Moment monkey 'kidnaps' a baby of another species and carries the bub away on its back... and experts are struggling to work out why
Fascinating new video footage captured on a remote island has captured a bizarre new phenomenon - baby monkeys being abducted by another species.
The unprecedented craze of so-called 'monkey kidnappings' by capuchin monkeys have left scientists baffled, having first discovered the distinctive behaviour while reviewing footage from the small island of Panama.
Zoe Goldsborough, alongside other researchers at Max Planck and the Smithsonian Tropical Research Institute in Germany, had initially set up more than 80 cameras to study capuchin tool use, but were shocked to witness the first howler babies begin to appear in early 2022.
In bewildering new footage shared on YouTube a capuchin monkey, the size of a house-cat, is videoed with a baby howler monkey clinging to its back. Neither monkey are related, nor even of the same species.
In fact, over the course of the 'tends and thousands of video footage and images', the all-male capuchin monkeys were seen carrying at least 11 howler babies between 2022 and 2023.
Ms Goldsborough described the kidnappings as a 'shocking finding', with it still unclear what motivated the monkeys to carry out the mass abductions.
Stressing the unprecedented nature of the footage, she added: 'We've not seen anything like this in the animal kingdom.
'We could see, for instance, that it was not a case of adoption where these babies were found by the capuchins, but rather abduction, because the infants tried to escape, they called to their parents who called back and we also saw the capuchins preventing them from escaping.'
Meanwhile, Margaret Crofoot, co-author of Max Planck and Smithsonian, who have published the findings from the study in the Current Biology journal, described the early photographs of the kidnappings as 'so weird and so wrong'.
The fascinating video showed the capuchins walking and pounding their stone tools with baby howlers on their backs.
However, cameras did not capture the moments of abduction, which scientists said likely happened up in the trees, where howlers spend most of their time.
As a result, Ms Crofoot described their 'window' into the story as 'constrained'.
In most or all cases, the baby howlers died, the researchers said. Infant howler monkeys would normally be carried by their mothers while still nursing.
All the babies in the video - from a few weeks to a few months in age - were too young to be weaned.
Ms Crofoot added: 'A hopeful part of me wants to believe some escaped and went back to their mothers, but we don't know'.
The videos recorded a few instances of young capuchin males still carrying howler babies that had died, likely from starvation.
Many animals - from gorillas to orcas - have been observed carrying their own dead offspring, though scientists are unsure of sure the reasons.
Found solely in South America and Central America, the capuchin monkeys are long-lived, intellectual and often learn new behaviours from each other.
One particular group of capuchins in Panama even learned how to use stone tools to crack open nuts and seafood.
But, the question still remains - Why did the capuchin males do it? There were no signs of deliberate aggression toward the babies and they weren't eaten, ruling out predation.
Ms Goldsborough said that the scientists have 'all spent hours wracking our brains why they would do this'.
The first baby-snatcher may have had a confused 'caring motivation,' or parental instinct, because he showed gentleness interacting with the infants, she said. Then four other males copied his actions.
Brendan Barrett, project leader for the Department for Ecology of Animal Societies, said that given there was no utility or function of the kidnapping, the monkeys may have been doing it simply out of 'boredom' given there is a lot of 'free time' on islands.
The researchers said they don't believe the capuchins harmed the babies on purpose. So far, only one other group of capuchins has been known to kidnap.
The research shows the 'remarkable behavioral variation across social groups of the same species,' said Catherine Crockford, a primatologist at the CNRS Institute for Cognitive Sciences in France, who was not involved in the study.
