Lifestyle Photos at the Cabin

Despite the record-setting colds in Montreal, here I stand alive. Winter fought a valiant battle, but was ultimately no match for my wool socks, cozy sweaters, and kettle. To enjoy the last few weeks of winter, we rented out Claudia’s parents’ cabin, located conveniently just an hour away from Montreal in Chertsey, Quebec. The cabin overlooks a frozen lake and sits by a forest covered in a knee-deep blanket of snow. Snowy evergreen forests are ridiculously photogenic with their muted tones. You can almost feel the stillness of the cold crisp air in photographs. After exploring the outdoors or skating on the frozen lake, we had a hot tub to thaw in, great food, and warm company. Can't wait until next time.

A few of these pictures have a lifestyle-vibe to them. I'd love to do more lifestyle photography. One of my biggest inspirations and my favourite photographer for a long time has been Nick Onken. You know that feeling when you've just discovered a small band that really resonates with you? And then they get bigger and bigger and you feel like you should receive some sort of compensation for being with them since the start? That's what I feel like with Nick. Before his podcast, before his appearances on podcasts, before he was mentioned by JoeyL on Creative Live, before his book, I found his work somehow.

His style has evolved over time, but his photography has always been consistently genuine and candid-looking. His pictures seem like they're taken from a regular day of hanging out with his friends. The models seem like they're actually having fun. There's a lot of lifestyle photography out there that looks extremely staged - it's probably the biggest challenge when shooting lifestyle pictures.

I've been thinking of ways to offer lifestyle photography as a service to regular people, rather than just advertising / commercial work. Imagine if you could just hang out with your friends somewhere in Montreal while a lifestyle photographer documents your day. I'd love to offer that service to people. And I'd love to have my own pictures like that. We often think of capturing romantic relationships (engagement shoots, weddings, couple photoshoots, etc.), but rarely do we spend the time and money to capture our friendships. Ok I know it sounds corny but it's true. I'll include more thoughts about this in a future blog post. Feel free to share your thoughts with me.

The Circle of Death

Live long enough in Panama City and you’ll inevitably face the Circle of Death. This isn’t your regular highway interchange - it’s the pulsing heart of the city, a demonic network of arteries linking the Panama Canal locks to the Causeway, the Ancon Hill to the Terminal, the Centennial Bridge to downtown Panama City. Strategically placed on an unavoidable path, the Circle of Death lures many, sometimes multiple times a day. Allow me to describe this fiendish creation in a little more depth. It pretends to be a harmless traffic junction. With the promise of reducing travel time, it seduces all roads, from proud palm-boasting boulevards, to innocent little streets. Even the most resolute highways cannot resist the temptation. The Circle of Death invites everyone in, and therein lies the problem. As you enter The Circle and start turning, your 4-lanes meet others. All seems fine until you’re ambushed by 2 new lanes, and just as suddenly you encounter a fork ahead. Vehicles frantically attempt to escape the Circle, swerve right, weaving through those who must go in deeper.

As you brave on, the crescendo of car horns indicates that you are near the climax. You’ve reached The Turn, and you’re now fully committed to the Circle of Death. If you’re in a bus, this is the moment where you might feel suspended in mid-air; the bus spins, stands at a 45 degree angle on two wheels. At this very moment, new tourists in the bus are immediately given away - not by their sun burns, flip flops, “Panama” hats (which are neither made, nor really worn by Panamanians), loud voices, travel guides, sunglasses, shorts, backpacks or their pronunciation of the country they’re in (Panamaaahhww), but by their inevitable fall.

During The Turn, you dare to peek outside the window, looking up to the sun for hope. Unfortunately, you only encounter a giant “INFLAMABLE - PELIGROSO” stamped on a mammoth tank truck zooming past you. You think, perhaps, to look ahead for the light at the end of the tunnel. Oh but do not be so naive darling, you will only see another bus, just millimeters away from yours. You know that a single bump, even a gentle tap, on any 2 vehicles in The Circle will unleash a whirlwind of fury. So you despair. You close your eyes and wait. The Circle of Death has surely won. It will consume its prey shortly.

At this point I must remind you that this is Panama. Turn signals are futile. Checking blind spots is somewhat of a foreign concept. The road is not shared between happy Honda Civics and Toyota Prii; it is dominated by battered taxis, proudly displaying their battle scars. And I’m not talking about dings and dents or nicks and notches. I’m talking about missing bumpers, fissured windshields, duct-taped windows, hanging side-mirrors, and ravaged doors. I’ve even seen a few of these taxis with windshield stickers announcing: “DIOS CUIDA DE MÍ” (GOD CARES FOR ME). Remember that whatever fear you have of these yellow kamikazes will be eclipsed when compared to your terror of the mighty Diablos Rojos.

