Author: Greta

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
This article is from issue

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
This article is from issue

CC Kids 18

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
This article is from issue

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
This article is from issue

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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2024 Sep
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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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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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How can we make new conservation technology more accessible?

Feature image: A diver collects imagery of a coral reef that will be stitched together into a 3D model.

Technology often makes it feel like we are living in the future. For example, the last time I visited the dentist, the hygienist stuck a camera in my mouth, snapped hundreds of pictures in a matter of seconds, and then showed me a photo-realistic 3D model of my teeth (clearly identifying spots where I need to floss more). When I left the clinic, I opened Google Maps to get directions and was able to visualise a 3D reconstruction of the city block I was standing on. As I walked to my destination, I read a news article on my phone about an archaeological site halfway across the world, and was able to virtually tour a 3D reconstruction of the site generated from overlapping pictures.

These innovations are all examples of a technology called large-area imaging, a type of photogrammetry that uses multiple overlapping images to reconstruct a high-resolution 3D model of a stationary object or environment, from the inside of my mouth to the Colosseum.

Beyond these everyday applications, large-area imaging also has immense potential as a conservation technology. Photo-realistic 3D models of ecosystems can provide a snapshot of environmental conditions and act as a visual record of change. Importantly, for places that are difficult to access—such as marine ecosystems—3D models can serve as a platform for researchers to conduct “virtual fieldwork” and for the general public to “visit” a remote place they would otherwise never get to see.

3D models of marine environments, constructed based on the overlap of multiple images, are a form of large-area imagery. Imagery collected by the 100 Island Challenge, Scripps Institution of Oceanography

Large-area imaging has been used with increasing frequency in the marine sciences. In a recent study, led by Dr. Orion McCarthy from the Scripps Institution of Oceanography, we examine trends in the application of this emerging technology, focusing specifically on coral reefs. As part of our study, we also asked coral reef scientists and conservation practitioners how they would like to use large-area imaging, what obstacles they faced in trying to use large-area imaging and how those challenges could be overcome.

We found a mismatch between current research using large-area imaging and the research priorities identified by our survey participants. Despite the many potential applications of large-area imaging for conservation and the immense conservation needs of coral reefs, we found that few studies to date have utilised large-area imaging for applied conservation science, whether it is for tracking the fate of coral restoration projects or evaluating the effectiveness of marine protected areas. Instead, the bulk of research using this technology has focused on a narrow range of topics and has been conducted primarily by researchers based in wealthier countries. Furthermore, our survey participants identified many barriers to adopting large-area imagery, such as equipment cost, technical expertise and staff capacity.

Without taking concerted steps to make large-area imaging more accessible, we risk excluding researchers in less affluent countries, perpetuating parachute science and conducting research that is out of step with the needs of conservation practitioners. Scientists at well-resourced institutions that currently use large-area imaging have served as pioneers of this technology. These same researchers now have an ethical responsibility to make large-area imaging more accessible by facilitating the transfer of technology from the ivory tower to the hands of conservation practitioners.

A diver collects imagery of a coral reef that will be stitched together into a 3D model. By swimming in a gridded pattern and taking a picture every second, divers can collect thousands of pictures with high overlap covering 100m2 of reef in less than an hour. Photo credit: Roxanne Garibay

Based on feedback from our survey participants, we provide a set of recommendations to improve the accessibility of this technology for marine conservation. This includes developing training materials, hosting workshops, fostering partnerships for data processing and analysis, establishing clear communications with partners, publishing clear pipelines and standardised methods, working with developers to improve the software and conducting conservation-relevant research using large-area imaging. These steps, among others, will help to maximise the positive impact of this emerging technology for conservation

Acknowledgements:

We would like to thank everyone who took or helped distribute the ‘Coral Reef Scientist and Conservation Practitioner’ survey, with special thanks to the respondents who took the time to discuss their survey responses in depth with us. Their interviews were instrumental to the development of the recommendations proposed here.

Further Reading

McCarthy O.S., K. Contractor, W.F. Figueira, A.C.R.Gleason, T.S. Viehman, C.B. Edwards and S.A. Sandin. 2024. Closing the gap between existing large-area imaging research and marine conservation needs. Conservation Biology 38(1): e14145. https://doi.org/10.1111/cobi.14145.
Orion McCarthy Author
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Costa Rica’s endemic sea snake is in trouble

As we grapple with biodiversity loss around the globe, endemic populations that evolve in single locations likely disappear at faster rates. Their long-term survival depends on scientists securing data to understand potential threats and inform conservation policy. Unfortunately, even basic information such as an organism’s habitat, its geographical range and factors that make its habitat suitable are often, and surprisingly, unknown—even for vulnerable taxa.

That was the case for the only sea snake endemic to the Americas. The bright yellow Hydrophis platurus xanthos, “Xanthos” for short, is found only in Golfo Dulce—a narrow tropical fjord in Costa Rica. The population of this curious sea snake is confined to a deep inner basin, isolated from the Pacific Ocean by a shallow outer basin. Based on our 2023 study of its range and habitat, Xanthos occupies just 260 square kilometres—an area small enough and threatened enough for this subspecies to be listed as Endangered on the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) Red List.

Using computer models to evaluate its environment, we found that Xanthos prefers deep waters. Indeed, the near-surface layers where it breathes, feeds and rests, are almost exclusively positioned over depths greater than 100 m (the maximum depth in Golfo Dulce is 215m). We also found that Xanthos favours slightly brackish waters with a salt concentration of about 3.1 percent, as opposed to the oceanic average of 3.5 percent. And it remains in areas with pH values closer to the historic oceanic level of 8.2 and higher levels of dissolved oxygen. These preferences indicate that climate change-driven ocean acidification and deoxygenation could threaten the population.

Climate change is leading to higher water temperatures which may bring other challenges too. Golfo Dulce is already relatively warm, with daytime temperatures greater than 32ºC, compared to an average of 28ºC in the open ocean. It is hypothesised that Xanthos has adapted to its warm habitat by evolving a lighter skin colour as well as a nocturnal activity cycle. Our research also shows that the snakes surface when top waters are cooler than average, perhaps to avoid excessive heat. If temperatures continue to rise, will Xanthos be able to adapt further?

Sadly, climate change is not the only threat to the population. While many still consider Golfo Dulce pristine, human impacts are rapidly increasing, including boat and ship traffic, as well as chemical runoff from marinas, communities and farms. Landlocked to the north and bound by shallows to the south, Xanthos cannot migrate elsewhere and so is left to face the dangers of propeller strikes and pollution. Protective action must be taken soon to safeguard this unique endemic subspecies.

It’s worth noting that sea snakes can serve as bioindicators, forewarning of habitat decline. So, Xanthos could be a harbinger of change, the proverbial canary in Golfo Dulce. That means its’ well-being is relevant to other species in Golfo Dulce. Endangered sea turtles, sharks and corals are all confronting the effects of seaside development and climate change, and their fates are interlinked. Thus, maintaining healthy habitat for these charismatic canary-coloured serpents will help ensure a vibrant future for all marine life in Costa Rica’s unique tropical fjord.

Further Reading

Bessesen, B. L. B., C. Garrido-Cayul and M. González Suárez. 2023. Habitat suitability and area of occupancy defined for rare New World sea snake. Conservation Science and Practice 5(1): e12865. doi.org/10.1111/csp2.12865.

Bessesen B, V. Udyawer, J. M. Crowe-Riddell, H. Lillywhite and K. Sanders. 2024. Hydrophis platurus ssp. xanthos. The IUCN Red List of Threatened Species. https://www.iucnredlist.org/species/239753560/239753681.
Brooke Bessesen Author
P I Megha Vinod Illustrator
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A Bowl of Snake Soup on a Warm Winter Night

Feature image: King Cobra (Ophiophagus hannah). Photo credit: Christoph Moning

The intersection between culture and environment is a space that has the potential for great conservation as well as extreme loss. Around the world, some species or groups of wildlife hold significant cultural value for their meat and use in traditional medicine. In Southeast and East Asian cultures, snakes play an important role in the communities’ culinary traditions. Hong Kong, in particular, has a large snake soup industry. 

Researchers from the University of Hong Kong conducted a study across the three main regions of Hong Kong to understand the ecological and social implications of its snake soup industry. They aimed to learn about the species consumed, their origins and the shopkeepers’ views on the future of the industry. Owners and employees of multiple snake soup shops were interviewed to gain a better understanding of the industry. In addition, samples were collected from the snake soups in various shops so that the species could be identified using genetic analysis. 

