Author: Greta

Misy miala! a road map to malagasy public transport

I was sitting in a taxi be squashed in between Malagasy people, carrying my huge sketchbook full of hand-drawn diagrams, when I felt I had gained a little personal victory on my PhD journey.

September 2019: It was my second time travelling to Madagascar— a world biodiversity hotspot and dream destiny for many—for my PhD research. I was excited by the possibilities ahead. My research consisted of interviewing practitioners from nature conservation organisations to hear their views on conservation education programmes. Despite the widespread belief that conservation education is a panacea for a sustainable future, the practitioners themselves often wonder whether their programmes have long-term impacts. In turn, I was trying to understand how these education programmes, which often target children living close to protected areas, influence the conservation of biodiversity.

The challenge

I decided to rent a room in the country’s capital Antananarivo, or just Tana as people call it, because most of the big conservation organisations were headquartered there. Doing research in Madagascar as a foreigner born in Barcelona and studying in Finland, required being respectful and striving to understand the cultural context as much as possible. Thus, I embraced the Malagasy lifestyle. And that included using public transport: taxi be. Taxi be are large minibuses that travel all around the city and, according to the Lonely Planet guide, “they are of limited use to travellers because of the difficulty to work out the route and where bus stops are”. But I was not put off by the challenge. Who said that the PhD journey would be an easy one anyway?

Increasing knowledge

It was one of my first afternoons in Tana, and I was having lunch with my colleague Rio in the city centre. I explained to him my determination to use taxi be, and that I had been searching for printed maps and online apps to increase my knowledge before getting on the first taxi be. Of course, these didn’t exist. Fortunately, Rio decided to take me under his wing. We walked together to one of the main bus stops where, during rush hour, you had to run to be the lucky person to squeeze into the already packed taxi be. After we managed to hop on one, Rio patiently explained:

“There are always two people working in the taxi be: the driver and the collector. The collector collects the standard fare of 500 Ariary (around €0.11) and he is the one shouting the final destination of the bus, so people know if it is convenient for them to get on”. Soon, we were approaching my home, so when the collector asked “Misy miala?” (Is there someone getting off?), Rio replied loudly: “Misy miala!” (Someone is getting off!).

Collaboration with others

For a while, I was only brave enough to attempt the same route I had done with Rio: from the city centre to home and vice-versa. I was scared of not knowing where to get on and off the bus, or which line to take. But as I started to schedule dates for my first interviews, I realized that I would never master the art of using taxi be unless I conquered my fear. I also realized that I couldn’t do it alone. Hence, every time an interview was scheduled, I would also ask for directions to get there by public transport.

Despite my careful planning, things often didn’t go as planned (this is exactly why problem solving is a skill you learn as a researcher). Tana is sprawled across two main hillsides and is full of steep and narrow streets, which translates into huge traffic jams. I am not a punctual person in my private life, but I wanted to arrive on time for my interviews. I would often leave home well before my meetings, only to end up sitting in a taxi be for two hours, stuck in a traffic jam. Sometimes, tired of sitting, I would get off and walk for a while, hoping that the traffic jam would disappear and that I could get an alternative taxi be. This meant, however, that I needed to ask for directions in my poor Malagasy. Yet, slowly, I started to understand how to get around the city.

Changing perspectives and cultural practices

In my interviews, I wanted to understand practitioners’ assumptions about the role of education in conservation. This turned out to be a difficult task because for many of the interviewees, it was their first time reflecting on the linkages between activities, outcomes, and impacts. Due to this, I decided to use a participatory research method: instead of me asking questions and writing notes, we would draw. Well, maybe not exactly draw, but we would create diagrams to identify the pathways that connect their education programmes with conservation goals. That is how I ended up buying a huge sketchbook that I carried along to the interviews.

Despite being born in the Mediterranean culture, my perception of personal space had been strongly transformed after years of living in Finland. Personal space is essential for Finns. Often, on Finnish buses, people would rather leave a seat unoccupied than sit next to a stranger, to allow for personal space. That was absolutely not the case in Madagascar. Taxi be were often packed with people, and even the aisle would be transformed into a seat by placing a wooden plank across the seats on either side. The first few times, I felt uncomfortable and ashamed when entering with my huge sketchbook, silently apologising to others for taking up so much space. But, soon my perspective changed as I understood that the Malagasy idea of personal space was completely different. After this, I embraced—and somehow enjoyed—the trips being squashed between others.

Diversifying options

I was starting to feel confident about commuting by taxi be when I decided to venture outside the capital. Some of my interviewees were from smaller organisations that worked only in certain regions of Madagascar. For one of those visits, I travelled overnight by taxi brouse (minibuses that travel around the country) to the coastal city of Tamatave. On arriving, I received a call from Tsiry, the practitioner I wanted to interview. He asked if we could meet at their education centre, located 30 minutes outside the city. I thought to myself: If I can use public transport in Tana, why not in Tamatave? I left with my backpack and my big sketchbook without hesitation. After being directed to different bus stations, I managed to get the right bus, arriving at my destination exactly at lunchtime. Tsiry and their colleagues invited me to share lunch with them.

We conducted the interview after the meal. Then, Tsiry offered to give me a lift back to Tamatave on his motorbike. I happily accepted because I was exhausted, but I also thought it would be great to have another new experience under my belt. However, the motorbike suddenly stopped as we were riding. “How strange. This has never happened before,” Tsiry said, as he tried to fix it. No luck. Someone passing by stopped and gave it a shot too. Still no luck. Suddenly, a cyclo-pousse (a rickshaw pulled by a cyclist) came to a halt and offered to take us. Tsiry and I looked at each other—could a cyclist carry a motorbike? It was the moment to find out. We put the motorbike on top of the cyclo-pousse and clambered into the rickshaw ourselves. To our surprise, we slowly managed to reach the city. Tsiry repeated once again, laughing: “This has never happened before.”

Leaders of change

It was one of my last days in Tana. For two months, I had met and been inspired by passionate conservation practitioners working across the country. I was sitting in a taxi be, squashed in between Malagasy people, feeling proud of my own learning process with public transport. A whole range of strategies had helped me achieve my goal: from increasing my knowledge thanks to Rio, to asking others for directions, to changing my perspective of personal space and diversifying my transportation options.

In a similar way, the results of my research also showed that there isn’t a single way to achieve positive change through education, but rather that practitioners had different views on how the change was brought about. Five pathways of change emerged on the role of education in conservation across the 15 organisations I interviewed. For some, it was about increasing knowledge. Others stressed the importance of building an emotional connection to nature and changing certain traditional cultural practices. Others believed that change should happen at the community and societal level, highlighting the role of collaboration amongst stakeholders. And a few others emphasized that education approaches need to be accompanied by other structural solutions, such as access to alternative livelihoods and policy changes. Finally, many highlighted the importance of fostering future leaders: youth who would have agency over their natural resources.

It was time for farewells, and I was feeling a mix of emotions. I felt privileged to have met all those practitioners who were leaders of change themselves. People like my friend Lova, who worked persistently to implement conservation education programmes with boundless energy, despite the lack of time and resources. At the same time, I was doubtful about the practical implications of my research. It had not answered the question about whether education has an impact on conservation. But complex problems never have a straightforward solution. Yet, reflecting on the pathways of change was probably a first step towards a more comprehensive evaluation, and to be able to design transformative interventions. For years to come, education will probably remain a cornerstone of conservation initiatives. But, what if the end goal went beyond biodiversity conservation? What if education could also support and celebrate the richness of cultural diversity? What would those education programmes look like? Unfortunately, my time in Madagascar was up, so those would remain questions to explore in the future.

Further Reading

Brias-Guinart, A., K. Korhonen-Kurki and M. Cabeza. 2022. Typifying conservation practitioners’ views on the role of education. Conservation biology 36(4): e13893. doi.org/10.1111/cobi.13893.
Aina Brias-Guinart Author
Bhavya Arora Illustrator
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The second extinction of forgotten species

“Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it.”

– Galadriel in The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.

We often think of extinction as happening out there, in far away wild places, but it also takes place right inside our minds, in our everyday conversations and on social media. Beyond biological extinction, which takes place when the last animal or plant of its kind dies, species can live on in our collective memory, traditionally transmitted locally through word of mouth, art and literature, and more recently through movies, television, and the internet. These memories can, almost paradoxically, keep an extinct species like the passenger pigeon, present in our everyday lives long after they are gone. But, tragically, the contrary also occurs.

When a species disappears from, or has never been in, our minds despite still existing across the Earth, this lack of collective knowledge and memories of the species can accelerate its physical disappearance.

Introducing societal extinction

As more and more species become threatened or extinct, they also become increasingly isolated from people. A growing number of people live in cities, and spend increasing amounts of time indoors, becoming isolated from experiencing the natural world. This leads to the extinction of experience—the progressive loss of our daily interactions with nature, a situation that has been further aggravated with the arrival of the COVID-19 pandemic and the measures to contain it, such as lockdowns and remote work.

This process of disappearing from collective memory is what we refer to as ‘societal extinction’ in a recent paper—in contrast to biological extinction—and it often occurs gradually. Take, for example, the Japanese or Honshū wolf, which used to live on several islands of the Japanese archipelago, but went extinct by the early 20th century due to rabies and persecution by humans. Although it was once ubiquitous in the local culture, with many villages bearing its name, dedicated shrines, and representation in art and various traditions, its societal footprint is increasingly eroding because the
only remaining source of new experiences are a few museum specimens.

Societal extinction can also progressively impact local ecological knowledge. Studies among communities in southwestern China and with Indigenous people in Bolivia have shown the loss of local knowledge and memory of extinct bird species. Such memory loss eventually led to people forgetting the names of these species and also what they looked and sounded like. Yet, species that have been forgotten in wider society can sometimes maintain their cultural presence in rural or Indigenous communities through traditional ecological knowledge. But when cultural losses of a disappearing species occur for Indigenous communities, it is likely to be much more acute if they have strong cultural ties to the species. Indigenous people are, therefore, key allies in the efforts to maintain societal presence and memory of such species.

The scale

Societal extinction can also occur locally. The Tasmanian tiger and the Tasmanian devil used to inhabit both Tasmania and mainland Australia. With their extinction on the mainland, they were lost from Indigenous Australians’ memories here. However, their memories continued to persist in Tasmania, where they remained an important part of the local Indigenous culture.

Yet, extinct species can also remain highly present societally, or even increase in their prominence long after their extinction. Some are even used as conservation flagships to appeal to a targeted audience to attract their support for the conservation efforts of extant species.

One example is the enduring popularity of the dodo; centuries after its extinction, it is still widely used in popular culture, in works of art, as a mascot, and even as one of the main targets of the movement for de-extinction—a process of recreation of once extinct species, mainly through genetic resurrection. Ironically, the dodo is more globally salient today than it was when it went extinct.

The drivers

Whether a species will become societally extinct depends on many factors, including its charisma, societal importance in terms of symbolic or cultural values, whether and how long ago it went extinct, and how distant and isolated its geographic range is from human settlements and activities.

Societal extinction can also occur in extant species, often due to different social or cultural changes, such as the urbanization and modernization of society that can radically change our relationship with nature and lead to the collective loss of memory.

For example, in Europe, the replacement of traditional herbal medicine with modern medicine, which is much more reliant on synthetic products, is believed to have degraded general knowledge of many medicinal plants.

It is important to note that a majority of species cannot actually become societally extinct, simply because they never had a societal presence to begin with. This is common in uncharismatic, small, cryptic or inaccessible species, and especially among invertebrates, plants, fungi and microorganisms—many of which have not yet been formally described by scientists or noticed by humankind. They suffer declines and extinctions in silence, unseen by people and societies.

Why it matters

The understudied phenomenon of societal extinction can considerably challenge efforts aimed at the conservation of biodiversity, as it can affect our perception of the environment and expectations of its natural state, such as what is normal or healthy. Societal extinction can distort perceptions of the severity of threats to biodiversity and true extinction rates, and thus diminish the public support for conservation and restoration efforts. It can also reduce our will to pursue ambitious conservation goals. For example, it could reduce public support for rewilding efforts, especially if the targeted species are no longer present in our memory as a natural component of the ecosystem. Bearing in mind the ongoing extinction crisis, as well as our growing disconnection from nature, it is highly likely that countless cases of societal extinction still lie ahead, and that this process is going to intensify in the coming years. If we are to mitigate the process of societal extinction and its consequences for conservation, it will be necessary to address the problem through targeted, long-term marketing campaigns, and conservation education, as well as support for indigenous culture and storytelling, to revive, improve, and maintain memory of societally
extinct species.

How do we tackle it?

The rise of global internet connectivity has created the opportunity for large-scale conservation engagement efforts, but conservationists have yet to fully explore its potential. Wildlife already features in numerous aspects of our everyday digital lives, from Animal Crossing and King Kong to Tiger King to Guggimon. Wildlife is a major part of our culture, but that omnipresence is rarely purposefully used to positively influence how we feel about it and our actions as voters and consumers. This needs to change.


This is especially important in cases where there are very few or no living eyewitnesses of a species.

For example, each year on September 7, Australia celebrates the National Threatened Species Day. This day represents in fact the anniversary of the death of the last captive thylacine, or Tasmanian tiger, in the Hobart zoo, and helps maintain and strengthen the memory of the species. The collective memory of a species should also be rekindled in reintroduction programmes, as a way to tackle extinction beyond its biological component.

Such a process could follow the same path used to strengthen cultural identity by resurrecting lost languages, such as Cornish, to highlight the historic links between society and the reintroduced species, and thus help increase public support for conservation efforts.

Further Reading
Jarić, I., U. Roll, M. Bonaiuto, B. W. Brook, F. Courchamp, J. A. Firth, K. J. Gaston et al. 2022. Societal extinction of species. Trends in Ecology & Evolution. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.tree.2021.12.011.
Diogo Veríssimo Author
Athulya Pillai Illustrator
Ivan Jarić Author
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A challenge to conservationists: an interview with Mac Chapin

In an article published in World Watch magazine in 2004, Mac Chapin critiqued the work and style of functioning of three big conservation NGOs—World Wildlife Fund (WWF), Conservation International (CI), and The Nature Conservancy (TNC)—especially in relation to their neglect of indigenous peoples living within their areas of work. Based on a variety of sources including published literature, conversations with NGO staff, and his own personal experiences, Chapin argued that the relationships of these NGOs with indigenous groups stems from conflicts of interest linked to their government and corporate funding. The article, as you will see below, created a storm, before and after it was published, and attracted both criticism and praise. 18 years after its publication, we asked Mac Chapin about his reasons for writing this article, the controversies surrounding its publication, and how he views the relationship between conservation NGOs and indigenous peoples today.

Hari Sridhar: What got you interested in the relationship between conservation and indigenous peoples, and motivated you to write this article?

Mac Chapin: I lived with the Guna Indians in Panama for three years in the late 1960s, with the Peace Corps. I became aware of the Guna’s close relationship with their natural ecosystems, and how they were threatened by colonisation from non-Indians and “modernisation” in general. That inspired me to study anthropology, and in the mid-1980s, I started working throughout Central America with Cultural Survival, an indigenous rights NGO. From the start, we focused on indigenous rights and conservation; and in 1992 we collaborated with The National Geographic Society on a bilingual Spanish-English map of Central America showing the forests and indigenous regions of occupation and use. There was a clear correspondence, and we began working on programmes that emphasised the two areas.

Some of the large conservation organisations (WWF and CI) expressed interest (TNC was not very interested) and we tried to work with them, but, unfortunately, collaboration was difficult, often impossible. They developed their programmes without consulting with us or, more importantly, with the indigenous peoples living in the areas they wanted to conserve. They felt they knew more about conservation than the Indians, who were excluded from their programmes; and beyond this, there was often hostility toward the peoples living in the areas they had singled out for their work.

This situation was coming to a head in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Indigenous peoples were getting organised in Central America and they began complaining—to us and to some of the private foundations that were funding the conservationists. Several of the foundations were meeting and discussing this at a gathering in California, and the Ford Foundation decided to hire an anthropologist who has worked in Mexico and an economist from India to do a study. I knew the anthropologist and we spoke, and he started feeding me material; he also got me in touch with the economist, and I started expanding my research. I had no thoughts of publishing what I was writing; I just wanted to clear things up in my head, and see how wide spread the problem was (it was very widespread).

I was very close to Ed Ayres, the editor of World Watch Magazine. Ed is very principled and stands firm for things he believes in. He phoned up one morning when I was almost finished and asked what I was up to. I mentioned my research and sent a draft to him. He phoned the next morning and asked where I was going to publish it. I said I had no thoughts about it, and he said, “Then we’ll take it.” It was obviously an issue that was on many people’s minds at the time, yet nobody was writing about it.

HS: Stepping back a bit, can you trace the origins of your interest in indigenous communities’ rights? What led to you spending three years living with the Guna Indians, as part of the Peace Corps?

MC: When I was young, I read many books about travel to exotic (for me) parts of the globe: Africa, Latin America, the Near East; both fiction and non-fiction. This interest grew out of my very early reading of comic books: Tarzan, Scrooge McDuck (who was always heading off to distant lands with Donald and Huey, Dewey, and Louie), Tintin, and so forth. I graduated to tales of Richard F. Burton and the search for the origin of the Nile, the adventures of hunters and animal collectors in Africa and the Amazon Basin, the British Empire, and on and on. This was my search for adventure, pure and simple. After my undergraduate studies (History of Medieval and early modern Europe), I began traveling myself, to Europe and Turkey and Israel. And in 1965, I joined the Peace Corps in the Dominican Republic, where I spent two years working with small-holder coffee farmers. In 1967, I rejoined the Peace Corps, this time with the Guna Indians in Panama, and stayed there for three years as director of an agricultural school. On the strength of all this practical experience, with Caribbean Blacks and Central American Indians, I decided to study anthropology. With my degree in hand, I set out to apply my knowledge helping the indigenous peoples of Central and South America to hold onto their lands, natural resources, and cultures.

You will see that I began vicariously with literature that can only be described as “colonialist” and ended up somewhere on the opposite end of the spectrum. The heroes of virtually everything I had been reading and thinking about were white males of European descent (except perhaps the Disney Ducks—but they sure acted like White males); and the “natives” in the colonised regions of the world were depicted as submissive and not terribly bright—often like children needing a helping hand from the civilised and powerful. But of course, in this world things don’t work that way. The literature had a strong effect on me, and it took years to shed it, and only partially. At the same time, I strongly believe that the contrast between the two groups—rich and poor, First World versus Third World—allowed me to understand the ramifications, the scarring impact of the power differential. This didn’t happen all at once, like a flash of lightning. It was gradual, and after many years in the field and thinking and writing about rural development, and seeing the power differential up close, I believe I understand, to some extent, what is going on. At the same time, I have to catch myself from time to time from practicing what I don’t preach. No matter what, I am a member of the class that runs the world, and I often feel like Lady Macbeth, who, try as she might, cannot clean her blood-stained hands. But I try.

In this context, the actions of the large conservationist organisations are a prime example of the ugly face of this imbalance.

HS: What happened after Ed Ayres offered to publish the article in World Watch?

MC: In summary, a draft escaped, all of the conservationist NGOs got hold of it, and they contacted World Watch, trying to have it squashed. The editor told me: “This is the first time the shit has hit the fan before an article has been published!” He weathered the storm nicely, but there was a fair amount of commotion surrounding the issue of the magazine. A woman who had a small foundation had offered to give World Watch $30,000 to cover the cost of destroying the 30,000 copies of the magazine that had already been printed and republish it with an altered (sanitised) version of my article. This was done without informing the editor or me. It was a crazy, half-baked scheme and was abandoned soon after, but it had already become public. The editor stood up for me and in the end the magazine was distributed with the article untouched. The woman in the small foundation was trapped: she had been pretending to be on my side, but this exposed her, and she resigned shortly after. The following issue of the magazine contained 16 pages of letters about the article, most of them positive.

