"I've got a four yellow, six red," G- says,
looking through a microscope.
"Sexy," J- answers , looking at the data sheets
and marking the number and letter code with a pencil.
I am making the last touch with a fine bristled paintbrush,
splaying the caudal fin of a seventeen millimeter long guppy on a whiteboard. The fish
is lined up with a ruler and a paper tag bearing information about the fish and
the capture, like the placard in a mugshot. Looking down through the viewfinder
of the digital camera mounted on a tripod, I make a final adjustment to the ruler and tag, framing them around the splayed fish.
Clicking a remote, I snap the picture. This has taken only seconds, and I scoop
the fish off the whiteboard with a plastic spoon (they find human skin abrasive), and
plunk the guppy into the recovery tank. Submerged in fresh water, the effects of the
anesthetic quickly wear off and the fish rights itself, swimming drunkenly and
then straightening its course.
The guppy G- just held under the microscope to read a small tattoo color mark is now floating in an aqueous solution tared on a
fine scale. "Sexy fish weighs... Oh-eight-two," he says.
".082," J- repeats, filling in the data line for
that guppy.
The second G- calls the weight I scoop the fish from the
scale solution, remove the excess water, and place it on the whiteboard. She's
a sexy fish, which means there's a note in the data sheet that we need a
photo showing the dorsal, anal, and caudal fins. I quickly "paint the
fish," spreading the fins with the paintbrush. Lining up her
mugshot, I take the picture and dunk the guppy into the recovery tank. G- has
already read the marks on the next fish and J- is swooping a small net into the
processing tank, pulling out the next guppies to go into the knock-out
solution. G- puts the latest fish into the scale.
".892" he calls.
"Jesus, she's a shark!" J- jokes from the other
line.
We are three in a row on two sides of folding white lab tables, sitting
facing each other and wearing a comical assortment of pajamas, which are
effective at keeping the heat and the mosquitoes at bay. Two data people, two people calling marks and
marking new fish, two people painting and photographing the fish. All told,
each sedated guppy spends less than a few minutes moving down the line between
processing tank and recovery tank. One line handles females, one line handles
the males, and an air of friendly banter fills the air between data calling.
It's a jumble of letter and numbers, jokes and jibs and song lyrics (we have a
very equitable rotation through the speakers blasting from the kitchen, with a
measure of group veto power). The lines are cooking and we process tank after
tank. A hundred fish before lunch, two, three, four hundred or more fish in a
day - as many as we caught in the field the day before.
A steady breeze blows through the open metalwork that
replace glass window panes. The sounds of passing rain showers mix with
the chatter of birds and the rustling of the lizards and toads who let
themselves in and out of our field lab as they please. We fly along. Eventually
conversation becomes more and more concerned with cooking, and we take a break
for lunch, eating together out on the porch. We relax a while, then return to
our stations (or trade places if we like, but everyone seems to have found
their niche), processing the rest of the guppies and handling the data.
Tomorrow will be a release day, and then it's back to fishing.
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