Are You F@#&Book'n Serious?

Hands up if you woke up to this this morning?

I did and I found it rather distressing. Now we all know what happens when young people have their phones confiscated or get banned from social media; they throw a massive 'tanty', stamp their feet and hurl a tirade of abuse at the confiscatee. Despite being 42 years of age, I feel like doing much the same thing.

First I thought it was a scam, so I logged out and logged back in several times on several devices. After a while I concluded that it must be legitimate.

Then I clicked proceed and went to the first window which requested A PHOTOGRAPH OF ANY ONE OF MY MOST GENUINE PIECES OF I.D. Seriously? They want me to take a photo of my Birth Certificate and post it on social media? It would have been quicker to post my bank Login and PIN number!

With my blood pressure rising, I begrudgingly took a photo of my drivers licence, uploaded it and clicked Submit. I had convinced myself that this was for the greater good. What made the process more palatable was the thought of all those fraudsters and pedophiles out there that are only days away from losing one more medium through which they exploit the innocent.

So like a good social media citizen I ticked all the boxes and now I am back on Facebook right?

Wrong!!!

A message popped up to tell me that Facebook will get back to me when they are satisfied of the integrity of my I.D. They won't even allow me into my account in the mean time. It is 5am in the goddamn morning on a Saturday; what the hell else am I supposed to do???? Watch a sunrise?.

If I have this little control over my chosen social medium, maybe it is time to Log Off for good?

You Could Be Your Worst Enemy's Best Friend - Conclusion: Batman and Robin

Apologies in advance but if you don't read Part 1 and Part 2 then Part 3 is going to make no sense at all! Mind you, starting in the middle of the story did not seem to influence the popularity of Star Wars. As it annoys the crap out of me when Reno Rumble, My Kitchen Rules and I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here repeat 75% of the story to date after every advertisement break (treating the audience like they are goldfish), I simply refuse to do it here. Suffice to say that it involves a planigale, a quoll and a toad (NB - no animals were harmed in the making of this blog). Oh........and a rat.

.....just give me a second as I flick back to Part 2 to see where I left off (goldfish syndrome).........Ok, here we go.

So, let us assume that the population of Northern Quoll on Koolan Island will be somewhat buffered from obliteration when the Cane Toad arrives by virtue of their smaller body size and their tendency to prey on smaller, less toxic toads. What this means is that there is at least some hope for the population.

Enter the hero (actually heroes) of our story: Planigales and Rock Rats.

Planigales are surprisingly smart, proving that intelligent things come in small packages. Recent studies by Llewelyn et al. (2010) and Webb et al. (2008) have shown that very few planigales die after they attack toads and that the survivors rapidly learn that toads are best avoided. Moreover, planigales living in areas where toads are present may actually develop a resistance to toad toxin.

Now dasyurids, including the Planigale, are known to be boom and bust breeders and that means that under favourable conditions their numbers can explode in a single breeding season. A massive reduction in predation pressure is definitely a catalyst for a population explosion and this is exactly what will happen when the Cane Toad arrives. The quoll population will have the snot knocked out of it, and the Planigale population will explode.

For the small number of quoll that do survive the toad invasion this should result in a buffet of food available to them for which they will not have to work very hard to acquire. As the quoll is also a Dasyurid, it has the same capacity to boom or bounce back in response to a rapid increase in prey availability.

Lingering around just left of centre stage is the Rock Rat, Zyzomys argurus. Based on the very recent work of Cabrera-Guzmn et al. (2015) at least three species of native Australian rodents, normally described as herbivorous, have been shown to actively pursue and prey on Cane Toads with no ill effects. So it is very likely indeed that the Rock Rat should be no different.

So, like Batman and Robin, the Planigale and the Rock Rat are going to come to the rescue of the Koolan Island Northern Quoll by combating (Bammmm...Powwww....KaPlunk) and consuming (Sluuurrpp, Shhhlllllooolllooooppp) the Cane Toad. Then they are going to make lots and lots of babies (I always wondered whether there was more to the relationship between Batman and Robin) due to the reduction in predation pressure from the decimated quoll numbers.

The heroes of our story: The Planigale and the Rock Rat

The newly abundant prey will then be the catalyst for a bounce back in the quoll population, , Coupled with the quoll's own capacity to learn to avoid toads, the population will be back to a new stable equilibrium in no time!

Presently, we view Koolan Island as a island ark, somewhat safe from the invasion of the Cane Toad as its population spreads west through the Kimberley. We anxiously await news on the toad front at the end of each wet season. They are in the Fitzroy River catchment now, which flows out through Derby and around the islands of the Buccaneer Archipelago, within which Koolan Island is located. One big flood and toads will spill out into King Sound and it is inevitable the individuals will wash up on the shores of Koolan Island.