I think the article had a powerful impact. It opened up a needed debate; it ignited a broad movement among many indigenous organisations worldwide; and the recent environmental congress in Glasgow, Scotland, apparently pledged to support indigenous peoples on conservation issues. On the other side, the big conservation organisations—WWF, TNC, CI—have been trying to co-opt the issues raised in the article for their own benefit, with what they say are initiatives to help indigenous peoples. But at least it is out in the open, and indigenous and tribal peoples are taking up the cudgel and fighting for their rights—something they were not involved with to any extent before.

HS: In the 18 years since this article was published, have you seen any examples of conservation programmes that you think are “responsive to the needs of both biological and human diversity”?

MC: Just a couple of days ago , I was speaking with someone who continues working in this field and he said that in the recent gathering in Glasgow, people were talking about the need to work with indigenous peoples on conservation initiatives, and they were talking about tens of millions of dollars. This sounds like a move in the right direction. But how in Hades would this work? Who would handle it? Which indigenous groups would get the money, and for what? If those with the money and in charge of organising the distribution don’t do it “correctly” it will hurt indigenous peoples. It needs to be done carefully, sensitively, and responsibly—but I doubt that will happen. On the surface, it sounds like it will do more harm than good.
Please excuse my cynicism, but I have seen this sort of thing before, many times.

HS: Why do you think it might “do more harm than good”? What might the “right” approach look like?

MC: I’m afraid, based on experience, that the donors (who are varied; largely private foundations in the United States, and a mixture of government and private donors in Europe) will want to throw lots of money at the problem. If they give oodles of money directly to indigenous organisations, things could go awry fast.

Few of them in Latin America, a region I know best, presently have the administrative capacity to manage money responsibly; they are learning, but they need help on this. The large conservationist NGOs see their role as working on conservation, not administration—or any of the other needs of indigenous organisations, such as land tenure and employment (“too political,” they often say). Also, we are in a transition phase, in which indigenous groups want to take more control of their own programmes, and many are increasingly seeing non indigenous NGOs that work with indigenous peoples as unnecessary, and their role is being questioned by both indigenous peoples and donor agencies. Into this mix, we find the largest donors wanting to do something big and fast (after all, the problems facing all of us are quite large) and this will never happen if they are forced to fund small, less sophisticated indigenous organisations. So, they stick with the large conservation NGOs. There are very few donor agencies that have experience with indigenous peoples, and too much money too fast can cause havoc. It can easily destroy the organisations they are attempting to help.

Much of this is predetermined. In the environmental programmes of the large foundations, the staff have invariably come directly from the large conservation NGOs, and they funnel their money directly back to their colleagues. This has always been the case with the largest private foundations—MacArthur, Moore, Packard, Hewlett, and Ford Foundations—and the same pattern is found throughout the donor community. The number of foundations with programmes to work with indigenous peoples is miniscule. If donors want to really help indigenous peoples, they should provide support for institution strengthening, land rights, and employment generation—things indigenous organisations desperately need. These are the priorities of indigenous peoples. But they are not the priorities of the conservationists, and trying to jam conservation down the throats of indigenous and tribal peoples will go nowhere. Donors tend not to see this, and they are invariably unhappy with what indigenous peoples do with their money. This is repeated over and over and over.

HS: How has the increasing dependency of conservation organisations on corporate funding affected their relations with indigenous peoples?

MC: This has become a huge problem. It not only causes the conservation NGOs to ignore indigenous peoples; but has also served to disfigure their mission and turn a blind eye to the unsustainable, destructive activities of the corporations; and, I might add, their relations with abusive governments, such as Brazil, where the Amazon rainforest is vanishing with astounding speed. Conservation NGOs can be thrown out of a number of countries for working with indigenous peoples on environmental issues (or any other issues, for that matter). Granted, the conservationist NGOs are caught in an impossible situation, but they are the ones to blame.

HS: Could you tell us about the response the article received at the time it was published, both formally and otherwise?

MC: The editor got a strong response, especially from indigenous people and representatives of NGOs that work with indigenous peoples. Most of the reaction was positive. The three large conservationist NGOs sent in measured responses, admitting that they needed to do more to work with indigenous peoples in the field. Ford gave a defensive, not-terribly-honest response that missed the mark altogether. But the reaction on the whole was positive and constructive.

Most important, however, is that the article opened up discussion on the issue and it has continued to this day. Much of it now resides with indigenous people, who have become more openly active in the defence of their lands and conservation of their natural resources.

HS: Are there ways in which science (and scientists) can contribute to repairing this fraught relationship?

MC: It is my experience that the conservation NGOs use science to exclude indigenous people. They advertise themselves as doing “science-based conservation,” which sets them apart from indigenous people, who are not, in their eyes, “scientists.” (Here there is a disagreement regarding the meaning of the term “science”.) With the conclusion that they need to be guided by the “real scientists” (themselves). Does this sound familiar?

My feeling is that biological science has much to contribute, and indigenous people could learn a good deal from it. But it has to be a two-way street, for the conservationists can learn a good deal from the indigenous people. Unfortunately, it all boils down to power and money, two things the indigenous people do not have.

HS: Do you have any suggestions on what biologists can do differently (e.g. in what they choose to study, the approaches they take, the interpretation of their data) to help repair this relationship between conservation and indigenous groups?

MC: What the biologists/conservationists need to do is stop imposing their agendas on indigenous peoples. They have to listen to indigenous agendas and take them seriously. They could do this by spending time with indigenous people and experiencing their lives, what their problems are and how they deal with them. What their thoughts are on a variety of issues such as natural resources, food, sustainability, economics, and land tenure. I know this would take time, but something along these lines needs to be done. Without it, there will be no meeting of the minds and no basis for negotiating terms, and collaboration. There will be no respect or trust on either side of the divide. The biggest obstacle at present is the imbalance of money and power, both of which are on the side of the conservationists. It allows them to push their own agendas, using the excuse that they know what is right for the planet. I don’t think we can change this. In other words, I am not optimistic.

HS: Looking back, what is the place of this article (2004, World Watch) and the study on which it was based in the long arc of your career?

MC: I see the article as a small blip in my career path. I value much more the work of bringing indigenous peoples together in Central America and Mexico by helping—with various indigenous groups—to organise regional conferences and workshops dealing with natural resources, land tenure, and cultural identity; and also the mapping projects we set up with groups in Latin America, Africa, and New Guinea, and the mapping of Central America we did with National Geographic (1992 and 2002) and the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (2015). These maps were collaborations with the indigenous peoples and showed natural ecosystems, indigenous territories of occupation and use, and protected areas. All of this mapping, in which indigenous people and local villagers mapped their lands according to their wishes, have been extremely influential and have had a powerful impact at all levels.

The mapping we did with a number of indigenous peoples in Latin America, along with the work in Africa (Cameroon) and New Guinea (West Papua and Papua New Guinea) was a first step in which people in all of these areas have begun to learn about the practical value of mapping and learn to do the mapping themselves. They have begun to learn the technology of cartography; they have been working with professional cartographers in their own countries—and the cartographers have learned new skills to work with indigenous people in the field, with field data, for the first time (before this, they had only worked with aerial photographs, never field data). The mapping has been a real collaboration of people and technology, and the maps have been recognised as valid—“official”—by governments everywhere we have worked.
When I consider all that has been done with the organising and especially the mapping, the World Watch article was a minor diversion.

HS: What might you say to a young conservationist who is about to read the 2004 article?

MC: Just be aware of the issues it raises. I can’t force anyone to behave as I would like. But they should know what the dynamic between conservation and indigenous rights is, and perhaps learn something that can lead to a more constructive partnership in the field.

This article has been modified from: Sridhar, H. 2022. Revisiting Chapin 2004. Reflections on Papers Past. https://reflectionsonpaperspast.wordpress.com/2022/04/24/revisiting-chapin-2004/. Accessed on 5th May 2022.

Further Reading
Chapin, M. 2004. A challenge to conservationists. World Watch Magazine 17(6): 17–32.

Illustrators: Tara Anand (Portrait) & Maanvi Kapur
Hari Sridhar Author
Tara Anand Illustrator
Maanvi Kapur Illustrator
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The ecological extinction of land animals

As a lemur swings through the forest, consuming fruit, it inadvertently contributes to the persistence of the forest flora. Forest regeneration and ecosystem functioning are not at the forefront of the lemur’s to-do list. Rather, when the lemur enjoys its meals, seeds are consumed and, via faeces, distributed throughout the forest. However, the logging of huge tracts of forests at an alarming rate creates a dire survival situation for arboreal, foraging primates, and a negative feedback loop ensues. As the trees in the forest are felled, available habitat declines and many species are unable to remain in the forest consuming fruits. In turn, the seeds they would normally digest and defecate are no longer dispersed throughout the forest. Other organisms with tree-dwelling and foraging ecological traits will have similar effects on ecosystem functioning. Many plants rely on larger consumers, such as lemurs, to disperse their seeds, and without these obligate dispersal partners, the plants cannot effectively maintain their populations. Thus, there is a domino effect with extinction.

Plants and animals possess ecological traits that directly mediate ecosystem services. In the primate-logging example, not only are the lemurs at risk of extinction, but the important ecosystem functions (seed dispersal) they provide are also at risk. However, if we can assess extinction risk in terms of ecological traits, we can obtain a clearer image of the cascading effects that may result from their loss. Yet, the consequences of the biodiversity crisis are typically measured in terms of population loss or individual species extinctions. Due to the differences in ecological and taxonomic diversity, our research team was particularly interested in another equally important aspect of the biodiversity crisis: the ecological functions that are at risk of being lost and the associated consequences.

Ecological traits at risk of extinction

We assigned terrestrial vertebrate (amphibians, reptiles, mammals, birds) species to three core ecological niche axes (habitat association, mode of locomotion, and feeding mode) and tested for associations with their extinction risk status. We found that cave-dwelling amphibians, primates that live in trees and use all four limbs for locomotion, aerial and scavenging birds, and scaled reptiles that use walking locomotion are all disproportionately threatened with extinction (high-risk ecological categories). The loss of ecological functions associated with these traits has the potential to disrupt ecosystem processes and services on global scales.

Risk factors of extinction

We identified the threat types contributing to endangerment across all terrestrial vertebrates. Agriculture is a dominant human influence on our planet and we discovered that it is the single most common threat type to terrestrial vertebrate species globally. Further, we examined the connection between the high-risk ecological categories and their primary extinction threat types. For example, primates that live in trees and use all four limbs for locomotion are most threatened by agriculture, hunting, and logging.

The ‘death by a thousand cuts’ hypothesis

We examined the total number of extinction drivers threatening terrestrial vertebrates as a whole and within each taxonomic class and found that species at greater risk of extinction are on average affected by a greater number of extinction threat types. Thus, following a death by a thousand cuts scenario, where a species may tolerate one or two extinction drivers, but as the number of threats increase, the species’ vulnerability to extinction also increases.

Our study demonstrates that certain ecological traits make a species more vulnerable to extinction. The preferential loss of ecological traits in conjunction with increasing human disruption, has the potential to have global consequences. By identifying the threat types most strongly associated with endangerment of ecological traits, we take a critical first step towards ameliorating these global functional disruptions.

Further Reading

Munstermann, M. J., N. A. Heim, D. J. McCauley, J. L. Payne, N. S. Upham, S. C. Wang, M. L. Knope. A global ecological signal of extinction risk in terrestrial vertebrates. Conservation Biology 36(3): e13852. doi: https://doi.org/10.1111/cobi.13852.
Maya Munstermann Author
P I Megha Vinod Illustrator
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Making better decisions to save species and ecosystems

Halting species extinction and ecosystem degradation require proactive decisions. We make decisions every day, often without thinking, but the decisions encountered in conservation are often perplexing. They include decisions like, how to save a species threatened with extinction? How to protect species and ecosystems while also considering the needs of people? When to stop monitoring and implement an uncertain solution? They take place against a backdrop of cumulative anthropogenic pressures, chronic underfunding, and a broader social, cultural and economic landscape. They also involve differing values, complex alternatives, scarce resources, urgency, and uncertainty.

When faced with such challenging decisions, the rapid, intuitive way we make decisions is often not our friend. It can lead us to delay decisions, pick the first alternative that comes along, or flip a coin and hope for the best. But using these strategies to manage species and ecosystems can lead to bad outcomes. For example, species may go extinct while waiting for the action to be taken, or scarce funds may be wasted on ineffective measures.

So, what can be done? In a recent paper in the journal Conservation Biology, we suggest that theories, frameworks, and tools from decision science can help. Decision science structures thinking so that decisions are informed, transparent, and defensible, and the alternatives identified improve the chance of achieving desired outcomes. Decision science is not new to conservation, but there are barriers to uptake. These include a lack of training; confusing terminology; a perception that applying decision science is complex, time-consuming and costly; and not knowing where to start.

Our paper seeks to overcome these barriers to help conservation practitioners navigate the disparate decision science literature better and improve the rigour and feasibility of applying decision science in conservation contexts.

We contend that better outcomes start with learning to think through decisions by decomposing decisions into manageable components. This process is called decision analysis (or structured decision-making) and lies at the heart of decision science. The steps can be loosely summarised as follows:

  1. Define the decision to be made
  2. Specify what we want to achieve (i.e., values of importance)
  3. Identify the alternatives we can take to achieve values of importance.
  4. Estimate how alternatives perfor on values of importance
  5. Assess trade-offs
  6. Pick the best option

Iterating through these steps helps ensure we’re working on the right decision and that all values of importance are identified. This process can also help to design alternatives that better achieve these values. Rapidly iterating through these steps with the information at hand may reveal a suitable alternative, at which point the decision can be made. If this doesn’t occur, the initial iteration can provide insights for subsequent iterations (such as a value that needs to be considered).


At each step, a number of decision-support tools can be drawn on. They include qualitative tools, such as brainstorming, conceptual mapping, and strategy tables; quantitative tools, such as data, models, structured expert elicitation; and tools for dealing with trade-offs. In addition, there are decision support frameworks such as Priority Threat Management framework and Systematic Conservation Planning which can help to navigate through multiple steps of a decision analysis for a range of conservation decisions. Our paper simplifies the choices between the vast array of tools and frameworks by outlining to which steps and to what problems each may be helpful.

For those facing difficult conservation decisions, our paper provides a much-needed contextual framework of key terms and prescriptive guidance for getting started with decision science. This will help to illuminate a pathway for turning these difficult problems into timely, effective, and beneficial outcomes. As a bonus, many of the steps outlined are universal and will help improve decision-making for any difficult decision encountered.

Positionality statement: The paper reflects the views and experiences of 24 authors who primarily work in Australia, Canada, the United Kingdom and the USA, and who have been primarily trained in western (ecological) sciences. The authors have diverse demographic identities within these bounds, and diverse experience with decision science. Our hopes in preparing this paper were to: 1) Provide a simple entry point to decision science, so that difficult conservation decisions are more tractable; 2) Diversify who can access and apply decision science; 3) Provide a foundation for critical appraisal of the field; and 4) Stimulate discussion and contrast of the field and other ways of making decisions for biodiversity conservation.

Further Reading

Hemming, V., A. E. Camaclang, M. S. Adams, M. Burgman, K. Carbeck, J. Carwardine, I. Chades et al. 2021. An Introduction to Decision Science for Conservation. Conservation Biology 36(1): e13868.
https://doi.org/10.1111/cobi.13868
Victoria Hemming Author
Abbey Camaclang Author
Komal Pahwa Illustrator
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Disobedient Landscapes

At the turn of the last century, James Carrier and Daniel Miller introduced the idea of a ‘virtualism’. A virtualism is a model of reality that is so powerful that when people imbibe the model, they expect it to be true. A bit like marriage if you think about it. If reality proves to be different from the model then reality, not the model, has to change.

In the main, these authors had in mind economists’ models, which have tremendous prescriptive power. For example, these models expect people to be rational profit maximisers, and when the modellers discover that people are not, well then, they ought to learn to be. You must change yourself to conform to the model. But virtualisms are also prominent in conservation. Conservation is full of models and visions of what the Earth should look like. It is the science of the future.

Carrier and Miller’s arguments are important, but they are flawed in one obvious respect. They fail to say how right virtualisms are. It seems obvious to us that if you have a good working model that allows you to understand things, then it is only reasonable to change the world so that it fits the model. Otherwise you fall prey to a myriad local tyrannies and pretensions of nuance that simply ignore the fact that THE MODEL IS RIGHT. Models are always right. In fact, they are more than that. They are beautiful—which is why models are called ‘models’. On the catwalk of life, they shine most gloriously. The history of life on this planet could, and should, be written as an unnecessarily painful process of learning to be a model of itself.¹

Now, it is our unfortunate duty to report that, despite there being a number of reasonable and utterly exquisite models of landscapes, biodiversity and society, there are a number of places and things which continue to exist in blatant disregard of their proper place or form. We must do something about this. And it is with more sadness than anger that we write to seven of the most egregious offenders these letters in the following page.

1) Dear Indian biodiversity,
According to the Global Roadmap for Conservation, you ought not to exist. Given the massive number of roads that run through your domain and the bazillions of people that live off you, you should have disappeared and become a low priority for conservation planning. We ask that you rid yourself of all those endemic fish and frogs, butterflies and birds and beetles. Keep a tiger for old times’ sake!
Don’t drive us crazy,
The Road Kartel

2) Dear Siberian Tundra,
By virtue of the same Global Roadmap, you have been pronounced an important area for biodiversity conservation. So, stop mucking around with the handful of shrubs and herbs, and the occasional anaemic tiger, and give us the goods. We demand a cacophony of crickets, a glut of geckos, a decadence of damselflies. How about a forest? That would be good for carbon too. These cold austere landscapes will not do.
Freezing you out,
Cold Shockington

3) Dear Wilderness of North America
You most definitely exist. You were created by imagining people-less wilds to be the pinnacle of landscape evolution and then purging the peoples who had the temerity to people you, thus restoring your unsullied virginity. But you need to get bigger, better, more original. The histories of the lands you need to conquer are no object. After all, they never have been before. You are much too small and modest right now. And make your mountains grander while you are at it, please.
Yours pristinely,
Awe Shockington

4) Dear Mt. Hanang,
We regret to inform you that you exist in the wrong place. You are a 3500m mountain found in central Tanzania, covered with afromontane forest and montane ericaceous vegetation. Yet, in the vitally important new eco-regions map of all the world’s ecological zones, you are plainly, and rather neatly, classified as halophytic floodable savannah. You are appear to think that you are an extinct volcano, but you are meant to be a salt lake. You must stop this selfish occupation of endangered halophytic territory immediately. You are therefore instructed to move to one of the places where extinct volcanoes are normally found within three days of the post-marked date of this letter. Please resist any temptation to explode upon receipt of this directive.
We lava you,
Heat Shockington

5) Dear Unpronounceable volcano originally somewhere in Iceland,
If ever there is a feature of the landscape that was found in the wrong place, it is you. You got everywhere! Keep yourself to yourself and well away from any flight paths for evermore.
We lava you too,
Still Smokington

6) Dear Beaches of the World,

Stop shifting your sands. All this constant erosion and accretion is driving us nuts. You are making it very hard for coastal developers, cartographers, town planners, and beach bums. Various molluscs, crustaceans, and worms of all kinds are greatly inconvenienced by your behaviour. We have also received a petition from the sea turtles of the world, asking that you stay exactly where you are. Do not move, do not cross go, do not collect $200!!
Yours sedimently,
Oyster Shuckington

7) Dear Global Economy,

You have never done what was expected of you. The Crash of 2008? The shock therapy treatment of Russia? Are you trying to make economists look stupid? Your behaviour is decidedly weird because you helped give rise to the phenomenon of virtualism in the first place. At the very least you could have stuck to the script. Now people are pointing out that growth does not bring happiness, prosperity (broadly defined) or a general positive outlook on life. And that is definitely not what the model prescribed.
Yours shilingly,
Debt Piling-upton

The problems do not end here. Make up your minds, mangroves—are you aquatic or terrestrial? Rivers, how dare you change course? And in the larger and longer scheme of things, continents, for heaven’s sake2, stop drifting and settle down.

