Camera Gear for Travel

Picture this. It’s close to 2AM. It’s quiet. Claudia went to bed a while ago already. I’m sitting at the dining table, papers and notebooks all over the place. I scribble something down and almost immediately cross it off. I’m obviously distressed, in agony even. I should go to bed. But I can’t. At least not yet. Not until I figure this out. What on earth is keeping me up? Do I have to hand in something for work tomorrow morning? Did I miss an important deadline? Nope. I just can’t decide what camera gear to pack for my next trip. A few weeks away. Ohhh but if you could only understand the anguish I feel. I want to bring everything, but I can’t. Do I leave my telephoto lens behind and say byebye to the amazing wildlife I’ll be seeing? Or do I bring it and compromise on the beach sunsets and awesome waterfall shots? The joys of travel photography. Analysis paralysis. Maybe I should just stay in Montreal.

If you saw what was going through my head, you’d find it comical, really. Every possible scenario, played over and over. As if life depended on it. What if, while hiking through the big trees of the rainforest, I spot this bug when suddenly a bird flies by?! I would need a wide-angle, macro and telephoto lens! MINIMUM! Bringing these 5 lenses should do it. But hey a flash isn’t that heavy let’s throw that in there. And you know, a light modifier and a few wireless triggers. And a reflector. And my tripod isn’t THAT heavy. Tadaaa! Suddenly I’m flirting with excess baggage fees at the airport. You should’ve seen how ridiculous I looked at the airport. An overpacked mule I was.

I used to be like that. I think most photographers are like that at some point. Thankfully, I’ve cut down on camera gear tremendously in every trip since. This time I only brought a 50 and a 20. And I almost exclusively use the 50. Free as a bird. In the end it really comes down to what you want to capture. I left behind all those “just in case” lenses. I want to focus solely on documenting my research process and the people I meet. The two small primes will do the job. Don’t worry about the shots you could have gotten, and don’t stay fixated on the traditional roles of each lens. Camera manufacturers often market each lens as if it’s good for one thing only. Wide-angle for landscapes, telephoto for sports and wildlife, blablabla. In the hope of showing you how a single focal length can capture diverse subjects, all the images in this post were shot with the 50. I encourage you to limit the gear your pack for travel. You’ll worry less and enjoy more.

OK maybe this last one requires a bit of explanation. Read the story here.

P.S. I have to admit that lately, I’ve been thinking of getting a more compact camera for travel photography - one that I’d never hesitate bringing with me. Maybe it’s time to venture into the world of mirrorless cameras soon…

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.

Two Simple Ways to Improve Your Photography

Because I’m always trying to improve my photography, I consume dozens of books every year and go through countless photography blogs and articles. It’s not hard to find advice on photography. What’s difficult is getting through the noise and finding the valuable content. You see and hear the same things being repeated over and over. These mantras given as advice are often full of fluff and not actually helpful.

For example: “Be different from others”, “Find your own vision” or “Discover your unique style”. It makes sense, but I don’t find it particularly helpful. Yet anytime you look for photography advice you find this. And it’s worse when you find chapters of photography books dedicated to rephrasing over and over the idea of being different. I doubt that photographers stumble onto this, and suddenly, huge epiphany: “OHHH ok so I have to be original, gotcha. Can’t wait to take some awesome pictures now!”

It can be frustrating trying to find concrete actions to improve your photography, especially after spending lots money on these books.

I want to share with you 2 photography tips - concrete actions you can take - that have helped me and I think can help you. I rarely see these mentioned anywhere.

1. Just show less

Go on Facebook. Or your website. Or your blog. What’s the last shoot/event/album you posted? Odds are that you have some strong shots in there that are being brought down by weak ones. I see so many great photographers that just post too much. And mind you, I’m a victim of this myself, but it’s important to at least be aware of it. For example, say you want to share your travel photographs. It’s hard not to post pictures of every city you went to, but just because you went there and took some pictures, doesn’t mean you need to show them. You have to resist that urge and only post your best. It’ll make your body of work better.

Allow me to demonstrate :)

This is so nerdy but bear with me for a second. This graph shows the number of pictures we take in our lives distributed by picture quality. Most of the pictures we'll have taken in our lives will be bad and only a few in comparison will be great. This is graph is more or less true for everyone. The degree of the steepness differs, but the shape remains accurate. In the haystack of crappy pictures, only occasionally will we find pictures we are truly happy with. But now look at how the average picture quality increases by only showing our best work.

The average picture quality is now higher than before. That’s right, you can appear as a better photographer without actually being a better photographer. That’s just one thing. The second, more important thing is that by forcing yourself to show only a small sample of what you took, you develop a critical eye for your own work. By deciding to show this one and not that one, you start identifying specific aspects about your images that you like or don’t like. And only by identifying those aspects will you be able to make conscious decisions in your next photography outing to improve your craft. 

Of course there are some compromises that need to be made at times. Sometimes the moment is more important than the actual image and it’s what you want to share with others. That’s fine. This piece of advice is more directed to people who have a photoshoot and then post dozens of variations of the same person in front of the same tree. One of them is the strongest. Just show that one. Be extremely harsh with your own work. Show no mercy. Next album you post on Facebook, select your pictures as you usually would, then only post half.