Toads strategizing their invasion on Koolan Island

But I am not worried! I think, thanks to the planigales, the rock rats and island dwarfism, I reckon they will be fine. Thoughts?

References.

Cabrera-Guzmn, E., Crossland, M.R., Pearson, D., Webb, J.K. & Shine, R. 2014, 'Predation on invasive cane toads (Rhinella marina) by native Australian rodents', Journal of Pest Science.

Hayes, R. A., M. R. Crossland, M. Hagman, R. J. Capon, and R. Shine. 2009. Ontogenetic variation in the chemical defences of cane toads (Bufo marinus): toxin profiles and effects on predators. Journal of Chemical Ecology 35:391-399.

Llewelyn, J., J. K. Webb, L. Schwarzkopf, R. Alford, and R. Shine. 2010. Behavioural responses of carnivorous marsupials (Planigale maculata) to toxic invasive cane toads (Bufo marinus). Austral Ecology 35:560-567.

Webb, J. K., G. P. Brown, T. Child, M. J. Greenlees, B. L. Phillips, and R. Shine. 2008. A native dasyurid predator (common planigale, Planigale maculata) rapidly learns to avoid toxic cane toads. Austral Ecology 33:821-829.
    

You Could Be Your Worst Enemy's Best Friend - Part 2: The Quoll

So how is it that the poor planigale can be the best friend of it's worst enemy? We are getting there (I promise), but the scene must first be set.

Teaser: I believe that the planigale is to the Koolan Island Northern Quoll what Will Smith was to the citizens of New York. A glimmer of hope at the dawn of the Cane Toad apocalypse. As we all know, it is always darkest before dawn. Before the hero (Mr Planigale) can rise up and save the innocents (the quoll) many hundreds of those innocents will perish; slowly, painfully.

News Flash: Quoll populations have been decimated as a result of their predation on Cane Toads since Day 1 of the toads introduction into Australia. Quolls are relatively big, hungry predators that have an insatiable appetite. They eat toads and they die. You don't have to dig too deep to bury yourself under mountains of literature supporting this statement. In fact, you should check out the work of the Shine Lab; it is freakin' awesome.

Background: Cane Toads have not caused the extinction of any species of Australian native fauna, but they sure as hell have given local populations of certain species, such as quoll, a bloody good dose of 'what for' and then some. Despite the reality that localised extinctions of some discrete populations of some species are probably far more common than we know, the fact remains that Cane Toads have NOT wiped out entire Australian native species across the entirety their distribution.

Like most of our wily and highly evolved  native fauna, the Northern Quoll is not stupid and it is a survivor.

Back to our story.......

Cane Toad eggs have lots of poison and big toads have a lot of poison (Hayes et al., 2009). So if you are going to eat Satan's line backers (big ugly adult Cane Toads) or the spawn of Satan (the eggs) you are in real trouble. Quoll don't eat the eggs, but because of their size, ability to subdue prey and their need to feed adult quoll will tackle adult toads and they die as a consequence.

You don't need to be a rocket scientist to appreciate the fact that the biggest Quoll will take on the biggest Toad if it thinks, but for a second, that Mr Toad is going to be an easy, wholesome meal that won't put up too much of a fight. As an extension of that, you don't need to be brain surgeon to understand that smaller quoll will tackle smaller toads.

The tremendous advantage that Koolan quoll have over their mainland conspecifics, in the race to survive the invasion of the toad, lies in their morphometrics. Mainland Northern Quolls can weigh up to 1.2 kg, with the males (400 to 900 g) being larger than the females (300 to 500 g) (Braithwaite & Begg 1995). On Koolan Island males average only 548g and females average 298g. Let me put that into perspective visually. The first photo is a 200grm female and the second photo is a 900grm male. You can see the size difference and you can imagine the marked difference in the size of the toads each of these two quoll would tackle.

So for those of you that are still with me you will immediately recognize that Koolan quoll will have a much better chance of surviving a Cane Toad invasion because the quoll themselves are smaller and therefore the toads that they will attack and eat will be smaller and therefore less poisonous. Many will die, of course, but many may not and there is a bucket load of literature out there supporting the idea that savvy quoll will quickly learn to avoid toads if they manage to survive their first encounter. It is those savvy quoll that will continue to procreate in spite of the Cane Toad apocolypse that will descends over Koolan Island like a cloud of lead laden dust.

Enter Mr Planigale.....the real hero of this tail.



References:

Braithwaite, R. W. & R.J. Begg (1995). Northern quoll Dasyurus hallucatus Gould, 1842. In: Strahan, R., ed. The Mammals of Australia: National Photographic Index of Australian Wildlife. Page(s) 65-66. Sydney: Reed Books.

