Formicids or ants, however, are unique-they can hold their victims with their mandibles, and sting them multiple times, rotating in a circle. Wasps (or vespids), on the other hand, can sting multiple times using stingers that can exit a victim without detaching. Bees (or apids) embed their stingers so deep that they detach with the distal ends of their abdomens when they fly off. Hymenopterans vary in stinger use and venom toxicity. There are ~ 100 million cases of hymenopteran stings each year (an incidence of 0.3-3.0%), with 40-50 deaths occurring from sting-induced anaphylactic shock within the US alone (1). We make our way back to camp, our day in shambles, defeated by an insect. We carefully swat the ant off his trousers with a long stick, and it disappears instantly in the leaf litter. They drunkenly attempt to hone in on his odor plume, many of them successfully. The mosquitoes around us are fully aware that there is a semi-naked human in the vicinity. Now we can actually hear the stridulations it makes with its abdomen. Its stinger is brushed with light golden hairs, a stark contrast to its black body. The creature in question has recovered, and is now waving its forearms and antennae at us threateningly. A small mercy in convenience, but a tragedy of pain. He might change his mind during the next few hellish hours, but at least we will not have to evacuate him to the other side of the Andes. I glance at my partner, and despite the throbbing pain, I can tell he is glad that it is only a bullet ant. It takes a moment for the identity of the creature to sink in. It is Paraponera clavata, the isula or-to us folks in the west- the bullet ant. There is nothing ordinary about this creature with its bulbous head, elongated mandibles and perfectly curved ovipositor-cum-stinger, it is one of the largest ants we have ever seen. Trapped between his forefinger and thumb, wrapped in the fabric of his trousers, was a squirming, dark insect-an ant. We very nearly came up empty-handed, because the culprit was so SMALL. In vain did we search for the snake among the folds of his clothing. “Take them off!”, I shriek, and he obeys (faster than ever before, I might add.) I was nearing that state of panic in which your mind shuts down, and your bowels move permanently out of your control. Ordinarily, the idea of a snake down his trousers might have generated a slew of jokes in bad taste. “I’ve been bitten,” he gasps, “It’s in my pants!” His person is streaked with grime, leaf litter is embedded in his hair. He emerges like some monster from the underworld. We have only been here a month, and my worst nightmares are coming true! He’s been bitten,” I think, feeling a panic attack coming on. I rush over to him, as he tries to crawl out of the lianas. The monkeys are a mere memory-they have fled the scene, no doubt certain never to take the “funny primates” for granted again. The curtain of lianas leaps to life and disintegrates spectacularly over my partner. When they are indifferent to us, in moments such as this, we can obtain beautiful data on their natural behaviours in the wild: alloparenting, grooming, food sharing, infant play, and the occasional bout of agonism.Īs I watch them negotiate their social milieu, I feel a happy glow come over me I live for moments such as these.Īn unheralded and piercing shriek rends the air. We are recording their parenting behaviour and have spent weeks habituating them to our presence. This is our focal group of saddleback tamarins, and they have been our raison d’être for the last two months. We must look too silly to be of any harm. They are finally becoming habituated to us stalking them. Remarkably, she nonchalantly turns away and continues to be groomed by a nearby male.
She is the dominant female in the group, and I fear that all is lost. Inch by inch, he gets closer to the animals.Ī slight scuffle with some thorny bamboo hidden within the curtain of lianas attracts the attention of the nearest tamarin. When it seems like they might notice him approaching, I hiss at him to slow down. On no account do we want to disturb these tamarins. My partner drops to his knees and begins to crawl slowly under the lianas, guided by my whispered instructions.
#CHARACTER BITING THE BULLET MOVIE#
We observe them through an elaborate tangle of lianas it is as rewarding as watching a movie through a disorganised sieve.
Their choice for a siesta is a little glen of low hanging branches, just a few feet off the leaf-strewn forest floor. It is time to stretch, yawn, and be groomed. Their soft chatter suggests that they are relaxed and unafraid. They have just exited their sleep tree and fed on some succulent Pourouma nearby.
In the soft morning light, we can barely see the monkeys.
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