How Can I Help?

As we near the end of the semester, I am growing increasingly anxious about what to do next. I have one more semester at Duke, and then I plan on taking a gap year before going to grad school to specialize in herpetology. I’ve always said I wanted to do conservation biology with herpetofauna, to study the animals I love in a way that allows me to help them. But how on earth do I turn that desire into anything tangible?

As we move from field station to field station here in Costa Rica, I keep hearing people say how much we still don’t know about all of the herps that live here. This has especially been true here in Monteverde. We met Mark Wainwright, who is somewhat of a celebrity among the biologists in Costa Rica. He literally wrote the book on mammal identifications here, and he knows an amazing amount about birds and herpetofauna too. But as he educated us on the variety of calls frogs use to communicate different messages, it became apparent how much information we were missing. Although a frog may call for advertisement, aggression, distress, warning, release from amplexus, or courtship; the majority we hear (and therefore are able to record) are for advertisement. Of the 65 or so species found in Monteverde alone, how many sounds are yet unknown? And if we don’t even know what sounds these frogs make, just think of all the information on their morphology, adaptations, and behaviors that remain to be studied! There are species that go missing for years at a time and then pop back up seemingly from out of nowhere. There are also population crashes and occasional recoveries and then unexplained range expansions or contractions. There are a myriad of things we don’t know, studies that could be done, and information to be discovered. The possibilities are enthralling.

And yet when I think ahead to our independent projects at Palo Verde, I’m at a loss. I’ve been brainstorming all kinds of questions and designs, but the small scale of these projects (only four days of data collection) is quite limiting. And I find myself asking more and more frequently – how can I study something that will provide useful information? This is still just the beginning of my research endeavors, so I realize it’s probably aiming way too high to expect anything important to come from such a study. But it feels almost wasteful not to strive for that when we have the opportunity to work in such important ecosystems as the dwindling dry forests or seasonal wetlands in Palo Verde.

I’m generally of the opinion that the pursuit of knowledge for the sake of knowledge is worthwhile. However, in the current situation of political disarray, climate change, under-regulation of environmental risks, and all the other problems that we as humans have created, I feel that the subjects of studies being done now and in the coming years are of the utmost importance. These organisms cannot afford for us to squander time finding out interesting trivia. Populations of amphibians and reptiles are dwindling worldwide, and there isn’t much time left to change course. There may not be any time left at all. So we must use every possible resource to find helpful answers.

Going back to where I started – I still don’t know exactly which species, or for that matter even which order of herpetofauna to specialize in. And this project may simply be a stepping-stone as I learn how to design studies and begin to enter the research world. But I do know that somehow, in the long term, I will find a way to put my time and energy to use working toward the preservation of these incredible animals. 

Madison Harman

Duke University

Just Keep Swimming

I’m slightly ashamed to say that I’ve always been a little bit “freaked out” by the ocean. Or, more accurately, the thought of the ocean. It’s not that I’ve never been in one—I go to school in coastal Maine after all—and it’s not really that I’m scared of them (although I am undoubtedly terrified of whales).  It’s just that as a Minnesotan lake-lover, the thought of all that space down there filled with who-knows-what just kind of, well, freaks me out. Taking this into account it’s understandable that I was a little bit anxious of our week long project of snorkeling in Bocas del Toro, Panamá. As a kid I always had to build my courage even to use goggles just in the lakes I spent all of my childhood summers in, so snorkeling has always been something unimaginable.

            Nevertheless, we set out at 7 am one Monday morning to make the several hour trip south to Panamá, across the border to a small town where we were dropped off at a dock with two boats awaiting us. I forgot all hesitation and excitedly boarded the first boat to travel the half-hour to our research base. Despite the choppy waves and endless bouncing, the short trip left me feeling extremely calm and content and amazed at the places we were traveling. This feeling continued after we hiked the quick walk through a pasture to our cabins for the next week: quaint, wooden buildings that we learned were completely off the grid using generated electricity and rain water; I felt very comfortable and at home instantly.

            The next morning some queasiness came back as we hopped in the boat to start snorkeling. Our morning started with dolphin sightings and swim tests before we put our masks and flippers on. Feeling like a bug with my goggles and mouthpiece I lay facedown in the water and tried it out—and I really liked the new perspective of the ocean floor! But the biggest moment came when someone spotted a large starfish a bit deeper out and people started diving to go down and look at it. I tried to hide how intimidating this felt to me. How much else would I see while I was down there? What if it made me uneasy? Knowing I’d have to do it at some point, I took a deep breath and propelled myself down to get a closer look at a starfish that put the ones I’d seen in the Minnesota Zoo aquarium to shame—and it was amazing! Probably to no surprise for anyone else the world ten feet below me wasn’t drastically different than it appeared from the surface; I wasn’t suddenly facing the looming expanse of the entire, whale-ridden ocean, I simply got a more detailed look at what I already saw. Pleased with the discovery that I liked this new snorkeling thing I went with the group to a new site, one that had more coral and went deeper.

            Throughout the next few days during any free snorkeling time I couldn’t keep myself away from the deeper, lonesome coral reefs with strange cow fish, alien-looking goliath fish, and adorable tiny fish that would hang around the colorful coral even while I drifted above them, suspended in the water and looking in on what I liked to think of as their tiny town. Who would have thought that I’d be one to go as far and as deep as the lifeguard allowed? I no longer felt fearsome of what strange mysteries I would encounter down there or of what I might glimpse even further out in the sea. I was fascinated by these mysteries, by these ecosystems I was just beginning to learn about that I thought would always be off limits for me to study in the field because of my apprehension of a place I knew little about. After four days of nonstop snorkeling at every opportunity I was sad to leave the island on the this-time-calm boat ride back into town. We saw dolphins again as we left but all I wanted was to be back in the water spending more and more hours staring at odd little creatures that caught my attention under the deep blue sea.

Sofi Lopez

Bowdoin College

Snorkeling in Bocas del Toro

After hours on a bus, waiting in line at customs, a walk across the border between Costa Rica and Panama, another bus ride, a boat ride, and a walk up to the station, I arrived to our field station in Bocas del Toro on a sunny November morning with just a backpack. Our week at the comfortable,  modest station we stayed at in Panama was full of firsts for me. For the first time I saw mangroves, snorkeled, swam in the Caribbean Sea, and saw coral reefs up close. The beaches were beautiful, with soft white sand, crystal clear turquoise water, and lush palm trees. The station is also bordered by tropical forests, offering the best of both worlds for experiencing Central American wildlife.

            Swimming up close to Pete’s Reef, a fringing reef in Bocas del Toro, was easily the most surreal experience of my study abroad program. I have never seen such a variety in colors, shapes, and organisms in one square meter as in a square meter of coral reefs. Swimming in the reef for just a few hours, I saw more species of fish than I have probably seen in my life up until then,in addition to marine invertebrates like starfish and sea urchins.

            Unfortunately, as coral reefs are in drastic decline globally due to ocean acidification and rising temperatures, opportunities like mine will become more and more rare for future biology students to experience. As we prepare for a new administration to enter the White House, it is important to keep in mind how real global change in our environment is, and how it threatens everyone on the planet. The disappearance of coral reefs put the entire ocean at risk, affecting not just those who are lucky enough to be able see and study them, but all of us. Seeing the coral reefs up close reinforced in me the importance of protecting our most fragile ecosystems, and for anyone who is skeptical about the importance of environmental protection, I would recommend trying to take the opportunity to see for themselves.  

Jocelyn Zorn

Sarah Lawrence College