The most commonly consumed species were the rat snake and the Javan spitting cobra, both classified as Least Concern on the IUCN Red List. Less commonly consumed snakes were relatively abundant, but their conservation status varied. While many of the snakes consumed were native to Hong Kong, interview respondents indicated that the snakes were sourced from outside the country—primarily Southeast Asia and Indonesia. Mainland China was also a source; although, due to the increasing popularity of snake meat consumption in the country, the supply of snakes from mainland China to Hong Kong has reduced. The lower supply of snakes in Hong Kong has led to higher prices, making them unaffordable for most shop owners. Hence, there is an increasing dependence on cheaper Southeast Asian and Indonesian species. 

Many-banded Krait (Bungarus multicinctus). Photo credit: LiCheng Shih

Most of the shop owners and employees who were interviewed had a pessimistic view regarding the industry’s future. Some respondents believe that the popularity of snake soup itself is on the decline. They attribute this to climate change; snake soup is often consumed during winters, and increasing temperatures are discouraging its consumption. Others perceive the decreasing popularity to be because of the depletion of wild snake populations and increasing public awareness about conservation. Lastly, the psychological impact of the 2002-03 SARS outbreak in Hong Kong and other parts of mainland China still persists. The respondents believed that many customers do not want to consume wild animal food products out of fear of contamination. 

The authors predict that if the Hong Kong snake soup industry continues to remain popular, it could run into sourcing-related issues with China depending on the extent of law enforcement, thereby increasing the demand for snakes from Southeast Asian countries. Further research is needed to determine the impact of harvesting on wild snake populations and the sustainability of the snake trade so that conservation actions can be guided accordingly. The authors recommend conservation actions such as ethically and sustainably managed snake farms as well as stricter regulations and monitoring of the snake trade. In fact, both China and Indonesia have introduced legal restrictions on snake trade at various points in time. Lastly, conservation efforts also need a focus on socio-economic equity to ensure that cultural culinary traditions are preserved while conserving snake species. 

Further Reading 

Yuan, F. L., C. T. Yeung, T.-L. Prigge, P. C. Dufour, Y.-H. Sung, C. Dingle and T. C. Bonebrake. 2022. Conservation and cultural intersections within Hong Kong’s snake soup industry. Oryx 57(1): 40–47. doi.org/10.1017/s0030605321001630.

Photos: Wikimedia commons
Tvishi Rajesh Author
Andrea D. Phillott Author

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How African Penguins Recognise Each Other

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Penguins are fascinating creatures. Between their inability to fly and their unique vocalisations, is it any wonder 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. African penguins are one of 18 penguin 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.

Secondly, 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 a 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 as such, 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.

Author and illustrator: Viola H. Ruzzier graduated from McGill University with a degree in Anthropology and Biology. She enjoys writing and drawing and is starting a career in science communication.

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Understanding changes in plant community composition for conservation

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The world has become more connected. What used to be different or unique across certain areas is now similar, including food, products in stores, culture and even biodiversity. Human activity is largely responsible for this increased connectivity, which can alter how biodiversity is distributed across space and time. 

These altered distributions often lead to one of two outcomes. First, species communities can become more similar, as disturbance-adaptable species, including some non-native ones, become more widely distributed and specialised species decline. Biologists refer to this increasing in similarity as biotic homogenisation. Second, as species populations decline and some native species become locally extinct, communities can become more different. This process is called biotic differentiation.

In a paper published in Conservation Biology, we reviewed 151 studies about biotic homogenisation and differentiation in plant communities in tropical and subtropical forests around the world. We wanted to find out which process is more common, where these studies were done, the scales that they addressed and the main drivers of plant community changes.

While we found that biotic homogenisation was more frequently discussed in these studies, we also found important nuances. In particular, many studies reported that homogenisation and differentiation can occur at the same time. Plant communities might initially become more different after a disturbance and then later become more similar as widespread and disturbance-adaptable species take over. Additionally, many studies used an approach known as “space-for-time substitution” where they observe sites that had been disturbed at different times and compare findings to infer about past or future ecological change. 

Our most important results—and different from previous studies—indicate that forest fragmentation (the division of forests from one large track into increasingly smaller and isolated patches) is the main human disturbance driving homogenisation and differentiation processes. However, our results reflect the current literature about these processes, and other human disturbances, such as climate change, can also be relevant and may interact with other anthropogenic impacts.

Overall, our study provides a comprehensive view of biotic homogenisation and differentiation in plant communities in tropical and subtropical forests worldwide. Understanding these processes is crucial for biodiversity conservation. This knowledge can help to develop strategies to preserve and restore unique ecosystems in heavily impacted areas. Additionally, recognising the processes of homogenisation and differentiation as key factors in the current biodiversity crisis can help to understand the fate of ecological communities and support management decisions towards a sustainable society.

Further reading:

Kramer, J.M.F., V.P. Zwiener and S.C. Müller, 2023. Biotic homogenisation and differentiation of plant communities in tropical and subtropical forests. Conservation Biology 37(1): e14025. https://doi.org/10.1111/cobi.14025.
Jean M. Freitag Kramer Author
Sandra Müller  Author
Victor Zwiener Author

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How native mammals are helping an invasive plant establish itself in the forests of Kerala

Feature image: Flowers of S. spectabilis in full bloom at the Wayanad Wildlife Sanctuary. Photo: N. R. Anoop

Organisms that are introduced accidentally, or intentionally into places where they do not belong, and that cause extensive damage to the native flora, fauna and the ecosystem are termed invasive species. The ornamental plant, Spectacular Senna (Senna spectabilis), is one such species. 

A member of the Fabaceae (bean) family, Senna is native to South and Central America but has been introduced worldwide due to its ornamental appeal. In India, the plant has invaded many protected areas, particularly in the Western Ghats, including the forests of Nagarahole, Bandipur, Mudumalai, Sathyamangalam, and Wayanad within the Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve. 

Studies in recent years have revealed that invasive plants can use animals for seed dispersal and colonisation, hence complicating management efforts. To understand how S. spectabilis is able to invade large areas within forests with such rapidity, a team of researchers from the Ashoka Trust for Research in Ecology and the Environment and Ferns Nature Conservation Society
conducted a study in the Wayanad Wildlife Sanctuary (WWS) in Kerala, which is a part of the larger Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve. 

The principal assumption was that the seed dispersal of S. spectabilis was
facilitated by large, herbivorous and wide-ranging mammals, such as the Asian elephant, Indian gaur and spotted deer. The researchers walked along existing paths inside the sanctuary and examined the presence of seeds in the faeces of herbivorous mammals, including the aforementioned mammals, Indian crested porcupine, black-naped hare, Asian palm civet and domestic livestock. 

Seed pods of Senna spectabilis. Photo credit: Anoop N. R.

Based on the presence of seeds in the faeces of seven mammal species investigated, this study found that only three species—namely the Asian elephant, Indian crested porcupine and spotted deer—actively dispersed seeds. Of the three, based on the number of seeds, elephants were the primary and largest dispersers of seeds. This also coincided with the fruiting of S. spectabilis and the migration of elephants into the WWS from other places in the Nilgiri Biosphere Reserve. 

As a large-bodied and wide-ranging species, elephants need to literally eat tonnes of food every day to meet their nutritional requirements. However, since they are not able to digest most of the plants they eat as part of their diet, many seeds remain undigested and intact in their dung, thus facilitating germination. According to the researchers, this could explain the current spread of S. spectabilis and predict its future invasion in the WWS. Also, since the seeds of S. spectabilis are eaten by multiple mammals, the researchers feel that there is a chance that the plant could spread across different vegetation types and agricultural spaces around the sanctuary area.

Seedlings of S. spectabilis in elephant dung. Photo credit: Anoop N. R.

In 2012, the plant had invaded less than 15 km2 in the WWS, but as of 2020, the species had spread across an area of over 78 km2 or about 23 percent of the entire sanctuary. If urgent mitigation to arrest the spread of this plant is not undertaken, there is a possibility that in the next 10 years, the entire sanctuary will be invaded by S. spectabilis. The researchers suggest that constant removal of adult trees and pruning of branches before maturation of fruits in the summer could control the spread of the plant. There is also an urgent need to survey the Western Ghats and map the areas to identify the extent of its invasion and examine changes in the existing populations. 

Original paper:

Anoop, N. R., S. Sen, P. A. Vinayan and T. Ganesh. 2021. Native mammals disperse the highly invasive Senna spectabilis in the Western Ghats, India. Biotropica 54(6): 1310–1314. https://doi.org/10.1111/btp.12996. 
R. Sankaranarayanan Author

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How do ancient burial mounds promote steppe conservation in Eurasia?

