This is more than just 69ing, this is 88ing

​Due to the time difference between Canada and Australia, when my family sends me e-mails throughout their day, I get them in one big stack first thing in the morning. These e-mails usually contain irreverent updates about life in Canada meant to make me homesick so that I return to them after I finish my PhD. It works rather well.  One day I found the following e-mail sitting in my Inbox:

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Now, maybe that subject line would be cause for concern if my dad was not my dad. But my dad is the kindest, sweetest, gentlest person I know, and there was no chance anything unpleasant lay within the body of that e-mail. ​Actually, it turned out to be pretty cool. This is what my dad found:

​Worms! Doing IT!

​Worms! Doing IT!

That's two earthworms lined up anti-parallel. It gave me flashbacks to first year undergrad biology. There, while preparing to dissect earthworms, we learned all about their reproduction. The wide, smooth band on each worm is the clitellum, which contains both male and female ​reproductive organs. Each worm lines up its clitellum with the sperm receptacle of the other worm, which is located between the worm's clitellum and its mouth. Then, each worm passes a packet of sperm from its clitellum to the other worm's sperm receptacle. It turns out my dad got a picture of that as well:

​The two white globs inbetween the worms are sperm packets.

​The two white globs inbetween the worms are sperm packets.

After the sperm packets are exchanged, the worms separate and each secretes an egg packet from its clitellum. The worm slides the egg packet along its body until the egg packet reaches the sperm receptacle, and then ​the whole mess of eggs and sperm (and rather a lot of mucus) slides off the worm. If you want more details, you can find them here, rather uncomfortably explained in the first person.

I have never seen this in my entire life. In one morning, my dad came across not one pair of worms, but five! Those two pictures above are of two different pairs of worm-lovers! Here's another:

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Was there something in the air that day? In the soil? Also, my dad probably could have found more worm-lovers. He quit looking because he "was starting to feel a little awkward."

​AWKWARD...

​AWKWARD...

​Notice how each worm's butt is still in a hole? These worms aren't crawling around like after rain. The fifth pair of worms were shyer and shot back into their respective burrows ("like rubber bands") before my dad could get a picture. Worms only half emerge from their burrows to mate! They keep their lower-halves indoors to make for a rapid escape if necessary.

My dad clitellum-blocked them.

 

Stuck in the world's oldest river

According to the world's most reliable source of scientific information, tourism promoters, the Finke River is the oldest river in the world. This is not backed up by the world's second most reliable source of scientific information, Wikipedia, which seems to be of the opinion that multiple Central Australian rivers have equal claim to the title. My question is can you really call a dry, flat expanse of sand a river?

Rebecca Sullivan, one of my volunteers, fixing dragon nooses in the middle of the Finke "River". 

Downstream, and I use the word loosely, of Finke Gorge National Park, the Finke River runs (again, figuratively speaking) for about 100km through a private pastoral lease called Henbury Station. Henbury was our first stop to look for dragons during my 2012 field season. The oldest man-made structure on Henbury is a log cabin that's served as the Henbury homestead for over 100 years. It's a beautifully preserved single room log cabin and a phenomenal piece of Australian outback history. For most of the past 100 years Henbury has been a working cattle station and the homestead compound has been built up accordingly around the log cabin. The homestead also sits right on the bank of the Finke. This is the Henbury homestead at sunrise, the Finke riverbed is barely visible in the far left (look for the dry sand peeking through the trees):

​Henbury Station homestead with the Finke River at left. Photo by Rebecca Sullivan.

When we arrived at Henbury, after some quick introductions, the station manager offered to show us to our campsite so we could start looking for dragons right away. The first step was to get across the Finke. The station manager took off in her Hilux, and I followed in the ANU Landcruiser. Ten minutes into the first step of the first thing we had to do on our first day of fieldwork and I watched as her wheels started to spin in the sand of the Finke. She was bogged! Since I was still free, our first idea was to recover her Hilux by attaching it to our Landcruiser with a snatch strap and having me accelerate in reverse:

​Our first vehicle recovery idea.

