Hope for Animals and Their World

by Jane Goodall; Thane Maynard; Gail Hudson

  Soon after the team entered the cave, they discovered eyeless white creatures living in the subterranean aquifer. Ultimately, the team discovered six new species of arthropods. This one was named Typhlocaris ayyaloni.(Dr. David Darom)

  Subsequent DNA testing showed that all eight of the species found by Israel and the team—white, shrimp-like crustaceans and scorpion-like invertebrates, all of them without eyes and apparently feeding on the surface bacteria—were new to science. They were, said Professor Frumkin, “absolutely unique in the world.”

  Further exploration revealed a maze of passages extending for more than a mile, sealed from the surface water and nutrients above by a layer of chalk and drawing water from deep underground. The whole unique ecosystem dates back five million years, to when part of Israel was under the Mediterranean, and it has been closed off ever since. Unfortunately, as Israel noted, the underground lake is part of an aquifer that is one of the most important freshwater sources for Israel. This means that the cave and its whole ecosystem is affected and extremely endangered.

  Let us be thankful we have at least learned of its existence and can marvel at the diversity of life-forms on our amazing planet. How easily it could have vanished, without due reverence, to join the other extinct life-forms of its mysterious prehistoric era.

  Unexplored Forests of Indonesia’s Foja Mountains

  Some people find it hard to believe that there are still huge tracts of remote forests that have remained unknown to the outside world. During a recent visit to John Conaghan, my dentist in Washington, DC, I was telling him—during the odd moments when my mouth was not full of instruments and fingers—about this book. He told me that his neighbor, Bruce Beeler, had recently returned from an exciting expedition to Papua New Guinea. “He found some kind of new bird,” John told me, and he gave me Bruce’s phone number.

  Bruce is an ornithologist, an authority on New Guinea birds as well as a tropical ecologist, and currently serves as vice president for Melanesia at Conservation International in DC. When we talked, he told me something about the expedition he had led, and gave me a link to his Web site. There I learned that the isolated Foja Mountains of Papua, Indonesia’s easternmost and least explored province, lie on the western side of the great tropical island of New Guinea and probably represent the most pristine natural ecosystem in the entire Asia-Pacific region. It comprises some two and a half million acres of old-growth tropical humid forest. The customary landowners of the Foja Mountains, the Kwerba and Papasena peoples, total only a few hundred individuals. They hunt and collect herbs and medicines from the fringes of the forest but seldom penetrate more than a mile into the interior. With the human population so small, animals are still abundant within a mile or so of the villages, and the hunters have no need to travel farther afield.

  The story leading up to and culminating with the expedition Bruce led is almost like a fairy tale. “For decades,” Bruce told me, “the Foja Mountains had been a promised land to biologists in search of the unknown.” In 1981, Professor Jared Diamond had managed to make two brief visits to the mountains and found what at least a dozen expeditions had failed to do—the home of the almost mythical golden-fronted bowerbird. It had been described by a German zoologist in 1895 from “trade skins” that had been collected in some unknown corner of western New Guinea, and despite at least a dozen expeditions sent out to search for its homeland, the bird had never been seen alive by Western scientists—until Diamond’s visit eighty-six years later.

  This exciting news triggered renewed ambitions to explore the Foja Mountains. Conservation International together with the Biology Research Center of the Indonesian Institute of Sciences made plans to visit the area to learn more about its wildlife. It was not easy—it took ten years to get the permissions that were needed from four government departments and a number of provincial and local authorities. Not until November 2007 did Bruce finally set off with his fourteen-member team of Indonesian, American, and Australian scientists. They were dropped down by a helicopter and set up camp in a remote mist-shrouded world high up the mountains.

  Even with expectations running high, none of the members of that expedition could have imagined that, within minutes of arrival, they would encounter a bizarre red-faced and fleshy white-wattled honeyeater bird unlike anything in their field guide. With a thrill, Bruce told me, he suddenly realized that he was looking at a completely new species—the first new bird discovered on the island of New Guinea since 1951. For the time being they named it the wattled smoky honeyeater. (You can see photos of this bird on our Web site.)