Feature image: Kurgan field, Bulgaria

Civilisations, including ancient ones, have considerably shaped global ecosystems in many ways through the co-evolution of landscapes and humans. In certain cases, the legacy of ancient and disappeared civilisations is still visible as landmarks, such as Stonehenge and the Egyptian pyramids.

In the vast steppes of Eurasia, the most widespread ancient human-made structures are burial mounds called ‘kurgans’. Kurgans are a few metres high and built of soil or stones. Most of them were constructed by nomadic herders of the Yamnaya culture between 3100–2500 BC. Many kurgans were destroyed during the past centuries, but approximately 600,000 mounds are still present in the steppes that stretch from central Europe to the Altai Mountains in Central Asia. Although the mound builder civilisations vanished a long time ago, subsequent cultures recognised the importance of these sites and they are considered spiritual hotspots even today.

Heritage sites as an integral part of traditional farming in Hungary

Aside from being an integral part of our cultural heritage, kurgans are covered by millennia-old steppe vegetation—making them important for biodiversity conservation. Because of their hill shape, kurgans contain several contrasting microhabitats that sustain high levels of biodiversity, even at small scales. This is especially important because in previous centuries, millions of hectares of steppe habitat has been destroyed by the expansion of arable lands and infrastructural development—a process that, unfortunately, is still ongoing in many regions. Nowadays, remaining steppes are also threatened by the marked changes in the lifestyle of local people: steppes formerly used as extensive pastures are often overgrazed or abandoned, leading to the decline of the natural flora and fauna. Thus, in rapidly changing landscapes, sites that preserve remaining steppe stands can be
considered the last refuges for biodiversity.

The ecological role of kurgans

By assembling an extensive dataset of 1072 mounds situated in the steppe biome from Hungary to Mongolia, we aimed to elucidate the conservation potential of kurgans in Eurasia. We also evaluated how extant cultural and spiritual values bound to the kurgans support the maintenance of grasslands in their vicinity. By involving scientists and citizens from eight countries across the steppe biome, we collected data on the presence of grasslands on the mounds, landscape context (such as land cover around the mound, threat factors) and cultural values associated with the mounds (such as the
presence of sacred buildings and objects, folkloristic values and old tales). Our hypothesis was that cultural values can effectively support the
conservation of steppe grasslands on the mounds.

Kurgans provide safe haven for red listed species such as Jerusalem sage

Our study found that kurgans can fulfil multiple ecological functions,
depending on the landscape context. In agricultural landscapes where
grasslands were almost completely destroyed, more than half of the mounds
preserved grassland vegetation and acted as ‘terrestrial habitat islands’ for the last remnants of steppes. In moderately fragmented landscapes, kurgans
covered by grasslands functioned as stepping stones connecting distant
populations of grassland biota. In the vast steppes of Central and East Asia most of the mounds supported grasslands. Here, their conservation
importance was mostly related to their high biodiversity.

Guardians of steppe grasslands

Interestingly, many kurgans are still actively used as spiritual or cultural places. We recorded 57 different types of cultural values associated with the kurgans. Cultural recognition and respect of local communities greatly
supported the maintenance of grasslands. Kurgans with cultural protection have a well-kept appearance, and people often maintain them with
traditional land use practices (such as mowing). Moreover, cultural
recognition also halts detrimental land use practices such as ploughing. Grassland presence was comparable on mounds within protected areas and on mounds located outside the reserves but with cultural values. Unsurprisingly, cultural protection almost doubled the chance of grassland presence on kurgans outside protected areas, as compared with those
outside protected areas but without cultural values.

Steppe grassland preserved on the slope of a kurgan

Our study suggests that to complement and support the system of protected areas in steppe ecosystems, it is crucial to acknowledge the conservation potential of those sites that due to their associated cultural values can harbour natural habitats even in non-protected landscapes. We emphasise that an integrative socio-ecological approach could effectively support the synergies among conservational, landscape and cultural values.

Further reading:

Deák, B., Á. Bede, Z. Rádai, I. Dembicz, I. Apostolova, P. Batáry, R. Gallé et al. 2023. Contribution of cultural heritage values to steppe conservation on ancient burial mounds of Eurasia. Conservation Biology 37(6): e14148. https://doi.org/10.1111/cobi.14148.
Balázs Deák Author & Photographer

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Achieving human-wildlife coexistence in a human-dominated landscape in Nepal

Feature image: A majestic greater one-horned rhino walks on the road in Chitwan National Park, Nepal, a sight not commonly seen in areas near human settlements. 

Throughout history, humans have competed with other animals for food and resources, leading to the extinction of many species worldwide. In the modern world, conflicts between humans and wildlife are increasingly common, particularly in regions like Nepal where most communities rely on subsistence farming for their livelihoods. As our population grows and wildlife adapts to our habitats, interactions between people and animals intensify, resulting in human casualties, livestock losses, crop damage and harm to wildlife.

Chitwan National Park, Nepal’s first protected area and a UNESCO World Heritage Site, frequently faces such conflicts. It is home to iconic wildlife such as the greater one-horned rhinoceros, Asian elephant and Bengal tiger, as well as indigenous communities. These indigenous groups and iconic wildlife have coexisted for centuries. However, the malaria eradication program in the 1950s, along with the conversion of wildlife habitats into agricultural lands and rapid development, increased conflicts between local communities and wildlife. 

Communities in Chitwan heavily rely on subsistence farming, including livestock keeping, which unintentionally attracts wildlife. This occurs because farming practices provide readily accessible food sources: crops attract deer, whereas livestock attracts predators such as leopards. Although farmers do not intend for this to happen, the need to grow their own food and maintain livestock unintentionally creates an extended habitat for other wildlife. 

Human-wildlife interactions are shaped by the unique ways in which local communities and wildlife interact with each other. Promoting coexistence in a place like Chitwan necessitates the involvement of affected communities and consideration of their needs. These locals are critical stakeholders who share resources and space with wildlife, thereby playing a pivotal role in the long-term survival of these animals.

In a recent study published in Conservation Science and Practice, we explored community-preferred policies for coexistence in Chitwan National Park. We interviewed 506 households across four park sectors and found that a majority had experienced human-wildlife conflicts in various forms over the past five years. Wildlife such as rhinos, elephants, wild boars and deer caused significant crop damage. These damages varied across different sectors of the park. 

Overall, respondents favoured interventions that include enhanced livelihood diversification, cultivation of non-palatable crops, promotion of alternative livelihoods, and strengthening of rapid response teams. While 66 percent of participants view the compensation process as time-consuming, 76 percent concur that fencing effectively reduces conflicts. Through our research, we also recommend collaborating with local communities to co-design and install fences, as well as expediting compensation for crop damage. Expedited compensation for affected individuals is crucial to garner local support as it increases the tolerance of the local community towards wildlife and encourages coexistence. 

Our research highlights a persistent trend of human-wildlife conflicts in Chitwan National Park, echoing global patterns. Tailored interventions are essential for coexistence in a landscape dominated by humans. This research coincides with the park’s shift toward achieving human-wildlife coexistence. While conflicts may persist in Chitwan, our findings can aid park management in reaching this goal. Additionally, this research lays the groundwork for understanding community preferences, helping researchers, conservationists and resource managers to effectively address human-wildlife conflicts in South Asia and beyond.

Further reading

Ferdin, A. E. J., C.-H. Lee, N. Dhungana, J. W. Chook, N. Baskaran and A. Pathak. 2023. Eliciting community-preferred policy alternatives for achieving workable coexistence in a human-dominated landscape: Insights from Chitwan National Park, Nepal. Conservation Science and Practice 5(11): e13026. doi.org/10.1111/csp2.13026.
Arockia E J Ferdin Author & Photographer

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A life-long humanistic journey to conservation practices

Feature Image: Dr. Quan-Hoang Vuong (R) is pictured here on the Tra Co beach in Vietnam. The beaches have been long populated by goat’s horn mangroves (Aegiceras corniculatum). The sea is shared by China and Vietnam, and the Chinese town Dongxing can be seen from this beach. (Photo taken on 19 November 2022)

I recently had the honour of collaborating with Dr. Quan-Hoang Vuong—one of the most important figures in contemporary Vietnamese social sciences and founder of the Centre for Interdisciplinary Social Research at the Phenikaa University in Hanoi, Vietnam—in a journal article titled ‘Kingfisher: Contemplating the connection between nature and humans through science, art, literature, and lived experiences’. 

