My previous posts, “Monkeying Around in Vietnam” and “Birding in Malaysia Turns Up Siamangs” mentioned several gibbon species that I saw there. These “lesser apes” are in the same superfamily as Humans, the Hominoidea, and branched off from our family line about 16 million years ago (MYA). There are 12-15 species (depending on the authority) in four genera. Compared with other apes, gibbons are small, slender, and agile, exhibit no sexual dimorphism, and have very long arms adapted for a spectacular arm swinging locomotion called “brachiation.” Gibbons live in small monogamous families composed of a mated pair and offspring and sometimes others that are assumed to be uncles and aunts, or possibly grandparents. Each family defends its territory from other families, and families in adjacent territories may meet at the boundary and yell at each other. This was the commotion that I heard on Fraser's Hill in Malaysia.
In all species, the mated pairs sing duets in which each gender's song is distinct from the other (Geissmann 2000, 2002). Each species sings a different, distinct duet. A pair's duet elicits duet calls from any other families that are within hearing.
Like humans, their monogamy is “dynamic,” with extra-pair copulations a regular, if infrequent, occurrence in all studied species (Palombit 1994a; Palombit 1994b; Rechard 1995; Sommer and Reichard 2000). Also like us, the males of mated pairs care for infants, at least in siamangs and hoolocks (Lappan 2008), and this may be a trait of the whole family. I have often wondered why human behavioural researchers and commentators draw inferences about our own behaviour from that of baboons (not even hominoids) and chimpanzees instead of gibbons that at least have a similar mating system.
For brevity, references are omitted here; please let me know if you would like them.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
A word about cranes
The Sandhill Crane that nests in two or three locations around where I live is one of 15 species in the world. I've seen nine of them--so far.
Cranes in Traditional Thought
Throughout East Asia, cranes, which mate for life and live many years (~30 years in the wild; ~40 in captivity), are known to bring good luck, especially a long life of happiness and marital fidelity to couples. Their images, especially of the red-crowned crane (Grus japonica), are common motifs in Japanese, Chinese and Korean art and crafts. For the Katzie First Nation, Sandhill Cranes, syahaha’w (meaning “superior in everything”), are guardian spirits generally and impart particular skill to women in their work (Jennes 1955, cited by Leach, 1987). Cranes were created when two sisters, who were digging Indian potatoes (Sagittaria latifolia), mocked and laughed at Khaals, a supernatural being. Khaals then transformed them into cranes, “henceforth to roam the meadows and to laugh and dance after rooting up the ground food as the two sisters did” (Jennes 1955, cited by Leach, 1987).
A Katzie elder who was born about 1880 recalled to Jennes (1955, cited by Leach, 1987) his father, Old Pierre, saying that cranes used to arrive “in their thousands” in the marshes around Pitt Meadows. This and Lulu Island (Munro and McTaggart-Cowan, 1974) were the main lower Fraser Valley breeding areas.
Crane Migration along the West Coast of Canada
At least 3500 Sandhill Cranes (evidently a mixture of lesser Sandhill Cranes, Gus canadensis canadensis, and Greater Sandhill Cranes, G. c. tabida) commonly pass Cape Flattery, Washington, and enter British Columbia en route to breeding territories along the coast and islands of British Columbia and southeast Alaska (Mattocks 1985 cited in Campbell et al., 1990). Around 100 Sandhill Cranes gather a farm at Northey Lake north of Comox each fall during migration (Kathleen Fry, Reifel Island Migratory Bird Sanctuary, pers. comm. December 27, 2009). These are presumably G. c. tabida en route to breeding areas on the north coast of BC, on the Queen Charlotte Islands, or Alaska.
Between 22,000 and 25,000 large Sandhill Cranes, probably C. c. rowani , follow a separate route through interior grasslands, passing through Penticton, Williams Lake, and east of Smithers. A few Sandhill Cranes also migrate along the west side of the Cascade and Coast Ranges.
From the time that the first written records were kept until about 1918, Greater Sandhill Cranes bred in all the major bogs of the floodplain of the lower Fraser Valley and the Pitt River Valley (Leach, 1987). By 1983, hunting, disturbance, and habitat loss had reduced this population to three breeding pairs at Pitt Polder and a non-breeding summer flock at Burns Bog. A major source of habitat loss was evidently the diking and draining of the Fraser River floodplain, which prevented annual flooding from keeping the open “prairie” habitat free of shrubs and trees (North and Treversham 1976, cited by Leach, 1987).
Lower Mainland Populations
In 1979–1983, an attempt at recovery was made by hatching, tagging, and releasing 17 surviving young from 34 Greater Sandhill Crane eggs from Grays Lake, Idaho and one from the Pitt River Valley (Leach, 1987). This was apparently successful, banded birds having been seen for some years afterwards, but it could not overcome the continuing habitat loss and disturbance.
An estimated 50 cranes annually stage at Burns Bog prior to the fall migration; these probably comprise local birds mixed with migrants from more northerly nesting areas up the BC coast (Jeglum et al., 2007). Counts of fall migrating birds suggested a total Lower Fraser Valley population of about 24 birds (Gebauer, 1999). There are three breeding locations (Figure 4), raising the possibility that they may be a metapopulation with three subpopulations.
Lulu Island/Burns Bog Population
Brooks (1917, cited by Gebauer, 1999) mentioned that cranes nested in the large cranberry bogs in the vicinity of New Westminster, which may have been on Lulu Island or in Burns Bog. The highest reported number of breeding cranes for Burns Bog was in 1945, when a Mr. Luscher reported eight breeding pairs (Biggs, 1976). By 1947, Munro and Cowan (1974) considered the coastal population of cranes to be restricted to Lulu Island. In 1975, Biggs (1976) reported only one pair of breeding Sandhill Cranes that fledged one chick in Burns Bog. Either the earlier reports resulted from incomplete surveys or the population subsequently increased, because from 1994 to 1999 the number surveys at Burns Bog remained around 10–21 birds comprising 2–4 pairs plus non-breeding individuals (Gebauer, 1999).
