Read an interesting paper yesterday by Chiang (1967) about macaques (Macaca fascicularis) at the Singapore Botanic Gardens using tools. He observed them using leaves to wipe food before eating it. There were also a few instances of them ‘leaf-washing a toad that exuded defensive slime, the latter of which they didn’t end up eating.

The most widely-publicised parallel is found in seaside-living Japanese macaques (Macaca fuscata), which taught themselves how to wash sweet potatoes before eating them. But those were provisioned by Japanese researchers; the Singapore population was observed doing so by a researcher who happened to notice them while attempting to survey their breeding behaviour on regular walks. However, it’s unclear whether or not they were provisioned by the public at the time of observation.

Tool use is a major field in primatology, not least because many such examples are confined to specific populations. Even when one takes ecological factors (i.e. a certain food that can be extracted using tools is present in only one population, but not another), one finds enough variation to reliably justify the hypothesis that non-human primates have their own, population-specific, socially transmitted ‘culture’.

Indeed, Chiang (1967) stated that, as similar leaf wiping behaviour had not been observed in other Singaporean or Malaysian populations at the time, it was possible that the ‘leaf-washing’ reflected a unique ’sub-culture’ in the Singapore Botanic Gardens macaques.

The paper was published in Nature - a major scientific journal – in 1967. Due to public complaints, the entire Singapore Botanic Gardens population was eradicated by NParks in the 1970s. It is heartbreaking how much we take our biodiversity for granted.

Polly, a fruit bat, pollinating a flower with her long tongue. It is thanks to bats that we can enjoy such fruits as our beloved durians.

Sometime in between the hustle and bustle of packing, I managed to finish the bat shadow puppets for Cicada Tree’s Make a Difference for wildlife lessons.

The main problems faced were that a) the original set of puppets were drawn on heat-sensitive OHP plastic, which meant that they yellowed very quickly and b) a severe limitation of permanent marker colours.

I ended up taking them to the Beauty World Centre to have a new set photocopied onto heat-resistant plactic. Also, the colours on some of the puppets were done with highlighters and non-permanent markers, and fixed (to a limited extent?) with blasts from a hair dryer after colouring.

More pictures of the finished stick puppets:

Nur, the main character. One of her arms is movable, being jointed at the shoulder. Vilma said that the style looks ‘like a cross between wayang kulit and manga’, which is encouraging, as that is the visual effect I had been trying to achieve.

Fruity the flying fox (a large fruit-eating bat), with baby.

You can see the complete set of bat and human puppets here.

‘I noticed toothbrushes were like tropical fish, as they come in a bewildering range of colours and shapes.’

So says this fence-building New Zealander, who seems to have quite a flair for metaphors.

‘这样的垃圾狗你还要拍 [Why are you taking pictures of this pariah dog?]‘, asked a member of the staff in scorn, but this well-fed mongrel’s healthy coat and easy demeanour betrayed the ill-concealed indulgence on his owner’s face.

Asian small-clawed otter (Aonyx cinerea) devouring a piece of fish. This is one of the two otter species that can be found in Singapore, the other being the Smooth Otter (Lutrogale perspicillata). A good place to look for them would be the Sungei Buloh Wetland Reserve.

Caught mid-fruit: a Malayan flying fox (Pteropus vampyrus), which can be found here. Possessing a wingspan of 1.5 metres or more, this species is the largest of all the flying foxes. The fruit bats (Macrochiroptera: literally, ‘big hand-wing’) can be distinguished from their smaller insect-eating Microchiroptera cousins by the formers’ relatively large size, large eyes and small noses. The main reason for these differences is that fruit bats don’t need to echolocate to find their food. Their sense of hearing is however sharp enough for mothers to recognise their offsprings’ unique calls, preventing mix-ups in large colonies.

