ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Special thanks to Issue sponsor: Dr Alexander Finnen
Editors
Dr Alicia Colson – Academic editor
Briana Gervat
Samantha Moore
Michael Murphy
Alyssa Sargent
Briony Turner
Design Alex Kerridge
Recommended citation: Turner, B. and Colson, A. (eds.) (2024) Exploration Revealed, 4, 1-40 doi: 10.5281/zenodo.13856604
ISSUE SPONSORS
Peer review pannel
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Claire Grogan, Barts Health NHS Trust
Professor Chris Imray PhD FRCS FRCP FFSEM FRGS (Consultant, Vascular and Renal Transplant Surgeon), Deputy Medical Director of NIHR LCRN West Midlands.
Dr Shane McCorristine, Lecturer, School of History, Classics, and Archaeology, University of Newcastle, UK.
Professor Mark Mulligan, Department of Geography, King’s College London, UK.
Dr Ross Piper FRES, Fellow, Royal Entomological Society, UK.
Dr Carina Ren, Professor (Associate), Department of Culture and Global Studies, Aalborg University, Denmark.
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Exploration Revealed is a hybrid magazine that aims to advance knowledge about and provide peer-to-peer support for scientific and adventure-led expeditions. It has been created with a view to learning through support, shared experiences, and the passing on of knowledge.
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Contents
Tales From The Field
pg.3 An Island Above the Clouds
pg.7 On Pilgrimage
pg.9 Four Walks and a Sailing
Expedition Revealed
pg.13 A Journey of Land and Sea
pg.17 Exploring the Untamed Jaguars of the Brazilian Cerrado
Innovation in the Field
pg.19 Fast and Steady: Photographing Live Hummingbirds for 3D Models
In-Country Connections
pg.22 Field Friends Down Under
pg.25 Guanches of the Sea: The Pilot Whales of Tenerife
Extreme Expeditioning
pg.27 Standing in the Shadow of the Milky Way: An interview with Dr. Meganne Christian
pg.29 Paradise Lost and Found: The Pacific Ocean’s Oscillating Image and its Impact on Western Scientific Discoveries and Climate Change Awareness
Environmentally senstive expeditioning
pg.31 Stone Stacking
Expedition Impact
pg.35 The Lost and Unknown Plants Among Gayo Coffee
Fundworthy Expeditions
pg.37 Expedition Leaders Seeking Funding
An Island Above the Clouds
by Andrea Bernal-Rivera, with Gustavo Rodríguez, and Jaime A. Buitrago
In 2021, the three-part expedition called “Una Isla Sobre las Nubes” (“An Island Above the Clouds”) began in the National Natural Park Farallones de Cali, Colombia. Our aim was to gather baseline information on biodiversity of the park’s cloud forest and páramo (alpine intertropical ecosystem). For many years, those locations were inaccessible to both biologists and the public due to (a) security problems and (b) the lack of resources to complete expeditions in these hard-toget-to mountains. Biologists from the Pontificia Universidad Javeriana and Universidad del Valle undertook the project together, and I had the opportunity to work on the mammalogy team, side-by-side with park rangers and people from the local communities.
In order to reach our campsites, we had to walk for hours, crossing rivers and dense forests. It was my first time exploring the high mountains that surround my hometown - I grew more enamored with the territory with each passing minute. I vividly remember every multicolored leaf, lichen, and animal that I stopped to look at and appreciate; my heart was full even when I was extremely tired on the climb to the mountains.
In the first part of the expedition, we had a campsite created by biologists and people from the local community. Wood and plastics were used to keep us dry inside our tents, and we had an incredible kitchen where the locals prepared delicious food for us. We had the most amazing outdoor toilet I have ever seen, constructed from wood and crowned by a toilet seat over a huge hole dug in the ground - it deserved a prize. One of the masterminds behind our campsites was Jaime Buitrago, a community member who has lived in the National Park for 17 years and who acted as our local guide, field assistant, and co-researcher due to his invaluable knowledge. In his words,
“The craziest thing about being part of the project was to assist and learn from all the biologists. I was active from 4:00 AM with ornithologists to midnight with herpetologists. The hardest thing for me was to learn the scientific names of species, and what I enjoyed the most was to camp three weeks in the páramo, where the climate and terrain tested my
| Tales from the Field |
body, mind, and spirit; however, I would do everything again without even thinking twice. The most valuable thing for me was to learn and share my empirical knowledge; the community participation in scientific projects is crucial—we all learn from each other, and we can reflect on how to reduce our impact in our surroundings, empowering us to take care of our territory.”
Part two of the expedition tested us all (I was abroad during part three, so I didn’t take part in it, but it was even more extreme). At that campsite, we, the biologists, were guests: the spot was a monitoring site of the Colombian National Army and the National Parks organization, as illegal mining is considered a serious threat in the páramo of the Farallones mountains. Once we arrived, the captain in charge welcomed us, then subsequently explained the action plan if we received an armed attack on the campsite, including where we (the civilians) should hide in such a scenario. Following this, he spoke directly with a friend and me, the only
two women on the trip. His purpose was to make us feel safe, so he asked us to inform him of any inappropriate behavior that might make us feel threatened among all the soldiers. Although the soldiers were respectful at all times, I certainly felt safer knowing that we had the support and attention from the highest-ranked platoon member on such an issue.
For the sake of security, we couldn’t move outside of the campsite without the soldiers. So, we had the opportunity to introduce the soldiers to the species we were studying. Some of the soldiers were just 17 years old. While some were curious and liked to learn about mammals, finding the bats particularly impressive, others were scared about the myths—like Dracula—that surrounded them. Over the course of the expedition, many of the soldiers and park rangers slowly became closer to bats; by the end, they were even helping us to install the mist nets to capture them and assisting in their release. It was a project with moments of both extreme joy and
Biologists and soldiers installing mist nets to capture bats in the páramo ecosystem of the Farallones de Cali mountains— working collaboratively to learn about the local biodiversity.
(Juan David Valencia)
worry, as the park ranger Gustavo Rodríguez can attest to:
“As park rangers, we had many challenges, like the security situation in some localities, the terrain instability in others, and the climbing dangers to set paths inside the forests; all this together required a lot of willpower to get the project off the ground and keep discovering the richness of the protected area. This motivation allowed us to encounter incredible animals, expand the known geographical distribution of species, and discover new ones, which are currently being described.”
Through our expedition, it became clear that integration of the academic, communal, and organizational aspects of an expedition is crucial for conducting this type of research project. The final outcomes of the expedition are being assembled in order to continue caring for the Park and all the diversity that it holds. The expedition to this Park was an unbelievable experience—one that we all will remember forever.
We would like to thank the team who made this project possible and the minds behind it. We fondly remember Professor Gustavo Katan, who helped to establish and raise funding for this expedition, but passed away before it could begin. ■
Andrea is a Colombian biologist conducting her Ph.D. at the University of Washington. Her research interests lie in the ecophysiology,
evolution, and conservation of bats.
| Tales from the Field |
Bidentate Yellow-Shouldered Bat is one of many species of bat that we encountered during our expeditions. It was captured at 2300 m.a.s.l., using mist nets installed alongside
Andrea Bernal-Rivera
This
Cristian Calvache, a biologist. (Andrea Bernal-Rivera)
On Pilgrimage
by Andrew Christiansen
The Cambridge “English Dictionary: Meanings & Definitions” defines a pilgrimage as: “a special journey made by a pilgrim; a visit to a place that is considered special, where you go to show your respect; and a trip, often a long
one, made to a holy place for religious reasons”.
