CM1 and the Miners

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Today started out with rain. Again.

I woke at 8:30 wondering why it was so late and when I turned over to look at my clock, I realized that I had set my alarm, but I had failed to actually turn it on. Thus, any chance of actually working with someone today was out of the question, and I was forbidden to walk alone, so I picked up a new book. Scanning the cover of “The Neotropical Companion” I decided that the thick paperback addressing natural history, flora, and fauna of the Amazon would easily keep me entertained for the morning—and if not entertained, at least educated.

The rain slowed around 10, and by lunch time it had disappeared completely, the sun pouring joyfully from large gaps in the clouds. Everyone was in a good mood. The laundry lines sagged with the weight of 40 peoples clothing drip drying in the humid air and the shouts of “A JUGAAARRRR” came from the cancha. I ran to my cabin to change into my filthy volleyball clothes and began to stir up my slow moving blood stream, jogging to the field. We played for an hour and I ran to the outdoor shower to clean my crawling skin of the collection of bee stings and bug bites with my razor which had accumulated during the game.

Walking back to my cabin, Karina spotted me and asked me to help her track the ocelot. Struggling into my damp, muddy, sweaty field clothes I grabbed my tall rubber boots and met her in the comedor. We set off immediately, walking toward Aerodromo and stopping to pick up faint signals with the GPS. I recorded each signal, it’s strength, location, and time. Using the data, and a trail map, we traversed Perro, Daniela, and Aerodromo, picking up strong signals at the intersection of Daniela and Perro in the woods. After three hours of rough trail slopping, and jogging in clear areas so we would not lose the signal, we called it quits and headed back to camp, the darkening sky chasing our tails.

We arrived in time for a sunset game of fútbol, and I hopped into my OTHER sweaty clothes for a quick game before dinner. The electricity had not been turned on, so there was nothing I could do except play. Sprinting, chasing my offender, and shooting at various intervals, I ran until my legs could go no more. The light had finally receded and I ran to my cabin for my towel. Jogging to the shower hut, I saw Will just ahead and we both raced for the showers, trying to win—the prize being the cleaner shower stall we took this seriously. He had a head start so stopped when he reached the shower and we bet the good shower on the outcome of a vigorous game of rock, paper, scissors. I lost instantly. Grabbing my soap, I headed for the second shower hut and went to dinner.

Saturday, July 12, 2008

I took a photo yesterday. A good one. It was the kind of photo that made me shiver, no, tremble, knowing without having seen it that this photo was important and not just to me. I’ve never felt that way before today. I could be wrong, but everyone has their doubts when they get their hopes up. But when I watch people’s reactions, their gasp, raised eyebrows, Nigel’s questioning “I was there? I didn’t see that!” I know that something happened between my camera and I. I’ve taken some amazing photographs before, but they were different. The beautiful Guatemalan children, intricate Chinese and Mongolian architecture, and drab Turkish bakeries I’ve photographed are stunning—but they served no value other than as an aesthetic recording of my travels and their cultures. This time, it’s different.

Nigel and I walked down the rocky, uneven terrain of Carretera to go visit the mining camp just 40 minutes walking from the station. We were going to talk to them about the hunting that had been going on over the past week, but also so I could take some photographs. Hopefully something will come of this. Hopefully I will gain a purpose other than cheering the ACA website with yawning cayman and ruffled rufescent tiger herons yellow glares. Maybe I can help.

Monday, July 14, 2008

Today I woke at 5:15 for a quick yoga session. I had gone to bed at 8 the night before so I was wide awake and ready for a vigorous, blood pumping session. We worked our abs, held our stretches, and sank low on our thighs, letting our weight drop lower into the Warrior position with each exhalation. Wide awake and ready for my day, I went to breakfast and was greeted with the sights and smells of 30 plates of steaming eggs with squeaky Andean cheese, tomatoes, and green onions and toasted slices of Renata’s homemade bread. Eating enough for 2 ½ people, I gorged on eggs and bread with algarrobina, a fruity molasses from Piura, Diego’s homeland.

I continued to read about the gold mining process and picked up A Neotropical Companion for a quick lesson on rainforest ecology. I continued to edit the photojournalism story on the mining and hunting around CICRA. After lunch, I walked down to the river to cool my overheated body and hopefully catch sight of some white caiman. My eyes, now much more accustomed to spotting the camouflaged fauna of the forest spotted a 2 meter caiman basking in the sunshine 10 meters from the boats, nearly invisible in the pale gray brown sand. Though I have acquired some skill in spotting mammals and reptiles, I still see very little from day to day. Even with the help of another’s trained eyes, it’s still quite difficult to find the wildlife concealed in the foliage.