Hayes, R. A., M. R. Crossland, M. Hagman, R. J. Capon, and R. Shine. 2009. Ontogenetic variation in the chemical defences of cane toads (Bufo marinus): toxin profiles and effects on predators. Journal of Chemical Ecology 35:391-399.

Webb, J. K., G. P. Brown, T. Child, M. J. Greenlees, B. L. Phillips, and R. Shine. 2008. A native dasyurid predator (common planigale, Planigale maculata) rapidly learns to avoid toxic cane toads. Austral Ecology 33:821-829.

What did Mick want?

When I was only about 21 I was caught up in a peculiar and embarrassing situation involving Mick Malthouse. 

At that time I played with venomous snakes and rode motorbikes (not much has changed). I didn't care much for football and I was actually really quite crap at it. In relative terms, I would not have known Nic Nat from Andrew Fyfe.  

I also looked like a bit of a 'unit' as I was a 'wannabe punk' with a disastrous mop of tangled mange on my head and more piercings than was aesthetically practical. Why a stranger would want to talk to me I will never know as, based on first principals, anyone's first impression of me would be that I must be a bit of a dickhead.

Whatever the case, I was at the launch of a new 'high end' real estate development in Maylands (an inner suburb of Perth, Western Australia) where, during the land reclamation, remediation and development process I had been responsible for the capture and relocation of long-necked turtles. I must have earned an an invite to the swoiree only to boost numbers. That being the case they must have been scraping the bottom of the barrel because I was hardly the pin-up boy for inner-city urban executive living.

During the day this chap sidles up to me (perhaps because I was looking a little out of sorts) and starts shooting the breeze. He was really very pleasant and really trying hard to make conversation; he was so damn personable it was not funny - like he had known me for ages but I had not one clue who he was. Whilst talking to him I was certain that he was the owner of the environmental consulting group (Alan Tingay of Alan Tingay and Associates) that I was under contract to, so our conversation was a little disjointed and quite confusing. 

He was asking me (someone who clearly had barely two cents to rub together) whether I would consider buying a house in this estate?????? I was asking him how business was going and what the prospects of future land development projects were. It was a little awkward to say the least, but he must have known in an instant that I had confused him for someone else. But he did not break stride and was not put out one iota. He just kept being nice to me - a nobody. 

When he wandered off a colleague asked me "what was I chatting to Mick about?". 

So with all the pressure that this poor guy is under now, I want him to remember two things: 1) I dont give a stuff about football and 2) he is a bloody nice guy and I don't care how bad his footy team is because I will remember him for his humility not his ability.

You Could Be Your Worst Enemy's Best Friend - Part 1: The Planigale

I roused late one night and my mind too quickly escaped the restraints of fatigue; within seconds I was wide awake and I knew it was going to be a long night.

Immediately, my brain was a mangled mess of ecological questions without answers on the topic of island biogeography. I guess this should come as no great surprise because I was on an island and I was studying aspects of biogeography; I was doing the annual quoll monitoring survey on Koolan Island with Animal Plant Mineral.

That day I had caught a Planigale. Though I never tire of seeing these very cool little critters, a long-tailed planigale is not what I would normally consider a significant collection. However, on Koolan Island its capture was a somewhat special event.

Planigales are the tiniest of tiny (10grms) little dasyurid marsupials; not the smallest, that is the Pilbara Ningaui. They look like little mice but they have cat like teeth and they are ferocious predators with an insatiable appetite for almost all invertebrates and any small vertebrates that it can subdue. They have a metabolic rate that could power a small village. They are super cool tiny little Tassy Devils, if you like.

On Koolan Island we never catch Planigales. We have done hundreds upon hundreds (even thousands) of trapping nights (pit traps, funnels and pit traps) and from 2004 until today only four individuals have ever been captured, including this one. 

Within their known distribution they are not normally uncommon. So why are they such a rarity on Koolan Island? The answer lies in the belly of a close relative - literally. At nearly 50 times the size of a planigale the Northern Quoll tears the heads off live Planigales, eats them from the inside out and picks its teeth clean with the femur bone. 

It would be a gross understatement to say that the Northern Quoll is the Planigales worst enemy. But things may be about to get a whole lot worse for Mr Planigale. With the coming of the Cane Toad Mr Planigale may be the Northern Quoll's bestest friend and with friends like the Northern Quoll, who needs enemies????????

Read Part 2 of this blog to find out why.

References:

Hayes, R. A., M. R. Crossland, M. Hagman, R. J. Capon, and R. Shine. 2009. Ontogenetic variation in the chemical defences of cane toads (Bufo marinus): toxin profiles and effects on predators. Journal of Chemical Ecology 35:391-399.