  And then, just one day later, the team was amazed when a male and female Berlepsch’s six-wired bird of paradise (Parotia berlepschi) came right into their camp, and the male, with his spectacular plumage, displayed on the ground to the female for more than five minutes—in full view. “We stood in awe as the male romped about in the saplings, flicking his wings and white flank plumes, whistling his sweet two-note song for the female,” said Bruce. “I was too spellbound to get my camera out that first time.”

  They were the first Western scientists to see the birds alive, and they instantly realized that it was a full and distinct species, looking very different from other bowerbirds. The team had discovered the unknown homeland of this remarkable bird and seen its spectacular displays within two days of arrival! I can only imagine the excitement in the air as they gathered for supper that evening. And it was not long before they located one of the yard-high constructions of carefully placed twigs that marked the “maypole” dance grounds of the golden-fronted bowerbird and made the first photographs of this species displaying at its bower. It turned out that the bird was common in the area.

  The discoveries continued, day after day. Altogether forty species of mammals were recorded, including many that are rare in other parts of New Guinea, but common and unafraid in the Foja Mountains. The long-beaked echidna, a marsupial that looks a bit like a hedgehog and has a beak like a duck-billed platypus, is the largest of the bizarre and primitive egg-laying mammals. A few of these rare beings were seen on three successive nights. Twice they allowed themselves to be picked up and carried into camp for study.

  These strange creatures have never reproduced in captivity, and nothing is known about their natural behavior. Another highlight was the discovery of a population of the golden-mantled tree kangaroo (Dendrolagus pulcherrimus)—the first record of the species in Indonesia. It is an extraordinarily beautiful jungle-dwelling kangaroo that literally climbs into trees and is critically endangered. This is only the second site in the world where it is known to exist.

  The Foja Mountains appear to be one of the richest sites for frogs in the Asia-Pacific region—the team found more than sixty species, at least twenty of which are new to science. These mountains are also a paradise for butterflies—more than a hundred and fifty species were found, four new to science. And of course the botanists found many remarkable and previously undescribed plant species, including a rhododendron growing high in the treetops with spectacular scented white flowers, and five new species of palm.

  I cannot imagine anything more fantastic than being part of such an exciting expedition. It was just such an adventure that I had dreamed of as a child. I asked Bruce how he felt when he got there. How was it to wake up in paradise?

  “I remember standing, at dawn, in a lovely little bog atop a flat ridge in the very center of the Foja Mountains,” he told me. “A mighty black sicklebill quipped loudly to the south. A dozen other birdsongs floated overhead. The sky was a deep blue. I was in an Eden of sorts, one without the footprint of humankind, one left to the birds and marsupials … it was a sublime moment.”

  When I spoke with Bruce, he told me that in two days he would be setting off on another expedition to his Eden—and I was left with an unrealistic longing to be part of it.

  A Monster Palm from Madagascar

  My last story is about a giant palm found recently on Madagascar. I learned the story of this palm
during a visit to Kew Botanical Gardens in 2008. John Sitch, who works with palms, was eager to tell me about this extraordinary discovery. He picked up one of the row of pots that sprouted young specimens of the plant, holding it almost reverently. He is not a demonstrative man, but the excitement was clear in his voice as he explained that this was a completely new species of fan palm, the largest ever found in Madagascar—the adult leaves have a sixteen-foot diameter. Apparently the full-grown palm is so massive that it can actually be seen on Google Earth!

  I can just imagine the amazement of Xavier Metz, the French manager of a cashew plantation, when he and his family came upon this huge palm as they were exploring a remote area in the northwest of the country. He had never seen anything like it, and was sure it was a new species, so he took photos.

