A dromedary camel photographed in Varamin, Iran Image credit: Houman Doroudi via iNaturalist (CC-BY-NC)
What animal is the “Superhero of the Desert,” reshaping entire ecosystems simply by eating, roaming, and . . . pooping?
Meet the Desert Superhero!
A dromedary camel photographed in Varamin, Iran Image credit: Houman Doroudi via iNaturalist (CC-BY-NC)
Desert wanderer Curved as the dunes he walks on Splat! Anger expressed
A close family friend asked me to cover camels as one of my Featured Creatures. Ask, and ye shall receive! Despite the majority of camels today being domesticated species, they still play important roles in their local ecosystem, and contribute to the biodiversity of the habitats in which they live.
Dominating the Desert, and De-bunking Assumptions
Camels are far more than the four-legged, desert pack animals typically shown in movies—their presence shapes the health, stability, and biodiversity of their ecosystems. Their grazing patterns, movement, digestion, and remarkable resilience collectively engineer the landscapes they inhabit.
Camels haven’t just adapted to desert life, their entire bodies are designed for endurance in some of the most unforgiving climates on Earth. Did you know they can go up to 10 days without drinking, even in extreme heat! Their long legs help keep them cool, elevating their bodies away from ground temperatures that can reach 158ºF (70°C), and their thick coat insulates them against radiant heat. In the summer, their coats lighten to reflect the sunlight.
Long eyelashes, ear hairs, and sealable nostrils protect against the blowing sand, while their wide, padded feet keep them from sinking into the desert sand or snow. Bactrian camels grow heavy winter coats that enable survival in winter temperatures (-20ºF [-29ºC]), then shed them to adapt to the hot summer temperatures. Their mouths have a thick, leathery lining that allows them to chew thorny, salty vegetation, with split, mobile upper lips that help them grasp sparse grasses . . . and spit. Well, sorta. . .
Desert Engineers and Seed Dispersers
These “ships of the desert” feed on thorny, salty, dry plants that most herbivores avoid, keeping dominant species in check and promoting plant diversity. Their nomadic lifestyle prevents overgrazing, spreading this balancing effect across vast ranges and reducing the risk of desertification. As they move, they disperse seeds in their dung, enriching poor soils with nutrients and enabling new vegetation to take hold where it otherwise could not.
Even their hydration strategy—relying heavily on moisture from plants and drinking only occasionally—protects scarce water sources that smaller species depend on. Trails they create become pathways for other wildlife, while their presence attracts predators and scavengers, helping sustain food webs in seemingly barren terrain.
People often assume that camels carry water in their humps and spit when they are annoyed. But those humps aren’t sloshing with water. They are fat-storage structures that provide a slow-burning energy reserve when food is scarce. And that spitting? It’s actually a warning system composed of both saliva and partially digested stomach contents.
Helping People and Ecosystems Endure
Even though they may look goofy at first, the ecological and cultural value of the camel is extraordinary.
They have supported human survival in harsh environments for thousands of years. Domesticated camels provide wool, meat, milk, transportation, and labor. Their endurance and strength have made them central to trade routes, cultural traditions, and economic activity across regions where few other animals could thrive.
Camels shape vegetation patterns, support biodiversity, stabilize fragile ecosystems, and enable life in regions that would otherwise be nearly uninhabitable. Without camels, many desert landscapes would lose the very processes that sustain them.
So next time you see a camel, in a movie, at a zoo, or on your travels, remember that these are no ordinary creatures. They are survival specialists and a cornerstone of some of the world’s harshest and most remarkable environments.
The wild bactrian camel (of which there are only 950 remaining) photographed in Mongolia’s Gobi Desert. Image credit: Chris Scharf, a client of Royle Safaris via iNaturalist (CC-BY-NC)
Sienna Weinstein is a wildlife photographer, zoologist, and lifelong advocate for the conservation of wildlife across the globe. She earned her B.S. in Zoology from the University of Vermont, followed by a M.S. degree in Environmental Studies with a concentration in Conservation Biology from Antioch University New England. While earning her Bachelor’s degree, Sienna participated in a study abroad program in South Africa and Eswatini (formerly Swaziland), taking part in fieldwork involving species abundance and diversity in the southern African ecosystem. She is also an official member of the Upsilon Tau chapter of the Beta Beta Beta National Biological Honor Society.