Pitt Polder
Leach (1987) summarized the decline of the Pitt Polder breeding population in the 1970s and early 1980s based on notes and two typescript manuscripts of Wilma Robinson: five immature and nine adults that produced four fledglings in 1975, five nests with one juvenile in 1976 (when there was disturbance and habitat loss), two nests seen and a third presumed, and two young produced, in 1977, one or possibly two nests and no young in 1978, three pairs attempted to nest without success in 1979, 1980, and 1981, and three pairs nesting and one young produced in 1982. Leach (1987) reported one pair with one juvenile in 1983.
Reifel Island Population
During 1994–1997, I noticed that the tame, wing-clipped female that lived at the Reifel Island Migratory Bird Sanctuary for many years was occasionally accompanied by another crane in the spring and that both exhibited courtship behaviour (Harding, unpubl. observations). In about 1998, she mated with a wild male and produced a chick that did not survive (Kathleen Fry, Reifel Island Migratory Bird Sanctuary, pers. comm. December 27, 2009). The adult female subsequently died. The wild male, however, mated with another wild female and for the last 16 years or so the pair (presumably the same two individuals) has nested every year and produced a chick nearly every year. This pair may not be the same subspecies, as one is larger. The chick produced in 2009 did not survive, however. No more than one pair has ever nested at Reifel; however, another pair nests every year by No. 7 road in Richmond (not Burns Bog) and these two pairs sometimes associate. The flock (presumably the pair and its progeny) now numbers 12 adults and does not migrate. Each fall more birds appear—migrants from up the coast—and the flock numbered 14 all fall of 2009 and at one point reached 25. As many as 40 have staged there in past autumns prior to migration (Kathleen Fry, Reifel Island Migratory Bird Sanctuary, pers. comm. December 27, 2009).
THREATS
Habitat loss is obviously the greatest threat to the lower mainland population and also threatens other populations in the Interior. At Burns Bog, habitat is continually whittled away by berry farms and transportation eating into its edges. At Pitt Polder, blueberry farms every year take a bigger chunk.
A pair of captive Florida Sandhill Cranes (G. c. pratensis) hatched a chick in 2007 and another in 2008, one of which survived and remains in captivity at the Greaver Vancouver Zoo. In 2009 the pair nested again but the male died and the eggs failed (email from Jamie Dorgan, Chief Veterinarian, Greater Vancouver Zoo, June 7, 2009). The facility is fenced but not enclosed from above. This raises the possibility of genetic contamination of native birds, should these captive birds escape, or if a native bird were to mate with the captive female.
References
For brevity, references are not posted here but are available on request.
Cranes in Traditional Thought
Throughout East Asia, cranes, which mate for life and live many years (~30 years in the wild; ~40 in captivity), are known to bring good luck, especially a long life of happiness and marital fidelity to couples. Their images, especially of the red-crowned crane (Grus japonica), are common motifs in Japanese, Chinese and Korean art and crafts. For the Katzie First Nation, Sandhill Cranes, syahaha’w (meaning “superior in everything”), are guardian spirits generally and impart particular skill to women in their work (Jennes 1955, cited by Leach, 1987). Cranes were created when two sisters, who were digging Indian potatoes (Sagittaria latifolia), mocked and laughed at Khaals, a supernatural being. Khaals then transformed them into cranes, “henceforth to roam the meadows and to laugh and dance after rooting up the ground food as the two sisters did” (Jennes 1955, cited by Leach, 1987).
A Katzie elder who was born about 1880 recalled to Jennes (1955, cited by Leach, 1987) his father, Old Pierre, saying that cranes used to arrive “in their thousands” in the marshes around Pitt Meadows. This and Lulu Island (Munro and McTaggart-Cowan, 1974) were the main lower Fraser Valley breeding areas.
Crane Migration along the West Coast of Canada
At least 3500 Sandhill Cranes (evidently a mixture of lesser Sandhill Cranes, Gus canadensis canadensis, and Greater Sandhill Cranes, G. c. tabida) commonly pass Cape Flattery, Washington, and enter British Columbia en route to breeding territories along the coast and islands of British Columbia and southeast Alaska (Mattocks 1985 cited in Campbell et al., 1990). Around 100 Sandhill Cranes gather a farm at Northey Lake north of Comox each fall during migration (Kathleen Fry, Reifel Island Migratory Bird Sanctuary, pers. comm. December 27, 2009). These are presumably G. c. tabida en route to breeding areas on the north coast of BC, on the Queen Charlotte Islands, or Alaska.
Between 22,000 and 25,000 large Sandhill Cranes, probably C. c. rowani , follow a separate route through interior grasslands, passing through Penticton, Williams Lake, and east of Smithers. A few Sandhill Cranes also migrate along the west side of the Cascade and Coast Ranges.
From the time that the first written records were kept until about 1918, Greater Sandhill Cranes bred in all the major bogs of the floodplain of the lower Fraser Valley and the Pitt River Valley (Leach, 1987). By 1983, hunting, disturbance, and habitat loss had reduced this population to three breeding pairs at Pitt Polder and a non-breeding summer flock at Burns Bog. A major source of habitat loss was evidently the diking and draining of the Fraser River floodplain, which prevented annual flooding from keeping the open “prairie” habitat free of shrubs and trees (North and Treversham 1976, cited by Leach, 1987).
Lower Mainland Populations
In 1979–1983, an attempt at recovery was made by hatching, tagging, and releasing 17 surviving young from 34 Greater Sandhill Crane eggs from Grays Lake, Idaho and one from the Pitt River Valley (Leach, 1987). This was apparently successful, banded birds having been seen for some years afterwards, but it could not overcome the continuing habitat loss and disturbance.
An estimated 50 cranes annually stage at Burns Bog prior to the fall migration; these probably comprise local birds mixed with migrants from more northerly nesting areas up the BC coast (Jeglum et al., 2007). Counts of fall migrating birds suggested a total Lower Fraser Valley population of about 24 birds (Gebauer, 1999). There are three breeding locations (Figure 4), raising the possibility that they may be a metapopulation with three subpopulations.
