Whales, Termites and Dragons: Adventures on Volunteer Expeditions

Whales, Termites and Dragons

by

Frank Perkins

Copyright 2011 Frank Perkins

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Introduction to Volunteer Expeditions

Chapter 2 Kenya

Chapter 3 Papua New Guinea

Chapter 4 Costa Rica

Chapter 5 Whales of the Indian Ocean

Chapter 6 Ice Age Seeds in Alaska

Chapter 7 Yellowstone National Park Projects

Chapter 8 Gbirthday in Gbaboni

Chapter 9 Turtles of LA Bay

Chapter 10 Kamchatka Peninsula

Chapter 11 Grenada

Chapter 12 Zimbabwe

Chapter 13 Island in the Sun

Chapter 14 Termites of Namibia

Chapter 15 Dragons!

Chapter 16 Kicked back in Kakadu

Chapter 17 Venezuela Tarpon

Chapter 18 Sally to the South Atlantic

Chapter 19 Indian Elephants Talking

Chapter 20 Crocodiles of the Okavango

Chapter 21 Andros

Chapter 22 Memorable Principal Investigators

Chapter 23 Volunteers

Chapter 24 And in Conclusion

Chapter 1 Introduction to Volunteer Expeditions

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Eating grubs to uphold the honor of western civilization, chasing whales in a tiny inflatable boat in the middle of the Indian Ocean, facing a charging elephant in Zimbabwe are only some of my adventures as a volunteer on research expeditions.

Volunteering provides a means for ordinary people to serve as unskilled staff on research expeditions in almost any part of the world. The best known organization is Earthwatch Institute of Maynard, Massachusetts, although a few similar organizations also offer such trips.

How They Work

The sponsoring organization, such as Earthwatch, offers grants to qualified field researchers. The scientist, or Principal Investigator (PI), submits a grant proposal outlining the intended research, its value, and the plan to carry it out. The proposal is reviewed by a peer committee to evaluate the merit and practicality of the plan. If it is approved, it is listed in a catalog or brochure and distributed to potential lay volunteer participants. The funding for these grants comes from contributions by the participants, in the form of a share of expenses, to cover direct needs of the expedition (such as housing, food, equipment, etc.), as well as the costs of the sponsoring organization for the marketing and administrative expenses.

The sponsoring organization usually qualifies as a non-profit organization, so the expense contribution may be tax deductible. Travel expenses to and from the expedition sites may also qualify as a tax deductible contribution for volunteer participants.

Most expeditions are for a period of about two weeks, although a few a shorter or longer.

Virtues of Volunteer Expeditions

To Volunteers:

Exposure to new environments and scientific procedures can have a big impact on your life. After spending two weeks collecting and sorting moths, you will never view any insect quite the same way. Spend some time balancing a gravity meter on the flank of a volcano and you will have a new insight into what scientists do on field expeditions. Buy groceries for the group in Outjo, Namibia and you’ll have a different feel for Africa than you get from a safari. Another advantage is that you come into closer contact with the host locale and people than in most other forms of travel.

To PI's:

Earthwatch-type grants often go to researchers who would otherwise have difficulty finding sponsorship. They may lack contacts and proposal-writing experience, or their subject may not readily attract funding interest. Some researchers enjoy the contact with enthusiastic lay persons and are skilled in devising work for cheap and unskilled helpers.

To Science in General:

Volunteer expeditions often perform research that would not otherwise be done. Individual efforts may be small but, taken together, they make a significant contribution to overall scientific knowledge. Perhaps more importantly, they expose a significant cadre of lay people to science and its functioning. A lawyer or a teacher is more well rounded after such an expedition and is better able to communicate the value of science to those they encounter in everyday life.

What makes a good project?

The main ingredient of a good project is an appropriate Principal Investigator. He (or she) must realize that the volunteers are of diverse backgrounds and personalities, and some will require a degree of baby-sitting, but they will all have a degree of enthusiasm, and the PI as leader can harness this enthusiasm to achieve a useful, meaningful experience. The expedition subject must lend itself to providing useful tasks to people with little skill in the specialty, and the planning must take this into account.

The Book

Most of the following chapters deal with individual expeditions or areas when I had more than one expedition to a particular area. There are also a few chapters where I share my general observations of Principal Investigators, volunteers, the reality of far places (compared to reports), etc. I hope you enjoy and profit in some way from my experiences.