Black-faced hawk (possibly a hybrid because the black-faced hawk supposedly does not exist in this region...then again to have a hybrid would mean that a full-blooded bird would have to exist as well!).

At four, I returned to the station ready for a nap, as I was still too sticky and hot to do anything else. The comedor was quiet as I walked by, others having my same intentions, but Nigel’s voice called my name from the shadows of a chair in the corner, just out of my sight. He asked me to take Aña and Clark, two ecotourists visiting the station for the next four days, to the tower. Not wanting them to go out just before sunset without someone who knows the trails, I forfeited my nap for the unappealing task of ascending the 60 meter tower in the baking sun. However, I was interested in seeing the sunset from the vista 20 meters above the treetops so I didn’t drag my feet and was ready to go in ten minutes. Harnesses and climbing ropes in hand, we hit the trail at 4:30, setting a brisk pace so as not to miss the 5:30 sunset.

Aña and Clark were both unfamiliar with the anatomy of the harnesses, so I helped each strap, tie, and tighten the harnesses accordingly. Carefully looping safety knots for the steep ascension, I climbed first, reaching the top in about 4 minutes. Clark arrived several minutes later, and Aña was last. Sweaty, bug-bitten, and thirsty, the unfamiliar feeling of a breeze was heaven. The forest floor has no such thing as breezes and bugs are abundant, making sitting or standing in one spot for more than 2 minutes uncomfortably irritating unless one likes the sound of a cloud of mosquitoes whining in their ears.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

I forgot to set my alarm again last night and I woke at 8:30 bathed in a thick pool of sweat. Walking to the bathroom to splash myself down in the cold water pouring from the tap, I began to feel the rumble of hunger echoing through my abdomen. The comedor was busy that morning, people writing papers, reading, and doing research. It was going to be a hot day, and those who were doing field work had already returned, soaking wet and smelly. I helped myself to leftover potatoes and onion sauce with rice. Still hungry, I returned to the kitchen for fruit, Renata’s homemade granola, and strawberry yogurt.

I spent the morning helping Nigel label photographs of birds with their Latin names for the ACA website. Though it was not difficult, it took patience since not all photos were labeled correctly. I was pleased to note that some of the photos were mine—next to the photos of famous photographers.

Road-Side Hawk

After lunch, I returned to my cabin to pack for my trip to CM1. I would be traveling with Claire Salisbury, Will Minehart, and Diego Olaechea to a research station just downriver from CICRA until Friday. We left at 4 and stopped for emergency supplies at Boca Amigos…aka chocolate wafers.

Keeping our eyes open for dusk loving wildlife, and admiring the glowing sunset which turned the murky river water pink, we pulled up to CM1 and climbed the stairs ascending the river bank. The station was just 100 meters from the river’s edge, making it far buggier than CICRA. As CICRA is at the top of a cliff, there are always slight breezes, barely felt, but just enough to keep the mosquito population at a tolerable level. Also the lack of shade around the buildings prevents much wildlife from entering the clearing—which as soon as I arrived at CM1, I realized was something to be appreciated. A prometor led us to the dorm, which was conveniently empty, except for its rumors about being haunted. The boys took a room across the hall from Claire and I, and we chatted loosely, donning more protective clothing and unpacking our bags. Will and Diego, machetes in hand, left to collect bamboo poles for the bird trapping in the morning. The poles would be used to hang the black bird nets.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

We woke at 5:45 and headed to the dining hall. Jerry was in the kitchen preparing eggs, rice, and broccoli for breakfast while Diego and I searched for water. We found two pitchers of liquid in the fridge and pulled them out for a closer inspection. The first was a fruity refresco, but the second was unidentifiable. It had no scent, but was a murky brown color: river water. Yes, golden brown, mercury laden river water is our drinking water here. We opted for refresco.

Diego lindo, de que estas pensando?

After breakfast, we walked to the first trail behind the dining hall and set up a dark net, almost invisible to the passerby and listened for ant birds returning their calls in response to the playback. A lucky morning for us, we caught a male and female in ten minutes. Claire untangled the female from the nets and began recording its size, took blood and feathers, and weighed it. Just as she was finishing, Will finally managed to untangle the male from the nets; however, as he did so, the slippery bird managed to escape from his clutches and our precious friend was lost to the understory. Fortunately, our luck did not wane and we managed to catch 3 more birds in four hours plus two species on accident. What a success! Four birds in a morning is quite lucky, especially since we started 1.5 hours later than we should have. Normally we leave at 5:30 and return by 11:30 since the birds are awake at sunrise and stop moving around 11 due to the baking humidity.

