree that could once walk,

but had forgotten it could walk,

began to walk again. 

Carrying with it, the gayak with the broken wings.

– – – – – – – – – 

They strolled with the giraffes.

And raced with the leopards.

And climbed with the goats.

– – – – – – – – – 

They danced for the clouds.

And twirled with the wind.

They travelled north, south, west and east.

Even further than the gayak had ever gone.

– – – – – – – – – 

And the gayak sang its song the whole while.

– – – – – – – – – 

They went back to meet all the trees 

in the forest where they lived before.

And told them of all the places they had been.

All the wonders they had seen.

– – – – – – – – – 

‘Oh, such a special gift,” sighed all the other trees.

“To walk, to hop, to skip and to jump.

To dance, to twirl, to whirl and to run.”

“And oh yes, to sing.”

– – – – – – – – – 

“Indeed, wonderful gifts,” agreed the gayak and the special tree.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Satish deSa Author
Keya Gangoly Illustrator

More in CC kids

Settler Colonialism’s Prickly Past

It is April 2023, and we are making our way across Laikipia in central Kenya. We travel down a public dirt road that cuts through a large, private wildlife conservancy. The road is lined by an electric fence on either side. Beyond the fence lies 58,000 acres of enclosed habitat for endangered and endemic species, including black rhinos, Grévy’s zebra and wild dog. This conservancy also contains its own wildlife rescue centre, which offers sanctuary to some unexpected animals, including a pygmy hippo, a spotted owl and even a bear.

This part of Laikipia has been hit hard by successive years of drought. Although the rains have finally arrived elsewhere in the region, evidence of rain in these parts is scant. As we drive, large plumes of dust are propelled high into the sky. Behind the electric fences on either side of us, there are just a few tufts of grass and some common, hardy plants remaining, such as buffalo thorn (Ziziphus mucronata) and whistling thorn (Vachellia drepanolobium).

We are driving to Waso Centre in west Laikipia, passing through community-owned lands that make up the larger Naibunga Community Conservancy on the way. The fence of the private conservancy ends and a sudden and stark difference in ground cover makes the boundary between the private conservancy and the community-owned land clear. On the community side, the ground is almost entirely bare aside from cacti and succulents. As we drive on, more and more of the earth is covered by one distinct plant: Opuntia or prickly pear. The flat, oval stems of this cactus—loaded with long, needle-like spines—can be seen for miles, reaching up towards the sky out of the dusty soil.

Although impossible to know for certain, it is widely agreed that various species of Opuntia were imported to Kenya from South America by white settlers in the 1950s. Some say the plant was first brought to Kenya by a colonial homesteader in Dol Dol—just 12 kilometres from where we are driving to now. It was apparently kept as an ornamental potted plant that could survive in arid environments. Others report that colonial administrators used the cactus to construct living fences around their office buildings.

Some of the Opuntia species introduced to the region have since died off, but Opuntia stricta has thrived on community land. This species requires very little water to grow, which has allowed it to spread with relative ease. In 2018, the United States Forest Service was contracted to carry out a study on the spread of Opuntia in Naibunga Community Conservancy, which revealed that the species is present on 90 percent of the conservancy’s landscape and completely dominates vegetation on 12 percent of the land.

As Opuntia spreads, it displaces and suppresses grasses vital for livestock and wildlife. In the absence of other options, animals graze on the prickly pears produced by the plants. The reddish-purple fruits pose grave injury to cattle, goats and sheep. The cactus spines lacerate the mouths of foraging livestock and can become lodged in their eyes, leading to blindness. Livestock also have trouble digesting the seeds of the fruit, which may clog the intestines of goats and sheep, leaving them unable to feed and ultimately causing their demise.

In places like Naibunga, where livestock keeping is people’s main source of livelihood, this ecological legacy of colonisation has become a persistent thorn in the flesh of pastoralists and is of growing concern for some types of wildlife as the plant continues to reproduce and spread. Many across the conservancy are attempting to take action, removing the plant and replacing it with indigenous grasses and shrubs, but Opuntia is difficult to control. As we carry on towards Waso, we pass through areas where local residents and civil society organisations have been attempting to carry out this work. The plant has been dug up and left in large mounds on the side of the road. In some areas, potholes have been filled with the uprooted remains of the plants. In some ways, these extreme efforts are a symbolic testament to the durability of prickly pears as a species and the ecological legacy of colonisation.

Paradoxically, use of Opuntia as a pothole filler has contributed to the plant’s spread. As vehicles pass over the flowers, fruits and stems, pieces of cactus penetrate tyres, hitching a ride across the landscape, propagating across the arid landscape and spreading further. Most scholarship on settler colonialism draws attention to how settler colonial power endures through political institutions, land use policies and legislation. These forces and processes are all undeniably essential to sustaining settler colonialism. Yet, settler colonialism is also memorialised and lives on through ecological relations. As the story of Opuntia so aptly illustrates, the ecological relations produced through settler colonialism can continue to violently suppress, remove and erase indigenous lives—including human, animal and plant lives—well after formal independence, just as other structural forces may.

All over the world, evidence of colonialism is detectable in the ecologies of post-colonies long after the official start of independence and end of empire. As Lenzner et al., 2022, write, “the persistent legacy of human activities on biological invasions over centuries reflected in the compositional similarity and homogenisation of their floras”. It was also intended that settler colonialism would impact on and endure through ecologies, including relationships between humans, animals and plants. The mid-20th Century writings of Elspeth Huxley, a white settler to Kenya, reflect the following sentiment:

“It is sometimes said that if Europeans were to withdraw from Africa today the continent and its people would revert to savagery and all traces of our civilisation would be expunged. This is not altogether true. Whatever the fate of our cultural influence, we should at least leave behind indelible traces of our cattle and sheep in the hereditary mechanism of animals which survived us. We should leave plants that have colonised the soil perhaps more permanently than men – wheat and barley, sisal and coffee, oats and tea, potatoes and peas, fruit and wattle trees. These at least would remain as a memorial to Europe’s conquest of Africa.” (Huxley, 1953)

Ecological imprinting is neither just an accident nor by product of settler colonialism, but has always been part of the mandate of colonisers. The 2020s have proven to be a crucial decade for biodiversity, following the IUCN World Conservation Congress in Marseille, France, and the adoption of the Kunming Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework (GBF). A total of 188 governments signed onto the GBF, agreeing to coordinate and escalate efforts to halt and reverse the ongoing loss of marine and terrestrial biodiversity. With these commitments, massive amounts of funding are being made available to support the implementation of the GBF. The story of Opuntia in Laikipia, Kenya, is just one example of many that underscore the need to continue dismantling unjust ecological legacies of settler colonialism. Using GBF funding to directly support efforts to redress historical ecological injustices is therefore not only possible but essential for restoring and safeguarding healthier ecosystems for all people, animals and forms of life.