Lulu Island/Burns Bog Population
Brooks (1917, cited by Gebauer, 1999) mentioned that cranes nested in the large cranberry bogs in the vicinity of New Westminster, which may have been on Lulu Island or in Burns Bog. The highest reported number of breeding cranes for Burns Bog was in 1945, when a Mr. Luscher reported eight breeding pairs (Biggs, 1976). By 1947, Munro and Cowan (1974) considered the coastal population of cranes to be restricted to Lulu Island. In 1975, Biggs (1976) reported only one pair of breeding Sandhill Cranes that fledged one chick in Burns Bog. Either the earlier reports resulted from incomplete surveys or the population subsequently increased, because from 1994 to 1999 the number surveys at Burns Bog remained around 10–21 birds comprising 2–4 pairs plus non-breeding individuals (Gebauer, 1999).
Pitt Polder
Leach (1987) summarized the decline of the Pitt Polder breeding population in the 1970s and early 1980s based on notes and two typescript manuscripts of Wilma Robinson: five immature and nine adults that produced four fledglings in 1975, five nests with one juvenile in 1976 (when there was disturbance and habitat loss), two nests seen and a third presumed, and two young produced, in 1977, one or possibly two nests and no young in 1978, three pairs attempted to nest without success in 1979, 1980, and 1981, and three pairs nesting and one young produced in 1982. Leach (1987) reported one pair with one juvenile in 1983.
Reifel Island Population
During 1994–1997, I noticed that the tame, wing-clipped female that lived at the Reifel Island Migratory Bird Sanctuary for many years was occasionally accompanied by another crane in the spring and that both exhibited courtship behaviour (Harding, unpubl. observations). In about 1998, she mated with a wild male and produced a chick that did not survive (Kathleen Fry, Reifel Island Migratory Bird Sanctuary, pers. comm. December 27, 2009). The adult female subsequently died. The wild male, however, mated with another wild female and for the last 16 years or so the pair (presumably the same two individuals) has nested every year and produced a chick nearly every year. This pair may not be the same subspecies, as one is larger. The chick produced in 2009 did not survive, however. No more than one pair has ever nested at Reifel; however, another pair nests every year by No. 7 road in Richmond (not Burns Bog) and these two pairs sometimes associate. The flock (presumably the pair and its progeny) now numbers 12 adults and does not migrate. Each fall more birds appear—migrants from up the coast—and the flock numbered 14 all fall of 2009 and at one point reached 25. As many as 40 have staged there in past autumns prior to migration (Kathleen Fry, Reifel Island Migratory Bird Sanctuary, pers. comm. December 27, 2009).
THREATS
Habitat loss is obviously the greatest threat to the lower mainland population and also threatens other populations in the Interior. At Burns Bog, habitat is continually whittled away by berry farms and transportation eating into its edges. At Pitt Polder, blueberry farms every year take a bigger chunk.
A pair of captive Florida Sandhill Cranes (G. c. pratensis) hatched a chick in 2007 and another in 2008, one of which survived and remains in captivity at the Greaver Vancouver Zoo. In 2009 the pair nested again but the male died and the eggs failed (email from Jamie Dorgan, Chief Veterinarian, Greater Vancouver Zoo, June 7, 2009). The facility is fenced but not enclosed from above. This raises the possibility of genetic contamination of native birds, should these captive birds escape, or if a native bird were to mate with the captive female.
References
For brevity, references are not posted here but are available on request.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Birding in Malaysia turns up Siamangs!
Although I had never studied primates professionally when I went to Malaysia in December 2007, I had been intrigued by primates since visiting the upper Amazon with my brother and mother in 2005. Then on the way to a meeting in Kuala Lumpur, I stopped along the way in Vietnam and Cambodia. There I saw quite a variety of primate species, including some of the rarest in the world: white-cheeked gibbons, yellow-cheeked gibbons, crested gibbons, grey-shanked and red-shanked duoc langurs and Delacour’s lutungs in Vietnam (see by previous blog about this) and long-tailed macaques in Cambodia. On arrival in Kuala Lumpur, I spent a day in the giant city park, where I saw another subspecies of long-tailed macaques. After my meeting in KL, I went up to Fraser’s Hill, a high mountain, internationally famous birding spot. Originally, it had been a “hill station” one of many built by the British, ostensibly to guard the realm; but really it functions as a cool retreat from the heat of their lowland tea plantations. Now it serves that function for Malaysians, and for the few international travellers that venture that far from the city lights.
That night, wandering trails around the edges of town, I saw white-thighed surlis (Presbytis siamensis, commonly called langurs, but that is a Hindi word better reserved for the genus Semnopithecus, the well known temple and city langurs of India and Sri Lanka; the Malay words surili and lutung are better English common names for the southeast Asian Presbytis and Trachypithecus species, respectively). They hung around and walked along the branches of trees as I strolled the street below, regarding me with as much curiosity as I regarded them.
The next morning it was pouring rain. I left the hotel early and chose a trail that skirted the side of a mountain, making a big loop back to the town. This is a primary tropical forest: giant trees cast a gloom over untold number of smaller trees, shrubs and vines with orchid flowers and bromeliads brightening the path. Right away, I began hearing a loud “whoop, whoop” call and knew it was a primate of some kind. The experience in Vietnam had alerted me to listen for gibbons, which mate in monogamous pairs and call in duets, the male and female having separate parts of the song. I walked along, looking for birds and trying to keep my notebook and bird book dry. Every so often a “bird wave”—a mixed feeding flock—would come through, when I would frantically try to identify each species, juggling books and binoculars until they passed, leaving me listening to the rain drip from the trees and off the brim of my hat. Each time the trail turned in toward creeks that carved canyons in the mountainside and overwhelmed even the bird songs with their laughter, I lost the “whoop, whoop” calls, but as I emerged from these indentations, there it would be that call again, and closer.
Suddenly, I heard another call, sounding loud and excited. It was like “Yeow! Yeow!” repeated many times. Another species of primate? Had the troop I had been listening to met a troop of another species? Were they fighting?
Then there was a third call: a loud, long, drawn-out “Yeaaaaaaaaaaa...”. What was going on? Where there three species of primates interacting agonistically? Were they defending territories, attacking each other for food, or what?
