Palauan Christmas

Despite having grown up in California and thus having no particular emotional needs for a white Christmas, I approached the holiday season with a degree of disbelief and detachment, thrown off by the tropical weather and lack of neatly sectioned semesters and official winter break to signify the onset of festive sentiment. Were it not for the holiday light displays that promptly illuminated the entire town of Koror the night after Thanksgiving I would have hardly accepted the reality of December at all.

The (still surreal) celebrations started with PICRC's Christmas party on the 20th, which reunited present and past employees and board members. After dinner and a cultural dance performance from a visiting group participating in a coral reef sustainability training course, they set up the "band" (a synthesizer and a microphone, just as with the first birth ceremony) and everyone sang and danced for the rest of the night. The playlist consisted of four or five Palauan songs interspersed with the Palauan version of "Feliz Navidad" (in English/Spanish, but with island rhythms) on endless shuffled loop, and, just after midnight, one inexplicable rendition of 'N Sync's "Pop" before the immediate resumption of the original mix. Afterward, a stalwart group of celebrators went out for karaoke, a favorite Palauan pastime. From what I've heard so far, Palauans uniformly have amazing singing voices and a penchant for Rod Stewart's "I Don't Want to Talk About It." 

My host family's kids--Sasha, 20, and Oki, 16, are home for the holidays, and on Christmas day the whole family went to a beautiful Palauan Catholic church service. The familiar carols were sung entirely in Palauan, but I could hum along for a few "Glorias." Afterward, we exchanged gifts--they presented me with a t-shirt advocating the prevention of underage drinking and drug abuse, which, although I'm unsure exactly what they were suggesting, I will henceforth wear proudly.  

My host mom, Zabeth, arranges presents under the tree on Christmas Eve.

I fear that my host family is skeptical of my usual evening alibis of "reading," "going to bed before 10pm," and "being over 21."

We spent the rest of the day at my host mom's father's house for a luncheon with her extensive extended family. In addition to turkey and taro, they served Palau's signature delicacy, fruitbat soup. The soup is prepared with a whole (literally whole: skin, wings, and all internal organs intact) bat in each bowl, and is served on special occasions. Hesitant to tackle an entire bat of my own, I sampled some of my host mom's, and will admit that the meat was flavorful and tender. The afternoon and evening progressed with the other major Palauan pastimes: chewing nut and talking story, while I, bested even by the toddlers in Palauan language communication abilities (I recently added "See you later" to my vocabulary, to complement "Good morning," "Thank you," and the names of several species of edible sea cucumbers), sought out more compatible interlocutors in infants. My newest Christmas traditions are watching "Spongebob Squarepants: the Movie" and the "Fairly OddParents Christmas Special" while playing rousing games of peekaboo.  

I failed to bring my camera to lunch, but here is a particularly elegant example of fruitbat soup from Google Images. We dined on the purist's recipe: just bat in broth.

Seagrass Monitoring

We just finished up a round of Marine Protected Area (MPA) monitoring in seagrass beds all around Palau. Seagrass beds create crucial habitat for juvenile fish nurseries and many types of invertebrates, and it's been found that protecting seagrass and mangroves in addition to coral reefs is needed to conserve coral reef organisms throughout their development. PICRC surveys protected seagrass beds a few times a year as part of long term MPA monitoring projects. They have three permanent survey sites set up in each MPA and three at reference sites outside the MPAs for controlled comparison. At each site, we snorkel in a set direction and record size and abundance of "eating" fish (any commercially or culturally valuable fish), presence of "eating" invertebrates, and percent coverage of different species of seagrasses and corals along five 25m transects. My extremely important job during the surveys was to lay out the transect tapes and then roll them back up again once the surveys were completed. 

Transect Queen

Geory conducts a fish count. Many of the fish are small juveniles that camouflage perfectly in the seagrass, but Geory is amazing at spotting them. He would often busily record dozens of fish while I stared uncertainly out into the murky water, seeing nothing but swaying grasses.

Uly records percent coverage of different species of seagrass. Rather than trying to estimate coverage along the entire transect, she estimates the composition within this square quadrat at three places along the transect.

Near the end of the week, we arrived at our first MPA site only to find that the tide was too low to conduct the surveys. Without missing a beat, Kevin, the head researcher, brought the boat to a cove outside the MPA, explaining that we needed to do some "reconnaissance" while we waited for the tide to rise. Geory brought out a weighted net and expertly cast it over a school of tiny silvery herring, bringing his catch onboard to cheers of, "Sashimi!" Buckets I thought contained sampling material were revealed to be full of soy sauce and lemon, and Kevin and Geory showed me how to descale, behead, and clean the fish before eating them right then and there. All of these researchers know these sites and their tidal patterns intimately; this is clearly standard operating protocol for pre-survey snacks. There's no question that I'm getting the real Palauan experience here!

