
[pp. 172-173] One big reason for those chimps’ community to fission into smaller parties is ecology. Sixty percent of a chimp’s diet consists of ripe fruit. Yet fruit is often so hard to find that wild chimps are drastically underweight compared to captive ones. Nor do enough huge fruit trees exist for all fifty or so chimps of a community to travel together and still get enough to eat. In any tree, the least dominant chimps, females in particular, lose in competition over what little fruit exists. Here again, however, males place solidarity ahead of calories. Despite the importance of a square meal, when approaching big fruit trees, males at Gombe and Kibale—but not females—have been observed pant-hooting loudly and drumming tree buttresses with their feet in a wild tattoo resounding through the rain forest for up to a mile. This bedlam attracts other chimps, who share the food of the calling males. This cooperative “food calling” pays off in three selfish ways for the males who called: by facilitating mutual grooming to rid them of parasites, by adding more male companions for safer territorial patrols, and by being able to mate with a female arrival. It also pays off in inclusive fitness by helping all relatives within earshot to achieve better nutrition. All of this, incidentally, is gained at a low cost because males usually call at trees big enough to feed all comers. By contrast, a female would gain nothing by food calling, because males habitually usurp the best feeding spots. And, to add insult to injury, she would be cheated by arriving males, who would not groom her after she groomed them.
Chimps typically travel in groups of two to six adults, but scarcity of food often forces them to go it alone. That they travel together anyway whenever they can leads us to ask the biggest question in social behavior: why do they bother to be social at the cost of not getting enough to eat?

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