The central message of the article was that in order to protect nature, we need compassion because data alone is insufficient. Our compassion can be shaped by connecting with the natural world through several mediums. This work was based on Vuong’s accumulated thoughts, lived experiences and childhood memories.

Vuong has shared a deep connection with plants, animals, forests, mountains and rivers from a very young age. Although born in Hanoi, Vuong was raised by his grandmother, Grandma Bien (or Huỳnh Thị Xá), in Tra Co, Mong Cai, from when he was just a few months old. This was in the 1970s when Vietnam was heavily devastated by war. Life in the residential area in Tra Co was simple and impoverished. Each family had only a light bulb, radio and small fan, and power outages were frequent. However, in return, nature provided abundant opportunities for the children to play, explore, satisfy their curiosities and ask countless questions. In the early summer evenings, they caught crickets; at night, they searched for frogs; during the day, they dug for insects in caves, and went fishing and swimming in ponds.

Even after returning to live in the city, flowers, fruits, trees, birds, and insects continued to be Vuong’s primary source of joy. Hanoi was not yet flooded with steel and concrete, and there were still vast green areas in the suburbs and a few places within the city. Once, near the collective housing area, a friend found a young sparrow and showed it to Vuong. That was when Vuong discovered something new: the sides of a baby sparrow’s beak have two yellow stripes; when the bird grows to a certain size, the yellow stripes disappear. Vuong also witnessed the magical phenomenon of the sparrow flying to and perching on his friend’s shoulder whenever he whistled.

Later, when the green spaces in the city gradually disappeared and were replaced by high-rise buildings and steel-reinforced concrete structures, the love for and memories of the connection with nature and birds continued to play a vital role in Vuong’s thoughts and works. In 2016, while contemplating the next steps to accomplish his big dreams in a scientific career and to inspire future generations of researchers in Vietnam, Vuong borrowed images from nature through the metaphor of the bird village, with the main character being Mr. Kingfisher, to satirise and draw lessons for himself. These stories were initially published sporadically in the ‘Khoảng Lặng’ section of the Kinh tế & Dự báo [Economics and Forecast] from 2017 to 2019. 

Afterwards, Vuong compiled and expanded them into a collection of climate fiction (cli-fi) stories titled ‘The Kingfisher Story Collection’ to convey humanistic values in the fight against climate change and the conservation of biodiversity. Notably, the story collection also includes stories in the climate-horror (cli-hor) genre, a new and challenging genre to write. In addition, Vuong also distilled philosophical reflections on humans’ abusive relationships with nature in Meandering Sobriety. The book concludes with an urgent plea for species such as snow crabs, orcas, seagrass, etc., dying en masse worldwide due to human-caused climate change.

Being a bird and nature enthusiast allowed Vuong to make observations that may seem trivial to urban dwellers and to transform them into scientific concepts and theories. For example, in the late summer of 2018, Hanoi’s suburban areas experienced severe flooding. However, while sitting at a roadside café, Vuong noticed a peculiar occurrence: three baby birds, still too young to fly properly, were drinking wastewater from an air conditioner. This contrast offered him significant insights into ecological inequality, which he later used to define a new core cultural value to engage the business sector in the mission to heal nature. He also established the ‘eco-surplus culture’—a set of pro-environmental attitudes, values, beliefs and behaviours to reduce negative anthropogenic impacts on the environment and conserve and restore nature; enumerated the moral practical gaps in the corporate social responsibility of businesses; and started discussions on global-scale inequality in climate science and the significance of children’s literature and science communication in sustainable education.

In his book A New Theory of Serendipity: Nature, Emergence and Mechanism, Vuong posits that serendipity is a form of human information processing capacity that brings about changes in perception and action. The capacity originates from the human demand to develop survival skills in natural and social environments. A year later, he also wrote the book Mindsponge Theory, utilising knowledge from biology, ecology and neurology to construct a theoretical system to explain social-psychological phenomena and define the mind as an information collection-cum-processor.

Both of Vuong’s theories assert that humans are part of a vast natural system, and there is much we have to learn from nature and other living beings. Indeed, today we rely on nature-based solutions to address human-made global problems, such as using algae to sequester carbon, employing larvae to degrade plastic and combining coffee grounds with other materials to manufacture cement. Vuong’s profound connection with nature is clearly expressed through his actions, the stories he tells and the topics he cares about. This helped restore my lost bond with nature, as it did for many others of my generation. Previously, my concerns were primarily focused on economic growth and finance. But engaging in research and listening to Vuong’s stories have made me gradually conscious of the larger world and instilled a sense of connection with nature. 

The connection has made me realise that economic, social and urban development are like sand castles that can collapse at any time if environmental sustainability is lost. Being aware of the natural world’s importance has driven me to pursue a doctoral research topic: how can we involve urban residents in tackling biodiversity loss in protected areas? In response to this question, I have conducted numerous studies on urban residents’ consumption of wildlife products and their willingness to pay for conservation. The ‘Ecomindsponge’ conceptual framework has also been developed to understand the limits of human mental realms, thereby helping identify pathways to reconnect the minds of those who have lost their connection with the environment.

While natural scientists find inspiration from nature for studies on biomimicry or nature-based solutions, social scientists like Vuong draw inspiration from nature to discover the values of the environment in various human aspects: psychology, society and culture. Lived experience has helped Vuong realise the value of wildlife in connecting nature and humans, especially for the generation of urban and digital natives, most of whom have lost touch with nature. Ultimately, lifeless statistics and data are not sufficient to help connect humans’ mental realms with the world of other sentient beings.

References

Vuong, Q. H. and M. H. Nguyen. 2023. Kingfisher: contemplating the connection between nature and humans through science, art, literature, and lived experiences. Pacific Conservation Biology 30: PC23044. https://doi.org/10.1071/PC23044.  

Nguyen, M. H. and T. E. Jones. 2022. Building eco-surplus culture among urban residents as a novel strategy to improve finance for conservation in protected areas. Humanities and Social Sciences Communications 9: 426. https://doi.org/10.1057/s41599-022-01441-9.Nguyen, M. HT, T. Le and Q. H.

Nguyen, M. H., Le, T. T., and Vuong, Q. H. 2023. Ecomindsponge: A novel perspective on human psychology and behaviour in the ecosystem. Urban Science 7(1): 31. https://doi.org/10.3390/urbansci7010031.
Minh-Hoang Nguyen Author

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Of coasts and construction

I had to squint against the afternoon sun to see the outline of the Vizhinjam International Seaport that was under construction. A couple of my coursemates and I were on our way to meet with local artisanal fishermen in Trivandrum, Kerala.

“Palli-de avde ethittu, vilicha madhi, njan veraam.” Call me when you reach the mosque, I will come there.

Our interview facilitator sounded very patient over the phone as we meandered around the harbour, trying to locate the mosque.

A quarter of an hour later, we were in the company of nonchalant fishermen who had finished the day’s work and their lunches. Our facilitator informed us that conversation was welcome at this point.

A coursemate and I had undertaken a short field study to understand the impacts of the Adani port construction on the livelihoods of artisanal fishermen at Vizhinjam. This was a part of a wildlife and habitat conservation course that I was doing with an NGO based in Coimbatore. The theme of the course was marine conservation and its challenges, which brought us to the coasts and communities of Kerala and Tamil Nadu.

I was nervous about conducting interviews with the artisanal fishing communities because this came on the heels of some of them violently protesting against the construction of the port about a month earlier. Their gripe was that the port would result in higher rates of coastal erosion, lower catch, and community displacement. My desk research confirmed the chronology of this issue, while also throwing up various scientific, political, religious and social perspectives. Most of the news articles were accompanied by the image of the larger-than-life structure of the port sitting where it really did not belong—in the backdrop of numerous colourful fibre boats and the mosque that was our present landmark.

This would be a very sensitive subject to broach, so I consulted my professors and went through my survey questionnaire repeatedly to ensure I would not cross a line. I exchanged apprehensive introductions with my first interviewee and got down to business. 

“So, has anything changed for you after the port construction began?”

Fighting reality

The word ‘development’ has many interpretations.

In 2015, the verdict to modernise India’s ports was passed through the National Perspective Plan. Called Sagarmala, the vision of the project was to develop the nation’s logistics infrastructure for seamless trade. In southern India, Vizhinjam was one of the many national sites planned for port modernisation. 

Vizhinjam is approximately 16 kilometres south of Trivandrum, stretched between Kollam and Kanyakumari, and lies close to major shipping routes. The port construction project was envisioned as a Public-Private-Partnership and the harbour was chosen for development, primarily because of the geomorphological features of this region—Vizhinjam has a natural bay, with a depth of 18-20 metres that would allow the parking of capesize vessels (the largest cargo ships) without additional dredging.