The utilitarian might question the purpose of bat conservation. The answer, for the skeptical Singaporean, is simple: without bats to pollinate durian trees, we would have none of this nation’s favourite fruit…

The imposing giant snakehead (Channa micropeltes), or toman as it is known in Malay, can grow up to a metre in length. Not native to Singapore, it is cultured locally for its meat. The flesh of the slightly smaller common snakehead is said to have healing properties – perhaps good news for those who must clutch at the straws of alternative medicine, having found they cannot afford more conventional healthcare.

Idea leuconoe, known also as the tree nymph and rice paper butterfly, is aptly named for the ethereal quality of its graceful flight, ‘like hell bank-notes drifting through the air’ the most evocative description I have heard.

Interestingly, the Taiwanese subspecies bred at the zoo differs subtly in appearance from that which may be found in our own mangroves.

But I think I fell in love with the mousedeer. With his funny little bow-legs and plump barrel body, it’s no wonder that sang kancil features so heavily as one of the chief animal protagonists of Malaysian folklore, even accorded a central role in a state’s founding myth. Pictured above is the russet-coated greater mousedeer (Tragulus napu). The four species of mousedeer are classified in their own family. Not true deer, they lack horns and antlers, instead possessing more recognisably pig-like features.

More diminutive, but no less charismatic: the lesser mousedeer (Tragulus kancil). This species occurs here, although it appears to be confined to the Central Nature Reserves. Adding to the difficulty of sighting this creature is its shy and retiring nature. Given the mousedeer’s popularity, one can see where the advertisers are coming from, but it’s funny how little the kancil resembles its automobile namesake.

Photo from the official film blog.

In <最遙遠的距離> The Most Distant Course, a psychiatrist abandons his job on an impulse and takes to the road. As someone formerly devoted to helping people transcend the personal hells of their own making, how else can he run from his own demons, but through psychological escape routes? Our tormented shrink hires a prostitute to engage in roleplay with him, tries and fails to get fresh with a betel-nut girl, and finally confronts reality – if only that which is already overdue – by arriving for a wedding three years late.

But the address on the invite no longer exists, and eventually he finds himself along the coastal highway of Taiwan’s southernmost point. There is scuba gear and even suit, yet jumping into the surf crashing against the rocks would mean certain death. No matter: he puts on the equipment, zips himself up in black, and starts breaststroking, flippers on feet, along the road. We hear the tortured breathlessness of his carthasis as he struggles on noisily, the scratchy flop of plastic against tar relentless, dogged, pained. How much of this swimming—-no, how much of his self is real and imagined, and how much of either is valid? Is his quest, in all its desperation and futility, a search for the self, or a flight from it?

Nestled on the third floor of a building in NUS, the compact Raffles Museum of Biodiversity Research is impressive but underloved. Entry is free, but evidently the students of NUS had their hands full with other more pressing matters that Tuesday morning.

Among the stuffed and suspended animals may be found civet cats, bats and monkeys of various species. For the ornithologist there is also a cupboard of birds, all laid out in dignified repose. There’s also a very interesting exhibit on deep sea fishes. The museum is tiny by most standards, but its displays are packed with specimens. One can scrutinise this cross-section of local and regional wildlife to one’s content, or until one goes blind, whichever happens sooner.

The collection includes an impressive variety of crabs, perhaps due at least in small part to the fact that its director is an expert on these crustaceans:

Unfortunately, this little museum doesn’t open on weekends and public holidays, but it’s worth a look and deserves more visitors. More information can be found here.

I’ve been doing research on wayang kulit (literally, ‘theatre skin’ – a reference to leather, the traditional puppet material), as I’m making a series of loosely-inspired shadow puppets for Cicada Tree’s MAD About Bats lessons.

One thing about wayang kulit that strikes me is how the appearance of the puppet characters often conveys information on whether they are ‘good’ or ‘evil’.

According to the Art-Pacific.com website:
‘The puppet characters range between alus (extremely refined) and kasar (rough and crude). Refined, virtuous characters have small bodies, slitted oval eyes with pupils like rice grains, pointed noses and a modest downward gaze to delicate feet. More vigorous characters look up.