Webb, J. K., G. P. Brown, T. Child, M. J. Greenlees, B. L. Phillips, and R. Shine. 2008. A native dasyurid predator (common planigale, Planigale maculata) rapidly learns to avoid toxic cane toads. Austral Ecology 33:821-829.

Blogging Off

In 380 days I have posted 97 blogs on www.solucky2balive.blogspot.com.au.

So Lucky 2B Alive is teetering on just under 10, 000 reads, which is not a lot but is not insignificant. I am pretty proud of the fact that this is an organic growth in readership which I have not paid any money to promote through Facebook etc etc.

I have written over 50, 000 words with each of my stories fully annotated with pictures and videos.

I just got offered my own personalized URL at Google+ as my Google+ site has been hit over 42, 000 times (Mitch Ladyman Ink) https://plus.google.com/u/0/+MitchLadymanInk

Why do I do it? Because it is bloody good fun. Typing is cathartic - I don't know how or why? Your fingers move like lightning and stuff appears on a page. Thoughts, actions, intentions. It appears on screen and, in one click of the save button, I have memories locked away safely among a jumbled cloud of electrons, dots and dashes somewhere up there in cyberspace.

Am I a narcissist? I hope not. I think I definitely was when making the Snake Whisperer videos a few years back. But these days my stories are not meant to be a 'look at me, look at me' and I hope that no-one interprets them in that way. They are about what I do and where I go and what I see; this this is the only content I am qualified to write about as I am not cultured or worldly enough to comment on other people's lives or politics or global issues.

I do hope my stories entertain. Perhaps they may provide some amusement for someone who is unfortunate enough not to be able to get out and about to see the natural world; someone who is incapacitated by injury or ill health. Maybe someone who is a little too poor to afford a plane ticket to Kununurra, Broome, Brisbane or even put enough fuel in their car to drive out to the goldfields may enjoy a story or a video depicting a stellar sunset over red earth, a campfire and endless open mallee woodland.

Who knows? My stories may even inspire one or two budding young biologists to crack on through their ASIC exams so they can get into uni and do Zoology or Botany or Geography or Conservation Biology or....or.....or.......or........... If so, that would be a bonus.

The big question now is where to from here? Every time I log onto Facebook I see the 'Promote Page' icon on the left of my screen and I think to myself, should I? Or is that 'selling out' - buying a fake audience that will have to ingest my digital diatribe as it is rammed down it's social media throat.

Or is it opening up my work to a wider audience who actually may enjoy reading it.

This is a problem; a quandary. Whilst contemplating a conclusion to my query, enjoy this video that shows how a Northern Quoll gives us the middle finger on a recent survey. It just goes to show there is a simple solution to every problem.

Quollunteers

The mining industry lays gasping on the canvas trying desperately to, at least, rise up to it's haunches before the 8 count. Some of us have had it so great for so long and I have most certainly not lost sight of that. But I feel truly and desperately sorry for those young graduates out there that can't find work in this industry at the moment. Being a consultant biologist really does enable one to get out there and get down and dirty with the Australian native flora and fauna.

It is very easy for we, the older generation, to say 'too bad so sad - what is happening to you happened to us when we were your age'. It still numbs my mind to think that when I graduated high school in 1990 there were no jobs and you had to be some sort of child prodigy to stand any chance into getting in to a decent sandstone uni. In fact it was so bad that the enrollment queue at Mt Lawley TAFE resembled a ticket sale sleep-out for a 1D concert.

But this is not another rant ragging on the so-called 'me me me me' generation so a big 'up yours' to anyone who was expecting it to be so.Rather, I want to take up some of your time to thank a couple of fantastic volunteers that have, very recently, departed our current survey on Koolan Island in the Kimberley, Western Australia.

Koolan Island is a pretty groovy place that has been the site for high grade iron ore mining for years and years. BHP picked over it for many years and actually had a village on the island where the miners and their families lived!! Then Aztec had it and now MGI is mining it; or at least they were until that pesky sea wall gave way and the main pit became the blue lagoon, minus Brooke Shields. Koolan Island has been in the paper very recently as they want to turn the mine waste dumps into an airstrip and make the island a logistics hub for the oil and gas industry (Koolan Island Logistics Base), which I personally think is a very very cool idea indeed.

For years Animal Plant Mineral have been on the island undertaking the annual Northern Quoll monitoring. The survey comprises Elliot Box Trapping of 400 trap sites for five nights in a row. We catch a lot of quoll. In the morning we clear and close traps, during the day we process quoll (measuring morphometrics and recording sex and reproductive status) and in the late afternoon we re-bait and re-set traps so we can do it all over again the next day. 