These sounds were now ahead of me and to the left, below the trail. I walked faster, in case they might be seen from the trail; there was no hope of bushwacking through the jungle.
But now the sounds, which continued in a seeming frenzy were moving back the way I had come, and coming up the hill. Possibly they might cross the trail and give me a glimpse!
I turned and started running back along the trail. The primate calls kept coming closer; we were converging.
I had been walking carefully, both to stay dry by avoiding shaking the shrubs that overhung the trail, and to avoid the leeches that wait on vegetation for mammalian prey to come blundering through. But now I threw caution away and ran, leaping logs and scrambling recklessly over the boulders of creeks that I had already crossed.
Suddenly, there they were! Not three species or two, but a troop of siamangs making three different calls.
Siamangs (Symphalangus syndactylus) are the largest of the gibbons and look like a chimpanzee with hugely long arms. They move by “brachiation,” swinging from branches by their arms instead of walking on their legs. They are strictly arboreal, staying in the trees and almost never coming to the ground; hence, they need mature tropical deciduous forest for their survival. Like humans, they are mainly monogamous and mate for life. Their populations are decreasing and now are restricted to the Malaysian Peninsula and the Indonesian island of Sumatra and are endangered (IUCN Red List of Endangered Species, 2008).
I quickly began recording their calls. There was a dominant pair, and they both were making the “whoop, whoop” with a gular (neck) sack that inflates. At intervals, the female would start making the “Yeow! Yeow!” in a series call that started slowly and increased in rapidity and loudness, reaching a crescendo. At the top of the crescendo, the male would chime in with his “Yeaaaaaaaaaaa...” call.
Later, when I emerged from the jungle onto the streets of the village of Fraser’s Hill, I was tired, wet, and happy. A German couple, out for a morning stroll, looked at me a little aghast. “What?” I asked. They pointed to my neck and face. I was covered with leeches. These evil, tiny, thread-like parasites are a centimetre long to begin with and so thin that they can go through the fabric of socks. Before sucking your blood, they secrete a painkiller and an anti-coagulant into the bite so that you don’t feel a thing. When you pull them off, the blood continues to flow because of the anticoagulant. By the time the German couple alerted me, the leeches had grown to the length of my fingers and twice as fat, festooning my face. I spent the whole afternoon in my hotel room wringing the blood from my socks and wiping it from my chest and neck. Ah, but I had seen and recorded siamangs!
That night, wandering trails around the edges of town, I saw white-thighed surlis (Presbytis siamensis, commonly called langurs, but that is a Hindi word better reserved for the genus Semnopithecus, the well known temple and city langurs of India and Sri Lanka; the Malay words surili and lutung are better English common names for the southeast Asian Presbytis and Trachypithecus species, respectively). They hung around and walked along the branches of trees as I strolled the street below, regarding me with as much curiosity as I regarded them.
The next morning it was pouring rain. I left the hotel early and chose a trail that skirted the side of a mountain, making a big loop back to the town. This is a primary tropical forest: giant trees cast a gloom over untold number of smaller trees, shrubs and vines with orchid flowers and bromeliads brightening the path. Right away, I began hearing a loud “whoop, whoop” call and knew it was a primate of some kind. The experience in Vietnam had alerted me to listen for gibbons, which mate in monogamous pairs and call in duets, the male and female having separate parts of the song. I walked along, looking for birds and trying to keep my notebook and bird book dry. Every so often a “bird wave”—a mixed feeding flock—would come through, when I would frantically try to identify each species, juggling books and binoculars until they passed, leaving me listening to the rain drip from the trees and off the brim of my hat. Each time the trail turned in toward creeks that carved canyons in the mountainside and overwhelmed even the bird songs with their laughter, I lost the “whoop, whoop” calls, but as I emerged from these indentations, there it would be that call again, and closer.
Suddenly, I heard another call, sounding loud and excited. It was like “Yeow! Yeow!” repeated many times. Another species of primate? Had the troop I had been listening to met a troop of another species? Were they fighting?
Then there was a third call: a loud, long, drawn-out “Yeaaaaaaaaaaa...”. What was going on? Where there three species of primates interacting agonistically? Were they defending territories, attacking each other for food, or what?
These sounds were now ahead of me and to the left, below the trail. I walked faster, in case they might be seen from the trail; there was no hope of bushwacking through the jungle.
But now the sounds, which continued in a seeming frenzy were moving back the way I had come, and coming up the hill. Possibly they might cross the trail and give me a glimpse!
I turned and started running back along the trail. The primate calls kept coming closer; we were converging.
I had been walking carefully, both to stay dry by avoiding shaking the shrubs that overhung the trail, and to avoid the leeches that wait on vegetation for mammalian prey to come blundering through. But now I threw caution away and ran, leaping logs and scrambling recklessly over the boulders of creeks that I had already crossed.
Suddenly, there they were! Not three species or two, but a troop of siamangs making three different calls.
Siamangs (Symphalangus syndactylus) are the largest of the gibbons and look like a chimpanzee with hugely long arms. They move by “brachiation,” swinging from branches by their arms instead of walking on their legs. They are strictly arboreal, staying in the trees and almost never coming to the ground; hence, they need mature tropical deciduous forest for their survival. Like humans, they are mainly monogamous and mate for life. Their populations are decreasing and now are restricted to the Malaysian Peninsula and the Indonesian island of Sumatra and are endangered (IUCN Red List of Endangered Species, 2008).
I quickly began recording their calls. There was a dominant pair, and they both were making the “whoop, whoop” with a gular (neck) sack that inflates. At intervals, the female would start making the “Yeow! Yeow!” in a series call that started slowly and increased in rapidity and loudness, reaching a crescendo. At the top of the crescendo, the male would chime in with his “Yeaaaaaaaaaaa...” call.