If only the world and its peoples (and other life) realised that it is the scientists’ job to decide what things look like and how to behave, and everyone else’s job to do what they are told, then the world would be a much better place. Just ask a lab rat.

¹DNA, for example, did not have a clue what it actually was until Crick and Watson made their famous model of it.
Kartel Shockington Author
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Kartik Shanker Author
Dan Brockington Author
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wolves deserve our best science, not vilification

In the last several years, the hunting and trapping of grey wolves has increased dramatically in the “lower 48” states of the United States. A recently published paper (see Further Reading section at the end) authored by several of the nation’s leading biologists and wildlife advocates, found that there is a lack of data to justify this recent wave of lethal wolf management. This is the first peer-reviewed research of its kind since wolves were removed from the Endangered Species List in the Northern Rockies in 2020. 

Below is an interview with authors Dr. Peter Kareiva, a member of the National Academy of Sciences and President and CEO of the Aquarium of the Pacific, and Elishebah Tate-Pulliam, a research assistant at the Aquarium of the Pacific and a previous recipient of the Aquarium’s African American Scholars award.

Q: Stepping back a bit, why did you personally get involved with the wolf issue? Running the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach, California, what led you to author a peer-reviewed analysis on an issue that is most central to the Northern Rocky Mountain States?

A, Peter: I joined the Aquarium of the Pacific because I love animals, am committed to conservation, and believe that our planet will thrive only if the public better understands and appreciates wild nature. Our current wolf management conundrum is a trenchant example of three factors: poor treatment of animals, poor conservation, and poor information. Of course I got involved—I used to call my beloved family dog “little wolf” as a puppy. And then there is the science. In 1997 I served on a National Academy Committee that examined the hunting of wolves in Alaska. What we found in Alaska foreshadows what is happening now in Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming—the Alaskan wolves were being unfairly blamed for doing much more damage to moose populations than the actual data revealed. Conservation, compassion, and a commitment to data drew me to the #RelistWolves Campaign—a grassroots coalition of conservationists, environmental nonprofit organisations, wildlife advocates, Native American tribes, and scientists. The campaign and its members have dedicated themselves to enhancing public understanding of wolves and ensuring their survival by advocating for one common goal: to restore the grey wolf to the Endangered Species List.

A, Elishebah: My undergraduate and graduate work included nothing about wolves or terrestrial conservation, but I did conduct research on ecosystem restoration in marine coastal systems. The reintroduction of wolves to western North America is one of the greatest successes of species reintroduction and ecosystem recovery. That caught my attention. So, when Dr. Kareiva invited me to join the wolf team, I couldn’t say yes fast enough. Like many people, I had my own view of wolves, but as a scientist, I wanted to learn more about their ecology and interaction with humans. In some way, wolves remind me of great white sharks, which I think of as wolves of the ocean—feared and vilified, yet magnificent animals.

Q: What are some of the benefits of wolves? Why are wolves so vital for our society and for nature?

A, Elishebah: As a keystone species, grey wolves are critical for maintaining healthy, resilient ecosystems and preserving biodiversity. We depend on these amazing animals to serve as ecosystem guardians. For example, wolves help keep herbivore populations, like deer and elk in check. Without predators, elk and deer can become so abundant that they overgraze, which in turn exacerbates soil erosion and produces heavy loads of sediment in streams.

A, Peter: Elishebah is exactly right. The best documented case study comes from Yellowstone National Park, where wolves were reintroduced in 1995. The return of wolves changed elk behaviour, keeping them on the move, which in turn allowed young willow and aspen plants to survive when previously they would have been browsed by elk. The return of these plants then helped beaver populations recover, and helped reduce sediments in streams. A less commonly appreciated benefit of wolves is their prudent predation of sick and diseased animals.

For example, chronic wasting disease has been spreading among elk and deer populations in the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, and wildlife biologists hypothesise that wolves could play a valuable role in removing sick and infectious animals, thereby slowing the spread of this deadly brain disease.

Q: What is wrong with current wolf management policies?

A, Peter: Extreme wolf hunts in states like Idaho, Montana, and Wisconsin have shocked many wildlife biologists because of how many wolves were killed in such a short period of time. In only six months of the 2021–2022 hunting season in Montana, at least 25 wolves from Yellowstone were killed when they wandered outside the park boundary—a number that represents one-fifth of the federally protected Yellowstone wolf population. Even more dramatic is the killing spree in early 2021 of at least 216 wolves in Wisconsin over a three-day period. The zeal with which hunters killed wolves clearly overwhelmed Wisconsin’s Department of Natural Resources. By the time the hunt was shut down, at least 97 more wolves had been killed than the state-mandated quota of 119 wolves. More generally, we found that data surrounding the benefits of wolves typically has not been incorporated into state-level wolf management decisions. Also, when state agencies formulate their wolf policies, it does not appear that they gave much weight to the collateral damage associated with rampant trapping and hunting of wolves.

A, Elishebah: Creating effective management policies for wolves is complicated. Firstly, wolves are predators and there’s no denying that wolves kill both wild and domesticated animals as they go about their business of being a wolf. That said, data indicate wolves much prefer wild prey to domesticated cattle and sheep. Human societies have a long history of treating predators like wolves as vermin. Before the arrival of European colonists, wild nature thrived in harmony with Native Americans, and wolves were abundant throughout North America. That all changed as western colonists spread across the continent hunting, trapping, and poisoning wolves to near extinction. But now as wolves make a comeback, they encounter a landscape filled with human activities. This renews opportunities for wolf-human conflict and in turn has created the threat of a second round of persecution and wolf slaughter. Unfortunately, our protest of the wolf slaughter is seen by some as an attack on hunters. It is not an attack on hunters. We know that hunters are often great conservationists. We also recognize that hunting is a cultural legacy for many westerners, and any ban on hunting might be interpreted as an infringement on the rights of hunters. I certainly agree that hunters have rights. But animals also have rights. Ethical hunters respect animal rights when they embrace the principle of fair chase. However, no one would call baiting, trapping, running wolves down with packs of dogs and ATVs, and night-vision hunting a fair chase.

Q: You have mentioned poor information—what did you mean by that?

A, Peter: That’s a great question. First, there is huge uncertainty about how many wolves there are, how many have been killed in the recent hunting spree, and how frequently wolves have preyed on livestock. We think there are around 6,000 wolves left in the lower 48 states as of last year, but credible analyses of the uncertainty of this estimate have not appeared in the scientific literature. We are not even sure how many wolves have been killed over the last two years—we think it is around 1200. However, because of poor data transparency, under-reporting, and poaching, we worry the 1200 number is an underestimate. Finally, when we attempted to quantify wolf impact on livestock, we ran into difficulties. We examined the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s data on livestock killings in our analysis and found that it’s only published about every five years and includes livestock deaths that are only presumed wolf kills, not necessarily confirmed wolf kills. The bottom line is this: the current justification for wolf hunts is based on data that is inconsistent and unevenly reported. It is my strong belief that given the precarious status of wolves, no hunting should be allowed until we have more transparent and accurate data. In the absence of such data, prudence tells us to be cautious before we sanction such widespread slaughter of wolves.

Q: What do you say to the tens of thousands of farmers and ranchers throughout the U.S. who claim that they must kill wolves, In certain instances, to protect the well-being of themselves and their livestock?

A, Elishebah: Firstly, I understand the desire to protect one’s livelihood. Ranching is a tough business: droughts, fires, diseases, extreme temperatures, and predators can cause a rancher to lose income. At a more personal level, I am sure ranchers are upset whenever one of their cattle or sheep are killed. For this reason, ranchers should have their concerns heard and addressed—and they are. I wonder, however, if the ranching community has an accurate view of the deaths caused by wolves in the context of all the undesired deaths that their livestock suffer? To provide some context regarding this concern: the number of sheep and cattle killed by wolves never exceeded 0.21% and 0.05% of unwanted deaths in Idaho, Wyoming, Montana, and Wisconsin, according to the 2020 USDA report on sheep and 2015 report on cattle. Causes other than wolves made up the vast majority of unwanted livestock deaths. Why are we vilifying wolves for their attacks on livestock, when in fact their predation on livestock is minor compared to all the other factors?

A, Peter: We understand the challenge that independent ranchers have, which is why we advocate for conflict reduction (which has proven effective) and reimbursement programs. Our point is simply that killing wolves should be a last resort, not the first option.

Q: You mentioned conflict reduction, what can this look like in practice?

A, Peter: There are a wide variety of effective non-lethal wolf management techniques. Ancient techniques like fladry, which entails creating a perimeter of colourful flags around livestock, combined with contemporary techniques like strobe lights and loud noises have proven effective at deterring wolves. In addition to these tried and true methods, some recent non-lethal innovations promise even greater success going forward. I just learned about this idea of infusing carcasses of cattle with cocktails of nauseating chemicals. When the wolf eats this cattle carcass, it feels sick and develops a learned aversion to cattle. That clever innovation is exemplary of the creative ideas we should be exploring in order to avoid primitive lethal approaches.

A, Elishebah: One idea is establishing programs that reward ranchers who invest in conflict reduction. This can complement programs that compensate ranchers who have lost livestock to wolves.

Q: Does the killing of wolves ever evolve into the killing of other, non-targeted species so to speak? If so, can you explain?

A, Elishebah: Attempts to deplete wolf populations often result in wolf hunters and trappers accidentally shooting and trapping dogs and other “non-target” species. Nearly one non-target animal was accidentally trapped for every wolf trapped in Idaho from 2012 to 2019, including threatened and endangered species. In Montana during the hunting seasons of 2018–2020, half of all non-target species accidentally caught in traps were domestic dogs.

Q: Is there anything being done to advocate for wolf protection? What can readers do to get involved?

A, Peter: The Biden Administration is conducting a status review with the chance to restore federal protections to ALL grey wolves. Relisting wolves is the only way to stop brutal state-led hunts before it is too late. In the long term, we need to pursue coexistence with wolves, as well as coexistence with the many other “dangerous” animals that were once endangered but are now recovering. We have learned how to save and restore wildlife—now we need to learn how to live with wildlife. Write your congressional representatives and encourage them to pay attention and care. Support organisations that strive to protect wolves and other wildlife.

A, Elishebah: Dr. Kareiva mentions what amounts to advocacy. As a recently graduated student, I think education and communication are key. We need to escape the tyranny of an “us versus wolves” mentality to an “us and wolves” mindset. Moving toward this change in mentality is what we are working towards with the #RelistWolves Campaign. I’d encourage folks to visit RelistWolves.org for more information on the campaign and how they can take action.

Keystone species

The concept of “keystone species” can be traced to R.T. Paine, who introduced the idea after conducting field experiments in which the removal of starfish from rocky intertidal communities in Washington State, USA, led to a transformed intertidal zone—blanketed with mussels, whereas in the presence of starfish intertidal rocks were covered with barnacles, sea palms, mussels, anemones, and other “space-holders”. “Keystone” is a metaphor for a species that holds the ecosystem together, much like the keystone at the top of a stone arch. Some species are more equal than others, and keystone species are those organisms which, if deleted from an ecosystem, the ecosystem shifts to a totally different state with a cascade of impacts that dramatically alter the abundances of other species. Without its “keystone”, a stone arch collapses into rubble. The elimination of these species in nature can prompt surprising and far-reaching changes or collapses in the local environment. Examples of keystone species include sea otters, elephants, sharks, certain diseases, and of course humans! Unfortunately, human activities have tended to deplete and in some cases locally extinguish keystone species throughout the world, largely because keystone species are most often predators at the top of food chains and are thus viewed by humans as dangerous or as competition. 

Further Reading:

Estes, J. A., J. Terborgh, J. S. Brashares, M. E. Power, J. Berger, W. J. Bond, W. J. Carpenter et al.  2011. Trophic downgrading of planet Earth. Science 333(6040): 301–306. https://doi.org/10.1126/science.1205106 

Eisenberg, C. 2013. The wolf’s tooth: keystone predators, trophic cascades, and biodiversity. Washington DC: Island Press.

Kareiva, P., S. K. Attwood, K. Bean, D. Felix, M. Marvier, M. L. Miketa and E. Tate-Pulliam. 2022. A new era of wolf management demands better data and a more inclusive process. Conservation Science and Practice: e12821. https://doi.org/10.1111/csp2.12821. 
Peter Kareiva Author
Elishebah Tate-Pulliam Author

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a better way to determine sustainable limits to wildlife mortality

Wildlife populations are threatened by human-caused mortalities, ranging from hunting, roadkill, collisions with wind turbines to bycatch (the accidental capture of non-target species) in fisheries. Examples like the extinct passenger pigeon (Ectopistes migratorius) or the northern white rhino (Ceratotherium simum cottoni), of which only two individuals remain, show us how quickly the loss of individuals due to human activity can lead to the extinction of local populations and even entire species. Fisheries bycatch, in particular, remains a global problem for biodiversity conservation and fisheries management. Indeed, the extinction of the enigmatic Yangtze River dolphin (Lipotes vexillifer) in China was attributed in large part to fisheries bycatch. Likewise, the vaquita (Phocoena sinus) of Mexico’s Sea of Cortez faces imminent extinction for the same reason. With no more than a dozen individuals remaining, it is now the smallest porpoise in both size and number. As such, one of the pressing challenges for wildlife managers and policymakers is: How many deaths are too many? At what point would a wildlife population decline or even go extinct? 

Captured Protected Dolphin in net CC: Simon Allen

Determining a sustainable limit to human-caused mortalities is a paramount conservation challenge and requires appropriate tools. The Potential Biological Removal (PBR) equation, for example, is a popular tool in fisheries management, allowing scientists and fisheries managers to calculate the maximum allowable number that can be removed from a ‘stock’ (wildlife population). In other words, it is an estimation of an acceptable limit of wildlife mortality due to human activity (e.g. bycatch in the case of fisheries). PBR is based on estimates of the impacted population’s size and growth rate. However, such conventional tools typically do not consider ‘stochastic’ factors—random chance events that affect wildlife populations. Stochastic factors that influence population dynamics include environmental changes, such as extreme weather events, which are expected to increase in frequency and intensity with climate change. Although often ignored in population models for conservation, stochastic factors can have large effects on the fate of populations because they affect birth and death rates, and in some cases may be the tipping point of whether a population remains stable or declines, whether it persists or goes extinct. 

Captured protected Dolphin on deck CC: Simon Allen

With our colleagues, we developed a new conservation tool that incorporates such stochastic factors to determine sustainable limits to wildlife mortality due to human activity. We called this tool ‘SAMSE’ for “Sustainable Anthropogenic Mortality in Stochastic Environments”. Likewise, we called the sustainable limit to wildlife mortality the ‘SAMSE-limit’, which we defined as the maximum number of individuals that can be taken from a population without causing a population decline in a changing environment. SAMSE is based on population modelling that can be implemented using off-the-shelf software, such as VORTEX, offered by the IUCN Species Conservation Toolkit Initiative free of charge. 

We applied SAMSE to a case study of bottlenose dolphins (Tursiops truncatus) subject to fisheries bycatch off Western Australia. The Pilbara Fish Trawl Interim Managed Fishery targets a range of finfish for the domestic market, but unfortunately, also results in the accidental capture of protected species, including dolphins. Captains reported 16–34 dolphins caught per year (2006–2017), while independent fishery-observers estimated dolphin bycatch rates of 45–60 dolphins per year (2003–2009). When we applied the conventional PBR method without incorporating stochastic factors, the maximum bycatch mortality limit was 16.2 dolphins per year. By contrast, when we incorporated stochastic factors, using SAMSE, we calculated a SAMSE-limit of just 2.3–8.0 dolphins per year. Reported dolphin capture rates have thus consistently exceeded the SAMSE-limit. Our case study suggests that dolphin capture rates are unsustainable, especially when incorporating stochastic events. The study also illustrates that conventional approaches that do not account for chance events may underestimate the true impact of human-caused wildlife mortality. 

By introducing SAMSE as a novel conservation tool, we offer a broadly applicable, stochastic addition to the conservation toolbox for evaluating the impact of human-caused wildlife mortality. We are working on an app that will make SAMSE easily accessible to researchers and wildlife managers worldwide. This is particularly salient given the broadening spectre of climate change-induced environmental fluctuations.

Further reading:
Manlik, O., R. C. Lacy, W. B. Sherwin, H. Finn, N. R. Loneragan and S. J. Allen. 2022. A stochastic model for estimating sustainable limits to wildlife mortality in a changing world. Conservation biology 36(4): e13897. doi:10.1111/cobi.13897.
Oliver Manlik Author
Simon J. Allen Author
Simon J. Allen Photographer

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Captive breeding informed by genetics leads to long-term success in the reintroduction of a threatened Australian fish

Featured image: a male southern pygmy perch (Nannoperca australis) by Michael Hammer

Biodiversity loss is a major environmental issue with freshwater species particularly vulnerable due to impacts, such as flow reduction and diversion to agriculture, drought, pollutants, and invasive species. Restoration programs in the form of captive breeding combined with reintroductions to the wild are becoming a popular management option to combat population decline and species loss. These programs are intended to be the last line of defence against extinction, as they aim to restore or maximise biodiversity in the wild when other avenues for conservation have already been exhausted. However, many reintroduction programs are unsuccessful for a number of reasons, including reduced genetic diversity in captively bred populations. 

Breeding tanks

Genetic diversity is the range of genetic characteristics found within a population and it is essential for the evolution of populations through adaptation to changing environments. If genetic diversity is low, fewer opportunities exist for a population to adapt, thereby increasing its extinction risk. Low genetic diversity in captive populations can be due to inbreeding (when close relatives breed with each other) and genetic drift (the loss of genetic variants due to chance events during reproduction). Adaptation to captivity, whereby gene variants beneficial for the captive environment are selected for, can also reduce genetic diversity. Therefore, it is important that captive breeding programs use genetic-based approaches to preserve as much of the genetic diversity found in wild populations as possible. 

Long-term datasets from monitoring programs are essential to determine whether genetic diversity has been maintained post-reintroduction, but most studies do not incorporate this information due to time and economic constraints. Our study provides a rare empirical example of a long-term genomic monitoring program that clarified the outcome of genetic-based captive breeding and reintroduction for the threatened southern pygmy perch (Nannoperca australis). 

Southern pygmy perch are a species of small-bodied fish (<85mm) endemic to south-eastern Australia. Alongside other small-bodied fish, they are particularly vulnerable due to their reliance on habitats subject to rapid degradation and poor dispersal capabilities, limiting their ability to move when conditions become unfavourable. A population of southern pygmy perch inhabiting the Lower Lakes region of the Murray-Darling Basin would have gone locally extinct during the Australian Millennium Drought (a period of severe water shortages from 1997–2010). Fortunately, emergency rescue was undertaken to bring the remnant population into captivity in 2007. 

Monitoring Site

These rescued individuals (approximately 65 fish) were the basis for a breeding program which utilised genetic data to create breeding groups comprising unrelated individuals to maximise the genetic diversity of offspring. Following the return of water to the Lower Lakes region in 2010, offspring of the first captive-born generation were reintroduced to their original habitats in spring 2011 and autumn 2012 (approximately 1350 fish released). The release of the first-generation individuals was important for reducing time in captivity and therefore lessening the potential for adaptation to captivity. Following reintroductions, demographic and genetic monitoring of the southern pygmy perch population was undertaken annually or bi-annually from 2011 to 2021. 