We quickly abandoned this recovery method as the strap was looped around the Hilux's trailer ball and that is most definitely not a good idea. Instead, the station manager sent for two station hands and a bunch of wooden planks to put under the tires and give them some traction. We decided to try and get around her so we could start setting up our campsite.  Despite having reduced our tyre pressure to as low as I was advised was safe with tube tyres, without the benefit of the well-worn tyre tracks we quickly got bogged as well:

​The ANU Landcruiser, bogged in the Finke River within an hour of getting to the field. 

One thing I have learned about Australian culture: if you ask an incredulous question, such as "will we be able to get through that soft sand?" and the response is "Ah, you'll be 'right, mate!" your chances of being "'right" are, at best, 50/50. Anyway, to make a long story slightly shorter, the third vehicle that came to help us also got stuck, making that a total of three vehicles stuck in the Finke River.

​The third vehicle, bogged behind ours. This picture makes it look like it wasn't even in 4 wheel drive mode! 

It took eight people, a lot of digging, several malt beverage bribes, lots of splintered boards, and finally a couple of sand ladders, which are basically giant-sized cheese graters, to get us out of there.

​The station manager's Hilux was the first to be freed and get across the Finke. 

Freeing our Landcruiser took a little more liquid motivation.​

By the time we got to our campsite it was almost sunset, and the day's "dragon hours" were over. The "dragon hours" are those hours when the sun is hot enough for the dragons to be out basking. They're about 10am - 4pm at the start of September. So instead we opened the last of our beer (our entire case of Coopers - 24 bottles - was consumed that day) and went for a swim. The Finke River, though mostly dry, is famous for its permanent waterholes.

The boys...​

​...and the girls enjoying a Finke River waterhole after a long, hot day's digging.

I get to study DRAGONS

Okay, let's just rip this bandaid off right away. Not these dragons:​

Source: Panda Whale.

Source: Panda Whale.

​Mostly because those dragons, despite the recent publication of their phylogeny, are mythical. But also because Operational Health & Safety would never approve the risk assessment. The dragons I work with are much more adorable:

​Adorable Central Netted Dragons (Ctenophorus nuchalis). Henbury Station, Northern Territory, 2012.

The dragons I study are part of the mostly Australo-Papuan group of lizards which are referred to as "dragons". The scientific name for this group is Amphibolurinae​. To anyone outside of Australia, the most familiar members of this group are probably the bearded & Chinese water dragons, both of which are commonly sold in pet shops across the Americas, Europe, and Asia. In Australia, dragons are well known because they're diurnal and like to bask in the sun from conspicuous locations such as rock piles, bushes, and trees.

How can you tell a dragon from any other lizard? Well, you probably can't. Neither could I. I cannot think of a single morphological character that would allow me to look at a lizard and identify it as a dragon (i.e. a member of the Amphibolurinae​), nor can I find any in the literature. Genetically, however, they are distinctly their own group. Amphibolurine dragons are part of a larger group of lizards called agamids, which are identifiable from skeletal characteristics, but still there are no external morphological features that would allow you to look at an agamid and identify it as such. Here's a non-dragon agamid:

​Blue-headed Tree Agama (Acanthocercus atricollis). Nairobi National Park, Kenya, 2013.

Some agamids that are not amphibolurines may also be called "dragons", notably the flying dragons of the genus Draco and the mountain horned dragons of Acanthosaura. These are members of another agamid group, the Draconinae.​ Since, as any HP fan can tell you, "draco" means "dragon" in Latin, that's fair enough. It's interesting, though, that every species of amphibolurine carries the name dragon (with one notable exception), however the name seems to be only haphazardly applied to a few species within Draconinae​, a group literally called "the dragons".

There is another lizard out there referred to as a dragon:

​Komodo Dragon (Varanus komodoensis). Rinca Island, Indonesia, 2013. Photo by Angus Kennedy.