Geory casts the drop net. 

Tastes like science.

Socioeconomic Surveys

Over the past few weeks, I've been helping with some of PICRC's socioeconomic studies. In my opinion, this kind of research is just as important to conservation as biological and ecological studies, since it reveals the realities of how people are using natural resources, arguably the most significant determinant of those resources' fates.

For one study, I accompanied Shirley and Danika to interview local community members in the northern state Ngardmau. They were talking to individuals, heads of households, and community leaders about their fishing and farming habits, asking how they've changed over the years and whether and how much Ngardmau's Marine Protected Areas (MPAs) have affected them, as well as inquiring about their basic awareness of MPAs, other conservation efforts, and threats to the reefs. From what I observed in the interviews and from helping with data entry, respondents generally noted a decline in fishing catch over the years and were supportive of the MPAs, although some commented that the MPAs were not doing enough or were insufficiently enforced. 

Shirley asks this woman, the head of her household, about her family's income and expenditures.

I also helped with an economic valuation study of Napoleon wrasse and bumphead parrotfish, two economically and culturally important fish species in Palau. Due to declining populations, fishing of either of these species was banned in 2006, but there's talk of reopening the fisheries, at least at the subsistence level. This survey was designed to determine how much these fish are worth to the tourism industry by asking dive tourists how much they'd be willing to pay for dives on which they'd see Napoleons or bumpheads of various sizes and densities. 

After Katherine and I spent many fruitless hours lurking around dive shops hoping to catch tourists as they came back from their dives, the whole PICRC research crew jumped in with a major attack plan. We set out in pairs to the Rock Islands, where tour groups often debark for lunch, and camped out with surveys in various languages, waiting to pounce on unwitting tourists as they sat down to their bentos. Uly was my partner for the week and we prowled Two Dog Beach, our mission to leave no visitor to enjoy his or her lunch surveyless. Although we encountered the occasional unwilling or rude tourist, for the most part people accepted our clipboards and pencils, and the five teams collected nearly three hundred surveys during our week-long blitz. When people were receptive and interested it was great to hear their thoughts on conservation and the reefs, and it certainly wasn't terrible to spend a week out in the Rock Islands! 

PICRC researchers Shirley, Kevin, Geory, and Uly discuss strategy during the boat ride.

I couldn't ask for a better research setting!

These island lunch huts served as our survey distribution centers. 

I explain the purpose of the survey to some particularly skeptical tourists. 

Team Socioeconomic poses in front of this famous arched island to commemorate a successful week of surveying.

Jellyfish Lake, 11-20

The Grand Day Out continued with a trip to Jellyfish Lake, perhaps Palau's most famous attraction. Palau's Rock Islands are speckled with inland marine lakes, connected to the ocean via small channels or porous limestone. Isolated since the last Ice Age, many of these lakes have their own unique ecosystems and endemic species. Jellyfish Lake hosts a population of Mastigias spp. jellyfish, which get their nutrients from a symbiotic algae, much as corals do. Without any need for defense or predation, these jellies have lost their sting (or at least it's too mild to deter the average tourist), allowing snorkelers to swim among them unscathed. 

Due to its fame and uniqueness the lake is heavily visited, and I've heard that it's usually thrashing with tourists, jellies shredding in the eddies. When we arrived, though, we were alone, and had a solid hour to float amidst the jellyfish as they silently pulsed in surface-bound circles, sunning their algae. They were so dense that I couldn't help but run into them, velvety soft and sting-free. 

On the way home, we stopped by Milky Way, a slow-moving, shallow channel with soft silty mud that is supposedly wonderful for the skin. Whether this was just the Palauan staff testing the limits of our gullibility we're still not sure. As we headed back, PICRC researcher Geory spotted a massive tiger shark from the boat, which we followed for a few minutes before it streaked away. Truly a memorable day!

Uly demonstrates proper mud mask application. Thanks to Johanna for the Milky Way photos!

Ulong Channel and Blue Hole, 11-20

Sadly, most of my PICRC friends are leaving in the next few days and weeks. Last week, the PICRC staff took them out for a celebratory dive outing to Palau's most famous sites. Not yet having earned the trip, I had resigned myself to a quiet day alone in the office, but at the last minute, Yim, the CEO, remembered a previously scheduled meeting, and I was invited to take his place. They didn't have to ask me twice! It was a gorgeous day of diving and snorkeling, with a picnic lunch and a scenic tour of the Rock Islands. Here are some shots from Ulong Channel and Blue Hole, and pictures of Jellyfish Lake are forthcoming. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

The owner of Kramer's, one of the local bars, hosts a Thanksgiving potluck each year. He cooks up a ton of turkey and mashed potatoes, and everyone else brings a dish to share. Families and friends filled the bar to the brim, feasting on traditional favorites and newer additions like stuffed naan and spaghetti. It was wonderful to have such a friendly, communal, and warm (in all senses of the word) atmosphere for my first tropical Thanksgiving. 