Chapter 2

Kenya

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The Land Rover gave a final sputter and died and the late afternoon silence of the desert of northern Kenya quickly closed in. We hadn't seen another vehicle on the road all day, and it was clear that we either fix the vehicle or face a long hike to the nearest civilization. I let out a long sigh since I was the designated mechanic - more through default than skill - and it was up to me to get us rolling again.

I was in Kenya as one of six volunteers on an Earthwatch expedition. This was my first volunteer expedition, and it remains one of the most memorable.

It's a long, long trail from Melbourne (Florida) to Kalachi….

Flying from the U.S. to Africa is rough. The only reasonable routing in 1982 was via Europe. Trans-Atlantic flights typically arrive in Europe in early morning, after an overnight flight that doesn't allow much time or comfort for sleeping. Flights from Europe to Africa tend to leave in the evening, so you face a long layover and another long flight. You can rent a day room in a hotel and grab a nap, but that costs money and only delays recovery from jet lag. I opted to spend the day wandering around London, so I was very tired for the Nairobi flight - so tired, I actually slept pretty well on that leg.

But I was still not at full strength the next morning when my luggage failed to show up in Nairobi. I dutifully filled out the lost luggage forms and sallied forth into the terminal, where I expected to be met by someone with an Earthwatch sign. There was no sign, nor any sign of anyone expecting me. I dug into my notes and found a local phone number to call, but didn't get anywhere in contacting Dan, our leader or Principal Investigator. At that stage I was getting pretty discouraged, but things were about to improve. Two fellow tourists overheard part of my telephone efforts and announced that they too were Earthwatch volunteers trying to contact Dan. Fortunately the mother of one of them was a local resident. After some consultation, Marna and her mother, Allison, decided to go to town and look for Dan, while Lauren, the other volunteer, and I stayed at the airport in case Dan arrived belatedly. At this stage we weren't at all sure we could find him in town.

After an hour of waiting, I called Allison's house and learned that the plan was now to meet Dan at the Norfolk Hotel. Lauren and I caught a slow, rattling Kenya Airways bus to town, and finally linked up with Dan and the rest of the volunteers.

We gathered around a table on the terrace of the Norfolk Hotel. Marna was a 30 year old single school teacher from Princeton, NJ. She had lived briefly in Nairobi and had traveled a bit in Kenya and Tanzania, so she was our experienced Africa hand.

Lauren was a 16 year old student from the Boston area on her first overseas trip. She turned out to be a bit spoiled.

Beth was an enigma throughout the trip. She was married to an airline pilot and was a pilot herself, rated in 727's . She had flown and lived everywhere, sold airplanes, and had run an airport. She lived in Denver and owned property in Fiji. With that experience, she seemed likely to be a valuable member of the team. However, it turned out she came unglued at every deviation from the itinerary, and was an irritant to all of us most of the time.

Katy was a complex person but a valuable contributor. She was 42, divorced with a turbulent family background. She was studying anthropology and embarking on a new life since her two kids were grown.

Jim, the only other male volunteer, was a 20 year old anthropology major from Michigan. He was starting a 6 month trip through Africa and the Mid-east. He had outdoor experience, so he brought some camping as well as professional skills to the group.

I was surprised that the majority of the volunteers were females, but I was to learn that this is the usual situation. I was also to learn that the intimate grouping of diverse individuals in a strange and remote situation leads to an interesting sociological experience. It turns out that virtually every group of volunteers contains one individual who ends up grating on the nerves of everyone else. At first, you tend to think that it is your fault. But, as people become better acquainted, they begin to hint that they find so-and-so a royal pain in the neck, too. Soon there is universal agreement about this, and everyone settles in to coping with so-and-so as best they can.

Let us return to the story, around the lunch table at the Norfolk. Dan had several announcements. The first news was that the focus of the expedition had been changed. It had been advertised as a archaeological dig, but Dan had not been able to obtain the necessary permits, so he shifted the expedition to a study of the Gabra, a nomadic tribe of northern Kenya. The second bit of news was that we would have to take a long and rough circuitous route, because there were Shifta bandits along the more direct route (near Somalia). The other volunteers and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes a bit. Things were becoming a bit more adventurous than we had anticipated, and we hadn't seen anything yet. It was also clear that we would be extremely cramped in the single rented Land Rover which formed the expedition's sole transport. Fortunately, Marna's mother had a spare Toyota Land Cruiser, which she generously loaned to the expedition.

My bag still had not arrived, and it was becoming clear that I would have to cope without it. I borrowed a sleeping bag from Marna and bought enough clothing in Nairobi to get by.

