Across elevation gradients, abundance of anoles decreases from low to high elevations. Species richness also follows distinct patterns across elevation, often being highest in the lowlands and sometimes exhibiting a mid-elevation bump if highland and lowland faunas meet and augment each other.
For us, surveying in Jaragua National Park (at sea-level), we found our first six species (of anole) plot. And each plot had at least
four species! This diversity makes surveying a bit like opening a surprise gift basket—you never know who or what you’re going to find. One minute it might be a slender grass-bush anole the width of a pencil and the next it might be a crown-giant the length of my forearm.
Along with the diversity of Anolis, there was a high diversity of creepy-crawlies. After the 15th tarantula, I stopped shrieking. However, given a choice between walking past a tarantula the size of my face on the trail or bushwalking around the tarantula through the bushes (in which there are certainly more, hidden arachnids), I will always take the detour option.
As in the spring though, it is a toss-up which is worse—the benign but scary tarantulas, or the red centipedes that resemble aliens from hell. I still haven’t figured this one out but luckily I have several more weeks to collect data on this particular comparison.
Also in Jaragua I got to test another one of my long-standing fear—that of heights. One of the team leaders here collects data on amphibian communities and does vertical transects using tree climbing gear. And while I’ve been curious to try it, I do not like being more than about 2 meters off the ground on ladders, on cliffs, ridge walks or balcony edges. So I stepped into the harness with some amounts of trepidation.
Turns out though that being suspended in the canopy is akin to scuba diving (not that I’ve done that) but it allows you experience a strata of the environment that is normally inaccessible.