Vizhinjam is home to artisanal fishing communities like the Mukkuvars, who rely on the sea and its bounty for daily living. The seabed in and around the area has rock formations, sandy bottom ridges, floor slopes and sloping ridges, making the space a rich breeding ground for mussels and a variety of marine organisms.

I asked some of my interviewees what ‘development‘ meant to them. They defined it as having enough to eat every day and meeting educational expenses of their children so that in the future, they may take up an occupation apart from fishing.

This is because finding catch in and around Vizhinjam is getting increasingly difficult as port construction milestones are ticked off on a Gantt chart.

Turn of the tide

Artisanal fishermen use sustainable methods of catching fish as opposed to trawling and gillnet fishing that sweep out species from the seafloor. Some of the most popular regenerative fishing methods at Vizhinjam are hook and line fishing (chunda), trammel nets (konchu vala), boat seine (thattumadi) and variations of these. Chunda is used to catch tuna, groupers and snappers, whereas thattumadi is used to trap squid, ribbonfish, pomfret and other targeted species.

These methods are regarded as sustainable for it allows fish populations to recover in numbers before the next fishing cycle. Also, the chances of trapping bycatch—non-targeted species—is minimal due to the fishing gear deployed.

The coast of Trivandrum experiences another phenomenon—erosion and accretion. Erosion typically occurs along the northern coast while accretion happens in the south. There are natural checks and balances, but artificial structures such as groynes, reclamations and reefs, interfere with the process, causing disruptions in sediment flows. 

Mr. Das (name changed), who fishes about 30 km north of Vizhinjam says that since construction began, he and his friends have visually observed an increased rate of erosion. This has forced them to move their landing centres closer to the mainland. 

Regular dredging at the port mixes sediments and leads to muddy waters, which keeps certain fish species away. To add to the problem, there are lights within the construction perimeter that are kept on all the time. According to the men, these lights deter the fish away from the coast as it increases visibility of their fishing gear. This, in turn, has created many disruptions in the way they have to fish.

Mackerel, tuna, sardines and seer fish are the main catch at Vizhinjam. Previously, these were procured within a distance of 5-10 km from the shore. Now, the average distance travelled for a decent catch is 15 km. Even with subsidies, diesel and kerosene are pricey, especially during periods of low or no catch. In addition to altering their own fishing methods, prevalent destructive practices such as trawling and light fishing put them out of the game by reducing their catch quantity and composition.

Things look bleak on the mainland as well. The upcoming construction work in the hinterland to build port connectivity will impact the fisherfolk living by the shore. In an interview with a retired fisherman at Adimalathura, a 30-minute drive from Vizhinjam, he mentioned that massive boulders had been dumped at Chappath, a town close to Adimalathura. These structures occupied a minimum area of 200 acres by his estimation. The land was being cleared to make way for roads leading to the National Highway 66, which connects major seaports situated in western India. 

My interviewees mentioned the blatant apathy from the government in dealing with the matter of community livelihood and displacement. Fisherfolk were instructed to move to a warehouse with a cramped living space of 10m x 10m, a significant downgrade from the housing spaces they were used to. The non-availability of basic facilities such as restrooms was of great concern. Proper negotiation channels were not opened to the community, which is what led to the protest at the end of 2022. 

Nine out of 10 interviewees said that their children are either willingly opting for non-fishing occupations or are being persuaded to do so. The prime reason for this is the knowledge of depleting fish stocks in the sea. One interviewee knows how bad it is without even reading about biodiversity loss and climate change. Since the 1980s, he has observed that about 33 kinds of fish are not available to catch anymore.

Status quo

Public apathy sets in when there is a certain distance from the epicentre of an issue. While writing my project report, one of my recommendations was having local citizen programmes to build awareness on the livelihood threats to artisanal fishermen. At the back of my mind, I wondered if it is any good because the issue is being viewed through a lopsided lens by key decision-makers, leading to a disregard for scientific recommendations, a lenient environmental impact assessment report, and an indifference to concerns of the communities. All of this a great hit to the artisanal fishing communities and a massive step back for conserving marine species as well. 

I fell silent after my last interview at Adimalathura. My interviewee’s concluding remarks echoed in my mind. “They paint us as villains of development. We are not. We only want to know why we are being excluded from development.”

I glanced at the Arabian Sea and noticed silhouettes of ships dotted along the horizon. I did not have to squint this time.

Further Reading

Pradeep, J., E. Shaji, C. C. Subeesh Chandran, H. Ajas, S. S. Vinod Chandra, S. G. D. Dev and D. S. S. Babu. 2022. Assessment of coastal variations due to climate change using remote sensing and machine learning techniques: A case study from the west coast of India. Estuarine, Coastal and Shelf Science 275: 107968.

Sahayaraju, K. and J. Jament. 2021. Loss of marine fish stock in south west India: Examining the causes from the perspective of indigenous fishermen. International Journal of Fisheries and Aquatic Studies 9(5): 23-29.

Shaji, K. A. 2019. Is the deep-water sea project in Kerala an environmental and livelihood threat?
https://india.mongabay.com/2019/08/is-the-vizhinjam-port-in-kerala-an-environmental-and-livelihood-threat/. Accessed on March 9, 2024.
Lakshmi Ravinder Nair Author
Alisha Dutt Islam Illustrator
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Horseshoe crabs: Ancient marvels facing modern threats

The horseshoe crab has been around for more than 450 million years. It has survived three mass extinctions, including the Cretaceous–Tertiary extinction event 65 million years ago, when more than 70 percent of all life forms, including dinosaurs, were wiped off the planet. Apart from being one of the oldest, the horseshoe crab is also among the most resilient of animals. Yet, despite being around for so long, not a lot is known about these living fossils.

Contrary to its name, the horseshoe crab is not a true crab nor a crustacean; it is, in fact, closely related to spiders and scorpions. With ten eyes situated all along its protective shell, five pairs of legs hidden underneath the carapace, and a protruding spike for a tail, it is a creature that is a perfect ensemble of prehistory. Horseshoe crabs play a crucial role in the coastal food web. Shorebirds, most of which are migratory, depend on their eggs as a food source, as do several species of fish and invertebrates. The horseshoe crab’s blue-coloured blood is an important component of medical research and the health industry, yet its own survival faces an uncertain future. 

Horseshoe crabs visit the intertidal mudflats only for the purpose of breeding, spending their first year of life along coastal habitats and shallow waters, before moving deeper into the ocean. Feasting on clams, worms and algae, horseshoe crabs will only begin breeding after they reach adulthood at about 10 years of age. For the next decade, they will return back to the beach every summer, to reproduce. Being largely understudied animals, their return to the beach is the only part of their lifecycle that we have information about. 

The Indo-Pacific horseshoe crab (Tachypleus gigas) is one of two species found in India. Photo credit: Biswajeet Panda

An eye for survival

The horseshoe crab is nocturnal and possesses some unique adaptations. Cruising along the shallow coastal seabed, it uses moonlight to its favour—to both forage and spawn its next generation. It has a pair of large compound eyes seated laterally, each with 1000 photoreceptors, as its primary visuals. Five more super-eyes, located on top of the shell, detect the ultraviolet spectrum, allowing the animal to navigate its surroundings on dark nights. Two more eyes on the underside, close to the mouth, help maintain a stable orientation against the flowing current. Lastly, an eye situated on the tail helps keep track of the day and night cycle.

The animal not only brings variety into visual engineering, but also possesses a well-defined circadian clock in its brain. The eyes of the horseshoe crab are the reason we have been able to extensively study our own vision.

The horseshoe crab’s long and pointed tail is called a telson. Photo credit: Biswajeet PandaI

Double-edged sword

Nevertheless, it was not just the vision of the crab that humans eyed. The baby-blue-coloured blood of horseshoe crabs has been harvested since the early 1600s—the colonial times in modern USA—initially to be used as “cancerine fertilisers” and later as a test for bacterial contamination in drugs. An important discovery was made in the 1950s, when Frederick Bang found that horseshoe crab blood contained a chemical called Limulus Amebocyte Lysate (LAL). 

This compound came to be widely used in the pharmaceutical industry to test for the presence of any bacterial contaminants, because it helped identify endotoxins even at concentrations as low as one part per trillion. The moment LAL comes in contact with any contaminant, the solution turns into a ‘gel’, immobilising the bacteria within the gel. The LAL test is instantaneous and simple, and creates a sample that remains stable for weeks, even at room temperature, and it replaced unethical testing on rabbits and mice. The test went on to become an important step in the approval of any drug, surgical implant and prosthetic device hoping to get the Food and Drug Administration’s approval. The horseshoe crab’s blood has helped deliver insulin as well as COVID-19 vaccines. 

