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the third pole- china's water tower


A Tibetan monk watches the horse racing at the Qumalai horse festival in Yushu prefecture. The horse festivals were historically a test of skill and manhood and have experienced a resurgence in recent years, encouraged by the Chinese government keen to promote a harmonious society.

“Education will ruin our culture” laments Dorje, a local Tibetan teacher describing how compulsory education is driving the resettlement of nomads. “These lifestyles are endangered. You rarely see people on horse back nowadays. To improve the living standard depends on education but to save [culture] more depends on the people”

The Tibetan plateau is the world’s third pole and its waters influence the lives of 40% of the global population downstream. Sanjiangyuan or ‘The Three rivers headwaters’ reserve is China’s water tower, in the eastern plateau and home to the last Tibetan nomads. “The waters from Sanjiangyuan sustains life for 600 million people downstream but in recent years this vast water tower is under threat,” says Dr Marc Foggin, a conservation biologist who has studied life on the plateau for 15 years, “and what affects China affects the world.”

In 2000, Chinese officials reacted at the sight of dried-up lake beds and grasslands turning to desert near the Yellow river source in Guoluo county. China’s so-called mother river and the nearby Yangtze, function as the nation’s two major arteries flowing through its industrial heartland. The third source rising in the vicinity, the Mekong, flows through Burma, Laos, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam. The future of the nation and surrounding region depends on how this water tower is conserved.

Climate change is thought to be the main cause of rangeland degradation with the plateau warming at twice the world average with China overtaking the USA as the world’s largest polluter in 2007 .  Officials also blamed a burrowing mammal called a ‘pika’ and the overgrazing  of nomadic herd for the erosion. China created a major new reserve encompassing the three rivers headwaters in Qinghai province covering an area the size of England and Wales at an average elevation of 4000m.  

The aim was to halt erosion and protect human life downstream but at the cost of removing one of the world’s last nomadic populations.    While outside the official Tibet Autonomous region, the majority of the residents are Tibetans with few Han Chinese.   Areas of Tibetan majority covers the official TAR but also includes large swathes of Qinghai, Sichuan and Gansu provinces. 

By 2014, over 530,000 nomads in Qinghai province are to be resettled under the Ecological Resettlement’ programme, though the trend towards sedenterisation of nomads begun much earlier in the 1960s. as part of the ‘Great leap forward’. Ecological resettlement is the latest and possibly last phase of the process  threatening the end for this ancient way of life. 

 The Tibetan identity is rooted in the land and the herding of yak.  Traditionally this would be moving a tent but this today is almost exclusively from a permanent winter home into a summer tent. Nomadic pastoralism, refers to people who undertake seasonal migrations to graze their herds.    Now, ecological resettlement is producing a generation of educated but rurally-illiterate Tibetans in search of a new identity.  

“The yak is intimately associated with whole of religion and culture of this region.”, says Gerald Weiner, a UK-based animal geneticist who co-authored the book ‘The Yak’ for the UN. “Yak are the most wonderful animals for sustaining life in the region- they provide milk for butter, yoghurt and cheese, are a source of meat, hair for weaving into tents and rope with the finer fabric made into clothing. “  

The late Cai Li, a Chinese professor and yak history expert from Chengdu in Sichuan province, was of the opinion that without yak dung, the only fuel available, no people or civilisation could have colonised these vast mountainous regions.  

Today, motorbikes and smart phones are essential tools for the modern nomad but yak herding remains at the heart of Tibetan identity.  The resettlement of nearly all of Qinghai’s nomads will fundamentally redefine the Tibetan cultural identity forever. 

”Nomads have started thinking the grass in greener in the city! “ explains former nomad and conservationist Tsera. “Grassland life is a lot of hard work . But here [in town] they have no job, no money and they have an identity crisis.  They always ask me “what shall I do?”. At first people think its a good choice but after a while they realise they have to buy meat and yak dung, pay to build a toilet and don’t have enough money to move back.”  

Children begin their first term at a rural school in Qinghai with military exercises on nearby grasslands but many will graduate unable or unwilling to return to these ancestoral pasturelands. Families are provided with a new home and living subsidy to bring their children to town for education, few return to the old ways. 

“Life is perfect” says a father-of-five taxi driver, resettled last year.  Superficially his new home resembles a idyllic suburbia except for running water or power for street lights. His village is used for official visits to showcase the success of Ecological resettlement and is more attractive than the most common concrete grids.    “I like the government. I never went to school but I hope they [my children] may go to university one day”.  The resettlement villages are branded “thief schools” or “ghettos on the grasslands” by critics.  