Monitoring Site

Post-reintroduction monitoring of the restored wild population identified some recruitment (addition of new individuals), but limited population growth prior to 2018. In 2018, a larger number of individuals were detected and in 2019 the population was found to have expanded its range outside of the reintroduction site. Alongside this successful population growth, genomic analysis showed that inbreeding remained low and genomic diversity was maintained in the first generation bred in captivity. Critically, low inbreeding and maintenance of genomic diversity was observed across eight generations in the restored wild population. This is a clear success and provides evidence that genetic diversity can be maintained in captive breeding programs if genetic approaches are incorporated. 

Further Reading

Marshall, I. R., C. J. Brauer, S. D. Wedderburn, N. S. Whiterod, M.P. Hammer, T.C. Barnes, C. R. Attard et al. 2022. Longitudinal monitoring of neutral and adaptive genomic diversity in a reintroduction. Conservation biology 36(4): e13889. doi:10.1111/cobi.13889.

Acknowledgements

We acknowledge the people of the Ngarrindjeri Nation as the traditional custodians of the Lower Lakes. The success of this long-term program would not have been possible without high levels of collaboration and partnership. In particular, I would like to acknowledge the Molecular Ecology Lab at Flinders University, the South Australian Government and Native Fish Australia.

Photographs by  Molecular Ecology Lab Flinders University (MELFU) and Michael Hammer
Imogen R. Marshall Author

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Enforcement: Can less be more?

Photo credit: ‘White Storks in flight’ by Lawrence Hills. 2020

Hunting is a controversial topic, not only amongst conservationists but also the wider public. Our research defines hunting as the shooting or trapping of a wild animal in line with local laws and regulations. Poaching, on the other hand, is not. Nuances such as this are vital when discussing polarising conservation issues. 

Receiving much public attention, including from the popular conservationist Chris Packham and Queen guitarist Brian May, the hunting of migratory birds in Malta is one of the high profile conservation issues in Europe. One of the smallest countries—area wise—in the world, Malta is an island nation with a rich and complex history resulting from its strategic location in the Mediterranean Sea between Europe and Africa. Since entering the European Union (EU) in 2004, Malta has had to significantly adapt its national hunting laws to align with EU directives. 

Being held accountable to EU directives consequently allowed international environmental NGOs, such as BirdLife Malta and Committee Against Bird Slaughter (CABS), to conduct surveillance activities and report to the European Commission. Surveillance not only monitored the breaking of hunting laws but also extended to the Maltese government, who were often accused of weak enforcement and judicial decisions that lacked severity. It is these factors that gave Malta the unenviable reputation as a “blackspot” for illegal bird hunting in the Mediterranean region. 

Our research utilised multiple data sources to build a picture of how enforcement of hunting regulations, as well as trends in wildlife crime developed from 2008 to 2017. This period is important as it includes multiple key events during a time of rapid change in the landscape of bird hunting in Malta. We found that, over this period, enforcement efforts increased every year and far exceeded EU standards. Alongside enforcement, environmental NGOs also assisted with patrolling the countryside, mobilising groups of volunteers armed with cameras and drones to monitor hunters and catch poachers.

Figure 1. Key events from 2000 – 2018 surrounding bird hunting in Malta. Ferns, Campbell and Veríssimo. 2022

In what reads as good news for conservation, our research found that, alongside increasingly intense surveillance, convictions of bird-related wildlife crime reduced over this period. However, when talking to key local stakeholders—such as members of enforcement departments, a president of one of the largest hunting associations, and an experienced ornithologist—a number of contradictions emerged. 

Firstly, escalating tensions among stakeholders is preventing collaborations between them. The situation is further complicated when stakeholders call into question the reliability of each other’s data, e.g. government statistics, surveillance results, and self-governance figures. Consequently, stakeholders are getting more polarised and distrust is becoming a key issue within their relationships. The distrust is so strong that it creates problems such as: poachers and hunters being considered as one and the same; physical altercations between environmental NGO members and the hunting fraternity; and the government being publicly criticised on the international stage. 

Secondly, informants believe that the restrictions imposed on hunters has resulted in a worrying trend of poachers travelling to countries in North Africa and the Middle East, where governance is weaker. This is enabling greater levels of poaching than could ever be achieved in Malta. This frustration is further heightened by the reach of hunting communities through social media, rightly or wrongly, creating a sense that the limitations on home soil through EU directives only serve to increase the opportunity of hunting or poaching in other countries.

We conclude that, whilst enforcement is an important component of wildlife crime reduction, it should not always be considered as a primary tool. An unbalanced approach which neglects stakeholder engagement—in this case involvement of hunters in advocacy and governance—and traditional norms has the potential to create dynamics that are contradictory to conservation goals.

Further Reading 

Ferns, B., B. Campbell and D. Veríssimo. 2022. Emerging contradictions in the enforcement of bird hunting regulations in Malta. Conservation science and practice 4(4): e12655. https://doi.org/10.1111/csp2.12655Veríssimo, D., and B. Campbell. 2015. Understanding stakeholder conflict between conservation and hunting in Malta. Biological Conservation 191: 812–818. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.biocon.2015.07.018
Bertie Ferns Author
Diogo Veríssimo Author
Brian Campbell Author

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The Madras Crocodile Bank Trust: Placing a premium on green open spaces

As a child, on every summer break from school, we would travel from Delhi to Chennai, my mother’s hometown. Visits to the local lending library and the churches my grandmother favoured, and stops for freshly fried banana and tapioca chips marked the tenor of my days. What stands out in my memory of that time, however, are visits to the Madras Crocodile Bank Trust. An hour’s drive south of Chennai (now along the East Coast Road), it had me dashing in wide-eyed wonder and excitement from the solitary enclosure for Jaws—India’s largest saltwater crocodile—to a feeding session where chunks of meat from deep buckets were hurled into a waiting mass of over a hundred reptilian bodies that would come racing from the edge of the pond they were sleepily inhabiting, clamouring over each other in a display of remarkable agility. In 2019, I had a chance to visit again after more than a decade and it evoked much the same response. Only this time, in addition to the muggers (marsh crocodiles), salties (saltwater crocodiles), and the easily distinguishable gharials with their long thin snouts, I found myself standing before the enclosures housing green iguanas, tortoises, and turtles, and also looking up at trees dotted in white with the egrets who nest there.

Founded in 1976 by conservationist Romulus Whitaker and Zai Whitaker—at a time when India’s crocodile population had been exploited to the brink of extinction—the Madras Crocodile Bank Trust and Centre for Herpetology is India’s oldest reptile conservation park. It now houses over 17 species of crocodilians—three of which are listed by the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) as ‘critically endangered’—and is also a veritable bird sanctuary with over 60 species documented there, drawn to the water bodies, ponds and large trees that make up the space. With a strong focus on building knowledge and public awareness with local communities as well as school and college students, the Crocodile Bank is also a thriving example of what a conservation park looks like and why they are crucial.

Why conservation spaces are more important than ever

A report by the World Wide Fund for Nature (WWF) and the UN Environment Programme (UNEP) says that conflict between humans and animals is one of the main threats to the long-term survival of some of the world’s most iconic species, and India will be most affected by it. The biodiversity loss and extinction of species worldwide because of human action points to as much. 
In the last few years alone, headlines such as these have become a regular feature: ‘Crocodiles near Patel statue being relocated to make way for seaplane service’. In Gujarat, 500 muggers—one of the most endangered species—were being ‘relocated’ to make room for tourist planes. On the other side of the country, the nesting site of the giant leatherback turtles in Galathea Bay Wildlife Sanctuary in the Andaman and Nicobar Islands is being denotified for the construction of a mega shipment port. This, despite the turtles being listed in Schedule I of India’s Wildlife Protection Act (1972) according them the highest legal protection. And in cities like Mumbai, for instance, rich marine biodiversity that inhabits the intertidal zone between land and sea are being lost to a coastal road project, which is reclaiming land from the sea by dumping non-oceanic red mud that could suffocate this fragile ecosystem.

These so-called development projects are antithetical to what the pandemic has shown us—that more urgently than ever, there is a need to protect and preserve wildlife and the biodiversity of the planet. It’s where conservation parks like the Crocodile Bank have such a critical role to play in connecting children and adults alike to the natural world so that other species are seen as contiguous to the city rather than separate. 

“Instead of turning every other open space into money, if we actually left it, it’s even more valuable to us than a constructed space. Now we’re finding out that actually clean air and water are heavy cash,” says Zai, Managing Trustee of the Crocodile Bank, and children’s book writer.

The importance of open, green spaces has been well-researched and its benefits documented in multiple studies. A meta-analysis by the Lancet Planetary Health in 2019 found that green urban spaces help people live longer, in addition to boosting mental health, immune systems, and protection from diseases. It’s one of the main draws of the Crocodile Bank for those living in Chennai, and recognition and support for what it brings to the city’s inhabitants is evident in the support they receive.

“One of the few things I felt good about during the pandemic was that we got a lot of support from Chennai families. One kid was selling ice cream and sending us donations from his ice cream shop for the upkeep of the park. Chennai city sees the Croc Bank as one of its own,” says Zai. In a move to encourage and invite more people to spend time outdoors and amidst the rich offerings the space holds, benches with reptilian motifs and picnic tables have been added. “4.5 lakh people visit us every year and we see this as a very important thing which we must contribute to—more open space, more clean and more big trees to look at for people who come out of the city and who obviously need these resources. I’ve also met families walking around the Croc Bank and talking to people who say, ‘We come here for the trees.’”

The importance of education

In addition to making a strong case for conservation, the Crocodile Bank’s work with people in places like Agumbe, in the Western Ghats, is addressing and transforming how humans relate to some of the most feared creatures in the natural world—snakes. “We have a field station for the study and conservation and research of the king cobra, which as you know is one of the most interesting snakes in the world. When we first started, people would ring in a panic and say: There is a snake here, do something. Now, they will call and say, ‘Look there’s a king cobra in my yard. Don’t bother coming, if there’s a problem, I’ll call you.’ It’s really amazing. I would say that has happened because of three things—education education and education,” says Zai. By addressing fears and the sense of separation between humans and other species, they are demonstrating what is possible through co-existence and in extending respect for all creatures. 

This philosophy has also informed the kinds of workshops held at the Crocodile Bank, where behind-the-scenes guided tours of the park, opportunities to be a ‘junior zookeeper for a day’ and care for lizards, snakes and chelonians, have become ways in which to get better acquainted with other species. Another way to support and engage with conservation work at the bank is to ‘Adopt a Reptile’ which helps to cover the costs of feed, maintenance, vet care and build a sense of personal connection with reptiles. 

Making conservation a part of the everyday 

This spirit of being outdoors and observing the many shapes and forms that are part of the natural world, is what first got Zai—who comes from a family of naturalists—to begin her conservation journey. It’s what she believes is the way forward to have more and more children and adults reestablish their connection with the natural world. From paying attention to the many lifeforms that visit flowerpots or gardens to reassessing everyday items used in the household, such as paper towels, and going back to using cloth rags for cleaning, she encourages everyday action as a way to approach the idea of conservation.  

The work of conservation can sound like something undertaken by official bodies comprising experts and far removed from the everyday existence of an average citizen, but like Zai says, it is possible through simple, everyday action—regardless of your age. The question is, when are you setting out on your conservation journey?

Further Reading:

Gross E., N. Jayasinghe, A. Brooks, G. Polet, R. Wadhwa and F. Hilderink-Koopmans. 2021. A Future for All: The Need for Human-Wildlife Coexistence. Gland, Switzerland: WWF.

Rojas-Rueda D., M. J. Nieuwenhuijsen, M. Gascon, D. Perez-Leon and P. Mudu P. 2019. Green spaces and mortality: a systematic review and meta-analysis of cohort studies. Lancet Planetary Health 3: 469–77/  

Scroll. 2019. Gujarat: Crocodiles near Patel statue being relocated to make way for seaplane service, says report.

https://scroll.in/latest/910772/gujarat-crocodiles-being-relocated-to-make-way-for-seaplane-service-to-statue-of-unity-says-report. Accessed on May 2, 2022.
Deepika Khatri Author

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Finding Frogs and Tracing Tracks

മലയാളം मराठी भाषा

We walked quietly in the darkness, listening to the soundtrack of the jungle, insects buzzing, and leaves crackling. Our headlamps were on and we moved the light back and forth, hoping to catch the eyeshine of some kind of serpent. A fellow crew member walking ahead told us to pause as he saw something. We hesitated before creeping closer and our combined light revealed the owner of the eyeshine: a bamboo rat (Dactylomys dactylinus). Although I had been hoping for a snake, I was thrilled to lay my eyes on an animal I had never seen before.

Searching for snakes at night was one of many experiences I had last summer, when I travelled to the remote Peruvian Amazon, specifically in the Madre de Dios region. I spent a week volunteering with Hoja Nueva, an organisation dedicated to protecting this land and its inhabitants. While I knew I was going to love being outside doing hands-on work, I did not expect to become so enamoured with herping (looking for reptiles and amphibians) in such a short span of time.

The Amazon is often associated with its more charismatic creatures, such as sloths, giant river otters, and jungle cats, but the rainforest is also brimming with perhaps lesser appreciated, but equally impressive reptiles and amphibians. The abundance and diversity of these animals is truly astounding. My first exposure to this diversity and hands-on herpetology occurred the day I arrived. As we were eating lunch, I was told that the team I was going to be working with found two Amazon tree boas (Corallus hortulana) each with a unique colour morph. This species is usually brown, but of the two they found, one was brilliant orange and the other was banana yellow. The in-house reptile expert had caught these two special snakes for more examination and, that afternoon, we had a photoshoot. 

We took photos not only to document our findings, but also to share our passion for snakes with the world. Sharing images of our discoveries with others can be a great way to create empathy for snakes and to get people interested in their conservation. This objective is especially important because there are several misconceptions about snakes and negative attitudes towards them. Our hope is that showy photographs with informative captions about these amazing creatures will open the minds of viewers and lead to more successful snake conservation in the future. 

On the following evening, the tree boas were released on a night walk. Night walks happened frequently, during which the team searched for snakes and catalogued the frogs of the area. Having visited during the dry season, I did not have the opportunity to witness the true variety of Amazonian frogs, but nevertheless I encountered so many of them hopping from leaf to leaf. If the snake photography wasn’t already enough, venturing out on these night walks really solidified my newfound appreciation for herpetology. With headlamps aglow, we alternated looking for snakes’ eyeshine on trees and scanning the forest floor for frogs. I have always had an affinity for amphibians, but seeing tropical species that I hadn’t known existed furthered my fascination. 

One herpetology intern on the team was dedicated to the task of documenting every frog he found, and we were able to help him by scoping out frogs. After the frogs were found, we would measure how high off the ground they were, what their microhabitat was like, where they were found, and what species they were. The first frog that really caught my attention was a clown tree frog (Dendropsophus leucophyllatus), named for its markings, which are often white ovals stretched across its pale green body. Two of these were perched on leafy limbs and sat patiently while we took photos. In fact, we were also able to photograph several other frogs that evening.

While the nights were taken up by herping, most of my days were filled with hiking to set up camera traps (devices that use movement sensors to automatically photograph or record whatever triggers the sensor) and labelling the camera trap data. I was taught how to label the files and how to distinguish between different species in the images. The organisation already had a great deal of camera trap data (in the form of videos and photographs), which were utilised for various purposes, including keeping track of wildlife populations. I found the videos to be a little more exciting than the photographs, because the photos rarely captured images of wildlife. The sensors were frequently triggered by the movement of leaves in the wind. In contrast, the videos collected more wildlife imagery. I wasn’t expecting to see footage of felines walking by the camera traps in the day or so many tapirs eating at night. There is something exciting beyond words about being able to see cat tracks where you are walking, and then actually seeing videos of those same animals.

After learning how to tag the data and identifying which species weren’t caught on film, we set out to put up more camera traps, this time turning our attention to the trees. The team really wanted to film margays (Leopardus wiedii)—a small wild cat native to Central and South America—but doing so would not be an easy task. During our first attempt, our climbing rope got stuck in a tree. When we tried to untangle it, the rope hit the branch of a tree filled with fire ants and we fell prey to their wrath as countless angry ants rained down on us. With our rope line stuck and our skin irritated from ant bites, we decided to give it a rest for the day and scoped out other locations.

Getting a camera trap onto the tree is hard enough, but finding the right tree is a difficult prerequisite. This means narrowing down an area that your target species would most likely walk through. This is easier for terrestrial (ground) traps than arboreal (tree), as arboreal traps need to be facing vines, branches, or anything that could be climbed on or attract the target species. Once that’s out of the way, the camera needs to be angled correctly, be placed at the proper height for what you hope to see, while making sure it is hidden by leaves but that the leaves won’t block the camera.

To improve our chances of capturing these animals on camera, we went on an all-day hike to set up traps. We left shortly after breakfast and had to take a boat down to a nearby beach, where some members of the team had recently spotted cat scat. We climbed up this beach to a trail that sadly already existed as a logging road, but we were hopeful that the scat would lead us to more places suitable for camera trapping a variety of felines. We set up the traps at specific intervals and were happy to find more scat as well as a mix of jaguar, ocelot, and margay tracks. When it came time to set up a trap, it was all hands on deck to scope out a tree near other foliage that would attract wildlife, and trees that were near vines for our arboreal traps. The turnaround wasn’t quick enough for me to see the data from any of the traps I set up, but I hope they were in popular spots and that the team saw an abundance of wildlife once they reviewed the footage.

While I gained a first-hand appreciation for camera traps, I learned that not everyone is keen on them. Some neighbours worry that the cameras could capture them doing something illegal, and thus the traps have been destroyed before. In other circumstances, the traps are sometimes stolen, either out of fear or mistrust, or perhaps to be sold for a profit. I am curious as to how these misconceptions can be addressed. In the meantime, we just had to be sneaky about installing them. 

Being in the field of conservation can be daunting at times, but seeing so much biodiversity filled me with hope and inspired me to continue doing this work. However, I realise not everyone will have the opportunity to see these animals in person or set up camera traps for them. We must find more accessible ways to engage people with conservation and create a desire to protect wildlife. Perhaps the snake photos will change some people’s perspective on reptiles. If others could see images from our camera traps, they could develop empathy and an interest in wildlife conservation. Whatever it is, we have to keep trying and challenging our own attitudes, too. For now, I am left with incredible memories of my experience and a desire to keep the Peruvian Amazon safe.
Jennifer Udema Author

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How we can safeguard rare cases of cooperation between people and wild animals 

Feature photo: Human-dolphin cooperation at Tramandaí Inlet, southern Brazil, CC: Botos da Barra Project

In a few African cultures, people look for wild honey with the help of greater honeyguides (Indicator indicator). These birds lead the way to wild bees’ nests, then eat the wax that people leave after the honey harvest. In a similar way, groups of fishers in Myanmar and Brazil cooperate with wild dolphins to catch fish: the dolphins drive fish towards nets on the shoreline, improving the overall catch. Human-honeyguide and human-dolphin cooperation are the only remaining examples of cooperation between people and wild animals known to scientists. They were once far more widespread, but due to cultural and ecological change they are now at risk of being lost.  

Lahille’s bottlenose dolphin eating fish at Tramandaí Inlet, southern Brazil, CC: Ignacio Moreno

In our recent article in Conservation Letters, a large, multidisciplinary team of 41 authors from 18 different countries reviewed the benefits brought by these fascinating and rare cases of human-wildlife cooperation, as well as the threats and unique safeguarding challenges they face.  

Yao honey hunters harvesting honeybee honey in Niassa Special Reserve, Mozambique, CC: Jessica van der Wal

For the people involved, human-wildlife cooperation leads to more and better harvests (that is, honey or fish), compared to similar artisanal harvesting without the help of a wildlife partner. These resources provide food security and boost income. Cooperating with wildlife also brings important cultural benefits to people, such as a sense of identity, belonging, and recreation. For the wildlife partner, cooperation with humans increases their access to food: bees’ wax and larvae for honeyguides, and fish for dolphins. These benefits to both partners make these cases of human-wildlife cooperation worth protecting. Both human-honeyguide and human-dolphin cooperation occur at multiple locations which differ in local human cultural practices. Wildlife partners adjust their behaviour to this variation in human culture, leading to a complex mosaic of wildlife populations that differ in the way they cooperate and communicate with humans, thereby increasing biodiversity. However, these animal populations often have cultures of their own: human culture affects animal culture, and vice versa! 

