We arrange for the horses to be ready at 9 a.m. Initially the crew tell us it will cost about $30 to rent a horse for a day, but the ranchers counter with $50. This is more than I am prepared to spend, but with some negotiation we settle on $40 for each of the seven horses plus a guide for the day. I decide $280 is well worth the opportunity to access an area in our flora region that otherwise would be unreachable.
The ship moves overnight. We arrive here at 4:30 a.m., just 15 minutes after I come up on the deck. However, except for the captain’s area, all is quiet with the crew and so I return to my bunk until there is more activity and the sun is up. Returning to deck at 7:30 a.m.–still the first non-crew–I find that we are in a quiet bay and that there is a light rain falling. The bay is fed by a shallow but broad river originating at a glacier. As a consequence, the water in the bay is milky and opaque from the large silt load. I don’t remember ever having seen this down here before and I wonder if it will be an indication of a different local substrate (and thus a different bryoflora).
After several seasons of collecting in pristine areas, the existence of a ranch just over the hill from where we are anchored and evidence of human influence on the landscape seems quite odd. When we split up half the group goes to see the ranch and look for bryophytes on disturbed substrates. I, along with Paddy and Niels, choose to cross the bay which proves quite the challenge. The cloudiness of the water combines with what I can only interpret as low tide making the bottom invisible. As the Zodiac approaches the shore, the water begins to churn with the activity of what seems to be a large number of large fish (we couldn’t be sure because the water is so cloudy we can’t actually see what is causing the commotion).
Our Zodiac runs aground at least 50 yards from shore and we are surprised to find the water shallow enough to wade to shore through a muddy, seaweedy slush. Our boots sink into the slimy mess up to our ankles making each step a chore. While we struggle to shore, the existence of fish is confirmed; after dropping us off the crew get a net and go fishing. By the time I return to the Zodiac the crew have caught well over 20 fish, each about a foot long, each the same and going by the local of name of robalo. There will be fresh fish for dinner tonight, and for days to come. The freezer is now well stocked!
Scott A. Mori has been studying New World rain forests for nearly 40 years. He has witnessed an unrelenting reduction in the extent of the forests he studies and, as a result, has become concerned about their future.
From December of 1995 onward, the Institute of Systematic Botany at the NYBG has periodically worked with Michael Rothman to prepare paintings representing the research of our curators. Over the next year, the curators and the paintings that represent their work will be presented in a series of essays on Plant Talk. Today, I introduce the artist and discuss his painting of the understory of a lowland rain forest in French Guiana. I chose this painting to start with because it illustrates the rich biodiversity of lowland tropical rain forest, an area where I have studied plants for many years. If you wish to see rain forest or cloud forest throughout the year without traveling, you can enjoy tropical plants and get out of the cold at the same time by visiting the Garden’s Tropical Paradise exhibition in the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory.
“A Terrestrial View of a Rain Forest in Central French Guiana” by Michael Rothman.
Botanical art and the study of plants are inseparable. In the course of my career, I have relied on Bobbi Angell for the preparation of the line art accompanying my species descriptions of the Brazil nut family, as well as those depicted in the Guide to the Vascular Plants of Central French Guiana, and the Flowering Plants of the Neotropics. In all, Bobbi has prepared a total of 600 illustrations for me.
The engines of the ship start at 5 a.m. and, as promised, we get an early start toward our next site. Also as promised, the seas are relatively calm and the bunk room remains a seasickness free zone. I get up at 7 a.m., but when I get up to the galley it is still dark with sleeping crew (after all, their beds had been occupied by oil-body photographers until midnight) and the bathroom is occupied. I tried waiting on deck, but wind and rain chase me into the threshold of the galley where I stand quietly in the dark awaiting my turn. Since there isn’t much point in being up, I return to bed for a couple of hours until there is more activity.