Despite their high aims of improving education and healthcare, they bring inner-city problems to the rural landscape.  A few find new opportunities but 70% of resettled Tibetans remain unemployed relying on government handouts, feeling hopeless and even suffering culture shock.  This sense of frustration and despair has been used to account for spate of self immolations since 2009 by Tibetans living in China that have dominated western media news of the region.  During the recent Party congress [Dec 2012], 6 nomads took their lives with even more in recent weeks. 

In 2010 an earthquake destroyed Yushu town, the largest in the Three Rivers reserve, with the loss of over 2600 lives lost.  While most buildings crumbled, a statue of Tibet’s mythic leader and hero King Gesar remained standing in the centre of the city, a symbol of the people’s enduring spirit even in the midst of tragedy and the tectonic shifts in culture. Beijing pledged to rebuild Yushu, as an ecological city centered on King Gesar square and the re-built hill top monastery- twin totems of indigenous Tibetan culture.    An airport and 800km of dual carriageway the provincial capital will bring tourists from home and abroad seeking an authentic cultural experience.   Horse festivals on the plains near Yushu town are resurgent in popularity, despite government restricting large gatherings in the province.  Nearby resettlement villages have their own regulars races between locals, perhaps a reaction to their new settled life. 

“No culture is a museum piece,” says conservationist Dr Marc Foggin of NGO Plateau perspectives who work with nomads to sustain livelihoods and conserve local wildlife  “Tibetan pastoralism will continue to create and recreate itself .  There is a creativity in us that has allowed humans to survive in harsh habitats.” 

Ancient lifestyles become ancient, Foggin reasons, by surviving and evolving to a changeable environment. For millennia the nomads have looked for their survival to the wildlife and so too today.  

The Three Rivers reserve is a haven for rare wildlife including snow leopard, Tibetan antelope and black-necked cranes. Government-funded roads can allow herding cooperatives to get their product to the lucrative eastern markets while bringing in ecotourists seeking a wilderness experience, epitomized by the nomadic Tibetans. Of the world’s snow leopards,  half live on the Tibetan plateau and China wants to protect them.  Nomads, working as wildlife monitors can gather scientific data and deter poachers while remaining on the land. In November 2012, authorities announced  paid positions for nearly 10,000 ‘keepers of the grassland‘, an official endorsement of the value of herders.  The wild yak and plateau wildlife now offer a means for the continued survival of the Tibetan culture in this harsh landscape. 

Pastoralism may be a fringe lifestyle but it always has been, clinging to life in the harshest livable environment on earth.  Under the torrent flow of China’s economy, drive for urbanization and the policy of compulsory education, the end of Tibet’s nomads appears inevitable. But herding remains the plateau’s most sustainable lifestyle and nomads are best placed to conserve the wildlife and land, offering a slender hope of survival against overwhelming odds.   

In Dorje’s classroom the children settle down to read English and Tibetan. Outside, the sounds of drills and trucks remind us that the school is a work in progress as the authorities desperately try to make space for the flood of new pupils.  Tibetan motifs adorn freshly painted walls while children shriek through unfinished corridors due to chronic understaffing- a living metaphor of the new society being forged here. 

“There is no need to be nostalgic for a past time,”says Dorje, himself a product of voluntary settlement. “Whether the culture survives depends on the people.  Every individual has ability to do something to save traditional culture.  “I think it will change, yes. There will be less people in 5 years and even less pastoralism in 10 years but the earth needs people to take care of it, it can’t be deserted.” (Names changed and exact locations withheld)  

Published in The South China Morning Post Magazine 9 Jan 2013.
© kieran dodds 2013

subjects: stories

Tags: china  conservation  essay  tibet  wildlife

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deadly skies over malta

Bee-eater, found at Xemxija, 20th April 2011 suffered gunshot injury to its left side of the body.
"Some members have been shot at and injured, others got their car burned, experienced verbal abuses and physical abuses also. That's the bad side of being a birdwatcher."- An anonymous birdwatcher from Malta.

On Malta, it's safer to remain anonymous than come out as a birdwatcher, a 19-year old supporter of the charity Birdlife Malta confesses. 'Even with friends I don’t tell them what I do. Birdwatching is my only hobby and my passion, sometimes even an obsession.'

Every spring, thousands of migrating birds that navigate from Africa to Europe risk a barrage of shotguns over Malta. The island is a service station on a ‘flyway’ (or avian motorway) used by hundreds of species for navigation and feeding on the final legs of the arduous journey across the Sahara to their summer breeding grounds in northern Europe. Under EU legislation spring hunting of birds is illegal but the government of Malta, which joined the EU in 2004, allows limited hunting of turtle dove and quail, two species in decline across the continent. The European Court of Justice found Malta guilty for allowing spring hunting from 2004-2007. A two-year cessation ended when guns opened fire again in 2010 and have continued since.