Middle size characters may be strong like good kings or princely warriors. ‘

Sometimes this codified visual system is cleverly subverted, for instance in the case of the prince Karno. Though an antagonist, he possesses many of the puppet features typical of princes.

What’s really interesting are the parallels between the Indonesian/Malaysian wayang kulit and its unrelated Straits Chinese friend, wayang opera. Both are extremely stylised forms of theatre, and both utilise a live orchestra for music. Another similarity lies in how character appearance conveys role: in wayang opera, red-faced characters are valiant and white-faced evil, green-robed characters are good, and so on – a form of semiotics than, on afterthought, applies to the allegorical folktales and stories of perhaps all cultures.

‘Environmentalism is the most politically diverse movement in history… I have met anarchists, communists, socialists, liberals, conservatives and, mostly, pragmatists. I remember sitting in a campaign meeting during the Newbury bypass protests and marvelling at the weirdness of our coalition… [Everyone] disagreed about every other subject under the sun… but everyone there recognised that our quality of life depends on the quality of our surroundings… The environment is inseparable from social justice. ‘

‘Sure, we are hypocrites. Every one of us, almost by definition. Hypocrisy is the gap between your aspirations and your actions. Greens have high aspirations – they want to live more ethically – and they will always fall short. But the alternative to hypocrisy isn’t moral purity (no one manages that), but cynicism. Give me hypocrisy any day.’

- George Monbiot, The Guardian (6 Aug 2008).

Cyrene reef, a short boat ride away from the mainland, lies right smack in the middle of Singapore’s busy shipping lanes. That numerous seagrass species, as well as a host of other rare marine life, flourish so close to such bustling – and often damaging – human activity is heartening. Not so encouraging however is the fact that its choice location has placed it in a precarious position, pollution among the woes that Cyrene has had, and must continue to, contend with.

As time and tide do indeed wait for no reef-bound man, we arrived at dawn, having earlier assembled onshore at the unearthly time of 615 a.m. As there is no jetty, stepping off the boat is an exercise in caution, as one has to beware of well-camouflaged stonefish…

Particularly striking is the sheer variety of echinoderms that can be found at Cyrene, from plump rounded cushion stars to the cactus-like sea urchins. Then of course there are the distinctive knobbly seastars (Protoreaster nodosus)…

The highlight of the trip for me was probably the Salmacis sea urchin – this individual (above) was found clinging on to a piece of seagrass. Salmacis are often found carrying bits of debris on them with their tube feet, possibly for camouflage. According to Ria, another theory is that this behaviour serves to protect them from the damaging UV rays of the sun to which they are vulnerable, just as people carry umbrellas for shade!

Sea urchin species come in various shapes and sizes; pictured above is likely the Black Longspine Urchin (Diadema setosum).

A flatworm in shallow water. Care must be taken by those who chance upon them and wish to have a closer look, as these creatures are so delicate that they often disintegrate when touched.

Nudibranch, probably Dendrodoris tuberculosa (thanks budak for ID).

While in the midst of trying to minimise my clumsy splashing, I noticed a small yellow cuttlefish dart away. Alarmed by my subsequent attempts at stalking it, the cuttlefish soon found a clump of yellow seaweed to hide under. It quickly positioned itself under a frond, turning up its tentacles (to better its camouflage?).

As we were admiring the seastars, Ria pointed out a huge ship passing by, bearing imported cars for the appetites of Singaporean motorists, insiatiable even as oil prices continue to rise. Just a short distance away, seastars trundled along on their own feet; it is to be hoped that they will outlast the autos that come and go so quickly with the relentlessly changing tides of fashion.

References:
Introduction to Cyrene Reef (Wildsingapore)
Star Trackers
A new star for Singapore: discovery of sea star

Many thanks to Ria and Vilma for the opportunity to visit Cyrene reef.