13:42, Wednesday, 5 December, 2012

I feel incomplete when I cannot write, because it is my reflection, my way to examine my life and therefore perhaps, as Socrates would say, make it worthwhile.  This job is everything I could ever dream of, but in my quest to do well, my blog suffers.  It is one of the curses of science, losing a connection with the general population, tucking experiences and findings away where only a stressed-out student with a paper or dissertation to write will ever dig them up.  But science confined to conferences among researchers does no good, and I find that to be the discipline’s biggest failure: communication.  Things will not change without communication.  So amidst all of the proofreading and compiling of notes, creating lists of new and missing hyenas, typing up prey transect counts and new landmarks and clan lists, etc. etc. (it’s that time again – somehow three months have passed since the relief of finishing June-August summaries to send back to the lab), I have to take a breather and return to knocking off the bullet points I have been saving to share.  It’s good practice, even in the form of a most humble blog. 

We are going through a drought right now.  It hasn’t rained in a month, unusual for even the dry season.  Beneath the Equator sun things have been mercilessly fried.  It frightens me, staring out across the plains that used to be green and healthy browns to find dried up remnants of grass.  The plain closest to camp, in the Talek East clan territory that we drive through every morning and evening on our way to and from Talek West, is nearly a plain of nothing but dirt.  Thankfully the territories farther from human influence aren’t quite as parched-looking, but the change is still, quite frankly, a little terrifying.  Things get especially worse for our side of the park because there is pressure to allow the Maasai to graze cattle within its boundaries since the grass outside has become inadequate.  Our livestock count inside the park for the latter half of November, taken on one evening as a measure of anthropogenic influence, numbered over three thousand.  Drought and floods are things we are increasingly going to have to deal with in the future, and finding good ways to provide for both people and animals is going to be an enormous challenge, most especially as resources are limited and less than 1% of water on earth is fresh, less than thirty percent of that one percent accessible.

But while Dave finds profound evidence of declining numbers of ungulates in this part of the park over the years, as the elephants move out to Fig Tree and Prozac and Serena (hopefully only until we get some precipitation, something we cross our fingers for every day, especially in the former half of December as I selfishly pray that obs will be performable when my family arrives), the hyenas are booming.  Such adaptable creatures!  So many little cubs are present at Central Park Den, the current den of choice, and one located out on a lovely little peninsula wrapped by the drying river.  It’s lined with bushes that make observation an absolute bear, but it’s so charming I can hardly dislike that they’ve chosen to move there, especially given the numerous cinnamon-chested bee eaters, pair of dik-dik who have made their home (oddly) next to the hyena den, and baboons that hang out in the Fig Trees lining the river, their harsh barks offering a nice accent to an evening out.  Tilt did turn out to have a cub; his name is Blanket (famous people’s children lineage), and he immediately stole my heart with the quizzical look he gave us one of his first nights out from the bushes.  Carter is mom to Koopa Troopa and Princess Peach (Mario Cart), slightly older than Blanket but his main playmates who accept him into their sackout pile so that the three of them are often resting against one another in a clump of cute.  Koopa Troopa is a female, and the boldest of the three her age.  Princess Peach, to our chagrin (and I’m sure his too, were he to understand), is a male.  I was so excited to have a low-ranking adult female in the clan called Princess Peach – such a cute name – but alas!  He will end up emigrating to another clan after three or so years where no one will call him by his unfortunately assigned name.  The project umpire rules that three sightings of a pointed phallus, and you’re out!

