The Local Celebrity

Eight days a month, four times a day, there is a small parade on the only paved street that travels through a remote town in Borneo. The town usually only likes to show up for two of the four parade time slots (the 4:45am and the 6:15 pm time slots aren’t that common), so at approximately 10:30am and 3:45pm, the residents of this small town gather on porches, as they anxiously wait  for the parade to begin.  You may ask why in a town with fewer than 30 families there is such a regular parade, and what does that parade consist of.  Well, the answer is the local celebrity, also known as me.  To me the parade doesn’t seem very exciting, as it consists of me walking back and forth from my house to the bridge where I dock my boat.  However, to the local town children, they still view this as the highlight of their day.  The children will often run out of the houses or stop their game to say hello and wave to me.  I hear many shouts of greetings, “Hello Mister” (they haven’t figured out that the expression is only used for men), “Hello bule” (bule is the general term used for Westerns but actually means albino), and sometimes if I am really lucky, I even get a “Hello Katie”.  Usually, I will do my princess parade wave “wrist wrist elbow elbow”, as I stomp down the street in my rubber boats and camo pants.  Recently though, the parade has become interactive, with the children finally being brave enough to run to the road and give me a high five. I keep waiting for the novelty of me to wear off (how long does 15 minutes of fame really last), but 16 months later, I still hold the position as the local celebrity.  

Oh Poop!

There are certain things that happen that remind me that science might be my correct path.  In the pressure of writing grants, collecting data, entering data, working on publications, ect, sometimes the day to day (or should I say the data to data) of it makes me forget the reason why I became a scientist in the first place.  For me this week, it was poop that reminded me.  For those of you who know me from a certain period of my life this statement shouldn’t surprise you.  You were there when I was crowned poop queen many months in a row. For the rest of you, yes there actually is something called poop queen and yes I have been it, and yes poop reminded me why I recently repacked up all my possessions to go live in a tent in the middle of a tropical forest. 

So to explain why I found poop so exciting, I need to take a step back.  Recently, I have been on this path to try to figure out why proboscis monkeys sleep in certain trees and not others.  It has been in the back of my mind since I started studying proboscis monkeys, but I began formally collecting data on sleep tree selection, when sleep time was the only time I actually saw the monkeys.  Initially, this sleep tree project was supposed to be a little side project.  It was going to be a finite set of data that was fairly easy to collect with fairly simple data analysis so I could write it up quickly or present it at conferences (the dataset for my actually dissertation seems anything but simple-if anyone knows how to deal with both temporal and spatially auto correlated data- send me a message); however, recently my sleep site project has been taking over (maybe there is a correlation between how much Katie is not sleeping, and how much she is thinking of primates sleeping).  Most of the literature to date state that most primates select sleep sites as a way reduce predation risk.  This seems like a fairly reasonable assumption- primates have lots of natural predators (raptors, snakes, wild cats, to name a few), and if one is going to have to turn one’s back to predators (or in other words- close its eyes and catch some zzzs), it is going to want to have some way of reducing the fact that it is sleeping prey.  The problem with this idea is that no matter what the data shows- people just wave their hands and say, “Oh it must be antipredator behavior”.  It could be, and I am not saying it is not, but as good scientists we should be testing these ideas and leaving the hand waving to the magicians of the world.  So to make an already long story about poop – a little shorter- I plan to to set up a couple of little experiments to test some alternative hypotheses of why proboscis monkeys sleep in certain trees (for those of you that are interested- some other ideas are thermoregulation, anti-disease vectors, social interactions, or optimal foraging).

To do some of these little experiments, I needed some proboscis monkey poop.  Sure it sounds like an easy thing to do, just get some poop, but with the fallen logs, dense vegetation, and quick sand mud, I am having a hard time following the monkeys in the forest.  If one is sitting on a boat and sees a monkey poop, it is a bit hard to then find said poop on the leaf covered forest floor (it is so much easier when you are under the monkeys and they just poop on your head).  So you all can imagine my surprise and excitement when I went to my favorite spot along the river to bath, and realize that my bathing site is covered in proboscis monkey poop.  Half clothed wet Katie is jumping up and down in the forest because she found poop.   I spent the rest of my time bathing figuring out what I wanted to do with this poop.  My assistants thought I was a little crazy when still dripping wet, tangled hair probably accented with leaves (I was too excited to comb my hair or properly dry off), I go directly to my tent and grab my latex gloves and a zip lock bag; turn around going back into the forest proclaiming, “Saya temuka kotoran bekantan! (I found proboscis monkey poop).”

In the end, my little experiment didn’t discover anything interesting; however, finding a pile of monkey poop did allow me to rediscover my exciting and joy of science.  