Later, when I emerged from the jungle onto the streets of the village of Fraser’s Hill, I was tired, wet, and happy. A German couple, out for a morning stroll, looked at me a little aghast. “What?” I asked. They pointed to my neck and face. I was covered with leeches. These evil, tiny, thread-like parasites are a centimetre long to begin with and so thin that they can go through the fabric of socks. Before sucking your blood, they secrete a painkiller and an anti-coagulant into the bite so that you don’t feel a thing. When you pull them off, the blood continues to flow because of the anticoagulant. By the time the German couple alerted me, the leeches had grown to the length of my fingers and twice as fat, festooning my face. I spent the whole afternoon in my hotel room wringing the blood from my socks and wiping it from my chest and neck. Ah, but I had seen and recorded siamangs!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
The Jordan that Tourists Rarely See 3: Qasr Amra
Not only merchants, but rulers and imperial administrators crossed the desert while attending to affairs of state. They built very different castles from the caravanserai, sort of private hunting lodges/resort spas. The most elegant is the small Qasr (Castle) Amra, between Qasr Kharaneh and Azraq Oasis. South of the black basalt zone, it is built of white sandstone. Its builder, a Caliph (ruler) of the Umayyad Dynasty—scholars aren’t sure which, but most likely either Walid II or Yazid III—brought in top artists of the realm to adorn its walls with beautiful frescos of huge historic interest and artistic merit. Some are of political themes, including images of the six kings of the known world, presumably intended to show the Caliph’s power and influence. One of these is King Roderick the Visigoth of Spain, whose short reign dates the images, and probably the building, to around 710. Other images depict daily life, hunting and wildlife species, some of which, such as the lion, are now extinct in Arabia. Included prominently are rather un-Islamic scenes of nearly naked women drinking wine, evidence that the Caliph’s mind was not always on state business. In 1985 it was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
The Jordan that Tourists Rarely See 2: Qasr Kharaneh
In ancient times, Jordan was at the cross-roads of camel caravan routes. Travellers going between Damascus and Mecca, for example, or between Baghdad and Cairo, had to cross Jordan. It was not, however, the arid landscape we see today. The Byzantine and Early Muslim eras were moister, and nourished a lusher ecosystem. It supported more sheep, goats and camels, and consequently a higher Bedouin population. Travellers could hunt game such as gazelles and oryx, but had to fear their predators including lions, cheetahs, striped hyenas, wolves, and, in the mountains, brown bears and leopards. But because of these and the danger from Bedouin raiders, merchants built caravanserai at strategic points a day’s camel-ride apart. These fortresses were large enough to house the whole caravan: all the camels and their merchandise, as well as accommodations for the merchants, residents, and perhaps a garrison of troops. There would be shops, a bazaar, and the ancient equivalent of cafes. Qasr Kharaneh (or Kharana, Hraneh) is a largely intact and restored example. Scholars think now that it may also have functioned as a sort of conference centre, as it is too richly appointed to be strictly functional. Outside, it is a massive, mud-brick rectangle baking in the sun; inside, it is a wonder of shady coolness with light playing on the central courtyard and surrounding arches and porticos of stable rooms on the lower level, and stairways between the upper and lower levels. The vaulted upper rooms are decorated with rosettes and diamonds. From Muwaqqir, about 25 km southeast of Amman, it is another 38 km east.
Cosmetic Use of Pesticides
This was submitted to the BC Ministry of Environment in response to its call for public input in pesticide policy and possible new regulations
My Background
I’m an environmental scientist with a PhD in wildlife toxicology and 39 years of post‐university experience. I’m a registered professional biologist (RPBio) in British Columbia, and a member of the Society of Environmental Toxicology and Chemistry (SETAC), among other professional societies. I spent 21 years with Environment Canada, mostly managing pollution assessment programs with the Environmental Protection Service. My last post before early retirement was head of the Wildlife Toxics group at the Canadian Wildlife Service. Currently I consult on a variety of environmental science issues for resource development corporations and provincial and national governments and intergovernmental agencies. Besides my PhD dissertation[1], I have about 100 publications in scientific journals, government technical reports and peer‐review conference proceedings, the majority of which involve contaminants and toxicology. The list is available on‐line (www.SciWrite.ca).
“Approved” pesticides that were later found to be harmful and were banned
When I worked for the Environmental Protection Service, my colleague in the next office was on a federal‐provincial committee that reviewed and approved or rejected (rarely) pesticide applications. He also supervised the ocean dumping program and chaired the committee that approved or rejected ocean disposal applications. I often noticed that his committees would approve applications for pesticides that, based on the scientific literature, were dangerous to people and/or the environment. In some cases, my own group did the research that showed toxicity to indicator organisms, or to benthic communities in the marine environment. When I asked him about this, he would reply to the effect that, “Since it is approved for this use by Agriculture Canada, we can’t deny the application.” Nevertheless, many of the pesticides that he and other officials approved were later banned when more research revealed that they were, in fact, dangerous. Here are some examples:
- In 1971 while pruning apple trees in the Okanagan, the orchard owner and I were discussing a recently announced ban on consumption of fish from the Okanagan Lake because of high mercury levels[2]. The orchardist didn’t believe that mercury was a problem and thought that mercury had always been there naturally, but had only been discovered in the fish because scientists had developed the analytical capability. He complained that he would be made to stop using mercury‐based pesticides on his apples because of this. In a later conversation, I asked him why he didn’t graze his horses in the orchard, where grass was plentiful. “I used to,” he said. “But they kept dying. The vet said it was mercury poisoning.”
- Tributyl tin (TBT) was approved for use as an anti‐foulant on ship hulls, but in 1988 the nascent salmon farming industry began using it on their nets. My group discovered this by finding that nearby oyster farms were experiencing high mortalities and deformed growth typical of TBT poisoning[3]. The oysters and the fish produced by the salmon farms had TBT at levels exceeding Health Canada guidelines for pesticides. Agriculture Canada then banned TBT for use on fish nets; subsequently, TBT use was greatly restricted for use on boat hulls[4].