'Big birds of prey are born with a route map and if you shoot that population they won't come back here.' says Neil Glenn, a professional birdwatcher from the UK on Spring Watch Malta. “Malta is a crucial island stopping off point going to northern Europe.” Spring Watch Malta is a conservation camp run by BirdLife Malta, a non-profit which lobbies against bird hunting in the country.

The rocky outcrops of Malta have acted as a stepping stone for birds crossing from the Sahara into Italy for millennia. The increased wealth on the island in recent decades has led to a proliferation of shot-guns and which has turned this once welcome oasis into a death trap. Practically no species breed on the island.

Malta has the highest population of hunters in the European Union with a density of around 47 hunters and trappers per square km compared with only 2.5 per square km in nearby Italy. In 2012, 50 volunteers from across Europe converged to track migrating birds and monitor any illegal spring hunting by the 11,000 registered hunters. Spring Watch and Raptor camp in autumn are run by BirdLife Malta, an organisation with 3000 local members, aimed at tracking hunters and recording any infringements of the law. Last year, over 1000 illegal hunting and trapping incidents were recorded. 

'I heard about the killing of 13 night herons.' says Bob Hook, a countryside ranger from the UK, explaining why he came to Malta. 'They are family animals, and if one is left behind the rest come back. One by one, they were all killed as they came back for their mates. I have been here nine times. In simplistic terms it's gone from diabolical to bad. At first, everything was shot but when we are around that has subsided.' Judy Stolz from France noticed the birds declining where she lives. 'Rather than just give money, I wanted to act. I worry about the birds when I am in bed.' Hunters regularly shoot raptors, herons and bee eaters which are then stuffed for private collection. Sometimes groups walk into night time roosts by torchlight and shoot the birds as they sleep. When conditions are right for flying, hundreds of marsh harriers, eagles and other birds can move from Africa. Overall, 170 species occur on Malta regularly. 

Birdlife’s presence on the island is resented by hunters who are a powerful lobby on the small island. Public opinion is moving in favour of ending spring hunting, which turns the beautiful coastal and farming regions into a no-man’s lands in spring. In January 2013, the local hunting federation FKNK called on their government to stop tourists roaming the countryside during the hunting season. 

'Members of the public were coming up to us saying they love what we were doing.' says Neil Glenn. 'To me the camp is like a virus - it gets in your genes.' says Marianne Leenders, from the Netherlands, 'I tell my grandkids about it - ''Grandma is on migration again.''

© kieran dodds 2012

subjects: stories

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the bats of kasanka

Light shines through wings during midday when the colony continues to be active.

Deep in a remote corner of Zambia, a forest stirs with activity. A huge number of animals are coming to the end of an epic migration. Few have witnessed this annual event, yet it may well comprise the greatest concentration of mammalian biomass on the continent, if not the world.

I approach under the cover of darkness. Changwe, my Zambian guide asks to keep the headlamp switched off to avoid disturbing the animals. With no lamp and no moonlight I can barely see my legs, nevermind the mambas or crocodiles that roam the forest floor. My feet crunch into a deep leaf litter with every blind step, and I frequently stumble over fallen logs or bash my head on branches.

As the sun streams over the horizon, I take position high in the canopy after clambering up a rickety ladder of branches and timber. 

 Whirling and tumbling on every side, the animals arrive in bewildering numbers, shrieking and colliding as they return from a night feeding. They are straw-coloured fruit bats Eidolon helvum and about eight million of them roost in the skeletal trees found in this corner of Kasanka National Park, on the border with the Democratic Republic of Congo. They arrive every November and December to gorge themselves on the abundance of fruit in the Park – but the mystery surrounding exactly where they’ve come from and where they’re going is gaining them a reputation as Africa’s best-kept wildlife secret. 

Straw-coloured fruit bats are a migratory species living in large, conspicuous colonies on the edge of forests, towns and cities with a their range covering the tropical belt of Africa. Colonies exist in Sudan south into Zambia through Uganda, Tanzania, western Kenya and the Democratic Republic of Congo, with hundreds of thousands to millions of bats. The species even reaches the Nigeria and Ivory Coast – well, it turns up on the menus of hotels there at least. 

 What makes the Kasanka colony so different is the record breaking scale and the mystery that surrounds their movements. Every night from the compact roost bats pour out across the sky in every direction across a radius of 40 miles or more. 

 The dawning African sun illuminates the bats' intricate wings showing up a network of blood vessels supplying the muscles that hold the skin membranes taught between elongated fingers. With a wingspan of up to 80cm – the broadest wingspan of any African bat, they make an impressive sight as squadron after squadron of bats returns from foraging and spirals around the roost. Landing is less graceful; each bat flies up to a branch and grabs it with its feet before falling headlong onto a bundle of leathery wings. It finally ends up hanging upside down. 