On hearing the word ‘pilgrimage’, many may think of either a pilgrim from the Medieval period (approximately 470-1450), clad in brown and holding a long staff, or of those today dressed in white undertaking the Hajj to the Al-Masjid an-Nabawi (Prophet’s Mosque) in Medina or the Masjid al-Haram in Mecca. Many may think of those pilgrims undertaking one
of those busy, energetic processions in either India or Sri Lanka, which are extremely noisy and colourful. All these are acts of faith, a journey to express devotion and loyalty to a god, saint or deity. The most visited pilgrimage destination in Europe is debatably the Vatican City in Rome, Italy or the Catholic Sanctuary of Our Lady of Lourdes, in France. In Europe, the most renowned of all the pilgrimage routes are those which end in Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain. Various routes from all over the country converge on the Shrine, in the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, to the apostle, St James the Great, making Santiago de Compostela one of the most popular pilgrimage routes in Europe.
In our more secular times, there are many other journey forms which might be thought of as pilgrimages. Recently, while I was walking to Santiago de Compostela, I spoke with a Spanish man who is a devoted Beatles fan, and who recounted with great joy his visit to Liverpool and the places associated with the Beatles that he had seen there. The devotion of this diehard fan of the ‘Fab Four’ is precisely the same as that held by those journeying to the shrines at Lourdes or Santiago de Compostela. I know from my personal experience at a Leonard Cohen concert, when I’ve overheard others talking in terms of the evening as having been a mystical experience for them, that I shared the exact same sentiment.
what defines a ‘pilgrimage’ in the 21st century?
For me, it is a journey with purpose, with a predetermined destination. Importantly, it is not something prosaic, but something that transcends a merely mundane journey. It might be for a religious purpose, but might be secular. It involves a process, an intention, and is not routine. An openness to any experience that occurs helps, as does welcoming the potential for inner change. The journey may be undertaken alone or with others, as might be the moment of reaching the destination, whether reached solo or as part of a group.
Camino in snow
Nonetheless, there is a sense of connection within our being, as well as with others. A sense of community and generally the sense of conviviality exists between the group members. There’s a sense of connection usually outside of the parameters of linear time, as many who have walked a ‘pilgrimage path’ can attest. Sometimes, there’s a sense of those who have walked a route before, along side having an awareness of those who might take the route in the future.
Away from the main pilgrimage path, while gathered in celebration of the music of a favoured artist, group or orchestra, we are at some level also connecting with our individual history of hearing that music. It is happening in such a way that may not be immediately obvious, though we will possibly find ourselves moved, both by the hearing in the present moment as well as our conscious and subconscious recollections and the feelings associated with the music. It’s a means connecting in the present as well as reconnecting with our past.
The British Pilgrimage Trust (https://www.britishpilgrimage.org/), under the stewardship of Guy Hayward, has done much to promote walking pilgrimage routes within Britain. The Confraternity of St James has undertaken the same function for the various routes that end at Santiago de Compostela in Spain. I particularly like the British Pilgrimage Trust’s declaration that ‘Walking is for the body, and Pilgrimage is for the Soul.’ These words resonate with me. I appreciate the sense of contact with the earth that I have when walking, feeling the walking as a form of ritual. (Where walking becomes a form of ritual) One feels connected, rooted but paradoxically transitory and passing through.
An alchemical process
A personal belief, for me, is that walking a pilgrimage route leads to a form of alchemical process. The first few days are settling into the rhythm, getting used to the backpack on the back, and engaging with the surroundings. Yet at this early stage
| Tales from the field |
my mind is still very much in its usual hyper-active mode. It takes time for my mind to calm down, to move away from the numerous distracting thoughts that seem ever present. This rather overactive mind is part of my routine life. I once viewed my overactive mind as a positive. I now think of it as a hindrance. So, the first few days of any of my walks are settling in, with my mind slowly adjusting to a new pace. It begins to slow down and become more aware of the present moment. The surroundings, with the varied and subtle sounds, colours and contours of the landscape are no longer just
casually observed. I begin to feel and sense myself as being part of the landscape. Intrusive thoughts fall away, and I am able to feel much more in the present moment. The adage that the present moment is the present becomes the experience itself. ■
Andrew Christensen was one of the organisers of the Tall Ship Camino Inglés, bringing together his experiences of long distance walks together with his
Andrew Christiansen experience of over 5000 nautical miles at sea sailing tall ships.
Queuing to pay respects to the Queen
Four Walks and a Sailing
by Andrew Christensen
Over the years I have been involved in planning and walking several pilgrimage routes, many culminating at Santiago de Compostela, though I have also walked in England, Japan, Portugal and Scotland. Each
one was distinct. During nearly every walk I was accompanied by my daughter. We never walked as part of a formal group, although we frequently walked with fellow pilgrims who we met along the way.
The walk, this time was different. The Tall Ship Camino Inglés was a totally distinct experience in many ways. The most obvious difference was that it was a formal organised walk and involved a Tall Ship, the Morgenster, and I intended to join a total of 36 fellow travellers. We were a diverse company with little to link us except the walk itself. The eldest was 85 years old, the youngest at 24 years. Nine of us had some previous sailing experience, but only three had previously sailed on a tall ship, while the rest had no sailing experience at all. Of the total of 36 pilgrims, 18 were members of the Confraternity of St James (https://www.csj.org.uk/). Membership of the Confraternity is for those interested in the Camino de Santiago, with many members having previously walked one of the many routes to Santiago de Compostela. There are 281 recognised Camino routes which span 51,500 miles / 82800 kms across 29 countries and that culminate at Santiago de Compostela. 18 of the participants were unaffiliated with any organisation and had little experience of pilgrimage, while bringing with them their enthusiasm for having the experience. All of us shared a desire to be on board a tall ship, and to undertake a pilgrimage by both land and sea.
Our crew was predominantly English, though there were also participants from Ireland, Singapore, South Africa and the United States. We had a plan and a detailed itinerary. Embarkation was from the beautiful town of Fowey on the south coast of Cornwall, setting sail for A Coruña in Galicia, Spain where we intended to disembark. Before we boarded the ship we intended to walk the ‘Saints Way’, a route measuring 30 miles/48 Km commencing in Padstow on the north coast of Cornwall and ending at Fowey, and which was originally used by Irish pilgrims. Those Irish pilgrims, brave souls, wished to avoid sailing the treacherous waters around the southwest coast of Cornwall and the Scilly
| Tales from the field |
Isles, which in the Middle Ages, and before contemporary navigation tools such as radar and depth sounders, presented a serious peril to life. Having sailed from Waterford on the southeastern coast of Ireland, they would alight in Padstow, walk to Fowey and then take a further ship so as to reach A Coruña, or Ferrol, on the north western coast of Spain. Twenty of our 36 pilgrims chose to walk the Saints Way, though not all walked at the same time.
A total of six to seven days were allocated for the crossing from Fowey to A Coruña, though once aboard we would have a better idea of how long the crossing would actually take. As it transpired, fortune favoured us and the weather conditions were almost ideal. The wind direction and speed would take us in an almost straight line across to A Coruña. While the weather conditions were clement, this did not prevent quite a few of the crew from experiencing motion sickness - being sea sick. From previous sailings, I am familiar with how taxing sea sickness can be,
though on this occasion I was fortunate to be spared. Fortunate indeed, as it was difficult watching the suffering of some of my fellow pilgrims.
On arrival at A Coruña, the intention was that each of the pilgrims would choose the next stage of their path. Some ended their journey there, returning to family or work commitments, while the rest chose to walk the Camino Inglés, as the routes from A Coruña and Ferrol are known. We had the singular honour of the British Ambassador to Spain and Andorra and his wife, welcoming the arrival of the ship and joining the walk along this famous route.
Also coming to A Coruña and joining the initial day of walking was the renowned writer, Johnnie Walker, author of many books related to the Camino and Santiago. It was a privilege to have such august company, precipitated by the unusual arrival of a tall ship pilgrimage. Little is known about our forebears but it is speculated
Andrew Christensen at the helm of the Morgenster
The Morgenster seen sailing from Fowey
that the last tall ship from Britain is believed to have arrived around 500 years ago. Along with the dissolution of the monasteries and nunneries in 1538, Henry VIII banned pilgrimages, commanding his subjects, “Not to repose their trust and affiance in any other works devised by men’s phantasies besides Scripture; as in wandering to pilgrimages, offering of money, candles, or tapers to images or relics, or kissing or licking the same.” With this history, it is a distinct possibility that the Morgenster was the first tall ship to be bringing pilgrims from Great Britain in nearly half a millennia.