On account of the presence of this important chemical compound, horseshoe crab blood became one of the most expensive liquids on earth. According to Business Insider, the price of the blood is valued at $60,000 per gallon, and the demand is growing. However, this has led to the overexploitation of the species. About 30 percent of all horseshoe crabs collected for drawing blood die in the laboratory, and those that are released have been reported to show diminished chances of survival in the wild.

For the horseshoe crab, this unique chemical defence evolved to help it survive its bacteria-rich habitats. The moment the crab’s blood cells detect invaders, they release LAL, thus creating a gel-like physical barrier that immobilises the bacteria. But, what was supposed to protect the animal is now the reason for its demise. In the 1970s, the high demand for LAL led to the start of a severe decline in the horseshoe crab population globally. Despite existing regulations, horseshoe crabs are poached in the thousands to meet the demands of the growing pharmaceutical industry.

Emerging threats in India

Apart from the demand from pharmaceutical companies, horseshoe crabs are also increasingly threatened by pollution and habitat destruction. Delaware Bay in the US, which has the largest population of horseshoe crabs, saw a decline from about 1.24 million Atlantic horseshoe crabs (Limulus polyphemus) in 1990 to about 334,000 by the early 2000s. 

Among the four species of horseshoe crabs, two are found in India—the mangrove horseshoe crab (Carcinoscorpius rotundicauda) and the Indo-Pacific horseshoe crab (Tachypleus gigas). A recent study (see Further Reading section) revealed a 64.7 percent decline in the population of mangrove horseshoe crabs and a 72.2 percent decline in the population of Indo-Pacific horseshoe crabs between 2000 and 2010. The fourth and largest species, the Japanese horseshoe crab (Tachypleus tridentatus), too is in a similar situation.

In India, there are additional threats facing the two species of horseshoe crabs. According to Prof. B.C. Chowdhury, a member of the IUCN-SSC Marine Turtle Specialist Group and advisor to the Wildlife Trust of India’s (WTI) marine projects, the primary reason for the decline of horseshoe crabs in the country is the destructive fishing practices prevalent along the eastern coast, which is home to the horseshoe crabs. Although not targeted, horseshoe crabs form a substantial part of the bycatch along the intertidal flats. Plucking them out of the nets is not easy and causes severe skeletal damage to the animals. Those that are plucked out whole are left scattered on the beach to perish. Moreover, since these are hard-shelled animals, fishermen also blame them for reduced fishing productivity due to the damage caused to their nets by the shells.

Rescue and release of horseshoe crab along beaches in the Balasore district. Photo credit: Association for Biodiversity Conservation and Research

Bichitrapur beach located in a mangrove forest reserve in the Balasore district of Odisha used to be an important feeding and spawning ground for the Indo-Pacific horseshoe crab, but sightings have drastically reduced over the years. Dr. Biswajeet Panda, who is conducting a study on horseshoe crabs along the beaches of Balasore, suggests that poaching might be a major threat to the population. This despite both species in India being protected under Schedule II of the Wildlife (Protection) Act, 1972, where illegal collection/hunting can attract a jail term of three years, a fine of up to INR 100,000 or both.

Satyajit Maity, a local fisherman from Dhublagadi village, remembers growing up seeing and playing with horseshoe crabs, saying they have now “vanished” from the coasts of Bichitrapur. Although the exact nature of trade is not known—with traders from places farther away contacting local fishermen to collect the animals and the specifics are kept under wraps—he confirms that it does exist and could be one of the reasons for the decline in numbers. According to Maity, a good-sized adult can sell anywhere between INR 800–1,000 (US$ 9.61–12.01). 

There is also increased pressure from other anthropogenic activities. Increased construction along the beaches like Digha and Sagar Islands in the Indian state of West Bengal has led to a change in the texture and composition of the sand and sediment. This has also led to a shift in the congregation sites of the crabs over the past decade. According to Dr. Panda, more than 400 horseshoe crabs (across both species) were sampled in surveys that date back to the late 1980s. However, during a recent survey, they found less than 10. This tragically illustrates the severity of the decline.

Physiochemical changes in the habitat due to coastal erosion, industrial effluents and increased human activity have led to the loss of long-time spawning grounds for the species. Dr. Punyashloke Bhadury from IISER-Kolkata says that the population of the Indo-Pacific horseshoe crab is severely threatened by changing river systems. Faulty barrage management, like the one in Mahanadi River, has led to less clay sediment flowing into the river mouths compared to what it was a decade ago. The river courses have changed, the water volume has decreased and thus, the nutrient cycle that the crabs depend upon is affected. In addition, increasing amounts of wastewater being dumped into the sea without adequate treatment has led to an increase in nitrogen levels, thereby changing the physiochemical composition of the feeding grounds for the worse. 

The aftermath of Cyclone Amphan

In May 2020, Cyclone Amphan caused colossal damage to the coastal habitat along the Bay of Bengal in India. Sagar Islands, a prime breeding ground for these crabs, was one of the most severely affected areas. Huge patches of mangrove and the adjacent mudflats were damaged. The high winds also brought in debris that changed the sediment composition of the banks. 

Dr. Bhadury and his team, supported by WTI, led a cleaning drive while simultaneously assessing the sediment texture of the mudflats. With the help of local volunteers from the fishing community, some of these habitats were restored, debris and marine macroplastics were removed, and several horseshoe crabs were rescued and rehabilitated. More than 35 crabs, including gravid females, were rescued alive from ghost nets and released as part of the drive. 

Dr. Bhadury’s project has helped generate baseline information on horseshoe crabs and their habitats, while paving the way for the first coordinated rescue and release initiative for the species in this landscape. He now calls for urgent collaborative efforts involving state Forest Departments and governments, and NGOs to map the breeding sites and record the status of habitats of horseshoe crabs across their range. According to him, future conservation plans for this species need to ensure the long-term improvement of their habitats by conducting science-based mangrove plantations and sustainable management of debris, with a special focus on the involvement of fishermen communities.

Straddling both water and land, horseshoe crabs are a symbol of adaptability and resourcefulness in several cultures across the globe. It would be a shame if this prehistoric creature that survived mass extinctions is lost to anthropogenic exploitation. The horseshoe crab is a stark reminder of why we should revisit our existing relationship with nature, and rethink our overuse of its precious resources.

WTI’s Rapid Action Team collecting data and rescuing horseshoe crabs in the Sundarbans, West Bengal, in aftermath of Cyclone Amphan. Photo credit: Punyashloke Bhaduri

Further reading:

Wang, C-C, K. Y. Kwan, P. K.S. Shin, S. G. Cheung, S. Itaya, Y. Iwasaki, L. Cai et al. 2020. Future of Asian horseshoe crab conservation under explicit baseline gaps: A global perspective. Global ecology and conservation 24: e01373. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.gecco.2020.e01373. 

Eisner, C. 2023. Vaccines are still tested with horseshoe crab blood. The industry is finally changing. NPR. https://www.npr.org/2023/09/23/1200620535/vaccines-are-still-tested-with-horseshoe-crab-blood-the-industry-is-finally-chan. Accessed on 27 December, 2023. 

Chesler, C. 2016. Medical labs may be killing horseshoe crabs. Scientific American.
https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/medical-labs-may-be-killing-horseshoe-crabs/. Accessed on 27 December, 2023. 
Madhumay Mallik Author
Biswajeet Panda Photographer
Punyashloke Bhadury Photographer
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What will it take to save the vaquita?

For half a decade now, biologists have been predicting and fearing the extinction of the critically endangered vaquita (Phocoena sinus)—the smallest of the world’s seven porpoise species. The vaquita lives in the northern upper end of the Gulf of Mexico between Baja California and the Mexican mainland. In August 2023, the International Whaling Commission, in a first-of-its-kind declaration in its 70-year history, issued an “extinction alert” for the vaquita. What occasioned this alert was a new report that estimated only 8–13 individuals of the species remaining in their natural habitat. Moreover, breeding in captivity has so far not succeeded.

While this population estimate underscores the dire situation the species is in, it nevertheless gives hope for the vaquita’s survival. In 1997, the population comprised around 570 individuals. In 2018, it was estimated that fewer than 20 individuals remained, with an annual rate of decline close to 50 percent. Two years later, the estimated population size was down to eight individuals, though healthy calves were sighted. The current estimate also includes the healthy calves. Moreover, a recent analysis suggests that, despite its small size, the population is not prone to inbreeding depression—which is caused by a lack of genetic variation in the population, and which can lead to reduced survivability and fertility of the offspring.