  It was even more exciting than anyone had thought—not only an undescribed species, but actually the single species of a new genus. And this genus was from an evolutionary line that was not known to exist in Madagascar. It was named Tahina spectabilis—tahina is Malagasy for “to be protected or blessed” (the given name of Anne-Tahina, daughter of the discoverer), and spectabilis is Latin for “spectacular.” An intensive survey showed that there was just one population of ninety-two individuals tucked away at the foot of a limestone outcrop.

  This palm has the most extraordinary life cycle. When it is about fifty years old and has reached a height of nearly sixty feet “the stem tip starts to grow, and changes into a giant terminal inflorescence sprouting branches of hundreds of tiny flowers,” John told me. These flowers ooze nectar, and are soon surrounded by birds and insects. It is a spectacular flowering, “and each flower, once pollinated, can become a fruit,” said John. Then, once the fruits have ripened, the palm is utterly exhausted. The flowering and the fruiting are its swan song, and it collapses and dies.

  About a thousand seeds from this palm were carefully collected and have been sent to Kew’s Millennium Seed Bank in Sussex. Seeds have also been distributed to eleven botanical gardens around the world, so that the palm can be conserved in living collections—one of the goals of the seed bank. Because Tahina is limited to just the one area on the island, and because flowering and fruiting are such rare occurrences, conservation at the site will not be easy. However, the villagers have become involved. A village committee has been set up to patrol and protect the area. And some of the seeds have been sent to a specialist palm seed merchant in Germany so that he can raise and sell palms to create funds for village development as well as conservation of the palm.

  I told John that I look forward to seeing Tahina in Kew’s Palm House, a spectacular public exhibit of species from around the world. But alas, I shall not be alive when the first Kew plant is fifty years old and has its first burst of flowering!

  The Lazarus Syndrome:

  Species Believed Extinct

  and Recently Found

  It is not only the finding of a species new to science that is exciting. To discover a living individual of a species long thought to have been extinct and lost forever is, in many ways, even more rewarding. It gives us a little hope to know that some individuals of a species that, after much searching in the wild, has been officially listed as “extinct” might, just might, still be around. Because then we can give it another chance.

  I visited Ghana soon after the Miss Waldron’s red colobus was pronounced extinct and met a biologist who believed that a group of these monkeys still existed in a remote, swampy part of the country. Immediately I wanted to go and search for them. Of course, I could not go, and anyway it seems the rumors were probably just rumors. But I could imagine the thrill of announcing to the world that these monkeys were not extinct after all. I can so well understand why people obstinately continue searching for some animal or plant that they feel certain is out there somewhere—if only they could find it.

  Recently, when I was in Australia, I met those who felt sure that the “extinct” Tasmanian wolf still exists. Indeed, I was given a book listing all the recorded “sightings” of the creature. And people who know Tasmania describe remote, hard-to-penetrate forests where, they say, this animal could still exist. I was given the cast of a paw print of one of the last known individuals, and as I look at it I think … perhaps, just perhaps, his great-grandchildren are hiding out there.

  The rediscovery of species thought to be extinct is known as the Lazarus Syndrome. Unlike their namesake in the Bible, they have not, of course, been resurrected from the dead—they were there all the time. Some of them, such as Lord Howe’s giant stick insect, are exotic and capture the imagination of the general public, creating headlines in international newspapers.

  Nicholas Carlile with Eve, a Lord Howe’s Island phasmid. Nicholas was one of the first two people to lay eyes on one of these giant stick insects in 2001, after it was presumed extinct in the 1920s. (Patrick Honan)

  Other discoveries seem less exciting, and are heralded simply by short notes in the local press or some specialist journal. Yet these seemingly less significant finds are just as meaningful in the general scheme of things, for all living things are interconnected, and, as we said, removing even the smallest strand might have unforeseen consequences.

  This chapter contains stories about some invertebrates, birds, and mammals that have been rediscovered. Sometimes quite by chance. Sometimes as a result of determined searching over long periods. And while it is true that we are indeed facing the “sixth great extinction” with thousands of small, endemic invertebrates and plants rapidly disappearing, it is encouraging to know that a few species that are thought to be extinct may be, just may be out there waiting to be rediscovered—and given another chance.