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Times
3 days ago
- Times
17 of the best places to see wildlife in Costa Rica
Land of tropical rainforests, cloud-covered volcanoes and Caribbean and Pacific coasts that form a highway for migrating whales, Costa Rica is an intensely rewarding destination for wildlife lovers. Around half a million species of wild animals await in its national parks, wildlife refuges, biological reserves and protected areas designed to promote ecotourism. Thanks to anti-logging laws brought in by the government in the 80s and 90s, Central America's 'rich coast' is the first tropical country to have reversed deforestation, returning 60 per cent of its terrain to tree cover. Which is good news not just for travellers hoping to enjoy sightings of creatures such as the emoji-inspiring blue morpho butterfly, giant anteater and jaguar in their natural habitats, but for the planet, too. This article contains affiliate links, which may earn us revenue The sloth is a Costa Rican curiosity: though they spend most of their lives in the trees, evolutionarily speaking they're actually most closely related to the anteater. Two types of sloth can be seen creeping around the treetops: the three-toed and two-toed sloth. Their favourite food is the cecropia tree, so theoretically they can be seen anywhere the tree grows. For a reliable sighting, look for them particularly in the canopy of the popular Parque Nacional Manuel Antonio, three hours' south of San Jose, or better still in the forests of the Osa Peninsula on the Pacific coast. For sighting certainty, visit the Sloth Sanctuary, 30 minutes south of the east-coast city of Limon, where rescued sloths live out their days in safety. 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Its feathers were prized by the Aztecs and Mayans, and the bird also had mythological significance. The prime time for viewing is the breeding season between March and June; try the Monteverde Cloud Forest, or better still the Parque Nacional Los Quetzales, a 50 sq km patch of cloud forest on the flanks of the Cordillera de Talamanca, about 120km southeast of San Jose. Cahuita can be busy, but for a quick nature hit it's great — it has a mix of ecosystems, including coast, beach, reef and rainforest. Iguanas can be seen lounging around on logs and basking on the riverbanks, especially early in the day when they need to warm up their blood. Cahuita is also an important turtle nesting site. Avoid weekends, which can be overcrowded — early mornings or late evenings during the week are usually quieter. Is this Costa Rica's cutest monkey? 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Scarlet macaws are fairly easy to see in Parque Nacional Carara and around the Osa Peninsula, but their cousins, the great green macaws, are altogether rarer: only around 500 of these birds remain, mainly in the forests of the north and Caribbean coast, especially around Tortuguero. To support macaw conservation, visit the excellent Punta Islita Wild Macaw Reserve on the Nicoya Peninsula; tours are run by staff from the Macaw Recovery Network. It must be the busiest bird in existence — and Costa Rica is home to more than 50 species of hummingbird. They're a vital part of the ecosystem, pollinating many types of flowers and plants, including rare endemic orchids. Costa Rica's unique cloud forests are the top places to see them — particularly at Reserva Biologica Bosque Nuboso Monteverde (the Monteverde Cloud Forest Biological Reserve), an oasis of biodiversity established in the 1970s in the mountains inland from Puntarenas by a partnership between scientists and indigenous people. 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Try to get recommendations from reliable sources, such as conservation charities and ecotourism specialists. Additional reporting by Imogen Lepere and Julie Alpine
Times
3 days ago
- Times
This Costa Rica tour feels like a David Attenborough documentary
'Good morning, my friends! Welcome to my office!' announces the rafting guide Pepe Mora, as he wades waist-deep into the Rio Pacuare, Costa Rica's most celebrated stretch of whitewater, 50 miles inland from the Caribbean coast. In the morning light, the river glints like silver. On either bank, green jungle rises into mist, dense and verdant as a Rousseau painting. Skyscraper trees tower overhead, their tops melting into haze. We put on lifejackets and helmets, clamber into our raft and receive Rafting Lesson 101. 'Most importantly: secure your feet and hold onto your paddle,' Mora says. 'We'll be fine as long as you follow instructions: paddle hard, backpaddle, lean in, get down. I've been rafting here for 30 years, but even now, the river still likes to surprise us. Now, vamos!' Paddling in unison, our boat turns downstream. Soon, I hear the first rapids, the whoosh of water moving at speed. Ten seconds later, we're in the maelstrom. Cascades of whitewater crash past. The raft plunges and dips like a rollercoaster: one minute vertical, the next tilted at an alarming angle. 