Further Reading

Bersaglio, B. and C. Enns. 2024. Settler ecologies and the future of biodiversity: Insights from Laikipia, Kenya. Conservation and Society 22(1): 1–13.

Braverman, I. 2023. Settling nature: The conservation regime in Palestine-Israel. University of Minnesota Press.

Enns, C. and B. Bersaglio. 2024. Settler Ecologies: The Enduring Nature of Settler Colonialism in Kenya. University of Toronto Press.
Charis Enns Author
Brock Bersaglio  Author & Photographer
Manvi Vakharia Illustrator
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Hidden Denizens of the Desert: Tracking carnivores in Kutch

Featured Image: sighting of a jungle cat during 2022 fieldwork

‘Kutch’—what imagery comes to mind when you think of this place in the north-western frontier of Gujarat in India? Perhaps the White Rann—a salt desert, renowned for its immense size. I envisioned this as well. Hailing from eastern India, I could not fathom how the inhospitable desert with long spells of drought and scorching days with no shade to seek refuge under, could sustain any life at all. Kutch had always remained a distant mystery to me.

In 2019, an internship took me to the Banni grasslands towards the south of the White Rann. That was when I realised that the ecosystems here were not a monolith; they weren’t cut from the same cloth. Travelling from north to south of the Kutch district, it is impossible to miss the stark shift from the desolate salt desert to the expansive grasslands, then onto wooded hills and ravines, and finally descending to meet the coastline.

Kutch’s tropical thorn forest habitat is characterised by native Acacia trees on a lush grass bed post monsoon
The same habitat looks starkly different in the dry season

The project that I was interning with focussed on meso-carnivores—the smaller yet more diverse and widely distributed relatives of large charismatic carnivores like tigers and lions. Kutch is known to be a haven for meso-carnivores such as jackals, foxes and small wild cats, among others. What adds to its intrigue is that it is also under substantial human use—by pastoral communities such as Maldharis and Rabaris, who have been following their traditional livelihood practices for hundreds of years, with their livestock (cows, buffaloes, sheep, goats and camel) and dogs. My work was largely restricted to a small part of the Banni and I was disheartened that I did not see a single meso-carnivore during my time there. Yet, I was also determined to return, to explore the wider landscape and search for these elusive animals.

Fast forward to 2022, I got the opportunity to return to Kutch. This time around, I was conducting my own research as part of my Master’s dissertation fieldwork in the hills and ravines. My field timeline spanned the dry season—the harshest period in the desert ecosystem when animals must scramble for whatever limited resources are available. My previous experience in this landscape had offered a glimpse of how crucial the land was for humans beyond traditional pastoralism.

Sighting of an Indian fox during 2022 fieldwork

Agriculture was rapidly becoming a vital means of livelihood, infrastructure projects like mines and renewable energy farms (wind and solar) were on the upswing, and fresh roads were being carved out to facilitate these projects. Pursuing these ventures is relatively easy as much of this landscape retains the colonial tag of a ‘wasteland’ under land use policy. This means that while meso-carnivores may be protected species as per Indian law, their habitats are not. My goal was to understand how numerous species of meso-carnivores managed to share the depleting habitat resources in such an environment. But first, I had to find them.

I went fully equipped with a team of interns and field collaborators, armed with some knowledge of carnivore natural history, camera traps and scat sampling kits. After spending the first few weeks of January 2022 liaising with local villagers, pastoralist communities and the Forest Department, we set out on our search for the meso-carnivores.

Checking a camera trap for photos of meso-carnivores

While I had to wait to go back to the lab in Bangalore to genetically ID the scats, the camera traps yielded instant results. In a matter of a few days, we already had multiple sightings and camera-captures of the commoners—golden jackal, jungle cat and Indian fox. We also started encountering smaller carnivores like mongooses and civets, and wild herbivores—chinkara and nilgai. And of course, lots of humans, livestock and domestic dogs. But the rarer species like desert cats and ratels (honey badgers) eluded us.

During one of our routine surveys the following month, we stumbled upon an intriguing find—a set of distinctly ‘floral’ pugmarks, a clear indication that a striped hyena had traversed the same path as ours. We strategically placed a camera trap along the trail, hopeful that the hyena might use the path again. Two days later when we returned to retrieve the camera, it was nowhere in sight. The rope securing it to the tree had been torn. Panic set in––had the camera been stolen?

After a thorough search, we found the camera around 70 metres from the original spot. It was damaged and bore tooth marks all over. We excitedly returned to the field station to identify the culprit. As a series of images were unravelled on the computer, it became evident that a striped hyena had indeed encountered the camera during its early morning stroll. Intrigued by the device, it had tried to investigate further, resulting in the camera being dismantled and chewed up. Eventually, it seemed to have lost interest, dropped the camera and moved on.

Photo of the striped hyaena before it noticed the camera trap

On another day, while climbing up and down in a dry ravine, we chanced upon a scat with an unusual appearance. Investigation of its contents revealed that it belonged to a carnivore that had had a porcupine meal—the scat was full of sharp quills! We were intrigued. What carnivore would risk the sharp quills of a porcupine? Once again, we deployed a camera trap and left it for a couple of days. The first several photos were of hares, porcupines and jackals. Then came the night-time footage of a short, stocky creature—black in colour, sporting a dorsal band of light grey hair. It was a ratel! And as the subsequent photos popped up on the screen, we saw that there was not just one, but two of them together.