Deciding at the end of her academic career that she wanted to grow her natural creativity and hobby of photography into something more, Sienna dedicated herself to the field of wildlife conservation communication as a means to promote the conservation of wildlife. Her photography has been credited by organizations including The Nature Conservancy, Zoo New England, and the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute. She was also an invited reviewer of an elephant ethology lesson plan for Picture Perfect STEM Lessons (May 2017) by NSTA Press. Along with writing for Bio4Climate, she is also a volunteer writer for the New England Primate Conservancy. In her free time, she enjoys playing video games, watching wildlife documentaries, photographing nature and wildlife, and posting her work on her LinkedIn profile. She hopes to create a more professional portfolio in the near future.
What animal is the largest of the wild goat species, whose name means “snake eater” in Persian, and is the national animal of Pakistan?
An adult male markhor at the Stone Zoo, Stoneham, Massachusetts Image credit: Sienna Weinstein
Not Your Average Billy Goat
While interning at the Stone Zoo in Stoneham, Massachusetts, one of my duties involved filling up large black food bowls with a carefully measured mix of various feed for the zoo’s markhor. Prior to this internship, I had never heard of this fascinating species of bovid. The males were majestic with their artistically-curved horns and strikingly-bearded chin; so of course, my lunch break that day was spent photographing these amazing animals. This was no easy task, as these creatures had the habit of moving just out of sight around their enclosure as soon as my camera was properly set. However, persistence paid off, and I managed to snap a few photos during the brief moments when the markhors obliged me by standing still.
At 4.5-6.2 feet (1.37-1.89 m) long, with females typically weighing between 70 and 88 pounds (39.9 kg), with some weighing upwards of 100 (45.4 kg) or 110 lbs (49.9 kg) and males weighing up to 242 pounds (110 kg), the markhor is the largest of all wild goat species. Males release a pungent odor which has been described as stronger than that of domestic goats, and is used to repel predators, mark territory, and as a natural cologne to attract females during the breeding season.
There are a few examples of sexual dimorphism, or noticeable physical differences between genders, among markhor. Besides their differences in size, males have a longer coat, especially around the chin, throat, chest, and shanks. Females are typically redder in color compared with males, have shorter hair and beards, and lack the majestic mane males display along their neck. Both genders also sport an impressive set of corkscrew-like horns, which measure up to 10 inches (0.25 m) for females, but can exceed an astonishing 5 feet (1.52 m) for males!
What’s In a Name? A lot for the Markhor!
Found primarily in Pakistan, parts of Afghanistan, and the mountain ranges of the Himalayas and Karakoram, the markhor is the national animal of Pakistan. In Pakistan, the markhor is known as the “screw-horn”, or “screw-horned goat.” The Persian words “mar” and “khor” mean “snake” and “eater”, respectively, leading to the moniker “snake eater” or “snake killer”. This moniker is in reference to the ancient belief that the markhor would actively kill and consume snakes! (Which is not correct–markhors are herbivores.) This regional myth is believed to stem from the “snake-like” form of the male’s horns, curling and twisting like a snake, possibly leading ancient peoples of the area to associate them with these limbless reptiles.
Capra falconeri distribution, Shackleton, 1997
Native to the mountainous regions of South and Central Asia, the markhor has evolved powerful and flexible hooves with hard, large outer edges and softer centers to grip the rocky surfaces of the terrain. Their hooves allow them to scale sheer cliffs and escape predators such as Eurasian lynx, wolves, and snow leopards.
The markhor plays a crucial role within its ecosystem by contributing to the health of their mountainous habitat. Keeping the native plants in check, the markhor controls the growth of certain vegetation through their eating habits, even climbing trees to reach the tastiest bits. Markhors spend more than half of their day grazing, about 12–14 hours on average! They mostly feed on grass in the warmer months, but upon the arrival of winter, they switch to other plants, including shrubs and twigs. This seasonal shift from grazing (eating grasses and low vegetation) to browsing (eating leaves, shrubs, and woody plants) helps balance plant communities at different heights and root structures, which supports more diverse insect, bird, and herbivore populations. Their feeding habits prevent overgrazing and help to promote biodiversity by allowing a range of plant life to flourish.
