The Amazon: 2012

We began our adventure, Joel and I, with three days of flights from LAX to get to a launch point across the Andes and on the edge of the Amazonian interior. This, with an additional 10 hours via dugout, would put us in one of the most remote location we could get to, CICRA. CICRA is a research station deep in the interior of the Amazon basin, accessible only by boat. From the Andes, the principal drainage here is the Rio Madre de Dios. Of course, the river continues up further, but there are no outposts or research stations beyond CICRA, with the limited amenities it has to offer.

Our first day of travel was flying: LAX to San Salvador (first leg), and then to Lima (second leg). This second leg was ‘‘Business Class’’, so the comfort and service were premium. I guess nobody told TACA Airlines that they don’t serve food on flights anymore! Over night in Lima at Hotel Victor, pretty low quality. We took a taxi to the airport for the leg to Cusco, Peru. Cusco is the kick-off point for the many tourists traveling to the famous ruins of Matchu Pitchu.

In Cusco we had to deplane and catch our connection to Puerto Maldonado, arriving there late, at dusk. The hotel in Puerto Maldonado was pretty good (Cabaña Quinto). Locals don’t refer to the town as ‘‘Puerto Maldonado’’, they simply say "Puerto”, and be done with it. Considering that Puerto is a mining town, it was still pretty grungy, and of a character that gives meaning to the phrase "third world”. From the Airport a nice bus took us to the Cabana Quinto. This impressed me because the common form of transportation was motorcycle, or motocar. The motocar was common, a contraption built on a motorcycle frame, but with a covered two-person cab behind the driver. You were out of the rain, but subject to the splash. At the hotel at last, a great dinner (first class), a good nights rest, and in the morning (5:30 AM) we were picked up and transported to Laberinto.

Laberinto is on the shore of the Madre de Dios River, and it is here that we catch a boat to the research station, CICRA. Laberinto was scary, a fecal dump, a total mining town! Welding here and there, grunge everywhere, no pavement at all, with the rain, it was a mud hole! I was reminded of the town in the scenes of the movie "Paint Your Wagon.” At the shore, we found our boat thanks to our guide, tied up among a large selection of other boats. We were there early, about 7 AM, for the 8:30 departure, and a good thing too. First was the boarding: no point in looking for a ramp or boatswain! Slide down the mud bank, step onto the muddy plank, without falling in! Slowly negotiate your way 10 plus feet to the boat, balancing your backpack, your luggage, and yourself, and find a place to flop. There are no chairs, no seats whatsoever. Get as far back as you can to avoid the bow spray, and of course the rain! Flop on the floor with the gunnels as your backrest, and wait! Nearing the departure time, people keep showing up. The space you claimed as yours, quickly gives way to one other person, then another, then another, mother and small child. As the shifting about commences, you realize that the young woman across from you, perhaps 16 years old, has a one-month old infant! Wrapped in a blanket, the small package was hardly noticeable. She rightfully claimed enough space for her and her child that quickly gives way to the larger woman and her child, who have managed to squeeze out most of my space and the infants! Joel was up on shore, trying to find something to buy to munch on-----obviously there won’t be any dining service on this cruse! He finally returns, his space long gone. He passes this plastic bag to me saying, “chicken or fish"? Inside are two Styrofoam boxes with the dinning pleasure hot inside. Both the Styrofoam and the plastic bag surprised me. Even out here, away from every modern convenience, these hallmarks of a decadent society, have found their way. I inquired where did he find this fresh cooked food? It happens that an entrepreneur-local has set up an outdoor kitchen of sorts, just on shore, preparing meals for sale to other boaters. Laberinto, despite its grunge, is the tour center for the Madre de Dios River! Finally, our boat departs, with a plastic sheet overhead, this is travel at its finest in the Amazon!

The river is wide at this beginning point in Laborinto; I would guess twice the width of a football field length, and probably quite deep, perhaps 12 or 15 feet. The turbidity is so great that there is no clarity, so the depth is only a guess. As we motor upriver, the river narrows some, and the depth begins to shallow. This shallowing is evident by the abundant snags that protrude from the water, and the frequent piles of flotsam that line the margins of the river. These piles are the roost for a great variety of birds that keep my camera busy and the distraction frequent. This is important because it causes you to rise and twist to get a better view, and simultaneously give your back a bit of respite from the gunnels! The aforementioned wavier seemed oddly written, talking about the boat being impaled by logs. Now, however, as the river shallows, these broken trees are visible as spikes, rising and falling as the river pours over them, and the reality of being impaled on one is very real. With 60 feet of boat and something approaching three tons of food, gear, and humanity in front of the pilot, you hope that this was not a bad idea, to seek out the most remote location on earth! There is a cover of sorts above you, but the rain still finds its way in, adding to the discomfort.