Camera trap photo of the elusive ratel

As the days progressed, other rare meso-carnivores like the desert cat and rusty-spotted cat started showing up in our camera traps. But the rarest of them all was still missing. With February nearing its end, the pleasant days of desert spring transitioned into the scorching days of summer heat. The
unbearable heat, coupled with the seemingly lower prospects of finding any newer species, was tiring us out faster than before. Giving up wasn’t an option, and so, with a substantial part of the landscape yet to be surveyed, we soldiered on.

It was now March and we were out checking our camera traps. It was two in the afternoon as we reached the last camera for the day. The sun was at its highest, the air was warm and we were sweating profusely. On reaching a camera, I would always check as many pictures as possible right away. On the small screen of the camera, I struggled to identify the animal in the very first picture. It did not look like anything that we had recorded before. And as my vision adjusted to the glare, I could not believe my eyes. The lean body on long limbs, large ears sporting prominent tufts of black hair––we had photo-captured the caracal, the rarest meso-carnivore of the Indian desert. My teammates and I were thrilled beyond words. The unexpected but fortuitous encounter rejuvenated us and the subsequent two months of intensive fieldwork flew by with a new sense of hope and enthusiasm.

Mining activities and wind farms are expanding in the landscape, stripping it bare of its natural cover of grasses and trees

During my last few days in the field, I could not help but re-think how wrong I was about deserts being ‘inhospitable’. I had recorded a whopping 13 species of carnivores during my surveys. But how do these species adapt to the extreme climate? At the same time, how will the expanding agricultural farms, the roads, the mines, the solar and the wind farms impact this landscape and its carnivores? How can we protect this region and its wildlife without excluding its people? I left Kutch with these questions burning in my mind, hoping to return soon to tackle their answers.

Further Reading

David, P. 2023. In Jaisalmer: gone with the windmills. People’s Archive of Rural India. https://ruralindiaonline.org/en/articles/in-jaisalmer-gone-with-thewindmills/?s=03. Accessed on 27 February, 2024.

Kadambari, D. 2014. India’s Wild West. Personal Blog. https://kadambarid.in/wildlife/wild_kutch.html. Accessed on 27 February, 2024.

Unakar, S. 2018. The Dark Side of Greener Kutch. GOYA. https://www.goya.in/blog/the-dark-side-ofgreener-kutch. Accessed on 27 February, 2024.

Originally published on 08 May 2024
Divyajyoti Ganguly Author & Photographer
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Stickleback (and forth): Evolution and ecosystem restoration

Restoration is defined as the return of an ecosystem to its condition prior to disturbance or degradation. But is restoration ever truly possible? Environmental conditions are constantly changing. So what happens to established ecosystems when a species is suddenly reintroduced?

Watershed restoration projects often occur in waterways that have experienced physical, chemical, and morphological changes caused by human activity. Dams, water diversions, pollution, and run-off can significantly transform ecosystems by impacting the species that can survive and thrive in new and changing conditions.

Across southern California, restoration initiatives have targeted the reintroduction of top predators such as trout or salmon to restore ecosystems to their historic conditions. While transplanting fish increases biodiversity, it can cause detrimental effects on existing species that have adapted and evolved to a habitat free of predators. Conservation efforts must recognise current ecosystem dynamics to holistically address the biodiversity and evolutionary impacts of human interference.

Evolutionary background

Consider the three-spined stickleback fish. This small freshwater species is found in inland and coastal waterways across southern California and the rest of North America. About 20,000 years ago, ancestral sticklebacks migrated from oceanic to freshwater habitats, mostly occupying lakes, rivers, and streams. This massive environmental shift meant that different populations of sticklebacks now faced new and different predators. While some populations retained a large pelvic fin and protective armour, sticklebacks in freshwater environments with few predators evolved to lose their armour over the course of several generations.

Today, there are 16 recognised and distinct species of sticklebacks globally, two of which are distinct threespined stickleback species. These species have demonstrated physical adaptations rapidly across evolutionary timescales. Due to environmental shifts, resource availability and the presence of predators, three-spined sticklebacks have repeatedly colonised freshwater and oceanic habitats throughout history. As a result, they have expressed evolutionary changes in as few as ten generations.

The movement of the species between oceanic and freshwater environments appears to have made the species uniquely resilient to changing environments and unforeseen threats. The rapid evolution of three-spined sticklebacks has made the species a common subject for studies related to natural selection, especially because modern human-caused disturbances, such as commercial and industrial activity, dam construction and watershed pollution, have influenced such evolutionary processes.

Modern pressures

Habitat alteration can influence evolution and adaptation through the separation of populations which may lead to different environmental conditions, predators, and other threats. Humans have contributed to the evolution of three-spined sticklebacks through the construction of dams and other forms of habitat degradation that separated the fish from their historic predators. Subsequently, many three-spined stickleback populations adapted to rivers without the necessity of anti-predator armour or behaviours.

Barriers such as dams reduce the connectivity of populations by restricting movement. This isolation inhibits breeding opportunities between populations and impacts the genetic diversity of a population. Genetic diversity is important for survival and reproduction, allowing species to adapt to potential environmental changes. Limited breeding opportunities can lead to inbreeding, which decreases population resilience against environmental threats.

In highly industrialised areas, human alterations to water quality can include increased salinity or temperature due to run-off or drainage. While these changes can be detrimental to marine species, some have evolved to accommodate such pressures. For example, juvenile three-spined sticklebacks have displayed tolerance to the introduction of warm and salty water to freshwater habitats, exhibiting faster growth and lower parasite burdens than those in undisturbed freshwater habitats. The uninhibited growth of juveniles in altered environments illustrates the ways in which the evolutionary history of sticklebacks allows for movement between oceanic and freshwater environments with minimal detrimental effects.

Conservation implications

Rapid adaptation does not mean that three-spined sticklebacks are invulnerable to environmental changes. Although they have demonstrated the ability to adapt to a changing environment, populations may suffer in the long term if adaptive benefits are not uniform across all life stages. Threats or stressors may vary from one generation to the next. So, a beneficial adaptation can quickly become a hindrance in the event that environmental conditions change again. Three-spined stickleback populations seem incredibly resilient in the face of human pressures due to learned and evolved behaviours. However, a lasting ecological consequence of environmental disturbance is increased population vulnerability, particularly when restoration efforts occur without addressing recent environmental adaptations.