A female markhor and her kid at the Stone Zoo, Stoneham, Massachusetts Image credit: Sienna Weinstein
An Icon Under Threat
Despite their impressive adaptations, generally majestic appearance, ecological importance, and status in Pakistan, the markhor faces numerous threats to survival. Listed as Near Threatened on the IUCN Red List, the markhor is hunted for their meat, skin, and horns. Across their range, overhunting and poaching have negatively impacted their populations. In addition, habitat degradation due to excessive wood cutting for fuel, as well as increased grazing by livestock leading to competition, and even hybridization between species, have further contributed to the markhor’s decline. Numerous conservation actions have been proposed via the markhor’s webpage on the IUCN Red List, and only time will tell whether potential collaboration between the locals of the region, government bodies, and conservationists can save this icon of the South and Central Asian mountains.
It required persistence and patience for my photos of the markhor to come to fruition before the individuals slipped away and out of sight. Similarly, persistence and patience must be employed in order to ensure that the species as a whole doesn’t slip away permanently.
Sienna Weinstein is a wildlife photographer, zoologist, and lifelong advocate for the conservation of wildlife across the globe. She earned her B.S. in Zoology from the University of Vermont, followed by a M.S. degree in Environmental Studies with a concentration in Conservation Biology from Antioch University New England. While earning her Bachelor’s degree, Sienna participated in a study abroad program in South Africa and Eswatini (formerly Swaziland), taking part in fieldwork involving species abundance and diversity in the southern African ecosystem. She is also an official member of the Upsilon Tau chapter of the Beta Beta Beta National Biological Honor Society.
Deciding at the end of her academic career that she wanted to grow her natural creativity and hobby of photography into something more, Sienna dedicated herself to the field of wildlife conservation communication as a means to promote the conservation of wildlife. Her photography has been credited by organizations including The Nature Conservancy, Zoo New England, and the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute. She was also an invited reviewer of an elephant ethology lesson plan for Picture Perfect STEM Lessons (May 2017) by NSTA Press. Along with writing for Bio4Climate, she is also a volunteer writer for the New England Primate Conservancy. In her free time, she enjoys playing video games, watching wildlife documentaries, photographing nature and wildlife, and posting her work on her LinkedIn profile. She hopes to create a more professional portfolio in the near future.
What animal, despite having the same number of vertebrae, has a neck longer than the average human, has spot patterns as unique between individuals as our fingerprints, and despite their gentle appearance, can kill lions with a karate-style kick!?
A tower of Reticulated giraffes (G. reticulata) Image credit: Bird Explorers via iNaturalist (CC-BY-NC)
Some might say this is quite the… tall order for my very first Featured Creature profile! (Hold the applause!)
One of my earliest memories regarding these unique icons of the African savanna was when I was around five years old. My parents and I were visiting the Southwick Zoo in Mendon, Massachusetts, when we came upon the giraffe enclosure. One of these quiet, lanky creatures lowered its head across the fence bordering the enclosure, and licked my dad on the face with its looooong, black tongue! Once the laughter had died down, a flood of questions rushed into my head:
Why DOES the giraffe have such a long neck?
How do they sleep at night?
And what’s the deal with those black tongues?
A Tall-Walking, Awkwardly-Galloping African Animal
Their scattered range in sub-Saharan Africa extends from Chad in the north to South Africa in the south, and from Niger in the west to Somalia in the east. Within this range, giraffes typically live in savannahs and open woodlands, where their food sources include leaves, fruits, and flowers of woody plants. Giraffes primarily consume material of the acacia species, which they browse at heights most other ground-based herbivores can’t reach. Fully-grown giraffes stand at 14-19 feet (4.3-5.7 m) tall, with males taller than females. The average weight is 2,628 pounds (1,192 kg) for an adult male, while an adult female weighs on average 1,825 pounds (828 kg).