'Get down!' Mora shouts. We hunker down, drenched by spray, clinging onto the ropes for dear life. And then, suddenly, we're through, gliding over clear blue water. Birdsong replaces river roar. We're soaked — and everyone is grinning from ear to ear. We reach our destination, Pacuare Lodge, after another hour or so of rafting. We wade out of the boat, hot, sweaty and drenched, but pumped full of adrenaline, and pile up our gear on the pebble beach. I've stayed at some remote hotels in my time, but Pacuare Lodge is the first I've reached by paddle power. On an isolated stretch of the Rio Pacuare, 12 miles from the nearest town of Turrialba, it began as a rafting camp and has since evolved into one of Costa Rica's most luxurious — and isolated — eco lodges. Although enveloped by jungle, the 20 villas offer the kind of spoils you might normally expect in a five-star resort: gleaming teak floors, hammocks, private verandas and plunge pools among trimmed lawns. There are some swish new additions too: river-view villas, a revamped restaurant and a swanky new infinity pool. Somewhat improbably, the hotel has also added its own craft brewery — an unexpected, but by no means unwelcome, find in the middle of the tropical jungle. There's even a treetop 'nest' where you can order up your own ultra-private candlelit dinner for two. I'm here for a few days before heading down to its sister property, Lapa Rios, on the isolated Osa peninsula. It's an opportune time to visit, since the national park next door, Corcovado, is celebrating its 50th anniversary this year. • 17 of the best places to see wildlife in Costa Rica Though most guests arrive at Pacuare Lodge by raft, there is also a rough access road, navigable by 4×4. However, it stops on the opposite side of the river from the lodge, meaning everything has to be winched across by pulley, including food, supplies and luggage. Despite — or perhaps because of — its remote location, the lodge is mostly powered by renewable energy: water turbines and solar panels generate electricity, with a back-up generator for emergencies. 'I remember that first time rafting in,' says Mora, the lodge's most experienced river guide, over a fresh-pressed guava juice. 'This was all forest then. Completely wild. It's crazy to see it now. Sometimes I pinch myself.' He heads off to sort out the raft as I sit down for lunch: pejibaye (peach palm fruit) soup, followed by the Costa Rican staple, casado — rice, beans, grilled plantain and heart-of-palm. I finish with homemade popcorn and pumpkin-honey ice cream and, of course, a Costa Rican coffee: rich, fruity, black as coal. • 14 of the best hotels in Costa Rica Pacuare Lodge is the original property of Böëna Lodges, a luxury Costa Rican operator that now also owns four others: two in the cloud forests of Monteverde, one in the wetlands of Tortuguero National Park and one on the Osa peninsula, in Costa Rica's far southwest. Each employs its own in-house guiding team that provides guests with bespoke adventures, from ziplining to kayaking and canyoning to organised hikes. While they aren't cheap, for a bucket-list experience it's hard to think of a better way to experience the country's natural wonders — after all, this little Central American nation has 5 per cent of Earth's species in an area less than half the size of England. For wildlife lovers, it's paradise on earth. The next day, I hike into the forest with Eric Morales, a member of the Cabecar, the second-largest of Costa Rica's indigenous groups, whose traditional territory spans the area around the Pacuare River and the nearby Talamanca mountains. The morning is alive with animal sounds: whoops, barks, twitters, cackles. We spot toucans and motmots in the treetops. Spider monkeys loop through the canopy. Basilisk lizards bask on logs. Tree frogs lurk under leaves. At one point, a fer-de-lance — Costa Rica's most venomous snake — slithers across the path. It's like stepping into a David Attenborough documentary. We stop in Morales's village for lunch, eating plantains and tortillas in a palm-thatched hut, while mop-haired kids peep in through the doorway. On the way back, he gives me a primer in Cabecar bushcraft: plants for stomach pains and antiseptics; a tree with flammable sap (handy for torches); the raffia palm used to make cordage, baskets and roof panels. The afternoon heat is punishing, so Morales fashions me a cup from a plate-sized leaf, filling it with ice-cold water from his flask. Of course, it's leak-proof. That evening, I head up to the bar for a lecture on Pacuare's jaguar tracking programme, sipping an IPA brewed in its own micro-brewery while I learn about local conservation efforts, and try my best to filter out the night-time jungle noises. All six of Costa Rica's native wild cats can be found here: puma, ocelot, margay, oncilla, jaguarundi and jaguar. Since 2008, the lodge has worked with biologists to monitor an 840-acre area using camera traps: each individual cat is identified by its pattern marking. Fourteen jaguars have been sighted, although their range is huge, so keeping tabs on them is a challenge. Our lecturer, Geo, shows me a video of a cat padding down the trail behind the lodge, freeze-framing as it stares down the barrel of the lens. 'I have never seen one in real life,' Geo says, ruefully. 