For example, if three-spined sticklebacks are reintroduced to a restored environment for which they are no longer adapted, or if non-native species are introduced into their range, stickleback populations may be negatively impacted. Populations may be vulnerable to new predators, environmental threats, lack of adequate habitats or nutrients, or newly introduced bacteria and diseases. The acknowledgment of the perceived resilience of the three-spined stickleback must be met with the understanding that the species is not immune to population decline. Three-spined stickleback fish have demonstrated the potential for rapid evolution throughout history. Nevertheless, the compounded effects of environmental destruction and disturbance pose a threat to the resilience of freshwater fish populations. It is also important to recognise that environmental changes caused by human activity occur much more quickly than natural species migrations or physical environmental shifts.

The migration of three-spined sticklebacks from oceanic to freshwater environments resulted in the loss of their protective armour, hind fins, and anti-predator behaviour because of reduced predation in lakes and streams, typically attributed to overfishing of predators or dam construction that separated species. However, predatory fish have been reintroduced to some fresh water environments to diversify riverine ecosystems.

The reintroduction of predators can lead to “reversed selection” in the three-spined stickleback, where the fish responds to changing environmental conditions with an increase or decrease in armoured plates within just a few decades. They have been observed to exhibit forms of more or less armour, some even resembling previous generations, in response to changes to their ecosystems and predators. Therefore, the reintroduction of predators into lakes and streams to increase biodiversity can have inadvertent evolutionary impacts on existing populations. In the same way that three-spined sticklebacks may experience adverse impacts due to the introduction of non-native species, the reintroduction of predators can present sudden and significant pressures on an ecosystem in which species have already adapted to the absence of predators.

Stocking predators in rivers full of unarmored sticklebacks can result in a ‘genetic bottleneck’—an event that significantly reduces the population size of a species, resulting in limited genetic diversity. Human disturbances such as agricultural activity, run-off, oxygen consumption, or pollution can also cause genetic bottlenecks. Populations of three-spined sticklebacks in polluted freshwater environments have experienced bottlenecks, inbreeding, and reduced genetic diversity. A lack of interbreeding and genetic mixing creates the potential for isolation that reduces a population’s resistance to certain pressures. Bottleneck events can be catastrophic for marine populations when low genetic diversity results in mass vulnerability to diseases.

Conservation in context: Case studies from California

In 2015, three-spined sticklebacks were reintroduced to Mountain Lake in Presidio, California, by transplanting the fish from a single nearby population. The three-spined stickleback is the only fish species native to Mountain Lake, but the introduction of predatory fish throughout the 20th century led to dwindling populations and unprecedented habitat loss. This reintroduction effort was an element of a larger holistic strategy to restore and enhance fish populations in the lake, hinging on the role of the three-spined stickleback as a critical host species for California floater mussels.

However, in 2020, nearly all of the reintroduced population died due to exposure to disease. The deaths were associated with low genetic diversity caused by bottleneck due to translocation. In response to this die-off, a second reintroduction has been planned with the inclusion of sticklebacks from multiple nearby populations with the hopes that increased genetic diversity will improve the population’s resistance to disease and other threats. Therefore, although genetic isolation and bottleneck events do not necessarily have a significant impact on reproduction, a lack of genetic diversity can leave populations vulnerable to calamitous circumstances.

Beyond genetic diversity considerations, hydrological conditions are a critical element of a comprehensive strategy in reintroduction efforts. In 2014, for example, several populations of three-spined sticklebacks were translocated within California from the Santa Clara River to the Santa Francisquito Creek due to extreme drought conditions that diminished available habitat. Translocation efforts identified sites in the creek with reliable water flows and compatible habitats, and fish were gradually acclimated to the new release waters prior to translocation. However, even after rescue efforts, prolonged extreme drought caused vast portions of the Santa Clara River to become uninhabitable for the three-spined stickleback. Monitoring efforts continued in the years following release, but drought, debris build-up in the creek and complex hydrological and morphological features have resulted in minimal observations of three-spined stickleback populations. In many cases, populations were unable to migrate or recover from unforgiving drought conditions.

In the context of reintroduction and restoration, the preservation of genetic diversity and healthy populations must be considered in relation to their evolutionary potential. Further, the physical conditions of the reintroduction site—including the presence of other species, hydrological conditions, and climatic hazards—greatly influence the health and mortality rates of the reintroduced species. Despite the astounding rapid changes that can occur among three-spined sticklebacks, predator introduction and species translocation present a sudden and considerable threat. Populations may be able to adapt over time, but they may not be able to recover.

Conservation considerations

How, then, can we restore ecosystems without causing catastrophic damage to existing populations? Conservation efforts and watershed management ought to consider the genetic diversity and evolutionary patterns of resident species, such as the three-spined stickleback, before causing physical alterations to a riverine habitat or reintroducing native predators to an environment. They must also consider how an environment has changed over time, how resident species have adapted to current conditions, whether current populations can handle sudden environmental shifts or an influx of predators, how human interference may support biodiversity, and the evolutionary implications of human interference.

Reintroduction is dependent on numerous variables within a particular environmental context. Differences in water quality and chemical composition, the presence of dams or non-native predator species, and the regional climatic conditions that present environmental hazards, for example, can dictate the health and productivity of reintroduced species. These variables may change depending on context—human-imposed habitat fragmentation via barriers often occurs along rivers, while the introduction of non-native species is commonplace in lakes. While the three-spined stickleback may be native to waters across the world, its ability to survive under particular conditions and stressors is dependent on a holistic approach to reintroduction that maintains a balanced ecosystem.

Connectivity is an increasingly prevalent topic in conservation, particularly in the context of urban rivers and streams where water pollution and habitat fragmentation lead to cascading impacts on watershed ecosystems. In the case of three-spined sticklebacks, changes in connectivity have led to rapid and measurable adaptations that can lead to population vulnerability. By incorporating predator-prey dynamics and long-term monitoring of ecosystem restoration planning efforts, conservation managers and practitioners can preserve biodiversity without causing cascading environmental impacts to populations and food webs that have adapted to a predator-free environment.

