Dispatches From The Field

14 June, 2003 -- Ted Gilliland

Today I would have attended my high school graduation if I had not come to Madagascar to do research. As my classmates walked across the stage and picked up their diplomas, I walked twelve miles in the forests of Madagascar and picked up a chameleon. To celebrate my day, we had almond cake and a champagne substitute that Luke brought from Mahajunga (the closest city). And when I walked to my tent at the end of the night, I took my brimmed field hat and tossed it into the air to, once and for all, make my graduation official.

Before my mock graduation ceremony, we did a great deal of hiking. As we ventured out to one of the radio telemetry towers, Luke illustrated the process that the land goes through after the forests are burned. When human-induced fire destroys the healthy forest, the exposed soil, without its anchoring forest root system, washes away with the rain. The erosion exposes the limestone bedrock that can only support barren savannahs. Supporting a minimal amount of biodiversity, the savannahs eventually enter the last step of this process and form lavakas.

Lavakas (meaning “holes” in Malagasy) are erosion gullies of inordinate size. We were trekking across the savannah when suddenly the trail ended and dropped five-hundred feet below into a pit of alternating limestone pinnacles and deep, steep-wall canyons. The lavaka resembles skyscrapers sunk in an absurdly large pit. And at the bottom of each canyon is a dry, sandy river bottom that tells of the massive amount of earth washed away with every rain. Looking at these destitute lands bordering healthy forest, I said to myself “Madagascar is melting away.” We’re here to try and slow down that process.

-Ted Gilliland