Arial views of the river show it meandering through the forest, frequently “shortcutting” through the forest to form "Ox Bow" lakes from a bend in the river. These meanders are sometimes visible from the boat, behind great piles of trees yanked from the banks by the seasonal high flows of the river. Joel and I were able to observe this tearing away of trees on a couple of occasions: Great forest giants, Gallery Forest Trees, pulled and uprooted from the jungle by the flood. These are swept downriver by the surge, only to lodge up on a shallow area, or one of the frequent bends of this meandering flood. If there is a fairly strait section to the river, it is likely the result of a meander cutting off, forming an Ox Bow Lake. Great piles of these collected trees will mark the oxbow entrance.

Because we are in the upper remote part of the Amazon, you might expect to see some aboriginal peoples, perhaps in their native manner of jungle clothing, perhaps carrying some primitive weapons. In point of fact, they surround you, only a generation or two removed from their native proclivities. They are the other passengers on this boat, sans the native attire and weaponry. I have read that further up the river, there are still such natives, but they do not like or want any contact with the outside or modern world, and are given protection by the Peruvian government for now. You may not enter there!

Many of these people have crossed the Andes from the Pacific side, attracted here by the natural resources. Their villages line the Madre de Dios, and we frequently pull to the bank to offload one or two of them, having reached their village. The river is their highway, a lifeline to the outside world, and their mechanism for commerce. They have become inculcated into “our” world, adopted western clothing probably gifted by missionaries, and acculturated by the seductive attractions of the modern world. They still retain some of their animism, their reliance on the jungle resource, but they are moving into an unfamiliar world forced upon them by the expansion of modernism. In order to make this transition, they have discovered the highly desired resource beneath their feet, GOLD.

Gold has resulted in the invasion of their lands, much like it has done on countless other occasions. There was the 1848 gold discovery in California, the Yukon gold strike, the Black Hills gold discovery, all of which resulted in invasions and displacement just to name a few. Don’t even think about all of the resource rape that has transpired in Africa! Now, they have a resource that they can trade to the modern world, and despite the Peruvian Government’s attempt to ‘‘control’’ this resource, things are way out of control, as I will evidence for you. Soon after leaving Laborinto to begin this sojourn, we began to see massive piles of stones along the shores. These are the tailings of the mining activity all along the river course. Some of these rock piles are probably 30 feet high. They are the result of the awkward attempt of these aboriginals to mine the resource from the Andes, its gold. By the time the gold reaches this far from the mountains, all of the heaver nuggets have settled out, all that can wash this far away are the ‘‘fines’’. The laterite clay of the Amazon is full of these fines; all that remains is to extract them.

The locals have found that using massive pumps and hydraulic mining techniques, they can extract the gold in a profitable manner. The pump sucks the water out of the river, and they use the force of it to blast and erode the bank, and pump it into crude sluice boxes. These boxes are mounted on a platform contraption of cut jungle trees. The water washes over the platform, lined with carpet to collect the fines of gold, by virtue of its greater specific gravity. After a day of pumping, or at some interval, they pull the carpet, and shake it into a barrel of water to remove the gold. Then they add mercury to amalgamate the gold, collect this ‘‘sponge’’, and burn off the mercury, leaving the gold. They are able to collect about an ounce a day by this technique. Their costs are, of course, equipment, and fuel to run the pumps. At today’s price of gold, they can make enough to buy food and clothing along with the rest of the modern world.

Laborinto is their source of both fuel and equipment, and the river is their highway. Trouble is---------there are multiple troubles to wit: They run the water over the sluice way too fast to be efficient in gold collection. I know this from personal experience mining California’s gold myself. Further, they are not conservative or careful with the mercury. Like early California miners, much of the mercury escapes and winds up in the river. The pollution is rampant and serious as the mercury makes it way into and through the food chain. Reflections of Minimata, Japan come to mind, with its incumbent brain injury and body deformities. Then there are the tailings. These sterile piles of stone are atypical of the jungle. Like the windrows of stone just north of Sacramento, California, left there from the dredge mining over 140 years ago, they are sterile and will not support life. Finally, the forest is being felled and or killed by the mining. On occasion, I could see vast areas of dead trees just behind a mining activity. I would estimate that 40-50% of the shoreline is gifted with these piles of stones. Where has the jungle gone? As we neared the haul out for CICRA, the mining diminishes, as it is illegal to mine this far up river! Not that it mattered to the locals, they pretty much did what they wanted, except that here, there were people watching! CICRA is bordered on the East by the Rio los Amigos River, which as drainage not from the Andes, and thus does not have any gold. South of the Madre de Dios, there is abundant mining, just not here at CICRA. Peru has a host of laws to prevent all that I observed. In fact, there would be little environmental damage if these laws were actually followed, but there is no enforcement that I was aware of. The locals did pretty much what ever they wanted. The mining is everywhere, and the mercury, part of that operation.