Their work, like that of most biological research, is uneventful, time-consuming, and unrewarding—that is until a goal has been met or another bird has been caught. As we sat and waited for over two hours, hoping that the white-lined antbird or the yellow subflava would indeed decide to defend its territory from the invisible caller, ants bit our thighs and dropped into our shirts from overhanging branches, mosquitoes whined in our ears, rain came and went, and we sweated. Sound appealing? If so, please, join us.

Yet, to be honest, I can’t wait for tomorrow.

Since the birds stop calling at 11, our work was finished, and we hiked back to camp for cold showers, clean (sort of) clothes, and lunch. The camp was quiet since the all the prometores, except Jerry had gone to CM2 and Jerry was planning on going to CICRA for the afternoon. After lunch, we returned to our cabin to read and sleep off the heat. It is 10 degrees hotter at this station as it’s just next to the river, unlike CICRA. The bugs are far more intense too.

As the sky began to darken, we wondered if Jerry was planning to return. It was dark by six and Will went downstairs to turn on the generator so we could go cook dinner. We knew we were supposed to wait for Jerry, but we were unsure of when he was planning to return and we were hungry. If you leave four hard-working researchers to their own devices in a camp, they will take care of themselves. However, just as we were entering the kitchen to do an inventory of the food, Jerry returned and shooed us out of his kitchen, startled at our audacious intention to cook our own dinner. An hour later, steaming plates of spaghetti with meat and tomatoes (no sauce) was ready to eat. We had water….it was translucent this time as someone had taken the time to filter the sand from the pitcher.

After dinner, we returned to our cabin and sprawled on our beds, analyzing bird calls, identifying sub-species of birds we had seen throughout the morning, writing, and reading until lights out at ten. The lights go out late here! However, the generator just died as I typed that last sentence, which means that lights are going out now: 8:00. Early to bed we go!

Thursday, July 17, 2008

We headed out at 6 this morning, but were stranded by a brief rain shower. None of us can work in the rain. I don’t want to risk damaging my camera and the birds hide, making it pointless to try and capture and record them. When it did stop, it was surprisingly cool, yet the birds were not cooperating. We set up nets twice before any success and when we did finally start to catch birds, it was on accident, when we were trying to clean up so we could go eat lunch. Arriving an hour late, Jerry was slightly miffed, but the soup was still hot, and the beans with ham, and avocado with tomatoes and onions hit the spot.

Moon Rising over the Madre de Dios at CM1. Mining camps can be seen in the distance.

The morning rain was starting to make the sunny air muggy, and with full stomachs, we showered and took a siesta. After waking, we read and walked to the benches, layered in clothing to survive the mosquitoes. The moon was full and was rising as the sun was setting creating a pink glow and providing fantastic photo opportunities. I walked away from the group and sat in silence next to the boats, waiting for the moon to reappear from behind the clouds. As soon as it did, a trail of light spilled across the length of the river, illuminating the distant mining shacks and the nearby motorized canoes belonging to the station.

Friday, July 18, 2008

We woke at five this morning, but not because our alarms were beeping frantically. Rain pounded on the roof, dripping off the palms and a slight mist floated silently into the room coating everything in the finest layer of humidity. We could not work in the rain since it would ruin the recordings of the ant bird’s vocalizations and I would risk damaging my camera. Happy that it was raining BEFORE, we dressed for the day’s work, Claire and I rolled over and fell asleep waking as soon as the rain slowed enough to consider working. Diego and Will rose early as usual, shaking the entire house despite their efforts to tiptoe as quietly as possible. Structures are not as solid here as they are at home…then again, this palm-thatched hut is giving my 200-year-old brick home a run for its money in terms of durability.

The rain finally slowed and we started to work, but we were fooled by the “sucker holes” in the clouds, the blue sky shining tantalizingly above the gray rain. Sure enough, we were shooed back under the cover of the kitchens and we waited, drinking coffee and reading to pass the time. At 8, we set foot on the trails and set up nets, but to no avail. Moving and setting up again about a mile from the station, we had much better luck and caught a bird almost immediately. Before we knew it, there were three birds in the net: a subflava, a cinnamon rumped foliage gleaner, and a red billed scythebill (yes, the redundancy is correct). Though we only wanted the first of the three, it was still exciting to catch the other birds as they were unique and curious to admire (and photograph).

White-lined antbird.

