Atun Poza
This morning, almost all of us pushed ourselves to get out of bed at 5:30 for a chance to explore a newly flooded area just upstream from where the Delfin II had parked for the night. About half of us took to the kayaks with the other half in the skiffs. As the mist rose off the water, we made our way through a rice plantation peppered with makeshift scarecrows to a broad, clear river. The group was quiet -- perhaps because we all know that tomorrow is our last day out here. We were rewarded with a symphony of birdcalls and then sightings of parrots, macaws, parakeets, and an abundance of now familiar riverside hawks, herons, egrets, kingfishers, and anis. Six-story fig trees covered with vines lined the river -- interspersed with a broad array of other fauna which we later learned included rubber and ficus trees on a scale so much larger than we have at home, as to be initially unrecognizable. As we turned back after a few hours to head back to the Delfin II, the guides pointed out two rare, tiny night monkeys peeking out from a hole in a tree, just underneath a beautiful vermillion plant. In a forest this huge and dark and complex, I have no idea how the guides found them. Despite running late for our return to breakfast, we were reluctant to leave.
After breakfast, we headed around the bend upstream for a morning walk through a small village. From about ten wooden structures emerged dozens of playful children who escorted us as we walked through town to enter the jungle. At the base of a tree, Mike pointed out a pink-toed tarantula and a lizard. We then hiked through a dense forest, so tall that we could hardly see the sky, to the grandfather of Kapok trees so broad at the base that I first thought it was a wall some 20 feet in length. Jesus, our Bora Indian guide, stood quietly with his hands against the tree for several moments to express his respect. He told us that more than 30 people holding hands would be required to encircle the tree completely. We continued into the forest for great views of macaws, parrots, and untold numbers of insects (and thankfully no more tarantulas).
In the forest at the height of morning, the temperature must have been in the high eighties and the humidity around 80%. As we re-entered the village on our way back for lunch, many of the women in the community were cooking on open-hearth fires while the boys showed off by playing soccer and the girls ran alongside us to check us out. Pierrs, the masseuse, met us as we awaited our skiff shuttle with icy washcloths soaked in clove water. The staff here think of everything.
Before lunch, Kitty lectured on recent research demonstrating that dinosaurs were colorfully feathered and that modern birds are their direct descendants. This led us during the late-afternoon skiff ride to refer to every bird we saw as a dinosaur (a practice of which Kitty approved). We refocused on the serious business of accuracy at several new identifications: night hawks, bat falcons and a floating muscovy duck. We returned to the Delfin II accompanied by a half dozen macaws and a perfect sunset.
One of the most remarkable events of the day was our first rainstorm of the week, which we saw approaching and yet still came on with stunning suddenness. The horizontal winds and torrential rains surprised even the crew, which rushed to deploy the plastic rain shields a bit later than optimal. The rain subsided quickly though. What lingered was debris in the river: huge logs (which some fishermen later tried to chain saw even as they floated downstream), branches, leaves, and stumps which served as transport vehicles for large numbers of egrets. The waters are rising a few inches a day, and it’s clear that there won’t be a drought this season.
