Caratinga, Brazil — Emerald-green canopy willows change and rustle as a troop of golden-brown monkeys move through a tropical ecosystem more threatened than the Amazon.
Karen Strier began studying the largest monkey in the Americas four decades ago, when there were only 50 animals left in this patch of Atlantic forest in the state of Minas Gerais in southeastern Brazil.
Strier immediately fell in love with the northern muriki, devoting his life to protecting it and starting one of the world’s longest-running primate studies.
“I love everything about them; they’re beautiful animals, they’re cute, they even smell nice like cinnamon,” the American primatologist told The Associated Press on a recent field trip. The whole was a sensory experience that influenced my mind as a scientist and my mind as a person.”
Then scientists knew almost nothing about this species, except that it was on the verge of extinction. Large-scale deforestation has dramatically reduced and fragmented its habitat, leaving isolated fragments of muriquis.
To Strayer’s surprise, the northern muriqui turned out to be radically different from the larger primates studied by Jane Goodall and Dian Fossey, the primatologists who made the chimpanzee and the mountain gorilla, respectively, globally famous icons of conservation.
The research focused on primates from Africa and Asia, where dominant males often fought each other to enforce or maintain their power in highly hierarchical societies. Strayer himself spent six months studying baboons in Kenya.
“The Murikis are at the other extreme of calmness,” he said.
In 1983, the first year of his research, the biologist spent 14 months observing murikis in the rainforest. This slender herbivore can measure up to 5 feet (1.5 m) in length from head to tail and weigh up to 33 pounds (15 kg). While muriquis can live up to 45 years, females can only give birth to a brood every three years, slowing efforts to repopulate the species.
She observed that men spend a great deal of time in peaceful proximity—often within arm’s reach. And when there is competition for food, water, or females, males do not fight like most other primates, but rather wait, avoid each other, or hug.
This unusually friendly behavior has earned them the nickname “hippie monkey” among both common people and scientists of the region.
Some also refer to him as the “forest gardener” for his role as a seed disperser. They eat the fruits of tall trees that many other animals cannot reach, and excrete the seeds on the forest floor.
Strier’s initial research found that gender roles among the Murikis were also unusual among large primates. Like bonobos, muriki females are about the same size as males, which means they have a great deal of autonomy, and in muriki societies, females break away from the group to seek mates.
“We see a lot more diversity among primates now, and I think Muricis has helped open that door to better understand this diversity,” Strier said.
Inside the 2,300-acre (950 ha) Feliciano Miguel Abdala Reserve, a privately protected area where Strayer has based his research program, the northern Muriqui population has increased nearly fivefold to 232. This is about one-fifth of the critically endangered species. total population.
“There are very few (primate projects) in the world that have run for so long, so consistently and with the kind of quality that we have,” said American primatologist Russell Mittermeyer, Re:Wild’s chief conservation officer, who introduced Strier to Muricis. ”
Strier and his team know each of the reserve’s 232 muricis by name, and which monkey they belong to, not by tagging or marking them, but based on detailed illustrations of their facial coloration and other physical traits.
After an outbreak of drought and yellow fever killed 100 Murikis – about a third of the reserve’s population – in just five years, Strier has strongly advocated the creation of forest corridors and supported reintroduction projects to the species.
In 2016, Fernanda Pedreira Tabaco, a former student and right-hand man of Striers, heard that there were only two Muriki males left in a section of the forest in Ibitipoca, southwest of the Feliciano Miguel Abdala reserve. She knew that, without any intervention, they were doomed.
“I thought it was the last breath of the species here,” Tabaco said.
To give them a chance to survive, Tabaco moved a female into the area, but she disappeared before the animals could mate. After that experiment had failed, the time had come for more drastic measures. They placed both males in a fenced area of about 15 acres (6-ha) in their native forest, along with three females that had been lost searching for mates, and two young orphans.
A year later, in 2020, the first fruits of the experiment were revealed with the birth of baby Muriki. Tabako says that once a group has at least a dozen members, the ultimate objective is to release them into the wild.
Tabako, who worked with Strayer at the reserve, said, “The information we had (from Strayer’s research) made everything easier, we avoided a lot of mistakes that could have been made.” “Because this project is unprecedented, we don’t have any models to follow, but we do know a lot about how species behave.”
Earlier this month, primatologists, environmentalists and other Muriki enthusiasts from Brazil and abroad gathered in the small town of Caratinga to celebrate 40 years of uninterrupted study of the striae. He began by thanking colleagues and the many students who are carrying on his work.
He also used his platform to advocate for the creation of a forest corridor linking the Feliciano Miguel Abdala reserve to another area 25 miles (40 kilometres) away, and urged a representative of the Ministry of the Environment to follow up. Underscoring the need for the northern muriki’s wider range, he spoke of a “terrible” yellow fever outbreak several years earlier.
“We couldn’t find the murikis, and the howlers (monkeys) were almost all gone, and the feeling of being in a quiet forest…” recalled Strier. “We had had so much success, and it could all disappear in a few months. Murikis’ fragility, however, made me realize how important it was not to let my defenses down. I became even more committed. Our work It’s not over yet.”