Further Reading

Begum, M., V. Nolan, and A. D. C. MacColl. 2023. Ecological constraint, rather than opportunity, promotes adaptive radiation in three-spined stickleback (Gasterosteus aculeatus) on North Uist. Ecology and evolution 13(1): e9716. https://doi.org/10.1002/ece3.9716.

Santos, E. M., P. B. Hamilton, T. S. Coe, J. S. Ball, A. C. Cook, I. Katsiadaki and C. R. Tyler. 2013. Population bottlenecks, genetic diversity and breeding ability of the three-spined stickleback (Gasterosteus aculeatus) from three polluted English Rivers. Aquatic toxicology 142-143: 264-271. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.aquatox.2013.08.008.

Lavelle, A. M., M. A. Chadwick, D. D. A. Chadwick, E. G. Pritchard and N. R. Bury. Effects of habitat restoration on fish communities in urban streams. Water 13(16): 2170. https://doi.org/10.3390/w13162170.

Originally published on 13 May 2024
Bonnie May Author
Pooja Sreenivasan Illustrator
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Bullfrogs and native amphibians: Four lessons about evolution

It is a quiet evening on Hazel Wolf Wetlands—a wildlife refuge located near Lake Sammamish, Washington. The sun is almost down. The light breeze from the wetland makes me feel chilly. I close my eyes and listen. Conk-la-ree! calls the red-winged blackbird from the bushes. Wibit! Wibit! responds frogs. The place is so calming. It takes me away from the hustle of the city and brings all my thoughts to this pond.

It feels like this pond, surrounded by a quickly and dramatically changing urban landscape, hasn’t changed much in the past centuries. Yet I know this is a deceptive impression. If we only knew where and how to look, we would see the drama of species extinctions and introductions and the intricacies of species interactions unfolding here. We can witness a process that has been shaping life on Earth from the beginning of time.

Ongoing change

Many of us, including myself, used to think about evolution as a process that takes thousands of years. However, sometimes it can occur very quickly, within just a few generations. Scientists even have a special term for it—rapid evolution. As evolutionary biologist Theodosius Dobzhansky once said: “Nothing in biology makes sense except in the light of evolution.” Biodiversity conservation is no exception. If we want to save a species, we have to understand what evolutionary processes it undergoes. Otherwise, the conservation programmes might bring unexpected and undesirable results.

In wetlands such as Hazel Wolf, many native species of frogs and salamanders share their home with the invasive American bullfrog (Lithobates catesbeianus). It was brought to the Pacific Northwest a century ago and reared to consume frog legs. Husbandry farms in the region sunk into oblivion long ago. Bullfrogs have stayed, however. Establishment of exotic species in new habitats that have a negative impact on the ecosystem are called biological invasions. Worldwide, bio-invasions are one of the largest drivers of biodiversity loss. Bullfrogs impact native species of amphibians through predation, competition for food and novel diseases. At the same time, novel interactions between invaders and local ecosystems can give us valuable insights into the process of evolution. We could use these insights to inform more effective conservation efforts. 

Let’s take a closer look at our wetlands. They can teach us valuable lessons about evolution and conservation!

Lesson one: It doesn’t take many, or What do the population of bullfrogs and the phoenix bird have in Common?

Whether we want it or not, bio-invasions in a globalised world happen frequently. There is hardly any ecosystem that has not been impacted by invasive species. But how exactly do they happen? And how many individuals does it take to establish a new population? The answers vary greatly for different species.

Imagining bullfrog invasions, I had always pictured hundreds of bullfrogs escaping a frog leg farm. I was mistaken! Astonishingly, as few as six female bullfrogs can start a new colony. Prolific bullfrogs can travel long distances to colonise new habitats, and females can lay as many as 20,000 eggs. All of these make eradicating an established bullfrog population a daunting task. Eradication efforts through trapping are labour intensive, expensive, and often fail— especially when undertaken alone. Take one, and two will come.

Do you remember the mythological phoenix bird—a symbol of immortality and resurrection? Similar to a phoenix rising from ashes, a bullfrog population, once established, resurges again and again. However, it does not mean that nothing can be done to reduce the threat that bullfrogs pose to native animals. If we cannot eradicate them, we can still control their population. Trapping, combined with pond draining or collection of egg clutches can be used to keep bullfrog populations at bay. Prevention, though, is the most effective conservation measure. Knowing that just a few individuals can start a new colony is a good reason not to release pets into a wild pond.

Lesson two: Genetic adaptations to new diseases are key to survival 

When bullfrogs establish new colonies far away from their native range, they encounter new predators and diseases. Bullfrogs’ genes that code for immune response to pathogens can reshape quickly to better resist local pathogens, allowing their immune systems to adapt to the new environment. These changes in immune genes are heritable and are a great example of contemporary evolution. This makes bullfrogs successful invaders. Ironically, it also makes them a good vector for spreading diseases.

Contagious diseases are a global threat to amphibians. Amphibians breathe through their skin, so skin diseases can be especially detrimental. Hence, all amphibians have skin secretions that protect them from pathogens. The antimicrobial properties of secretions differ greatly between species. They serve to best protect amphibians from pathogens they have evolved with, offering very little defence against new pathogens.

Chytridiomycosis is a skin disease in amphibians caused by a certain strain of a chytrid fungus. Bullfrogs likely carry the strain of the pathogen responsible for this disease in amphibians. Similar to travellers who might carry and unknowingly spread new variants of disease between countries and continents, invasive bullfrogs can carry and spread chytridiomycosis to previously uninfected ecosystems. Bullfrogs, meanwhile, co-evolved with this pathogen and are more tolerant to it than other amphibian species.

The ability of bullfrogs to spread chytridiomycosis explains why some communities of native amphibians experience more negative consequences than others amid bullfrog invasion. Communities of native amphibians with a different strain of chytrid fungus circulating usually have some level of immunity to chytridiomycosis and are less impacted. But communities that have had no exposure to chytrid fungus are more susceptible to severe declines and extinctions in the event of an outbreak.

For conservation managers, it adds a whole new level of complexity. With intensive efforts, an invasive bullfrog population can be controlled, minimising the impact of predation and competition on native species. But outbreaks of chytridiomycosis are hard to manage and have the potential to decimate entire populations of native amphibians.

