Day 2: June 15, 2008
I woke at 6 a.m. today and ate some native fruits and pancakes for breakfast. I helped Adriana Sanchez and Edwin fill 300 cups and quart containers with soil to plant the cuttings of the plants which Adriana is using for one of her PhD research projects. After filling the pots with soil, the three of us walked along the trail off the fútbol field to collect cuttings and roots of her plants from the jungle. Adriana’s study involved the hormigas (ants) that protected these two species of plants and to what extent their protection extended. Upon observing many of the older trees related to the smaller plant species Adriana was interested in, there was an obvious clearing extending about 2 feet all around the tree with its bark being perfectly smooth and white. The aggressive ants defend their home clearing all vines and mosses from the tree. Many of the plastic orange tags which had been tied to the trees less than 24 hours before had already been chewed from the tree and pulverized by the ants. The ants live inside the tree and if one happens to flick the bark above the entrances, hundreds of ants come rushing out to defend their home, some even jumping several inches to land on their attacker in order to leave behind their stinging bites.
After dinner, I began to organize my photos and editing them with Photoshop. Adriana picked a random song from my iTunes to play. It was a song from the Carolina Chocolate Drops album. Everyone in the room stopped and stared at Adriana and I in the corner as we listened to the old time music. I will never hear the end of it now, especially since Bryan, a Welsh man, started doing a crow’s foot dance.
Day 3:
Day 4:
Today I went with Adriana and Edwin on a hike from 6:30 a.m. to 11:30 a.m. We hiked on trocha 10 to the ficus trocha to the concha lobo where I saw a black caiman.
Day 5: June 18, 2008
I woke at 6 and went to track Saki monkeys with Gordon and Dara, the couple living in the cabin with me. Mini (from India) went with us since the Tamarind monkey’s she was tracking tended to follow a similar path as the Saki monkeys. Tracking monkeys is difficult and dangerous, as well as fast paced and totally dull all at the same time. In order to follow a pack of monkeys skating through the trees, researchers must go blundering off the trails after their subjects. The uneven terrain and extremely high potential for becoming lost is obvious, not to mention the danger of grabbing a branch that happens to be the tail of a snake or the home of a horde of army ants. At the same time, the monkeys may stop to rest, groom, or feed which entails much sitting and waiting for them to stop their normal healthy behavior for the safety of changing resting locations lest a predator discover their normal paths. Additionally, one must never forget the misery of a sore neck from staring at a monkey sitting 60 meters from the ground, never removing the eyes for fear of losing sight. I learned all of this in about 20 minutes, and grew to understand it after about 6 hours of sitting completely still. While sitting still, mosquitoes begin to swarm, making the situation much more comfortable for the observer. Simply said, I’m glad that I’m just the photographer and can leave the monkeys to eat my lunch in the comfort of a shaded screen dining hall rather than skipping lunch and waiting for 3 more hours to observe the monkey’s feeding and grooming habits from a 60 meter distance.
There are three large problems associated with carrying a camera in the rainforest, even in the “dry” season. First—the humidity is horrendous and my lens constantly fogs up during rainy or humid days. However, if I wipe off my lens, I have to be careful not to use a wet rag or cloth, which is nearly impossible because everything is damp. For example, I washed my socks and set them outside to dry at 6 p.m. However, by 6 p.m. the next day my socks had molded (and not just a smelly mold, but a mold of dark black spots covering my socks). This place is simply alive.
Second—the camera is valuable. I do not foresee any issues with carrying expensive equipment here at the station except if I encounter a local gold miner on the trails. Many hunt illegally for the rich meat of the peccaries. It’s only illegal because it’s dangerous for the researchers, not because the peccaries are particularly rare. Today I found shot gun shells near the spot where we were searching for the Saki monkeys. Shots were heard this morning as well—not by us, but by another researcher. This is potentially quite dangerous since humans blunder as loudly in the brush as any other peccary, but without the grunting and smell (except perhaps for the strange Italian man….).
Third—the light is terrible in the forest. There are spots where the light shines through because a tree has fallen, but there is significantly less exotic flora and fauna in these locations because much of the wildlife here prefers the safety of the shade. I need to experiment with the ISO, shutter speeds, etc. to find a combination which will allow me to shoot accurately and in focus. Unfortunately, I shoot such a large variety of insects, mushrooms, and vistas that I will need to change these settings for almost every shot. This would be easier if I had a manual camera with dials visibly protruding from the body, however I need to find a cozy couch and reread my manual tomorrow so I can improve my skills. I have an eye for photography, but few technical skills when dealing with digital cameras.
Day 6: June 19, 2008
I became quite lost today. Susan needed help collecting insects from the insect traps, which involved me going alone to some trails quite far from the station by myself. At first I had no trouble. The insect traps were not always easy to see thanks to the rapid growth of the underbrush, but were well marked on the map. As I headed toward collecting the last two traps I had to turn around due to the dense brush and fallen trees which obscured the trail beyond recognition. It would be too easy to mistake a research trail for a regular maintained trail in a situation like this which could take me a couple of miles from my destination—which in the jungle is quite dangerous. One can stand 10 feet from the trail and not have any awareness of its existence, making it easy to lose the trails, especially when alone. That’s exactly what happened to me.