'One day, I hope I will.' The next day, after another white-knuckle rafting trip to the town of Siquirres, I transfer back to the capital of San Jose, then catch a twin-prop plane down to the Osa peninsula, home to the largest area of primary rainforest in Central America. It's a wonderful flight, skimming low over peacock-blue seas and jade-green jungle before touching down two hours later in the dusty little port town of Puerto Jimenez. • Best time to visit Costa Rica Here, I'm picked up by 4×4 and rattle along a rough, rutted dirt road for 11 miles to Lapa Rios, the most recent addition to the Böëna group, which was acquired in 2019. Founded in 1990 by the American expats John and Karen Lewis, Lapa Rios is often credited as the place that kick-started Costa Rica's eco-tourism boom. It's surrounded by its own private 1,000-acre rainforest reserve and, like Pacuare Lodge, offers wilderness with a side of luxury. Its 17 thatched bungalows are connected by a treetop walkway, offering panoramic views along Osa's beach-fringed coast and the steaming canopy of Corcovado National Park. It's like staying in a boutique hotel designed by Tarzan. After breakfast, I trek into the rainforest with one of the lodge's naturalists, Frank Chaves. An Osa native, born into a family of farmers, Chaves trained as a journalist, but returned home to become a conservationist and wildlife guide. 'Osa is an oasis,' he says, as we trace the trails, watching our step to avoid the tentacle roots of strangler figs, or caravans of leaf-cutter ants marching across the path. 'Growing up, we took it for granted. To us, it was our backyard. It's taken me a lifetime to realise how lucky I was.' We spend the day uncovering the rainforest's secrets. We watch hummingbirds buzzing around heliconia flowers, scarlet macaws squabbling overhead, red-throated tanagers perched on tree branches. In the undergrowth, we find golden orb spiders, eyelash pit vipers and poison dart frogs. We lunch beside a clattering waterfall, watching clouds of giant blue morpho butterflies floating past, their wings so iridescent, they look like something out of a Disney cartoon. Chaves points out the key tree species of the rainforest: teak, mahogany, cedar and 100ft-high ceibas, as well as more unusual ones like the dragon blood tree, named after its crimson sap, and the walking palm, which shoots out side-roots in search of water, moving across the forest floor as it does so. I ask him how Osa has changed since he was a boy. 'There is much greater understanding of conservation now,' he says. 'Especially among the next generation. People have realised what we have here, how we all need to work to protect it.' Anti-poaching measures and habitat restoration programmes have helped to stabilise wildlife numbers, he explains, including jaguars. 'We have seen them on camera traps, and found tracks near the lodge,' he says. 'But honestly, in a way, it is better that we don't see them. It means they are still wary of us. If they are still going to be here in 50 or 100 years' time, it's important they stay that way.' By the time we return, it's dusk. I stow my walking stick and binoculars, bid Chaves farewell, and walk up to the lodge for supper. A coral-pink moon is rising over the trees. The buzz of cicadas fills the night air. Somewhere down the valley, I hear the boom of howler monkeys, an eerie howl-hoot that sounds almost extraterrestrial. It occurs to me that a jaguar could be watching me, right now, somewhere in the gloom of the forest, and I'd never have a clue. Off to my left, something flashes. A firefly, surely? Staring out into the inky blackness, I suddenly don't feel quite so Berry was a guest of Audley Travel, which has nine nights — three nights' full board at Pacuare Lodge, four nights' full board at Lapa Rios and two nights' B&B in San Jose — from £6,300pp, including flights, transfers and activities (
The Independent
4 days ago
- The Independent
Dilly Dally the sea turtle returns to the ocean after flipper amputation
An adolescent loggerhead sea turtle named Dilly Dally crawled into the Atlantic Ocean Wednesday morning, months after having a front flipper amputated at a Florida turtle hospital. The turtle was brought to Loggerhead Marinelife Center in January suffering from predator wounds to the front flipper. The veterinary crew at the Juno Beach facility assisted in Dilly Dally's rehabilitation and care. 'Every time we can release a turtle back into the wild is special and not just for us but for all the interns and volunteers and everyone that puts an effort to getting these turtles back out there. It's always a really special day,' said Marika Weber, a veterinary technician at the center. Stormy weather on Wednesday almost caused Dilly Dally's release to be postponed. But they packed the turtle up and drove the short distance to the beach. A crowd of beachgoers cheered as the turtle made its way to the ocean. A satellite tracking device attached to Dilly Dally's shell will allow the center and the public to follow her journey. The center partnered with the Smithsonian to get the satellite tag, which was attached on Tuesday. 'So now Dilly Dally has an active live satellite tag on her and we can get real-time data on where she goes, which is really exciting because we don't really know what happens to our three flipper turtles once you release them, Weber said. 'Now we know if their migration or foraging patterns change and it'll be really helpful to see what happens to these patients.' All sea turtles are endangered or threatened species. 'So every sea turtle that we can save and get back out there is the win for the species.' Follow Dilly Dally's journey at Marinelife Turtle Tracker.