A wild greater honeyguide (Indicator indicator) waits patiently while a local honey hunter harvests a bees’ nest. This bird cooperated with the honey hunter, leading him to the location of a hidden bees’ nest by calling loudly and flying towards it. After the honey hunter harvest the honey, he will leave a piece of beeswax to thank the bird for its assistance. Humans have similarly cooperated with other wild animals, including several dolphin species, orcas (Orcinus orca), and wolves (Canis lupus). CC: Dominic Cram

These unique cases of human-wildlife cooperation face a specific set of conservation challenges. They need four components to function: a motivated human partner; a motivated wildlife partner; a suitable environment; and compatible knowledge and skills to engage in the interaction. Our review highlights that a mix of environmental and cultural changes can threaten these four components: loss of interest by the human partner due to economic reasons or displacement, for example by the exclusion of people from conservation areas in Africa or urban development in southern Brazil; wildlife numbers decreasing due to degraded habitats; scarcity of prey sources, often because of human impacts on the environment; and fading knowledge or skills in the younger individuals, of both people and their wildlife partners. 

A fisher waiting for the dolphin cue at Tramandaí Inlet, southern Brazil, CC: Ignacio Moreno

In decades and centuries gone by, people have also cooperated with orcas to kill whales, and with wolves to hunt large mammals, but these cases of human-wildlife cooperation were wiped out by ecological and cultural change. This is a vivid reminder that human-honeyguide and human-dolphin cooperation are also at risk of decline and loss.

To safeguard the remaining cases, our review provides guidelines for developing conservation measures tailored to local conditions. We recommend enforcing legal protection of cooperative sites, while supporting local communities’ participation in human-wildlife cooperation. Human interest can be maintained and encouraged by campaigns to affirm the value of local practices. This could be achieved by raising outsider awareness, and by financial incentivisation including eco-tourism and elevated sale prices for fish or honey harvested through human-wildlife cooperation. The wildlife partner’s participation may rely on a limited number of individuals that act as knowledge repositories and ‘demonstrators’, and conservation work should focus on identifying and protecting these high-value individuals. Finally, we need to promote and archive local ecological and cultural knowledge, both to ensure that interspecies knowledge remains compatible, and to better our understanding of these interactions and their threats. 

Our review raises awareness of the unique value of human-wildlife cooperation and highlights that conservation efforts need to consider not only human and animal cultures, but also the interaction between them.

We are grateful to our review co-authors, to the communities with whom we cooperate in our research, to the Niassa Special Reserve in Mozambique, and to the European Research Council for funding our work. Read more about our research on human-honeyguide cooperation on www.AfricanHoneyguides.com.

Original paper: 

van der Wal, J. E. M., C. N. Spottiswoode, N. T. Uomini, M. Cantor, F. G. Daura-Jorge, A. I. Afan, M. C. Attwood et al. 2022 Safeguarding human-wildlife cooperation. Conservation Letters 15(4): e12886.
Jessica van der Wal Author

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Using conservation to achieve sustainable development goals 

The United Nations Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) are a global call to action. Together, the 17 SDGs provide a blueprint for building a more equitable and sustainable future, broken down into targets with indicators to measure progress towards meeting them.  

The deadline for achieving the SDGs is 2030, but with only eight years to go, there is still much to be done. Many of the challenges we face are complex and require coordinated efforts across different sectors—such as governments, private industry, and academia—to meet these goals that are key for sustaining life on the planet.  

While each SDG focuses on a different topic, many are interconnected, which should help to build bridges across disciplines. After all, protecting biodiversity and promoting human well-being are inextricably linked, so conservation offers an important pathway to multidisciplinary action. However, because activities involving nature fall most directly under Goal 14, “Life Below Water,” and Goal 15, “Life on Land,” the SDG framework effectively limits the perceived contribution of conservation to these two ecological goals. This is a misconception. If the co-benefits of conservation are made more visible within the framework, we can more effectively support activities that have the potential to achieve numerous targets across the 17 SDGs.

WLS Research Map CC : Canty et al. 2022

Using conservation science to serve both people and nature is the philosophy behind the Smithsonian Institution Working Land and Seascapes (WLS) Initiative, which supports 14 projects across 13 countries. WLS members have aligned with a broader movement to approach conservation planning and action holistically, fostering a common vision of healthy and productive mosaics of ecosystems and human uses.

A recent effort to “map” the network to the SDGs provides a case study for conservation organisations looking to collaborate around shared global goals. The mapping process allows projects to identify how their work contributes to each of the SDGs, exemplifying the broader implications of conservation research and actions to the sustainable development framework. 

Mapping of WLS projects was conducted using the World Business Council for Sustainable Development roadmap framework, an open access resource that organisations and sectors can use to map their activities to the SDGs. Researchers reviewed all SDG targets and identified WLS conservation project outputs that aligned, creating “matches” between conservation outcomes and SDG targets. Each match was confirmed with a verifiable source. This exercise revealed that the WLS network’s activities contribute to all but one of the 17 SDGs and nearly half of the 169 targets, highlighting how conservation actions have wide-ranging impacts.

For example, the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute Agua Salud Program conducts reforestation and mixed land-use experiments in the Panama Canal Watershed, contributing to 11 SDGs. This type of work is key for ecosystem restoration and climate change mitigation efforts, but Agua Salud’s findings also help local communities reduce flood risks and reap more economic benefits from sustainable forest management. 

Multiple research efforts of the National Museum of Natural History are focused on marine protected areas throughout the Meso-american Reef, along the Caribbean coasts of Mexico, Belize, Guatemala, and Honduras. The Marine Conservation Program and the Healthy Reefs for Healthy People Initiative work with partners to support community-led decision-making, from building resilience to extreme weather and climate change to providing sustainable income sources and food security. As a result, these projects align with multiple targets across 14 SDGs. 

A glimpse from Gabon CC : Landry Tchignoumba

Activities of the Smithsonian National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute Gabon Biodiversity Program also contribute to 14 SDGs. Partnering with private industry and the government, their biodiversity research and anti-poaching measures are augmented by social science studies and educational outreach. This strategy addresses the socio-economic challenges that are often both cause and consequence of environmental destruction, supporting local communities throughout their transition to more eco-friendly and productive land-use practices. 

These are just a few cases where synergies between conservation research and human well-being can be found in the WLS portfolio, and there will be plenty more across the entire conservation sector. It can be difficult for organisations which are focused on different disciplines to “speak the same language”, creating a gap between efforts that may be more effective when combined. The mapping process allows us to understand where conservation can have the greatest impact, identifying contributions that achieve both nature-related SDGs and those seemingly beyond their scope.

By placing our work within a globally accepted framework, we aim to draw attention to how and where collaborations across sectors are required to reach SDG targets. By making the value of nature-based conservation interventions more visible to other sectors—as well as the co-benefits that come from working together—we can have more meaningful discussions about what we have in common and how we can put those principles into action.

We cannot waste any time or resources if we are to achieve the SDGs by 2030. By more purposefully coordinating our actions and incorporating conservation into the sustainable development framework, we have a better shot at overcoming the challenges threatening our shared future. 

Original paper

Canty, S. W., A. J. Nowakowski, G. M. Connette, J. L. Deichmann, M. Songer, R. Chiaravalloti, M. Dodge et al. 2022. Mapping a conservation research network to the Sustainable Development Goals. Conservation science and practice 4(7): e12731. https://doi.org/10.1111/csp2.12731. 
Sarah Wheedleton Author
Steve Canty Author
Jessica Deichmann Author

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THE MORNING THE LANGUR CALLED

Winding roads in the Corbett buffer zone provided thoroughfare for foraging elephant herds, free-roaming cattle, quiet slithering reptiles, darting kingfishers & redstarts along flowing streams. And, for a short while, me, as I walked from one village to another for work. Mohan—meaning ‘enchantment’—was the village I stayed at, and Bhakrakot, the village I walked up to for work.

Bhakrakot could mean ‘home of the goats’. It could be that there was a time when these hills were the homeland of goats. I have seen no goats here; plenty of deer though—spotted deer, barking deer, and sambar. The barking deer gets its name from its alarm call—a single syllable bark, repeated many times. It is a suspicious little creature, easily alarmed.

Walking up the hill this morning, what I heard was no short bark but a burst of animal sound. The tension could be felt in the silence that followed—even the trees seemed to freeze, holding their breath. Looking up as I came into a clearing, I saw a changeable hawk eagle, widely spread wings now folding as it made a silent landing—its quiet movement a great contrast to the anxious call that filled the forest just moments ago. Perched straight up, vigilant and alert, it seemed to embody the stiffness of the Sal tree it now perched on.

The call repeated. This time, I was able to locate its source—a grey langur. Sitting on a perch a little below the bird, also very still and alert. I looked keenly at him, wondering whom he was warning and about what. Could it be a leopard? A tiger? Or was he warning the smaller creatures of the majestic bird of prey above him?

I stood there for several minutes—watching the bird, watching the langur—all of us in a trance of stillness, waiting for movement. I was to later learn that a langur calls out in alarm only when it has sighted a big cat. Stealth & surprise attack being the strongest hunting tactic of big cats, the langur’s call communicates that the cat isn’t as concealed as it may have wished!

And so it was that this morning, I stood watching a langur that sat watching a big cat. A bird, a primate, a cat, and I stood still in a Sal forest, exhaling into the same pocket of sunlit air.

 1Jim Corbett National Park is a wildlife sanctuary, rich in its diversity of flora and fauna. It is popular for being home to a significant population of the Indian Bengal Tiger. A buffer zone is the surrounding area adjoining a protected ecological area (core zone), and which allows for human habitation and activity
Ankita Rajasekharan Author
Ankita Rajasekharan Illustrator

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Learning locally with nature and art

Two become one

I’m an artist inspired by nature in my free time and a professional outdoor education specialist teaching about the natural resources in Nebraska, U.S.A, during my workday. Yet, art and science communication had been kept separate in my life. Both personally and professionally, I felt a pull to share my love of the natural world in hopes of inspiring others to love it too, but these things were always done independently. Looking back now, it seems a little crazy that it took a global pandemic to make me pause, to spur my creativity, and to bring art and science together. But ever since March 2020—when the COVID-19 pandemic struck—everything has become a little clearer. 

There is a definite need for scientific information and art to be joined together to effectively communicate and interpret the value of our local natural resources.

From the water that sustains life, to the ecosystem services that habitats like wetlands provide, an understanding of our planet and natural resources is essential to tackling big issues like climate change and habitat loss. For many, if we don’t see something, it simply doesn’t exist. Art might just be the key to helping every person, even those who don’t “like” science, to understand their role in the bigger picture.

I know, I know—this seems like a weird conclusion to come to in the middle of a worldwide crisis. But I was an outdoor educator who suddenly couldn’t take kids on hikes to explore the natural world because everyone was locked down inside their homes. I was also an artist who couldn’t stand the idea of wallowing when I could contribute something good. So, one day as I sat at the kitchen table thinking about what I could actually control, art and science became one, and as a result, the two once-separate parts of my life merged into a unified whole. 

The relationship between art and science

It’s not new, but the relationship between art and science has certainly ebbed and flowed through time. Initially, many scientists were simultaneously artists, using drawings and paintings to document their discoveries.

Leonardo da Vinci, John James Audubon, Maria Sibylla Merian, and several others contributed much of what is known about the natural world using visual art. Somewhere along the way, science and art took different roads. Though these roads crossed at times, for a while it seemed that the old connection was not as foundational as it once was. Recently, scientists and artists have begun working together more intentionally, but it can look different depending on the desired outcome. Sometimes it’s just to illustrate something like a microscopic cell for a scientific textbook, while at other times, it can be a large mural in a children’s museum. Art can help explain complicated scientific concepts and globally relevant information, but how often is it used to specifically connect people to the natural resources around them?

A personal twist

My passion lies in teaching people of all ages about their everyday ecosystems and the species they can find in their own backyard here in Nebraska. Some may argue that there should be a greater focus on endangered or threatened species because they are more important, and maybe this is true in some sense. But, we cannot expect for someone to go from zero experience in the outdoors to a 100 percent fully invested, conservation-minded decision-maker with nothing to help get them there. We can begin this journey by connecting people to their own natural surroundings and the living beings found there, and this process takes time.

When I led hikes at a nature centre, I would ask students what they thought we would see on our hike. The most common answers? Bears, if we were in the forest, or alligators, if we were in the wetlands. All this was in Eastern Nebraska along the Missouri River—a wooded habitat where the largest animal you might find is a white-tailed deer, and on the absolute rarest of occasions, a mountain lion passing through. This experience showcased the great disconnect between young people and their own local ecosystems, and similar knowledge gaps exist for adults too. If we don’t take the time to understand where our audience is at and meet them there, we cannot expect them to take positive conservation action or change their behaviour. We need to start simple. I propose that art is the key to building that connection—particularly art featuring local species.

At the height of the pandemic, I created a piece of artwork that combined my love for educating people about local nature with a drawing inspired by what I saw outdoors. I called it “Grace’s Guide to the Outside”, and I first shared it on social media. The feedback I received from my science and non-science friends alike was overwhelming!

No matter their background, people reached out to say they loved it, and even the city’s largest paper wanted to do an article on it. And so, I continued to create them. The evidence that told me that my art was sparking a real connection to the natural world (as I had hoped it would) was when I created one about cicadas. Someone whom I didn’t know that well commented on the artwork and said, “I’ve seen those shells on our garage door. Didn’t know they were cicadas!” This comment validated the fact that my art and this information had value in the way it was presented. Someone learned something new and could now connect better to a cicada shell the next time they ran into one. They also have two young children whom they could now teach about this insect that is so often seen in the midwestern United States.

The need for a native focus

Recent studies have pointed out just how important it can be to use art when learning about scientific topics. While the process can take time and cost money, the power of effective graphics has proven to be extremely valuable, especially as media avenues for sharing research continue to change. For those in the scientific community, we must begin to ask how we might share our knowledge with others who might not have the same background. Not only this, but for those that care about our world’s biodiversity, it’s time to pause and think about how to get people to care about conservation.

Thinking through what exactly conservation even is and how you would explain it is something to consider. Even as students are taken on a simple nature excursion around their school, there is evidence pointing to the need for their teachers to have some baseline knowledge of the local species they might encounter to spur on the student’s interest. Elephants and rhinos are certainly eye-catching, but what can a child from the midwestern United States do to help them? We have to start much smaller. A pill bug crawling across the sidewalk. Red-winged blackbirds flocking across the sky in the spring. A fox running through the city park. First and foremost, people need to be awake to what is happening around them. Emotional connections are a key piece of humanity and art is great at evoking that initial flicker of interest.

Get out there!

From the moment we set foot outside, there are opportunities to learn about conservation, even if we don’t have a scientific background. I propose that we start simple. Through observation and art, there are many chances to connect to local species. Whether you take a walk in a city park or head into the field for research, there is potential for an increased understanding of the environment around you. If you’re an artist (or even if you don’t consider yourself one) try drawing or painting what you see during time spent outdoors. Learn more about native species in order to better understand them and how you might impact them.

I myself have been working alongside a professor from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln to create artwork representing her research on the aquatic macroinvertebrates (such as crayfish) and algal communities found in the Niobrara River in Nebraska. We are creating two brochures that will educate people using the river, which includes tubers, kayakers, and canoers. I bring my artistic skill to the project and expertise in communicating her scientific information in a way that is easy to understand, while she brings content expertise. It’s an exciting partnership!

If you possess a stronger interest in science, think about how your work could be interpreted into an artistic representation with local ties that can prompt a relatable experience for your audience. Most of all, keep in mind that when you better understand and empathise with your local natural resources, you’re more likely to know how to positively interact with them. With art to tie it all together, you might just encourage people down the road to an even bigger positive impact on the world around them!

Further reading

Khoury, C. K., Y. Kisel, M. Kantar, E. Barber, V. Ricciardi, C. Klirs, L. Kucera et al. 2019. Science–graphic art partnerships to increase research impact. Communications Biology 2: 295. https://doi.org/10.1038/s42003-019-0516-1

Skarstein, T. H. and F. Skarstein. 2020. Curious children and knowledgeable adults – early childhood student-teachers’ species identification skills and their views on the importance of species knowledge, International Journal of Science Education 42(2): 310–328, DOI: 10.1080/09500693.2019.1710782

Zaelzer, C. 2020. The value in science-art partnerships for science

education and science communication. ENEURO Commentary 7(4): 1–6. https://doi.org/10.1523/ENEURO.0238-20.2020
Grace Gaard Author
Grace Gaard Illustrator

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Art Against Illegal Trade: The Asian Songbird Crisis

The illustrations in this article do not fall under the creative commons license.  The illustrators maintain their right as owners of the illustrations.

Asian songbird trade

Many of us have heard about shark fin, elephant ivory, pangolin scale, and even tiger bone trade. But what about the trade in other, lesser-known, less charismatic species? Hundreds of species of Asian songbirds are currently threatened by illegal and unsustainable trade—a phenomenon known as the Asian songbird crisis. Often caught from the wild and traded in poor conditions, songbirds end up being kept as pets or are used in cultural practices, such as songbird singing contests and religious releases. Approximately 66–84 million caged birds are believed to be kept on Java alone, but the trade goes beyond that. Birds are traded at both domestic and international levels. Indonesia, Malaysia, Vietnam, Singapore—the list of countries involved in the Asian songbird trade goes on, with some species being sold even in Europe despite international regulations. 

Researchers, conservation practitioners, and law enforcement agencies are working hard to tackle the crisis and to slow down the catastrophic decline of songbird populations in Asia. Scientists are conducting field and genetic research, zoos and local NGOs breed threatened taxa for reintroduction, various organisations run community engagement and education activities. Conservationists and governments refine legislation, while law enforcement authorities make sure it is properly implemented. To coordinate conservation efforts and address the crisis in a more efficient manner, the IUCN SSC Asian Songbird Trade Specialist Group was formed in 2017 and currently includes 79 professionals tackling the Asian songbird trade.

However, bird extinction and biodiversity loss, in general, are not only concerns for conservation biologists. The art community has become increasingly involved in conservation by fundraising for and raising awareness about various threatened species. In this article two artists, Sofiya Shukhova and Tom Henderson, share their experiences with exploring the Asian songbird crisis through an artistic lens, creating art about this issue, and engaging fellow artists and the general public. 

“White-eyes” by Sofiya Shukhova

Researching the Asian songbird crisis through an artistic lens

Sofiya Shukhova
Wildlife Artist and Conservationist

In my artistic practice, I always try to focus on conservation issues that have received less coverage. In 2019, when looking for a new topic for my art, I discovered the practice of keeping Asian songbirds—a common threat to many bird species of Southeast Asia, where I live. Creature Conserve, a non-profit supporting artists and scientists to study, celebrate, and protect animals and their habitats, awarded me a scholarship to research this topic using art. Through visiting and collaborating with Planet Indonesia, FLIGHT, and TRAFFIC, I dived deep into this topic, saw the trade with my own eyes, and connected with various stakeholders from law enforcement agencies to poachers and local communities. All three organisations kindly allowed me to shadow their teams to better understand the issue, how to tackle it, and the organisations’ role in the process.

“Just one red-whiskered bulbul in a cage” by Sofiya Shukhova

Based on my fieldwork in Malaysia and Indonesia, I created a series of artworks, each being inspired by different aspects of the trade: trapping techniques, singing contests, bird markets, and more. I first had an opportunity to showcase my works to fellow artists and conservationists in Singapore during my short art residency in Art Outreach in 2020. It was their feedback and additional insights into their work that helped me improve my works further and scale them up before I could finally exhibit them and show them to the public. 