Lesson three: It is not only bullfrogs who are adapting to the new environment. Native amphibians are adapting too!

Bullfrogs are voracious predators that will eat everything that will fit into their mouths. Unfortunately, most native amphibians fit the bill. If bullfrogs are present in the ecosystem, native amphibians have to find ways to avoid predation. Those amphibians who are more successful in avoiding predation and competition for food will have a better chance of reproducing.

Many species of frogs can ‘scent’ chemicals of predators they co-evolved with. However, if a predator is a new and unfamiliar species, it won’t be recognised as a predator. For example, in ponds where a population of bullfrogs has been present for decades, tadpoles of California red-legged frogs (Rana draytonii) could detect their presence nearby and take shelter, but tadpoles from ponds free of bullfrogs did not exhibit the same behaviour. Interestingly, this behaviour is heritable.

This provides a glimmer of hope for the conservation of native amphibians, while also raising many questions that are yet to be answered. For example, can the population of native frogs be “taught” how to avoid bullfrogs? In theory, a relatively new conservation strategy called ‘targeted gene flow’, might benefit some species of native amphibians facing the bullfrog invasion. It involves the translocation of individuals with a favourable trait to populations that will benefit from this trait. The introduction of native amphibians who can already ‘smell’ bullfrogs and avoid them in a bullfrog-naive population can help the latter acquire this desired genetic adaptation.

Lesson four: Strong sexual preferences can lead to big troubles

Yes, you read it right. Males of red-legged frogs and Oregon spotted frogs (Rana pretiosa) prefer larger females for breeding. Who can blame them? In a harsh natural world, reproductive success is the main measure of success. Larger females mean more offspring. Mating with more fecund females has always been a beneficial strategy for males. At least, until bullfrogs arrived. Juvenile bullfrogs slightly resemble mature red-legged frog females, with one caveat—they are bigger. This makes them more attractive and almost irresistible to male red-legged frogs.

Not surprisingly, males are reluctant to mate with females of their own species. Instead, male red-legged frogs favour young bullfrog females. It is detrimental to reproductive success, as no offspring could be born from such courtship. It also puts males in great danger because mating with juvenile bullfrogs usually lasts longer—this might sound like a good thing in some circumstances, but not in a pond full of predators. Longer mating time increases the chance of males being eaten by adult bullfrogs or other predators. This behaviour poses a problem for conservation. With an increase in the number of bullfrogs in the habitat of Oregon spotted frogs or red-legged frogs, the higher the chances of males preferring to mate with juvenile bullfrogs, and sharper the population decline.

The sun sets in the Hazel Wolf Wetlands. As soft downs envelop the landscape, I reflect on how everything is interconnected, and how complex yet delicate the natural world is. I think about the ongoing changes in Hazel Wolf, how amazing bullfrogs are in their ability to adapt, and the whole new level of complexity that the evolutionary perspective brings to conservation.

It turns out that invasive bullfrogs impact native communities not only through predation and competition, but also by spreading new diseases and disrupting the reproductive process. We have to address these new threats to protect local ecosystems. If we fail to consider contemporary evolutionary processes in amphibian conservation programmes, the results of these programmes might be different from the expected outcomes.

Further Reading

Anderson, R. B. and S. P. Lawler. 2016. Behavioural changes in tadpoles after multigenerational exposure to an invasive intraguild predator. Behavioural ecology 27(6): 1790–1796.

D’Amore, A. N, E. Kirby and V. Hemingway. Reproductive interference by an invasive species: an evolutionary trap. Herpetological conservation and biology 4(3): 325–330.

Yap, T. A., M. S. Koo, R. F. Ambrose and V. T. Vredenburg. 2018. Introduced bullfrog facilitates pathogen invasion in the western United States. PLOS ONE 13(4): e0188384.

Originally published on 13 May 2024
Mariia Dvornikova Author
Mohith O Illustrator
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A thrilling evolutionary murder mystery

It is the year 1830, and the scientific atmosphere in England is charged. Charles Lyell, a geologist whose work later influenced the young and impressionable Charles Darwin, is making waves in the scientific community. Lyell had just proposed a bold theory of species extinction via gradual changes in the landscape across millions of years. It defied the long-standing theory of extinction by sudden catastrophic events, as put forth by Georges Cuvier.

However, Lyell also mocked the idea of a fixed direction in the history of life, as propounded by Cuvier. He reckoned that the sequence of mammals arriving before reptiles and amphibians is not set in stone, contrary to what fossil records suggest. Extinct reptiles such as Ichthyosaurus can, under suitable conditions, reappear to reclaim the seas. In a hilarious rebuttal, Henry De La Beche, a fellow geologist, drew a comic titled “Awful Changes” starring a reappeared Ichythyosaurus donning a pair of spectacles and giving lessons to fellow Icthyosaurs on the extinct Homo sapiens:

“You will at once perceive that the skull before us belonged to some of the lower order of animals; the teeth are very insignificant, the power of the jaws trifling, and altogether it seems wonderful how the creature could have procured food.”

It is not just a dig at humans or the concept of resurrecting species but also at Charles Lyell and his nearsightedness. Such tussles in the scientific world serve as occasional subplots in The Sixth Extinction written by Elizabeth Kolbert and published by Henry Holt and Company in 2014. Kolbert uses these tidbits of history as a springboard to the main plot of the book, which concerns contemporary human-driven extinctions due to global warming, ocean acidification, habitat fragmentation and invasive species.

Kolbert begins each chapter by transporting us to a place and a time, be it on top of a ridge in the present-day Peruvian Andes or off the coast of Iceland in the 1800s. She describes the tell-tale signs of our influence on the landscape and its biodiversity through her own observations and conversations with scientists. Every chapter also features a species on the brink of extinction or already lost from our world.

Ichthyosaurs attending a lecture on fossilised human remains. Lithograph by Sir Henry de la Bèche, 1830, after his drawing. Image credit: Wellcome Images, a website operated by Wellcome Trust, a global charitable foundation based in the United Kingdom

Starting with scores of frogs mysteriously dropping dead across the Americas and Australasia, Kolbert traces their downfall and that of other species to a few culprits across 12 of the book’s 13 chapters. She scrutinises each culprit’s fingerprint in the present and past eras. During one of her many explorations, we learn that the oceans we are swimming in today are nearly 30 percent more acidic than they were during pre-industrial times. Global temperatures are around two degrees higher than they were two centuries ago. However, the clincher is that these levels are no strangers to our planet.