Last year we had a dedicated cook for the whole trip but this year we are told it will be a team effort among three members of the crew. We are initially somewhat apprehensive, but also know the crew themselves won’t tolerate poorly prepared food. It turns out we have nothing to worry about–the two guys who are primarily responsible for the food have proven to be better even than previous years. We get our first fresh bread for breakfast, which completely eliminates our last reservations about the food.
We reach our destination for the day in the early afternoon. This is our second repeat site chosen to show the new people a really mature southern beech forest. Only Laura and I have visited this forest before; it is special enough to show the others and to explore what might have been missed the first time. Much to our delight, the forest doesn’t disappoint.
The night ends early and abruptly. Right after 1:30 a.m. we hit a very rough stretch of seas where we have to cross–perpendicular to the wind and waves–a large stretch of open, rough water just south of Cape Froward (the southernmost tip of continental South America). At first the ship is tossed into the air and banged back down into the sea, awakening everyone. Our little ship, a mere 60 × 20 feet, tosses about for hours on end. Anything not tied down or already on the floor is soon there.
Quite reasonably, the crew closes the door to the bunk room so waves won’t slosh down the ladder. However, this makes the room quite warm and increases the prospects of seasickness. And then, just like that, around 4:15 a.m. it all stops; I feel a cool breeze and the seas calm. Most of the group, exhausted from fighting to stay in our bunks and not get sick (some more successfully than others) fall swiftly back to sleep. Unfortunately it is to be a short reprieve.
Ed. note: NYBG scientist and Mary Flagler Cary Curator of Botany, Bill Buck has just returned from his annual expedition to the islands off Cape Horn, the southernmost point in South America, to study mosses and lichens. For the past two years he was able to file stories from the field, but this year’s locations proved so remote he was forced to wait until his return. We will be publishing them over the course of several days.
The waiting is finally over. I arrive here Sunday evening after a grueling 36 hour trip from my home in New York. The trip is always horrible with inevitable long layovers, a 9+ hour international flight, an an additional 4-5 hour flight down to Punta Arenas. It seems somehow unjust after enduring that long flight to then be crammed into an Airbus 320 with scarcely enough leg room for someone significantly shorter than me.
I meet up with Juan Larraín (of previous trips) who is now a post-doctoral student at the Field Museum in Chicago. Juan has already been in Chile for a few weeks to visit his family over the holidays. I hardly recognize him because he has shaved his beard since I saw him last, but he hasn’t shrunk and so is still at least a head taller than most Chileans. I had asked Juan to arrive in Punta Arenas a day earlier than everyone else so he and I could start preparations for this year’s expedition. Additionally, we are welcomed to Punta Arenas by our old friend Ernesto Davis, who also acts as our local facilitator.
Scott A. Mori, Ph.D., Nathaniel Lord Britton Curator of Botany has been studying New World rain forests for The New York Botanical Garden for nearly 35 years. He has witnessed an unrelenting reduction in the extent of the forests he studies and, as a result, is dedicated to preserving the diversity of plants and animals found there.
Snow in South Salem, New York in October 2011.
“So what,” you must be saying to yourself. In spite of how obvious the title is, the lack of cold weather in the tropics contributes both directly and indirectly to tropical biodiversity, the topic of this blog.
One of the many reasons that there are high numbers of species represented by low numbers of individuals in old growth tropical forests–compared to the opposite situation in temperate forests–is because of the greater number of plant/animal interactions in the former. In one of our 2.5 acre tree study plots in central Amazonian Brazil, we registered 285 species of trees with diameters at or above four inches at breast height. Because our plots average 600 trees above this size class per plot, almost every second tree we sampled represented a different species. In contrast, there are fewer than 100 species of trees of all size classes in the entire state of Wisconsin, where I grew up.
Scott A. Mori has been studying New World rain forests for The New York Botanical Garden for over 35 years. He has witnessed an unrelenting reduction in the extent of the tropical forests he studies and as a result has become interested in the ecosystem services provided by them.
