Las Amazonas

My third grade teacher was big into hands-on projects, the main one being decorating the classroom as the Amazon Rainforest and holding our own Carnivale parade with homemade instruments. We spent weeks studying the ecology of the rainforest and covering the walls and ceilings with butcher paper vines, trees, leaves, and a who menagerie of animals. The teacher even brought in her pet scarlet and green macaws for a day.

In hindsight, this was a huge fire hazard, macaws are not really intended to be pets, and an incident with the scarlet macaw sparked a lifelong distrust of birds. However, this also ignited a lifelong desire to visit the Amazon and see some of these flora and fauna in a fantastic jungle adventure.

Being on my own in Ecuador seemed like the ideal opportunity to dip my toe in the vast ecological wonderland that is the Amazon Rainforest. And while an organized group tour isn’t quite the fantastic adventure my eight-year-old self may have envisioned, it is the only way to go and see this protected area.  I was also lucky enough to spend my four-day journey with an excellent group and an incredibly enthusiastic guide.

One of two protected areas in the Ecuadorian portion of the Amazon, Cuyabeno reserve covers about 1.5 million acres and, thanks to its elevation, is home to five different ecological zones. On the Hormiga River, which flows into the Amazon River and eventually all the way to the Atlantic Ocean, the reserve is also home to five indigenous groups and hundreds of species of fauna.

The Caiman Lodge, a little over an hour downriver from the reserve entrance, is an eco-friendly space of thatch and bamboo, strewn with hammocks, its observation tower stretching above the surrounding trees. During meals we were joined by a pair of green Amazon parrots looking to scavenge our leftovers (and usually succeeding); reintroduced to the wild after being kept as pets, the birds were accustomed to relying on humans.

The trip included a visit to the local Siona village to see traditional bread being made and hear a Shaman speak briefly on their customs. The bread is made entirely from cassava (yuca) root, which we harvested in the pouring rain. The root is then peeled, cleaned, ground, wrung dry, and made into a large, thin pancake cooked on pottery over an open flame. After the meal, the Shaman sat down to explain the local customs and how he (and his three brothers) learned from his grandfather the ways of a shaman. All told, it was both touristy and highly interesting.

But the main event, the magically breathtaking main event, was the wildlife. From being awoken by the calls of howler monkeys to the ever-present drone of cicadas and calls of birds, we spent four days surrounded by nature. We paddled, boated, swam, and squished through mud and water in knee high rubber boots. Massive troupes of squirrel monkeys leapt through trees, pairs of yellow and blue macaws cruised overhead, anacondas sunned themselves in branches, pink river dolphins surfaced briefly before cruising downriver, sloths existed lazily.

It may not have been exactly what my eight-year-old self pasted all over the walls of a classroom, but it certainly was an awe-inspiring experience. Definitely worth all the bug bites and early mornings. 

Rhinos, and Tigers, and Bears! Oh My!

We started running. We started running while trying to be as quiet as possible. On gravel. Toward the supposed location of a rhinoceros.

If you had been present for the morning debriefing on how to behave in the event that we were attacked by a tiger, sloth bear, or rhinoceros, you would be questioning our decision to run at a dangerous animal. I know I was.

After a leisurely canoe trip and two hours walking through the jungle, plunging through towering, eight-foot-tall elephant grass, and following meandering paths to check various watering holes, our “guarantee 100% you see rhino” was beginning to seem less and less likely. And the heat of the Nepali plains was gearing up, inching its way up toward 110. So when another tour guide alerted our guide about a nearby rhinoceros, running commenced.

Now, as awe-inspiring as it was to crouch in the underbrush watching this armored truck of an animal, one of only 503 known to be in Nepal, it was also slightly distressing. And I do mean in more ways than only the fear of being charged by such a behemoth.

Who are we to be invading this creature’s space? To be building resorts and campgrounds within their territory? To be stalking them as they lounge in a murky pool trying to beat the midday blaze? What hubris allows us to think we are powerful enough to stalk them unprotected and on foot?

Nature Reserves and National Parks are not zoos. Perhaps if the animals are not easily visible from the safety of a vehicle, we should leave them be. After all, I don’t go tracking grizzlies unarmed in the U.S. National Parks carrying only a walking stick. 

Hakuna Matata

You can’t go to Africa, particularly East Africa, and not go on a safari. Okay, you can, but really, why would you want to? The practical, grown-up answer is, of course, money; as a general rule, experience-based commodities, especially when the experience is something rare or precious, tend to be either expensive affairs or jam-packed with people.

Luckily for us, Uganda currently falls right in between those two extremes: not the most popular, over-touristed destination in the region (like Kilimanjaro or Serengeti National Park) , but with a newly-blossoming budget safari industry. And by ‘newly-blossoming’, I mean ‘has two reasonable options.

