Category Archives: Joey

Beautiful Bromeliads

 

A tree by the Rio Bartola is filled with tank bromeliads
A tree by the Rio Bartola is filled with tank bromeliads

Bromeliads belong to a family of plants native to the Neotropics. Some species of bromeliad are epiphytes, meaning that they grow on other plants similar to lichen or moss.  Several species of bromeliad have a center rosette that can trap pools of water—known as a phytotelma. These species are commonly referred to as tank bromeliads.    As one would expect in streams or other bodies of water, bromeliad phytotelma are a valuable resource for many animals, especially aquatic and semi-aquatic macroinvertebrates, which often rely on perennial water bodies to reach maturity or even remain in aqueous environments for their entire lives.

Bromeliads remain understudied and even less is known about the communities they host.  While it has been shown that the type of forest cover above a stream can have an impact on the invertebrates that live in them, this principle has not been thoroughly addressed for bromeliads.  We were interested in how the amount of canopy closure above a bromeliad could affect the diversity and abundance of invertebrates within their phytotelma.  We looked at bromeliads between areas of closed canopy cover and areas in the open, where light could more easily permeate the canopy tops.  We predicted that bromeliads on trees in open areas would have significantly less invertebrates within their phytotelma than bromeliads from within the forest due to the likely linkage between canopy cover and water permanence.  We assumed that with less water due to a difference in cover, these phytotelmata communities would be more vulnerable to desiccation (a process by which animals dry up and perish).

Joey and Michelle pipette water (and inverts!) out of a bromeliad
Joey and Michelle pipette water (and inverts!) out of a bromeliad

Pictured above, we collected data from the bromeliads by removing the liquid and soil contained in the phytotelma and sorting invertebrates found within. We collected a total of 299 invertebrates from 20 bromeliads, half from closed canopy cover and the other half from open areas.  As we predicted, bromeliads under more canopy cover contained more water, soil, and most importantly, had greater abundance and diversity in their invertebrate communities.

The future of Nicaraguan tropical rainforest is marked with discontent due to the increased prevalence of selective logging, a process where the largest trees within a forest stand are removed for their timber as an alternative to clear-cut logging.  It has been shown that the removal of trees within a forest leads to changes in local humidity and temperature that can result in a reduction in the presence and diversity of bromeliads.  Similarly, by removing trees from a forest, area on which bromeliads can grow is lessened.  Our study shows that not only does selective logging have an effect on bromeliad communities within tropical forests, but also on the communities that reside within them.  It is apparent that in order to protect these centers of biodiversity, we must seriously consider the impacts of global forestry practices.

We’d like to thank our professors and TAs for their advice and assistance in the field. We would also like to thank the staff at Refugio Bartola for all of their hard work, our fellow FBQers for positivity, and our friends and family at home for their continued support. Finally, we’d like to thank the bromeliads and macroinvertebrates that were integral to our study.

One Slice of Pizza, One Slice of Hard Facts

Joey sorting through bromeliad contents in the evening
Joey sorting through bromeliad contents in the evening

It seems strange writing from the comfort of my bed in the land of warm showers and delivery pizza. While the change of scenery has its amenities, I did not anticipate an almost immediate sense of nostalgia. I miss Nicaragua. I miss being able to call a tropical rainforest my backyard. I even miss my muddy clothes; they told the story of my day, of a tumble at the difficult canyon ascent on the orange trail or a crawl in the leaf litter after some unknown insect.

I began my journey with a search for answers. While I may have romanticized the novel scientific question, I did come back with some exciting discoveries. I can now say that I speak fluent bromeliad. What I mean to say is that after three weeks of sifting through the innards of these plants I have an understanding of the complexity of my biological system. It is profound how integral bromeliads are in many different trophic levels; capuchins eat them, geckos hunt in them, rodents defecate in them, and much, much more.   I’ve also come back knowing a lot more about myself. I am confident that the life of a field biologist is something that I could become quite accustomed to. To stand at the precipice of discovery (and hopefully cross it) with your feet planted in the wild earth is incomparable in my opinion. I also learned a lot from my colleagues and my friends. They challenged me to try new foods (I already miss miel de chayote), to improvise with the materials I had in front of me rather than what I had left behind (cut to Tinh’s ant arena, or Tinh’s tethered bullet ant, or Tinh’s pseudo-bird cutout), to appreciate the small things about my day that I would have otherwise overlooked.

