Bite me
Well, all I can say is that if no matter what you are, where you live or what you smell like, there is always something willing to take a chomp out of you, especially in the tropics. Nowhere are you reminded more of the circularity of life, the serpent masticating its own tail, the essence of this planet we live on. We are obsessed with consumption, naturally of course for survival but sometimes I get the feeling that some things take a bite out of you just to have a taste.
Certainly, we humans are king when it comes to finding a way of consuming every living thing on this planet, no matter how poisonous or noxious they may be. But we also appear to be at the top of the menu for a great many others as well. Of course, we have all seen those flashy documentaries, The Parasites of Our Lives, The Bold and The Microscopic, tales of the fauna that roam our steamy exteriors and interiors. But somehow these creatures have lost their gruesomeness, perhaps they being microscopic, we have been left with a feeling of resignation- we must live with these grazers of our organs.
And, of course we are consumed (pun intended), by the ‘man-eating’ Animalia as well. There is a certain morbid obsession with reading about the Burmese python that ate the brother-in-law of some poor farmer in Eastern Malaysia, or the Kodiak Grizzly that ate at least two and a half hikers in Northern Alaska. But these ‘man-eaters’ unfortunately always succumb to our vengeful species, an eye for an eye we say not withstanding the numerous eyes we seem to conveniently forget about.
Then finally there are the in-betweeners as I call them. The ones we can squash, smack, flick, smash and spray. You all know that I’d eventually get to invertebrates somehow. And those so very sanguinary in their habits are the ones that I am most bothered by. If there is an animal that I have no guilt in killing, it is one that can single-handedly prevent a good night’s sleep. Admittedly, the majority of mosquitoes are benign creatures, revelling in sips of honey-dew and nectar, but alas it only takes a small group of bloodsuckers to give them all a bad name.
But they certainly don’t take the cake or rather the blood. The rainforest I happen to work in has been called the birthplace of the leech. This critter, devoid of sight and limbs somehow manages to be the bane of any and all visitors of this verdant forest. And since we deign enter their realm we must deal with the consequences. And that is copious blood-loss. Our friendly neighbourhood leech injects into you a little anaesthetic whereupon it is able to hook on its siphon of a mouthpart, to further inject a heavy dose of anticoagulant. There it can sit for an hour (or less if it hits a good sized surface capillary) softly imbibing our precious fluids. Then it gently falls to the ground no longer interested in us and indolently crawls away. Then comes the part that is though not a physical pain is most certainly a figurative one. Our small wound continues to seep our uncoagulating blood leaving blood stained shirts, trousers, socks and footprints, battle stains of fieldwork. Then starts the itching.
But they are fascinating creatures (I can’t help it, I am a biologist after all). Their uncanny sense of finding bloodmeals, their patience in waiting for the next meal, their contortonist abilities in getting out of or into nooks and crannies and most of all, the sheer number of them that can co-exist in a small patch of forest. In a metre square of forest I have counted up to five leeches moving in quickstep towards me, and that is not including those that may be on brush or shrub. Now consider how many leeches that adds up to in 8000 ha of rainforest. Scary bloody thought.
But don’t let this deter you from coming to visit me
Well, all I can say is that if no matter what you are, where you live or what you smell like, there is always something willing to take a chomp out of you, especially in the tropics. Nowhere are you reminded more of the circularity of life, the serpent masticating its own tail, the essence of this planet we live on. We are obsessed with consumption, naturally of course for survival but sometimes I get the feeling that some things take a bite out of you just to have a taste.
Certainly, we humans are king when it comes to finding a way of consuming every living thing on this planet, no matter how poisonous or noxious they may be. But we also appear to be at the top of the menu for a great many others as well. Of course, we have all seen those flashy documentaries, The Parasites of Our Lives, The Bold and The Microscopic, tales of the fauna that roam our steamy exteriors and interiors. But somehow these creatures have lost their gruesomeness, perhaps they being microscopic, we have been left with a feeling of resignation- we must live with these grazers of our organs.
And, of course we are consumed (pun intended), by the ‘man-eating’ Animalia as well. There is a certain morbid obsession with reading about the Burmese python that ate the brother-in-law of some poor farmer in Eastern Malaysia, or the Kodiak Grizzly that ate at least two and a half hikers in Northern Alaska. But these ‘man-eaters’ unfortunately always succumb to our vengeful species, an eye for an eye we say not withstanding the numerous eyes we seem to conveniently forget about.
Then finally there are the in-betweeners as I call them. The ones we can squash, smack, flick, smash and spray. You all know that I’d eventually get to invertebrates somehow. And those so very sanguinary in their habits are the ones that I am most bothered by. If there is an animal that I have no guilt in killing, it is one that can single-handedly prevent a good night’s sleep. Admittedly, the majority of mosquitoes are benign creatures, revelling in sips of honey-dew and nectar, but alas it only takes a small group of bloodsuckers to give them all a bad name.
But they certainly don’t take the cake or rather the blood. The rainforest I happen to work in has been called the birthplace of the leech. This critter, devoid of sight and limbs somehow manages to be the bane of any and all visitors of this verdant forest. And since we deign enter their realm we must deal with the consequences. And that is copious blood-loss. Our friendly neighbourhood leech injects into you a little anaesthetic whereupon it is able to hook on its siphon of a mouthpart, to further inject a heavy dose of anticoagulant. There it can sit for an hour (or less if it hits a good sized surface capillary) softly imbibing our precious fluids. Then it gently falls to the ground no longer interested in us and indolently crawls away. Then comes the part that is though not a physical pain is most certainly a figurative one. Our small wound continues to seep our uncoagulating blood leaving blood stained shirts, trousers, socks and footprints, battle stains of fieldwork. Then starts the itching.
But they are fascinating creatures (I can’t help it, I am a biologist after all). Their uncanny sense of finding bloodmeals, their patience in waiting for the next meal, their contortonist abilities in getting out of or into nooks and crannies and most of all, the sheer number of them that can co-exist in a small patch of forest. In a metre square of forest I have counted up to five leeches moving in quickstep towards me, and that is not including those that may be on brush or shrub. Now consider how many leeches that adds up to in 8000 ha of rainforest. Scary bloody thought.
But don’t let this deter you from coming to visit me
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