After a day of final preparation, we finally got on the road. The route from Nairobi led northwest through green highlands with coffee and tea plantations scattered on the hillsides. After a hundred miles, we left the paved road and the country gradually became drier and more rugged. Soon we rounded a turn and sighted a herd of giraffes next to the road. For me (and most of the volunteers) it was the first sighting of wild African animals. The sight of the large, beautiful animals - not in a zoo, not in a game reserve, but just grazing in the countryside - convinced us that we were really in Africa. Next, we saw zebra, and then Thompson's Gazelle. We were in Sambura country, where we saw a number of the natives, colorfully dressed, carrying spears, and grazing their traditional cattle, often with zebra herds mixed in.

We spent the first night in a nice lodge outside Maralal, where buffalo and other game drank at a waterhole next to the patio. We didn't really appreciate the luxury of good food, comfortable beds, a cheerful fire in the fireplace, and warm baths as we should have. The next morning we were awakened early for a walk to a blind overlooking some leopard bait - an antelope carcass hung in a low tree. The leopard didn't show, but it was exciting tip-toeing through the African dawn behind an armed guide. A real safari!

As the day wore on, we were returned to the reality of our expedition. In town the Land Rover began to display its true condition to us. As we fueled at the last gas station, the attendant reported that the motor mounts were broken. We spent the morning roaming the town while we waited for sundry repairs (including welding breaks in the frame!).

We had an interesting time in Maralal. There were many Samburu about, some dressed in their full traditional regalia and some in jeans and tee shirts. After we had exhausted the slim shopping possibilities, we adjourned to the bar of the Buffalo House Hotel for a beer. There we became the attraction, with a crowd of natives standing around the door looking curiously at us. Already we were off the tourist track.

We met the celebrity of Maralal, Wilfred Thessinger, author of the book Arabian Sands, which describes his adventures in the empty quarter of Arabia.

By mid-afternoon, the Land Rover repairs were completed and we hit the road again. The country gradually became drier, the trees became scarcer, and the road dustier. Because of the delay, we did not reach our final destination before dark. Instead we stopped overnight in South Hoerr, a tiny town on the edge of the desert. We found space at a small safari camp on the outskirts of town. We had dinner on a patio, serenaded by screaming monkeys. Afterwards we walked to the sleeping quarters in small huts called bandas, along paths lit by flickering kerosene lanterns

The next morning, we could see tall mountains rising steeply around the valley. There are large inaccessible plateaus on top of the mountains, apparently much wetter than the valley. At one point, we could see a large waterfall gushing from the wall, reminiscent of Angel Falls, which drains a similar structure in Venezuela called a tupui.

On the road again, we passed through the small, harsh-looking town of Kargi and came to the edge of the Chalbi desert. It is an old dry lake bed, flat and empty of vegetation in many areas. Occasional heavy rains flood parts of it and brought white salt deposits to the surface. In other areas, graceful acacia trees with their horizontally spreading branches framed the distant hills. In the heat of the day, dust devils swirled everywhere, carrying columns of dust high in the air. Most of the time, a steady breeze relieved the heat, but the sun was bright and strong. At one point a lava flow extended to the shore of the flat lake bed. We stopped to examine some stone cairns marking burial sites of some unknown people. A small group of locals carrying six foot spears appeared from behind the lava. My gosh, I thought, I hope they aren't angry with us for being here. Dan held a long discussion with them in Swahili, while the rest of us exchanged worried looks. Finally, Dan turned and said, They want a ride. I agreed if they would let us take their pictures. (The local natives don't like to be photographed - they allegedly fear it will extract some essence from their body. Apparently they will, however, take the risk for money or trade.)

After the photo opportunity, we strapped the spears to the roof rack and squeezed the hitchhikers inside. They craned their necks and studied everything inside with such intensity that I wondered if they had ever been in a vehicle before. In a few miles we came to a seasonal stream emptying into the lake bed, where it was soon absorbed. A crowd of natives and their cattle and camels gathered around the water. Our passengers disembarked and soon became locally famous for having arrived in a vehicle. They were reluctant to leave us, apparently willing to walk back from anywhere we would drive them.

Kalachi Camp--Home sweet home for two weeks.

The countryside at Kalachi Camp was very dry, with a flat, dusty surface. A few low, thorny bushes dotted the area, having survived periodic grazing by goats. The land stretched flat into the shimmering distance. Away from the lake bed, the barren and distant Huri Hills floated above the mirages. Swirling dust devils danced on the plain. A few picturesque Acacia trees stretched their flat-topped branches over the desert, providing relief to the barrenness.

