Ecuador

I arrived in Quito, Ecuador on August 19th. Ecuador is a small country (about the size of Nevada) bordered to the north by Colombia and to the east and south by Peru (see map of South America below). Despite its small size, Ecuador is diverse in every way, from the variety of habitats you encounter to the biodiversity found within. Ecuador boasts a long coastline running its length, and Darwin's famed Galapagos Islands rest 400 miles off the mainland. Heading from the coast eastward, you climb the western foothills of the Andes Mountains, the longest mountain chain in the world spanning the length of South America. Climbing higher into the Andes, you reach the snow-capped, active volcanoes that create the backbone of this rugged range, and continuing east, the Andes roll down into the eastern foothills, and finally into the Amazon itself.

The biological station where I work rests on the eastern slope of the Andes in cloud forest habitat at 2100m (6,900 ft). The weather systems in Ecuador move from east to west, counter to what we experience in the States. The moisture from the Amazon is picked up in the form of clouds that make their way westward, eventually bumping into the Andes where the roll up and over the mountains creating fog, light rain, and occasionally intense thunderstorms. There is no "dry season" on the east slope of the Andes, just a rainy season and a less rainy season. The forest at this elevation is always wet, so we wear high rubber boots year-round. Temperatures hover around 65 F during the day, but it can seem much colder due to the humidity or much warmer on sunny days.

Here are a series of pictures I took this year and during previous years. The first set of photographs was taken at 2100m in the cloud forest. The first two pictures are of the view from my office window looking east at the Huacamayos Ridge 7 km away. On the other side of the ridge the land drops off into the Amazon basin. Next, a picture of Rain in her usual perch outside my office door. Next, me with a bird called the Beryl-spangled Tanager and the Huacamayos Ridge in the background. I wrote and published my first scientific paper on the nesting biology of this little bird. Finally, a moth that sat outside of my office window for several days last week.

Next, a series of pictures from the eastern foothills (approx. 1200m in elevation). First, me with a giant caecillian, a subterranean, legless amphibian. Very cool, and rare. A picture of the threat display of a potoo taken by a friend, followed by the nestling that the adult potoo was defending. Potoos are nocturnal birds that sit as still as statues during the day on dead tree stumps. They are very hard to spot! Finally, a crazy, wild looking caterpillar we found last year while doing research. Looks like a gummy bear, though probably not as tasty!

The last two photos are from the lowlands (Amazon). The first is me with a muceronid snake that a herpetologist friend found. The last is a giant land snail I photographed while on vacation with my parents at a lowland jungle lodge.

Random

Longing, we say, because desire
is full of endless distances.

   - Thomas Edward Lawrence
          (aka Lawrence of Arabia)

Michigan

In August I made a stop in Michigan to visit my family. The following photos are (part) of my lovely extended family. They include: my mom Diane, my cousin Jimmy, Jimmy's wife Janelle and their son Jacob, Uncle Duane, Aunt Jeanette and Jacob's sister Julia, my dad Terry, Aunt Darlene, Uncle Rick, and me.

Arizona

July is traditionally the start of monsoon season in Arizona; the time when tropical storms from Mexico drench the thirsty desert and one can hear a giant, collective sigh from the plants and animals. This is also the time the dung beetles, hereafter referred to as dungers, come alive. The monsoons are magical, especially if you’re lucky enough to spend them in the mountains of southeastern Arizona. Every day starts sunny and warm, and by mid-day, the clouds are building, until around 2pm when the skies unleash their load. The storms bring the indescribable, unique smell of rain-soaked desert, amazing sunsets due to the cumulus clouds, brilliant rainbows, and incredible lightening displays.

My field site, just south of the main peaks of the Patagonia Mountains (photo 1) , is an expansive, high-elevation grassland called the San Rafael. Cattle still roam the range, and the grasslands are so vast and the vistas so beautiful that Hollywood westerns have been filmed here. The San Rafael (photo 2) is approximately 13 km from the border with Mexico, so my twice-daily trapping runs typically involve waving to Border Patrol as they drive past in their white trucks with green logos looking for illegal immigrants and narcotics smugglers. If I’m near the road, the Border Patrol officers usually slow the truck, roll down the window, wave and say “hi,” and continue on their way. I suspect they have a policy not to harass people -- they never ask me what I’m doing. I must look suspicious, though, digging holes in the earth at 6am. I imagine I fall into the “low risk” group given the fact that I’m not Mexican and I’m not a 20-something white male.

