Rain stopped the afternoon of the day before, yet, we were admonished to arm for Tuesday morning with our usual kit: SPF, bug dope, snake boots, rain gear, cameras, binoculars and lightweight clothes. Thus, prepared for anything, we set out at 0-dark-30 for the Canopy Tower.
Canopy towers have become de rigor in many places catering to birders throughout South America. The primary reason being that many species of birds and other animals rarely come down to ground level. If you want to see them you have to ascend to their level.
In the case of Napo Wildlife Center—a place so deep in the Amazon basin that it’s a two-hour canoe transport from the nearest motorized boats—the canopy tower is about 120 high. Climbing what equals a 12-story building could be fraught with hazards, or so some of our participants imagined. Little did we realize the day’s dangers would be found at ground level.
Safe in the arms of a 400-year-old Kapok tree
Fishing bats and Long-nosed bats flapped past at ear level, accompanying us along a tannin-stained stream that lead deeper into the jungle. The stream narrowed and the water thinned until we reached a point where the canoe bottomed out. Wisely, the guide said we have to hike in from there, about 800 meters, to the base of the tower.
Spix's Guan seen from above
When you approach a canopy tower, it’s best not to look up. When you make it to the platform above, it’s best not to look down. As I stood on the platform, 120 feet above the ground, a gentle breeze rustling my hair, I thought about how this Kapok tree was getting its start about the same time as America—when Jamestown was being settled as the first permanent address in Virginia. It was easy to imagine that no matter which direction I looked, white men had probably never walked.
We spent about three hours watching a variety of birds and monkeys move among the tree tops. The occasional breeze was welcome as it blew away the pesky stingless bees. Then it was time to descend.
This Cinnamon-throated Woodcreeper seemed as interested in us as we were of him
On our return to the canoe, our guide, a member of the indigenous Kitchwa community and known throughout the area as the Bird Whisperer, sensed (I can’t find a better word for his uncanny ability to locate birds) a rare Grey-winged Trumpeter. This velvety-black and white bird the size of a really large chicken or a small turkey sports a greenish bill and has a penchant for bugs kicked up by wild pigs—Piccaries. Heedless of danger, and thinking we were of like mind, Jorge plunged into the jungle.
We had little choice but to follow. The irony of a pack of bird watchers fearlessly bushwhacking through the Amazon jungle, chasing wild pigs, really didn’t set in until later that day—when we stopped shaking. No way could we keep up with the guide. Suddenly we realized we were all standing still, listening to far-off thrashing and grunting sounds, some of which were probably generated by the guide.
About the time I was going to ask my colleagues what we’d do if the pigs ate the guide, he popped up, grinning like he was having the time of his life. It seems the herd of pigs went further into the jungle and the chase was over. He easily walked us out to the trail, leaving us with a tale to tell. Just another day in the jungle.
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