I started my trek at 7 and finished collecting the insects by 11. I started to return to the station but suddenly found myself standing in front of a river—whether it was the Los Amigos River or the Madre de Dios River, I don’t know. What mattered was that I had taken the wrong trail. Naturally I backtracked knowing that I would simply end up where I started as long as I followed the trail, but that was not the case. Apparently I took one of Diego’s research trails which was notorious for confusing people. Unfortunately I did not take into account that the signs are only viewed from someone coming down the trail, not from someone coming up the trail as I was. I was lost for over an hour, but managed to locate a research trail which connected back to the main trail.
Worse yet, I was unable to take photos as my camera lens had fogged and when I wiped the condensation from the glass I used the only fabric I had—a soggy, sweaty cotton t-shirt. Thus one stupid move had killed any photo opportunities for the day since I had forgotten my lens cleaner.
My awareness of the sounds around me has increased and my fears of walking alone have decreased significantly since my morning in the forest. I remained vigilant in listening for peccaries (huanganas) and other wildlife that would either be incredible or dangerous (or both) to encounter. The distinct salty reek of the peccaries allows you to track the aggressive animals, but if they encounter you instead it is difficult to prepare. The best thing to do is to climb a tree (which is actually quite difficult as most are either too large, too small, or covered in thorns and spikes) and make loud noises to scare them without aggressively encroaching on their territory.
Day 7
One sad thing about working at the station is the fact that people come and go, which means saying goodbye. There are around 30 people here, which is a good variety, and each person is friendly and unique (as one would have to be in order to have any desire to live in the isolation of the Manu Biosphere Reserve). However, I realized last night that my first week had already passed and my new friend Adriana Sanchez would be leaving along with the week. It’s a fact of life to say goodbye, and the thought that new people will return makes things exciting as nobody here tends to be cliquey. Granted, some friendships are stronger than others, but I refer more to the fact that workers and researchers and administration alike eat at the same dinner table. The fact that a “lowly” Peruvian worker has the opportunity to eat with brilliant people who work on PhD research projects on unknown species of ants and that this well-educated person has the chance to get to know someone less fortunate cheers me. The lack of cliques is not perfect of course, but is certainly viewed during an aggressive and fun game of fútbol or volleyball. Everyone plays together and works together. It’s really something that should not be overlooked about this station since the sincerity which people display toward each other is valuable and cheering.
I worked with Susan today to create a t-shirt design. Nigel will take the design to Lima on Saturday to have the t-shirts made. She and I discussed what we would like to see on the shirt and how we could best represent CICRA without leaving anybody out. We decided to create a journey of figures moving from the boat in the river and traveling up the stairs carrying heavy boxes with caiman at their heels. The people carrying the boxes would travel to a palm hut at the top (the comedor) and people would be walking out of the comedor doing various activities (soccer, Mammalian GPS tracking, looking through binoculars, taking notes, digging, etc.). I took photographs of people doing these things and Susan will draw the figures which will go on the shirt.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Today I hiked with Will Minehart and Erick to Cocha Lobo. We paddled around the oxbow lake observing the awkward call and blundering movements of the Hoatzin birds. They have crested combs with feathers of red and grey and orange. As we paddled back, 6 giant otters began to swim toward us. They had not seen us, but as soon as they did so, the leader began to click and grunt to his fellows, warning them of our presence. We were quite lucky to see them in part because they were thought to have not existed in this region for a few years until today. My photos prove it.
A friaje has arrived and it’s about 50 degrees at the moment. By nightfall it will be around 40. The Amazon is not always a toasty place.
Monday, June 23, 2008
We FINALLY got back from a romp in the woods this morning. I got up at 5:30 to do some yoga with an ornithologist named Will and left at 6:15 to take a boat across the river with three of his coworkers. We accidentally missed a trail because the trails on the other side of the river are not marked except at large intersections. Instead of taking a quick trail to the stream where the ant birds they were researching would likely live, we missed a turn and ended up wandering through a palm swamp for two hours. The water was fairly deep and everything was made of slick, sticky mud. We had our eyes open for hungry anacondas and whatever else may want to take a nibble from us. The trail markers that led us to the swamp actually led us to the middle of the swamp and just stopped. Not knowing what else to do, we just kept hacking a trail with a machete and squelching our way through the treacherous muck. Finally we hit solid ground! ...but not for long...little did we know that we had two more swamps to hike. :)
When we did find the trail we needed to find the ant birds, it was already time to meet our boat driver and go back to CICRA. It was definitely fun, but cold since we're in the middle of a friaje and it's 50 degrees. No one wanted to fall in, but Diego did...he sank all the way to his hips, filling his rubber boots with icy water and muck.