So you open your eyes slowly. You see the dazed tourists, recovering from their fall. You look around in the bus and observe the locals, unfazed. You realize you’ve made it. A few on the side of the bend did not. Some cars, according to legend, are still going around the Circle of Death, unable to escape even after 50 years. But somehow you are here and still breathing. You can now let out a sigh of relief, perhaps even thank your driver, luck, or whichever deity for having spared your life today.

If you hike up Ancon Hill, where a giant Panama flag proudly waves in the wind, a viewpoint looks down on the Circle of Death. From above and at a distance, it seems deceptively innocent. But you know better. You stand there and watch artificial selection in action. The Circle of Death slowly weeds out those who cannot handle Panamanian roads. Perhaps it is a deliberate invention and a necessary evil after all. But The Circle of Death is not something Elton John will be singing about any time soon.

As I muster up courage for my next encounter, I think of Syrio Florel's words, which I'll recite in the face of the Circle of Death.

“What do we say to the god of death? Not today.”

Portrait of a Snake, Turtle & Crocodile

Weird title, you're thinking. Keep reading. In the NEO program with me are other research nomads who regularly jump back and forth between Montreal and Panama. Some chase after butterflies in the rainforest, others dig up snails on the beach, and I hop river to river in search of my fish. Not everyone, however, is here for Panama’s wildlife.

For the past year, my friend Divya has been studying the transformation of culture and land use in a small indigenous Emberá community called Piriatí. Aside from conducting interviews and organizing cultural activities, she built friendships and has lived there long enough to essentially become adopted by the community.

When one of her friends from the community turned 30, we organized a quick portrait session as a gift. In the pictures, you'll see Raquel, the birthday girl, along with her friends Mara and Malala, all wearing the typical brightly patterned skirts that Emberá women wear (parumas). You'll see the jewelry made of beads and silver coins, some of them dating back to the 1800s. And of course, you'll see the body paint (jagua). In the picture below, the 3 jagua patterns each represent an animal: a snake, turtle and crocodile.

We received thanks in the currency of jagua tattoos. With a thin reed in her dextrous hand, Mara delicately traced out the patterns on our arms, occasionally dipping the reed in the black-blue jagua. This ink, extracted from boiled Genipa americana seeds, remains on the skin for a few weeks until the surface layer of the skin is naturally exfoliated away. To keep mine as long as possible, I've acquired an unhealthy paranoia that keeps anything from touching my left forearm. Still looks great!

Although it only took Mara a few minutes to trace ours, more intricate and elaborate patterns sometimes require several hours, an exercise in patience for both artist and canvas. When you take into account that many people in the community become fully painted for certain celebrations, you can imagine how laborious the process becomes.

Now let's switch gears and talk photography. If you've read the last post, you know that I don't have too much equipment with me currently. All pictures you saw here were taken with the 50mm 1.4G AF-S. I love this focal length for portrait photography. It's wide enough so you can make environmental portraits, but you can also go in tight for headshots Don't be misguided; the 100$ 50mm 1.8 AF-D would have done the job just as well.

Because our shooting location was limited to just a small house and its hectic backyard, I spent my first 10 minutes looking for potential backdrops. It's an active process, more than just walking around. It's finding good light, changing your point of view, identifying which angles remove undesirable elements of the background from the frame, seeing objects not as subjects, but rather as lines, shapes and colours. A common mistake when looking for backdrops is trying to find one that looks attractive as a subject on its own. One common example that pops into mind are portraits in front of city skylines. That skyline may look great as a subject, but not necessarily as a backdrop in a photograph. An unsightly wall garnished with dog pee stains coated with an uneven paint job because there wasn't much paint left and it's on the side of the garden where no one goes anyway because of the creepy neighbour, on the other hand, may just be the perfect backdrop you're looking for. As a subject? No way. But set at a good distance away, blended into a uniform blur that helps the person pop out? Maybe.

Let's recap. You want to shoot a portrait.

Find a spot with good light. (I realize that this step sounds more simple than it is. I could cover this in a future post.)

Imagine the subject standing there and find the best shooting angle to optimize the background, visualizing it not as a subject, but how it would look once the camera focuses on the subject in front.

