The Other Birds

The best thing about using mist nets to study birds is that once they're set up properly, they are not very selective about what you catch. In fact, the majority of birds we caught were not black manakins. This can be a bit disappointing, especially on dead days, but often the bycatch (the unintended captures) would be the most beautiful birds we had the chance of seeing.

The first one we caught was in the morning of the second day. This Silver Beaked Tanager was a fiesty fellow, and a bit too snappy for Leram and I to get out. After complaining throughout his entire extraction, he gave Lainy a fierce peck before flying off into the jungle.

The Silver Beaked Tanager (Ramphocelus carbo)

This would be far from the only bycatch we got. Below are only the few I managed to get photos of. I only just realized that I didn't take the time to identify some of these. Being so short on time, it's something I'll have to leave until I have more time, and a bird book. Should anyone have any possibly ID suggestions, though, please do share.

A cute little Bananaquit (Coereba flaveola)

A curious Burnished Buff Tanager (Tangara cayana)

The females of the Burnished Buff Tanager have more green on their wings

An unkown species of flycatcher

Possibly a plain xenops (Xenops minutus), but I'm unsure

A Pale Breasted Thrush (Turdus leucomelas)

(To me, these birds always look hilariously alarmed about something. Their call follows suit.)

An unknown species

Starting from today, Back at Camp will be on hiatus for a bit as I'm heading out to the field for the next month or so. This time, adventure will find me on Mt. Ayanganna, assisting some bird research with the Smithsonian Institution. You can trust that I'll be back with more great stories of what life will be like living on a mountain for a bit. For now, I'm trying to survive packing.

Why Do Scientists Collect Specimens?

Later that afternoon after releasing the odd unwanted bird from our nets, we finally caught a male black manakin. Like clockwork each team member assumed their roles for the preparation of this specimen. The title of today's post is a question I asked myself that day on that trip: why do scientists collect specimens? This is also a question I have been asked many times before, and discussion sometimes ended in a heated debate. Like the majority of research topics, the benefits of specimen collecting are mostly indirect and sadly unappreciated.

At its most basic, a specimen serves as definite proof that a species lives in an area. Wrong identifications are reduced, as the specimen is readily available for review. This is useful when new species are discovered, as an extensive amount of work must be done before it can get its name as a species. But this is far from being the only purpose of a specimen.

A specimen itself can represent an almost limitless amount of data. When we collected our prize, we took measurements of its morphological features, blood and feather samples from various portions of its body. When we processed and prepared it as a specimen, samples were taken from parts of its brain. Its organs were measured and collected in such a way that would ensure that it would be viable for research many years from now. Nothing was wasted.

(Us preparing a blood sample)

In our case, the blood of our bird would be used for DNA studies, while its digestive tract could be used to study its diet. Instead of killing multiple animals for different studies, only a few have to be sacrificed for collection in a single expedition, and scientists who are not able to make it out into the field can work on the animal from their lab.

Another question I often get asked after explaining this is: why do scientists keep collecting specimens? Isn't a single one enough? The answer is "not quite". The first reason being that of research design: the more individuals you sample, the more reliable any conclusions will be. For example, if someone were to judge the entirety of humanity on whether or not I liked chocolate, they'd conclude that chocolate was a torture device fed only to the masochistic.

(Seriously, look at that stuff.)

The second reason is that a specimen is like a photograph; a single moment in time, captured. An animal is affected by its environment and the factors present during its life. These affect its characteristics, making it a representative of the time period and the location from which it is taken. As the development of new methods of research continues, we may find ourselves in future with new capabilities, new questions to answer, and the specimens to answer those.

There's an inherent irony to be had in killing the same animals one is trying to save, but there's a purpose. In the end, research will benefit animals and humans alike. Conservation decisions cannot be made without understanding a species, and medical breakthroughs might be waiting. From the sacrifice of a few, we can gain the data to save far more. Scientists are not evil creatures merely out there to murder everything we see.

Out of the Camp and into the Jungle

When I left off last, we just set out walking in the early hours of the morning. As I mentioned before, night time in the field is colder than it is in town. This is feeble, though, and fades as soon as the sun is properly awake. Thankfully we reached the trail into the forest, before the heat picked up, and found ourselves under the shade of the trees.