It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that this was one of the most incredible things I have ever done. My first time outside of the country also became my first time sitting at the mouth of a cave during dusk bat emergence, my first time pulling a coconut from the top of a palm, my first time having to dodge monkey projectiles, and so it goes.  Some of my favorite moments of the trip were the smallest things. I’ll never forget being stranded under the trunk of a large tree when the large storms hit, or racing back down the Río San Juan in order to beat the setting sun, or even the indescribable call of the Montezuma’s Oropendola—underwater slot machines? While it’s sad leaving, being back at home means I have more questions to explore. Namely, will all of the hard work that I put into data collection yield anything extraordinary?

Until Next Time,

Joseph Nikko Curti

Part Sloth, Part Self-Discovery

Before I left I made a list of things that I wanted to see while I was in Nicaragua.  Not unlike others traveling to the Neotropics, my list included some of the species you most often associate with a tropical rainforest; a sloth, a macaw, the poison dart frogs, and if I was lucky enough, some of the big cats.  While I’ve seen nearly everything I came here for, I’m perhaps more excited with a new list that I’ve been working on.

1)      A novel question is not determined by the resources you have in the field.  Practically anything can be fashioned from common items.  While I was sure that bromeliad water was going to contain some insects, I could have never imagined how many small permutations of a worm body could exist that seemed impossible to classify without needing a labs worth of equipment.  With the opposite end of a pair of binoculars and a headlamp, however, the tiny features of the invertebrates became my own personal sci-fi horror film.

2)     Seize the opportunity to collect data.  Who knows when three continuous days of downpour will become your next obstacle to overcome.  But really, tropical wet forest is an understatement.

3)     When you feel overwhelmed by complication after complication, try an objective ear.  Several times on this trip, in the anxiety of testing something that isn’t trivial, I’ve wanted to quit.  What could I possibly do in this small amount of time with the few resources that I have?  And unsuspectingly Juan strolls by and solves my ultimate demise with a casual suggestion.

4)     Forget the mirror.  While I know it’s trite to reject vanity, it’s indescribable how nice it is to give my full attention to my project.  For the past week and a half I haven’t had a mirror, not to mention my continual state of indifferent muddiness, and it’s been freeing.

Surely this isn’t exhaustive.  I’m still learning.  If anything this trip has inspired me to return to the tropics.  Without question this is what I want to commit myself to.   Nothing can beat the feeling of sitting in a hammock with a cold coke after a long day of data collection, feeling an inch away from knowing just one thing about a tiny worm or a brilliantly colored bee (and maybe about yourself).

Until next time,

JC

The Fleeting, the Flying, and the Undescribed

Science is like any great craft in that the amount of effort placed upon the object of desire is proportional to the quality of the yield. Finding my interests through literature and observation was a challenge (but an enjoyable one), but when compared to the difficulties of refining my product, seems trivial. I don’t think I could have ever understood the true complexity of addressing a scientific question regardless of how many papers I wrote or articles I read back at home. While it is easy to confuse my time here with vacation because of how beautiful my surroundings are, I am here for work, to produce something tangible from the fleeting, the flying, and the undescribed.

While the product of my science may be challenging, I have enjoyed every second of it. Coming into the field with only a gardener’s perspective on neotropical flora, I am awestruck by how much there is to learn about the plants here. I came to Nicaragua with the skeleton of an idea surrounding the biological systems supported by the pools of water that collect within bromeliads. I predicted that the link between human presence and community assemblage in these pools would be simple; more people, more selective logging, less diversity. Using local openness and closure of the canopy surrounding the bromeliad as a proxy for logged forest and unlogged forest, our results have been anything but simple. Each time I sample a bromeliad with my partner Michelle, we find untold treasures. And by treasures, I mean worms. And sometimes scorpions… Again, I am really just beginning to understand that nothing is simple in science and very rarely can anyone capture the infinite intricacies of a biological system with a preliminary prediction.