Five days were allotted for the 78kms walk from A Coruña to Santiago de Compostela, as the conclusion to the Tall Ship Camino Inglés was going to be the midday mass at the Cathedral on Thursday June 20th. The timing was intentional, to coincide with the day of the summer solstice, itself something of a special occasion, being the earliest summer solstice since 1796. With the celebration of the midday mass, that was that pilgrimage completed, and I left Santiago de
| Tales from the field |
Compostela on the Friday 20th to prepare for several follow-up events. The first was to speak at a conference on pilgrimage being held at Christ Church, Oxford, talking about the Tall Ship Camino. Then over the following four days I walked the inauguration of St Frideswide’s Way, which commences at the Shrine to St Frideswide in Christ Church Cathedral, and ends at St James’s Church, located next to the ruins of Reading Abbey.
And the missing pilgrimage? That was the one I undertook at the end of May, walking the ‘Way of St Augustine’, commencing at the Shrine of St Augustine in Ramsgate and which ends at Canterbury Cathedral. This was shared with a small group of pilgrims, and timed so as to arrive in Canterbury on May 27, the feast day of St Augustine, and the celebrations at Canterbury Cathedral for St Augustine, the very first Archbishop.
How did I achieve my four walks and a sailing? Here’s a quick summary of the 34 days between setting out from Ramsgate on Sunday May 26th and
ending at the ruins of Reading Abbey on Saturday June 29th. I began on the ‘Way of St Augustine’, which was followed by walking the ‘Saints Way,’ interspersed with the sailing pilgrimage between Fowey and A Coruña, followed by walking the ‘Camino Inglés’ to Santiago de Compostela. Then it was back to the UK and the inaugural walk of ‘St Frideswide’s Way’.
If you’d like to learn more about the Tall Ship Camino Inglés, film was captured by docufilm maker, Glen Travis, with the intention of releasing a docufilm, ‘To Be a Pilgrim’, which will be shown at a future SES (Scientific Exploration Society) event and also released on YouTube. ■
Christensen was one of the organisers of the Tall Ship Camino Inglés, bringing together his experiences of long distance walks together with his
experience of over 5000 nautical miles at
Signage along the Saints Way
Andrew
Andrew Christiansen
sea sailing tall ships.
A Journey of Land and Sea by Luke Daly
36 pilgrims travelled to Fowey to begin an 8-day sailing adventure to A Coruña, before walking for 4 long days to Santiago. This is our story.
Since the ninth century, our ancestors have endured perilous journeys through valleys, mountains, and violent seas to reach the famed altar of St James the Apostle - whether for miraculous healing, the purging of sins, or protection from the everpresent threats around them. This mystical place, the ‘El Dorado’ of pilgrimage, had always inspired me for this reason. Yet for years the opportunity never presented itself until reading an article about a voyage coordinated by Andrew
Christensen, an SES member for over 40 years, who had been involved with SES Project Imire and Operation Raleigh. The premise was to do what no one has done for centuries: complete a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela as former pilgrims did by sailing on a tall ship, fully powered by wind, across the Bay of Biscay.
Since the Middle Ages, pilgrims from Ireland, the UK, and Scandinavia had sailed from ports across the southern coast of England to A Coruña in Spain to visit Santiago and we were to attempt the same. This opportunity immediately ignited a fire for adventure within me and, after persistent messaging, I was given the green light to be a participating crew member and pilgrim on this voyage with 35 others.
It didn’t occur to me until meeting everyone at Fowey, Cornwall, that these would be the people I’d be sharing an intimate space with for the next eight or so days. The 48-meter long Dutch tall ship, named The Morgenster or ‘Morning Star’, was a
former herring lugger built in 1919 and served as a fishing vessel until 1970. It was simply a beauty to behold when we spotted it from afar. It elegantly sat like a glistening jewel in the bay of Fowey with its towering masts casting long shadows across the smaller boats and calm turquoise waters surrounding it.
Among our crew I was the youngest by some margin; the average age was 65 with the oldest member being an octogenarian. To suddenly spend the next 8 days trapped on a ship, sharing a living space with 35 strangers felt almost like a social experiment.
Our days at sea were a blend of sunlit sails and windwhipped waves, averaging six knots on a straight line of 220 degrees. As part of the crew, we helped maintain the ship - climbing along the bowsprit to fold the sails was one such task. Walking the tightrope with the dark abyss of the ocean below made my stomach drop. Yet, in that moment of vulnerability, I took a deep breath and found the inner strength to ascend,
The participating and permanent crew scaling the mast to unfold the sails
each step, a testament to defying fear which gave me a sense of power over the circumstances.
As the English coast faded into the distance and the Atlantic winds picked up, the sea offered a relentless cycle of seasickness, cold, and restless sleep. For three days I was incredibly nauseous, swinging back and forth as the sea ebbed and flowed around us. Each day I hit my lowest at around three in the afternoon, some days I would win those battles, often helped by the sighting of a whale spurt or dolphin which would dance in the wake of the ship. Yet, when people napped in the afternoon sun, and the ship went quiet, those fears crept back in. I kept reminding myself, ‘This is all part of the journey’.
On the fourth day of our voyage, I awoke to a calm sea and a sense of peace: no more seasickness. Suddenly those dark clouds gave way and I was able to truly revel in the sea breeze and the sporadic spray of the ocean as the bow dipped and sliced through the waves. In our wake, dolphins danced in the currents and swell of The Morgenster, blessing us with good omens for our upcoming walk through Galicia. Finally I was able to integrate into the group and quickly make up for the lost time.
After covering 514 nautical miles with the power of the wind alone, we awoke one morning to a bellowing call which echoed through the ship. Land had been sighted.
We arrived in A Coruña with a bottle of smuggled whisky, a relaxed evening with music, and hope for the coming days. In the excitement, many of us were finally able to call home to update family and loved ones on the venture thus far. The day we docked at A Coruña was my brother’s 21st birthday and despite saying before leaving that I would unfortunately miss it, I was able to call home. It was here I gained a new appreciation for our past; when our ancestors ventured across the sea on behalf of loved ones, unable to
| Expedition Revealed|
contact them for weeks, all in the hope that St James would provide a cure for a sick parent, child, or sibling. Luckily our voyage was blessed with calm and constant winds but there are countless stories recorded throughout history of pilgrims falling victim to shipwrecks and dying at the hands of violent storms.
In A Coruña we were welcomed by the Spanish press, members of the Diputación, and the UK Ambassador to Spain, Hugh Elliott, who, along with his wife, walked with us over the following two days. Venturing out from the port, we trekked through the Galician landscape where nature was juxtaposed with the scars of post war housing. As we ventured deeper into rural Spain we experienced random acts of kindness that reminded us how important the Camino was to those along the route.
After the gruelling 25-kilometre walk was the divine relief of a hot shower the first I’d had in over a week.
Despite such a short time away from these comforts, the euphoria of a shower after being without one was amazing.
The next day’s climb to Hospital de Bruma was physically taxing. On our wet, humid ascent, we passed another pilgrim, sweating profusely and carrying two large, hefty backpacks. The apparent pack mule forged a new axiom within our group —”The baggage of the soul is often reflected by the physical baggage of the pilgrim”. This was one of many encounters which added depth to our journey along the way. At Bruma, the impossible was achieved as Mass was held in the Capilla de San Lorenzo, an ancient church closed to pilgrims for decades. The contrasting messages from the two faith leaders - one English, one Spanish, yet conducting Mass simultaneouslywas an insight like no other. Both drew from the same scripture, one urged inner reflection, whilst the other promoted outreach.
