“Every kid starts out as a natural-born scientist, and then we beat it out of them. A few trickle through the system with their wonder and enthusiasm for science intact.”
– Carl Sagan
There is an inquisitiveness that once ran through us all as children. It’s a necessary part of being human: it’s a function that allows us to make sense of the world and figure out its many rules for our own survival. Although it is simply a catalyst for learning, developed over millions of years to result in an ability to understand complex situations and how to respond to them, it can also be described as the driving force behind all investigation or, even more simply put, as play. Throughout the history of our species, and that of our predecessors, this function has allowed us to continuously collect information beyond that held in our DNA. The result of this collective learning, which is fueled by our curious nature, is the world we live in today. A world where we eat without having to forage for food ourselves, where we can see clearly after the sun has set, and where we can eradicate disease rather than succumb to it.
As children, when we searched under rocks for bugs and poked things with sticks to see if they moved, this sense of curiosity thrived within us: the makings of a scientist in each and every child. But, the usual case is that our parents only ever approved of these investigations if they were sanctioned as creative, clean or quiet. When this same driving force led us to participate in activities of the contrary to this, it usually ended badly for us. It was particularly when we did things that got us into trouble–like setting fire to plastic soldiers to see what happened or breaking electronics to find out what was inside–that this curiosity was punished. Unfortunately, it is from this interaction that we often learned that it was bad to feed this sense of wonder. Even worse, as we grow up society increasingly frowns upon individuals that retain this desire to learn and labels them as childish, immature or ‘nerdy’. You only need to look at an average teenager to see how desperately we try to shake off any association that we have with our former care-free, inquisitive selves.
One of the great things about being a field biologist is being able to feel, and feed, that familiar sense of curiosity every single day.
Recently I found myself trying to take shelter from a tropical rain storm in a (fortunately for me, unoccupied) tapir’s nest. I was supposed to be diligently watching a cavity in a large tree to see if the endangered Great Green Macaw had taken to this hole to build its own nest in. But naturally the mind wanders. Although the birds can sometimes visit their nest in silence, usually their raucous screeching alerts me to their presence well before they arrive. This natural proximity alarm that they provide usually affords me the luxury of getting thoroughly absorbed in my idyllic surroundings. More accurately, the rainforest of Costa Rica has a way of distracting you whether you can afford to or not–more than once a spectacular flock of birds has resulted in some non-driving-test-standard manoeuvres on the road. But I digress. My point is, that while distracted from my duties on this particular day, I saw something that really stirred that part of me that has no idea what is going on, but really wants to know more.
While similar situations occur for me on a daily basis (although never really while sat in a tapir’s bed), they are usually moments I like to keep to myself. They are moments I like to ponder over or to research further, when I get the chance, or often to simply just watch as they develop, but nevertheless, most are in many ways a secret reward for doing the work that I do. On this occasion, however, I knew what I was about to see would be great to get some footage of. So, I grabbed the field camera and shot some photos and a (very shaky) 10 minutes of film to capture the moment and share with all you wonderful people. The below video (which should open in a new tab via instagram) is what I saw ‘unfold’ over a 20-minute period or so, we have sped up the process so you can see the wonder for yourself.
What you are seeing in the video above is the eclosion of an owlfly (Ululodes spp.). Eclosion, simply put, is the act of an insect emerging from a pupal case or hatching from an egg. In this occasion, the newly emerged owlfly has cracked through its pupal case of its final larval stage and crawled to a suitable spot (around 50cm directly up the tree bark from where it emerged) to allow its new wings to unfold. Unfortunately, I didn’t catch the hatching or the crawling on camera, but what we do see is the 20 minutes immediately following that.
After watching and filming intently for ten minutes, I snapped a few more photos before leaving the creature to its new life, undisturbed. At the time I didn’t know exactly what I was looking at. I thought it may have been the eclosion of a dragonfly but then, right at the end, you can see its wings flip over. This made me think perhaps it was a damselfly (based on my very limited entomological knowledge). However, this still didn’t sit right with me. Mainly because you can see this little creature has huge antennae, whereas dragon flies and damselflies do not.
Wanting to know more, I set about searching the internet. However, I guess I just did not have the right lexicon or detailed knowledge of insect anatomy to do comprehensive enough searches. I did come across owlflies in my search, but for some reason I glossed over them (probably because the Wikipedia image looks very different to what I saw, so foolishly I thought it did not warrant further investigation). Fortunately, I came across the blog of the very knowledgeable “dragonfly woman” (https://thedragonflywoman.com/). I ended up on her page and was quickly completely off topic, reading about all sorts of wonderful things to do with insects. Anyway, this lady clearly knew the difference between a mesothorax and metathorax. So I emailed the dragonfly woman with my photos to see if she could shine some light on my finding. She got back to me rather quickly and impressively identified the creature down to the genus level for me.
Armed with this new knowledge, my research was able to become more directed and yet so much more convoluted at the same time. For no reason other than personal interest, I read pages and pages of information about the odonata (dragonflies and damselflies) and the neuroptera (includes the owlflies, lacewings, mantidflies and antlions) orders. In turn, this led me to some weird tangents such as reading about Simant: the electronic ant colony (a 1991 computer game inspired by the work of the fantastic E.O. Wilson), ancient bestiaries such as the Hortus Sanitatis and even about how new space ship structures are being designed based on the process you just witnessed (check out http://stage.tksc.jaxa.jp/taurus/member/kishimoto/pdf/kishiSDM06.pdf for the full article).
So, why the rant about children’s curiosity? Why did I not just post the video? Well, initially I was simply going to post the video along with a bunch of facts and science about owlflies and flying insects. However, this whole process made me realise that I owe so much to those that managed to keep the small spark of curiosity alive in me. A small spark that in recent years has returned to the full on bonfire that it once was. This is especially impressive when considering that I was, without a doubt, one of those teenagers that tried so hard to stop learning and instead wanted to prove that they already knew everything. There are countless people who I could (and should) thank for this. Unfortunately, I can’t possibly remember them all and give them the credit they deserve. There are also many of them that have never met me and have no idea who I am, but who have still taught me so much and kept my mind open against the odds.
For those that did know me personally, it must not have been an easy task to teach me, I was not exactly a model student. I realise now though that all those inspirational people, from teachers to television presenters, are responsible for fueling my curiosity and interest when so many others, myself included, were trying to quell them. My final thought is that if you are a scientist, teacher, environmentalist, philosopher, explorer, or anybody else that might have an affect on the future of a child, then keep up the good work. You have plenty of lives to change and parents to undermine. Even if you feel that you are doing a thankless job, it is no doubt you who shape the future of the planet. For this, I (and every other kid that grew up to realise their dreams) thank you.
The Field Biologist 
Well presented
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