- My group found high levels of ideopathic (pre‐cancerous) lesions in fish from Vancouver Harbour associated with polynuclear aromatic hydrocarbons (PAH)[5], several of which are known to be carcinogenic at extremely low (ppb range) concentrations. The sources were many, and included creosote used to protect wood pilings from decay and attack by marine organisms. Meanwhile, Environment Canada was issuing ocean dumping permits that specified a 25 ppm limit for “hydrocarbons” and many of the dumping applications were for sediments from Vancouver Harbour that were heavily contaminated with PAH[6]. The “hydrocarbon” limit was intended to protect marine organisms from ordinary oil and grease, not PAH. My colleague and his committee members felt powerless to reject applications for high PAH because it was a “hydrocarbon.” After about three years, as my group and others accumulated scientific information, new guidelines for PAH were developed nationally and internationally that were much more restrictive and include chemical testing at low ppb detection limits, followed by biological testing if detected.[7] No material with 25 ppm PAH would be approved today anywhere in the world today. Health advisories against fish consumption were issued, and under the “Green Plan” we got $5 million for a federal‐provincial‐municipal plan to clean up Vancouver Harbour.
- Creosote had many other uses, including protection of railroad ties and fence posts. As a result of the above and other new data[8], creosote was banned in BC.
- 2,4,5‐T (“Agent Orange” used to defoliate Vietnam during the Vietnam War: 2,4,5‐trichlorophenoxy cetic acid) was used in paint, and a 1984 spill of it from a paint plant into Nicomecl River killed fish all the way down to Boundary Bay[9, 10]. We found that some of the dead fish and crabs were contaminated with dioxin (the most toxic synthetic chemical known), a contaminant in the 2,4,5‐T formulation. This was first measurement of dioxin in Canada.[11]
- During 1985–1990 my group at Environment Canada discovered that dioxins were produced by pulp mills and were contaminating marine fish at levels that threatened health of consumers[12, 13]; our colleagues monitoring freshwater systems found the same with interior pulp mills. Wood chips from sawmills that used various formulations of 2,4,5‐T, PCP (pentachlorophenol) and related compounds as anti‐fungal pesticides were one of the sources of dioxin in the pulping process. Eagles, herons and ospreys feeding in these environments were accumulating dioxins at high enough levels to affect reproduction[14-16]. Dioxins also appeared in river otters and mink[17]. Jointly with Health Canada and Fisheries and Oceans Canada, we closed about 170,000 ha of marine fishing areas near pulp mills, imposed similar restrictions downstream from mills on interior rivers, and issued health advisories against consuming marine and freshwater fish and shellfish from these areas. PCP and 2,4,5‐T were ultimately banned in BC and new regulations for pulp mill effluent and for dioxins in any effluent were brought in nationally, becoming effective in 1992.
- While managing the Wildlife Toxics group at the Canadian Wildlife Service (CWS), people often brought in ducks, geese, swans, hawks, and eagles that were dying or dead from pesticide poisoning[18, 19]. The documentation that we and others provided[20, 21] resulted in the national banning of four pesticides by Agriculture Canada in 1997.
- DDT was banned in Canada in 1971, but remained in widespread use in the Okanagan for about another four years[2]. In the mid‐1990s biologists at CWS found that worms and other soil invertebrates were taking up DDT and its metabolites DDD and DDE and transferring these to songbirds and quail at levels high enough to affect reproductive performance[22-25]. Anecdotally, the toxicologist directing the study mentioned that the soil at one orchard had such high DDT levels that it would have qualified as a “special waste” under provincial regulations; ironically, this orchard was certified organic. Modelling of uptake showed that peregrine falcons feeding on orchard birds would also be adversely affected[26].
Even “safe” pesticides kill non-target organisms
The environment and humans in British Columbia are safer because of the above achievements, but they are a warning that we do not know everything we need to know about environmental and human health safety of pesticides. More nasty surprises are in store for us. What we do know is enough to warrant caution for the use of pesticides for cosmetic purposes. For example, studies have shown that 2,4‐D (a common herbicide for dandelions and other broad‐leafed plants that is chemically related to 2,4,5‐T) on lawns kills earthworms and other soil organisms that are necessary for full health of the soil ecosystem. Some “approved” insecticides that people put on their lawns (e.g., to kill leatherjacket grubs) also alter the soil ecology and remain toxic for long enough to kill or affect the reproductive performance of songbirds that consume them.
Some people are more sensitive than others
Walking around the neighbourhood, I notice that commercial yard care companies, after treating lawns with pesticides, put in signs saying that the treated lawns are safe for kids and pets. This is simply not true. Toxicity testing can show lack of effects, but can never prove safety. Such signs should never be allowed. Some people are more sensitive to pesticides than others. For example, I learned early in life that I’m allergic to mercury, which in the 1950s was used as an antibiotic in bandages (remember those red pads with mercurochrome or merthiolate?). Mercury has been banned for such uses for half a century. Here’s another example: in 1981, while wearing a wool jacket, I sprayed my cherry and apple trees with an approved insecticide from the hardware store. Then I picked up my three‐year-old son. Within an hour, his cheek where it brushed that wool jacket broke into a rash that persisted for some weeks. This was chloracne, a potentially serious skin condition caused by organohalogens and other common components of pesticides. My son later showed other skin sensitivities; for example, guava juice repulsed him and when spilled on his chest caused raised red welts to form. This doesn’t mean that the natural compounds in guava juice should be banned, but proves what toxicologists already know, that some people are more sensitive than others and have adverse physical reactions to compounds that are otherwise completely safe. No one can guarantee that such people will not be exposed to pesticides used on a lawn.
Conclusion
For these reasons, I do not believe that because a pesticide has passed Agriculture Canada’s toxicity testing, it is necessarily safe for use around people. Nor does it guarantee that approved pesticides will not harm non‐target organisms in the environment. Therefore I support a complete ban on cosmetic pesticides made from synthetic organic compounds.
I would not, however, recommend proscribing elements such as sulfur (good for fungus on roses) and elemental compounds such as ferrous sulfate for moss control as “pesticides,” or any fertilizers. I would not support a blanket ban on all pesticides, but would recommend that non‐cosmetic use in urban and suburban environments be permitted in cases of infestation or disease, that only certified people may apply them, and signs must be stalled informing the public that pesticides have been applied without comment on safety. People can decide for themselves whether to walk on the grass or not.