Claire and Will set to work measuring the subflava and taking data while Diego and I posed the other two birds for photos in the weak gray light. Just as I finished photographing the second bird, we heard the thunderous sound of a heavy downpour drenching the forest with the force of a fire hose. I ran to cover my book and put away my camera, and not a minute too late. Will and Claire finished recording data, while Diego and I took down the bird nets, carefully wrapping the ropes and fine mesh so that none of it tangled while remaining taught. Packed in minutes, we checked our watches and realized that we were going to be late for lunch—4 hours passes quickly in the field. More than happy to set off as the rain made us feel sluggish from the rising temperature due to the humidity, we quickly strode to the dining hall in 45 minutes and sat down for a hot lunch of rice, beef, and tomatoes.

Re-energized, we admiried a troop of red howler monkeys crawling quietly through the trees next to the kitchen. I began to follow them for a ways into the brush, but changed my mind, opting for a shower. However, just as I returned, I saw them heading near the showers and stopped to watch them still tempted to track them. Just then Will came over and we grinned at each other—time to follow some monkeys. We leapt and crawled carefully into the thick, thorny underbrush until we were under the tree where the great monkeys were feeding. Unable to see anything, Will shook some vines and imitated a hawk’s call in hopes of bringing the monkeys lower. Instead, they hid. We waited for 30 minutes, but to no avail, so we began the slow trek back to the cabin (even though it was only 100 feet away). On the way back, I saw a wonderfully tempting climbing tree lined with vines. Shedding my awkward rubber boots, I scaled them easily for the first 20 feet. Looking down, I realized the stupidity of my actions since there were no prometores at the station at the moment. Claire, Will, Diego, and I had been left to our own devices for the afternoon, so if something happened, we would be in trouble. Descending carefully, but with smiles, we returned to shower and pack.

At three, we walked to the river’s edge to flag down the Friday supply boat which would serve as our ride back to CICRA. The startling sound of an approaching boat interrupted the silence, but it wasn’t a CICRA boat. The boat belonged to a miner and he was landing on CM1’s dock along with two other men. The unknown men scaled the stairs and stood next to us chatting as if it were perfectly normal for a miner to be at a research station. Claire and I stayed quiet while Diego chatted lightly with them, hoping to catch wind of their reason for stopping without being invasive or rude. They asked if anyone was at the station and Diego said no, that we were the only ones—Claire visibly cringed. It was true, but I interrupted quickly, “reminding” him that a few of the men were on the trails near the kitchens. Diego smiled meekly at me and quickly agreed, shaking his head as if he just had a bad memory for details. Next, the men began to admire Diego’s fine birding binoculars and asked him how much they cost. Diego tried to avoid the exact price, saying that it was a gift, but they persisted and he said they were $100 dollars or so. I quietly pushed my camera case into the brush and picked up a machete, playing casually with it…. I didn’t feel threatened, but no one knew who these men were and why they were at CM1.

Awkwardly chatting with the men, everyone fell silent at the sound of a tremendous crashing just 20 meters from where we stood. A majestic 70 foot tree was falling at an epic rate down the steep embankment into the river. We all stood in awe, some of us examining our own surroundings wondering how many other trees would follow suite in this networked grouping of veins holding to each other for dear life. The silence that followed the crash seemed to leave an impression on everyone, and we remained silent, looking at the tree sinking into the water.

Finally we heard the sound of another boat, and peering into his binoculars, Diego delightedly announced the arrival of the CICRA boat. We began to wave at the boat, relieved at the idea that we would no longer have to worry about the miners (except that we didn’t know if we should just leave them at the station). However, Samuel, and the people on the boat just waved back as if delighted that we should come down to say hi. We began to run toward the edge of the shore, but the sweet, dimwitted boat-driver just kept driving. Now what?

So, we did the only thing we could do. Wait. With the anonymous miners.

……………..

An hour later the miners seemed to lose interest in us, the station, or whatever they had come for and left. We never knew what they wanted. They didn’t even seem interested in conversing with us as they kept to themselves for the majority of the time.

Minutes after their departure, we saw the CICRA boat upriver, empty, and heading in our direction. We waved vigorously, but stopped as soon as we saw it was Jerry with Lisseth and Edwin. Jerry had realized that Samuel had left us at CM1, so Lisseth and Edwin joined him for the pleasant boat-ride down to the station. The sun was stunning on the dark river water, shafts of light illuminating portions of the dark green forest. I rolled up my pants, pulled off my long sleeves, let down my hair, sat back, closed my eyes, and enjoyed the ride.