Fortunately, from just a stock of thirteen zoo animals, the species has made a remarkable comeback and can again be seen in Hustai National Park, where they thrive. The horses have even become a draw for foreign tourists, as well as conservationists.
Today more than fifteen hundred Przewalski’s horses live in zoos and captive breeding herds from Ohio to Ukraine, and more than four hundred roam in protected parks in Mongolia and China. The challenge, of course, is that all these animals share the genes of only those thirteen “founder” horses—the last remaining genetic stock after the species was finally extirpated from the wild. As a result, even relatively large herds are more susceptible to disease than in other, more diverse species. Fortunately, the Przewalski’s horse is clearly recognized as a priority to international conservation programs, and intense cooperation continues between the managers of the captive and wild herds to ensure adequate veterinary care and genetic management for the future.
Munkhtsog was part of the team of biologists who, in 1994, released the captive herd to their new home at Hustai National Park in central Mongolia. Keeping the tahki safe and thriving in the park remains an ongoing task—especially because they are now easy prey for wolves. (Captive-bred animals are naive about natural threats, and predation is one of the leading reasons reintroduction efforts fail.) Munkhtsog explained to me that up to 31 percent of the foals born each spring fall prey to wolves. Over time, in areas so vast, conservationists will be able to work to establish a healthy predator–prey balance again. In fact, the percentage of foal loss to wolf predation is steadily, if slowly, declining.
For Munkhtsog the return of the tahki (the animals’ Mongolian name) clearly is not solely about science. “The tahki is a national symbol of great pride to the Mongolian people,” he said to me. “We are a nation of horsemen, and now we have proven to the world how seriously we take our horses.”
One morning, after a long journey in a battered truck, bouncing along rocky, dusty roads, I finally saw the elusive, almost mythical tahki in the Mongolian steppes. Munkhtsog was with me that morning, standing on the crest of a hill just after dawn.
He said that we should sit still on the grass so that we seemed less a threat to the mares with foals. And sure enough, after just an hour or so of watching, the herd of forty-three horses that had been feeding at least a kilometer away began to slowly move our way—until they were passing quite close to us. What struck me most was the beauty of the mares and their apparent concern for their young. The foals appeared oblivious to any threats, but their mothers were wary about almost anything that moved. I noted that the younger the foal, the more it looked like a domestic horse—thin-bodied and long-limbed. But the adults, and particularly the stallions, grew to be thick-bodied with proportionately shorter legs.
As I marveled at the wild herd below, Munkhtsog slapped me on the back and said, “In the US, you have thoroughbreds for racing. But in Mongolia, we have true horses!”
PART 2
Saved at the
Eleventh Hour
Introduction
In this section, we find a fascinating array of different species with one thing in common—they were all brought to the very brink of extinction and have all been given a second chance. Unlike the animals discussed in part 1, none of these species were ever declared “extinct in the wild”—although all certainly would have been but for those who determined it should not be so. The restoration of these species involved taking some individuals from the remaining wild populations for captive breeding—and the critics of captive breeding were often vociferous, the proponents, as always, determined.
The story of the return of the peregrine falcon, for example, represents an extraordinary effort by literally hundreds of people across the United States. The peregrine itself was never reduced to the small numbers of the other species in this part, but it was totally extirpated from a huge part of its original range in the eastern United States. And the account of the battle to ban the use of DDT is chilling in its revelation of the determination of major corporations to trample over other life-forms in their quest for wealth. The winning of that battle was a triumph for the environmental movement, and helped to save countless other species in addition to the peregrine.
These are our first stories about those dedicated to protecting not just the charismatic animals, but fishes, reptiles, and insects. “Why on earth,” people ask, “would anyone devote themselves to protecting a bug? The world would be better off without them.” When I was a child, we had a painting on the wall showing a cute little girl cuddled up with a bulldog of somewhat scowling aspect. It was captioned, “Everyone is loved by someone.” And the people whose stories we share here do care passionately about the creatures they are trying to protect. But they know, too, that every species has its own unique niche in the ecosystem—that interconnected web of life—and as such is important. This is one reason why the costs, sometimes great, are truly worth it.
And it is important to recognize that the animal species with which we share the planet have value in their own right. We have messed things up for so many—it is up to us to put things right.
Golden Lion Tamarin
(Leontopithecus rosalia)
The first time I met a golden lion tamarin face-to-face was at the National Zoo in Washington, DC, on a beautiful spring morning in 2007. I also met Dr. Devra Kleiman, who had kindly offered to share some of her vast knowledge of the species to which she has devoted much of her life.
In the early 1800s, golden lion tamarins were apparently common in the Atlantic Coastal Forest of eastern Brazil, but their number was drastically reduced throughout the second half of the twentieth century as they were captured for exotic pets and zoos, and their forest habitat was destroyed to give way to pasture for cattle, agriculture, and plantation forestry. Today less than 7 percent of the original Atlantic Forest remains, much of it fragmented.