With practice it'll become intuitive.

Back in Panama

And here we go again! I’m back in Panama for another 4 months for my final field season. Leaving Montreal (and everyone in it) is tough, but I have to admit that after those -40C days, I couldn’t say no to the tropics. I live in a calm neighbourhood near Panama City, in an apartment building appropriately referred to as La Jaula (The Cage). Trapped inside our lovely cage with me, behind 169 metal bars to be exact, are other students, interns, post-docs, all here from different parts of the world (although this year there is sort of an American invasion). Now I know an apartment full of biologists doesn’t sound like the most exciting thing, but it’s strangely entertaining. Especially with a dysfunctional family-like group like ours. And with the high turnover of people it’s almost like living in a hostel. New faces settling in, frequent potlucks and parties, and sad goodbyes.

2014 is already the 100th anniversary of the Panama Canal, can you believe that? I feel like it was built yesterday. You could spend hours watching the colossal cargo ships making their way through the canal. For the full experience, go at sunset, with cold beers and ceviche. But we don't need to go far for entertainment. Back in our apartments, we overcome boredom with little games, like this race / scavenger hunt I organized. To ensure a healthy competitive spirit, winners received chocolate. Chocolate is the best incentive.

You meet all sorts of interesting people here. Take Tim and Manu from France, for example. They arrived in Mexico with their tandem bicycle and biked for 3 months all the way down to Panama, where I had the chance to meet them. By now they've sailed with their bike past the Darién forest into Colombia, their final pit stop before heading back. How crazy is that?

Then there are the hilarious Spaniards Carlos and Silvia. Carlos' long hair was becoming unwieldy, especially for a warm climate. So he did what anyone would do. He asked Silvia, who, after watching 2 Youtube tutorial videos, had all the qualifications of an expert hairdresser. She set up her salon in the jungle, and a few snips and buzzes later, Carlos transformed into a short-haired disappointed version of his former self.  Unhappy with the result, he did what he thought was fair and demanded the right to apply revenge make-up on Silvia's face.

I have to admit that Panama has its few quirks, from offering you almost exclusively fried food, to granting near-death experiences every time you go on the road. But the people you meet and places you see are the reasons why I love being here.

Alex the Biologist? Let's Talk Science

Alright folks, let's talk science. I thought explaining my research briefly would be a nice follow-up post to the last one. Don't worry I won't go full nerd on you, I promise you will understand and enjoy what I have to say. So like I said previously, I was in Panama doing field work with my fish. …Fish? Really? Why not toucans?

Or jaguars?

Or golden frogs?

Oh come on. They're super cool. You see, my fish are electric. Literally. (Species name is Brachyhypopomus occidentalis in case you care). Unlike their electric eel cousins who shock their prey to stun them before consuming them, these guys only generate a weak electric field around them. For years, scientists, were puzzled by this. Some even claimed that their electric organ was probably just defective.

It wasn't until fairly recently that scientists discovered that the electric field around them was used as a sensory system. If any object that has a different conductivity than water enters this invisible orb enveloping the fish, they will sense distortions. Sensing these electric distortions allow them to effectively "see" or "feel" their surroundings. I hope you realize that this is crazy stuff that we can't relate to on any level. Echolocation in bats? Sure we can understand it to some degree, it's a sort of a super hearing. But an electrosense? We can't even fathom what that's like. But it doesn't stop there; their electric fields are not only used for navigation but also for communication between each other. Electrolocation and electrocommunication all in one. If you're not convinced that these are the coolest fish yet, consider the name of this family of fishes. Knifefishes. Some are called the black ghost knifefish, others the glass knifefish. How cool is that?

So these fish are all over the place in Panama. Now what? After recording electric signals of these fish in different populations across the country, a student in my lab found that these signals are starting to diverge in different directions. This is akin to finding birds in different populations starting to sing slightly different songs. Now I'm trying to explain why the signals are starting to change. Are populations adapting their signals to their different environments in some way? Or are the signal divergences random and just a result of being isolated from other populations for such a long time? This is the gist of my research and I'll spare you the details.

Don't you wish you had an electrosense? A constant invisible bubble surrounding your body filled with superpowers.

I want to end with a quick rant. This is a huge pet peeve for me.

There are knifefishes and there are eels, they are not related.

Knifefishes are electric, eels are NOT. 

The ONLY "eel" that is electric is the "electric eel", and it so happens to be a knifefish.