Lee E. Harding, PhD, RPBio, January 13, 2010
References
For brevity, the 26 references cited in this paper are not included here. Please contact me if you would like a copy with the reference list.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The Jordan that Tourists Rarely See 1: Azraq Oasis
Driving east from Amman, the desert at first seemed flat, featureless, and empty. The bushes got smaller and the patches of grass more meagre until they disappeared entirely. I was glad for the air conditioner struggling to keep the 45 °C heat at bay, and the radio. One of my colleagues, a Jordanian ornithologist, called out the names of birds we passed. For such seemingly uniform country, there was an astonishing variety—nine species of wheatear, for example, a songbird that perches upright on the highest rock in its territory. This diversity implied a variety of habitats that was not at first obvious.
At intervals we stopped the car and took short hikes to examine the terrain. The ground was covered with black basalt stones big enough make walking difficult. This is the "Harra", the ancient outflow from an extinct volcano just over the border in Syria. Even so, there were flocks of sheep here and there, gleaning tufts of grass from crevices. A bright blue agama lizard sunned atop a rock. We saw a variety of Mourning Wheater, that, unlike the typical variety that has a white belly and crown, is entirely black except for under its tail, a colouring it evolved the better to hide among the black stones. On a later trip I saw a black variety of spiney mouse that only occurs in the Harra, in constrast to the normal red or tan ones.
Further along, there were no large stones, only reddish to grey, marble-sized flint pebbles that cover the ground. This is the Hammada, the typical surface of the Syrian Desert that covers southern Syria, eastern Jordan, western Iraq and northern Saudi Arabia. Over the eons, any loose soil has long since washed away, leaving a sort of pavement. It forms a vital ecological service by breaking up the raindrops that typically fall in only one or two torrential raisn per year, preventing erosion, while in spring it retards evaporation, giving life to the few shrubs and perennial grasses and other plants that can survive severe dessication by sending their roots deep. Meanwhile, the light soil washed from the Hammada accumulates in depressions and ephemeral runoff channels called "Wadis." There it provides a deep, soft bed for seeds of annual grasses and wildflowers that have lain waiting all year for a rain to burst them into bloom. In one such swale filled with grass, a shepherd grazed her sheep while a laden donkey followed, carrying lunch and water. The frequency of flocks of sheep made me realize another fact of the Jordanian desert: the Bedouin culture is alive and well. Although not easy to see because they spend most time far from towns in search of pasture, living in their traditional goat-hair tents, they remain a prominent part of the cultural and political life of Jordan. From a vendor by the road, I bought a beautifully woven, 4-metre long kilim, a narrow rug that they recline on in their tents.
Then we came to Azraq Oasis, a wetland nature reserve fringed with palm trees. Though now mostly dry, a 30 hectare lake remains, fed with springs is choked with cattails and reeds and raucous with the sound of birds. We passed through a village, South Azraq (formerly Shishan) and went into the Royal Conservation of Nature centre at the edge of Shishan Springs.
The Azraq Oasis has been famous for its wildlife since ancient times. It is fed by springs that formerly (before overpumping drained the aquifers) filled about 1,255 hectares with permanent, fresh water, and in winter by runoff that flooded a mudflat of about 12,000 hectares, and in wet years up to 30,000 hectares. Its ecological stems from two features: (1) it is on the migration routes for birds migrating between Eurasia and Africa, and (2) as a large oasis in a very arid desert, it provides a unique habitat essential to many resident species of birds, fish mammals, amphibians, reptiles, invertebrates and plants. Some 70 species of birds have bred at Azraq and 300 resident and migratory species have been recorded there. In the 1960s and 1970s, up to one million birds were using the oasis annually during spring migration, with up to 50,000 being present at any one time. Besides waterfowl, the waterbirds included up to 2,500 common cranes, thousands of shorebirds use the mudflats, passerines such as swallows, wagtails and warblers use the dense shrubs of the marsh edges, and preying on them were many species of hawks, falcons, harriers and eagles.
Roman use of the Azraq wetlands is still evident in a low wall that they constructed, apparently to facilitate boat launching, and also possibly to contain the wetlands. In prehistoric times Azraq was a wildlife paradise with lions hunting wild boar, Syrian wild ass, Arabian oryx, and aurochs, the progenitors of domestic cattle. Cheetahs chased gazelles in the surrounding desert, and a considerable array of medium-sized carnivores hunted hares, gerbils and jerboas. The lions and wild boar survived into the Byzantine period, the ass and cheetah until the 8th century (Umayyad period) and the oryx until about 1960. Predators that still occur in Jordan’s eastern desert include Syrian jackals, Arabian wolves, red foxes, Ruepelli’s foxes, caracals (a medium-sized cat), sand cats, wild cats, and Syrian striped hyaenas. 300 species of birds have been seen at Azraq, and for most of the last century it was internationally famous for waterfowl hunting. Under the Ramsar Convention ("Convention on Wetlands of International Importance especially as Waterfowl Habitat") Azraq was designated as a "Wetland of International Importance" in 1977. The same year an additional 1,245 ha surrounding the spring-fed marshes were declared Jordan’s first Wetland Reserve. But after it went dry in 1991 and was then partially restored by 1999, an ornithologist estimated 150,000 birds of which 39% were raptors, 30% waterbirds, and 31% songbirds.
We drove up a little ways to North Azraq (formerly Druze) for lunch of the ubiquitous hummus, a salad of cucumber, tomato, and herbs, and a roasted chicken in a shady, roadside restaurant. We took an hour to look around the castle, one of the largest and best preserved of its type in Jordan. It was probably built first by Nabateans, then enlarged or rebuilt by Romans, Byzantines, the Umayyad and Ayyubid Caliphates, and the Ottomans. Parts were crumbling by the time English archaeologist and adventurer Gertrude Bell photographed it in 1913. Later, her protégé, T. E. Lawrence, used it as a military base while fighting with the Arabs against the Ottomans during World War I.