In 2021, my personal exhibition about the Asian songbird crisis opened in the Timiryazev State Biology Museum in Moscow. The exhibition included four sections: Birds in the wild, Birds as part of culture and traditions, The Asian songbird crisis, and Saving the birds—each looking at the songbird trade from a different angle and together showing its complexity and raising awareness. This exhibition helped me to see the public reaction to the ‘art for conservation’ storytelling format and get additional feedback. It is with this information in mind that I plan to adjust and bring the exhibition to Southeast Asia next year. 

It took almost two years from the beginning of my research to the first exhibition. Along the way I met many passionate conservationists and artists, and together we created something special—a series of art interventions to tackle the Asian songbird crisis. Through my exhibition, a collaborative art workshop conducted by Tom Henderson (whom you will meet next), and sharing songbird art on social media, we hoped to have contributed to the public journey of informing, learning, caring, and inspiring change.

Engaging artists to protect Asian songbirds

Tom Henderson
Wildlife Artist and Educator

I initially approached Sofiya through Creature Conserve about running a workshop, to which she suggested we frame it around the Asian songbird crisis. The plan I proposed involved creating a repeatable surface pattern in collaboration with participants, each bringing their own understanding to a shared piece. We would be bound by a unified theme and agreed presentation of the outcome, but it was for the individuals to suggest what they thought was important to include in the pattern and why. Participants could create their artwork using any media they felt was appropriate and together we would compose the design.

Coming from a position of distance—physically and informatively—research for the workshop was necessary to understand the crisis that songbirds of Asia are facing. From a creative background, the value of research has always been impressed upon me. However, sources are hard to come by without knowing exactly what you are looking for. This is where the intersection of science and art is strongest. Specifically, it is the connection formed of scientists and artists actively sharing. From my position as a creative person, I wanted to spend some time understanding the subject before considering what the most important points might be. Sofiya linked me up with Serene Chng, a researcher studying the crisis first hand. With their shared understanding and research articles, I took in as much as I could to support making the pattern an authentic and accurate representation of the threats to these birds.

“Peril” (Black-winged Myna) by Tom Henderson

The workshops were an opportunity to open up a purposeful discussion about the Asian songbird crisis. In particular, our goal was to use our shared understandings to create bridges for an audience to be informed. The format of the outcome provided two collaborative opportunities to understand more about the birds, and so better communicate their plights. In the first instance, to make themed artwork with other artists, and in the second instance, to involve a consequential audience in the discussion in the hopes they too would continue the sharing. To make the latter point more effective, the surface pattern we were designing had to be more than a nice piece of art; it had to have a function. So, we designed it to be printed as a single tile for the cover of a notebook or sketchbook. When joined up to another cover, the resulting repetition of the tile might stimulate conversation as the cover owners put together connections (literally) to better understand what the design was communicating. Previously half-visible illustrations would become whole. The lives of the songbirds were complete and an audience had been unified. The participants brought curiosity, enthusiasm and open minds to the workshop and resolved this creative challenge to make a piece of work we were all proud of and, importantly, was effective.

“Asian Songbird Trade” pattern created by Tom Henderson, Eva Kunzová, Adira Andlay, Thejavitso Chase, Kristina Wheeat, Chong Han Wei, Thierry Andrianambinina, Mrinmayi Dalvi, Faril, Woei Ong, Serene Chng and Sofiya Shukhova during Creature Conserve workshop.

The pattern did not just feature negativity, it had to show hope as much as it had to show threats. Science provides facts. It says what is. Art can say what could be. Art can inform scientists what to research next. Art is more than designs. It is problem-solving and critical thinking. It is a tool for communication and community. Here, the relationship between science and art becomes reciprocal. Both inform and inspire each other.

Art as part of conservation strategy

We must not underestimate the effort of conservationists fighting the sixth mass extinction, but in current times they are unlikely to be able to save all the threatened species and ecosystems on their own. People from various walks of life can contribute their skills to help, and creatives are no exception. Although the impact of art interventions for conservation may be challenging to measure, they are still as needed as other education and raising awareness programmes. Art can be a powerful tool for grasping viewers’ attention, sparking curiosity, and creating change.

A template for this positive action is found in the David Shepherd Wildlife Foundation’s Artist of the Year competition, which raises funds to go to conservation projects and engages an increasingly broad number of people with nature-themed artwork. Artists from around the world are encouraged to explore the threats facing the animals in their work. Positive change can be made on individual scales, too. Tom has raised small monies for charities like Wader Quest by creating themed artwork on wading birds, donating proceeds onwards. His illustrations are informed by science and conservation, promoting learning of the species depicted and encouraging donation and further study. The illustrations not only reach those familiar with the species but also those new to wading birds through wider sharing on social media. 

Similarly, Sofiya has created artworks featuring species affected by the wildlife trade and human-wildlife conflict in Southeast Asia to donate them to several organisations and events to raise awareness and funds, including the fundraiser of the Singapore-based wildlife rescue centre, Animal Concerns Research and Education Society. She also designed and painted an education room for the kids in Save Vietnam’s Wildlife project where she used her art skills to create an engaging environment for the younger generation to nurture interest and care for local animals, such as pangolins, civets, and small cats.

Not only does art impact the viewer, but it also leaves an imprint on the creator and their community, making them catalysts for spreading awareness among new audiences. Their artworks continue to reach new people even after the events end and inspire other creatives to explore the topic.

“It’s in our hands” by Sofiya Shukhova

Collaboration between conservationists and artists is key to this new approach of tackling biodiversity loss using art. Thanks to conservationists who shared their knowledge with Tom and Sofiya and enabled in-depth research of the Asian songbird crisis, they created more informed and therefore more impactful art. Imagine what you could do to raise awareness for other creatures under threat too. There is no better time than now to create art to support the natural world around us. What will you do? 

Sofiya and Tom thank Creature Conserve for funding Sofiya’s fieldwork and Tom’s workshop and for supporting their art practices.

Further Reading

Asian songbird trade in the spotlight. 2021. Creature Conserve. https://creatureconserve.com/asiansongbirdconservation. Accessed on April 10, 2022. 

IUCN SSC Asian songbird trade specialist group. 2022. https://www.asiansongbirdtradesg.com/. Accessed on April 10, 2022.

Marshall, H., N. J. Collar, A. C. Lees, A. Moss, P. Yuda and S. J. Marsden. 2020. Spatio-temporal dynamics of consumer demand driving the Asian songbird crisis. Biological Conservation 241: 108237.
Sofiya Sukhova Author
Sofiya Sukhova Illustrator
Tom Henderson Illustrator
Tom Henderson Author

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From the valleys above to the rivers below: An ode to the unsung heroes of Kibber

Photo 1. Rinche Tobge of Kibber village traverses a snowfield in Miyar Valley while looking for snow leopard signs.

Spiti has one of the healthiest snow leopard populations in the world. Behind this well-known fact lies hundreds of kilometres walked by these folks, traversing valleys, passes and ridgelines, finding that ideal spot to place a camera trap. They formed a key part of the largest published scientific study on snow leopard population spanning across 26,000 km2 of Himachal Pradesh, covering an area larger than all 17 previously published studies from across 12 countries of the snow leopard’s global range. Dhamal and the rest of the team placed over 200 cameras across three years for this study. Behind each snow leopard image, was the sacrifice of a father who left his daughter behind while he scaled peaks. The sacrifice of a husband who continued looking for snow leopard signs, even as he lost mobile network coverage to call home. None of this is to romanticise the remote, but to acknowledge that there is often an unacknowledged human cost to all that glitters in conservation science. 

Photo 2. Tanzin Thuktan aka Dhamal places a camera trap in Hangrang valley, Himachal Pradesh.

A cornerstone of HAP’s work for over two decades across the high-altitude regions of Himachal Pradesh in particular, has been to mitigate negative human-wildlife interactions. This has often meant securing people’s livestock—a key source of economic and emotional support in these harsh landscapes—from predator attacks. This mainly involves predator-proofing night-time livestock pens (corrals) by building a stone foundation for the structure into which a steel door is placed and over which steel wiring is placed. By doing so, predators like snow leopards and wolves can’t enter at night and cause losses. This is done as a partnership with the local community, where both costs and effort are shared between them and NCF. 

What goes into making a predator-proof corral on a 4250-metre high-altitude plateau in Langza village? It starts with waking up at 4 AM to make the 14-hour journey from Kibber down to the towns of Kullu and Buntar 450 km away. Once there, the team has to chase the steel industries to fabricate the necessary doors and wiring. Each predator-proof corral is measured to fit the size requirements of the number of livestock and any other local needs.  This means that Kamal and Shri, for instance, have to sit for 12 hours, come rain or shine, back-to-back for 4-5 days with the fabricators that meticulously prepare these structures .  Even half an inch of difference could be a matter of life and death for the livestock and a potential poverty trap for the owner. 

Beyond doing their best to deal with the immediate research and conservation concerns of their high-altitude region, the team in Kibber also believe in fostering stewardship and a “climate” of conservation into the future. Kalzang Gurmet and Tanzin Thinley leave no stone unturned in visiting as many schools in the region, engaging with as many students as possible, to not only convey the message of conservation but also to truly make them feel like we all belong to the ecosystems around us. It is a pity that a student from Spiti will likely know of the tiger roaming the forests of Ranthambore, but be unaware of the snow leopard in her own mountains. They are driven to change this!

Photo 3. Tandup Cherring aka Kamal surveying for blue sheep in the pasture around Langza village

No matter how many papers I may publish from my work in higher Himachal Pradesh, the Khanyari et al. citations will never do justice to the contributions of these dedicated colleagues. A mention in the acknowledgement section is nowhere near enough credit for the hours they pour into not only my projects, but so many that came before and will come after. These are not merely field staff or field associates, they are the project, but they often don’t get adequately recognized. Remember they have a name, an identity, and aspirations. Let’s go beyond merely thinking of them as supplementary, and start acknowledging that they are central for conservation work globally—both in terms of research and on-the-ground action.

For all the times Dhamal, Rinchen, or Shri have extended their hand to me, or so many other researchers and interns, I want them to know they are going well beyond merely assisting us. They are empowering us to do the work we aspire to. And for this very reason, I shout from the valleys above to the rivers below, an ode to these unsung heroes of Kibber!

Further Reading

Suryawanshi, K., A. Reddy, M. Sharma, M. Khanyari, A. Bijoor, D. Rathore, H. Jaggi et al. 2021. Estimating snow leopard and prey populations at large spatial scales. Ecological solutions and evidence 2(4): e12115. https://doi.org/10.1002/2688-8319.12115. 

Bijoor, A., M. Khanyari, R. Dorjay, S. Lobzang and K. Suryawanshi. 2021.A need for context-based conservation: Incorporating local knowledge to mitigate livestock predation by large carnivores. Frontiers in conservation science 2: 107. https://www.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/fcosc.2021.766086.

Photo 4. Kesang Chunit aka Shir removes a camera from under the snow in Chandra valley.
Photo 5. Kalzang Gurmet (far left), along with Kesang Chunit and Deepshika Sharma of NCF interact with students in a school in Spiti.
Photo 6. Tanzin Thinley measures distance in front of a camera trap to ensure it gets good captures of snow leopards.
Munib Khanyari Author

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Pygmy Hog

The tiniest pig in the world
Found curled beneath tall grass
In India, Bhutan, & Nepal earlier
Lives now in a vague blur
Ever smaller from fear of extinction
Hidden in just a tuft of left-over Assamese grass.
The pygmy hog, a tiny little harmless hairy hog
Heir to the luxury of Ganga’s bog;
Known for its halo
A playful waving yellow
Of glorious golden grass.

The pygmy hog is the smallest member of the pig family. Previously it was widespread in tall and wet grasslands along the foothills of the Himalayas in India, Nepal, and Bhutan but today is critically endangered due to degradation of its grassland habitat.
Tara Sandhu Author
Tara Sandhu Illustrator

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The human influence: Primates trapped in the middle

Imagine that all roads leading to your friends are blocked. Where there were bridges, now lie empty spaces that risk death if you cross. Similarly, habitat loss is a reality for many species around the world. There’s no question that humans have a significant impact on habitats, but what does it mean for the future of the animals living in these habitats? Socially complex species, such as primates, feel the impact of human action in ways that scientists are just beginning to understand, including the impact these changes have on the evolutionary future of endemic species.

Primates serve numerous ecological roles in their habitats acting as both predator and prey, seed dispersers, and pollinators. Additionally, primates are of cultural and economic importance to humans. They draw in tourism and maintain the health of the forests for the people that depend directly on them. Yet, life in the forest comes with its own set of challenges for primates, many of which are directly caused by humans. This includes habitat loss, the pet trade, and climate change, which make it difficult for species to adapt, and thereby impacting their future.

Non-human primate species are found on three continents: South America, Asia, and Africa. To gain a comprehensive understanding of anthropogenic impacts on our taxonomic relatives, we are going to visit each continent. 

Phoenix_B_1of3 (talk) (Uploads). Original uploader was Phoenix B 1of3 at en.wikipedia – Range supported by: Napier, J. R.; Napier P. H. (1967). A Handbook of Living Primates. Academic Press. pp. 378-379 (Fig. 4). ASIN B000KXFAPW.

South America:

Pied Tamarins and Black and Gold Howler Monkeys

Central and South America are home to a wonderful array of New World monkeys. In Brazil alone there are 110 monkey species. However, nearly 40 primate species in Brazil are facing extinction due to habitat loss. Much of the habitat fragmentation is caused by cities encroaching on the surrounding forests. One species facing this challenge is the pied tamarin, Sanguinus bicolor. These small primates live in and around Manaus, the capital city of the Brazilian state of Amazonas. Pied tamarins face not only habitat loss as the forest declines, but also struggle to reach other tamarin groups. Without access to other pied tamarin populations, the threat of losing genetic diversity by isolation is real. Genetic diversity is crucial for the future populations to adapt and evolve with their environment. One study investigates how fragmentation impacts the genetics of pied tamarins in the region surrounding Manaus by comparing hair samples from four different groups in the region. Urbanisation and human encroachment led to three of these areas being separated from the larger forest for years. The fourth site maintains access to the forest and acts as a control site for this study. This study determined that there is a significant threat to the pied tamarin gene pool in isolated communities, a threat that only increases with time. The combined effects of long-term population decline of pied tamarins and habitat fragmentation leads to an uncertain future for pied tamarins.

Pied Tamarin (Sanguinus bicolor) Mindu Park. Whaldener Endo retrieved from https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Saguinus_bicolor_Parque_do_Mindu.jpg

Black-and-gold howler monkeys (BGHM), Alouatta caraya, are another unique primate facing threats from man-made stressors in South America. They can be found in a vast range extending from Mexico to Argentina. With this wide range comes a lot of interactions with people. BGHMs live with deforestation from agriculture, flooding from dams, habitat fragmentation from urbanization, and zoonotic disease transmission. Like the pied tamarins, the changes in forest connectivity leads to group isolation impacting the potential gene pool. One known consequence of a smaller gene pool is a decrease in the population’s ability to adapt and fight off disease. This was seen recently as BGHM populations have drastically declined due to yellow fever outbreaks throughout their range.

In a study of ten BGHM groups, four distinct clusters of genetic populations were found. These four clusters are isolated from one another, similar to pied tamarins. This isolation leads to inbreeding within the groups, which in turn decreases the genetic diversity. One of the shocking conclusions from this study was that there could be a decrease in genetic diversity of nearly 25 percent in just 50 generations as a direct result of habitat fragmentation.

Josh More: Black and Gold Howler Monkey (Alouatta caraya)_20 retrieved from: https://www.flickr.com/photos/guppiecat/16073988612/in/photostream/

The New World monkeys are in a dire situation, but many groups are working to help them, such as the Chico Mendes Institute for Biodiversity Conservation (ICMBio). ICMBio works with the Brazilian government to establish protected areas for primates such as tamarins and compile research to better understand the threats and potential solutions to stop deforestation of the Amazon rainforest. As the human population in this area continues to grow the need for infrastructure and agricultural demand also increases. These groups are crucial for the development of corridors for the safe passage of these primates over roadways and other human infrastructure. 

Africa

Chimpanzees

Africa is known for its diverse wildlife. Three of the four non-human great ape species, including chimpanzees, can be found in the western and central regions of Africa. Chimpanzees exhibit different behavioural adaptations between groups. These differences are so significant that there are now four recognized subspecies of chimpanzees, each occupying different habitats. To understand these subspecies scientists have examined distinct habitats that may have impacted the divergence of chimpanzees into different subspecies. The research found little geographic overlap between the territories and the habitats that each of these subspecies inhabit. As these habitats are lost due to deforestation or changed by factors such as climate change, it is unlikely that each subspecies will survive. In what seems to be a consistent theme, habitat fragmentation from logging, mining, and agriculture, along with the bushmeat trade, are the biggest threats to great apes in this region causing population declines for chimpanzees in this region.

Photo by: VCG. retrieved from https://news.cgtn.com/news/2020-07-29/Primates-in-jeopardy-Our-closest-relative-in-nature-Sw1n6vUy4g/index.html

In western Africa, the Goualougo Triangle Ape Project is combating these issues. They work with the Congolese government, local logging companies, and residents to promote sustainable forestry, research, and capacity building. With the cooperation of these groups, this project has been able to make a real difference in sustaining the great ape populations in the region.

Lemurs

The island of Madagascar is located off the southeastern coast of mainland Africa. This unique island has high endemicity, i.e. it is home to species that are found nowhere else in the world. Lemurs are a good example of this. As the human population on the island increases, the habitat available for other species is decreasing. It also creates an “edge effect”, which increases human-wildlife conflict, leading to increased risk of disease transmission. This combined with additional threats such as the bush meat and pet trades contribute to the decline of lemur populations on the island. As land availability decreases for native species, they become more scarce and the ability for lemur species to adapt and thrive ultimately decreases.

Photo by Mathias Appel retrieved from https://www.flickr.com/photos/mathiasappel/25911695040

Organisations such as the Lemur Conservation Foundation (LCF) work hard both in Madagascar and abroad to educate the public and mitigate negative impacts on lemurs. Lemurs are known for their cute features, often leading to use as pets or tourist attractions. LCF works with local people to establish proper ecotourism infrastructure, while restoring lemur habitats. To decrease the local residents’ reliance on rainforest resources, various projects have been put in place to provide  fuel-efficient stoves, decrease bushmeat usage, and encourage sustainable fishing techniques.

Asia

Macaques

From snowy mountains to the tropical islands of the Pacific, Old World monkeys in Asia reside in various habitats. In China, fossil records indicate that historically macaques were found throughout the mainland and islands, though they showed preference for lower elevations and rivers. The most telling piece from these fossils was found after analysing home range trends of monkeys in the last 300 years. As urbanisation increased macaques were no longer found in central China (Li et al., 2020). Macaques have now retreated to higher elevations in the mountains as opposed to the rivers.

https://pxhere.com/en/photo/1603741

Though human activity has certainly impacted the lives and distribution of these monkeys, they have proven to be very adaptable. In fact, macaques have found ways to be successful in urban landscapes. Food was found to be the most important factor in behavioural changes for macaques. For urban dwelling monkeys, human food has become an integral part of their diet. These adaptations and changes in behaviour have allowed these monkeys to keep their numbers higher than other primate species, and may help them as human development continues into the forests. 

So what now?

As the world’s human population increases, there is continued encroachment on wild habitats. Human activity such as agriculture, logging, and mining, result in clear cutting forest habitats and increase fragmentation. But for primates, there are other man-made threats to consider as well—hunting, the pet trade, and disease as exposure to humans increases. In terms of evolutionary response, these threats often make it harder for species to adapt to the ever changing landscape. These changes are occurring at such a rate that many species are already seeing a rapid decline. In fact, 75 percent of primate species are facing population declines due to human activity. As humans and primates continue to share more space, human-primate conflict is bound to increase.