It just LOOKS like an eel, so someone smart decided to name it an eel. That's right, the electric eel is not even an eel. 

Fear not I will end this blog post on a happy note!

Excerpt from MGMT's Electric Feel:

"Saw her in the amazon With the voltage running through her skin Standing there with nothing on She gonna teach me how to swim

I said ooh girl Shock me like an electric eel Baby girl Turn me on with your electric feel"

I would've been happier had they said "Shock me like a Brachyhypopomus occidentalis", but hey you win some you lose some.

If you have any questions about photography, electric fish, or want to chat about something else? Contact me!

Darién, the Forbidden Province

Look at any world map and find Prudhoe Bay in Northern Alaska or the southernmost city in the world, Ushuaia, Argentina. If you try to follow your finger from one of these extremes to the other following roads, you will ultimately come at a stop upon encountering the Darién Gap in Panama. Still today, the dense, wild forests dominating the landscape of the Darién Gap are the only thing preventing a continuous road across the Americas. And hopefully the pristine habitat remains that way, for many endemic species and indigenous communities depend on it. I first heard of the Darién two years ago when I came to Panama with McGill University, and it was introduced to us as the forbidden province. We visited the 8 other provinces, flew to remote islands and drove through treacherous dirt roads to reach isolated communities, but under no circumstances were we allowed to enter the Darién. Aside from being known for its untarnished biodiversity, the Darién's reputation is clouded by its numerous kidnappings, assassinations, and the presence of Colombian guerrillas patrolling the Panama-Colombia border. The Lonely Planet guide even has a "Surviving the Darién" section. While these dangers are very real, they are often blown out of proportion, and any mention of visiting the Darién is often followed by alarmed gasps and warnings. But the fish I study are there calling for me and into the Darién I must go.

So how do you prepare for a 10-day trip in the Darién? First, a long day at the grocery store to stock up on food for 10 days. Getting my head chopped off by machete-wielding guerrilla is fine, but I don't want to die without a few hojaldres in my belly. Second, the trucks are then packed to their maximum capacity until all passengers are drowning in field gear such as solar panels, fish nets, car batteries, formalin, etc. Finally, the frontier police grants us our permits and we are ready to go.

1 of 2 completely packed trucks. Nikon D700 + 20mm 2.8, 1/250, f/2.8, 400.

The road into the Darién was frequently interrupted with police check points that became longer and longer the further away from the city we were. They would ask for our passports, permits and what business we had in the Darién while eyeing us all suspiciously. Upon encountering the final checkpoint before arriving at our destination, I expected another logistics ritual but after greetings from the officer we were just told "Cuídense.", essentially meaning "Take care of yourselves.". We kept on driving. The road progressively transformed into a mosaic of potholes. The more or less inviting cantinas  previously lining the highway became increasingly sporadic. Primeval forest started creeping up on the sides of the road, and even the powerlines were peppered with epiphytes growing on them, perhaps a reminder of nature's dominance in Darién. We eventually reached the end of the road, the little town of Yaviza. This is where we met up with Marín and Martín, two men from the Embera community of Peña Bijagual, our final destination. The only way in is through the large Río Chucunaque. As the sun was setting, they helped us unload everything out of the trucks and into two huge dug-out canoes. And then, off we went.

The 2-hour long starlit canoe ride on the Chucunaque was probably one of the most memorable experiences I've ever had. The only sounds heard were the occasional eerie animal calls, the water flowing past us and the gentle humming of the motors lulling us to sleep. Silhouetted trees lined the river banks, growing to colossal sizes as we approached them. When the moonlight was not enough for guidance, Marín, sitting in front of the canoe turned on the flashlight, revealing dozens of caiman eyes poking out of the water.

8-second exposure of a pitch black scene save for the few flashes from Marín's spotlight. Nikon D700 + 20mm 2.8, 8s, 2.8, 6400.

We finally reach the village and are welcomed by one of the leaders. They lead us to our tents and I fall asleep instantly. I'm not sure if I awoke the next morning because of the sun illuminating the tent, the unbearable heat, the incessant crowing of roosters, or just out of sheer excitement. I stepped out of the tent and finally saw Peña Bijagual, my home for the next week.

When you're out in the field it's hard not to just focus on your research. I was able to relax, meet new people, and also photograph our research. It's hard to find time to document your own fieldwork, but I find it extremely important, especially since you end up with a wealth of great visual aids for future presentations and scientific posters.

The 7 days went by in a flash. Here's a highlight of my stay.