Our camp huddled under large Acacia. There was one stone building, a legacy of UNESCO, which we used for storage. A collection of wall tents provided sleeping quarters. We ate at a long picnic table under the tree. For some reason, the clothes line was hung over the table, so most nights we ate under the flapping laundry. An open well stood on one side of camp. The original theory was that we would use a container of the open well water for washing and bring drinking water in another container from the closed well in town, a half mile up the road. It transpired that the camp help repeatedly got confused about which container held which water, so we soon dropped the pretense of differentiation, with no bad effects.

Another incident had to do with milk - camel milk. It was one of the few fresh items we had, and it was kept in a large crockery pot sitting out in the kitchen. (No refrigeration in Kalachi.) One of the volunteers noticed it was uncovered and placed a plate over the top to keep out dust and bugs. Later one of the natives noticed it was covered and became very excited. We finally got a translator and found he was saying that covering the milk would make it spoil. Sure enough, the milk that had been covered overnight was sour. Uncovered milk would last for days. I still don't understand this phenomenon.

We had access to showers at the mission in town, but it was quite a walk, and we often used a bath house near the well. It was equipped with buckets filled at the well. The walls were made of branches and palm fronds and originally provided good privacy. As time went on, the goats ate parts of the walls and the privacy decreased, but by then our privacy requirements had also declined, so things were OK.

There was a pit toilet on the opposite side of camp. It was built of stone and was inedible to the goats. However, the first night someone discovered that a colony of bats roosted in the pit. When the hole was covered, they panicked and fluttered madly about. The human user also panicked and made a hasty exit. From then on, we made sure the bats were flushed before we used the facilities.

We often had a big crowd around the dinner table. In addition to the volunteers, the regular crew included Dan's girl friend Alisa, and Celia a geologist. Celia was gathering data on the lake bed and had her young baby in camp, who she nursed at dinner every night. There were two or three locals who did camp chores and laundry. The transients were mostly natives who drifted in and out of camp. One night we were joined by the UNESCO man in charge of the hut. He came by to do his monthly payroll for his local employees. He seemed a little surprised to see all of us - I'm not sure Dan had told him about the crowd using his building..

The food was a bit bland and repetitious. There were very few local supplies, and Dan had brought the bulk of the food from Nairobi. Unfortunately, about 80% of it was canned corned beef - and even Dan didn't like it. Apparently, he couldn't think of anything else when he was shopping. We struggled mightily to devise recipes to disguise the corned beef, with only mixed results.

Kalachi the town

Kalachi was a random collection of huts, grouped loosely around a whitewashed Catholic church and a few mission buildings. The buildings were not arranged in an orderly grid but were scattered randomly about the flat dusty plain. There were so few vehicles about that there was no need for roads, per se. A couple of windmills took advantage of the persistent winds; one pumped water from a well and the other powered a small generator for the modest electrical needs of the town.

One night during our stay, we heard drumming from town and went to investigate. We found a small group of locals dancing on a cow hide placed on the ground. One of the volunteers liked native dancing and eventually joined them, which brought applause from all sides. Entertainment was scarce in Kalachi.

The coup

Someone had a radio in camp and one night called us to come hear the news. There were fragmentary reports of a coup in Nairobi. It eventually appeared that the fighting was quite serious. We were so far out in the sticks that we weren't concerned that it would directly affect us. However, we were greatly concerned that kin and friends at home in the US would be worried about us. With no phone for a hundred miles we could think of no way to get any word back, so we decided to ignore the coup and press on with our business. When we got back to Nairobi, we found that hundreds of people had died in the fighting and many businesses were shuttered. On arrival in the US, however, we found that some other news in the U.S. had pre-empted the Kenyan trouble, and no one there had heard of it. At least no one worried about us.

Working in Dub Buru

We worked mostly in an ola, or nomadic village of the Gabra tribe, a few miles from Kalacha. Following tradition, this ola was called Dub Boru, from the name of the current chief. We needed formal permission from the chief before we could work in the village. Dan and the chief held a long discussion, and finally a village-wide meeting gave the necessary approval. Negotiations were smoothed when we gave first aid treatment to a village girl with a minor head injury. It almost seemed like a story from the Stanley and Livingstone saga.