A toast for our arrival in A Coruna (Left to right: Vaughn, Luke, Michael, and Andrew
| Expedition Revealed |
Our arrival at Santiago was overwhelming; I’d not expected to be emotional, yet being able to walk to the cathedral with this newly formed family was incredibly powerful. Yet, perhaps more so, was that we were able to welcome the others from our group who arrived throughout the day. That is what is special about Santiago, it is a place like no other, filled with the happiest atmosphere as the streets are overrun with reunions and celebrations.
Reflecting on this pilgrimage, I wouldn’t change a thing. Perhaps most important of all was experiencing the journey with pilgrims far older than myself as this has given me ease that time is not slipping away and adventure can, and will, continue well into my later days. ■
Luke Daly is a Medieval Historian and Author, specialising in Saints of the Middle Ages. He also hosts ‘The Daly Medieval Podcast’ on YouTube.
Luke Daly
Luke in the midst of seasickness
An emotional final few kilometres before Santiago (Left to right: Luke, Andrew, and Glen)
Exploring the Untamed Jaguars of the Brazilian Cerrado
by Letícia Benavalli
My tale comes from the heart of the Brazilian Cerrado, where sprawling scrub landscapes are interrupted by pockets of the concrete jungle. Journey with me, and my team of conservation biologists, to discover more about jaguars, their habitats, and the human communities intertwined with them.
Goiás and Brasilia
Goiás lies in the Centre-West of the country. With the ninth-largest economy of Brazil’s federative units, Goiás contains 3.3% of Brazil’s population. As Brazil’s Federal political and administrative capital, Brasilia is located in the CentralWest region in the Federal District, and has the fourth largest economy within Brazil and contains 1.31% of the country’s population.
What is the Cerrado?
The Cerrado is a tropical biome measuring 2 million km², 75% of which is now under private ownership. While much of the Cerrado stretches across 11 of Brazil’s central districts (including Goiás and the Federal District) and parts of Paraguay and Bolivia, its core lies in the Planalto: the Highlands. This biome is an intricate mosaic of ecosystems— gallery forests and numerous kinds of savannah— all harboring an array of flora and fauna. It serves as a vital reservoir of freshwater, a buffer against climate change, and even a bastion of cultural heritage for Indigenous communities. Its soil behaves as a sponge, retaining rainwater during the wet season and feeding eight large watersheds
Female jaguar spotted in Pireneus State Park
throughout the year, providing 40% of the fresh water used by Brazil’s urban centres. Deforestation for agriculture, cattle pastures, and urbanization threatens its biodiversity— less than 50% of its original habitat remains.
Our mission is to:
1) Identify the paths used by jaguars to navigate Brasilia’s urban labyrinth in order to offer insights for conservation strategies in humandominated landscapes.
2) Engage the next generation of conservationists. To safeguard our natural heritage, it is important to not only instill a sense of stewardship and responsibility, but also empower youths to become ambassadors of change to develop a thriving relationship between humanity and nature.
3) Engage with local communities to bridge the gap between conservation and their livelihoods. Our communication outreach plan involves advocating for the intrinsic value of these protected areas, highlighting their role in preserving genetic diversity, and mitigating the effects of climate change by preserving heat-resilient native vegetation. Small rural landowners are the custodians of these invaluable habitats, yet they are rarely supported with funding to aid in their conservation efforts.
4) Empower women and girls as wildlife tour guides: gender equity in conservation efforts not only creates economic opportunities, but also fosters a sense of agency and empowerment within rural communities. To create a solid foundation for sustainable conservation practices that is rooted in inclusivity and diversity, women must be elevated as decision-makers and activists.
Initial results from fieldwork
The Parque Nacional de Brasília presents an incredible juxtaposition: the world’s first known urban population of jaguars navigating the bustling metropolis of Brasilia. First discovered in 1964, this population has been growing in the park and adjacent private properties, and our team has been documenting
| Exploration revealed |
and monitoring it. These enigmatic creatures, revered yet elusive, have recolonized areas which they once used over 60 years ago. We intend to find the routes used by jaguars to navigate this urban labyrinth, which would provide invaluable insights for conservation strategies in humandominated landscapes
Parque Estadual da Serra dos Pireneus
Our systematic monitoring of this park, spanning 29 km², is arguably the first of its kind in this region and has already revealed valuable insights into the lives of jaguars amidst a fragmented landscape. We suspected that the private lands adjacent to the Park’s edge (primarily agricultural, and to a lesser degree for pastural, milk, or meat production) create navigational challenges for jaguars and other animals searching for food. Our strategically placed camera traps revealed the jaguars’ territorial preferences and their breeding behaviours: in fact, they utilize approximately 400 km² worth of private properties on the Park’s edges. We found a female jaguar with two cubs—a testament to the vitality and resilience of these apex predators, whose habitats have been steadily dwindling. What’s more, there
is a rich tapestry of biodiversity in and around Parque Estadual da Serra dos Pireneus: the giant armadillo, giant anteater, lowland tapir, and the small southern tiger cat. These species have consistently been labelled as “Threatened” by the IUCN, so each sighting is a poignant reminder of how vulnerable wildlife has become.
Protection in a time of loss
Every discovery reaffirms our commitment to the preservation of these landscapes and the magnificent creatures that call them home. With jaguars living amongst us more closely than ever, our purpose is clear: to safeguard the wonders of our natural world for future generations—human and non-human alike. ■
A mother black jaguar and her cub in Pireneus State Park
Letícia Benavalli is a Brazilian conservation biologist focused on conserving jaguars and their ecosystems. She is passionate about
Letícia Benavalli community involvement and empowering women in science.
Fast and
Steady
Photographing Live Hummingbirds for 3D Models
If you have ever put up a sugarwater feeder for hummingbirds, then you know these tiny jewels are fiercely protective over their nectar. During their battles against other hummingbirds, you might have noticed that they often employ their needle - like bills like fencers, poking at each other while dodging attacks themselves.
However, unless you have had the opportunity to look at the bill of a hummingbird using magnifiers, you likely don’t know that some species (like the Violetear pictured above) have serrations along the edges of their upper bill and a pair of bill-tip hooks, giving them an advantage in combat. When a hummer stabs an opponent’s body with its needle-like bill, these weapons enable it to firmly hold onto feathers and pull them
by Nora Lee
out. However, research from our lab has shown that there is a tradeoff to having better weapons—bill serrations and daggers negatively affect the bill’s ability to intake nectar. Aside from this tradeoff, little is known about the distribution and evolution of these bill features: how did these bill structures first evolve? How common are such features in the hummingbird family? How do they differ between and among species?
Understanding the evolution of such bill features provides important clues to hummingbird aggression, a common tactic that they use to secure resources.
With the intention to document and study the tiny structures of these weaponized hummingbird bills, the Behavioral Ecophysics Lab, which studies nectar-feeding animals, set out to collaborate with another research group at the University of Massachusetts. We built the “Picocam” - a ring of six cameras arranged around a central platform, where the bird is placed snugly inside a “bird holder” - to construct 3D models of hummingbird bills from 2D images (“pico” means beak in Spanish). After we used the Picocam to photograph bills of hummingbird specimens at the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture, we expanded its application to our field station in Fusagasugá, Colombia. Located within an agriculture-forest matrix in the Andes, this coffeefarm-converted-research-station is a perfect location for our work. Thanks to over a dozen nectar feeders maintained year-round, the station has become a hotspot for both local and passerby hummingbirds. The first time I stepped into the garden at the station, I was completely in awe - dozens of colorful hummingbirds zooming in all directions, stopping briefly at feeders to feed, and resuming squabbling with their rivals. The liveliness and beauty of these birds still energize me to this date whenever I think of it.
Before the invention of the Picocam, no one had photographed live hummingbirds for the purpose of 3D model construction - it’s not as simple as taking a photo or two! The process requires the bird to stay still for as many as 400 high-resolution photos of the bill to construct a realistic 3D model. This is no easy
| Innovation in the Field |
task, as hummingbirds are not known for being calm or still. In fact, these tiny fighters are usually rather hottempered, and dislike being handled by humans. Time is of the essence when working with hummingbirds. Also, the calmer we can keep the bird, the more still it stays. The first field season of adapting the system proved difficult due to issues with setup configuration and bird movements during photography. As a result, the team did not obtain 3D models realistic enough for scientific use.