Our tents. Nikon D700 + 20mm 2.8, 1/80, f/13, 800.

Kids in the village. Nikon D700 + 20mm 2.8, 1/160, f/4.0, 400.

Our field site, a 10-minute hike into the forest. Scientists doing science. Nikon D700 + 20mm 2.8, 1/60, 2.8, 200.

My Emberá bodyguard Marín. Nikon D700 + 50mm 1.4, 1/1250, f/2.2, 1250.

My set-up in the field. I'll explain another time. Nikon D700 + 20mm 2.8, 1/160, f/2.8, 200.

Newlyweds Diana & Luis with us in the field. Nikon D700 + 20mm 2.8, 1/1200, f/2.8, 1250.

My supervisor Rudiger looking for our electric fish using a fish finder. Nikon D700 + 50mm 1.4, 1/400, f/2.2, 1250.

Fieldwork is fun. Nikon D700 + 50mm 1.4, 1/400, f/2.2, 1250.

An Ode to the Mightiest Creature of All

Panama, as you may already know, boasts an incredible biodiversity, from its national treasure, the Harpy Eagle, to the nearly extinct Golden Frog. Amidst these colourful species, one creature, mighty and fierce, rarely makes it into your nature field guides. No one even in the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute based in Panama has ever studied it. Perhaps its lack of attention is due to its commonness, but then again despite its omnipresence across the country, you sometimes only see glimpses of its colourful display as it flies past your eyes. More likely, people avoid dealing with this monster because they fear it. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the most spectacular beast of all, the Diablo Rojo.

A glimpse of a Diablo Rojo.

A near-death experience.

Have you been avoiding Isla Coiba fearing the sharks lurking in its deep waters? Never been to the Darién province because of its notorious reputation for kidnappings and decapitations courtesy of the lingering Colombian guerrilla? And is it the piercing crocodile eyes shining through the night that are preventing you from skinny dipping in the Chagres river? My friends, these are the least of your worries, for the majestic Diablos Rojos will crush you without mercy anywhere you want at anytime of day.

For those who aren't acquainted with this species, let me describe it to you in its most glorious evolved form. A long time ago, they were yellow innocent buses transporting happy students, but now the Diablos Rojos are the revamped versions of old buses discarded by and brought over from the United States. They are zombies of the road, resurrected from the depths of junkyards, now wandering brainlessly on the roads, with nothing capable of killing them. Behind layers of clown-vomit colours are obnoxious lights that can be fully appreciated only during nighttime encounters.

One of the scariest sights in Panama. A Diablo Rojo behind you.

Many people confuse the Diablo Rojo with just the actual bus. In reality, this is just its exoskeleton and the true beast is made of two additional parts: its driver, usually a man, sometimes probably blind, with no regard for human lives, as well as his side-kick, a human megaphone standing by the wide-open door in charge of shouting the destination of the bus repeatedly (even though it's written on the bus) and collecting the quarters from passengers. The passengers, by the way, are not the Diablos Rojos' hopeless prisoners, although it may seem that way. They are people who have chosen the dark side, opting to become part of the beast in order to avoid facing it as adversary. For them to be accepted by the Diablos Rojos they must sit still in the deafening reggaeton music.

I have seen even the most experienced Panamanian taxi drivers cower in fear when faced against the Diablos Rojos. It starts with the taxi driver shifting uncomfortably in his seat after spotting the Diablo Rojo behind him. He checks his mirror twice as often as he needs to. A bead of sweat appears on his temple. In his head he is praying - perhaps these are his last moments before the mammoth cold-bloodedly runs him over. Please be reminded that these are Panamanian taxi drivers, among the most aggressive drivers of all, capable of blazing through traffic, and with an impressive neglect of safety. And yet they are no match for the gargantuan devils. As the Diablos Rojos speed past them, blasting their retinas with the obnoxious bright lights in their process, they let out a large sigh for the devils have spared them a life.

Here we see not one, not two, but three taxis waiting patiently behind the Diablo Rojo. Please realize that if this was any other vehicle they would have blew past it a long time ago. Also, if you look closely, you will see the human megaphone peaking out of the door, looking for the next victims.

Please appreciate the size of this monster. I think I saw a tear run down the taxi driver's face when we drove past him.