(The forest)

Dennis, our guide, was sure footed, maneuvering his way within the jungle at a blistering pace, leaving the rest of us behind. (As I became more experienced, I learned this is true of all amerindian guides). Willow, on the other hand was at least a foot taller than I was (and two or more feet taller than Dennis), and kept up with relative ease. Lainy and Claire were accustomed to this, and kept their pace well, leaving Leram and I struggling. Every now and then Leram or I would get distracted by something we saw in forest, or simply just by the surroundings themselves. Occasionally they would all stop for a second and point off in the distance, hearing a bird call we hadn't, in a direction we were unsure of.

(Distractions like the lichen on this rotten stump)

(Apparently green is a distracting colour in the forest)

This went on until we stopped for a short break. Willow produced a portable speaker system and played the call of the bird we were searching for, to familiarize us. Then, handing us some bags of nets and rope, her and Claire went off by themselves to investigate a site further away. The rest of us head off in the opposite direction, searching for the elusive black manakin.

The call of the black manakin

(funny enough, this is the very same call she played for us. 

imagine the smile I had when I found it online)

During our hour or so of walking, we heard them maybe only once. The calls of birds in the wild are many and varied, and as such, without experience, their identification is difficult. There are other more indirect methods one can use to find animals, though. In this case, as Lainy told us, manakins were especially fond of Melastome berries (family: Melastomataceae), and after locating a few of these and some fruiting trees, we found our sites and set up the mistnets.

(Mistnets being set up)

The setting up and of mistnets is similar to packing for me; something I've gotten quite adept at over time, but also a minor inconvenience I will continue to rue every single time without fail. Like packing, I'll discuss in more detail later on. Mistnetting is a passive method of surveying, so most of the time mistnetting is spent simply waiting, and walking. Like all methods, though, there is a certain danger posed to the animals being sampled. Birds have a risk of overheating or getting soaked in the rain, and as such, mistnets must be checked every hour without fail. Our distance from camp made walking back and forth completely inefficient, so we found a small clearing with some logs, and there we sat for the majority of the time we were there.

It's things like these, though, that make fieldwork so great. In the lack of technology, you either spend time with the surroundings, or the people you're with. Lainy, who had been exhausted on the bus and did not speak much, was now quite animated and we soon became well acquainted. When there was no conversation, often there was the wind blowing through the leaves, or the odd bird calling in the distance, or even, just a comfortable silence. Soon, we caught a anticlimactic manakin female in the nets. After taking the measurements, Lainy released her, and we set off to camp for lunch.

The Manakins

There are stark differences with the person I am at home versus in the field. Generally, I struggle to wake up on time every morning, yet when I'm out camping, I often find myself awake earlier than I need to be. My attempts to bridge the two have been met with little success, probably because unlike Georgetown, Guyana (my version of civilization), the temperature in the interior dips dramatically at night. On my first night out, I probably would have found myself awake and freezing way earlier had Leram not lent me an extra thick bed sheet which he'd brought along. Ironically enough, it was he complained about cold the next morning.

Nevertheless, we were both up in good time, and after packing our bags with the supplies we'd need, the entire team set out just after sunrise. We were not only with Willow and Lainy, but two master's students, Justin and Claire. They were all there for the same reason: to study manakins.

Manakins, the birds of the family Pipradae, are one the most showy groups of the neotropical songbirds. In addition to their flashy and sometimes ridiculous colours, manakin males are most noted for the fact that they dance. Yes, they dance.

(The Red-capped Manakin (Ceratopipra mentalis) From the PBS Documentary "Deep Jungle - New Frontiers")

(Lance Tailed Manakins (Chiroxiphia lanceolata) performing for a female. At the end of this paired mating dance, only one male gets to pass on his genes)

Manakin females are especially picky. As a result, males from within the family have evolved elaborate mating rituals in order to impress them. The Golden Collared Manakin (Manacus vitellinus) goes as far as clearing a section of the forest floor and darting from twig to twig which clapping its wing bars together (see clip above for slow motion video) to produce clicks. 

(The Golden Collared Manakin mating ritual)

The cost of these complex mating behaviours is the large amount of brain power they require. Male manakins have to be able to perform these actions with an incredible amount of dexterity, while females need to be able to see the subtle differences between two dances to determine which is the better mate. The male manakin brain actually increases in size during the mating season specifically to accommodate this. All for the purpose of passing on their genes. 

First Night in the Field

Contrary to my first opinion, the field (particularly in the forest) can be a noisy place, full of unique sounds and experiences which can be quite strange on your first time. A regular day in the field, depending on where you are, can start in the morning with the calls of Little Chacalacas (Ortalis motmot, colloquially referred to Annakwa) or Red Howler Monkeys (Alouatta seniculus). They are soon replaced by Screaming Pihas, whose name accurately describes the only thing they do all day. Surprisingly, these birds are in fact quite dull and cryptic, though, you always know they're there.