A giraffe’s front legs tend to be longer than the hind legs, and males have proportionally longer front legs than females. This trait gives them better support when swinging their necks during fights over females.
Giraffes have only two gaits: walking and galloping. When galloping, the hind legs move around the front legs before the latter move forward. The movements of the head and neck provide balance and control momentum while galloping. Despite their size, and their arguably cumbersome gallop, giraffes can reach a sprint speed of up to 37 miles per hour (60 km/h), and can sustain 31 miles per hour (50 km/h) for up to 1.2 miles (2 km).
Herd of giraffes running in Tanzania, Africa
When it’s not eating or galavanting across the savanna, a giraffe rests by lying with its body on top of its folded legs. When you’re 18 feet tall, some things are easier said than done. To lie down is something of a tedious balancing act. The giraffe first kneels on its front legs, then lowers the rest of its body. To get back up, it first gets on its front knees and positions its backside on top of its hind legs. Then, it pulls the backside upwards, and the front legs stand straight up again. At each stage, the individual swings its head for balance. To drink water from a low source such as a waterhole, a giraffe will either spread its front legs or bend its knees. Studies involving captive giraffes found they sleep intermittently up to 4.6 hours per day, and needing as little as 30 minutes a day in the wild. The studies also recorded that giraffes usually sleep lying down; however, “standing sleeps” have been recorded, particularly in older individuals.
Cameleopard
The term “cameleopard” is an archaic English portmanteau for the giraffe, which derives from “camel” and “leopard”, referring to its camel-like shape and leopard-like coloration. Giraffes are not closely related to either camels or leopards. Rather, they are just one of two members of the family Giraffidae, the other being the okapi. Giraffes are the tallest ruminants (cud-chewers) and are in the order Artiodactyla, or “even-toed ungulates”.
A giraffe’s coat contains cream or white-colored hair, covered in dark blotches or patches which can be brown, chestnut, orange, or nearly black. Scientists theorize the coat pattern serves as camouflage within the light and shade patterns of the savannah woodlands. And just like our fingerprints, every giraffe has a unique coat pattern!
The tongue is black and about 18 inches (45 cm) long, able to grasp foliage and delicately pick off leaves. Biologists thinks that the tongue’s coloration protects it against sunburn, given the large amount of time it spends in the fresh air, poking and prodding for something to eat. Acacia giraffes are known for having thorny branches, and the giraffe has a flexible, hairy upper lip to protect against the sharp prickles.
Both genders have prominent horn-like structures called ossicones, which can reach 5.3 inches (13.5 cm), and are used in male-to-male combat. These ossicones offer a reliable way to age and sex a giraffe: the ossicones of females and young are thin and display tufts of hair on top, whereas those of adult males tend to be bald and knobbed on top.
An elderly adult male Masai giraffe at the Franklin Park Zoo, Boston, Massachusetts Image credit: Sienna Weinstein
There is still some debate over just why the giraffe evolved such a long neck. The possible theories include the “necks-for-sex” hypothesis, in which evolution of long necks was driven by competition among males, who duke it out in “necking” battles over females, versus the high nutritional needs for (pregnant and lactating) females. A 2024 study by Pennsylvania State University found that both were essentially acceptable! Check out the graphic below for a good visualization.
A graphic summarizing the evolution of the giraffe’s body based on gender needs Image credit: Penn State University, CC-BY-NC-ND 4.0
A Flagship AND Keystone Species
Alongside other noteworthy African savanna species, such as elephants and rhinoceroses, giraffes are considered a flagship species, well-known organisms that represent ecosystems, used to raise awareness and support for conservation, and helping to protect the habitats in which they’re found. As one of the many creatures that generate public interest and support for various conservation efforts in habitats around the world, giraffes have a significant role.
Giraffes, like elephants and rhinos, are also classified as a keystone species–one that plays a crucial role in maintaining the health and diversity of their native ecosystems, as their actions significantly impact the environment and other species. What is it that giraffes do that impacts their local ecosystems and environment? By browsing vegetation high up in the trees, they open up areas around the bases of trees to promote the growth of other plants, creating microhabitats for other species. In addition, through their dung and urine, they help distribute nutrients throughout their habitat. Some acacia seedlings don’t even sprout and grow until they’ve passed through a giraffe’s digestive system! By protecting giraffes, we also contribute to protecting other plant and animal species of the African savanna and open woodlands!