We were determined to improve the Picocam in the field, so we returned to Colombia, where I conducted my first fieldwork at the station in 2023. This time, armed with knowledge and experience from using the Picocam at the Burke Museum, I worked with local researchers to make the photography process easier and to reduce bird movements. To achieve this, we shifted from rotating cameras during photography to rotating the main platform where the bird holder sits; we further experimented with
One of our target species for 3D model constructions—the Sparkling Violetear, which is the largest hummingbird species at the Gorriazul Research Station. (Nora Lee)
The Picocam system—composed of six cameras, four lights, and a rotating platform— photographs hummingbird bills from a range of heights and angles so that the photos capture all the details of the bill needed to construct a 3D model. (Nora Lee)
| Innovation in the Field |
different bird holders to find out which one best secures the bird during photography. We improved the photo quality by coating the bill with animal-safe powder, resulting in better surface texture in the 3D models. Our efforts paid off - we got 3D models realistic enough for volume calculations and shape studies, and our peer-reviewed manuscript on these models has just been accepted for publication! To this day, we continue to improve and innovate photogrammetry methods for more realistic and detailed 3D models of hummingbird bills.
By documenting the bills of hummingbirds, we advance our understanding of the different feeding strategies hummingbirds use and whether weaponized bills are
associated with aggressive behavior. In particular, this research opens the door to understanding how having such weaponised bills affects combat abilities and food access for these birds. The application of Picocam in the field adds crucial pieces to the puzzle of hummingbird behavior and territoriality. So, the next time you see a hummingbird battle at your feeder, appreciate the risks and efforts these little warriors have taken to secure nectar - you are witnessing an evolutionary marvel! ■
The 3D model of a live Indigo-capped hummingbird with a “helmet” fitted over its head. The markers on this “helmet” help with spatial location in the model construction software. The bills of this species are red when the birds are alive and turn yellow in specimens. (Nora
Nora is a Chinese ornithologist who is fascinated with everything hummingbird related. She has done fieldwork to document hummingbird
Nora Lee bills and hummingbird-pollinated flowers in Colombia and the U.S.
A live Indigo-capped Hummingbird swaddled inside one of the “bird holders” we designed, which keeps the bird snug and still to improve the resolution of our photos. (Nora Lee)
Lee)
Field Friends Down Under
by Amanda Hewes
The Australian sunlight was already scorching as I stepped out of the field station at 6:30 AM. The terra-cotta-colored soil stretched underfoot for several hundred meters in front of me, where the road fishtailed and vanished into the depths of eucalyptus trees. To my right was the garage: here, firefighting equipment hung alongside the pickup trucks and gardening tools. The tent
containing all my scientific equipment—high-speed cameras and complex arenas to study how “honeyeaters,” a diverse family of birds most common in Australia, drink nectar—was nestled in the garage bay nearest to my room, shielded from the dust and baking sun.
Though fieldwork is easy to romanticize, with the word bringing
to mind daring explorations and adventurous exploits, I’d woken up with a sense of sadness hanging over me that morning. Hailing from the States, I had just signed up for three months alone in the Australian bush, and I was feeling exhausted and homesick. In the field, especially working solo for long stretches, there was always more work to be done.
As I made my way over to the kitchen to make breakfast, I heard the clatter of dishes accompanied by a low voice. My heart lifted. Ian and
View of the homestead from my room. Directly ahead is the kitchen, to the left is the shower with a large water cistern above, and to the right is the clothesline and the garage (out of frame).
(Amanda Hewes)
Margaret were on the reserve today! The two were a lovely older couple who’d been coming to the reserve for years—Ian sat on the management committee—and both were a bright spot in even the toughest of field days. Ian would sit in the breezeway of the kitchen, detailing all the birds he’d seen on his 5 AM walk and how their numbers had been fluctuating year to year, or pondering why he hadn’t seen a particular species recently. I’d enter the kitchen and Margaret would be at the sink doing dishes. She’d tell me to help myself to whatever they had brought and ask me about my research. Getting a “How ya goin’?” from Ian and Margaret always made me feel like I was sitting down to talk with my own grandparents.
Everyone I met at the reserve took me under their wing, noticing that, as a second-year graduate student far from home, a short conversation could go a long way in helping me settle in. There was Martin, the volunteer ranger from New Zealand who convinced me to help him hunt for crayfish in the reserve dams. There were Deidre and Ean, the rangers from new South Wales who drove me several hours into town so I could eat something that wasn’t vegemite on toast with instant coffee. And there was Rob, a local of the South Australian Riverlands and a retired construction worker who loaned his expertise to building and repairing structures around the reserve, and who kept more knowledge of Australian birds in his
A female Pied Honeyeater (Certhionyx variegatus). Both sexes of this species have a distinctive patch of blue skin under the eye, but females have brown plumage, while males are black and white. This species of honeyeater is rare on the reserve, occurring more commonly in the arid interior of Australia. We caught this female on our last day of mist netting. (Amanda Hewes)
head than seems humanly possible— their calls, their breeding habits, their ranges, which species had multiple subspecies, how to identify each subspecies, and so on. I will always be incredibly grateful to the friends I made in the field. ■
Amanda Hewes is a PhD candidate in Biology at the University of Washington. Her research focuses on honeyeater-plant interactions in Australia,
Hewes which she studies using a novel combination of field and lab techniques.
Amanda
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(Photo: Paula Reid)
Guanches of the Sea The Pilot Whales of Tenerife
by Iro Tsarmpopoulou Fokianou
Guanches of the Sea: The Pilot Whales of Tenerife is a short, 3-piece documentary, made by a social anthropologist with a passion for conservation and animal welfare, Iro Tsarmpopoulou Fokianou and filmmaker Lorimer Macandrew, for the Darwin200 global conservation project. The protagonists of this film, the pilot whales, are named in honour of the historic native peoples inhabiting Tenerife prior to the Conquista, the Guanches, aiming to show their longstanding presence and ancestral rights to the land, as well as their ever-present relationships with the island and its people. The project follows the stories of, and threats faced by, the short-finned pilot whales in the Teno-Rasca strip of Tenerife: the largest and most populous island within the Spanish archipelago known as the Canary Islands. Two perspectives of the same experience—“mirrors”—are presented so that people who are unfamiliar with these creatures can start to understand and appreciate their daily life. So, “mirror upside down” presents the perspective of being a member of the whale pod, while “mirror upright” presents the same scene from the perspective of the young team on the Oosterschelde, the Dutch schooner upon which the researchers reside.
Pods of pilot whales swiming in the Teno-Rasca strip, SW Tenerife, filmed from whale-watching boats during the filming of the documentary Guanches of the Sea (Lorimer Macandrew)
Watch online
Mirror upside down
In this photograph, we—the family of pilot whales—swim around the Island of Tenerife. We are following our key pilot whale, the “pilot”: she’s the grandmother of one of us, the aunt of another, the mother of a third. She has taken up the torch of leadership from her own mother. She travels first and leads the rest of us. She knows all the best spots for food; she has perfected the technique of hunting giant squid. She of course has a name, a combination of clicks and sounds that we, her family, know. She has some young of her own, who have yet to master the art of being a whale, but they’ll learn. We have been in this water for many, many years; it is rich in food. The volcanic formations offer deep water, filled with minerals,
abundant in marine life. Many of our distant cousins pass through here once a year, making it a stop through their long and uncharted travels around the globe. It’s oh-so-quiet.