I actually don't wear my hiking boots here. The best thing is to wear big rubber boots and I just so happened to scrounge up a pair more or less in my size. Not too many people wear a size six, so I didn't have to compete to wear them or worry about any one else needing them.
Okay...time to take an alcohol bath...chiggers and mosquitoes and other red itchy bites from goodness knows what….
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
I took a break today. There’s a nasty cold/fever going around and I could feel my body becoming tired from getting up no later than 6:30 and going to bed at 10 or later. I delved into the depths of my camera manual to continue to find a way to take photos in focus with poor light conditions and little time. With a combination of widening my aperture, increasing my shutter speed, and working with options only available to digital cameras such as “white balance” which allows me to tone the harsh grays of a cloudy day to a tolerable level, I may be able to adjust my photos and improve their quality.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Today I got up at 5:30 and met Will to do yoga and watch for early morning animals/birds rising from the mists of the river. It would most likely be too dark to take photos again, especially of the macaws flying around the river banks, but they could at least be heard. We stretched and worked our stiff muscles from endless hours hiking in hot rubber boots instead of comfortable shoes (a matter of safety for snakes, ants, etc.) trying to ward off the cold which had settled into our bones from the friaje which had permeated every nook and cranny of the station except under the warmth of a thick blanket. It’s about 40 degrees at night and 50 during the day. That’s not too cold except that all of my clothes, if not completely wet from trekking through palm swamps and marshes, are at least damp from the heavy tropical humidity. One becomes accustomed to everything being damp after just a few days simply because there is no other option. There are no dryers here—for that matter there are not even any wash machines, whether for clothing or dishes.
At CICRA, each person hand washes their own clothes. The only time anything actually dries is during a dry, sunny day or a cold, dry, windy day. Unfortunately, neither of those is very common, and when the opportunity does present itself, the clothes lines are packed. As a result, shirts are worn a time or two longer than would ever be acceptable anywhere in the US. It’s just a matter of perception and necessity. Since everyone smells, no one cares (mostly). Clothing is never really “put away” because field clothes should never mix with evening clothing or else the colonies of chiggers inhabiting the elastic bands of your underwear and the linings of your shirts and pants will take over your clean clothing as well. Also, field clothing should never touch your bed…no one wants chiggers, ants, or ticks to spend the night with them or else they would wake up a different person.
Despite the apparent discomfort, I have no problems with this situation. Naturally, I appreciate the beauty of a wash machine, but the other problems are prevented through simple planning and precautions. Once a routine is established, it’s easy to understand the chaotic system of field clothes, house clothes, soccer/volleyball clothes, etc.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Today, Pluma (Jorge) and I worked from 7 to 12 collecting Israel’s bugs from his distantly spaced bug traps. I was happy to go with him so I could continue to get to know him. Pluma attends my English classes and I always find him organizing his notes and studying in the classroom before class starts even though everyone else is still bantering and chattering will letting their dinner settle in the comedor. His determination to learn English is commendable, though the possibility of him becoming fluent with teachers coming and going at a constant rate makes it difficult for the students.
I told Pluma about my life in the states, my old home which has been passed down for generations, Berea and its work/study program, my friends, and my interests. Having heard from another researcher that Pluma was studying medicinal plants of the Amazon with the hopes of becoming a shaman of sorts, I was curious to hear more. He has been working over the past few years, growing a (rather unsuccessful) garden, his research on both the internet and by talking to people. When put to the test, Pluma’s knowledge has proved to be fruitful. A young baby in Puerto Maldonado was covered in a series of mysterious welts and Pluma prescribed some natural cream to sooth its sores. Three days later, the sores were completely gone. Perhaps the sores would have disappeared anyway, but I prefer to give him the benefit of the doubt.
One could easily assume that Pluma’s efforts to become a medicine man are silly—let the natives take care of these traditional practices. However, the native Amazon population does not even exist in this region. Most inhabitants migrated from the bitter life in the highlands or from the dusty life of Lima. As such, plant and animal knowledge are at a bare minimum, and there is no knowledge to be passed from generation to generation. Many communities were established over ten years ago, but beyond some simple flowers or the occasional vegetable, all food is shipped from Cusco to Puerto Maldonado, and then distributed to various small communities within 8-10 hours of driving, whether a boat or on a road. To put this in perspective, Cusco is about 20 hours from Puerto Maldonado by bus and CICRA is about 8 hours from Puerto Maldonado.
Pluma and I walked to Trompetero, past Aerodromo, to the Torre, and around Daniela before returning to resupply. All throughout the morning, we could hear the snarling shrieks of the huanganas (peccaries) crashing through the brush. I was torn between wanting to see the aggressive critters and being perfectly content knowing that I would not have to run and climb the nearest tree for safety (which I might add, is extremely difficult since the trees here do not have low hanging branches and others are covered in a thick armor of inch long spines. Other trees are about 12 feet in diameter and would just be impossible to even consider climbing). With Pluma around, I preferred to take advantage of his experience in the selva rather than encounter them alone for the first time.