Now, the difference between a budget safari and your other safari options comes down to one thing: number of passengers, i.e. are you willing to risk sharing your experience with a bunch of strangers, potentially putting the fate of your trip in their hands? Some people would rather pay more and keep the whole thing as a private endeavor, since, as we have learned in the past, the group is one of the vital ingredients, with the power to completely sabotage an experience. We got lucky. Not only did we save money, but we ended up with a fantastic group of people, something that certainly augmented the whole experience.

Of the two most impressive national parks in Uganda, we opted for Murchison Falls National Park as it is the cheaper of the two and home to the country’s only giraffes, both equally important in my book. It is also home to one of the world’s most powerful waterfalls, where the entirety of the Victoria Nile squeezes through a tiny 6-meter-wide space, making for some mighty impressive views.

But let’s get to the important part, the reason we’re all here. Wildlife.

Seeing exotic creatures at the zoo is lovely, a glimpse into another world. Seeing those same creatures in their own habitat, roaming free, is absolutely beautiful. Breathtaking. Awe-inspiring. Surreal. An experience unique unto itself.

Over the roughly six hours spent on game drives, bouncing down dirt roads perched atop an open-roof van, we spotted a wealth of wildlife strewn about the park’s vast, lush landscape.

The elegant Ugandan Kob, the befuddled-looking Jackson’s Hartebeest, the stockier Waterbuck, all dot the horizon, grazing wherever you look.

Warthogs trot past, tails skyward, trailing their tiny wart-piglets.

Water Buffalo stand stock-still, only their jaws working away at grass, staring as we pass, birds comfortably hitching a ride on their back.

It’s a wonder to top a verdant hill, coming several feet from a herd of elephants, ears flapping, wrinkles mud-caked.

Hippos bob in the Nile, ears and eyes visible, cool in the midday heat. The males viscously assert their dominance in splashing, open-maw bouts. At night they roam our camp, grazing in the cover of night.

The vibrant flutterings of color that make up Murchison’s birdlife runs the full spectrum of the rainbow. Greens, blues, reds, oranges, and yellows, each shade is represented with a flapping of wings, a making of nests.

But for me, it’s all about the giraffes. Their unique markings, like no other creature on earth, pale in youth and darkening with age. As they run, it is as though they are moving through a viscous liquid, like the tape is played in slow motion. Graceful, majestic, and magnetic in their beauty; to witness numerous giraffes, reaching with ease into the tallest of trees to pluck a snack, towering over even the elephants, sauntering about without a care, is an experience unlike any other.

And, yes, these are animals we’ve seen a thousand times, in zoos, on nature specials and in the pages of National Geographic. But there is nothing that can take your breath right out of your chest like the beauty of seeing them carousing in their natural habitat, miles to roam, nothing but ground underfoot (or hoof or paw) and sky overhead.

Flaming Pink

Nearly 30,000 flamingos make their home in the shallow, murky waters of the Yucatan Peninsula’s northern coast. Thanks to the salty water of the estuaries and mangrove forests, the water of the area makes a hospitable environment for tiny organisms and algae. It’s a regular flamingo feasting ground, the carotene-rich algae making the flamingos some of the pinkest in the world.

We were lucky enough to visit the Yucatan’s Celestún Biosphere Reserve, the winter habitat of these magnificent, bizarre creatures. Vibrantly-colored, around five feet tall, and all gangly limbs and massive beak, flamingos are some of the strangest, most unique birds on the planet, bar none.

When they stretch to full height, in squawking distress about the nearness of boats or humans, it is easy to see how their shape could lead to their being used as disgruntled croquet mallets in the Queen of Hearts’ court. However, the fear and upset cause to non-fictitious flamingos by human presence has a more immediate danger; in such a delicate ecosystem, any disturbance could cause the flocks to abandon their feeding and nesting grounds, leaving these mostly non-migratory birds to seek asylum elsewhere on the peninsula.

Seeing them by the hundreds, or possibly thousands, is a breathtakingly beautiful experience. They paint the horizon in vibrant magenta patches as they spend their days feeding in the estuary bed, one-legged, necks swiveling this way and that, massive evolutionarily-designed beaks filtering water ceaselessly. There is nothing quite so amazing as seeing magnificent creatures in their natural habitat.

Making Macaws

Traveling through Central America is making one thing very clear: I am a sucker for a conservation project. Full to the brim with so-called ecotourism options, Costa Rica has more than its share of ecological options.

The problem comes down to one of choice. But, without an overarching standard, governing body, or way to realistically cross-compare, it becomes immensely difficult to tell what is a genuine, eco-friendly, positive impact project and what is just plain old, money-hungry tourism. Faced with such a choice, I was relieved to find a project that seemed like it was focused solely on the creatures it is meant to help, rather than trying to turn a profit.