It is one of those jobs that, if you considered only the mechanics of the tasks at hand, it is not dissimilar to working on a factory floor - you do the same thing day in day out and there is not a lot of scope for surprises. But if you are a biologist with an acute sense of self and an appreciation for ecology and the natural world that surrounds you, then I swear there is no place you would rather be. This is what the office looks like in the morning (tide out) and the afternoon (tide in), respectively.

Quoll have teeth and they bite, but so what? Quoll have a big appetite coupled to a fast digestive system and a turbo-charged metabolism so that means they crap constantly and when they have been eating bait (peanut butter, rolled oats and tuna) their turds stink. I personally loath setting and checking Elliot traps as it is so monotonous.Elliot traps are to me what stairs are to a geriatric with chronic rheumatoid arthritis; a pain in the ass but important in getting through the process from A - B.

Despite all of this I knew very well that when I put the call out for volunteers the first people I approached would immediately and without hesitation jump at the chance to get shat on and bitten by one of natures little wonders. These guys are so feisty and animated that handling and working with them never ever gets dull, but what made a great job even better is the unabated enthusiasm of our two volunteers. These guys (they were actually girls) are not recent graduates trying to improve their Curriculum Vitaes for future job applications; they were young professional biologists that simply wanted to come because they knew they were going to have a great time.......and I hope they did. Thanks guys (you know who you are - please ignore the shady man on the left as he is an APM employee that gets paid to have this much fun).

Which way is the snack bar?

We have just come off a major biological survey in far North West Queensland. Not everyday was hectic but most days were. We were waking up at about 6 am in the morning (yes.....for a lot of people that is a sleep in, but near the border of Queensland and NT it is still nearly pitch black at 7) and on many nights I was still surveying well past 9 pm at night.

That is because we are biologists and we are at the behest of our quarry. To survey birds we have to be up and at it when the birds are up. As they start calling, call loudest and call longer in the pre-dawn light we need to be ready to record before the sun pokes it's head over the horizon. And then there are the nocturnal fauna which, obviously, only come out at night.

As an amusing aside, one of the tasks I had the pleasure of undertaking was call play-back for Masked Owl....alone......in the middle of the bush.....in the dead of night. Creepy? Do yourself a favour and do this!!! Close your eyes or turn out the light or both. Now, imagine how dark it can be in the middle of the bush. Imagine being encapsulated in thin, gnarled and nasty tall shrubland. Think Blair Witch Project or some other scary movie about being lost in the bush or outback and click here.

My point is that we work hard and we get tired. We also get very very hungry. When we are camping remotely we often get a little greedy on the pre-survey shop. Unfortunately I have little self-control, so if there is junk food around I will eat it. A box of Shapes for breakfast? Why not? Six choc-coated sugary, nutty caramel museli bars whilst our spot lighting - sure!

But it gets worse. When we are on an operating mine the food is free and you can literally eat as much as you like. Nobody is checking you and no body cares. I am on Koolan Island with the Animal Plant Mineral team at the moment and the Chef will cook, on request, two beautiful and massive pieces of Red Emperor even though their are two bain maries full of delicious food. Don't even start me on the desert. Talking to a client on site yesterday, he mentioned that people have actually eaten themselves sick and had to be flown from the island. And it is the same at every camp.

Thankfully, on Koolan they have a fantastic gym and it is one of the only mine sites I have been to in 20 years of doing biological surveys that has a full-size kick bag. This is of immense benefit because without it, instead of looking like this:

......I am pretty sure I would look like this:

This little bloke has obviously found the Desert Bar and not yet located the gym as he weighs literally twice that of the average full grown male quoll.

Wildlife Pokies

Every good story needs a catchy title, but I promise the explanation for this title will become apparent. In the mean time, hang up the phone: you do not need to call the RSPCA presently.

There are 2,880 lots of 30 seconds in a 24 hour period. Thankfully, there are only 11 hours and 18 minutes of actual daylight in far northwest Queensland at this time of the year.

During the day, a motion-sensing wildlife surveillance camera can be triggered off by the movement of shadows or foliage or over-energised little brown birds that (I am certain) have Duracell Lithium Batteries shoved up their cloacas. Every time the camera is set off it takes three photos in succession, resetting itself after 30 seconds ready to take another three photos at the slightest hint of next movement. With the exception of the perpetually partying Cane Toads, activity does diminish somewhat at night resulting in a concomitant reduction in photos taken.

Quick maths. 667 lots of 30 seconds of daylight x 3 photos per 30 seconds x 7 cameras x 13 survey nights. Conservatively guestimating that half the cameras were triggered off at half of that frequency on only half of the number of survey nights, that still equates to 50, 000 frames of footage I must analyse for evidence of fauna species of conservation significance within the project area of my most recent biological survey with Animal Plant Mineral.