Many pages of life on Earth are filled with gorier periods of global warming, ocean acidification and ecosystem collapses. So, what is the difference between the past and the current extinctions? Does it matter if humans or a giant asteroid are to blame? Don’t the consequences remain the same?

This book provides some clarity to these questions. Kolbert masterfully draws parallels between the extinctions of the past and what we are witnessing today. She eases even the most novice of her readers to complicated subjects by starting with something familiar and slowly building her way to the unfamiliar. Her liberal use of analogies allows us to navigate through complex concepts seamlessly. In one such instance, she uses a construction analogy to describe how carbonate ions needed to build coral reefs—in the form of calcium carbonate—are increasingly sequestered as carbonic acid in our relatively acidic oceans: “Imagine trying to build a house while someone keeps stealing your bricks.” Such analogies make for a light read, even for people who find science daunting.

Aside from the writing style, the content itself is diverse and global. However, as a South Asian, I would have liked to see reportage from the Indian subcontinent. Its absence reflects the dearth of datasets and field studies in the region despite having some of the world’s richest assemblage of flora and fauna. Nonetheless, Kolbert manages to underscore the global scale of the issues without mentioning South Asia. Further on, while discussing the extinction of large mammals such as mammoths, she describes how these extinctions coincided with the transcontinental spread of our species. She cursorily mentions an alternative theory of fluctuating climate without delving into the supporting evidence for the same. However, we have proof of recent ice ages restricting the ranges of these large mammals, with humans administering the final blow.

Despite a few shortcomings, Kolbert keeps her readers hooked throughout the book as if she is writing a thrilling murder mystery. However, unlike the macabre atmosphere of such novels, she adopts a matter-of-fact tone with some glints of drama and, surprisingly, humour for a rather grim subject. Her conversations with scientists are the only time we sense a tone switch. She alludes to the emotional turmoil researchers often experience when witnessing the large-scale demise of their beloved group of species. On the approaching extinction of coral reefs, she quotes J. E. N. Veron, a former scientist at the Australian Institute of Marine Science:

“A few decades ago, I, myself, would have thought it ridiculous to imagine that reefs might have a limited lifespan. Yet here I am today, humbled to have spent the most productive scientific years of my life around the rich wonders of the underwater world, and utterly convinced that they will not be there for our children’s children to enjoy.”

You will appreciate Veron’s sentiments better after reading Kolbert’s beautiful take on coral reefs. Her comparison of coral reef ecosystems to “underwater rainforests” in the middle of a “marine Sahara”—followed by her justification for this imagery—evokes a sense of sadness at the thought that these ecosystems may not be around for long.

What stood out for me are a few occasions where Kolbert contemplates her place in the larger scheme of life. One such golden nugget is while she is collecting water samples at night in the Great Barrier Reef. All around her is darkness stretching from horizon to horizon; all she can see are the mighty stars above her. “The reason I’d come to the Great Barrier Reef was to write about the scale of human influence. And yet Schneider and I seemed very, very small in the unbroken dark.”

Another moment is amongst army ants in the Amazon. She felt one needed to “paint oneself into a corner” to witness army ants in their millions, marching through the forest floor and ravaging anything along the way—including you if you panicked! Her description of our current era, reduced to a sediment layer no thicker than a “cigarette paper” in an unimaginably distant future, knocks out any lingering egocentric tendencies of a haughty reader.

You will soon realise that this book is not just about mighty army ants, dying frogs or breathtaking coral reefs. It is about all the rabbit holes of patterns that lost species of the past, present and future have fallen into, leading to their inevitable demise. It is about how extinction is a normal, slow-paced process, but also how the rates on a few rare occasions have shot sky high and brought life on Earth down to its knees. It is about the story of generations of scientists before us and their struggle to accept the concept of extinction, something Kolbert notes that even three-year-olds take for granted today as they play with their dinosaur figures. It is also about the extraordinary effort mankind has embarked on to save what is left, the tremendous irony of which you will appreciate after reading this book.

While we are almost sure that the extinct Ichthyosaurus will not reappear, Jan Zalasiewicz, an expert on extinct graptolites, predicts that giant rats will take over the world when the dust settles and the sixth extinction runs its course. He reckons a species or two may start “living in caves” and “wearing skins of other mammals” they kill to cover their nakedness. Henry De La Beche might have been more accurate if he had sketched Prof. Rattus magnum instead of Prof. Ichthyosaurus.
Netra Kadambi Author
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2024 Sep
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Sitting on the wings of a butterfly

The first time I heard the term butterfly tagging, I was intrigued. I had heard of mammals and reptiles being tagged to help biologists understand their movements and behaviour, but what could one possibly attach to a butterfly? My mind conjured up strange images of butterflies sporting miniature collars on their abdomen, or some gizmo hoops on their wings. Thankfully, my wildly misplaced notions were soon going to be dispelled; I was attending a workshop on tagging monarch butterflies (Danaus plexippus).

It would be difficult to find a person who isn’t enamoured, at least for a moment, by seemingly weightless wings glittering in the sunlight. Butterflies have been a motif and symbol in various cultures dating back to more than 3000 years. The ancient Greek word for “butterfly” is ψυχή (psȳchē), which translates to “soul” or “mind”. Many Meso-American and Southeast Asian cultures believe butterflies to be reincarnations of the deceased, epitomising metamorphosis through its transition from a caterpillar to a winged creature.

Yet, despite their widespread popularity, butterflies are not as eternal as we would like them to be. In fact, they are dying in apocalyptic numbers along with other insects. A 2019 report in Biological Conservation mentions that 40 percent of all insect species are declining globally and one-third are critically endangered. Insects pollinate more than 80 percent of terrestrial plants and directly contribute to crop yields. Reducing the significance of an entire class of animals to their role in supporting human well-being is hardly justified, but even by these narrow parameters, the decline in insect populations should be of significant concern to us. It wouldn’t be a stretch to claim that entire food webs and ecosystems could collapse if the trends continue. The tragedy of losing creatures that have survived and evolved for millions of years is hard to imagine.