You may now be wondering how Panama has become this way, with hooligan buses ruling the streets. To understand this, you must look at the Diablo Rojo's recent evolutionary history. Before the infamous name was earned, the buses were more civilized. Regular citizens purchased old school buses for several thousand dollars, and the government then assigned them a route for them to take. In these ancient times, the drivers probably drove the buses at normal speeds, had maybe a few paintings on them and maybe, just maybe, followed a schedule. This ancestral state of the Diablo Rojo was well adapted as it was but with the increasing costs of living in Panama it became inefficient. Over time, they evolved multiple adaptations to overcome these economic difficulties. First, cutting the travel time in half by ignoring speed limits and stop signs allowed them to double their salary. A second adaptation was to cram as many people as possible in the bus to squeeze the most quarters in a day as possible. Two-person seats became three-person seats, and the middle aisle looked more and more like a rave. Who cares about safety anyway? Finally, the addition of unique bright obnoxious colours is thought to play a role in the mating process of the Diablos Rojos, but may also help passengers identify the buses from long distances to flag them down. Today, the only ones remaining are the most fit ones that have mastered the essence of Diablos Rojos, and any intermediate form has been eliminated.

This was a close call. I stumbled onto their lair but managed to escape unscathed.

Unfortunately the Diablo Rojo is now threatened since the appearance of the MetroBus. In my recent travels I have seen their numbers dwindle down to a point where I can only hear their irritating loud horns 50 times a day. If you ever stop by Panama, hop onto one of these for the wildest adventure of your life, an experience that may forever disappear as the Diablos Rojos go extinct.

A Voyage Through Time

In this post I'll give you a little peek into the time travelling that our NEO course has offered us. I won't go in any particular order. Let's start with the future.

Welcome to Winterland. Nikon D700 + 20 mm f/2.8, 1/2000, f/4.5, ISO 200.

Every day, before our guest speakers start their lectures, the students all go through a round of introductions.

• "Hi I'm Alex from McGill, I'm interested in the evolution of signals in electric fish."
• "Hi I'm Kelsey from Illinois, I'm interested in using ancient dog DNA to study native american migration patterns."
• "Hi I'm Peter from Arizona State, I'm interested in ant behaviour, specifically in the Cecropia - Azteca Ant mutualism."
• "Hi I'm Larissa from Panama, I'm interested in insect vectors of diseases."

etc.

Then, came the turn of our speaker of the day: "Hi I'm Klaus, I'm a gardener."

Klaus Winter is a STRI scientist looking at the effects of climate change on plants. He effectively uses greenhouses as time machines, pumping in high CO2 levels that reflect the predicted levels of CO2 in the next decades. Together, these little greenhouses scattered across the STRI station form what is known as Winterland. In the long run, Klaus is hoping to increase the scale of his greenhouses and see how a diverse community of trees responds to the anticipated environmental conditions.

Klaus Winter and students. Nikon D700 + 20 mm f/2.8, 1/640, f/2.8, ISO 200.

Klaus's inflatable pillow. Nikon D700 + 20 mm f/2.8, 1/1250, f/2.8, ISO 200.

Although this weird thing might look somewhat like a time machine, it's a small greenhouse made of ETFE (ethylene tetrafluoroethylene). According to Klaus, these "inflatable pillows" show promise as the building materials for the future larger greenhouses. Compared to glass, it is lighter, more flexible, more cost-efficient, and has better optical and thermal properties. It's also self-cleaning, a feature which every object on earth should have. With rapidly increasing amounts of CO2, forests as they are may change completely, affecting not only the trees themselves but all biodiversity that inhabits them. What Klaus does now allows us to peek into the future.

Now let's go to the past.

Church in Natá, the 2nd oldest city in Panamá. Nikon D7000 + Tokina 12-24 mm f/4.0 @ 12mm, 1/80, f/4.0, ISO 2500. 

What better way is there to travel back in time than listening to a lecture by an archeologist? We had the pleasure of having Richard Cooke present to us a historical perspective of the isthmus, a first non-biology class. Just like detectives arriving on a crime scene, archeologists arrive in the present to look for hints of a story in the past. By looking at the soil chemistry, the types of deposit, the radioisotopes and the tools used on the rock, archeologists can reconstruct the past.