This year the monsoons did not disappoint – they arrived in full force on July 3^rd, and on the morning of July 4^th, I caught my first dunger, my nocturnal species known to science as Dichotomius colonicus. I let my first individual go, something I do every year.

With steady monsoon rains come more and more beetles, among other things. So far this year my pitfall traps have yielded a gopher snake (photo 3) (who spent one night in a trap and was gone by morning), 2 tarantulas (photo 4) that I kicked out of their new “homes”, 3 scorpions (feisty little tail-whippers), crickets, millipedes, and various other creepy crawly things. Checking traps is always very exciting. In fact, as Forrest Gump’s mama always said “life is like a pitfall trap; you never know what you’re gonna get."

So, what do these traps look like? Basically, shit is wrapped in a piece of square mesh fabric that is then tied into a ball with string. The ball is hung by a metal rod over a funnel that leads to a plastic holding cup (photo 5). The shit attracts the marauding dungers (they are excellent fliers), they land near the trap, walk toward the bait, and slide down the funnel into the cup. The idea is that the dungers never touch the shit, so they aren’t covered in it. Makes it a lot more sanitary when experimentally testing them! The traps aren’t fool-proof, though. Every year a few traps get flooded, at least one trap gets crushed by a cow hoof, rodents sometimes eat the funnels, and many mammals come steal the shit for food, but all-in-all, the traps do a pretty good job of nabbing beetles.

I’ve been living about six miles from my study site in a one-room cabin. The cabin is tucked among giant sycamore trees at the foot of a canyon rockface. A wash runs within 30 feet of the wooden walls of the structure, and when the rains fall heavy from the sky, the wash floods wildly with water for several hours, and then dries again. The cabin was originally constructed by my friends, Susan and Lee, when they were building their retirement home about 300 yards away. Lee added a new bathroom onto the cabin this year, complete with a composting toilet. There is no electricity, so I cook using a Coleman propane stove and light the room with candles at night.

A pair of barn swallows built a nest just below the eave of the cabin, and they have been diligently incubating eggs and now brooding their chicks. The cabin also has a new resident, a skink – a type of lizard. I don’t know how he got in, but I found him hanging out on top of my suitcase about a week ago and invited him to share the place. He keeps the cricket and spider populations down, and I delight in the sound he makes when he crawls across the concrete footprint of the cabin, a scraping sort of sound, but really the sound is the epitome of the word “slithering.” He slithers. He’s a big fella -- about 10 inches from nose to tail -- and he spends a lot of his non-hunting time behind a cabinet. I usually see him once a day, and he’s a friendly enough roommate, but we don’t talk much. The whole experience of the cabin makes me feel like Thoreau on Walden Pond.

Aside from the wildlife living in and on the cabin, many other critters abound. The bunny population is out of control, which leads to an incredible coyote population. I see coyotes daily, and every morning I hear them yelping in amongst the cattle on the San Rafael. The other day I stepped on the tail of a gopher snake that was hidden in the grass, and I even wrastled a 4-rattled diamondback (photo 6) and got some nice photos of it (okay, okay, so it was already dead). I’m still waiting to see my mountain lion, the mythical beast that supposedly occurs at all of my field sites, the one that haunts my dreams, but who continues to elude me.

In total, I spend about 4 hours outside setting and checking traps, usually starting at 5:30am with the last check at 7pm. It gets dark at 8pm here on the 32^nd parallel, so I envy all you high latitude folks and your long summer days! The days get even shorter when I’m in Ecuador. The equator has a 12 light / 12 dark cycle year round. Aside from trapping, the rest of my days in Arizona are spent experimentally testing dungers at the home of a couple, Jerry and Ann, who are currently out of town. The other day I found a Clark's Spiny Lizard trapped in their sink. I don't know how she got in the house, but I rescued her from the sink and released her outside after a photo shoot (photo 7 and 8).