(the sound of the Red Howler Monkeys)

This is a recording of the call of the Little Chacalca

(from: Xeno-Canto)

As day shifts to night, the wildlife slowly calms and the natural sounds are replaced by the low hum of the generator in the background and the shuffling of teams returning to camp. This is the sound of science, and is accompanied by those hard at work processing samples or specimens and making notes. Eventually, the rigors of the day finally wear everyone down, and soon, they're off to bed.

On my first night, I was settled in my hammock and ready to sleep, when the generator was turned off and the camp was pitched into darkness. I found myself completely alone, and very terrified. The worst was the silence. With an active imagination, in the darkness, the sound of a falling leaf could be the soft footfalls of a jaguar with its eyes on you as a fresh meal. In my mind, nature itself was all out there to kill me. It wasn't long before I was overtaken with sleep, and I reasoned that if anything wanted me that badly, staying awake wasn't going to do much to dissuade it; the prospect of waking up at 5 am with little sleep was far more terrifying. 

For the rest of nights I was always way too tired to even bother with any stalking jaguars. As I got more accustomed to the forest, I became more comfortable with it, and fear soon gave way to curiosity. Wildlife, was in fact probably the least dangerous thing about fieldwork. As I would soon come to learn, wildlife was, in fact, probably one of the rarer things to see in the field. This, though, is what makes any encounter a great experience.

Arrival

After a few hours of driving, we turned into a small opening in the forest at the side of the road. The smooth asphalt gave way to a dirt road which ran through a savanna, with dry forest in the distance. Soon we came upon a small camp that would be our home for the next week.

(view of the camp from the creek)

Our camp this time around was a small farm on the edge of the forest and savanna. There was no bath or beds, or toiletries for that matter. Instead, we bathed, washed and got our water from the flowing black water creek at the base of a small incline. For the toilet we had a small shovel, a cutlass, and a light, which was an experience by itself. We were a few miles from an Amerindian village called St. Cuthbert's mission. The village was small, though, and we only knew it was there from the faint glow off in the distance at night. The owner of the farm and his family were our hosts. His wife and daughter cooked for us, while he was our guide. This was his land, and he knew it like the back of his hand.

(the creek)

We spent the rest of the afternoon getting the equipment off the bus and setting up the camp. This consisted mostly of Leram and I asking for help and watching them put up the tarps. We managed with our own hammocks, until we found out that we'd set them up badly and would have to put them up again. Needles to say, a lot was learned that day. Eventually, we got everything set up in time for dinner, and then after a bit, were off to bed.

(our final hammock setup)

Preparations

This week's post comes a bit late as a result of an overdue exam I had earlier today. Apologies for the wait, and thanks for reading!


After a week, the first two students returned. They brought stories, photos, and a few scars. It would still be two more weeks before we headed out, but we were almost ready to go. First, we had to deal with the daunting task of gathering equipment and packing.

Packing is a skill gained with experience, and most definitely not my favourite part of travelling. I plan on writing about packing and my experiences and recommendations, but later on, describing another run in with the heinous task. Over time, though, I've gotten a fair idea of what gear I need for field work from trial and error. Most of that error, I gathered on this trip.

My biggest worry at the time was not having enough. When I got there, I slowly realized that I had too many of the things I didn't need, and none of the things I actually did. I had a headlamp which broke in a few days, a water bottle which held only enough water to last me two hours, and snacks which would last me only half a day. It wasn't all bad, though. I did make a few good purchases from the little money I had. The hiking boots I currently use in the field have been my companions since then. Once a piece of gear has proven itself worthy, it becomes like a good friend, never leaving my side. The more worn it gets, the more personality it acquires.

Eventually, I received the email to say that Lainy and Willow had come back from their last trip and were ready to leave with us in a few days. If I remember correctly, it was on the 12th of March that I stepped out of the car and into the guest house where the scientists were staying. After brief re-introductions, Leram (the student I was paired with) and I helped them load the top and inside of the bus with an unbelievable amount of gear. Even though it didn't seem like it, as Willow proudly told us, they used every single thing we carried. We wondered how they managed on their own.

On the bus we learned that the girls had somehow 'forgotten' to tell us that the creek had risen during their stay. This forced them to take down and relocate their hammocks in the middle of a storm, in the early hours of the morning. At this point, it was a bit too late to turn around, although, neither of us had any intentions of ever doing that.