Then we drove back south a few kilometers to the Shaumari Nature Reserve and saw Arabian oryxes, goitered gazelles, blue-necked ostriches, Persian onagers, a striped hyena, a crested porcupine, and other wildlife, all species native to the Jordan desert. The Royal Society for the Conservation of Nature is breeding the oryxes for reintroduction to the wild. Suddenly, the seemingly empty desert was coming alive.
Previously, I posted a note about Pella and one about the Bedouin coffee ritual. From time to time I'll post other notes about special places in Jordan.
At intervals we stopped the car and took short hikes to examine the terrain. The ground was covered with black basalt stones big enough make walking difficult. This is the "Harra", the ancient outflow from an extinct volcano just over the border in Syria. Even so, there were flocks of sheep here and there, gleaning tufts of grass from crevices. A bright blue agama lizard sunned atop a rock. We saw a variety of Mourning Wheater, that, unlike the typical variety that has a white belly and crown, is entirely black except for under its tail, a colouring it evolved the better to hide among the black stones. On a later trip I saw a black variety of spiney mouse that only occurs in the Harra, in constrast to the normal red or tan ones.
Further along, there were no large stones, only reddish to grey, marble-sized flint pebbles that cover the ground. This is the Hammada, the typical surface of the Syrian Desert that covers southern Syria, eastern Jordan, western Iraq and northern Saudi Arabia. Over the eons, any loose soil has long since washed away, leaving a sort of pavement. It forms a vital ecological service by breaking up the raindrops that typically fall in only one or two torrential raisn per year, preventing erosion, while in spring it retards evaporation, giving life to the few shrubs and perennial grasses and other plants that can survive severe dessication by sending their roots deep. Meanwhile, the light soil washed from the Hammada accumulates in depressions and ephemeral runoff channels called "Wadis." There it provides a deep, soft bed for seeds of annual grasses and wildflowers that have lain waiting all year for a rain to burst them into bloom. In one such swale filled with grass, a shepherd grazed her sheep while a laden donkey followed, carrying lunch and water. The frequency of flocks of sheep made me realize another fact of the Jordanian desert: the Bedouin culture is alive and well. Although not easy to see because they spend most time far from towns in search of pasture, living in their traditional goat-hair tents, they remain a prominent part of the cultural and political life of Jordan. From a vendor by the road, I bought a beautifully woven, 4-metre long kilim, a narrow rug that they recline on in their tents.
Then we came to Azraq Oasis, a wetland nature reserve fringed with palm trees. Though now mostly dry, a 30 hectare lake remains, fed with springs is choked with cattails and reeds and raucous with the sound of birds. We passed through a village, South Azraq (formerly Shishan) and went into the Royal Conservation of Nature centre at the edge of Shishan Springs.
The Azraq Oasis has been famous for its wildlife since ancient times. It is fed by springs that formerly (before overpumping drained the aquifers) filled about 1,255 hectares with permanent, fresh water, and in winter by runoff that flooded a mudflat of about 12,000 hectares, and in wet years up to 30,000 hectares. Its ecological stems from two features: (1) it is on the migration routes for birds migrating between Eurasia and Africa, and (2) as a large oasis in a very arid desert, it provides a unique habitat essential to many resident species of birds, fish mammals, amphibians, reptiles, invertebrates and plants. Some 70 species of birds have bred at Azraq and 300 resident and migratory species have been recorded there. In the 1960s and 1970s, up to one million birds were using the oasis annually during spring migration, with up to 50,000 being present at any one time. Besides waterfowl, the waterbirds included up to 2,500 common cranes, thousands of shorebirds use the mudflats, passerines such as swallows, wagtails and warblers use the dense shrubs of the marsh edges, and preying on them were many species of hawks, falcons, harriers and eagles.
Roman use of the Azraq wetlands is still evident in a low wall that they constructed, apparently to facilitate boat launching, and also possibly to contain the wetlands. In prehistoric times Azraq was a wildlife paradise with lions hunting wild boar, Syrian wild ass, Arabian oryx, and aurochs, the progenitors of domestic cattle. Cheetahs chased gazelles in the surrounding desert, and a considerable array of medium-sized carnivores hunted hares, gerbils and jerboas. The lions and wild boar survived into the Byzantine period, the ass and cheetah until the 8th century (Umayyad period) and the oryx until about 1960. Predators that still occur in Jordan’s eastern desert include Syrian jackals, Arabian wolves, red foxes, Ruepelli’s foxes, caracals (a medium-sized cat), sand cats, wild cats, and Syrian striped hyaenas. 300 species of birds have been seen at Azraq, and for most of the last century it was internationally famous for waterfowl hunting. Under the Ramsar Convention ("Convention on Wetlands of International Importance especially as Waterfowl Habitat") Azraq was designated as a "Wetland of International Importance" in 1977. The same year an additional 1,245 ha surrounding the spring-fed marshes were declared Jordan’s first Wetland Reserve. But after it went dry in 1991 and was then partially restored by 1999, an ornithologist estimated 150,000 birds of which 39% were raptors, 30% waterbirds, and 31% songbirds.
We drove up a little ways to North Azraq (formerly Druze) for lunch of the ubiquitous hummus, a salad of cucumber, tomato, and herbs, and a roasted chicken in a shady, roadside restaurant. We took an hour to look around the castle, one of the largest and best preserved of its type in Jordan. It was probably built first by Nabateans, then enlarged or rebuilt by Romans, Byzantines, the Umayyad and Ayyubid Caliphates, and the Ottomans. Parts were crumbling by the time English archaeologist and adventurer Gertrude Bell photographed it in 1913. Later, her protégé, T. E. Lawrence, used it as a military base while fighting with the Arabs against the Ottomans during World War I.
Then we drove back south a few kilometers to the Shaumari Nature Reserve and saw Arabian oryxes, goitered gazelles, blue-necked ostriches, Persian onagers, a striped hyena, a crested porcupine, and other wildlife, all species native to the Jordan desert. The Royal Society for the Conservation of Nature is breeding the oryxes for reintroduction to the wild. Suddenly, the seemingly empty desert was coming alive.
Previously, I posted a note about Pella and one about the Bedouin coffee ritual. From time to time I'll post other notes about special places in Jordan.
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