Though the news is dire for animals around the world, there are actions that we can take to mitigate the problem. First, we need to create long-term management plans. There is significant poverty in many areas where primates live. Finding ways to make money off of the land is crucial for the socio-economic wellbeing of the local community. Conservation without the support of the people living in these regions will be fruitless. Fortunately, there are a number of organisations working to help those that rely on these resources to use them in a sustainable way.

There are examples of such projects in every region where primates are found, but what about those of us that do not live in primate habitats—what can we do? One option is to decrease the global demand for the natural resources that primate habitats provide. Logging demands are often from paper products and furniture. Consumers can purchase products from manufacturers that supply their wood using sustainable sources. Certifications for this have become more common, making it easier to choose more eco-friendly options. One example is the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC) logo. This organisation works to promote sustainable and recycled materials for wood and paper-based products. 

Other resources exploited from these habitats are minerals such as gold and coltan. These minerals are used in the production of new electronic devices. Refurbishing and properly recycling old electronics rather than purchasing products made with raw materials is another way that anyone can make a difference.

Finally, purchasing locally sourced meat and produce items can make a difference. Agriculture is the most prolific driver of habitat destruction, which includes ranching and palm oil plantations. Currently, the global demand for meat products results in forest encroachment and clear cutting to meet demand. According to the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA), Brazil is responsible for 20 percent of the world’s beef exports. Additionally, palm oil is found in numerous products from beauty supplies to snack foods. The slash-and-burn techniques used to clear the land for these monoculture plantations creates significant pressures on rainforests around the world, adding to the deforestation in the Amazon rainforest. To decrease the ecological impact of these practices, buying locally sourced meat products and purchasing products made with sustainable palm oil can make a substantial difference in the survival of primates in these habitats. 

Every consumer has the power to help protect and save the environment. By making ecologically sustainable purchases, we tell companies that there is a market for environmentally friendly supply chains. By providing options for the sustainable management of primate habitats, we can reduce the impact that humans have on these ecosystems. If we can maintain or extend habitats and connections between populations, primates can have a greater chance of survival through increased genetic diversity. 

Further reading:

Estrada, A., P. Garber, A. Rylands, C. Roos, E. Fernandez-Duque, A. Di Fiore, A. Nekaris, et al. 2017. Impending extinction crisis of the world’s primates: Why primates matter. Science Advances 3(1): e1600946. doi: 10.1126/sciadv.1600946.

Li, B., G. He, S. Guo, R. Hou, K. Huang, P. Zhang, H. Zhang et al. 2020. Macaques in China: Evolutionary dispersion and subsequent development. American Journal of Primatology 82(7): e23142. https://doi.org/10.1002/ajp.23142.
Mary Dzinbinski Author

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Tried and Tested: The Role of Evidence-based practices in Sea Turtle Conservation

Drive along the Ratnagiri coast in western India in the early months of any year, and you are sure to come across a fenced-off enclosure on many of its beaches. The inside of the enclosure is usually dotted with small, evenly-spaced placards, while outside a fluttering banner or a wooden board declares it to be a sea turtle hatchery. Hatcheries, in general, are synonymous with sea turtle conservation the world over. But the efficacy of these structures in protecting sea turtle eggs and hatchlings (baby turtles) depends on whether the hatcheries follow best practices. As a conservation technique, freshly laid nests that are moved from their original locations on exposed beaches to protected hatcheries should—in theory—produce more hatchlings than nests that are left unprotected. With fewer resources available and an increasing urgency for conservation actions to succeed, how do we know if this conservation strategy works? 

Sea Turtle Hatchery PC: Abhishek Dixit

Evidence-based conservation

For those of us familiar with the crime genre, evidence is a term used mainly in legal proceedings that eventually leads to a person being implicated (or not!) in some wrongdoing. Similarly, evidence plays a crucial role in many other action-based disciplines, including medicine, education, social work, and biodiversity conservation. The concept of evidence-based practice originated back in 1981 when a group of epidemiologists, led by Dr. David Sackett, suggested using evidence in medical sciences to choose the best treatment for their patients. They recommended that physician decisions needed to be informed by a well-rounded, systematic evaluation of available medical literature. Later, it came to be known as evidence-based medicine, a phrase coined by Dr. Gordon Guyatt and his team, and the practice served as a tool for physicians to determine the best course of action to reduce patient ailments. In the past few years, there has been an expansion in the use of evidence-based practices to aid in decisions for biodiversity protection and management.

Like medicine, conservation can be considered a ‘crisis discipline’ in which decisions must be made in a short time period and, sometimes, with limited information. In 2001, Pullin and Knight first suggested the use of evidence to inform conservation actions, backed by scientific studies and not merely based on prior experience or instinct. The following years saw a rise in the number of reviews that were conducted to evaluate conservation strategies and determine their efficacy. Just like for medicine, it was called evidence-based conservation or EBC, and was adopted by prominent research groups, giving rise to online repositories like Conservation Evidence that compile evidence summaries from scientific studies to determine the success of conservation strategies for different taxa or ecosystems. Such repositories provide a source of validated information for quick access by conservationists and managers. The main intention is to identify the factors that lead to conservation success, which can then be used to promote its effective usage and target funding towards it. Examples for evidence-based practices in conservation include the evaluation of spatial strategies like the creation of protected areas, celebrity endorsement in marketing conservation, and the success of techniques used in sea turtle hatchery management!

Structures to mark and protect eggs PC: Adhith Swaminathan

Sea turtle life: On land and in the sea

As marine reptiles, sea turtles spend the better part of their lives feeding and resting in the sea. Their experience on land is short—limited to the time after they emerge from their sandy, underground nests as hatchlings and scramble across the beach to enter the water. Male turtles rarely ever return to land once they have left as hatchlings, but adult female turtles make the journey back to the natal region where they hatched, to lay eggs of their own. Despite the limited amount of time sea turtles spend on land, it is easier for us to protect the eggs laid on our beaches than to reduce threats to turtles at sea. 

A sea turtle hatchery PC: Nupur Kale

Sea turtle hatcheries: A conservation tool

Hatcheries are a popular ex-situ (i.e., away from the natural location) conservation strategy widely used across the world. A hatchery is usually a secure enclosure on or close to the nesting beach where at-risk sea turtle nests are relocated (i.e., moved from one location to another). Mainly used to combat threats to sea turtle eggs, including depredation by animals, poaching, and beach erosion, hatcheries are also a great resource to raise awareness about sea turtles and generate tourism, thus boosting the local economy by providing a source of income for many coastal communities. Based on its purpose, local materials, and the number of clutches of eggs that need to be protected, the enclosures come in all shapes and sizes. A hatchery used only for conservation purposes is most likely to be a simply designed temporary arena constructed from wooden poles and mesh, with space to incubate relocated turtle eggs. Hatcheries that operate with additional objectives of ecotourism or to create awareness may expand their enclosures to include small information centres, tanks to retain hatchlings or hold injured or disabled turtles for viewing, and tend to be permanent structures. 

Hatcheries operate on the core principle of protecting relocated eggs. But while moving these eggs from point A to point B may sound easy, it is a long process involving multiple steps that starts with locating a natural nest, removing the eggs, carrying them to the hatchery, constructing an artificial nest, and monitoring the number of hatchlings produced. Even the construction of a hatchery requires several considerations, the first and foremost being whether it is even required in the first place! After that, most of the steps in relocating eggs require decisions on when and how to conduct and/or complete a particular activity. These decisions are driven by the various biological processes behind the development of turtle embryos in the eggs, which have been studied extensively and have helped experts in determining the basic dos and don’ts when employing hatcheries. Guided by these practices, practitioners and managers have used hatcheries to protect and improve their local sea turtle populations. 

However, simply employing a hatchery does not guarantee a victory for conservation. The real measure of success lies in the number of eggs that hatch and the number of hatchlings that then enter the sea—all of which are influenced by the decisions made and the precision with which the best hatchery practices are followed. So, where does India stand when it comes to sea turtle hatcheries and their success?

Assessment of hatcheries in India

Three years ago, we began a study on hatchery practices in India. Considering India’s 7,500 km long coastline, we knew there would be a lot of hatchery managers and workers to reach out to for information. The main objective was to compare the best practices described in guidelines for hatcheries with real-life practices in collection, transportation, and incubation of eggs as well as the holding and release of hatchlings. With a few misses but mostly hits, representatives from 36 hatcheries agreed to participate in our survey and provided considerable information that improved our understanding of hatchery practices in India.

Responses revealed that some of the techniques used by the hatcheries did not align with practices recommended by experts and supported by scientific evidence. We found that most hatcheries were temporary structures, set up to mainly protect sea turtle eggs from predators, and which were moved annually so that relocated eggs were buried in clean sand. Other than protecting the eggs, some hatcheries were also used for ecotourism and to spread awareness about sea turtles and their conservation among local communities. The hatchery nests were spaced as recommended (no more than one nest per square metre) to ensure that the heat and respiratory gases generated by one clutch of eggs did not affect another. However, a lot of nests were moved to the hatcheries just within or outside the accepted time limit for moving eggs (six hours), which potentially affected their chances of survival. 

The depth of nests in some of the hatcheries was also different from the average nest depth for that particular species. Depths can influence the temperatures within the nest, and shallower or deeper relocated nests will affect the percentage of eggs that survive and the sex of hatchlings during the development stage. The most concerning finding, however, was that the percentage of eggs that successfully hatched out of the relocated clutches was no different from those left unprotected on the beach. This was observed to be true not only for hatcheries in India, but also for those in other countries in the northern Indian Ocean region. Further, our results also highlighted a lack of regular training in hatchery techniques for managers and workers, including an explanation of the scientific logic behind every practice, and limited resources that restricted the capabilities of the hatcheries to always follow best practices, thus minimising the conservation outcomes.

Based on our findings, we recommend that hatcheries must alter their practices depending on the requirement to protect nests in that particular region. This includes reducing the time between when eggs are laid and reburied in a hatchery, decreasing nest density within the hatchery, and ensuring suitable nest depths. There is also a need to periodically train hatchery workers to refresh their knowledge and to emphasise proper record-keeping of details such as hatching success and hatchling emergence. Finally but most importantly, conservationists and hatchery managers must consider in situ protection of eggs, i.e., leaving eggs in their original location and/or using additional strategies like building small fences around individual nests. The material of the fences can be modified depending on the type of prevalent threats, thereby reducing the need for extra manpower and resources in moving eggs to a large hatchery.

enclosure to protect the eggs PC: Nupur Kale

Conclusion

In response to global biodiversity loss and the climate crisis, conservation activities around the world have increased to reduce threats, improve wild populations of plants and animals, and preserve our natural resources. However, despite this urgency, there are limited resources for conservationists and managers, who struggle to achieve the double aim of conserving biodiversity and safeguarding the welfare and livelihoods of people living in the area. In this context, there is very little margin of error and resources have to be smartly used on strategies that will ensure a high likelihood of success. And this is where evidence-based practices in conservation or simply evidence-based conservation come in handy. 

Knowledge of evidence-based conservation, combined with experiential learning, will help us make informed decisions and assure maximum success in our work. Practitioners are already advocating for the inclusion of evidence-based practices in curricula, to train future generations of conservationists and natural resource managers in critical analysis early on. Many conservation funders now include ‘Monitoring and Evaluation’ as a reporting requirement for projects that receive their funding. As the call for further conservation actions gathers momentum, it is important that conservationists and managers not only assess the effectiveness of their own activities, but also examine the best use of their efforts and resources to ensure that every action contributes to protecting biodiversity.

¹ Pullin, A. S. and T. M. Knight. 2001. Effectiveness in conservation practice: Pointers from medicine and public health. Conservation biology 15(1): 50–54.

Further Reading:

Phillott, A. D., N. Kale and A. Unhale. 2021. Are sea turtle hatcheries in India following best practices? ​​Herpetological conservation and biology 16(3): 652–670.

Downey, H., T. Amano, M. Cadotte, C. N. Cook, S. J. Cooke, N. R. Haddaway, J. P. G. Jones et al. 2021. Training future generations to deliver evidence-based conservation and ecosystem management. Ecological solutions and evidence 2(1): e12032.
Nupur Kale Author
Andrea D. Phillott Author

More in Field Notes

Consensus for connectivity: Tigers in Central India

Tigress Collarwali in Pench Tiger Reserve CC : Amrita Neelakantan

Tigers like to travel. So much so that in Central India—a hotspot for the fewer than 4,000 remaining wild tigers in the world—tiger populations have been able to move across the landscape to breed despite thousands of years of human presence throughout their habitat. We know this because tiger genetic research reveals a remarkably similar genetic makeup of individual animals from across this broad landscape. This genetic similarity indicates that individuals must be moving out of core population areas—usually tiger reserves or other protected areas—and traversing the complex mosaic landscape of agriculture, villages, and rapidly expanding infrastructure, to settle in a new area and breed with resident tigers there. In this way, tigers have maintained genetic connectivity despite the human pressures on the landscape.

Researchers and conservation groups have been working for many years to map the corridors that tigers travel through to stay connected, especially in recent decades, as the habitat is increasingly fragmented by highways, rails, mines, and other infrastructure for development. By knowing where tigers travel, we can work with local people and authorities to ensure that the habitat remains connected for tigers to traverse. After all, the tiger is undoubtedly not the only species—plant, animal, or microbe—depending on these areas.

Almost a decade of research into this topic resulted in incredible insights into our understanding of tiger connectivity in Central India. Researchers documented locations, movements, and more genetic material to map out important corridors. However, as frequently occurs in scientific endeavors, not all studies agreed on the areas of these corridors. Rather than allow this outcome to generate confusion—or worse, distrust—in the scientific community, a large group of researchers teamed up to analyze their studies together and produce a consensus map of important areas for tiger connectivity in central India.

The idea for this collaboration was hatched one cold night in January of 2019 in Melghat Tiger Reserve during the biannual symposium of the Network for Conserving Central India (NCCI). The Central Indian Landscape Symposium (CILS) had brought together researchers, conservationists from NGOs, and managers to exchange views on landscape connectivity. With hands cupped over steaming cups of chai, the shared purpose to keep the corridors from getting severed motivated a plan to combine efforts for a single map based on scientific consensus. By doing so, the scientific and conservation community could speak with one voice. 

This collaborative effort revealed that while the individual studies did look quite different on the surface, they were much more similar than expected at first glance. In fact, out of the five studies analyzed, at least three agreed on 63 percent of the total study area. Furthermore, when we simulated movement using the results from each of the studies, they also largely agreed on areas of high potential movement, which allowed us to generate a new map layer we call “consensus connectivity areas (CCAs)”. This layer represents areas where all five studies agreed that there was high movement potential for tigers. 

We then identified the public and private stakeholders in these lands using the CCA layer, revealing an extensive overlap with villages and with the expanding infrastructure network that spans Central India. This overlap highlights the importance of connecting with diverse audiences, from local communities to high-level government officials and infrastructure planners, to work together to benefit all species (including humans) that share this unique landscape.

Beyond tigers, this project provides a framework for other important biodiversity landscapes so that all parties can work together to preserve nature and livelihoods. And above all, we hope to demonstrate that collaboration is critical—for science, conservation, and humanity.

Further reading:

Schoen, J. M., A. Neelakantan, S. A. Cushman, T. Dutta, B. Habib, Y. V. Jhala, I. Mondal et al. 2022. Synthesizing habitat connectivity analyses of a globally important human-dominated tiger-conservation landscape. Conservation Biology 36(4): e13909. https://doi.org/10.1111/cobi.13909
Jay Schoen Author

More in Research in Translation

Navegando entre mares y desiertos

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This article was translated to Spanish by Michelle María Early Capistrán. Click here to read the original article in English.

El desierto central de Baja California, en el noroeste de México, es tan bello como inhóspito. El imponente paisaje está dominado por cardones (Pachycereus pringlei) milenarios y cirios (Fouquieria columnaris) de aspecto surrealista. Durante los veranos calcinantes las temperaturas frecuentemente rebasan los 50°C para luego caer bajo 0°C en el invierno. La lluvia alcanza, en promedio, escasos 100–300mm al año. Este desierto se sitúa entre las aguas frías del océano Pacífico y las aguas subtropicales del Golfo de California. Los mares son ricos y abundantes: son hogar de cinco especies de tortugas marinas, una gran diversidad de mamíferos marinos—entre ellos la ballena gris (Eschrichtius robustus), que se reproduce en las lagunas del Pacífico—e innumerables peces e invertebrados. 

Los seres humanos han ocupado este ambiente extremo durante al menos 12,000 años. Los Cochimí eran un pueblo dedicado a la recolección, la pesca y la cacería, y se movían con el paso de las estaciones entre las fuentes de agua y los recursos en mar y tierra. Tras la llegada de los europeos en el siglo 18, la población Cochimí cayó un 90 por ciento en menos de dos generaciones como resultado de las epidemias y las hambrunas causadas por la sedentarización forzada. Durante los siglos posterios surgió una sociedad multiétnica, a veces conocida como los Californios, conformada por los descendientes de los Cochimís y de las diversas olas de inmigración procedentes de otras regiones de México, Europa, Estados Unidos, China y Japón. Se establecieron en rachos y comunidades dispersas alrededor de la península. Hasta el día de hoy la densidad poblacional de la región está entre las más bajas del mundo, con unas dos personas por kilómetro cuadrado.

Durante los últimos diez año, he tenido la gran fortuna de trabajar en el desierto central y de aprender de las personas que no solo han sobrevivido sino que han prosperado en este ambiente inhóspito, en gran medida por su conocimiento detallado del entorno natural. Mis colegas y yo hemos trabajado con maestros pescadores en ambas costas para intentar reconstruir cómo eran los océanos en el pasado y cómo han cambiado. La comunidad científica puede subestimar la magnitud de la biodiversidad o la abundancia pasada si la investigación se limita a los datos ecológicos, que en esta región generalmente abarcan menos de 30 años. Este fenómeno se conoce como “síndrome de desplazamiento de la línea base”. Durante milenios las tortugas marinas, y en particular la tortuga prieta (Chelonia mydas)—conocida localmente como caguama o caguama prieta—han tenido un papel clave como alimento y medicina para los habitantes de esta región. Los pescadores de mayor edad observaron mares muy distintos a los que conocemos hoy en día, y su conocimiento de cómo han cambiados las poblaciones de caguama y sus hábitats a lo largo del tiempo es primordial para entender el presente y abordar retos futuros. 

Don Carlos comenzó a trabajar como pescador de caguama (o “caguamero” como se les conoce localmente) en la costa del Pacífico a inicios de la década de 1940. Su papá y él pasaban semanas en una isla deshabitada en la laguna Ojo de Liebre, arponeando caguamas desde una canoa pequeña. La laguna se caracteriza por sus canales profundos y sus bajos extensos, por lo que la pesca de caguama requería no solo habilidad en la navegación, sino también un conocimiento preciso de los vientos, las corrientes y las mareas. El más mínimo movimiento en la superficie impedía la visibilidad, de manera que solo se podía pescar durante mareas muertas, con viento en calma y aguas tranquilas. Las caguamas capturadas se fileteaban, se salaban y se secaban para hacer cecina o machaca, y se producía aceite con la grasa. Puesto que no había fuentes de agua dulce, fabricaron un destilador con tambos metálicos y tuberías de cobre para destilar el agua de mar. Los viajes duraban hasta que juntaran suficiente carne seca para que hacer rentable el viaje al pueblo más cercano, El Arco. 