I will need to wade through copious quantities of Cane Toads, a multitude of Mudlarks, a heap of boring brown Honey Eaters, dozens of Double-barred Finches and a ludicrous amount of Long-tails in the hope of spotting one rare and Vulnerable Gouldian Finch or one Endangered Carpentarian Rock Rat.

But as I begin to wade through the images, something takes me completely by surprise: fauna image analysis is completely addictive. I am like a pensioner on a poky machine. But instead of feeding coins into a slot I am relentlessly pressing the Page Down arrow as my eyesight blurs, my brain bleeds and my metatarsals deteriorate from the repetitive strain of pressing the same button time and time and time again.

As every image passes my eye I long for the next one in the desperate hope that the next one might be 'the one'; clear, indisputable evidence of the existence of the rarest of animals alive and well and caught on camera. And when it does not materialise in a montage of pixels I click again and again and again and again and again.

Though I have not yet captured an image of the target species I so desperately seek, I have captured dozens upon dozens of images of less rare but equally amazing animals. I put this little sequence together of a gorgeous Merten's Water Monitor. The camera also captured some extraordinary shots like this Double-barred Finch in between wing beats as it approaches to land next to a dove. For the non-faunal readers out there I have included prisms of light dancing on the water.

What Have I Got To Lose

Nobody can take my University qualifications away from me. Nobody can delete 'Dr.' from in front of my name. Nobody can un-publish my scientific articles that are published in peer-reviewed scientific journals. Nobody at Animal Plant Mineral can demote me or give me 'The Sack' because.......well, because I own the company. In fact, I don't think that even the tax man can take the business away from me because we are model business citizens that pay our taxes on time or early!

So what have I got to lose?

I have featured as a guest on four documentaries that have incorporated tiger snakes into an episode. The Snake Crusader, Animal X, Deadly 60 and Hello Birdy. So you can imagine how enthusiasm was lacking when an American production company contacted me to feature on yet another one.

Whatever enthusiasm I could muster promptly vaporised when I heard those, oh so familiar, words: "We are a low budget production company and we cannot afford to pay you".
That is Production speak for "We have plenty of money for lattes on set every half hour but we are not going to give you any money because we are tight arses and if you don't want to be in our documentary for free we will find someone who does"

Should I have said no? Well, yes and here is a summary of all the reasons why doing low budget wildlife documentaries or working with venomous snakes whilst on camera has caused me no end of grief:

• In 2003 I squirted a host with venom by accident and he made such a song and dance about it on camera that I could barely contain myself. I know documentaries are meant to entertain, but pretending to be in danger from having venom contact your skin is lunacy.
• In 2012 I got tagged on the jeans by an agitated tiger snake whilst I was demonstrating the defensive behaviour of a Tiger Snake. The objective of the exercise was to show how a snake will retreat when threatened or settle completely in the absence of any threatening movement. The demo did not go as it had gone the thousand times prior. It was uploaded to YouTube by Nova 93.7 and a total of 58, 000 have watched it. I copped it from the trolls for weeks, if not months for agitating an already agitated snake. I have done this many, many times, but in this instance it was simply a case of being in an awkward, confined and overstimulating environment and the snake was not able to settle. Click here if you want to be the 58, 001st person to view the footage.
• In 2013 I was shooting another doco on Carnac Island. I was asked two questions. The questions and answers were as follows:
1. How many silver gull chicks would a single tiger snake eat in a week: The answer is around 5, which I know from stomach palpating hundreds of individuals on the island during the silver gull hatching period.
2. How many gull chicks would the entire population consume in a year: The answer is several thousand. We know that the adult population numbers over 400 and they feed for at least six to eight weeks a year.
• Unfortunately the production company stuffed the editing of the answers to the questions making me look like an idiot. On TV this is how it goes: Host "How many chicks would a snake eat in a week" Me the snake expert "Several thousand"
• I could go on......
• .....................but I wont

 When you are in the spotlight you might think you look like this:

In reality it is a lot more like this:

I accept that to be the case and, as such, I agreed to do this documentary. Whatever comes of it, I am glad I did it as I was able to go to, what I think, is one of the most amazing places in Australia. Moreover, the field film and production crew were the most fantastic bunch of blokes. 

This documentary is called Natural Born Monsters, so you can imagine it is not really going to put a cute and cuddly spin on the snakes. Whatever the case, I am certain that I put enough energy, joy and enthusiasm into my role as guest presenter to water down any editorial portrayal of snakes as the spawn of Satan. We shall see.

But what I am more looking forward to is the reaction of the Trolls to this series; not just my episode but all 13 episodes shot all around the world. One of the reasons I most enjoyed making this documentary was that it was never meant to be a purely factual documentary. So, in effect, I was an actor rather than a guest presenter. And, damn it, I had a lot of fun with that.