I also never realized how tiny pieces of information could provide so much insight. The discovery of similar mastodon tusk spears in different areas proposes a path used by ancient human civilizations. Manatee-tooth carvings found on the Pacific side of the isthmus suggest exchanges between the Atlantic and Pacific coasts since manatees were inexistent in the latter. Others pieces of the puzzle, however, are more difficult to interpret. Dr. Cooke explains that when it comes art, one may get hints of religious beliefs or social structure, but in the end it's often still just a guess. One enigmatic image recurring in pre-colombian art forms in the isthmus was this anthropomorphic crocodile feathered with stingray tails. Interestingly, it was not only found in artifacts associated with the rich, such as golden earrings, helmets and plates, but also in artifacts that the poorest treasured, in the form of iguana bone. Whether this represented an almighty clan, a symbol power, or a revered deity, we may never know.

And now, back to the present.

Erin, Peter and Buttons in Galeta. Nikon D700 + 20 mm f/2.8, 1/80, f/16, ISO 100.

These relics are small glimpses into the past, and many were forever lost after the arrival of the conquistadores which resulted in the wiping out entire civilizations in the 1500s. As Dr. Cooke noted, the current indigenous groups - the Ngöbe, the Kuna and the Emberá - are living relics representing a very long-lived lineage. 

Unfortunately, still today, these indigenous groups must fight to defend their rights, land and culture. Canadian corporations are overseeing the development of destructive colossal mining projects in Ngobe territory. The ongoing losses of mangrove ecosystems are resulting in an increasing number of floods, threatening the homes of the Kuna. The neglect of the Darién province from the Panamanian government effectively causes poor health problems and low income opportunities to persist for the Emberá. Today, indigenous groups all over the world are links to the past, but they may not persist in the future unless a change of attitude comes along.

Ngöbe children performing the Jegi. Nikon D7000 + 105 mm f/2.8, 1/800, f/4.0, ISO 200.

Performance during a historical reenactment of the Kuna revolution in Ukkupseni. Nikon D7000 + 50 mm f/1.4, 1/640, f/4.0, ISO 100.

In an ideal world I would have a picture of the Emberá right here, but I have yet to see them. Soon, though.

Thanks for reading!

X-ray vision: How to See Through Trees

As a person who studies little obscure electric fish, I sometimes wonder why my fish get so little attention in comparison to the more charismatic and popular study organisms. But I shouldn't complain because that's probably nothing in comparison to what plant-studying folks deal with. And that must be nowhere even near what mycologists feel. An entire kingdom severely underrepresented in the scientific community. You'll find the odd mycologist here and there, and luckily for STRI they found Greg Gilbert.

A bit of mushroom science by Greg Gilbert. Nikon D700 + 50mm f/1.4, 1/160, f/2.8, ISO 1600.

We had the pleasure of having Greg as a lecturer during our stay at BCI. He started off by giving us a primer on fungi, where we learned about things such as heart rot in trees (and butt rot of course). After an initial infection through the roots of the tree, the fungi reach the heart of the tree and start a slow digestion process that takes years. Eventually, with its core eaten away, the tree, hollow and structurally weak, snaps and dies. To answer the remaining mysteries of this process, such as which trees are more susceptible to these infections or how prevalent fungal pathogens are, or even how specific are fungal pathogens to their hosts, we need someone like Greg to come in and show us how to see through trees.

Step 1. Select tree of choice.

Step 2. Look inside tree. Tadaaa!

Maybe step 2 is a bit oversimplified. It involves using a hammer, an even fancier digital hammer, twelve flattened thumbtacks and the coolest biggest digital calliper. Unfortunately I don't have any images of it so just imagine giant tweezers with buttons, bluetooth, and independently moving arms. After selecting the tree and measuring its perimeter, we hammered down 12 evenly spaced thumbtacks around the tree. Then, using the calliper, we measured distances between thumbtack pairs. Meanwhile, on an automated computer software, each of these distances was used to construct a digital cross-section of the target tree. Now that we had the overall shape, we used sonic and electric impedance tomography to see inside the tree.

Hammer. Nikon D700 + 50mm f/1.4, 1/60, f/2.5, ISO 1600.

12 thumbtacks placed around the tree. Nikon D700 + 50mm f/1.4, 1/60, f/2.5, ISO 1600.

Let's start with sonic tomography. If a tree is hollow, sonic vibrations require more time to pass through the tree and reach the other side. Using a hammer, this time the fancier digital one, we smacked smacked thumbtacks one by one while the software recorded the exact time it took for the sound of impact to reach each of the other thumbtacks. Knowing the distance between thumbtacks and the time it took for sound to travel, the computer software determines whether the space between the tacks is dense or hollow. This information is compiled and a few moments later, an image of the inside of the trunk is generated. In our tree, evidence of a fungal pathogen infection was manifested as a large hole in the tree's cross-section.