Hurricane Sandy left a path of fallen trees throughout its course, including over 100 at The New York Botanical Garden. Included in this devastation at the NYBG was a 101-foot-tall red oak thought to be 200 years old; this majestic tree provided the right habitat for spring-blooming plants in the Azalea Garden. Repeated storms with such force and frequency are making people ask if the storms could be related to global warming.
Climatologists have demonstrated that impressive swings in climate have taken place over the course of earth’s history—for example, the northeastern United States has been covered by glaciers during some periods and by tropical forests at other times. Because of these extremes of climate, it is difficult to say with certainty what the cause of such violent weather is. The proximate, or direct, cause of Hurricane Sandy was the convergence of three “normal” weather patterns: 1) a tropical storm with very strong winds coming from the south; 2) a trough of low pressure from the Arctic that strengthened the storm as it moved north; and 3) a block of high pressure in the northeastern Atlantic which forced the storm inland. In contrast, the more difficult question is: “What are the ultimate causes that make storms stronger and more frequent?”
Scott A. Mori has been studying New World rain forests for The New York Botanical Garden for over 35 years. He has witnessed an unrelenting reduction in the extent of the tropical forests he studies and as a result has become interested in the ecosystem services provided by them.
Manisha Sashital, a student in Environmental Engineering at Carnegie Mellon University, worked on a botanical glossary under the supervision of Dr. Mori as an intern at the Garden this past summer.
Just like languages, the sciences have vocabularies that must be mastered before their literature can be understood. Without understanding vocabulary, one cannot speak or write a language—just like one can not understand the morphology and anatomy of plants; their ecological relationships with other plants and animals; and their interactions with the environment in which they live without understanding the terms that describe the features of plants and their interactions. Learning the terminology of Botany is frustrating to beginners and experienced botanists alike because the vocabulary is vast, there are many synonyms for the same terms, and terms are a combination of Latin, Greek, and English words. There are numerous botanical glossaries available, for example the classics: A Glossary of Botanical Terms by B. D. Jackson and Botanical Latin by William T. Stern, and too many others to mention in this blog. Why then is there a need for another glossary?
The answer is that electronic glossaries provide those with an interest in botany access to more information than hard copy publications. For example, electronic glossaries can be illustrated with more images than hard copy publications because of the high costs of printing, especially of images in color, and they can be immediately corrected when a mistake is brought to the attention of the authors. Electronic glossaries are instantaneously available to anyone with a connection to the internet, and links can be made to definitions of other terms related to a particular term under consideration. In addition, electronic glossaries can be attached to electronic keys to break down complex terminology used to identify unknown plants; for example, if a choice in a key asks if the ovary of a flower is superior or inferior, a link can be provided to these terms in a glossary where they are defined and illustrated.
Want to map the evolutionary path of a plant species? Chances are good that you’ll find yourself thumbing through the stacks in an herbarium sooner or later. Here at the NYBG, the Steere Herbarium maintains a growing collection of over seven million specimens, each one meticulously studied, notated, and cataloged for reference. But botanical science of this tier is first and foremost a visual affair, relying on naked-eye examinations and scanning electron microscopes to untangle origins, relations, and the timeline of a given plant’s life on earth–where it’s been, and where it will be in the future. Needless to say, the effort can be tedious. But thankfully, the speedy march of technology is closing the gap, promising a fresh range of tools for identifying species new and old.
Among them, genomics leads the charge.
Jenn Cable of the New York Genome Center points all eyes toward James Beck, a botanist out of Wichita, Kansas, with a keen understanding of the future of the science. Using cutting edge genetic analysis, he’s now working with Steere Herbarium specialists to look beyond the microscope and into the very DNA of the specimens we keep, turning long-shelved specimens (some centuries old) into treasure troves of evolutionary information.
We arrange for the horses to be ready at 9 a.m. Initially the crew tell us it will cost about $30 to rent a horse for a day, but the ranchers counter with $50. This is more than I am prepared to spend, but with some negotiation we settle on $40 for each of the seven horses plus a guide for the day. I decide $280 is well worth the opportunity to access an area in our flora region that otherwise would be unreachable.
