Biology Reference
In-Depth Information
way, at least some species that have always been rare may possess traits that will allow them
to hang on in the face of changing circumstances. In each chapter I examine such traits to
assess whether such a repertoire, however unintended, enhances adaptation to life in the An-
thropocene.
If the search for rarity and an understanding of its origins holds evolutionary interest and
conservation importance, it also has a strong allure of its own. The truth is as simple as it
is universal: we are seduced by rarity and novelty. Scientists live with this affliction, shared
with art collectors, car buffs, and wine connoisseurs, many of whom are willing to pay ex-
orbitant prices to add the rarest of items to their collections. The allure of the rare is what
motivates many of us to raise a pair of binoculars—from the birder who scans the backyard
feeder in hope of seeing an off-course migrant to the ornithologist who finds the now rare
green peafowl in a Vietnamese jungle. Perhaps our search for rarity among wild things is a
holdover from distant ancestors who sought to expand their monotonous diets, find new heal-
ing herbs, or discover a more potent aphrodisiac. A rare object might even have served as a
status symbol and increased mating success. Whether stimulated by curiosity or by our most
intense cravings, we humans, it seems, long to seek out what is scarce and, therefore, pre-
cious.
In the nearly forty years I have been studying rarity, a recurring fringe benefit has been the
chance to visit exotic places and meet fascinating people in the search for spectacular species.
I first heard the term “quest species” from Bruce Beehler, a scientist featured in chapter 2
who explored the most remote mountain range of New Guinea in search of rare birds of para-
dise. “A quest species,” he imparted, “is a rare species, for sure. But it is also a nearmystical
creature, one that shadows your existence, one that you must see before you die.” Although
avian specialists are famous for their single-minded pursuit of one bird or more for their life
lists, they are far from unique. Primatologists scan the thickets for their quest mouse lemur.
Herpetologists work the bushes for their prized chameleon. Botanists slog through swamps
to find an orchid previously unknown to science. Even parasitologists seek their quest tick,
embedded perhaps in the nether folds of a wombat or Tasmanian devil.
The study of rarity is of vital importance today, but it also allows us to glory in the ex-
traordinary activity and variety of the natural world. Staring at a habituated rhinoceros in Ne-
pal or contributing to a desk study on rarity, for example, can never replace the thrill of a first
sighting: a rare species you have waited your entire life to see on its own terms, in its own
place. A quest species, if you will.
I was on my way to the Amazon lowlands of southeastern Peru when I had the chance to
see a rarity up close that I had always dreamt about. Before dawn, flashlights in hand, my
guides led me to a bird blind at the edge of Manú National Park, where we waited for the
show to begin. Few rare species seek more attention than the flamboyant Andean cock-of-
the-rock we had come to see. The male's molten-orange plumage virtually glows in the dark.