Hydrogen and Helium were the little black cubs, now they’ve grown into what Satyr, Bata, Burger, et. all used to be.  Then Blanket, Princess Peach, and Koopa Troopa were the little black cubs, but their spots have sprouted beautifully, and they are growing at what seems to be an exponential rate.  Then Titicaca and Chile (places in South America) became the next-in-line to the thrown as Helios’s new litter.  But even their faces are beginning to whiten, and now Taupe and Amazon have the little black wonders, Taupe’s estimated at a mere three weeks.  Precious little tiny black balls with miniscule ears, eyes, and noses.  Taupe is a first-time mom, and she is very nervous when we are around, not taking her eyes from us for one second.  She sacks out right in the den, nursing her little ones so they are out of sight, protecting her precious secret.  We assigned her the lineage of Dr. Seuss, compliments of Julie, and her first litter is comprised of Cindy Lou Who (CLOU) and Grinch (GRCH).  With our luck, Cindy Lou Who will probably turn out to be male.  Although I suspect Amazon might have two cubs, we saw her carrying about and nursing one the only time we caught confirmation of her current motherhood.  Amazon seems to have a habit of misplacing her cub.  More than once we have watched her digging down in the den holes, dirt flying every which-way.  She will disappear completely into one hole, reemerge (possibly too big to travel underground) empty-handed and try another, then another.  Finally one time she came up with an itty-bitty cub hanging from her mouth, and carried it to where she plopped it down in front of her to nurse back in the bushes.  This cub, to my utter joy, we have name “Barnacle” (BNCL).  Amazon’s lineage is one of my favorites: marine invertebrates.  Poor Rotifer, the sole cub of her first litter, didn’t make it.  Better luck this time, we hope!

Artemis, Juno, Obama (Hail to the Chief!) and others have been hanging around the den as well, and I can only imagine the number of potential cubs hiding underground.  Cubs aren’t the only influx we’re having; males are coming from every which-way.  We have a new one that looks just like Juba, so we named it Khartoum, since both these cities are in Sudan.  One night we were almost certain Khartoum was Juba, only to have Juba pop out of a nearby bush and greet with Khartoum.  At that point we were referring to Khartoum as “Not Juba,” so the transcription was sounded “Not Juba ears-back head-bob greets with Juba.”  Another one looks just like Frisco, so we have name it Fresno.  And Dodoma, a very handsome male, light and small with striking dark spot patterns and a beautiful arrow on his left shoulder that makes IDing him a whiz, has joined the ranks.  Kisumu is a spotty thing that has a very endearing face, as yet slightly nervous of our presence.  And then there is a male waiting for his third sighting that we have seen in Fig Tree twice and Talek twice, with epic ear damage on one side.  Ear damage is always welcome, making the IDing of even a sacked-out hyena a cinch.  Kisumu and Fresno have already left us fecal gifts to scrape into RNA-later for DNA analysis in the lab.

And that is about all the time I have for today.  Everyone in camp is still well; we are a tight-knit family now.  We had a lovely Thanksgiving in Serena; Philimon and Jorji surprised us with an actual turkey, gravy, and sweet corn, and the Majis (Chris and Amanda) brought stuffing made in their little camp oven.  We stayed up late playing games and talking, a couple of us offering a bit of a show for the rest of us after a tad too much alcohol (I couldn’t stop laughing at the volume of some of the inebriated individuals’ voices, the poignancy of their statements, and one’s persistent rearrangement of chairs about the table for no reason).  My favorite thing was that the conversation late into the night was still sciencey and nerdy intelligent amongst the grad students, and they made perfect sense even when a bit tipsy.  Like going to Lyman Briggs at MSU – feels like you’re in an episode of “The Big Bang Theory” as a drunk guy on your floor slurs “Did you know they used to think that DNA was made up of a triple helix instead of a double helix?” before taking his next shot at beer pong.  Wilson is doing great becoming a research assistant; he has learned the hyenas very fast, and is coming along on behavior.  He, Benson, Charlie, and I have so much fun out on obs.  Joseph and Jackson, Stephen and Lasingo are all well.  Dave and Julia came on the first to stay for five weeks in Talek Camp.  I can’t believe how the time is flying.  Wilson said the date into his DVR as we left at 5:15 in the morning of December first:  “On December 1^st – Ooooo, Christmas! - BMP, CEK, JMP and WNK leave camp.”  Hilarious to see the realization hit him.