The Life We Share
The woodlands and grasslands where giraffes live are shaped in part by those long necks and unique feeding habits. As they browse high in the canopy, they open up space for other plants and animals to thrive. These ecosystems aren’t something we built, they’re something we’re lucky to witness. And if we have a role to play, maybe it’s simply to make sure our presence doesn’t undo the work that nature is already doing so well.
Sienna Weinstein is a wildlife photographer, zoologist, and lifelong advocate for the conservation of wildlife across the globe. She earned her B.S. in Zoology from the University of Vermont, followed by a M.S. degree in Environmental Studies with a concentration in Conservation Biology from Antioch University New England. While earning her Bachelor’s degree, Sienna participated in a study abroad program in South Africa and Eswatini (formerly Swaziland), taking part in fieldwork involving species abundance and diversity in the southern African ecosystem. She is also an official member of the Upsilon Tau chapter of the Beta Beta Beta National Biological Honor Society.
Deciding at the end of her academic career that she wanted to grow her natural creativity and hobby of photography into something more, Sienna dedicated herself to the field of wildlife conservation communication as a means to promote the conservation of wildlife. Her photography has been credited by organizations including The Nature Conservancy, Zoo New England, and the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute. She was also an invited reviewer of an elephant ethology lesson plan for Picture Perfect STEM Lessons (May 2017) by NSTA Press. Along with writing for Bio4Climate, she is also a volunteer writer for the New England Primate Conservancy. In her free time, she enjoys playing video games, watching wildlife documentaries, photographing nature and wildlife, and posting her work on her LinkedIn profile. She hopes to create a more professional portfolio in the near future.
Five times the size of New York’s Central Park, Casa de Campo (literally, “country house”) outside Madrid is filled with rustic stone pine trees – emblematic of the Mediterranean and easily identified by their bare trunks and full, blooming crown of pine needles. It’s sometimes called the “umbrella pine” for good reason. Above, within, around, and beneath these trees, nearly 200 species of vertebrates live.
Out for a run through the park, my feet pounded the dry dirt along a gradual decline for the last mile. Here, the earthen trail dipped down steeply and cut through dense brush. As I dropped in, I almost landed squarely on top of what appeared to be a large rabbit. To my surprise, it didn’t dart away; I think I was more startled than it was. You see, I’d set out on that run in part to find inspiration, follow my curiosity, and think of a creature I wanted to learn more about. I’m not such a strong believer in fate, but this rabbit (or so I thought at the time) had certainly made its case.
I lingered and watched it mill around the brush. The more I watched, the more I wondered about its story.
A Keystone Species On The Iberian Peninsula
The Iberian hare (Lepus granatensis) is endemic, or native, to the entire peninsula that contains Spain, Portugal, and the enclave nation of Andorra. Throughout that region they can be found in diverse habitats including dry Mediterranean scrublands, woodlands, and agricultural fields. It thrives in regions with ample vegetation that offer cover and food, adapting well to the peninsula’s varied landscapes, which range from dry, hot areas to slightly cooler, temperate zones. In some respects, Casa de Campo itself is a microcosm of these environments.
Lepus granatensis is a keystone species, meaning it occupies an essential link in the ecosystem’s food chain and plays a particularly outsized role in balancing its environment. It survives on a diet of grasses, leaves, and shoots, playing a crucial role in seed dispersal and vegetation control – and is a source of prey for a range of birds and mammals. The hare’s diet and grazing habits help control plant overgrowth and support a diverse plant community, evidenced in Casa de Campo by the more than 600,000 plant specimens found in the park alone.
The open ground this hare navigates every day is patrolled by animals who want to eat her– lynx, coyote, and red foxes from the land and eagles, owls, hawks, and red kites from the air. To get from point A to point B she must be fast, and she is. Powerful hind legs propel Lepus granatensis to top sprinting speeds of 45-50 miles-per-hour, making her one of the fastest land animals on the peninsula. It’s a pace that puts my nine-minute mile to shame, and is an essential adaptation to survive here, far from the relative safety of dense forest or lush meadow.