2. Feed your creative brain

Do you have an RSS reader? If not, go to Feedly.com and sign up for free. It’s what I use and it works for me. And get the Feedly app on your mobile device while you’re at it! Here’s how I use it. I subscribe to a bunch of different photography blogs (and graphic design blogs). Every time there’s a new post, it pops up on the reader. And with sufficient sources, you will have a constantly updating RSS reader that delivers new content daily. Every day on the bus, I take a quick 5 minutes to go through the work of other photographers.

You discover new styles, new techniques. You accumulate possible ideas for future shoots. You start liking things, disliking others. Without realizing it, your own photography style is being molded simply by going through the body of work of others. And if it isn’t your style that is being molded, it is your taste, and identifying what you like is the first step to eventually being able to shoot what you like. 

I think it’s important to separate the blogs that you read from the blogs you follow purely for visual inspiration. With Feedly I keep a category for reading and another one just to consume images. I use it as a hub, linking dozens of different tumblr feeds and photographer blogs. The medium isn’t important. Following the right people on Pinterest would also work for example. What’s important is exposing regularly yourself to new work. Bonus points if you use this to draw inspiration not only from photography but from all forms of art.

Until next time!

100in1day Montreal: Photos of The Big Day

(You can find part 1 here). October 5th. I wake up, pack my camera gear, and step out of the house. I walk 2 meters and see a driver and cyclist almost collide. The cyclist reveals his middle finger and his near-killer shouts something probably obscene from the vehicle. Not the way I envisioned this day supposed to be full of appreciation, love and community, but oh well. First stop: intervention #33. In the Mile-End, Carolina is about to re-invent the telephone booth. By bringing beauty back in this most mundane, almost invisible object, she wants to make people more aware of their everyday surroundings.

A few steps away, I see the Rue Publique team working on their Woonerf project (#91).

By installing these giant structures in the middle of the street, intrigued motorists slow down, pedestrians playfully interact with the installations. Eventually people ask questions to the Rue Publique team, who reveal their motivation behind the project: if motorists can still circulate on this unnecessarily wide street, even with these installations in place, why not improve this shared public space by making it more pedestrian and cyclist friendly?, they propose.

At the bustling Café Olympico, I see the “artesian well” (#34), a collaboration between architect Ian Pieterse & artist Charlie Twitch. Hidden inside this enigmatic brick structure are speakers playing “sounds of the underground”. At Parc Jeanne-Mance, I take a quiet moment as I walk through a giant meditative labyrinth of rope (#5). I see a wizard (or pirate?), creating and manipulating bubbles into all sorts of shapes (#20). I take the metro with giant birds and monkeys for their Puppet Convergence (#50). I marvel with other passersby at hundreds of origami pelicans in a park (#7). I see messages of joy, folded into paper planes and thrown towards strangers by giants on stilts. I have a huge smile on my face pretty much for the entire day.

At this point I have to admit I was extremely relieved. The days leading up to October 5th had been pretty stressful and chaotic. I ended up being in charge of coordinating a 10-person video team on top of constantly updating the website with the dozens of last-minute interventions being added. But somehow, on the big day, everything went smoothly and as planned. Coordinating 100+ interventions across the city in a single day didn’t seem that difficult after all. Especially when you have a terrific team like the one we had, driven by the energy of all participants of the festival. And speaking of energy, take a look at this next intervention.

Intervention #3, the Silent Disco. This one was nuts. Picture this: hundreds of strangers are dancing together in total silence, all of them somehow in sync. As you get closer, you realize they’re linked together by the music they’re streaming in their headphones. Passersby joined, cars honked in support as the mob danced gleefully.

When you’re anticipating a big day like this one, it’s easy to suddenly find yourself in an underwhelming, anti-climatic disappointment. Although I only saw a small glimpse of it, 100in1day Montreal did not disappoint.

P.S. Check out this video made by the video team.

100in1day Montreal: 100 Pictures for 100 Actions

Back in August, Claudia introduced me to the 100in1day Montreal team. As I met these dreamers, creatives and all around good people with big hearts, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I learned about the 100in1day movement. It’s an international movement that started in Bogotá, where a group of friends got together around beers and decided on a whim to organize an event where 100 actions to improve their city would take place in a single day. And when that big day came, hundreds of citizens got together to make Bogotá the city of their dreams. This quickly spread to other cities, from Copenhagen to San Jose to Cape Town and Montreal. The process was simple. During the summer, we set the big date for 100in1day Montreal on October 5th 2013. Every week after that, the team hosted workshops in which citizens of Montreal of all ages and backgrounds were introduced to the project and were invited to share their dreams for the city. By brainstorming with other people also passionate about improving the city, they eventually came up with actions, big and small, to transform Montreal. Many entered these workshops knowing absolutely nothing about the project, but left with a spark that eventually bloomed into one of the 100 actions that took place on October 5th. Here are a few pictures of these workshops.

In addition to documenting the process as well as the big day, I wanted to thank all participants behind each of the 100 actions by creating a unique image that would represent their action. We displayed these on the website to give each action a visual identity. Here are some of my favourites.

Thanks and stay tuned for my next blog post! I'll describe several actions that took place and share some pictures of the big day!

You can find Part 2 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.