Komodo dragons are not closely related to the agamid dragons. They are members of the Varanidae, which are known as goannas (to Australians) or monitor lizards (to the rest of the world) and they are closely related to gila monsters and snakes. Agamids are off quite a different branch of the lizard evolutionary tree. Their closest living relatives are the chameleons and iguanids. Here's a sample chameleon, the closest living relative of the agamids:​

Ruwenzori Three-horned Chameleon (Chameleo johnstoni). Kibira National Park, Burundi, 2012.

There is one last dragon I can think of. I would love more than anything to be able to study this dragon:

puff the magic dragon (live version) Present tense!!!!

​And by "study" I mean "be best friends with".

The Lizard Lab

I'm based in Canberra at the ANU, but at the moment I'm a "visiting researcher" at Macquarie University in Sydney where my co-supervisor Martin Whiting is located. Martin runs a dynamic lab of people studying lizard social behaviour & cognition. He's also quite new-media savvy, especially for an academic! He runs "The Lizard Lab" website on which all of his students have their own section:​

The Lizard Lab

​You can also follow Martin & The Lizard Lab on Twitter:

@lizard_lab

​And "Like" them on facebook:

The Lizard Lab: Behaviour, ecology and evolution of lizards

So many different ways to check out what they do!​

I love a good picture, but hate photography

I think I will use this blog mostly to post interesting pictures from my fieldwork trips, at least at first. The blog format will give me extra room to provide a context in which to place the pictures, and the flexibility of the format will, I hope, give me the freedom to tell an interesting story in the process. We'll see how well it works. ​Worst case scenario, we can all TL;DR and look at the pretty pictures. Here's one:

​Elephant with rainbow. Maasai Mara, Kenya, 2008.

​The main problem with this idea is I don't have many pictures. I own a decent camera, a Nikon D60, which is a digital SLR camera. I have three lenses for it, a 55-200, an 18-55, and a 2.8-32. I don't even know what those numbers mean, but I refer to the lenses as my telephoto, wide-angle, and macro lenses, respectively. I'm sure I could figure out what the numbers mean, it can't be too complicated, but to be honest I'm just not that interested. One thing I've learned about myself from owning an SLR camera is that I'm really not that into photography. 

Some people are artists with their photographs. I have great respect for these people, and I admire and appreciate their work. But I am not one of them. I take pictures primarily for the memories. I want that picture so that I can look back later and be nostalgic for that moment, remembering good times, great people, and interesting places. When I take lots of pictures of the same thing, it's more because it bugs me to have to look at a picture that's out of focus, rather than because I'm concerned about framing or getting the lighting right.​

​A good example of this is when I caught my first tuatara. Tuatara live only on remote, offshore islands in New Zealand and are the last remnants of their own unique group of reptiles. They're unlike anything else on this planet and getting to see them in the wild, let alone catch them and admire them up close, is a true privilege for any wildlife enthusiast. I was over-the-moon ecstatic. In that moment, how many pictures did I get? Exactly one. Here it is:

​Me with my first tuatara. New Zealand, 2004.

​In fact, over the six weeks I spent in New Zealand, I took only 63 pictures. Photography just isn't my thing.

Fortunately, photography is a thing for other people.​ On my PhD field trips in Australia I bring plenty of volunteers to help catch lizards and thankfully most of them bring their cameras. Before we leave, I make it clear that I would like them to "donate" their pictures to me. That way I can have all the memories without actually having to take the pictures myself. And what use is it for everyone to stand next to each other and all take pictures of the same thing anyway? To me it makes a lot more sense for one person to take the picture and then share it. I know not everyone feels the same way, and I respect that. Lucky for me, all but one of my photography-inclined volunteers have shared their photos with me.

It's these photos, taken by my volunteers, that I'll be sharing here. If a photo appears here then the person who took it gave me permission to use their photos publicly. Each photographer has specified how they want to be acknowledged. If a photo appears without accreditation, either the photographer has given me permission to share their pictures uncredited or the photo was one (begrudgingly) taken by me.