Treeboat – Where Dreams Take Flight

I have always wanted to fly. If I were ever granted by divine gift the superpower of my choice, I would choose flight. Let me soar over the forests, give tail-chase to the birds, hover at every sunset, and heaven would have me wrapped in wings. Most of my best dreams have taken me flying. One day I am fidgeting with a mundane object like an umbrella and by total accident I discover the secret move needed for it to fly. Or else I am running pell-mell down a steep and incredibly high hill when my feet catch in the grass, and falling forward I open my arms only to suddenly swoop into the sky, forever released into my fantasy.

Only in my dreams.

Until now. I found that mundane object that lets me fly, and if you promise not to tell anyone else I will show you how it looks, like this:

Canopy Watch International
Sunrise casts a halo on a treeboat (or is it the reverse?) flying at 165 feet high in an old-growth Sitka spruce in Washington State, USA. Photo © David L. Anderson

This, dear friend, is a treeboat. The unenlightened may believe the treeboat to be a simple hammock, and we can leave them with their poor vision, but you and I, friend, we know better. Treeboats are designed and built for sleeping in the tops of trees. A hammock is a platform for drinking cold alcohol over sandy beaches, and any parrot head can hang one while standing on the ground. Treeboats are made with heavy canvass and straps strong enough to tow a truck. In the hands of an expert they are slung hundreds of feet above the ground. Choose the tallest tree, recline amongst the branches, close your eyes to half-open, and the sway of the canopy and the kiss of the wind will fly you over the forest.

Jamz Luce, grand master of big tree climbing, and treeboat guru.  Photo © David L. Anderson
Jamz Luce, grand master of big tree climbing, and treeboat guru. Photo © David L. Anderson

Fantasy in bed is the hunger that unites all young boys until one passionate night they are released into manhood. In a single moment longing turns to swagger, wonder to knowledge. I lost my treeboat virginity suspended 165 feet high in a Sitka spruce. A non-believer, I thought a treeboat to be some sort of a hammock, and my biggest concern was falling to death. A much greater fear is living an experience so pure and so vital that there is no looking back. I was rocked by a Barred Owl calling its mournful “who-cooks-for-you” in the light of a full moon. I floated through moon beams on a bed of fresh air high above the forest floor. With my eyes snapped wide open I found the secret of flight. It was a night of pleasure that divided my whole life into the before and the after. Before I experienced treeboating it was enough to hide under blankets and spy the glossy pages of tree climbing catalogs.  After I learned to fly I would never again be content to sleep on the ground.

Some poor doubter is going to think that this is just a bunch of hype, artistic license designed to get attention. Let me give you some perspective. I remember the night I slept on the plank floor of a palm-thatched house of a Miskito Indian family, as Caribbean waves lapped the beach under my head. I remember the night in Glacier Basin when the light of the stars was so huge that I could have performed brain surgery on my backpacking partner Phil, no external light source needed. Some nights are unforgettable and their memory never fades. Sleeping in a treeboat went beyond all that. It was magic. Let dreams take flight.

Sunset as seen from a treeboat floating high above the forest.  Photo © Jama Luce.
Sunset as seen from a treeboat floating high above the forest. Photo © Jamz Luce.
Sunrise in the treeboat, and ready for landing.  Photo © David L. Anderson
Sunrise in the treeboat, and ready for landing. Photo © David L. Anderson

Treeboats are made by New Tribe in Grants Pass, Oregon. Look for them here.

I would like to thank Jamz Luce for introducing me to treeboating, and  New Tribe for inventing the Treeboat.

New Tribe
Parting shot: The treeboat glows with the pure joy of flying. Photo © David L. Anderson

Bald Eagles at home

I’m biased. I love Bald Eagles. There are those who will say they are just lazy eaters of carrion, glorified vultures as it were. I think they’re awesome. The white head and tail are brilliant against the brown back and wings. And lazy? I once saw a male Bald Eagle spot an anchovy floating half a mile away on the Pacific Ocean. In one long swoop, without a single wing beat, he dropped from his cliff perch, glided low over the water, and clutched that anchovy with a massive craggy foot. It was an in-your-face demo of grace and power, a display of total confidence. When I saw that I jumped up whooping and hollering.