The same can be said for my behavior project on orchid bees. While bromeliads are kind enough to remain stationary during sampling, orchid bees seem spiteful in comparison. Shying away from further anthropomorphic musings, orchid bees are truly the most fascinating thing I’ve seen here. Try to imagine a study species that seems to change size and coloration every time you meet it. The permutations of color are enough to make sitting and observing for 40-50 minutes fly by—some deep sapphire blue, some marrying teal and green, others a rainbow of color (one, with a blue head, orange abdomen, and a green thorax we literally named rainbow). But as before, our research is complicated by the complexity of their behavior. Every trial, which we accomplish by eucalyptus oil lures, shows that these bees have a vast repertoire of behaviors when competing for the oils. Each new behavior we observe, while surprising and intriguing, means we must refine our question further for fear of generalizing the details.

In light of the difficulties, I am in love with my surroundings. I will surely miss digging bromeliad gunk from my nails at the end of the day. Well, maybe not.

Cheers,

Joey

Diamonds in the Leaf Litter

Hello All,

It’s really incredible how slow time moves here. My day starts with either the explosion of rain on our tin roof or the ominous shrieking of Mantled Howler Monkeys.  From there I divide the time between meals with my two projects, trekking up and down canyons and wading through streams.  By the time I return to the rancho, my boots usually weigh another couple pounds from the mud that I’ve accrued in my journeys.   It is in that state that I’m now writing to you with my reflections from the past couple days.

The first thing I’ve learned in Nicaragua is the value of patience in fieldwork.  Nothing ever takes how long you think it will—sitting and waiting for an orchid bee is no exception. After twenty minutes of watching a log it is easy to get discouraged, but without notice the flash of iridescent green can make the whole wait worthwhile.

These past five days have been an exercise of perspective.  The first night, after settling into our rooms, a few of us went for our first hike.  We ventured for what seemed like quite a long time on a stretch of trail along the Rio San Juan, stopping and obsessing over every spider and frog we encountered.  In the light of day, we had barely stepped onto the trail network; the newness of our surroundings had completely captivated us.
With the beam of a headlamp, the trail paths look like diamond paved roads from the eye shine of the litter dwelling spiders.  What I wouldn’t dream of touching in the US now fascinate me beyond belief.  Driven by my awe of the immense species diversity and the smallness I feel among the towering canopy trees, I am braver and more alert than I ever imagined I would be.  I look forward to what changes I will see in the next couple weeks.

Best,

Joey

Searching for Answers (and Data)

Hello All,

Nothing beats the anticipation of leaving the country for the first time.   All I have to do is think about customs and I get fever dreams. On January 28th I will be boarding a plane out of LAX to begin a three week long research trip to Nicaragua where I will be completing two projects on Field Behavior and Conservation Biology.

The first ten years of my life I lived on a horse ranch. Every day I learned a new concept of biology, whether it was the ants that invaded my pepper tree fort or watching a mare give birth.   Surely this had some role in my decision to go to UCLA and more specifically to focus my studies on Environmental Science and Conservation Biology.   I can only imagine what younger me would do if he knew some day he would be participating in such a unique and valuable project, in Nicaragua of all places!

Perhaps even more horribly exciting/terrifying than leaving the country for three weeks is my hope for measureable, quantifying, and novel data. I know that this is not a unique experience; every butterfly-net-wielding, fisherman-vest-owning scientist has felt this. For me, a lot more seems to be riding on this.

When I came to UCLA I knew I wanted to be a surgeon. And then I didn’t know what I wanted or who I was (again, not a unique feeling).   I have since then taken relative comfort in the idea that I will grow up (or perhaps I will never grow up) and contribute to conservation research. Maybe even save a species or two, you know, attainable goals. These next few weeks are going to validate this, hopefully. I imagine myself stepping off of the 4 hour boat ride down the Río San Juan, placing my two feet on the dark chocolate rainforest floor, and knowing that THIS is what I want to do for the rest of my life. But I could just as likely perish from over-perspiration and return to Los Angeles, knowing nothing once again.

Until Then, Cheers,

Joseph Nikko Curti