Natural Born Monsters will be about myth and legend than facts and figures. I wonder if the Trolls will actually realize this? Or will they be so stupid and narrow minded that they will overlook the intent of the series (its genre) and embark on a vitriolic attack on my knowledge and my integrity as a scientist. 

In September 2015 we shall have our answer.

Dance Damage Control

Like any kid, there are certain things that Thing 1 has committed to that she shows a very slight lack of commitment to. I’ll be somewhat cautious with the prelude to my point because she is a good kid; no, a great kid. When the stork dropped its bundle, it was not a rotten egg that rolled along our garden path and up to our front door. But like all teenagers, she can be a little obnoxious, a titchy bit ungrateful and, sometimes, ever so slightly lethargic. But, on the whole she is bright, intelligent, athletic and very polite and respectful to authority figures.

But when it comes to rehearsing the same acrobatic routine over and over and over again in preparation for a competition, she does struggle; you would too. Repeating trick after trick ad nausea and listing to the same song over and over and over. Whatever the case, she is good at what she does and she shows a level of skill, diligence and a dogged determination to perform that exceeds most, and equals the remainder of the peers in her class. 

How do I know? Because I am one of her teachers. Every class I watch her out of the corner of my eye and she is unaware that I do so. Every week I admire her resolve as, at the end of long and painful two hour sessions she still pushes out trick after trick. Meanwhile, the majority of the class have stopped tricking and started marking instead, which is to motion through the tricks theatrically rather than actually executing them.

So you can only imagine my disappointment and empathy for her when she begged me to withdraw her from her acrobatic competition solo less than an hour before she was due to go on. In this instance, there was no question that she had prepared herself adequately, but in the high stakes arena of dance this happens from time to time and the catalyst can sometimes remain a mystery.

I was at a loss; I did not know what I could do or say to make her want to go out on stage and smash all of her tricks. I needed help; I needed a deity or two. But who? Where? And with the clock counting down, when and how?

Like the Dunphy Dad I am, my first epiphany was to ply her with sugar, but it was on the way back from the Snack Bar (armed with Gatorade) that the solution presented itself in a splendour of rayon, lycra, glitter, hairspray, lipstick and false eyelashes. The Rybka Twins.

Perhaps the greatest young acrobats that the common man (me) is ever likely to get close enough to take a ‘selfie’ with. Thing 1 adores them and, as an ex-gymnast, so do I. Recently, both Sam and Teagan had accepted Thing 1’s facebook request which, these days, is akin to accepting someone in holy matrimony.

Taking Dunphism to the next level, I boldly requested a double selfie of the pair so that I could send it to my daughter to cheer her up. They conceded with all the grace and poise you would expect from teen ideals and dance professionals. With a complete lack of dignity and self respect I dragged my daughter into their private quarter in which they were warming up and they obliged us with more photos: the three girls together.

It did the trick. Thing 1 smashed her solo and nailed every trick. Though she did not place, a mark of the depth of talent in local dance, she was ecstatic. She had made the Rybka’s her anchor that evening and the commensurate rise in her spirit enabled her to perform at her best. Finalists on Australia's Got Talent, the twins are amazing and if you ever get the chance, do yourself a favour and watch them demonstrate the remarkable strength and flexibility that is achievable with commitment at the highest level. 

Intellectual Divergence in Homo sapien sapien – Part II

Though we should all be deeply ashamed to share the same genome as the Zeta male Homo sapien sapien (described in Intellectual Divergence in Homo sapien sapien – Part I) we should rejoice for the attributes of their Alpha and Beta male conspecifics. In many lower vertebrates dominance within a population is a function of an individual’s strength and sexual dexterity. But this is not always the case in ‘so called’ higher vertebrates.

As much as the Zeta male is defined by its level of social and intellectual retardation, the Alpha and Beta males have the diagnostic of a relatively high level of intelligence. No-one is certain of the origination of this, but it is a defining trait. A higher intellect enables the Alphas and Betas to make the exhaustive succession of sensible life decisions that will inevitably increase their longevity and assure the continuation of their lineage through successful procreation and the production of young with a high level of Darwinian Fitness. One example of the intellectually superior morph type of Homo sapien sapien is Dr Anthony Collins who is a Gerontologist and avid bird watcher. 

As an aside, you must understand that ornithology is a skill that provides a clear indication of the caliber of ones intellect. The ornithologist must be able to immediately recognise the colours, shapes, patterns, forms, flight, acoustics and intra-age and race polymorphism across no less than 800 species in Australia alone and be able to record birds observed with a level of reliability and dependency worthy of publication in peer-reviewed scientific literature (i.e. it is a tough gig to be an ornithologist). Among the ornithologists, social structure is well defined and held in high regard and Alpha ornithologists are known to be of exceptional pedigree.