The fancier hammer. Nikon D700 + 50mm f/1.4, 1/60, f/2.5, ISO 1600.

Owen smacking one of the 12 tacks. Nikon D700 + 20mm f/2.8, 1/80, f/2.8, ISO 1600.

Electric impedance tomography. Nikon D700 + 50mm f/1.4, 1/160, f/2.2, ISO 1600. 

Results of our electric impedance tomography. Nikon D700 + 50mm f/1.4, 1/160, f/2.2, ISO 1600. 

With electric impedance tomography, we are seeing through the tree not by using sound but rather current. Although it may seem like we're trying to blow the tree up, we're calculating the resistance between each tack pairs, which will give us an idea of the water content distribution in the tree. This technique allows us to distinguish cavities from wet diseased wood. The two cutting-edge techniques, often used in conjunction, will allow scientists like Greg Gilbert to understand how fungal pathogens are affecting different forest tree diversity.

Barro Colorado Island

Little side note before I start. It turns out that for the tropical ecology course I'm taking right now, I need to blog about my experiences here in Panama. Therefore as you're reading this, so are my professors. Probably drinking. And yes I'm graded on this. Our course started off with a bang. Within the first hour of the first day, we were on the Panama Canal, setting off on a water taxi ride to Barro Colorado Island, the famous biologist dream playground. Although I'd been here 2 years ago, it felt like seeing Panama for the first time. As any biologist would, I was enjoying the magnificent frigatebirds (Fregata magnificens) elegantly soaring over our heads, an experience much more enjoyable than trying to dodge the pigeons of Montreal whose life goal is to shit on you. In the distance the forest displayed fifty shades of green with its numerous trees peaking through the canopy, all competing for access to light. A sunset behind us was included in the package. And while I was appreciating the wonders of nature I also witnessed one of the biggest triumphs of human ingenuity as we went past the giant dredging goliaths expanding the canal. The lush forests surrounding it should be an important reminder of the biodiversity we may lose due to our relentless expansion and development.

300 years old and counting whoops, the tree fell recently. Nikon D700 + 20mm f/2.8, 1/400, f/2.8, ISO 1600.

3-toed sloth. Nikon D7000 + 105mm f/2.8, 1/160, f/3.5, ISO 400.

Nephila clavipes female in front, male in the back. Nikon D7000 + 105mm f/2.8, 1/125, f/3.2, ISO 640.

During the construction of the canal, the artificial Gatún Lake was formed. As the waters rose, they submerged the then-present rainforests, and the hilltop remained uncovered, becoming Barro Colorado Island. Now, managed by the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute, with its essential facilities (labs, dormitories, dining hall and lecture hall) and its stunning biodiversity (without even mentioning animals, the island has a diverse forest holding as many plant species as all northern temperate forests combined), the island appropriately is visited by hundreds of scientists from across the world every year.

We climbed this rusty wobbly canopy tower. Nikon D700 + 20mm f/2.8, 1/50, f/5.0, ISO 800 & 1/125, f/22, ISO 800.

As we landed on the island, I immediately tucked my pants in my socks. I know it exponentially increases how dorky I look but I remembered Dana two years ago coming out of the island with 50ish ticks on her body. She didn't recommend it. So tucked pants it is. We set out for our forest hike. Through the mosaic of twisting lianas, strangler figs suffocating their victims and palms threatening you with their menacing sharp spines, we caught glimpses of trogons, ñeques, poison-dart frogs, tinamous and anoles. Biologist heaven.

Awesome crypsis. Can you spot the praying mantis? Nikon D700 + 50mm f/1.4, 1/125, f/2.2, ISO 800.

Wasp doing waspy things. Nikon D700 + 50mm f/1.4, 1/125, f/2.2, ISO 800.

Here we were on our way to our final lecture on Barro Colorado Island. We told our professors we were bored of the lecture hall. They gave us this. Nikon D700 + 20mm f/2.8, 1/400, f/2.8, ISO 200.

Most peaceful classroom you'll ever find. For PFSSers no that is not Russell. Nikon D700 + 20mm f/2.8, 1/400, f/2.8, ISO 200.

Butterfly expert Owen McMillan giving us a lecture on evolutionary biology. Nikon D700 + 20mm f/2.8, 1/160, f/2.5, ISO 200.

I could talk more in detail about what we did and learned but both the hammock and our unlimited cases of cold beer are inviting me over on the balcony overlooking the canal.