These heavy thoughts were momentarily brushed aside by the graceful glide of a monarch butterfly, surfing the cool winds by the seaside where we had gathered to learn more about them. We were a motley group of nature enthusiasts and educators, united in our curiosity and fascination to better understand these enigmatic creatures. One of the most iconic pollinators among the North American butterflies, monarchs migrate annually across North and South America, making them the only known butterflies to embark on a two-way migration similar to birds. They are thought to have been given the name “monarch” in honour of King William III of England, as the butterfly’s predominant rusty-orange colour matches the king’s secondary title, ‘Prince of Orange’. “Can you believe that we’ll be seeing the great-grandchildren of these butterflies up north next year!” exclaimed our workshop host and naturalist, Kathy (name changed).

Unlike other butterflies that can withstand the winter as larvae, pupae, or even as adults in some species, monarchs cannot survive the cold winters of northern regions. Instead, every autumn, millions of monarch butterflies leave their summer breeding grounds in northeastern USA and Canada and travel more than 3,000 miles to reach overwintering grounds in southwestern Mexico. These ‘super generations’ of migrating monarchs are unique because though they are the same species, for reasons still unclear, they can survive for up to eight months, as compared to the much shorter lifespan of other monarch generations that do not migrate. Using air currents, they travel all the way back to Mexico—a feat as remarkable as it sounds. Some overwinter in southeastern and western parts of North America as well.

Known as Mariposa Monarca in Mexico, the monarchs huddle together by the millions on the branches of oyamel fir trees found in the mountains of Central Mexico. The humid microclimate and densely packed arrangement ensure that the butterflies survive the cold. After waiting out the winter, they head part of the way back north to warmer climates such as Texas, where they mate and lay eggs on milkweed plants. The larvae subsist exclusively on milkweed plants, which contain toxins in the sap. The caterpillars are able to store the toxins, known as cardiac glycosides, in even higher concentrations than what is found in the plant, and carry them in adult form too. As a result, most birds attempting to make a meal of the monarch find them unpalatable or are forced to vomit soon after consumption. The bright orange stands for ‘Danger!’ it seems.

“Their evolutionary defence has now become their weakest link though,” explains Kathy holding a milkweed cutting that had two caterpillars munching on its leaves hungrily. Increased use of herbicides and shrinking habitats have led to the milkweed plant population declining by 21 percent between 1995 and 2013. Almost mirroring the decline, the monarch population completing the winter migration dropped from 550 million in 2004 to a mere 33 million in 2013.

Apart from the generation that makes the long haul and overwinters in Mexico, each generation lives for two to four weeks, mating, laying eggs, and dying, and the next generation continues the journey upwards. “When you look at this butterfly, you are witnessing a multi-generational saga that has been going on for millions of years. But, in just a few decades, rampant loss of habitat and host plant has put them in peril. So, with the help of organisations like Monarch Watch, we do what we can. Plant, hope and tag,” adds Kathy.

Founded in 1992, Monarch Watch is an outreach program focused on education, research and conservation related to monarch butterflies. Through citizen science efforts, the organisation has encouraged the revival of native milkweed species and habitat restoration within backyards, schools and parks. They also started the volunteer-driven tagging program by designing lightweight, circular tags with unique codes that can be attached to the butterflies in a specific manner such that the tags don’t interfere with their flight or harm them in any way. With over a quarter of a million tags distributed each year, meticulous data are received from volunteers who tag and release the butterflies after recording the tag code, tag date, gender of the butterfly and geographic location. The efforts have helped answer critical questions about the pace and nature of the migration.

As much fun as butterfly tagging might sound, carefully capturing the butterflies is an exercise in patience and perseverance. We also had to be careful to catch the right ones! In a classic case of animal mimicry, butterflies such as viceroy and Gulf fritillary share similar patterns and shades as the monarch. After nearly an hour of hunching, running, crouching and jumping, we managed to capture only two with catching nets. Kathy explained how to hold the butterflies to ensure they are not hurt and slip them into a wax paper envelope so that all butterflies could be tagged in one session.

While holding one, I was surprised to feel the strong, almost claw-like grip of its hind legs, which Kathy explained helps them cling on to the edges of flowers and plants. Kathy gently and expertly stuck a tag to the forewing and pointed to a black spot on a vein on each hindwing. “A male,” she said. The spots contain scales that produce volatile chemicals called pheromones used during courtship. Kathy spoke of volunteers who have been tagging the monarchs for over two decades, awaiting their annual presence with hope and concern. The long-term data have been especially useful to understand trends and even locate other overwintering habitats that were not known earlier.

In India, similar citizen science projects have helped collect significant data about trees, birds, and plants. Consistent observation has often been the first step towards critical findings. For example, species of milkweed butterflies have been found to migrate between the Eastern and Western Ghats in southern India to escape the harsh summers.

After tagging the butterflies, we set them free, and they immediately took to the skies. Like winged messengers to a perilous and uncertain future, the monarchs seem to symbolise tenacity and resilience through their long journeys. In ensuring the continuity of their path and lifecycles, we can partake in some small measure, the wonder, beauty and danger that the world continues to churn.

Further Reading

Vinayan, P. A., M. A. Yathumon, N. S. Sujin, B. N. Kumar, P.A. Ajayan, P. K. Muneer and N. R. Anoop. 2023. Pattern and drivers of danaine butterfly migration in Southern India: implications for conservation. Journal of Insect Conservation 27(3): 505–516.

Zylstra, E. R., L. Ries, N. Neupane, S. P. Saunders, M. I. Ramírez, K. S. Oberhauser, M. T. Farr and E.F. Zipkin. 2021. Changes in climate drive recent monarch butterfly dynamics. Nature Ecology & Evolution 5(10): 1441–1452. doi.org/10.1038/s41559-021-01504-1.

Atlas Obscura. 2023. How Monarch Butterflies use the poison in milkweed plants. https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/monarch-butterfly-poisonous-milkweed-science. Accessed on December 15, 2023.

Originally published on 10 May 2024
Deborah Dutta Author
Leeza John Illustrator
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2024 Sep
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