Working through interpreters, we took a complete census of the village, counting people in each hut, establishing family relationships and estimating ages (most Gabbra were pretty vague about exact ages and other historic details). We also had village members collect plant samples. We then interviewed them about their use of the plants for animal forage and medicinal purposes. What I learned was that goats eat anything, but camels are more particular. A few of the plants had medicinal uses. I was surprised at the variety of plants collected - around 20 - in a region so barren.

The village consisted of a dozen or so dome-shaped huts. The huts had frames of limber branches bent over and fastened. They had tied pieces of tattered cloth and reed matting over the frame. An open slot was left around the bottom of the hut for ventilation. The interior of the hut contained low, sleeping platforms, a stone fire pit for cooking, and a number of clay containers for water, camel milk, and other supplies.

The interior arrangement was rigidly prescribed by tradition. A stone fireplace occupied the center of the house, and the beds were on the left as we entered. There were big carved gourd containers for oil, water and goat milk. One of the traditional decorations was the testicle skin of a goat! Newlyweds hang a bundle of goat bones over the bed and keep them there until they have their first son.

The huts are designed for mobility because the village is moved every three to six months, dictated by local grazing conditions. When the huts are dismantled, everything is packed on the backs of camels and the entire village moves. The houses broke down into camel loads. The flexible sticks that formed the framework were packed vertically on the camels, with the tips bent over to form a picturesque icon of Gabra on the move.

After we completed the daily research work, I was often invited into one of the huts for a cup of tea. As I sat in the breeze-cooled interior with a gourd-shell cup of hot tea, I felt an air of unreality - was I really here doing this? A mysterious, thick goo in the bottom of the tea cup added to the exotic feeling; I hoped it wasn't a serious etiquette infraction to leave it in the cup.

At first the village and its life seemed harsh, but with time and familiarity this impression changed. The houses were surprisingly comfortable even in the heat of the afternoon, and no one worked too hard. This was particularly true of the men, who seemed to mainly manage and supervise. The women did the cooking. The physical work of packing and moving was also done by the women. Caring for the stock (camels, sheep, goats and a few cattle), fell principally to the children - they would take the valuable camels on the all day trip to the well, without adult supervision.

I was impressed by the sense of unity within the village. It was a different story for villagers who had been educated at the mission school rather than by growing up in the village. They did not fit into village life any more. Unfortunately, they were poorly equipped to obtain the few jobs available in town or in a distant city. At best, they worked harder and had more social problems than their village peers. It made me realize that well-intentioned efforts to improve life through a Western-style education don't always pan out, and that unnecessary tampering with the lifestyle of remote people should be approached with caution.

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Desert mechanics

As we worked in the village, the Land Rover developed a succession of starting and running difficulties. After a mix-up with the fuel filtering, a mechanic at the mission offered to clean the carburetor. Unfortunately, thinking the needle valve was just a loose screw, he gratuitously tightened it all the way. Then the ignition points decided to stick for no apparent reason. After a little work on the points with a file, the engine finally ran well - sometimes for a whole day at a time!

In the meantime, we had been discussing a possible weekend trip to Richard Leakey's famous early man site at Koobi Fora. This site is on Lake Turkana, several hundred miles cross country to the northwest of Kalacha. Everyone was enthusiastic about going, particularly Dan, who had once worked there. The Land Rover was running better now, but there was a question of whether we had enough fuel to make it round trip in a remote area. As the more technical member of the expedition, it fell to me to do the fuel calculation. I estimated the fuel remaining in the drums and vehicle tanks and guessed at fuel consumption. As best as I could tell, the fuel supply was marginal, but I recommended that we go for it anyway.

The Land Rover ran well as we departed. The route led across the desert and up an old lava flow (surprisingly flat and smooth on top). We then entered an area of deeply eroded rock, and finally came in sight of Lake Turkana, sometimes called the Jade Sea for its greenish tint.

Koobi Fora is a cluster of buildings near the lake. Dan was greeted warmly by staff who had worked with him when he was digging for fossils there. We were comfortably quartered in one of the buildings and fed fresh fish from the lake - delicious after our monotonous camp diet of canned corned beef. A swim in the lake was a welcome luxury after the dusty trip through the desert. After dark, I stood on the same beach and in one sweep of my flashlight, spotted the red eyes of at least 15 crocodiles in our swimming area. The next day we hesitated, but the swim had been so good that we repeated it, with trepidation. Fortunately, the crocs kept their distance during daylight.

The staff at Koobi Fora showed us a large collection of stone tools and ancient human bones, including well-preserved skulls. A short drive took us to a site where bones of a pre-historic elephant had been found. The