 Bat knees are turned around 180o from most mammals, the hinge bending the opposite direction compared to our own, to help them navigate in flight using their tail membrane (a flap of skin stretched between their feet). This adaptation means they must hang upside down, a special tendon means they can do so without effort. 

As I watch, a passing fish eagle, spotted by hundreds of attentive eyes in the cluster, causes a flurry of activity, which settles down after the culprit is chased away by a mob of bats. Many birds of prey attack the bats here and even crocodiles predate on individuals that fall to the forest floor. This pattern is repeated until the sun is high above the horizon and the bats settle. The intense activity eventually strips the trees bare and kills them. 

 Bat biologist Heidi Richter, from the University of Florida, first saw the nightly migrations when she was a Peace Corps volunteer in the nearby town of Serenje returning to complete a masters degree and now for her PhD tracking where the bats spend the other 10 months of the year when they leave the park. Her first question was why do they come here in the first place? 

“Bats caught from the roost showed females at different stages of pregnancy which is a high risk strategy because of the dangers related to migration- the greater energy and nutritional demands of carrying offspring, unless there is a large reward,” she explains, “While mating and gene exchange are benefits of the gathering, the risk of migrating during pregnancy suggested the bats find specific nutrients at Kasanka.” Bat reproduction is triggered by environmental cues such as the start of the rains or the abundance of food. The variation in natal development suggests that colonies from different geographical locations had come together at Kasanka. 

Heidi describes a "Big Bang" of fruit production in the park during November acting like a bat magnet. Kasanka means ‘place where people come to harvest’ and man has historically traveled here to enjoy its abundant meat, fish and fruit. 

The synchronous fruiting of wild loquat, red milkwood and water berry enables the millions of bats to feed, consuming up to twice their body weight- an estimated 5000 tonnes of fruit every night! And that is just the straw coloured fruit bat; there are seven other species of fruit bat in the park, of the 24 bat species recorded here. 

Two major groups of bat exist in the order of Chiroptera- meaning hand wing. Microchiroptera are insectivorous and echolocating bats while megachiroptera use visual and oral cues eating mainly fruit. Megachiroptera, as the name suggests are generally larger than their micro relatives. 

 Bats hold an extraordinary importance for the future of African forests responsible for at least 60% of seed dispersal of tropical rain forest trees including economically important timber and cash crops. 

 In West Africa, one study showed some 300 million seeds of the valuable hardwood the Iroko were spread over hundreds of square miles in just one night by straw coloured fruit bats. They also disperse cashew, mango and figs among the 300 other bat dependant species. The economic and environmental impact of bats is only now becoming clear. 

 The Straw Coloured Fruit bat is master of migration. Previous studies showed the bats would travel some 900 miles during the year but new research from Kasanka using satellite tracked bats show this is an underestimates its abilities. 

 Using a specially designed collar attached to their neck, complete with solar panel and rechargeable battery, the device had to be lightweight so as not to hinder flight or expose the bat to predation. Four male bats were chosen as their larger size (around 300g) can cope with the added weight of the 12g transmitter. 

 Moving up to 60 miles in a night to feed around the reserve, one tagged bat was tracked for around 600 miles in just one month after leaving Kasanka in December. 

 “They disappeared somewhere over the Democratic Republic of Congo- either there was not enough sun for the charge, they chewed the collar off or they were chewed themselves”. 

 Not before data showed a final distance of 1200 miles over 6 months for the aptly named bat ‘Hercules’. The dispersal spread the males to different locations across a radius of 360 miles. If this was the final destination, and there is no reason to suggest that they will not go on further, would amount to a round trip of 2400 miles. 

 The full route of this migration, or migrations, will not be fully known until more bats are tagged and tracked in the future. 

 “I like the mystery,” says Heidi, “there is still so much to be discovered and I am sure further research will only confirm the importance of this natural across Africa”. 

 South Luangwa National Park, one hour's flight away, may have the “Big Five” and an international reputation but Kasanka, a smaller gem at a mere 350km2, has a nightly spectacle to rival any in the natural world. By day the sight is no less dramatic. 

As we retrace our steps out of the forest leaving the colony to settle in the warm sun, I imagine 500 elephants, the equivalent of 2500 tonnes of bat, spread out in the branches above me. The thought is sobering. Walking under a tree holding one elephant would seem an unwise thing to do but Changwe reassures me he has never been hit by a falling bat. Or a falling elephant for that matter. 

Published in The Herald Magazine and BBC Wildlife magazine.

© kieran dodds 

subjects: stories

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