Scientist at Work Blog: Learning on the Road to Nowhere in Madagascar

Brian L. Fisher, an entomologist at the California Academy of Sciences, has been studying the ants of Madagascar for more than 15 years.

The plan sounded so simple. We would drive from this capital city to Kandreho and then boat down the Mahahavy River until we reached one of the last remaining large forests in northwestern Madagascar. We would carry all our food and gear, including a full lab with a microscope, to a beach camp adjacent to the forest itself.

But if someone had told me that we would be the first vehicle known to make it through this dirt track during peak rainy season, or that Cyclone Irina was gathering steam offshore and would deluge our travel path in two days, I would never have left Antananarivo.

Our destination was Kasijy, the region?s last standing pristine forest. It?s a rugged, canyon-filled landscape resting on high blocks of limestone and sedimentary rock. We would be the first entomologists to reach Kasijy.

Shortly after turning onto the dirt road to Kandreho, we met our first large river, the Ikopa. The water was high, swollen from three recent cyclones. How would we get across? Lengthy negotiations with nearby residents turned up three metal boats. We hooked them together, drove our Land Cruiser on top, and had our makeshift barge towed across.

The following day brought two more big rivers, lots of mud and deteriorating weather. I always say that you should never leave home without a winch in Madagascar. But my planning failed to save us: On our second day out, our brand-new winch seized up in midturn.

Moving forward was going to require a new approach ? an almost complete reliance on local people for what we called vehicle recovery. Every time we encountered an obstacle, I had to calculate how many helpers we would need, and then set out to find a nearby village. Though it was a pleasure to be working with the Malagasy in this way, at times I felt we had become a microdevelopment project, putting money in the hands of villagers.

When we finally reached Kandreho, we believed our troubles were behind us. But the one boat large enough to carry our gear had been lost downstream the night before.

The only option left was a large boat owned by the community. For that we needed agreement from the community?s seven elders. After about six hours of tracking down and meeting with each elder, all agreed to lend us the boat.

We were in the middle of loading our supplies the next morning when we learned that the community had overruled the elders. On edge because of the cyclone, the people felt that every boat was needed to carry them to their rice fields. That was when we realized we were not going to Kasijy, and it was time to head back to the capital. This was the first time in expeditions to more than 250 sites in Madagascar that we failed to reached a forest to collect ants.

We left Kandreho thinking that by now the road would be easier to drive. But one thing about a cyclone is that the water just keeps coming.

For five days we traveled from 5 a.m. until 8 p.m. and camped near villages ? or wherever the car got stuck. We sometimes kept moving long after dark to get to higher ground. If the water suddenly started rising, we could be trapped for days.

The long days, missing meals and stress started to take a toll, especially on our feet. Barefoot was the only way to cope with the mud, but we all noticed brown punctures splotching our feet. The villagers said this was a common condition, a consequence of acidic soils.

We returned to the capital in time to start teaching our course on ants for university students. And I am more determined than ever to find a way into Kasijy ? only next time we intend to get there by boat from the north, bypassing the unforgettable road to Kandreho.

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