Thus, given the tenacity of this species at the brink of extinction, it is imperative to redouble our conservation efforts. Unfortunately, policy formulation, let alone implementation, is far from straightforward, requiring consideration not only within the Mexican context but also globally, particularly in relation to the medicinal beliefs and food preferences among the wealthier classes of China.

The vaquita is close to extinction because of gillnet fishing of another critically endangered species; the fish totoaba (Totoaba macdonaldi), which shares its marine habitat. Between November and May each year huge gillnets—each sometimes over 600 metres long—are dropped into the water to trap the totoaba. The vaquita and many other marine mammals, including whales and dolphins, probably as many as 300,000 of them, are also trapped in these nets as bycatch each year, only to be later discarded. Totoaba fishing has been illegal in Mexico since 1975 and gillnets have been banned since 1998.

In 2017, the Mexican government enacted a small “No Tolerance Zone” that excluded all fishing activities in part of the upper Gulf of Mexico to create a refuge that comprises the most important habitat for the species. However, in order to appease local fishermen whose livelihoods were supposedly threatened, the government of President López Obrador rescinded the policy in 2021. Meanwhile, conservation NGOs, most notably the Sea Shepherd Conservation Society, have had violent encounters with these fishermen and those behind them.

Beginning in the 1920s, the totoaba was originally fished for its meat. However, that market was soon superseded by the Chinese appetite for its swim bladders, which are considered as status symbols and consumed in multiple ways. The bladders are believed to have medicinal value, including increasing longevity and vigour, despite a lack of credible scientific evidence. Highly prized, these swim bladders can fetch up to US$ 80,000 per kilogram in China.

Local conservationists in Baja California do not blame the fishermen who carry out the illegal gillnet fishing, but rather the organised cartels originating in China, that control the lucrative trade. Gillnets are expensive equipment and fishing with them is also an expensive enterprise; without funding from these cartels, local fishermen cannot afford to engage in this activity. Obtaining gillnets from the cartels engenders debt that the fishermen are then forced to pay off by extracting totoaba swim bladders. For the vaquita—and the totoaba—to survive, this dynamic must be disrupted.

Three recent developments provide some guarded reasons for optimism. The first and most controversial of them is the permission granted in 2022 by the Standing Committee of the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES) to Earth Ocean Farms, a Baja-based aquaculture company to legally trade in captive-bred totoaba. The hope is that the captive harvest will drive down prices and decrease the incentive for illegal fishing. Meanwhile, recently developed technology will make the products traceable and allow for accurate monitoring of the legal trade. However, critics maintain that this technology is far from perfect. The legal trade may as well spawn an even larger market in China and increase the scope of illegal fishing.

Second, there is some indication that the Mexican authorities are finally cracking down on illegal gillnet fishing in the upper Gulf. In 2018, several Chinese nationals involved in the illegal totoaba trade were arrested in Mexico. Since 2020, using information collected by NGOs such as Earth League International, authorities have also arrested several Mexican cartel members. Many, if not most, of the biggest totoaba traffickers are now in jail. Despite the decision to allow fishing again in the former No Tolerance Zone, Mexican authorities, in August 2022, deployed 193 concrete blocks with three-metre metal hooks to entangle gillnets in the upper Gulf. If these efforts continue, there is hope that the reign of the illegal totoaba cartels will be over and both the vaquita and the totoaba can avoid extinction in the immediate future.

Third, there has also been some cooperation from Chinese authorities. In December 2018, Chinese customs authorities confiscated 444 kilograms of totoaba swim bladders illegally smuggled from Mexico and worth an estimated US$ 26 million. The illegal totoaba market in Mexico immediately collapsed. Though the market subsequently recovered, continued cooperation from China along with the other two measures may well save the vaquita from extinction. Or so we hope. 

Further Reading:

Robinson, J. A., Kyriazis, C. C., Nigenda-Morales, S. F., Beichman, A. C., Rojas-Bracho, L., Robertson, K. M., Fontaine et al. 2022. The critically endangered vaquita is not doomed to extinction by inbreeding depression. Science 376: 635–639.

Rojas-Bracho, L., B. Taylor, C. Booth, L. Thomas, A. Jaramillo-Legorreta, E. Nieto-García, G. C. Hinojosa et al. 2022. More vaquita porpoises survive than expected. Endangered species research 48: 225–234.

Taylor, B. and L. Rojas-Bracho. 2023. Vaquitas continue to surprise the world with their tenacity. IUCN–SSC Cetacean Specialist Group.
https://iucn-csg.org/vaquitas-continue-to-surprise-the-world-with-their-tenacity/. Accessed on 9 September, 2023.
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Part of the platter: Dolphin decision-making and the fish on your plate

Many of us relish the taste of fish in our cuisines. Some of us speculate where the fish must have come from, but only a handful of us wonder how it was caught at sea. Indeed, human ingenuity, fuelled by our love for seafood, has led to a myriad of ways of catching fish. Crafts can vary depending on the type, shape and size of fish that needs to be caught, and each one of them can be used slightly differently depending on the area, the fisher’s knowledge, and the fish that is prized most.

The words ‘fishing net’ conjure the image of an intricately woven rectangle, similar to pigeon nets in our balconies. Such nets are called gillnets because fish are caught by their gills as they try to travel through the spaces in the net. When you encircle a gillnet around a fish shoal and seal it from the bottom before hauling, it is a purse seine net (resembling a coin pouch more than a purse). And then there is a trawl net—a cone made of fine-sized net dragged underwater by a boat, scooping out fish and all other creatures in its path. Depending on where, when and how much they are used, all fishing gears impact marine ecosystems differently. And some clever animals such as dolphins have learnt to use them to their own advantage.

So, what’s the catch?

No fishing gear is perfect. While we intend to fish for particular species, we often end up catching a lot more that may not be of direct use to us. These byproducts of fishing are referred to as ‘bycatch’ and can include everything from tiny sea stars and corals to colossal whales and turtles. Globally, more than a third of all that we catch may be bycatch and that is inarguably a problem, more so for species that live long and reproduce slowly—like dolphins. So why don’t dolphins avoid these treacherous nets and live happily ever after?

As endless as it may seem, the ocean is a finite resource. It is a desert with few ephemeral ‘hotspots’ of fish aggregations. Therefore, fish—the beloved food of all dolphins—is an extremely prized resource and dolphin pods may travel hundreds of kilometres in search of them. Naturally then, our fishing gears that artificially concentrate fish in small areas before pulling them up to the boat are like an ‘all you can eat’ buffet, albeit a risky one where entanglement in the fine plastic lines of the gear can be dangerous. 

Dolphins, like us, are air-breathing mammals that need to surface regularly to breathe. Getting caught in a heavy net makes it difficult—sometimes impossible—to resurface and so dolphins can die of asphyxiation. Interacting with fishing gear is therefore a ‘high risk, high reward’ game which needs to be played with utmost caution, and understanding how dolphins make these decisions is of much interest to many like myself. But first, how do dolphins even know where the fishing boats are in the vast open ocean?

For whom the dining bell tolls

Close to the Hawaiian Islands, false killer whales have been documented approaching longline fishing vessels as they haul their catch from the sea. It appears that the mechanical sounds of gears grinding as the net is pulled from the sea acts a ‘bell’ or cue for the animals to approach the ship for food. Similarly, bottlenose dolphins in Australia have learnt to travel inside the conical structure of trawl nets to feed and then escape swiftly. But do all dolphins engage with fishing gears in the same way? Are some individuals more risk-taking than others, or are there some that have perfected the art of fish-taking? Do mothers—who usually occur in groups or pods—engage less frequently in such activities to protect their young? My research in Goa, on the western coast of India, is trying to answer some of these questions.

Characterised by a conspicuous hump seating the dorsal fin on their grey/white body, humpback dolphins are commonly found along the coasts of India. They occur very close to the shore (less than two kilometres away) and therefore greatly overlap with the diversity of fishing gear in the country. In Palk Bay, Tamil Nadu, fishers state that humpback dolphins appear near their boats as soon as they dip their gillnets into the waters every morning. In fact, stories of these dolphins tearing fishing nets to feed on fish are common from across the country, which is concerning because plastic nets cannot be digested and are also a huge loss for the fishers. If nets accumulate in a dolphin’s stomach the animal may not be able to feed on anything and die of starvation. Humpback dolphins occur in relatively high densities in Goa and are often spotted near fishing boats. But do all of them indulge in the high risk/reward game of bycatch?