When was the last time you got to observe Bald Eagles at the nest? If you’re not a biologist, the answer might be “never.” Unless you have friends in the right places. Early this year Bob Christensen, president of the group Friends of Deer Flat National Wildlife Refuge, asked Canopy Watch to install nest cameras at Deer Flat. He had two nests that were out of sight and whose annual fates were a mystery. Happy to oblige, Bob. Who would have guessed that simple trail cameras would take such great photos! I won’t kill the buzz of these great pics with a lot of talk. Enjoy.

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What an incredible image! One eagle, probably the male, delivering nest material in his talons.
What an incredible image! One eagle, probably the male, delivering nest material in his talons.
Can you believe this?!  One eagle perched, one flying, and three eggs in the nest.  Incredible view of eagles at home.
Can you believe this?! One eagle perched, one flying, and three eggs in the nest. Incredible view of eagles at home.

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Canopy Watch International
The eggs never hatched. By 19 May there was only one left in the nest.

All photos © Friends of Deer Flat National Wildlife Refuge, and USFWS.

Chris Sharma free climbs a redwood

There are lots of Hollywood movies these days about humans with supernatural powers.  Then there is Chris Sharma, who is a real human with real superhuman powers, and you can read about it all over the Internet if you haven’t already.  Chris recently climbed a 253-foot (77-meter) redwood tree in California with only his bare hands and feet.  And I mean no branches.  He just climbed by holding onto the bark.

Chris Sharma clings to a redwood.  The black rope is for safety only, meaning he didn't use it for ascent.
Chris Sharma clings to a redwood. The black rope is for safety only, meaning he didn’t use it for ascent.

Let me help put this into perspective.  First, most trees you find in a forest near you are only half that tall.  I have only been 250 feet up a tree a few times.  Second, when I climb a big tree it takes a ton of gear: a crossbow to shoot a line over the tree, special ropes and harnesses, carabiners, ascenders.  It takes an expedition-sized backpack just to haul that stuff in there, and a Sherpa would be a nice addition.  Sharma?  He just climbed the damned thing.

Please check out the video below.  If that doesn’t get you high on tree climbing I don’t know what can.  When you are able to clamp your mouth shut again and wipe the drool off your shirt, you can Google “Chris Sharma climbs a redwood” for more photos and stories.

View from a large ponderosa pine in Idaho

There is no way to describe the feeling of being in the top of a tall tree, but I’ll try!  Thrilling, peaceful, nervous, accomplished, humble.  This mix of feelings is a start.  It’s an accomplishment when you finally make it to the top, but that notion doesn’t last long when you realize how small you are, and when you think that with one small error something really bad could happen.  It is peaceful because it’s quiet and there is nothing around you but the birds and the wind.  When you’re in the top of a doozy even a slight breeze will start the crown gyrating in a slow dance with the other tree tops around you.  It’s like being inside a kaleidoscope of shifting patterns of green, blue, grey, and brown.  I can sit all day in these beauties, just watching birds and feeling the different patterns of wind and sun.  Here are a few views from up in a 180-foot tall ponderosa tree in the Intermountain West of the United States.

 

Canopy Watch International
View from up in a 180-foot (55 m) tall ponderosa pine (Pinus Ponderosa)

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As always, if you like the post please share or subscribe!

All photos © David L. Anderson.

A research trip on Northern Goshawks

I’d like to introduce you to the Northern Goshawk (Accipter gentilis).  This predatory bird rules the forest.  They are battleship gray with eyes that reflect the blood color of squirrel and bird meat that they eat and feed their nestlings.  Goshawks are as fearless as they are fierce.  If you get anywhere near the nest they will come at you with talons open, and you have to dodge and duck or risk getting your face raked open.  To learn more about Goshawk research in Idaho, visit the blog of Rob Miller.

Northern Goshawk, Intermountain Bird Observatory
Meet the Northern Goshawk, absolute ruler of the forest. Photo © Robert Miller.

As a biologist and tree climber, I am asked on occasion by other biologists to aid in their research.  Such is the case here, where I helped Intermountain Bird Observatory and Boise State University with research on one of the coolest raptors in North America.  It’s no lie that I admire this bird.  I weigh about 65 times more than one of these birds, but it takes a lot of nerve to climb into one of their nests because they are literally trying to rip my head off, and they have the means.  But I digress.  The few photos below tell the story of a climb into a single nest in June of 2015.