  These are stories of precious life-forms that have been written off, consigned to the legions of the extinct—but have refused to die. Stories to give us hope.

  Lord Howe’s Island Phasmid or Stick Insect (Dryococelus australis)

  In 2008, during my lecture tour in Australia, I met a very large, very black, and very friendly female Lord Howe’s Island stick insect. She crawled from one of my hands to the other several times, and when I gave her the opportunity, she also crawled onto my head and face. The encounter sent shivers up my spine—knowing, as I did, the almost incredible story of how she came to be there. Let me share that story.

  Lord Howe’s Island, small and partly covered with lush forest, is about three hundred miles off the coast of New South Wales, Australia. It was the only known home of the Lord Howe’s Island phasmid—or stick insect, or walking stick—a giant creature about the size of a large cigar, four or five inches long and half an inch wide. Once they were found throughout the forests of the island, and known by the locals as land lobsters.

  But in 1918, black rats arrived on the island when a ship was wrecked. And, as always, these relentless colonists quickly adapted to their new environment. Unlike all other stick insects in Australia, this giant phasmid lacked wings. And so it was an easy—and probably delicious—prey. At some point in the 1920s, the Lord Howe’s Island phasmid was presumed extinct.

  Then, in 1964, rock climbers found the dried-out remains of a giant stick insect on Ball’s Pyramid, an eighteen-hundred-foot-tall spire of volcanic rock, fourteen miles from Lord Howe’s Island. Five years later, other rock climbers found two other dried bodies incorporated into a bird’s nest. This remote pinnacle, the haunt of countless seabirds, is almost entirely without vegetation. It seemed impossible that a very large, forest-loving vegetarian insect could be surviving in such a bleak environment. And so biologists ignored these reports until, in February 2001, a small group of people—Dr. David Priddel, the senior research scientist of the Department of Environment and Climate Change (New South Wales), his colleague Nicholas Carlile, and two other intrepid souls—decided to settle the matter once and for all, and set out on what they felt sure was a wild-goose chase.

  A Perilous Journey

  In February 2007, from my home in Bournemouth, I had a wonderful talk with Nicholas Ca
rlile (whom I met the following year). He told me that it had been a potentially dangerous undertaking. The seas around Ball’s Pyramid are rough, and the team of three men and one woman had to leap from their small boat onto the rocks. (“Swimming would have been much easier,” Nicholas told me, “but there are too many sharks!”) His description of the landing—the desperate leap for the rocks with the boat surging up and down—was hair-raising. But they all made it, put up a small camp, and set off to climb as far as Gannet Green, about five hundred feet up the spire of rock where the main vegetative patches clung to life.

  They searched the place thoroughly but found nothing other than some big crickets, and eventually the heat and lack of water drove them back down. Then, in a crevice about 225 feet above the sea, they came upon another tiny patch of comparatively lush vegetation, dominated by a single melaleuca bush. A small water seepage allowed this tiny oasis of plants to maintain its precarious foothold. Here they found the fresh droppings of some large insect, but assumed it was a cricket.

  Back in camp, over supper, they discussed the situation. David Priddel knew that the stick insects are nocturnal, and that the group would have a better chance of seeing them if they went back to that bush at night. But he knew he could not make the climb in the darkness and so was loath to suggest it. Nicholas had the same idea, though, and he and Dean Hiscox—a local ranger and an expert rock climber—volunteered to make the almost suicidal climb in the dark. They set out with headlamps and one instant camera. “It gives me the wobblies just to think of it,” Nicholas told me over the phone.

  Finally they reached the vegetated area. “And there is this enormous shining, black-looking body spread out on the bush,” said Nicholas. “I yelled out some kind of expletive. And the two of us began celebrating like kids, jumping like six-year-olds”—but, he assured me, jumping with great caution, since the ledge was only thirteen feet wide on a sixty-degree slope, and it would have been very easy to slip over the edge!