Casa de Campo, a 4,257 acre park on the edge of Madrid, boasts more that 600,000 plant specimens and nearly 200 species of vertebrates. Image by author, who was apparently far too busy taking pictures instead of running while on his run.
Nature’s Air Conditioning
When I first started coming to Madrid, adapting to the sparing or non-existent use of air conditioning in the summer was an adventure, to say the least. I can do without the Chipotle and readily available iced coffee, but having been raised on A/C since I was born, it took some getting used to. Unlike me in this regard, the hare I ran into that day is well suited to her environment. It is one of large, open landscapes dotted with thick low lying brush, olive trees, holm oaks, and pines. Rainfall is infrequent, and summers are scorched by the strong Spanish sun.
Her ears are larger and thinner than those of a rabbit. They often stand upright. When backlit, one can easily make out a network of veins and arteries, traversing the ear like rivers and streams through a watershed.
An unidentified leporid (family of rabbits and hares) displaying the network of arteries and veins that help transfer heat from warm blood to the surrounding air, keeping her cool. Image by author.
Therein lies her secret. Hares don’t perspire like you and me– nor do they pant like a canine. Instead, they depend on their large, thin-skinned ears to act as thermostat and air conditioner. No, they don’t flap them like a paper fan. Instead, they help her cool down by getting hotter.
When the hare needs to release excess heat, she can expand that network of blood vessels in her ears, allowing her to redirect hot blood away from her body and through the thin skin of her ears. Because her ears have a large surface area putting those veins in closer contact to the ambient air, this increased blood flow facilitates the dissipation of heat into the ever so slightly cooler surrounding air, helping her regulate her body temperature effectively.
We see this strategy of counter-current thermoregulation in nature again and again, in the ears of elephants and deer, and a variation in the snow and ice-bound paws of the arctic fox.
Thermal imaging demonstrating how heat retention and dissipation in rabbits is concentrated through the ears. Image credit: V. Redialli, et al., 2008
This thermal video clearly illustrates the heat disparity between a rabbit’s ears, and the rest of its body.
Confronting a Microscopic Threat
Before I continued my run, I fired off a few observations to a zoologist friend of mine for help with the species identification. Among them was what we suspected to be a bad case of conjunctivitis in both eyes; significant levels of swelling and discharge were present.
While neither of us can offer a certain diagnosis for this particular hare, further research has indicated that something more serious is afoot.
In 1952, France was well into its post-war reconstruction, buoyed along by a growing economy and population. As the country was just beginning a new chapter in its story, so too was recently retired physician Dr. Paul-Félix Armand-Delille. In his new-found free time, Armand-Delille took up great interest in the pristine care and management of the grounds of his estate, Château Maillebois, in the department of Eure-et-Loir, a little more than 100km west of Paris.
Troubled by the presence of wild European rabbits (Oryctolagus cuniculus) on his property, Armand-Delille read about the success Australian farmers had found using strains of the myxoma virus to control invasive rabbit species on that continent (they’d been imported by an Englishman decades earlier). Using his old medical connections, Armand-Delille secured some myxoma virus for himself and intentionally infected and released two of the rabbits on his property, confident that they would not be able to leave it.
In just one year, nearly half of all wild rabbits in France would be dead, consumed by myxomatosis, the disease caused by the myxoma virus. In the decades since, the disease has ravaged Oryctolagus cuniculus populations across Europe, shrinking their numbers to just a fraction of what they were at mid-century. The sudden, near overnight disappearance of the European rabbit also crippled populations of its specialist predator, the Iberian lynx (Lynx pardinus). With the lynx unable to replace the rabbit in its diet, the species was pushed to the brink of extinction. Recent conservation efforts have helped recover and stabilize populations, but Lynx pardinus remains a “vulnerable” species.
Fortunately, over just the last few decades some populations of the European rabbit have resurged, having developed strong resistance to the virus.
But viruses are always trying, though usually failing, to jump from one host species to another. As species migrate and habitats converge, a virus gets more and more chances to make the leap.