On the ground looking up a lodgepole pine (Pinus contorta) that makes up this stand.
On the ground looking up a lodgepole pine (Pinus contorta) that holds a Goshawk nest near the top.

Goshawks like to nest in mature forests with trees of different ages and sizes.  On the Sawtooth National forest that means quaking aspen and lodgepole pine.  The above tree was about two feet in diameter, and the nest was about 40 feet high.

Halfway up the tree, the view looks like this.
Halfway up the tree, the view looks like this.

Lodgepole pines aren’t usually very big, and it only takes a few, maybe 30 minutes, to get up the tree.

Getting close to the nest, and this is the first good view.  The trick is to climb high enough past the sticks and branches to be able to reach into the nest.
Getting close to the nest, and this is the first good view. The trick is to climb high enough past the sticks and branches to be able to reach into the nest.
Reaching for a Goshawk chick in the nest.  They don't like it much!  There are two more in the background, standing as far away from me as they can get.
Reaching for a Goshawk chick in the nest. They don’t like it much! There are two more in the background, standing as far away from me as they can get.

Once at the nest, the trick is trying to get my hands on a feisty bundle of feathers that wants nothing to do with the clumsy white monkey with a helmet.  They have talons and sharp beaks but don’t really know how to use them yet.  Still, it’s important to be cautious and not hurt the little guys.

There is a Goshawk chick in my right hand, and you can see the banding crew in the background.  In a few more seconds I'll lower it to the ground in a soft cotton sack attached to the climbing rope.
There is a Goshawk chick in my right hand, and you can see the banding crew in the background. In a few more seconds I’ll lower it to the ground in a soft cotton sack attached to the climbing rope.

The next task is to get squirming and angry birds to the ground.  I slide them into an elastic sleeve, slip them into a soft cotton bag, and lower them to the ground where a team of biologists is prepared to attach leg bands and take blood samples.

I'm about to return this Goshawk chick to its nest.  All that remains is to slide it out of the sleeve and lay it in the nest.
I’m about to return this Goshawk chick to its nest. All that remains is to slide it out of the sleeve and lay it in the nest.

I lower the chicks one by one, and after they are “processed” (fancy biologist word for getting banded and any needed samples taken, weighed, etc.) I raise them on the rope one by one.  Above, one chick is in the nest, and I’m about to slide another out of its sleeve and back into its home.

Northern Goshawk chick displays its new color band.  Apparently it likes the color purple.
Northern Goshawk chick displays its new color band. Apparently it likes the color purple.

This chick has realized that we mean no harm and are dishing out free jewelry, so it has calmed down a lot.  OK, just kidding.  But you can see some features of the nest in this photo: loose sticks, and lots of greenery that adults use to “decorate” (another biologist term, as if raptors really decorate their homes) the nest.  It is speculated that the fresh pine branches help repel flies that are attracted to rotting squirrels and woodpeckers in the nest.  Hint: doesn’t work!

Rappelling from the tree on a figure-8 is quick and easy.
Rappelling from the tree on a figure-8 is quick and easy.

Biologists don’t take this kind of work lightly.  We know that our intrusion has an impact on the birds.  Our goal is to be in and out of the nest in less than an hour.  Having good climbing skills and being a trained ornithologist help to reduce the time.  But honestly?  It’s a lot of fun.

As always, if you like this post please share or subscribe to the blog!

All photos © David L. Anderson, except the fine Goshawk photo at the lead, compliments of Rob Miller.

View from a large ceiba

One of my favorite sights is the view of a tropical rain forest from the top of a tall tree.  Here is a view from a ceiba tree in the Dominican Republic.  Ceibas are such massive trees that they are like hanging gardens, blanketed with all sorts of plants that grow on their branches, all trying to get up into the sunlight.

Forest coverage in Dominican Republic

Sierra de Agalta National Park, Honduras
Ashes and trunks remain in a forest burned to make a bean field, Sierra de Agalta National Park, Honduras. Photo © David L. Anderson.

