| The Magazine of the CALIFORNIA ACADEMY OF SCIENCES |
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HERE AT THE ACADEMY Grateful Hosts
For centuries, scientists have been venturing into the wild to collect specimens for their studies. Slashing their way into impenetrable jungles or trekking over endless thirsty plains, they faced down all manner of perils for the chance to gather previously unknown creatures of all kinds. This hardy breed has not faded into history. Here atthe Academy, researchers are still braving the dangers of the wilderness to collect new specimens for the museum’s collection. But some of the creatures they brought home have been more welcome than others. For example, after two years of travels in Asia and Africa, Academy photographer Dong Lin managed to contract all four of the world’s strains of malaria—two of them at the same time. Sadly, these species were too small to be preserved for the collections. When a leech encountered herpetologist Robert Drewes, he was able to record detailed collection information before donating it to the Invertebrate Zoology department. The label reads “Botswana: Okavango Delta: Xaxaba Camp: Left thigh of R. C. Drewes. col. April 1986.” Today, Academy scientists routinely pack pantyhose for trips to the humid tropics. Leeches can’t bite through the slick mesh, and most people would rather sweat than face the alternative. Spider expert Darrell Ubick once brought home a stowaway infant after a collecting trip to Costa Rica. Shortly after his return, he noticed a reddish bump on his right arm. Several weeks later, he noticed the bump wiggling. And through a little hole in the center, he could see the glistening body of a fat white grub. Ubick was overjoyed to find he had a live botfly larva. In the spirit of scientific discovery, he decided to raise the creature to maturity, documenting the condition of his arm with daily notes and photographs. Sometimes, he says, the larva would hit a nerve while searching for a fresh blood supply—the sensation felt like an electric shock. After four weeks, the bot drenched its hole with anesthetic, stealthily excised a circle of skin, and popped out. Ubick was ready with a little box. When the bot finally emerged as a large and handsome fly, Ubick added the animal to his collection. Photographs of Ubick’s arm in textbooks now gross out medical students. But the escapades of antman Brian Fisher put all others in the shade. He’s blasé about all the usual stuff—typhoid fever, malaria, chigoes, bots, scabies, and leeches. But he got quite excited about his case of leishmaniasis, a microorganism he picked up in Bolivia. He only recognized he was infected when a huge raw place opened up on his calf. Treatment involves pumping you full of the element antimony, which destroys your liver. As Fisher puts it, the bug can be killed only by bringing you to the brink of death. The hope is that the protozoan will keel over first. That sounds bad, but the alternative is worse: after two to twenty-five years, leishmaniasis can cause your nose to fall off when you blow it. Fisher is even prouder of his elephant worms—or footworms—so called because they infest the feet of elephants. The worms bored their way into his feet while he was busy gathering ants in the Congo. After narrowly escaping a revolution (see “Escape From Ant Paradise,” California Wild Winter 2002), Fisher thought he was safe back home. Then his feet swelled up with bright red bumps that became progressively more painful. The affliction mystified local doctors. Finally Fisher remembered the warning he’d received from an Ubaka pigmy. Armed with this information, the medic was able to make a diagnosis. He told Fisher that the most effective treatment is ivermectin, a drug used to deworm sheep and cattle but unavailable in the United States. Fisher had a supply specially shipped in from South Africa. But far and away Fisher’s most horrifying hitchhiker was the dreaded Loa loa worm, injected by an infected mosquito. He became covered in red swellings and his hands and feet appeared bruised. He describes himself as “looking like a cross between a Klingon and a leper.” He looked so bad that UC Davis temporarily banned him from appearing in public. This threadlike nematode worm is usually one to two inches long but, once inside a warm human host, it can reach two-and-a-half-feet in length. It works its slender body at high speed around the body, just below the skin. Some unlucky victims will see it flashing across their eyeballs. If you have your wits about you and are not squeamish, this is your one chance to grab the beast and pull it out. Fisher’s meds had to be accompanied by cortisone treatment, as the dying nematodes can not only block arteries but can also cause allergic reactions. At the doctor’s he found that he had simultaneously been collected by Wuchereria bancrofti, a flatworm that can cause the legs, arms and genitals to swell to elephantine proportions. Fortunately the same medication kills both. Taken together the experiences of these collectors give a whole new meaning to the phrase “bring ‘em back alive.” Suzanne Ubick is Assistant Editor of California Wild. |