Rescued by Brazil’s Father of Primatology
There are four species of lion tamarins: the black lion tamarin, Leontopithecus chrysopygus; the golden-headed lion tamarin, L. chrysomelas; the black-faced lion tamarin, L. caissara; and the golden lion tamarin, L. rosalia. The golden lion tamarins are among the most endangered of all New World primates. They might have vanished altogether but for the dedication, passion, and persistence of Dr. Coimbra-Filho—often called the Father of Primatology in Brazil—and his colleague Alceo Magnanini.
As early as 1962, these two scientists recognized the need for a breeding program for golden lion tamarins, with the goal of reintroducing them into protected forests. But they got little support, and the attempt to start the facility failed. However, they continued their work throughout the 1960s and 1970s and, mostly using their own money, traveled to many municipalities in search of the tamarins, visiting villages and interviewing the local people, especially hunters. The work was hard and often depressing. They identified two areas that would have been ideal sites for reintroduction—but both had been destroyed, along with countless other tracts of forest, when they returned a year later.
Devra Kleiman at the small mammal house of the National Zoo, checking on this golden lion tamarin’s climbing abilities before its release into the rain forest of Brazil. (Jessie Cohan, Smithsonian National Zoo)
Difficult times indeed, yet extraordinarily valuable, for they gathered data confirming the desperate plight of the lion tamarins and their habitat, which was essential for their battle to save them. And they earmarked an area of forest that, due to the persistence of Dr. Coimbra-Filho, eventually became the Poço das Antas Biological Reserve, created for the purpose of protecting the golden lion tamarins. It was the first biological reserve in Brazil.
In 1972, a groundbreaking conference titled Saving the Lion Marmoset (as they were called in those days) brought together twenty-eight biologists from Europe, America, and Brazil. It focused international attention on the urgent need to prevent the golden lion tamarin from sliding into extinction. Plans were drawn up
for conservation in the wild, support was obtained for Dr. Coimbra-Filho’s breeding program in Brazil, and a strategy was created for a coordinated global captive breeding program in zoos. It was this conference that led to the Golden Lion Tamarin Conservation Program at the National Zoological Park in Washington, DC. And it was at this conference that Devra began her long involvement with the little primates.
Meeting a Golden Lion Tamarin Family
My visit to the National Zoo took place thirty-five years after that conference. I had never met golden lion tamarins close up, and it was a real treat to go with Devra and their keeper, Eric Smith, into the newly constructed enclosure of a family group. There I met the adult pair, Eduardo and Laranja; two adolescent females, Samba and Gisella; and two youngsters, Mara and Mo. I was enchanted. They are like living jewels of the deep forest with shining golden hair that cloaks their bodies and frames the face with a leonine mane. As I watched them, slightly apprehensive with so many strangers in their new home, I felt a surge of gratitude for all the hard work and tears that had prevented their extinction.
Afterward a small group of us gathered to talk tamarin. I asked Devra how she got involved. She told us she grew up in suburbs of New York, with no nature and no pets, destined for medical school. Then as part of a college project, she observed a wolf pack in a zoo, became fascinated, and realized that she wanted to study animal behavior. Interestingly, she spent time at the London Zoo and worked with Desmond Morris—just as I had. She specialized in the comparative and social reproductive behavior of mammals and worked with many species—until she learned about the plight of the golden lion tamarin.
“I was determined to do my best for those enchanting little creatures,” she told us. So she set to work to raise money, gather information, and start a coordinated breeding program. Many people believed such a scheme would never work. Smiling, she recalled the advice given her back then: “Don’t get involved with tamarins. They are going extinct—it will be bad for your career.
“I am so glad I didn’t follow that advice,” she added. Indeed, it was fortunate for all of us, especially the golden lion tamarins!
Devra contacted all the zoos that kept golden lion tamarins and found that almost nothing was known about tamarin reproductive behavior. “No one even knew whether they should be kept in monogamous or polygamous breeding groups,” she said. But eventually she came to believe that tamarin groups in the wild, containing two to eight individuals, might be composed of a mated pair and their offspring. So she recommended that the zoo keep adult pairs on their own, so that family groups could form naturally. This was the key to success. Over time, as more became known about the tamarins’ natural diets and social system and was applied to their care, the situation improved. But even so, by the end of 1975, there were still only eighty-three golden lion tamarins spread through sixteen institutions outside Brazil and another thirty-nine individuals at the facility in Brazil.
Return to the Wild
Gradually, though, the captive population grew, and Devra began to concentrate on the next stage—returning the species to the wild. The first step, of course, was to find a safe environment for them. “I traveled to Brazil to visit the reserve where it was hoped the tamarins would be released,” Devra recalled. “The Atlantic Coastal Forest there had been decimated, and even when we got to the reserve, there was still very little forest remaining. To my horror, the guard at the gate to the reserve had a pet tamarin on a leash! It seemed impossible that we could do a successful reintroduction there. But that was all that was left of their natural habitat. We would have to work with what was there.”
