The Waiting Game

I am finding more and more that I am frustrated when other people don't work on the weekends; usually this is because I need something done ASAP. About a week ago, I received word that my rare mangrove propagules (which are vital to my experiment in Florida, central to my dissertation research, and NOT easy to get) had been collected. Great! I hired one of the boat drivers who works with the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute in Bocas del Toro to visit some faraway sites and collect 150 propagules (aka seeds) for me. That was the easy part. Next they needed to be sent to me, either to the US, or to somewhere in Panama where I could pick them up. The latter option was better because I could accompany them on their journey and make sure the proper documentation was presented at the appropriate times. However, when I asked for them to be sent on Friday, no answer. No work on the weekends. My anxiety was based on the fact that these are live plants, not dormant seeds, that need to stay moist in order to remain viable. But because they are moist they are more likely to rot/mold/grow fungi and therefore not travel well. So Monday through Wednesday I called to ask where my propagules were, and repeatedly got the answer, "they'll be sent tomorrow." Once again, it is sometimes hard to convey a sense of urgency and actually be understood in Panama. I had to pick up the propagules by Thursday so I could turn them in to be inspected by the Panamanian authorities, get a phytosanitary certificate stating they were clean of pests and soil, etc. and then get on the plane with them on Friday. On Thursday at noon I arrived at the Smithsonian headquarters to pick up my package and behold! They were not there. The person in charge of packages told me the propagules were on a truck that someone had out at the moment, and he would return in an hour and half and could I please return then to pick them up? Now, why on earth were they on a truck and not at the loading dock where they were supposed to be? Though this was extremely frustrating, I could do nothing but wait. Luckily I only had to wait 45 minutes and then I carted them off in the direction of the vegetation inspection people. Their office was hard to locate, and the taxi driver had to call them on my cell phone at least 5 times before we finally arrived. I turned in my precious propagules and waited...I could call the next day (Friday, the day I was supposed to fly home) to see if they passed their inspection. I went to a hotel near the airport and waited. The next morning, just as I was getting ready to call, my phone rang. The propagules received a clean bill of health! Woo hoo! That was what I was worried about--after waiting three months for my collecting permit and four months for my export permit, waiting to receive the propagules and hoping they were still moist--but the propagules were sanitary and I got my certificate stating so. Now all I had to do was board a plane, show the forms in Miami, and I could start planting the next day!

But not quite...at US customs, I showed up to "Agricultural Control" with my plants, expecting them to be inspected. Guess what? Agricultural control doesn't actually DO agricultural control. What a surprise! No one from the US Department of Agriculture is on duty to inspect the quarry of law-abiding, permit-carrying citizens. Sure, they will confiscate fruit you bring in, but to have my permits looked at the propagules had to be sent elsewhere to the USDA inspection station, which of course is not open at 8 o'clock on a Friday night. Great. So I left the Miami airport propagule-less, hoping and hoping that they will survive the weekend AND pass their US inspection AND be returned to me while they are still viable and I can plant them. So now I wait...

Nature documentary

Going out in boats is not always scary; in fact sometimes it is more like a nature documentary than a thriller. Here, we explore a river where the rare mangrove Pelliciera rhizophorae occurs.

Purple lightning

Imagine being in a small inflatable boat in the Caribbean sea, with rain pelting down and purple lightning streaking across the sky. That was my reality yesterday. It started raining in the morning when our boat trip was postponed due to rain. However, it cleared up later in the day. Five of us went out in the boat; three were dropped off at a small island to search for a specific intertidal snail, and two of us went to the mangroves. It started pouring as I was standing in the forest recording data, but I managed to bail most of the water out of the boat by the time we got back to the island to pick up the rest of the group. Then the rain became a thunderstorm. We pulled our snorkeling companions out of the water and waited under a thatched roof hut...the rain continued pouring down, thunder rumbling and lightning striking uncomfortably close by. We crossed the island to wait near the boat. By then, the island's caretaker (the island is owned by a German man who was not present) joined us and we all waited under their glass-roofed boat launch. The rain came harder and harder, the thunder rolled loud enough to wake the dead, and a howling wind started up. We huddled against a wall, wearing our lifejackets to insulate ourselves against the wind in hopes of staving off hypothermia. We waited half an hour or forty-five minutes, then realized we better get going before sunset. We armed ourselves with buckets and bailed a huge amount of water out of the boat. The rain had let up, so I thought we were homefree. But though the sky was clear and beautiful behind us, it was dark and stormy in the direction we were heading. It was only a 20-minute boat ride, so it couldn't be so bad, right? The rain wasn't bad at first and neither were the waves, but as we made our way across the bay--that is, we became the only object in a large expanse of open water--we saw lightning across the entire sky. Purple lightning! I don't know what made it purple, but it was a brilliant violet color. As long as it was horizontal, I thought we would be fine. All of a sudden I saw vertical lightning, hitting water way off in the distance. We were only halfway to our destination, and though the lab was in sight it felt like it took forever to get there. As we approached the waves became bigger and bigger, crashing into the reef. Finally, we arrived. Back at the lab there was no power from the storm. At least we had hot water so we could warm up from the wind and rain!