As early as 2018, myxoma succeeded in making the leap from Oryctolagus cuniculus to Lepus granatensis. The virus that causes myxomatosis has wreaked havoc on Iberian hare populations on the peninsula; a species that did not have the advantage of decades and decades of exposure to build up resistance. Myxomatosis can cause fever, lesions, lethargy, and, it turns out, severe swelling and discharge around the eyes. Sometimes these symptoms can subside. But for the Iberian hare the virus is remarkably lethal, with a mean mortality rate of about 70%. Data indicates that since 2018, the virus has decimated Iberian hare populations. This break in the chain has serious implications for both the vegetation the hare keeps in check and the predators that depend on the hare as prey – implications that we are only beginning to understand.
The impact of myxomatosis outbreaks on Iberian hare populations after the 2018 species jump event. Image credit: Cardoso B, et al.
As a warming world continues to heat Iberia, the delicately balanced ecosystem Lepus granatensis inhabits is increasingly jeopardized. More intense storms flood the parched terrain while stifling heat and wildfires threaten vegetation. Lepus granatensis is likely to migrate north in search of more tolerable environments that can sustain the plant life it depends on for both food and cover. The further north the hare goes, the more its new habitat will overlap with the European rabbit and other species. The future of large populations of Lepus granatensis in the face of this disease and increasing climate fallout is uncertain. Since returning to Casa de Campo, I’ve noticed the swelling and discharge in other leporids as well.
Lepus granatensis Image credit: JoseVi More Díaz (CC-BY-NC-ND)
Complexity
This isn’t the story I set out to tell. When I stumbled on the hare, I expected to write an essay about reconnecting with nature as I embarked on my own new journey as part of the Bio4Climate team.
Transitioning from a place of hope and curiosity, to understanding the more dire situation faced by both the hare I crossed paths with and the species as a whole was deflating. Yet, that’s all part of nature’s complexity; we don’t always get the happy endings we want. To some extent, these aren’t our stories to write. But even that conclusion is built around a false premise, because none of these stories are over.
The recent outbreak has prompted renewed research interest into threats facing hare populations. And even if we distill the bigger story down to this specific hare, I don’t know what will become of her. No, the odds aren’t great. But in the time that I watched her she simply carried on, foraging away in the brush. It’s a small thing to observe, but I think there’s hope in that— in identifying the struggle and the resilience of living things, and channeling that understanding to shape a better world.
It’s hard not to think about the web of plants, animals, ecosystems, and microscopic organisms that have been set on a collision course with each other as they seek to rebalance themselves. And in the middle of it all is us.
After watching the hare for a few minutes, I continued my run. The trail led out of the brush and opened up into a large, flat field, sparingly dotted with those umbrella pines. At that moment, a bird I later identified in iNaturalist as a red kite (Milvus milvus) dropped out of one of the trees, skimmed the earth, and climbed into the sky.
Brendan began his career teaching conservation education programs at the Columbus Zoo and Aquarium. He is interested in how the intersection of informal education, mass communications and marketing can be retooled to drive relatable, accessible climate action. While he loves all ecosystems equally, he is admittedly partial to those in the alpine.
Which creature is the largest Asian antelope, considered sacred to some and pest to others?
The Nilgai!
Photo by Hemant Goyal from Pexels
This fascinating four-legged friend could be described by a whole host of leading questions, depending on which notable features we want to emphasize. Elizabeth Cary Mungall’s Exotic Animal Field Guide introduced the nilgai with the question “What animal looks like the combination of a horse and a cow with the beard of a turkey and short devil’s horns?”
Personally, I find the nilgai much cuter than that combination might suggest, but it may all be in the eye of the beholder. The name ‘nilgai’ translates to ‘blue cow’, but the nilgai is really most closely related to other antelopes within the bovine family Bovidae. Mature males do indeed have a blue tint to their coat, while calves and mature females remain tawny brown in color.
Photo by Clicker Babu from Unsplash
As their physiology suggests, nilgai are browsers that roam in small herds, with a strong running and climbing ability. I encountered them in the biodiversity parks of New Delhi and Gurgaon, where efforts to rewild the landscape to its original dry deciduous forest make for ideal stomping grounds for the nilgai.