Mirror upright
Tenerife, 2023. A tall ship—a schooner— with the name “Oosterchelde” can be spotted on the horizon. Amongst cruise ships, jet skis, and ferries, its timely appearance is truly a sight. It arrives slowly, all sails up, on its masts. Having departed from Plymouth, it is undertaking a global conservation initiative: retracing Darwin’s voyage on the HMS Beagle, stopping where Charles Darwin stopped, and investigating what he observed. Aboard the Oosterchelde are young people from around the world. Driven by the same spirit and passion for adventure and curiosity, we, a team of scientists and conservationists, aim to explore species from his journals and correspondence—some of which is held by the Darwin Corrrespondence Project at Cambridge University, UK. Today, our focus is less on how these species evolved and more on how to prevent their extinctions, as much has changed in the intervening 200 years—largely by our own doing. For us, continuity takes precedence over origination. These are great challenges ahead.
Mirror upside down
What is one more boat amongst thousands? Another constant noise banging like a drum all around. We, the whales, have learned to navigate the once-quiet zone to the best of our abilities, but it is a challenge. It is busy. And loud. What was once a rural area is now a boulevard. The engine noises almost never stop, and there is always something going on. The fish are fewer and so, of course, are the squid. The humans fish more now and even more effectively. And the water is warmer, which is bizarre. But mostly it is loud, so loud. Sometimes it gets hard to find food. We cannot follow the sound of the squid; their signals fade out. Sometimes someone gets lost. Their calls cannot make it through all the constant rumbling. Sometimes someone ends up ashore; they get
confused with all the noise. The ocean is no longer quiet.
Mirror upright.
The situation is worse than we hoped. Aboard the Oosterschelder, we are visiting the Teno-Rasca Marine Strip, which is southwest Tenerife. This body of water—a Special Conservation Zone (ZEC) that covers an area of more than 69 million hectares and comprises the coastline from Buenavista to Aurona—is a global reservoir for biodiversity. One-third of the world’s cetaceans pass through here. There are 400 resident pilot whales, one of the few residents pods globally, making them a symbol of the island. Teno-Rasca is the first European Whale Heritage Site, recognised by Mission Blue for its importance; it’s a Kilometre Zero for whales, protected since 2011 under Natura2000. And yet. The place is packed with tourists, hoping to catch a glimpse of these animals; whale-watching is becoming increasingly popular. Indeed, inside the Teno-Rasca Marine Strip alone, this massive increase in tourism is already having a significant negative impact on the resident species. The sound pollution—an effect of marine traffic— is a constant threat to the whales. Scientists have documented that the species residential in this area have higher levels of cortisol, the stress hormone, as a result of constant noise and harassment by our human activity: an ironic, uniquely human situation of documenting our own effects on other species (J. Perrez, 2016). Is this truly love and admiration of these creatures if it comes at the cost of such stress? There is no logic in this situation. Our admiration for the wild is nonsensical if not rectified by action. ■
Iro
Iro is a Social Anthropologist and Conservationist, with a passion for animals, the environment and research. She is focused on interdisciplinary
research and the relationships between animals and humans.
Tsarmpopoulou Fokianou
Standing in the Shadow of the Milky Way
An interview with Dr. Meganne Christian
by Mike Murphy
Standing in on a vast and barren landscape, the stars are so bright that there’s no need for a head torch. “You really feel like you’re in them.”
Where is this barren place? The Sahara? The Great Steppe? Mars? (Nearly!)
Years after this photo was taken, Dr. Meganne Christian tells me about her time at the Concordia Research Station in Antarctica, and how that experience led her becoming an astronaut. The interior of Antarctica is called ‘White Mars’ and it’s the closest environment
to Mars that we can experience on Earth. “You’re isolated, you’re in extreme conditions, and one aspect about Concordia is that it’s at high altitude, so you have studies into what hypoxia does to the body and mind as well.”
Before Meganne was a Reserve Astronaut and Exploration
Commercialization Lead for ESA, she was already stepping out of her comfort zone. With a background in material science, she was responsible for looking after atmospheric physics and meteorological equipment. “It was a huge learning curve! My background is not in atmospheric physics and (Meganne Christian / PNRA / IPEV)§
Unfortunately we didn’t have any photographers talented enough (or with enough patience) to get a photo of the crew and the Milky Way at the same time but here’s a good one of the base with the Milky Way and aurora. (Credit Nadja Albertsen ESA / PNRA / IPEV)
meteorology–nothing like it, really.” However, that’s part of what made Meganne stand out as a candidate. “They [the ESA] were quite happy to take somebody who knew how to be a scientist, trouble shoot, how to work with a range of different scientific instruments, and who was willing to learn.” This is because Concordia might host eighty to ninety researchers during the three months of summer, but during the winter, the crew is cut dramatically. “You have a skeleton crew, so each of the members has to be able to look after a range of projects that were implemented during the summer.”
Meganne says that the experience of having to learn so many diverse tasks helped her to break down her own barriers. “You find that a lot of the limitations that you think you have, they don’t necessarily exist… You learn that you can do things that you didn’t necessarily think you could.” This process also helped her to grow and learn about herself in very extreme ways. “When you’re in 100 days of darkness, you’re isolated, it obviously has an effect on your psychology. Any emotion you feel would be quite amplified. If you felt a little lonely, you’d feel quite alone. If you felt happy, you’d feel over the moon (foreshadowing!) ... it was important to learn to recognize when that was happening.”
So, what led her to space, from one very extreme environment to almost certainly the most extreme? “The romantic view is when you’re there and you’re looking up at the stars, and you’re seeing your shadow in the light of the Milky Way, you want to explore that. The other part is that I was enjoying what I was doing–running other people’s experiments in this extreme and isolated environment, working in a multicultural team, and
“I would love to be able to look back on the Earth the way that we see the Moon here. I would love to look back on the Earth.”
| Extreme Expeditioning |
I could see the analogues with what astronauts do on the International Space Station… and I was hearing the rumors that ESA was recruiting astronauts for the first time in many years.”
Many months and after several rounds of mental, social, psychological, and physical testing, Meganne was admitted to the ESA Reserve Astronaut Corps of 2022. As a reserve astronaut, she is maintaining her training and eagerly waiting for her chance to fly. Thinking of the enormity of this accomplishment, I had one pressing question: Has she ever experienced imposter syndrome?
“For sure. When you have ‘astronaut’ in your job title, people expect you to know everything about space, and that’s just not true.” She laughed at this. “I just have to remind myself that what I’ve done has its own merits, I’ve had an amazing experience, and I can inspire people with what I’ve done so far. At the same time, I’m not afraid to say, ‘I don’t know the answer to that question’.
A core tenant of space research is how vital it is for life on Earth. Advancements made in space have a direct impact on terrestrial lives. Separately, many young people who meet astronauts then go on to dream of exploring space. The UK Space Agency even has a strong focus
on inspiring future generations of space and STEAM innovators. As an explorer, Meganne was curious about how space exploration might inspire young people to explore the Earth.
“Space does capture the imagination, absolutely. I think that exploration is exploration, and there still is so much that we have to learn here on earth. The point is to continue being curious. That’s what makes a scientist, and that’s what makes us human, really–being curious. We want to know more about our Earth, and we want to know more about our Universe. There is so much to discover in both ways… The key is following that curiosity and that need for discovery.” human, really–being curious. We want to know more about our Earth and we want to know more about our Universe. There is so much to discover in both ways… The key is following that curiosity and that need for discovery.” ■
Michael Murphy
Michael is an anthropologist and photographer. He studies how extreme journeys change people, focusing on ritual, identity, and crises. He has worked
with refugees, asylum seekers, and undocumented migrants
Paradise Lost and Found The Pacific Ocean’s Oscillating Image and its Impact on Western Scientific Discoveries and Climate Change Awareness
As the “ocean of predictability,” the Pacific provides a striking contrast to the unpredictable nature of the Atlantic. It stands as a captivating yet deceptive body of water—its tranquil façade masks a crucial testing ground for Western science, fuelling exploration and paradigm shifts throughout history.
by Professor Niki J.P. Alsford
Since the age of exploration, the Pacific has lured Western curiosity, inspired countless expeditions in search of the enigmatic “Terra Australis Incognita,” the hypothetical southern continent. Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution, particularly his concept of natural selection, was profoundly influenced by the region’s isolated ecosystems, most notably the Galapagos Islands.