The disappearing forest

I try to make my field adventures into funny stories, but there are a lot of things about my life that are not so funny.  As I am studying proboscis monkeys’ responses to changes in their environment, I need to work in a place that is experiencing those changes.  This means that on a daily basis, I am experiencing and recording the destruction of the habitat of the proboscis monkeys. It is extremely frustrating that I am collecting all this data, and realizing that the data will not do anything to save this endangered species or the ecosystem that it lives in. Therefore, I am going to share with you what I am seeing .  First, I hear a constant choir of chainsaws.  The sound of chainsaws has become as much a part of the choir of the forest as the song of the gibbons, the chirp of the cicadas, and the honk of the hornbills.  Although I hear the chainsaws everyday and see the piles of wood lined up along the river, the extent of the logging didn’t really hit me until the loggers cut down some of the trees I monitor.  They cut down and damaged 20% of the trees in one of my botanical plots.  Just to collect my monthly data now I need to climb over the fallen trees, and try to figure out what tree stump goes with what tree tag.   The area where the loggers cut down the trees is in a small corridor that was initially damaged by giant forest fires in 1997 and 2002.  This area, after the loggers came through, no longer contains any large trees- which for the primates mean that food sources have been reduced, travel paths have been reduced, and places to sleep have been reduced.   To add insult to injury, a mining company has started initial operations in my backyard.  When I brush my teeth on the back deck, I hear the bull dozer building roads and plowing down a stand of trees to prepare the area for the soon extraction of minerals from the soil.  Although the mining company has the potential to bring jobs to the area, I believe the negative consequences will far outweigh the small paychecks and unsafe working conditions for the local people (much like the palm oil plantations- but that is a topic for another blog).  A large mining operation will have an effect on the local population of both people and primates.  The people are connected to this forest as much as the primates, they gather leaves to build their roofs, wood to build their houses and cook their food, they bath in the river, and they fish in the river.   The mining will damage their environment as much as the primates.  Finally, in the past couple of months, hunting has started.  I now hear gunshots as I am walking transect, have found way to many traps (and am afraid that I will end up in one of the traps), and have seen dead animals being rowed downriver.  I am not against hunting; however, the rates that the animals are coming out of the forest are not sustainable.  Although logging, destruction of habitat, and hunting are some of the proximity causes extinctions of animals- they are not the ultimate causes.  I am always challenged with what we can do to curb these proximate causes; however, to really make a difference we need to deal with  the ultimate causes… the poverty, corruption, and globalization (to name a few)…some reason I think knowing what the monkeys are eating isn’t really going to help.   

The Saving Grace of Cemeteries

Pythons, crocodiles, jellyfish, venomous snakes, sun bears, tree falls, religious extremists, and angry logger are just a few of the hazard in my life; however, the most dangerous part of my job is actually walking on the street in front of my townhouse.   I have said this to many people and they just laugh at me, but last night, I proved that this is in fact true.  I was taking my causal stroll back home from my boat last night, when all of a sudden I saw two sets of headlights coming quickly toward me.  As I know my road is not wide enough for two sets of cars, and I am currently walking on said road, I know I am in trouble.  The bus starts honking at me as it is heading straight towards me.  I thought some words that aren’t appropriate for this blog, and jumped off the road, but rather than just going into someone’s yard, there was a fence that was impeding my escape from being flattened by the bus.  I had just enough time to half climb up the fence, and held on for dear life as I felt the gush of wind created by the bus as it flew past me.  After the bus passed me, I jumped off the fence that I had climbed, and realized that I had tried to scale the fence into the cemetery.  So it was the cemetery that saved me from my near death experience with the bus… and in a week when I saw many men totting rifles, tracks of two crocodiles, and angry male orangutans, it was the bus that almost got me.  

The Turtle Goes on a Motorcycle

The turtle is back.  For those of you that have been reading this blog since the beginning, you have probably read about the turtle.  Basically, imagine a 100 lb person with a 50 lb giant backpack on their back, a 40 lb backpack on their belly, and a Timbuk2 bag thrown over their shoulder (I got rid of my giant black box, thankfully).  Well after the success of having the turtle take a train, I decided to have the turtle try to ride on a moped.  For someone who is carrying around their entire house on their back, the idea of having some additional transportation help seemed like a great idea (key word… seemed).  Therefore, when my assistant asked if I wanted to be picked up at the airport, I, of course, agreed.  I often sit and watch the traffic pass by my town and I am constantly amazed at how many people and things Indonesians can put on a moped.  Four people is completely normal (I’ve seen up to 6), so is carrying building supplies (including 2 X 4’s), hundreds of durian fruits, or anything else one might need to transport.  Therefore, I didn’t think twice about putting the turtle on the moped.  We began our trip right after sundown and it begin without any problems. The weight was well balanced, and all I had to do was hold on and relax for the hour and half ride to my town.  Just when I was getting comfortable, we started going a little faster- and realized that I my backpack had become a giant sail that was pushing me backwards.  Not only was I holding up the 65 lbs on the back of this small bike (which of courses shifted so all the weight was hanging off my left shoulder), I was carrying my other pack like a football (it only had two laptops, a pair of binoculars and my nice camera- nothing important if it went flying off the motorcycle).  I tried to shift to get things to fall back in balance- but as I did the entire motorcycle lunged as my assistant, who is not much bigger than I am, tried to balance the extra wiggly weight on the back of his bike.  As I was holding on for dear life, and literally, it was probably for my life, I just kept thinking that since my backpack was soooo big if I did fall off, maybe my backpack would save me, the irony of my life.  By the time we got back to my house in my little village, I had no feeling in any of my body- especially the two fingers I was using to hold on the whole time.  In the lack of feeling of my body though- there was a different feeling, the feeling of finally starting to be a little Indonesian.  However, there was also the thought that after getting stuck on a train and then almost falling off a motorcycle, I should really learn how to pack lighter.