Let us take Dr Collins as a case study. With a deeply intrinsic understanding of his mind and his body, refined by his expertise in a much specialised field of gerioncology, Dr Collins leads a full and rich life which has provided him the years and the opportunity to ascend to the level of Alpha ornithologist. Whilst surveying the magnificent Headly Gorge I witnessed the 79 year old Dr Collins move briskly through a rugged sandstone ravine with all the dexterity of Purple-necked Rock Wallaby, whilst remaining as covert as a Northern Quoll. Such stealth enables the observation of more species of birds. At 79, this patriarch tolerated the sort of environmental exgeniencies that would prove fatal to the drinking, smoking, lethargic or even completely sessile Zeta male. All this whilst keeping two hands and both eyes on the birds around him. That is how he how he has become as good as he is. 

But the most amazing trait of these intellectually superior Alphas is not what they know or how they themselves survive and prosper. What is most interesting, from an evolutionary perspective, is how astutely these Alphas recognise and accept their own mortality. What comes of this self-awareness and how do they use this knowledge to the greater good of their species?

Whilst still very much alive and full of vigor, the Alpha Homo sapien will actively elevate subordinate males as part of a perpetual succession plan. This is the ecological crescendo of evolution and natural selection – the cognisance within a species to recognise and accept the limitation of one’s own tenure as the patriarch and the selflessness to anoint another to your role. 

In almost every other species, the Alpha male will fight for superiority and dominance until it can fight no more and the subordinate male literally pushes the bleeding carcass of the fallen Alpha of it's perch. How primitive! Not so in Homo sapien.

During covert and very much protracted field observations I witnessed the young Beta ornithologist Warren Harrington, a Materials Engineer for Bluescope Steel, make a ornithological observation that caught the attention of the Alpha ornithologist Dr Collins. Wazza had twitched out the elusive Purple-crowned Fairy Wren. The Patriach recognised the significance of this observation: the skill, dexterity and tenacity of this subordinate male. He knew it was Wazza's time.

I followed the Patriach and his prodigy back to their overnight refugia and by the light of a full moon and mottled by the plumes of smoke from the camp fire I witnessed a very rare display of intra-species, intergenerational transfer of social status as Warren Harrington was anointed from Beta to Alpha Ornithologist: thus completing Dr Collins obligations to the species.

Dr Collins anoints Sir Wazza, Slater's pocked bird book in hand.

One simply hopes that the evolution of the species will see limiteless proliferation of intellect and selective pressure will see the competitive exclusion and demise of the Zeta male. 

Intellectual Divergence in Homo sapien - Part 1

Whenever I travel for work, I can never really be certain of what or who I will encounter. 

In terms of species diversity, when I am doing a biological survey I tend to have a fairly good idea of what I might encounter. Nowadays there are so many ridiculously substantive databases which can spew out the name rank and serial number of nearly every single vertebrate fauna species likely to be encountered in any given area I could possibly imagine going to!

This does not make me at all redundant as a field biologist, however, because almost every survey results in the collection of an individual of a species not know to occupy the area we are surveying. So in effect, as scientists we are constantly contributing to the body of existing knowledge of Australia's ecology. Sometimes we are even lucky enough to collect a new species, but that is a rarity. 

However, what never ceases to amaze me is the frequency at which I observe new and, perhaps, never before observed snippets of animal behaviour. These behavioural observations will be the focus of the next couple of blogs. So let's get into it shall we? 

The first and second observations to be reported here were also the first and last observations of my three weeks out in the middle of nowhere in the Gulf Plains country of north-west Queensland. Together they represent a display of the extremely divergent intellectual capacity of the most prolific and broadly dispersed species on the planet: Homo sapien sapien, commonly known as the Human.

In most higher order vertebrates the social hierachy is commonly comprised of Alpha and Beta males. Alpha males are the biggest, strongest and best hunters that get the most sex! They are go go go, constantly raising the bar and giving the juvenile males something to aspire to. Beta males are more abundant in a population and keep things in society humming along at a reasonable pace. 

However, in Homo sapien sapien there obviously exists a Zeta male that is so stupid and useless and so far down the social hierarchy he should be euthanased to improve the overall average quality of the gene pool. He is distinguished by a big yellow streak of yellow cowardice down his spine and he is unlikely to be able to string more than three single syllable words together. Sorry - maybe four. Common sounds emitted by the Zeta male include 'I could root that', 'I hate them poofters' and 'I can shoot that'. The Zeta male can seldom piece together more than two life processes in succession and, as a consequence, it does stupid shit for no apparent reason at all, like shooting a beautiful full grown adult fresh water crocodile leaving it floating, bloated, dead in the water.