Tucked away in a residential corner of Alajuela, The Ara Project, or Finca Hatched to Fly Free, is a macaw conservation effort to rescue, breed, and re-populate Costa Rica’s resident species. It’s basically what you get when you add a couple of expats with a passion for birds and zoology, sufficient acreage, and a government with a large number of  rescued native macaws and no place to put them.

Scarlet and Great Green Macaws, the two indigenous species in Costa Rica, have suffered incredible loss in population. Deforestation, poaching, the exotic pet market, and the price the feathers alone can receive, all combine to severely threaten these magnificent birds.

Making matters worse, the great greens’ lifecycle revolves solely around one tree.  It is the only place they nest; the nuts are the only food they will eat. Thanks to the tree’s value for hardwood furniture, these once migratory birds are stationary, their population has dropped to only 200, and only enough trees remain for 30 nests.

Beginning in the 1980s, Costa Rica’s macaws in need of help, those rescued from poachers, injured, or no-longer-wanted pets, were sent to this property. Naturally curious, incredibly intelligent (think 5-12 year old child), social creatures, macaws need contact with other macaws. So, once rehabilitated, health checked, and approved, the birds were put into communal cages. And, due to proximity and natural desire, the birds started pairing off and decided it was time to start up the breeding portion of the project.

Thanks in part to the birds (and their libidos), a handful of volunteers, and some biologists, the project has a full, healthy population in captivity and are slowly introducing the macaws back into the Costa Rican ecosystem. And, the Ara Project has been wildly successful. The birds have started mating in their natural habitat. The great greens released have acquired a more diverse feeding and nesting palate. Education programs have cut down on poaching.

More importantly, macaws are once again part of Costa Rica’s present, as well as its future. Grandparents who watched the macaws slowly disappear have seen them returned in large numbers. Children who have never had the opportunity to see such vibrant displays of avian plumage are given the opportunity. And in nature no less.

Now that’s something I’ll donate money to. 

Conservation, Captivity

There is something about zoos that is at once inherently sad, yet touches on our most basic curiosities. For many people, a captive environment is the only place they will get an up-close view of certain animals. It gives us a glimpse of their otherwise mysterious behavior, sounds, and activities – bewildering, endearing, dangerous, intelligent.

A tapir’s searching snout, the rambunctiousness of baby raccoons. Jaguars stretching in enlarged mimicry of the average housecat, the familial resemblance in the depth of primate eyes, the familiar fingers. The elegant span of a peacock tail, a toucan’s splendid multi-colored beak, iguanas lounging in streams of sunlight. Without seeing this beauty, would we have the desire to preserve it, to ensure its continued existence? Would it be vital, or merely background noise, the faraway cry of something disconnected from our selves?

Zoos educate visitors and can provide a sometimes necessary tool for conservation, protection and propagation of species, provided that there is adequate space and cleanliness, as well as proper treatment. But, when does our innate curiosity and desire to help cross the line from conservation and education into the realm of mere captivity and entertainment? What is protection and conservation? How little space is too little, how many animal roommates too many?

In El Valle’s Nispero Zoo, as in many zoos across the globe, this fine line is walked. However, tucked away within the zoological property, and funded in part by visitor admission fees to the zoo as a whole, resides a conservation project absolutely essential to the survival of some of the country’s most emblematic and endangered amphibian species.

The area surrounding Panama’s El Valle provides the habitat for an astounding (but dwindling) variety of amphibians, including the national symbol for conservation, Rana Dorada, or the Golden Frog. However, due to an invasive fungus that has been wiping out the area frogs, the number of species has dropped from 68 to 40 in recent years.

In an attempt to stem the losses, the fine folks at the El Valle Amphibian Conservation Center have taken to rescuing infected frogs, toads, and salamanders and treating them with an anti-fungal solution. This led to the development of a clean room atmosphere in which to house the amphibians, as well as an education and exhibition room, at least until some sort of solution to the spreading fungus is discovered and the frogs can be released back into their natural habitat.

Frogs, particularly the tropical variety, are infinitely variable and fascinating. Such spectrum of color, from vibrant and dangerous to subtle, earthy disguise. Massive, bulbous eyes and globular fingers and toes hide within their environment, tucked away in leaves, blending in or providing sharp contrast.

I, for one, am proud to visit the local exhibits, the fruit of conservation efforts to protect native creatures. But, without the surrounding zoo, and the ethical dilemmas that go hand-in-hand with a zoo’s existence, would the conservation center remain afloat?

Without a simple answer, I will at least try to direct my money in the way of conservation rather than entertainment, preservation rather than exploitation. Because, should we deny our animal brethren a helping hand, their entire future could be in peril.