Since the arrival of early Western explorers, the Pacific has been perceived through the lens of the “Eden Ideal”: humanity’s yearning for an untouched paradise. It was seen as a pristine haven, a stark contrast to the polluted landscapes of their own industrialised societies. This perception caused a unique group of Europeans to experience what is termed a “reverse conversion,” causing them to live
Hon. Simon Kofe’s COP26. (Jessica Marinaccio)
neither entirely as Europeans nor as locals, but rather in a cultural limbo. These eccentric individuals, known as beachcombers, were living embodiments of the Paradise concept. Reports of violence and cannibalism among its inhabitants shattered this illusion, transforming the perception of the Pacific into a fallen dystopia—a concept echoing biblical narratives of sin and savagery.
The tarnished image of the Pacific facilitated some of the most unsettling chapters in Western science. The US nuclear bombing of Japan during the Second World War is one of the most contentious and significant events in history. On 6 August 1945, the US dropped an atomic bomb on Hiroshima, followed by another on Nagasaki on 9 August. These bombings caused massive loss of life, with thousands of civilians perishing instantly and many more succumbing to injuries and radiation sickness. The bombings not only led to Japan’s surrender and the end of the war, but also sparked profound ethical and humanitarian debates about the use of nuclear weapons and their long-term impact on civilian populations.
This image of the Pacific as a testing ground for science led to the US conducting nuclear tests in the region between 1946 and 1958, marking a crucial chapter in its nuclear programme. The Bikini Atoll and Enewetak Atoll in the Marshall Islands became the US’s primary testing sites for atmospheric and underwater tests, driven by the Cold War arms race and the desire to demonstrate military might. These detonations caused severe environmental contamination and forced the displacement of local communities. The legacy of these tests endures, with many Marshallese still struggling with health issues and seeking justice for the enduring impact on their homeland. The US nuclear testing in the Pacific serves as a stark reminder of the imperative to handle nuclear technology responsibly and with utmost caution.
| Extreme expeditioning |
Tragically, the image of the Pacific has reverted to the “Eden Ideal.” Contemporary portrayals depict it as a paradise regained, spotlighting the region’s tropical beaches, crystalclear waters, and verdant vegetation. Photographs of coconut palms, vibrant coral reefs, and tranquil lagoons prevail, only contributing to the Pacific’s reputation as an idyllic holiday destination. The exoticised perception of Pacific cultures, with
the impending disaster caused by climate change. As we live through the Fourth Industrial Revolution, it is imperative for both politicos and the public to pay close attention and learn from the effects of climate change. Failure only leads to the realisation of imagined nightmares— the irreversible loss of “paradise.”
As we move forward, the lessons derived from the Pacific—spanning
their traditional dances, music, and art, only serves to enhance this modern Edenic vision.
But a harsh reality lies beneath this vacillating portrayal—the Pacific is a litmus test for the consequences of Anthropocene climate change. Rising sea levels, ocean acidification, and extreme weather events threaten lowlying Pacific Island nations like Kiribati and Tuvalu, pushing them to the brink of extinction. Understanding and studying these shifts in the Pacific is fundamental for grasping the global implications of climate change.
The paradox of the “Eden Ideal” complicates global awareness and advocacy, as it clashes starkly with
from evolutionary theory to the realities of the Anthropocene—can guide our scientific and ethical compasses. Understanding the diverse array of human and natural experiences in the Pacific demands us to confront simplistic categorisations and embrace a comprehensive approach. ■
Niki Alsford is Professor of Anthropology and Human Geography, and Director for the Institutes for the Study of the Asia Pacific (ISAP) at
Professor Niki J.P. Alsford the University of Central Lancashire.
The centre of the island of Niutao. (Jessica Marinaccio)
Stone Stacking
by Stuart Cox
We’ve all seen them, on hills, dales, riverbanks and shorelines. I am talking about the stacks of rock carefully balanced on top of each other and then photographed and distributed all over social media. A lot of people call them “Cairns” yet this latest trend
on social media is about as far removed from being a cairn as is humanly possible.
Cairns have existed on hill tops, ancient sites and paths for millennia behaving as both navigational aids and burial mounds (see Figure 3). A common tradition is for travellers to add a rock or stone to these as they pass.
However, the structures that are more recently appearing are neither of these and in fact are detrimental to the environment and becoming more so as they increase in number. These stone
stacks can be found all across the UK, on even the most remote sites, as more and more people discover the “great outdoors”, especially since staycations (day trips) became popular during the pandemic.
Several reasons exist why these stone stacks are harmful: 1. If large enough or in the wrong location, i.e. close to existing navigational cairns they could lead walkers and climbers astray, especially in poor visibility, causing them to become lost or worse. 2. In some cases, people take the stones and rocks from existing structures such as cairns, thus destroying heritage sites and navigational features, as
well as drystone walls used to mark boundaries and fence in livestock. A good example is ‘Skara brae’ on Orkney is already at risk from this activity as structures are being created close to an ancient monument. You can be prosecuted for damaging a scheduled monument. 3. Moving the stones and rocks damages the habitat of wildlife ranging from invertebrates to small mammals and birds that live and nest in walls and rocky outcrops. An example is that birds such as Oystercatchers which uses scrapes in stony areas to lay their eggs. Moving stones in such areas could wipe out a whole nesting season. 4. On a river they are detrimental to the breeding
A cairn is defined as “a pile of stones that is used as a boundary marker, a memorial, or a burial site. Cairns are usually conical in shape and were often erected on high ground. Burial cairns date primarily from the Neolithic Period and the Early Bronze Age. Cairns are still used in some parts of the world as burial places, particularly where the soil is difficult to excavate or where wild animals might disturb the body”1
sites of fish and other aquatic species. The removal of these stones for instance can cause a change in water flow washing fish eggs away,
destroying crevices used to lay eggs or leaving them exposed to predation. 5. Excessive removal of stones and rocks can lead to an increase in soil erosion effecting both animal and plants in the area.
Whilst it is inherent in human nature to want to leave one’s mark as we pass through the landscape, this habit of ‘building structures’ is becoming a global epidemic. The mantra of ‘leave no trace’, which is common with wild campers and other outdoors enthusiasts, is one that must be followed if we are to minimise the effect of this latest fad before it becomes a huge problem.
Fig 1. Stone stacks on the great ridge
Fig 3. Navigational Cairn on Kinder Scout
| Environmentally senstive expeditioning |
In fact I recently caused a furore on X2 (formerly Twitter) when I posted images (see Figure 4) where I had knocked about 30 of these things over at a notorious hotspot where I live in the Peak District.
Whilst I understand that the activity of building them can be therapeutic and even meditative for some folk, the negative impact of these structures on the environment and other people who enjoy the great outdoors far outweighs the act of building them.
For those seeking to build these structures with minimal impact on the landscape, I encourage you to walk along the seashore and make a temporary structure below the tideline, as they will be washed away
on the next tide and are in an area of constant shifting conditions.
So, my advice to all who wander is leave no trace, enjoy the landscape as it is and if you do see these stone stack monstrosities on your travels then do what I do, return them to their natural state!!! ■
Stuart Cox
Stuart is a hiking and outdoors vlogger based in the beautiful English Peak District national park and an avid activist on the impact of people on the environment.
References
1. Britannica, The Editors of Encyclopaedia. “cairn”. Encyclopedia Britannica, 27 Sep. 2024, https://www.britannica.com/topic/ cairn. Accessed 29 September 2024.