Deforestation in Latin America is a pretty complex issue.  At the bottom of the whole deal are a lot of poor citizens with no way to make a living.  When I say “poor” I mean live in a mud hut, no plumbing, grow all your own food, kind of poor.  Agriculture, as it is, often consists of burning a few acres of forest, jabbing a stick in the ground amongst the ashes, dropping a few kernels of corn or beans in the hole, and hoping they grow.  Intense tropical rains quickly wash the nutrients from the soil, and after a few years of worsening crops the farmer is forced to move on, burn more forest, and the cycle repeats.  With the lowlands settled long ago the agriculture frontier marches slowly up the mountains into steeper slopes where poverty takes root better than the corn and beans.

 

 

Refugio de Vida Silvestre Texiguat, Honduras, Central America
Mud houses with thatch roofs built in Texiguat Wildlife Refuge, Honduras. Photo © David L. Anderson

 

Below are a couple of photos that make the point.  The first shows elevations in the Dominican Republic, and the second shows remaining forest coverage.  Note how the forests neatly overlay the mountains.  High mountain ranges become de facto refuges for nature, the last places where forests and wildlife survive.

Map of elevations in the Dominican Republic.  Dark green, orange, brown, red are increasingly higher.  Photo from Atlas de Biodiversidad y Recursos Naturales de la República Dominicana.
Map of elevations in the Dominican Republic. Dark green, orange, brown, red are increasingly higher. Photo from Atlas de Biodiversidad y Recursos Naturales de la República Dominicana.

 

forest coverage map, Dominican Republic
Forest coverage in the Dominican Republic. Shades of green indicate wild vegetation. Photo from Atlas de Biodiversidad y Recursos Naturales de la República Dominicana.

 

Forest conservation in the tropics – troubled waters

When it comes to the conservation of nature, Theodore Roosevelt walked the talk. Twenty-sixth President of the United States, he created 150 National Forests and five National Parks, plus the first 51 Federal Bird Reservations (wildlife refuges), and other protected areas as well. Every year millions of people from around the world are able to visit areas set aside for the conservation of nature in the U.S. thanks to the ethics and foresight of this man. For his actions he is remembered as a conservation hero for nature.

Eligio Vargas was a park guard in the Sierra de Bahoruco National Park, Dominican Republic. His job was to find people who were cutting the forest illegally and report them so that the park could be protected. Illegal cutting in Bahoruco is rampant for the illegal charcoal trade.  In neighboring Haiti, where the forests are almost totally gone, Haitians often cook on charcoal made from forests in the Dominican Republic.  In January 2012 a group of men cutting forest to make charcoal attacked Eligio with rocks and sticks, and when he tried to fight back they slashed his throat with a machete and let him bleed to death in the forest he was trying to protect. For his sacrifice he is remembered as a martyr for nature.

 

Sierra de Bahoruco, Dominican Republic, Eladio Fernandez
Forest in Sierra de Bahoruco, Dominican Republic. This is the type of forest being cut for the illegal charcoal trade. Photo © Eladio Fernandez.

 

Martyrs for nature like Eligio are all too common in the developing world. The conservation of nature works by a whole different set of rules than those we are used to in the United States, Canada, or Europe.

If we look at nature conservation in the Dominican Republic as a simple fact sheet, what we see doesn’t appear all too different from the United States or many developed countries:

  • 31 national parks
  • 30 national monuments
  • 123 designated conservation units overall, declared by government acts for the protection of nature, wildlife, water, and for the enjoyment of Dominican men, women, and children.

On the surface it sounds a bit like the vision of Teddy Roosevelt. On the surface only. Lift up the thin sheet of facts and the reality of nature conservation in Latin America is dark, complex, and downright dangerous.

In poor countries like many of those in Latin America, Africa, and Asia, an entire family may live on only a few hundred dollars a year. You heard right. When a family is that poor, the forest is life. Wood builds houses and cooks food, wild animals are eaten, and the conservation of nature for its own right is a concept that few have ever heard of.

Try this for a minute: Close your eyes and think of what a national park looks like in the United States or Canada. What do you see? Roads, a visitor center, campgrounds, rangers in smart uniforms, signs telling us what we can and cannot do and exactly where and when we can or cannot do those things.