Exciting mammal sighting

Today while I was running in the late afternoon, I saw a large animal coming down the road toward me. At first I thought it was a big dog. Then I thought it was a bear. Then I realized it was neither, and must be one of the animals that occur only in the tropics such as a paca, tapir, or capybara. It was large, rotund, and black. Upon my return to the lab I consulted mammal reference books, and I narrowed it down to a tapir or a capybara. Unfortunately it happened so quickly and early into my run that I cannot remember what the nose looked like...the most distinguishing feature between a tapir and capybara. Everyone at the lab thinks it was a capybara (which are cuter, by the way) because they have never seen a tapir here. However, as more and more surrounding forest is cut to make way for shipping containers at the Caribbean terminus of the Panama canal, animals that have never been spotted at Punta Galeta are being seen. One person saw a large cat (panther, perhaps?) and a fellow runner saw an animal with a tapir-like nose. I will have to spot the dark stranger another time to come to a satisfying conclusion.

Sleeping sloth

Two-toed sloths are less common in low elevations than their three-toed counterparts (the earlier sloth video is a three-toed). You can tell them apart by their eye patches; three-toed sloths have circles around their eyes and two-toed sloths don't. Both have three claws on their hind feet; it is the front feet that sets them apart. Their claws allow them to grip tree branches and hang upside down without expending energy. Although they are not graceful walkers, sloths are excellent swimmers! Two-toed sloths are aggressive, so I avoided provoking this one. This is a sloth doing what it does best:

A knight in shining armor

This is my new best friend:

It is an hourglass tree frog (Hyla ebraccata). It lives in areas with heavy rainfall and its geographic range extends from Mexico to Panama. The name comes from the dark hourglass pattern on its back:

I thought this particular frog might be a prince, so I tried to kiss him but he would have none of it. Don't tell my boyfriend.

Boats

Here is a riddle: if you have a boat on the Pacific coast of Panama, and a marine laboratory on the Caribbean coast, how can you get the boat to the laboratory?

Could you rent a trailer from one of the yacht clubs on the Pacific coast, take the boat to the Caribbean, and return the trailer? Could you drive the boat through the large waterway that connects the two coasts, also known as the Panama Canal? Could you borrow a trailer from the Caribbean coast, drive it to the Pacific coast, and drive back with both the boat and the trailer? Could you take one of the eight boats at the Smithsonian lab further up the coast and transport it, over land or water, to the lab without a boat?

Answer: None of the above. For reasons I do not understand, the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute is incapable of using any of these transportation solutions. The marine lab is left without a boat, and researchers such as myself are left unable to do our research that requires boat transportation. If not for the large ships lined up to enter the canal and the oil refinery nearby, I would just paddle myself to the site in a kayak. Unfortunately, it is pretty far, the water can be choppy, and I don't have a kayak available any more than a larger boat. This has been the case for two trips I have taken to the lab in question in the last six months. I don't know if this is a reflection of bureaucracy in general, the Smithsonian specifically, Panamanian culture or the American government. Regardless, the idiocy of the situation is infuriating.

Sloths

Sloths are known for moving slowly, but this one is moving its jaws quickly. Notice how it is hanging upside down by one foot.

Mangroves and Manatees

We went searching for mangroves, and we found manatees! The sign said "Do not molest the manatees." We made sure not to.

The Magic School Bus

7.1.10

This morning I awoke at 6:10 to a torrential downpour. Of course this is not an unusual occurrence in the tropics during the rainy season, but it was alarming because we needed to be on an 8:00 flight from Bocas del Toro to Panama City, then take a taxi to the international airport in Panama City in time for Sierra’s 11:54 am flight. My flight to Miami would take off an hour later. We had plenty of time scheduled to get between airports, but the rain, thunder and lightning made it unlikely that we would take off on time from the Caribbean island we were on. When we left the Smithsonian station to go the airport, it took a few minutes to find a cab; this was enough time for our luggage to get soaked. From previous visits, I found it ineffective to call a cab early in the morning, especially because there are usually more cabs than any other type of car in Bocas del Toro. When we finally did get inside a taxi pickup truck, it also picked up 2 children in school uniforms. Then it stopped again and picked up 2 more. We were riding in a school bus taxi! In Bocas del Toro, taxis only cost 25 cents for the locals, so it makes sense that children would ride taxis to school. But what didn’t make sense was why, every few minutes, our taxi driver felt the need to bark like a dog. It was a pretty good dog impression and had I not seen his mouth moving I would have thought a dog was trying to go to school too.

The fact that students take taxis to school is not because there are no school buses. In fact, there are tons of American school buses driving around Panama. They are not yellow, but usually painted with a multitude of brilliant colors and portraits of famous boxers, Jesus, or family members of the driver. They often have bright flashing lights and plastic fins on top, which might make them look like some sort of strange sea monster if they were submerged in water. These are the local city buses. They are referred to as the Diablo Rojo, possibly because of the way they drive with no regard for other people on the road, lane lines, or the copious diesel exhaust pouring out of them. I have never been on one, but I have narrowly escaped being hit by one in my rental car multiple times. After years of riding a school bus in the US, I have no desire to be crammed onto a sticky bus designed for small children. I think the key lies in the fact that most Panamanians are rather short and thus are appropriately sized for the buses. It seems to function enough so that in Panama, taxis serve as school buses and school buses take adults to work.