2. X, formally Twitter thread: https://x.com/thepdviking status/1784206811505053740?t= Ien5COR7Mtjesre4WYIuNA&s=19
3. Rocha, Ricardo; Borges, Paulo A. V.; Cardoso, Pedro; Kusrini, Mirza Dikari; Martín-Esquivel, José Luis; Menezes, Dília; Mota-Ferreira, Mário; Nunes, Sara F.; Órfão, Inês; Serra-Gonçalves, Catarina; Sim-Sim, Manuela; Sepúlveda, Pedro; Teixeira, Dinarte; and Traveset, Anna (2020) “Stone-Stacking as a Looming Threat to Rock-Dwelling Biodiversity,” Human–Wildlife Interactions: Vol. 14: Iss. 1, Article 17. DOI: https://doi.org/10.26077/secn-2a27 [download for full article]
Editor’s Note: The opinions in this article are those of the author. Always be mindful of the place and context before taking restorative action. This article has a UK perspective. In some locations stone stacks are used as navigational cairns, instead of signs, to enable walks without disrupting the landscape. Knocking those down could disorientate future visitors. Before hiking check the park’s website for information on their hiking trails and signage, or ask at the place you are staying at. For more information about the detrimental effects on rock-dwelling biodiversity, take a look at this letter to the editor of the journal Human-Wildlife Interactions by Ricardo Rocha and colleagues3
Fig 4. Stone stacks returned to natural state
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The Lost and Unknown Plants Among Gayo Coffee by W A Mustaqim
My first exploration of the northern Gayo Plateau’s plant diversity was a trip in September 2022. It was an investigation of the mountainous terrain belonging to Aceh Tengah and Bener Meriah, two regencies in the upland of Aceh Province, Sumatra. Since the start of the expedition in 2022, fieldwork amongst the remaining forest fragments of the vast Gayo coffee plantations has led to plant species being found, identified, and documented after being “lost”—and other species being identified as entirely “new to science”.
The Gayo Indigenous people have not lived in this region alone. In 1982, the Javanese began moving in there. This transmigration has had several consequences, including governmentally programmed acculturation, leading to an increase in the number of coffee plantations that produce “Gayo coffee”. This coffee is considered among the best—not only in Indonesia, but also throughout the world. Those lands views as the promising in terms of their economic potential have become predominately privateowned coffee plantations cover an area of more than 90 thousand hectares (Gayo et al., 2018). Most of this mountainous terrain is increasingly designated for “non-
conservation” purposes, and, as such, the quantity of land covered by magnificent, misty tropical rainforests is diminishing. Consequently, plants from these forests are only found in extreme habitats, such as montane bogs, steep slopes, and elevations 1800 meters above sea level.
Despite the loss of these rainforests, our team recently re-discovered a key plant: Bangham’s mangolia, Magnolia banghamii. It is a largesized species of magnolia tree endemic to the northern Gayo Plateau, initially discovered in 1932 by the US field botanists Walter N. Bangham and Catherine M. Bangham. Its re-discovery can be considered a great achievement,
Forest fragments among the agricultural lands in the northern Gayo
These forest fragments are habitat for Bangham’s magnolia and red-flowered Gayo
as it confirms that this species still exists in the jungle. Tragically, this species is only found in two physical locations in the whole world, given the heavy pressure from the continued expansion of coffee plantations (Robiansyah et al., 2023) which make it now formally assigned by the International Union for Conservation and Nature Red List as a Critically Endangered tree (Robiansyah et al., 2024).
On our expedition, we also found and identified two new species— physically smaller plants—previously unknown to science. We successfully introduced both species to the global academic community. The first is an epiphytic shrub, a relative to blueberries, that has very sweet fruit; we named the species Rigiolepis gayoensis (which roughly translates to “blueberry from Gayo Plateau”) to introduce the Gayo Plateau to the world (Mustaqim et al., 2023). The second species is an herbaceous, bright-flowered wild balsam, which we identified in three forest fragments. When naming this species, we took inspiration from the local peoples: Impatiens bungeilang (which translates to “balsam with red flowers”) is derived from the Gayonese language, with “bunge” meaning flowers, and “ilang” meaning red. Anyone wandering the forest can easily spot this species from afar, due to the bright colour of its flowers (Mustaqim et al., 2024).
Both species, however, have been categorized as not only endemic and rare, but also as having a high risk of extinction. An investigation using guidelines from the IUCN designated these species as “Critically Endangered” (Mustaqim et al., 2023, 2024). Any species placed in this category has the
highest extinction risk (IUCN, 2012). We, as researchers, understand the risk of species extinction. The domino effect caused by the loss of a species may produce ecological changes which cannot be anticipated—or repaired. The steady loss of Bangham’s magnolia, for example, has meant an associated loss of its invaluable services as a part of the complex tropical forest ecosystem.
We hope to use our findings for future conservation planning in the Gayo Plateau. Endemic species are an essential component of today’s conservation strategies, and many global schemes, from scientific to commercial institutions, highlight the necessity of these organisms. However, it will be a long journey to successfully implement a formal conservation plan involving stakeholders. In the upcoming years, I intend to lead many expeditions to the Gayo Plataeu to improve our understanding of the area’s plant diversity, thereby forming a strong baseline for future conservation efforts. I hope that the growth of beloved Gayo coffee never becomes the root of a plant species’ extinction. ■
Wendy is a botanist with research focus on plant diversity and conservation in Indonesia.
W A Mustaqim
Bangham’s magnolia, this photo shows the largest tree found in a forest fragment of the northern Gayo Plateau.
Plateau.
balsam.
The northern Gayo Plateau endemic blueberry shows minute flowers and fleshy fruits.
Expedition leaders seeking funding
Maverick N. Tamayo, Rob Waugh, Veronica White, Mike Kowalski, Seni Senjaya.
Maverick N. Tamayo, Rigiolepis and Vaccinium of Borneo
PhD Biology Student, Texas Christian University, USA. This project focuses on conducting fieldwork in Borneo to document and discover species of tropical blueberries (Vaccinium) and their relative (Rigiolepis). Target areas include high elevation forests and nutrient poor (ultramafic) or kerangas soils. Vaccinium and Rigiolepis species will be photo-documented and geotagged for IUCN assessment; specimens for herbarium and phylogenomic analysis will also be obtained.
https://www.researchgate.net/profile/Maverick-Tamayo | https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61558740376893 m.n.tamayo@tcu.edu / mavs1608069@gmail.com
Rob Waugh, Rwenzori: The Disappearing Equatorial Glaciers of Uganda
The equatorial glaciers of the Rwenzori Mountains, on the Uganda-DRC border, are rapidly shrinking due to climate change. Filmmaker, and former NGO manager, Rob Waugh aims to document the glaciers’ retreat and its impact on the local communities who live and work there before the ice disappears forever.
https://simmerdim.co/vanishing-glaciers-of-africa @stuffrobmade rob@simmerdim.co
Veronica White, The Farming Futures Cycle Tour
Images of the future can motivate action towards creating the futures we envision. Next spring, I will cycle 1,300 miles across England to co-create visions for the future of farming and food production with women in farming communities. As a photographer and videographer, I will share my adventure widely to inspire others to embark on local, low-carbon expeditions.
https://www.covestocliffs.com/farming-futures-cycle-tour @ farmingfutures_cycle
vmw210@exeter.ac.uk
Mike Kowalski, Fear Ecology for Human-Wildlife Coexistence
This expedition to the remote corners of Kenya’s multiuse central highlands will realize an unprecedented, landscapescale playback experiment to quantify the multifaceted impact of pastoralism on large carnivore behaviour, caloric expenditure, and food web dynamics – using a novel automated playback system technology to facilitate human-wildlife coexistence and large carnivore conservation by reducing livestock depredation in marginalized pastoral communities.
mbkowals@ucsc.edu
@MKTheEcologist
Venturing into the forests of Central Sulawesi, Indonesia, our expedition will explore the pollination dynamics of the Carolinensis clade of Alpinia, a captivating yet little-known group of ginger plants. With floral traits suggesting specialized pollinators, these species remain mysterious due to limited data. To address this, we’ll deploy camera traps with heat and motion sensors to capture interactions between plants and pollinators, shedding light on the complex dependencies that shape these unique ecosystems.
seni.senjaya@botany.ubc.ca
@senikurnia
@senisenjaya
Seni Senjaya, Unveiling Ginger’s Allies
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