The scientist and conservationist Dr. Benjamin Beck was selected to take charge of coordinating the release program. First the groundwork had to be laid. Devra and Ben made repeated trips to Brazil, developing close relationships with their Brazilian colleagues. By 1984, all was ready: A release area had been secured, Brazilian partners and staff acquired. The first captive golden lion tamarins were released in the forest.
“We realized after that first release,” Devra told us, “that the captive-born animals had problems moving about in the trees; they simply did not know how to navigate complex 3-D environments.” But they managed somehow, and at the same time the team was learning a lot about their behavior. One day, Devra told me, she was following an adolescent female and her two young brothers, Ron and Mark, who had separated from the rest of the group. Farther and farther they wandered, exploring their new world, and as dusk fell Devra feared they might be lost. But suddenly the female gave a strange call and headed off with great purpose, calling as she went. Ron and Mark immediately followed—and Devra followed them. “I almost felt like part of the family,” said Devra. “We all kept up, following the calls.” And in less than thirty minutes, they were back at the nest box. Subsequently, the researchers learned that this call means “Let’s go!” They named it the “vamonos call.”
Adapting to the Forest
Soon after this, Devra and Ben made a bold and innovative decision—they would allow some of the golden lion tamarin families to roam freely in a small patch of forest on the grounds of the National Zoo in DC. This would allow them to become familiar with treetop travel before being released in Brazil. The plan, under Ben’s direction, was a success. “For one thing,” said Devra, “once they were outside, they instinctively began giving the soft ‘vamonos’ calls that I had heard in the wild. It was wonderful!”
Not only did the tamarins learn climbing skills, but family groups established small territories—about a hundred square yards—just as they would in the wild. Devra and Ben felt, therefore, that it was unlikely any of them would leave the zoo grounds. To their great relief, they were proven right.
Ben told me that what interests him most about the release program in Brazil is that pre-release training (such as learning to poke food from crevices with their fingers or how to open fruits) does not make much difference to the golden lion tamarins’ survival in the wild. What is important is the soft-release method. This means that they are provided with food and shelter when they start their life in the forest, but as they begin to eat natural foods, field researchers progressively feed and observe them less: from daily visits they cut down to three days per week, to once a week, then once a month. If an individual is hurt or gets lost, it is captured and treated before being returned. All groups have become independent after five years. The key for success, Ben explained, is for the females to live long enough to reproduce. Young tamarins, born in the wild, will do fine. “Because then,” said Ben, “they are born with wild brains.”
More Stories from the Wild
I asked Ben for an anecdote he could share. He told me about Emily, who arrived with four of her family in 1988. They were taken into the forest and introduced to their nest box fixed up in a tree. On the second night, it was very cold and wet. Emily seemed confused. She climbed to the very end of a branch and there she sat, huddled in the rain. Ben and his colleague Andreia Martins also sat, huddled, watching her. Eventually, it began to get dark, and in the end they were forced to leave her, small and bedraggled on the end of her branch, with the rest of her family all cozy in the nest box.
It was a subdued group of humans that gathered for supper, cold and wet themselves. “None of us slept very much,” said Ben. They went out very early the next morning. When they reached the tree, Emily was lying on the ground but still alive, though extremely cold. Andreia put Emily under her shirt and took her back to camp. Gradually, Emily warmed up, and by day’s end she was dry and fluffed out. She not only survived but went on to have several babies. “She was a real sweetheart,” said Ben.
One day, Emily and her son disappeared. Unfortunately, some people steal the tamarins to sell them (illegally) as pets—over the years, at least twenty-two have been stolen. Amazingly, they got Emily back when a veterinarian noticed her tattoo and realized she had been stolen. Emily soon settled down and had another family. Almost unbelievably, she was stolen
again, and again they were able to get her back!
A Name or a Number?
Ben told me that they no longer give the tamarins names in the field, just numbers. This business of identifying individuals by name or number has had an interesting history in the tamarin project. “I began by giving the tamarins numbers, which seemed more scientific at the time,” Devra recalled, “but to spite me, David Kessler [one of her colleagues] named a hand-reared tamarin Colonel Ezekiel Atlas Drummond—and it stuck. We have been using names ever since.”
Although the captive breeding program still uses names, they switched to numbers in the field. Not because it is more scientific, but because such a relatively large percentage of the tamarins don’t make it—about 80 percent are dead or have disappeared by the end of the second year in the wild. Those working with them find it less distressing if they are not known by name.
When the team finds an unmarked tamarin out in the forest, they know it marks a success story—an individual born in the wild who has sought out and established its own territory. Some have even made it across more than a mile of open agricultural land. The team no longer spends time observing the family units closely. Occasional monitoring of their health, reproduction, and survival rate is all that’s required.
Meanwhile, as the introduced tamarins thrived, there were still some highly endangered groups of wild golden lion tamarins. An exhaustive survey in the early 1990s had revealed that there were sixty individuals in twelve groups, living in nine very small fragmented patches of forest that were destined to be cut down to build beach condominiums. And so, between 1994 and 1997, six of the groups (forty-three individuals) were translocated to what is now the União Biological Reserve.
Hope for Animals and Their World Page 9