Clockwise from left, Danika (UBC PhD student working at PICRC), Adam (Danika's partner), Chris, Tess (working with The Nature Conservancy), me, Johanna, and Katherine. 

Blue Corner, 11-17

Following a less-successful snapper dive, Richard took us to Blue Corner, arguably Palau's most famous dive site. Strong currents there attract tons of sharks, big schools of barracuda, and huge Napoleon wrasse. Since the current moves so quickly, dive groups use "reef hooks" to anchor to dead coral near the drop off and watch the sharks cruise by. I was skeptical, but after I hooked in and inflated my BCD slightly, water audibly rushing past my face, I felt like I was flying. Afterward, we stopped by German Channel, and were rewarded for braving the dark and murk by the occasional materialization of a silent, stately manta.

Divers hooked into the reef at Blue Corner

Napoleon wrasse are a prized eating fish, used in many Palauan cultural ceremonies. Due to dwindling populations the fishery was closed in 2006, but overt poaching continues. 

A few resident Napoleons approach divers closely at Blue Corner, likely because tour guides feed them. Although it was awesome to see these huge fish up close, it doesn't bode well for their survival for them to get too used to humans.

Sunset hikes

Palau has a decent amount of topography but is severely lacking in good places to hike or even walk around. We've found one decent hill with a trail up to a cell antenna, where a dilapidated watchtower of sorts (Former gun stand? Lighthouse? Clock tower?) provides a fabulous sunset view. Not a lot goes on over the weekends (and everything is closed on Sundays), so this was the big activity for the weekend. 

You can do it, Johanna!

The Rock Islands

Katherine and I enjoy the view

As do Chris and Johanna

Snapper Spawning

When I initially made arrangements to work with PICRC, I had signed on to help out with a variety of research projects, but focus on fieldwork like monitoring protected areas. By the time I arrived, my coordinator had left the island and her replacement informed me that they had finished diving for the season. I’ll be able to join visiting researchers with their work in the upcoming months, and the typhoon damage might require additional assessments, but for now I’m working on socioeconomic surveys, data entry, and writing up reports, and I’m scouting out my own opportunities for research diving (and some fun diving, of course).

There’s a pair of researchers operating out of one of the dive shops (Sam’s) studying fish aggregations and spawning. At certain points in the lunar cycle, particular species of fish come together for mass spawning events, and Palau is one of the few places where there are enough remaining large fish for spectacular spawning sightings. Studying when and where these aggregations occur is important for designing conservation policies because when fish densely pack together, the entire population could be scooped up by a single fishing trip (this is how we obliterated orange roughy). This raises possibilities for looking at temporal rather than spatial protection: perhaps limiting fishing of species just for the days around their spawning events, and allowing it for the rest of the month.

Last week, the days preceding the full moon meant snapper aggregation, so Johanna, Katherine and I joined a spawning expedition. Richard, the researcher leading the dive, picked us up at 4:30am, and we headed out to the aggregation site. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, we jumped in and immediately dropped to 100 feet. The snapper spawn at the height of outgoing tide so the gametes will disperse in the open ocean, so we had to swim hard to avoid being swept out by the current. We followed droves of snapper that were pouring from what seemed like all directions to the aggregation: a swirling mass of thousands and thousands of huge fish. I had never seen anything remotely like this before—it was absolutely crazy. Abruptly, a female lit up with red streaks and darted upward away from the group, trailed by a swarm of males; the chase ended in a cloud of gametes. This happened several more times as we gazed, awestruck, kicking against the current, while the occasional shark cut below us (unfortunately I missed the rare bull shark sighting). All too soon we had to return to the surface, everyone on the boat yelping with excitement.

Snappers begin to aggregate

SO MANY FISH

Males streak toward a spawning female; the cloud of gametes is visible to the left of the clump.

The current was getting too strong and the seas too rough to jump in again at the aggregation, so we did another dive at a site called Sandbar to check out the resident leaf fish and a huge school of bigeyes. Back at Sam’s, Johanna, Katherine, and I, reluctant to return to the office and noting that it was early yet, grabbed tanks and explored the wall off the docks. Definitely a day I’ll remember forever! I’m hoping I’ll get to tag along for bumphead parrotfish spawning near the new moon, and maybe see a bull shark for the next round of snapper.

Leaf fish at Sandbar

Katherine checks out tiny juvenile fish.

Excellent demonstration of fish jaw opening/filter feeding mechanisms!

Giant clam