Viajaban un día y medio en mula o burro, cargados con hasta 20 kilos de carne seca de caguama que podría durar meses sin echarse a perder. La carne serviría de alimento en los ranchos o campamentos mineros del árido interior de la península. En El Arco vendían o truequeaban la carne por provisiones como frijoles, arroz, café o harina de trigo. En aquellos tiempos, varios factores limitaban las capturas. La demanda de carne de caguama se limitada a unos pocos pueblos o ranchos con contados pobladores. La pesca requería conocimientos detallados de la laguna y del díficil arte del arponeo, además de que conllevaba grandes riesgos. Asimismo, don Carlos y su papá eran los únicos pescadores en al menos 50 millas náuticas a la redonda. 

Don Ignacio llegó a la región de las grandes islas del Golfo de California en 1950. Su familia viajó en burro durante dos semanas, de un oasis o manantial a otro, buscando sitios prometedores para la pesca. En sus primeros días como pescador, había tripulaciones (conocidas localmente como equipos) de dos o tres personas que remaban durante horas—o incluso días—a campos pesqueros aislados, donde se quedaban hasta que llenar sus embarcaciones de caguamas o hasta que se las acabara la comida o el agua. La habilidad del navegante era de vital importancia: era quien debía llevar a la tripulación a buen puerto en la peligrosa costa desértica. Su conocimiento de las corrientes traicioneras o los cambios en el viento, y su habilidad para predecir la llegada de tormentas o ventarrones, podrían marcar la diferencia entre la vida y la muerte. Los viajes eran cortos cuando la pesca era buena, y peligrosamente largos cuando las capturas eran pocas o si los vientos o las tormentas los mantenían en tierra. El conocimiento detallado del mar, las islas y el desierto les ayudaba a hacer rendir el agua, que debían cargar con ellos y a veces suplementar de pequeños manantiales o pozas estacionales. La cacería también permitía estirar las raciones de comida. Los pescadores podían hacer tortillas de harina con aceite de caguama y agua de mar, y el venado bura (Odocoileus hemionus) o el borrego cimarrón (Ovis canadensis) brindaban carne que se podía comer en el campamento o secar para hacer machaca. 

En aquellos años, los pescadores capturaban las caguamas con un método altamente selectivo: el arponeo. Este arte, basado en la observación cuidadosa de la biología y el comportamiento de las tortugas marinas, requería muchísima habilidad pues las tortugas debía capturarse y venderse vivas. Las tripulaciones trabajaban de noche, con una lámpara de aceite sobre la proa para iluminar la superficie del agua. El arponero le señalaba las direcciones al timonel para lanzar el arpón con la fuerza suficiente para perforar el caparazón sin romperlo ni dañar los pulmones. En los meses de verano, cuando las tortugas son más activas y pasan tiempo cerca de la superficie, se usaban arpones ligeros y cortos. En los meses de invieron, cuando las tortugas se movían menos y pasaban largos ratos adormiladas en el fondo marino, se usaban arpones largos con peso en las puntas. 

Las caguamas se mandaban a la venta cerca de la frontera con E.U.A., a unos 800 kilómetros de distancia. El viaje, que se hacía atravesando el desierto en caminos de terracería, podría durar entre dos días y dos semanas según las condiciones del terreno. En las comunidades alejadas, las caguamas eran un alimento básico: un solo ejemplar fácilmente podía alimentar a 20 personas, y la carne se podía salar y preservar durante semanas. No se desperdiciaba nada. El aceite se usaba para cocinar y como medicina, y se usaba cada parte del animal: incluso el caparazón podía hervirse hasta obtener una consistencia gelatinosa. Las pequeñas poblaciones humanas, las dificultades de la captura y del transporte y la limitada demanda de mercado mantenían las capturas en ciertos niveles. Sin embargo, pronto todo cambiaría. 

A partir de la década de 1960, el crecimiento de las ciudades en la frontera norte de México aumentó la demanda de carne de caguama. Asimismo, la introducción de redes especializadas permitió capturar tortugas con gran facilidad y en números cada vez mayores. Los motores fuera de borda, con aumentos progresivos en los caballos de fuerza,  le permitían a los equipos desplazadarse más lejos y más rápido, a la vez que reducían el riesgo de quedarse atrapados en ventarrones o corrientes fuertes. A inicios de la década de 1970 se construyó la carretera transpeninsular pavimentada, y el viaje que antes duraba días o semanas se redujo a menos de un día. Esta “tormenta perfecta” de demanda de mercado, acceso a los mercados y mejoras en la tecnología y las artes de pesca condujeron a capturas masivas, y la población llegó al borde de la extinción en menos de dos décadas.

Mediante el trabajo colaborativo con los pescadores hemos reconstruido casi 70 años de tendencias poblacionales de caguama en la región, integrando el conocimiento ecológico local con datos de monitoreo ecológico. Sin duda hay buenas noticias: las poblaciones de caguama están creciendo tras más de 40 años de esfuerzos de conservación (las principales playas de anidación en el sur de México están protegidas desde 1980 y todas las especies de tortuga marina en México están en veda desde 1990). No obstante, las poblaciones aún lo han llegado a los niveles de línea base históricos. Asimismo, el cambio climático generará riesgos cada vez mayores para las tortugas marinas, y estos riesgos serán aún más dificiles de contrarrestar que los impactos humanos directos. Conforme las comunidades pesqueras y las tortugas marinas se enfrentan a los retos de un planeta en proceso de cambio acelerado, el conocimiento acumulado a lo largo de generaciones será fundamental para trazar rumbos hacia el futuro. 

Aprende más: 

Lectura adicional (en inglés):

Early-Capistrán, M. -M., E. Solana-Arellano, F. A. Abreu-Grobois, N. E. Narchi, G. Garibay-Melo, J. A. Seminoff, V. Koch et al. 2020. Quantifying local ecological knowledge to model historical abundance of long-lived, heavily-exploited fauna. PeerJ 8: e9494. https://doi.org/10.7717/peerj.9494
Michelle María Early Capistrán Author
Athulya Pillai Illustrator
Michelle María Early Capistrán Translator
This article is from issue

16.2

2022 Jun
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Endangered means not yet extinct

Trees have always felt like the upward raised hands of the Earth seeking rain, wind, and sunlight from the skies, while keeping myriad living and non-living things safe under their protective canopy. They never cease to fill me with awe and inspiration—their architecture, their defiance of gravity, their ability to soar above even as their roots dig deep into the soil. As an ecologist who has spent considerable time studying trees, I have had the joyful experience of hugging at least a thousand of them in the course of taking valuable diameter measurements!

Conservation of Nature usually finds its way into the hearts and minds of people through furry and huggable or majestic and awe-inspiring animals. This leaves tiny but spectacular orchids, serpentine climbers, creepy crawly insects, scaly snakes and frogs and a whole host of life forms unnoticed. Animals are given priority, while plants seem like they are every where and not particularly under threat of any loss. Up until we spend more time exploring and improving our understanding about the ecology or interdependencies that form the web of life.

Then we realise that a tree in the forest is more than just the flowers, fruits, and the leaves it produces. The bark has a host of mosses, ferns, frogs, crabs, insects, and orchids living on it. The canopy is home to a diversity of pollinators, primates, and other mammals. What happens in the deep roots and their capillaries that weave through the forest forming a vast network below ground is even less understood. A tree therefore becomes an entire habitat and even an ecosystem in the forest. In conserving a tree, one is protecting a web of relationships and interdependencies that are also threatened when that tree species is driven to extinction.

In the introduction to his book Against Extinction, Prof. Bill Adams writes about three timescales that conservation practitioners are engaged with—geological time which extends across millennia, a lifetime where one aspires to see change within a few decades, and the present, where every problem has to be addressed now or it will mean certain doom. Keeping these timescales in perspective is very important when one sets out to protect endangered species and to prevent their extinction.

The International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCN) maintains a Red List which is a comprehensive list of all living things and their conservation status. The information on populations, distributions, and the threats they face becomes invaluable when decisions on protection and preservation have to be taken. The Red Listing process assesses every species’ risk of extinction and places them under one of the nine stipulated categories: Data Deficient, Least Concern, Near Threatened, Vulnerable, Endangered, Critically Endangered, Extinct in the Wild, Extinct, and Not Evaluated. The assessments are based on information available about a species’ population and its range or distribution. These criteria are now globally accepted and widely used for conservation planning.

Through the articles in this special edition which are focussed on Endangered Trees, we want to draw attention to a world of plant conservation, which is replete with discovery, piracy, isolation, destruction, and lost relationships—all the makings of a conservation saga with trees as the protagonists.

As detailed in this series, once thought to be extinct in the wild, one species of the Faveiro trees of Brazil was rediscovered a hundred years ago and conservation plans are being implemented to ensure their long-term protection in the state of Minas Gerais. Another chance discovery of a cluster of Dipterocarpus bourdillonii trees in the Western Ghats of India spurred a large-scale survey for 11 endangered tree species in the Anamalai Hills, set against a backdrop of evolution, land use change, and global climate change. Moving on to the southern Western Ghats, where a single species from the genus Gluta is found (the only one in the Indian subcontinent), and although locally abundant in the forest, it faces a serious bottleneck in its life history, posing a threat to its long-term survival. But bottlenecks are many, when it comes to species in the wild, as in the case of the cycads from South Africa, where absence of beetle pollinators or their declines can have serious implications on populations in the wild. Human use poses a threat to the species as observed in the case of the Caryota palms, where the recreational or cultural use necessitates the removal of the flower—the reproductive part of the plant—even before it matures or has produced seed. Illegal wildlife trade is of concern to all wildlife, even plants, as seen in the article about the theft from the Gurukula Botanical Sanctuary in India and larger online trends. Finally, the fascinating history of the pivotal botanical text Hortus Malabaricus—with its detailed descriptions and meticulous illustrations of 780 plants of the Malabar region—is revealed.

Several species have been driven to extinction and are endangered owing to one or many of the reasons listed above. Will a species become extinct if we don’t act today or in our lifetime? Saving the Earth and protecting the planet by not letting anything die or go extinct has been the mainstay of conservation, which incidentally is only about 100 or so years old. From an evolutionary point of view extinctions give rise to newly adapted forms of life and keep the process of life moving ahead. Nothing stops in Nature. While saving species from dying seems like a short-term goal of conservation, there is a larger goal which I am afraid we are missing out on—literally losing sight of the woods for the trees. In the last few years in the mountains of South India, we have seen unprecedented weather patterns and a disruption of the rhythm of life. When a section of the grasslands and Shola forests of the Nilgiris collapsed in a landslide a few years ago, one started to wonder if our ecological footprint has now begun to challenge the very resilience of ancient landforms like the Western Ghats. What can we do now to rebuild the resilience of the Earth so it does not lose the capacity to bounce back after environmental disasters; this for me will be the long-term goal of conservation. We have to keep trying tree by tree, species by species, habitat by habitat to rebuild and restore that which is not completely lost.
Anita Varghese Author
Norzin Norbhu Illustrator
This article is from issue

16.3

2022 Sep
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Disappearing pollinators and extinction of the world’s oldest seed plants

In the early 1900s, an astute naturalist noticed beetles crawling all over cycad cones in South Africa, an observation that seemed to suggest these ancient plants were insect pollinated. The implications were so surprising that Alice Pegler’s observations were included in a presentation by Professor Harold Pearson to the Royal Society of South Africa in 1906. The circumstantial evidence was, however, not enough to challenge the prevailing paradigm of the time, that all cycads and related plants that do not produce flowers (Gymnosperms) were wind pollinated. It seemed inconceivable that a cycad—one of earliest plant groups to evolve from fern-like ancestors and develop seeds roughly 280 million years ago—could be insect pollinated. Insect pollination was generally believed to be one of the defining features of the flowering plants which evolved and diversified more than 100 million years later.

It was only in 1986 that researchers working in a botanic garden in the USA proved beyond doubt that some cycads were indeed pollinated by beetles. Even more surprising was evidence that cycad pollination systems include highly specialized interactions where the insect larvae develop in the cycad cones. This form of mutualism compares to the better-known interactions between figs and fig wasps, rather than the clumsy and opportunistic beetle interactions associated with primitive flowering plants. Since then, insect pollination has been confirmed in all ten genera of living cycads, across all five continents where cycads occur, and it is likely that it occurs in most of the approximately 350 known species of cycads.

Insect pollination of cycads is far more than just a fascinating evolutionary and ecological riddle, it is also critical to the survival of this unique group of seed plants. They represent one of the most threatened groups of plants yet assessed for the IUCN’s Red List of Threatened Species, with roughly 70 percent of all cycads now at risk of extinction. Over the past two decades, as studies of cycad pollination have gained momentum, there has been an increasing incidence of cases where pollinators seem to have disappeared. In some cases, pollinators were recorded in earlier surveys but have not been found in subsequent studies, while, in others, attempts to find pollinators have failed and these cycad populations do not produce viable seeds.

The collapse of pollinator populations is not unique to cycads. There is a global concern about their decline and disappearance. So much so that it was one of the first thematic assessments for the Intergovernmental Science-Policy Platform on Biodiversity and Ecosystem Services (IPBES). In the case of cycads, the loss plants. The overall context may make all the difference, depending on how far the population is from neighboring populations as a possible source of pollinators, whether the habitat is sufficiently intact to cater for other requirements of pollinators, such as shelter between coning seasons, and possible impacts of land use practices, particularly fire intensity and frequency or use of pesticides.

The absence of pollinators could be a major barrier for any attempts to recover or re-establish cycad populations. If we can’t get the pollinators back, is there any hope of reversing the trend towards extinction? This is still an open question and studies are currently underway to determine what is possible. There are some hopeful signs.

Many cycads have more than one pollinator species—a form of insurance if one pollinator is absent. For example, one recurring pattern amongst the known pollination systems is for pollination by weevils (beetles in the family Curculionoidea) as well as one or two other beetles (often Cucujoidea beetles). Where this combination exists, one pollinator may be quite specialized and will pollinate only one or a few species, whereas the more generalist pollinator will visit a wider range of cycad species. This opens up the possibility of reintroducing more generalist pollinators from populations of other cycads even if the more specialized pollinator is extinct.

Another promising avenue is to determine whether cycad pollinators have survived in botanic gardens and private collections. Plants in gardens tend to cone more frequently than in the wild and pollinator populations can become naturalized in gardens. The first experimental study of insect pollination is a great example. The study was carried out at Fairchild Tropical Garden in the USA on naturalized populations of pollinators that usually occur only in Mexico. Surveys of cycads in gardens may reveal insect pollinators that no longer exist in the wild or, just as important, show whether pollinators in gardens shift hosts and can develop in a wider range of cycad hosts than previously thought. If so, it could be possible to even re-introduce specialist pollinators into wild cycad populations.

The IUCN/SSC Cycad Specialist Group is leading a global initiative to reverse the extinction trend for cycads. It is becoming increasingly clear that this requires a greater understanding of risk and resilience associated with cycad pollination systems, and finding ways to recover and restore pollination systems wherever possible.

Further Reading


Norstog, K. J., D. Stevenson and K. J. Niklas. 1986. The role of beetles in the pollination of Zamia furfuracea L. fil.(Zamiaceae). Biotropica 18: 300–306.

Toon, A., L. I. Terry, W. Tang, G. H. Walter and L. G. Cook. 2020. Insect Pollination of Cycads. Austral Ecology
45(8): 1033–58. https://doi.org/10.1111/aec.12925.
John Donaldson Author
Shivani Shenoy Illustrator
This article is from issue

16.3

2022 Sep
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On forest remnants and scarce jewels

Reflections from surveys for endangered trees in the Anamalai Hills of the Western Ghats

The air hung heavy with the scent of nectar, and the pools in the streams glittered green and pink with fallen Dipterocarpus bourdillonii flowers. The emergent trees from which the flowers had fallen rose in regal elegance above the canopy. The previous year, in late January 2021, a team of researchers from the Nature Conservation Foundation and the Wildlife Institute of India had found a small cluster of these trees here, along the bend of the Parayankadavu River in the Anamalai Tiger Reserve. It was an exciting find because this critically endangered tree species, endemic to the Western Ghats mountains in India, had not been recorded in this area.

Now, we were back in the valley of riverine lowland montane rainforests to survey the area for more individuals and to document their altitudinal range, abundance, and other trees associated with the species.

Dipterocarpus bourdillonii

Staring into the domed crown dancing with peppered sunlight and rustling against the clouds, I pictured the land—located in the southern Western Ghats, within the Anamalai hill range—from up above, looking out from the 52 m crest of the giant. All around was a landscape with an astonishing diversity of more than 7,400 flowering plant species, distributed over a vast range of altitudinal and geographic zones. Looking to the horizon, the forests become an intricate symphony, carpeting and moulding the valleys and crests, which stood silhouetted against the expansive blue of the sky. The reverie was broken by a swirling, pirouetting flower drifting down from the canopy, which served as a reminder of the several unexplored kilometres that lay ahead.

The systematic survey for endangered trees had been underway over the past two years to understand the distribution and conservation status of ten endangered tree species within the Anamalais landscape. After the discovery of the Dipterocarpus bourdillonii cluster, the survey expanded to focus on 11 species. The surveys along 63 forest trails, each several kilometres long, were distributed across rainforest remnants on the Valparai Plateau and the adjoining Anamalai Tiger Reserve. A survey of this scale and resolution had not been undertaken since C. E. C. Fischers’s ‘Flora of the Anaimalai Hills’, followed by his work with J. S. Gamble in the ‘Flora of the Madras Presidency’, both published more than a century earlier.

More than a century of human intervention, the limited geographic scope of prior surveys, and climate change have made the data from our survey crucial to the current context. By systematically measuring the girth, height, and geolocation of every individual of our 11 endangered tree species, and laying plots to record associated trees and regeneration, we were able to gather more information on the conservation status of these species.

Ecological information that we collected suggested that patterns of endangerment varied across species. For instance, the endemic and critically endangered tree Phyllanthus anamalayanus was previously thought to be restricted to a small cluster of less than a hundred individuals spread over a couple of hectares of forest near the Iyerpadi region of the Valparai Plateau. In our surveys, we found the trees in high abundance along river systems in the mid to lower elevation of the landscape. Another species, Palaquium ravii (whose seeds germinate well in nurseries) was found as a cluster of 30-odd individuals in the forests of the Manamboli region, but was extremely scarce or absent elsewhere.

Palaquium ravii

What makes certain trees extremely rare both in distribution and in abundance, while other endangered trees are locally expansive in range and numbers?

Why do some endangered trees occur in high densities in specific valleys but are absent elsewhere? In every new range we explored and documented, in every cluster that we found, was a distinct reminder that there was much to learn about endangered species in the landscape.

A major hindrance to understanding the ecology of endangered trees within forests today is the significant historical influence of anthropogenic destruction and pressures. Extensive logging for timber, fuel or biochemical properties (sap) may have removed huge tracts of forests and large numbers of key dominant species of each forest type (e.g., Myristica dactyloides, Diospyros paniculata, Vateria indica).

Myristica dactyloides

Confounding these factors are the broad ecological parameters that seem to affect tree abundance and distribution in the Western Ghats, such as variations in rainfall, elevation, prevailing soil type, and latitude. These patterns relate to the high rates of endemism within the landscape and are, at times, significant enough to cause dramatic changes in tree composition between two adjoining valleys or neighbouring ranges. For example, the understorey tree Cryptocarya anamalayana, is only found below 1000 m elevation on the western slopes of the Anamalai plateau in select locations of high annual precipitation.

Our present-day understanding is thus situated at the crossroads where the knotted threads of history and land use change meet the ecological relationships and adaptations that have evolved over vast timescales, all set in a time of global climate change.

Syzygium densifloram

In a landscape that is threatened by fragmentation, deforestation, and extinction, the questions surrounding endangered trees, their distribution, association, abundance, and specific roles become that much more critical. What we gain from such knowledge can help in shaping future conservation and restoration efforts, built on an understanding of the composition, structure, diversity, and resilience of existing forests and their historic baselines.
AP Madhavan Author
AP Madhavan Illustrator
This article is from issue

16.3

2022 Sep
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