Go to a national park in a developing country and the view is quite different. There are villages, clearings, crops, and people trying to make a living. If there is a forestry office it may or may not have a truck. A park guard like Eligio likely has no uniform. People are living on the edge, and when push comes to shove, nature takes a hit.

The Dominican Republic is no exception. It’s a beautiful country filled with warm people who will invite a total stranger into their house for a cup of coffee. Many of these people live off the land in national parks and other protected areas that are just as endangered as the wildlife that live there. Canopy Watch International is headed there in April to put some images to this story. Please stay tuned.

 

Hispaniolan Trogon (Priotelus roseigaster) is only found on Hispaniola. A threatened species, Sierra de Bahoruco is a good place to find it. Photo © Eladio Fernandez.
Hispaniolan Trogon (Priotelus roseigaster) is found only on Hispaniola. A threatened species, Sierra de Bahoruco is a good place to find it. Photo © Eladio Fernandez.

To read a little on Eligio Vargas, click here.

To see a video on the death of Eligio Vargas and the illegal charcoal trade, click here.

Photos courtesy of and copyright by Eladio Fernandez.  You’ll love his photography – click here.

Destination – Dominican Republic!

Canopy Watch International heads to the Dominican Republic in April for our first canopy expedition! Let’s start with a fact sheet.

Hispaniola is the second largest island in the Caribbean, after Cuba. Two countries are found on Hispaniola, Haiti and the Dominican Republic.

The size of Hispaniola is 29,418 square miles (76,192 square kilometers). For comparison, if Hispaniola were a state in the USA, 40 states would be larger, and only 10 smaller.

Only about 30% remains of the original forests that once covered the Dominican Republic. Just in the period between 2001 and 2010, about 9,653 square miles (25,000 km2) of forest were lost.

Lush tropical forest in Valle Nuevo, Dominican Republic.  Photo from Atlas de Biodiversidad y Recursos Naturales de la República Dominicana.
Lush tropical forest in Valle Nuevo, Dominican Republic. Photo from Atlas de Biodiversidad y Recursos Naturales de la República Dominicana.

Hispaniola is home to 32 endemic bird species found only on this island and nowhere else in the world. Thirty-one species are found in the Dominican Republic. Click here for a list of endemics, and at the bottom of that page is a link to all birds of the island.

Seed dispersal in an empty forest

Scientific thinking works like this:  First, we make observations about the natural world.  Next, based on those observations we can make inferences, or hypotheses, that are possible explanations for our observations.  Finally, we can predict what will happen if we somehow alter the set of circumstances upon which our observations and hypotheses are based.  The last step is to conduct tests to see if the hypotheses and predictions are true.  This is how scientists go about learning how the natural world works.

Let’s do this with seed dispersal and see what we can learn.  Based on previous blogs, let’s start with the observations.

OBSERVATION #1:  Plants don’t fly.

Um, yeah.  I’m a reasonable guy, and I can buy that one.  Because plants don’t fly, some species in the rainforest use sheer trickery to get animals to eat their fruits and disperse the seeds all over the land where they will grow into new plants.  Think of this as survival of the fittest, plant style.  Doesn’t sound familiar?  Read some earlier blogs.

OBSERVATION #2:  The forest needs animals.

Um, wait a minute.  Isn’t it the other way around?  Without a forest the animals don’t have a place to live, therefore animals need the forest.  Right?  Perhaps, but the opposite is also true.  What we learned in two earlier blogs is that without animals like toucans to disperse seeds, many forest plants, from lofty trees to pesky mistletoes, don’t stand a chance of ever spreading their genes into a next generation.  So yes, the forest needs animals, as in winged and legged dispersers of seeds.

OK, because plants don’t fly, the forest needs animals.  Now the scientist in me asks, “What will happen to the rainforest if the animals were to disappear?”  Maybe the seed dispersers go on strike or something.  For a scientist with too much time on his hands it is simply too much drama.  Even better, it’s the subject of today’s blog, and we will give our drama a name, “Seed dispersal in an empty forest.”  I bet you can’t wait!

But first, let’s take a trip to the rainforest and meet the cast.