Understanding dolphin-fisheries interactions in Goa

In Goa, my team and I use drones to follow dolphin pods from a safe distance as they travel along the coast, and we record how dolphins behave around various objects, including fishing nets. This helps us not only answer if dolphins prefer particular nets, but also to understand what kind of animals—for example, large versus small pods, mother-calves versus solitary individuals—engage more frequently with nets, and whether they make more risky decisions in the summer, when there are fewer fish in the sea.

Our initial assessments suggest that dolphins are surprisingly averse to fishing nets. In fact, they may also feed in the same area as fishing boats without interacting with them. Perhaps these skilful hunters do not need to play the human risk/reward game to survive, or perhaps there are only a few individuals who have learned the rules and are willing to take their chances. In the rare cases that dolphins interact with nets, they likely tear and ingest them. Several cases of dolphin deaths, presumably due to interactions with and ingestion of fishing nets, have already been documented in Goa. 

Nevertheless, it is exciting to understand why dolphin-fisheries interactions may be rare. Perhaps this is the case worldwide and we haven’t looked closely enough—most studies report dolphins foraging near fishing nets but few record whether they interact with nets, simply because it is difficult to do so without using sophisticated tools such as drones. Perhaps not all animals interact equally. Or perhaps different dolphin populations and individuals are unique in their behaviours, which are defined by their history and knowledge.

Conserving the dolphins of Goa

All dolphins found in India are protected by the Wildlife Protection Act of 1972, but whether or not dolphins choose to interact with fishing nets is not governed by the fishers operating the net. Instead, it is likely a choice guided by several environmental factors, including how much fish is available for the dolphins to eat in the sea. 

Decades ago, as old fishers of Palk Bay recall, dolphins fished very close to their boats but rarely took fish from their nets. In the Ashtamudi river mouth of Kerala, cast net fishers use cues from humpback dolphins to understand fish movement patterns and catch more fish. In fact, this synergy between dolphins and fishers has been documented throughout the world, but is corroding away as fish numbers drop, increasing the competition between fishers and dolphins. Perhaps dolphin-fisheries interactions were rare and maybe even beneficial to fishers when there were plenty of fish for all. In the past few decades fish catch has steeply declined throughout India likely due to unregulated large-scale fishing activities fuelled by government agendas to extract as much fish-resources as possible from the ocean. This likely increased the competition for fish between dolphins and fishers leading to severe negative consequences for both. 

Still, working in Goa to understand dolphin behaviour has inspired hope. Goa has a strong and vibrant network of researchers, activists, locals and organisations that are dedicated to conserving not only dolphins but the entire coastal ecosystem. Organisations such as Terra Conscious, Reef Watch, Coastal Impact and many more have been working closely with both the government to develop better management strategies for the coasts as well the locals/tourists to explain the workings of a complex system and people’s role in protecting it. Since the coast is a multi-group use area, other stakeholders including the fisheries and the tourism unions, their respective departments, the coast guard, and the navy must also band together to develop and implement large-scale plans to protect dolphins.

The journey of a fish from the sea to one’s plate is a long and complicated one. And dolphin-fisheries interactions are just as complex and nuanced as human-stock market interactions which are shaped by local, historical and individual-level factors. We are still a long way from understanding them, but I do sometimes wonder how likely it is that the fish on my plate is there because a dolphin decided not to take it from a net.

Further reading:

Banerjee, A. 2024. Humpback Dolphins: Sharing Coastal Spaces with Humans in Vembanad. Roundglass Sustain. https://roundglasssustain.com/conservation/humpback-dolphin

Muralidharan, R. 2020. Conservation on a Contested Coast: Indo-Pacific Humpback Dolphins and Fisheries Interactions in Tamil Nadu, India. Rufford Foundation.
https://www.rufford.org/projects/rahul-muralidharan/conservation-on-a-contested-coast-indo-pacific-humpback-dolphins-and-fisheries-interactions-in-tamil-nadu-india/

Cantor, M., D. R. Farine and F. G.  Duara-Jorge. 2023. Foraging synchrony drives resilience in human–dolphin mutualism. PNAS 120(6): e2207739120.
doi.org/10.1073/pnas.2207739120.
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The kasavs of Kaziranga

Feature image: Flowing down the Brahmaputra River, looking for turtles. Photo credit: Saiyam Wakchaure

Assam is famous around the world for its tea, handicrafts, food and, of course, the greater one-horned rhinoceros. Kaziranga National Park is one of the last remaining refuges for these endangered rhinos in India. It is a lush, biodiverse landscape that is known for its picturesque views and easy access to see rare wildlife. A safari in Kaziranga is replete with sightings of several large species, including elephants and wild water buffaloes, roaming the expansive open landscape, unbothered, unfazed and undaunted. But it’s not just majestic mammals that offer up clear views of themselves to visitors. Surprisingly, freshwater turtles—known as ‘kasav’ in the Assamese language—make appearances too, especially on the ‘turtle trail’ which runs along the Diffolu River.

A view of the turtle trail alongside the serene Diffolu river. Photo credit: Saiyam Wakchaure

On a sunny day, a drive drown this trail will reveal bales of Critically Endangered Assam roofed turtles—yes, a group of turtles is called a bale—basking on the unlikeliest surfaces. They are easily identified by a bright pink spot behind the eyes and pointy shells with jagged ends, resembling a tiled rooftop. These acrobats can balance and position themselves on the narrowest of logs and at acute angles, to catch some sun rays. Basking is an important regimen for turtles in order to thermoregulate, and also to keep their skin and shells healthy and free of parasites. If you’re lucky, you can even spot some crafty young ones basking on top of bigger turtles or tumbling into the river as fights break out over prime basking spots.

Assam roofed turtles basking precariously on a narrow log. Photo credit: Pradeep Hegde
Black softshell turtles often use sandy river banks as basking or nesting habitat. Photo credit: Gunjan Menon

Kaziranga is nestled in the floodplains of the Brahmaputra River, bounded by the rugged hills of Karbi Anglong in the south and the lofty mountains of the Eastern Himalayas to the north. This protected valley is sustained by the mighty Brahmaputra. The river diverges into hundreds of channels that are teeming with aquatic life, while the forested sand islands punctuating the streams serve as important corridors for elephants and tigers.

The Kazrianga landscape is a mosaic of forests, grasslands, sand islands and the many channels of the Brahmaputra River. Photo credit: Pradeep Hegde

While going on a safari in Kaziranga, one experiences this landscape as a mosaic of habitats, from dense forests and ferocious free flowing rivers to lush swamps, muddy wetlands and reedy grasslands. Although the sanctuary is known for its charismatic megafauna, these diverse habitats support a wide range of flora and fauna, including mahseer fish, Gangetic dolphins, and even the occasional gharial finding a quiet retreat in these channels.

The Brahmaputra floodplains are also a hotspot for as many as 19 species of freshwater turtles. Kaziranga serves as a hideaway haven that still supports healthy populations of up to four large softshell turtle species, with these river stretches serving as undisturbed breeding and feeding habitats for them. It’s rare to find places to sit and observe turtles for hours on end, yet these wetlands provide several spots to do so. If you are patient enough, you can spot the kasavs when they surface, gliding along peacefully and peering at you curiously amidst water hyacinth clumps and moss-covered logs. It is truly a delight to watch them go about their daily routine, living a simple life in a complex, interconnected natural world. 

A frog in a body of water Description automatically generated
Softshell turtles can often be seen surfacing and floating on the surface of water bodies, with usually just their snouts visible above the water. Photo credit: Pradeep Hegde

This work is supported by the National Geographic Society.
Anuja Mital Author
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The Southern Residents

The Southern Resident killer whales are a genetically distinct population of orcas in the Pacific Northwest. This unique population is on the verge of extinction with only 74 remaining individuals worldwide. One of the major issues is that the multiple threats—including lack of prey, pollution and vessel noise—that afflict the Southern Residents interact together, creating synergistic effects. 

Many people are often surprised to learn that there are three different types of orcas within the range of the Salish Sea: resident, Bigg’s and offshore killer whales. Each one of these ‘ecotypes’— individuals or groups of individuals that share ecological adaptations—have completely different dialects and hunting behaviours, and they do not intermingle nor interbreed. 

It’s important to note that there isn’t a single solution for the recovery of the Southern Residents. We must participate in multiple areas of focus including research, legislation, community outreach and education, in addition to supporting ongoing projects and initiatives. 

Read more about killer whale genetics and evolution and why it matters for conservation here.
Jacqueline Williams Author & Illustrator
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