Prolific Browsers
Indigenous to the Indian subcontinent, the nilgai is at home in savanna and thin woodland, and tends to avoid dense forest. Instead, they roam through open woods, where they have room to browse, feeding on grasses and trees alike. They’re considered mixed feeders for that reason, and will adjust their diet according to the landscape. Nilgai are adept eaters, standing on their hind legs to reach trees’ fruits and flowers and relying on their impressive stature (which ranges from 3 to 5 feet, or 1 to 1.5 m, at the shoulder) to get what they need.
Photo from Wikipedia (By Akkida, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34508948)
Like other large herbivores, nilgai play an important role in nutrient cycling and maintaining the ecosystems they’re a part of. In this case, that looks like feeding on shrubs and trees to keep woodlands relatively open, as well as dispersing seeds through their dung. One 1994 study noted the ecological value of the nilgai in ravines lining the Yamuna River, where the nitrogen contained in their fecal matter can make a large difference in soil quality, particularly in hot summer months.
These creatures actually defecate strategically, creating dung piles that are thought to mark territory between dominant males. As a clever evasion tactic, these are often created at crossroads in paths through forest or savanna-scape, so that predators may not be able to trace the nilgai’s next steps so easily.
Photo from Wikipedia (By Bernard Gagnon – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=30634949)
Food webs for changing times
The natural predators of the nilgai once included the Bengal tiger and Asiatic lion, as well as leopards, Indian wolves, striped hyena, and dholes (or Indian wild dogs) which sometimes prey on juveniles. However, as deforestation, habitat loss and fragmentation, and development pressures change the face of the subcontinent, the ecological role of the nilgai has become more complicated. While their association with cows, a sacred animal in Hinduism, has widely prevented nilgai from being killed by humans, the relationship between people and nilgai is becoming more contentious.
Where nilgai lack their traditional habitat to browse, they turn to plundering agricultural fields, frustrating the farmers who work so hard to cultivate these crops. Farmers in many Indian states thus consider them pests, and the state of Bihar has now classified them as ‘vermin’ and allowed them to be culled.
Photo from Wikipedia (By Jon Connell – https://www.flickr.com/photos/ciamabue/4570527773/in/photostream/, CC BY 2.0)
There’s no place like… Texas?
Strangely enough, when I got inspired by my nilgai sightings in India and decided to learn more about these Asian antelopes, one of the first search results I encountered involved nilgai populations here in the US. Specifically in Texas, an introduction of nilgai in the 1920 and 30s has spawned a population of feral roamers. Accounts say that nilgai were originally brought to the North King Ranch both for conservation and for exotic game hunting, somewhat distinct priorities that regardless led to the same result, a Texas population that now booms at over 30,000 individuals.
In this locale, nilgai largely graze grasses and crops, as well as scrub and oak forests. Here hunters have no qualms about killing them, but some animal rights groups object, and popular opinion remains divided on whether such treatment is cruelty or, well, fair game.
These days, one concern is that a large nilgai population contributes to the spread of the cattle fever tick. Another concern remains about these grazers acting as ‘pests’ on agricultural land.
Fundamentally there is a question that lies at the heart of the nilgai’s fate, both at home in India and Bangladesh, where natural predators and original habitat have steeply declined, and abroad, where they weren’t a part of the original ecosystem at all: what do you do when an animal’s ecological role is out of balance?
In my view, there are no easy answers, but a familiar pattern we seem to uncover – that healthy ecosystems, where intact, harbor more complexity than we can recreate or give them credit for. Little by little, I hope we can support their conservation and resurgence.
By Maya Dutta
Maya Dutta is an environmental advocate and ecosystem restorer working to spread understanding on the key role of biodiversity in shaping the climate and the water, carbon, nutrient and energy cycles we rely on. She is passionate about climate change adaptation and mitigation and the ways that community-led ecosystem restoration can fight global climate change while improving the livelihood and equity of human communities. She is the Assistant Director of Regenerative Projects at Bio4Climate.