White-faced monkey, Cebus capuchinus, seed disperser
White-faced monkey (Cebus capuchinus). Monkeys are major dispersers of large seeds. Monkeys love to eat fruits, they clamber all around the forest canopy, and they are messy eaters who drop stuff they don’t want, like seeds. Photo © Roy Toft.
Central American agouti, Dasyprocta punctata.
Central American agouti (Dasyprocta punctata). Agoutis are rodents in the tropical forest that eat seeds, unlike other animals that are after the fruit. They carry seeds in their mouths, some get dropped here and there, and one day a lucky seed carried away by an agouti will grow into a nice sapling and later a large tree. Photo © Roy Toft.
Toco Toucan, Ramphastos toco, seed disperser
Toco Toucan (Ramphastos toco). Toucans have large bills for a reason. They use them to reach out and pluck fruits from trees. But they don’t poop the seeds out; after flying through the forest they cough them up. Many seeds actually require this type of treatment. They are evolved not to germinate unless exposed to the acid in animal stomachs. Photo © Roy Toft.

Now let’s skip ahead and visit some predictions about the empty forest.

PREDICTION #1:  If we lose our seed dispersers from a particular forest, there will be a decline in plant species with large seeds that rely on animals to “fly” their seeds for them.   Makes total sense.  Without seed dispersal those large seeds will fall under the parent tree where most will rot in piles, and the few survivors will choke each other out in a battle for sunlight.

PREDICTION #2:  In the empty forest, there will be fewer sapling trees, period.  This one is more complicated, so let’s think about it.  Seeds that are transported away from the parent tree are more likely to live, and most of those that fall under the parent will perish.  Without animal dispersers to help out, few seeds in this forest ever get to travel to safe sites, and fewer ever germinate and grow into trees.  So, overall we predict fewer total saplings than in a nearby forest with all its animal dispersers still in place.

Now for the weird part – I’m not making this stuff up!  This little drama has actually happened in real life and scientists are watching the whole thing.

Screeeech! – Rewind!  The forest lost its animals?!?  Yes.  In developing countries in the tropics like Brazil, Colombia, and Peru, food is hard to come by.  When a new road punches through the rainforest for logging, mining or oil exploration, humans move in, and hungry humans fan out with rifles and eat the fauna.  Agoutis, toucans, monkeys – that’s what is on the menu.  Given enough time, a small community of people can totally eradicate the larger wildlife species in the forest.

And come to find out, when animals disappear from the forest, the whole forest gets turned on its head.  I didn’t have to make up today’s predictions; I borrowed them from Dr. John Terborgh at Duke University.  Terborgh and his team counted animal seed dispersers and saplings in two forests in Peru.  The forests are only 90 km apart and the only difference is that in one the large wildlife that disperse seeds are basically extinct due to hunting, and in the other no hunting takes place.

The predictions turned out to be true.  There are fewer saplings in the empty forest, and of those saplings the scientists found, almost none grew from large seeds dispersed by animals.

This is bad news for biodiversity.  The preservation of biodiversity depends on natural balance.  Once we lose the trees with large fruits that animals eat, this forest will never again be home for toucans and monkeys.  Next we lose the animals that eat animals, like jaguars and eagles.  A rainforest without wildlife just isn’t a rainforest anymore.  It’s quiet, lonely, and just plain unnatural.  Biodiversity goes in the tank.

Animals need forests.  Forests need animals.  And so do we.

jaguar, Panthera onca
Jaguar (Panthera onca), largest cats of the Americas. Photo © Roy Toft.
Harpy Eagle, Harpia harpyja, The Peregrine Fund
Harpy Eagle (Harpia harpyja), largest eagle in the world. At the top of the food chain, they depend on the animals that eat seeds too. Photo © José de Jesús Vargas Gonzales of The Peregrine Fund.

Photo Credits

CWI thanks Roy Toft of Roy Toft Photography and Photo Safaris for another fine set of professional photos.

References – for more information.

Terborgh, J., G. Nuñez-Iturri, N. C. A. Pitman, F. H. C. Valverde, P. Alvarez, V. Swamy, E. G. Pringle, and C. E. T. Paine.  2008.  Tree recruitment in an empty forest.  Ecology 89(6): 1757-1768.  pdf

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