On to the adventure! Of all the things I have lost, I miss my mind the most-----and my body is a close second! This cliché seems appropriate in view of what I feel right now. What I am saying is; everything hurts, and my camera malfunctioning is wholly my own part! This is the beginning of our third day here at CIRCA. The food is ok, pretty good actually for a field station. Plenty of it, and even some variety, so far! Rice with every meal, usually a bowl of soup (usually chicken), once a small salad, beans (often) and chicken or fish are served. The fish is local caught, a small piece removed as part of a Mercury study, and the remainder, our meal. While the fish is delicious, it does not inspire confidence as the leftover of a mercury study!

The sights along the decidedly muddy river are green on green on green, sylvan Verde at its finest! The Madre de Dios is perhaps half a mile wide, and FULL of debris. The pilot must guide the boat through this horrific turbulence, negotiating to avoid a collision with a tree-trunk spike. His is a demanding job to say the least. On occasion, he must slow the progress to weave through the onslaught of floating debris---widow makers, every one! Sometimes, whole trees are boiling in the current. I am not talking about this sapling or that sapling! No, there are whole Gallery Forest giants of the upper canopy in the melee of churning mud and water. One, I estimate at least 150 feet tall, floating in our path! Now and then, too often to relax, you see a log pointed right at you, rising menacingly about a foot above the rushing water, only to be pushed momentarily out of sight by the current! The break from this obscuring brown water and onslaught of death, is the occasional bird, or flock there of, standing on a snag just above this murderous flow. The birds are everywhere, new and fascinating for a birder, like myself. Occasionally, a flock will be standing on an artificially created sandbar, anthropomorphic in origin, the mining activities being its source. Mining leaves high piles of sand and rock on shore, inevitably making these ‘‘sand bars’’, where flamingos, storks, vultures, terns and many other feathered fauna collect. I have seen storks in Africa, but these, here in the western hemisphere, are unexpected. There are several varieties, but when I see two separate species standing on the same sandbar, I am reminded of the enormous variety of wildlife that the Amazon has to offer, probably the most biotically rich region on earth.

Finally, you tire of the constancy and redundancy of the view, and like everyone else, close your eyes and slip into a passive sleep. You don’t want to miss anything, but the perpetual sameness, the green redundancy and the monotony overwhelms you, it drags on, and finally you close your eyes and rest, not easy in this life-threatening ordeal!

The 10 hours are quite long, you lose track of time and begin your chosen discomfort swapped for remoteness. It is not the least bit comfortable to lie against the gunnels for such a long track. Though they have put a piece of ancient foam padding along the length of the boat, it is of very low density, and thus, of low comfort as well. Your face is only inches above the water level, in as much as the boat is loaded with what appears to be about two tons of gear, parceled fore and aft, and 38 bodies between these loads. In addition there are two drums of fuel, each about 55 gallons, and I would guess about 800 pounds, aft. Now, you sign a waiver before departure that, in the event of a mishap, you will not hold the pilot responsible. With your eyes fixed at just above the water level, you scan the surface for impediments, of which there are hundreds. Now the waiver begins to make sense, in the crowed interior of this watercraft. The boat is of plank construction, crudely cut from jungle trees, bolted or perhaps screwed together with cross ties about every four feet. I am not a marine architect by any stretch, but this is a very crudely built contraption at best. It is approximately 60 feet long and, at its widest, eight feet. It resembles a knife being so long and thin, but it moves efficiently through the water, probably about 20 knots, against about a 10 knot current. So, yes that’s 10 knots actual upstream travel! This is the new iteration of the ‘‘slow boat to china’’, only it is the slow boat to nowhere!

This boat trip began at 8:30 this morning, and won’t end until after dark, at probably 6:30 or later. There is the constant drone of the engine, the lapping water, but it is the hours of monotonous, life threatening travel that wears you down. Along the way, you pull to the shore to off-load a native here or there. Most of these people are indigenous and resemble every photo you have ever seen of an Inca. Indeed, that is exactly what they are, only in western clothing. Regardless of there clothing, they have no regard for others around them, not in any unkind way. They are just used to the life in a village, where biological needs are not vulgar or hidden, but dealt with in a manner of convenience and necessity. Today they have toilet paper, yesterday they had leaves, today they have jeans, and yesterday they had vines. They just see you like a person used to the propensities of modern societies. They do not have any preconceptions of what we call ‘‘proper’’ behavior. The men will stand and urinate over the side of the boat. The mothers will pull out there breast, flick their nipple to initiate the milk flow, and commence to nurse their demanding infant. Actually, it is refreshing to see them give such loving care, not having abandoned maternal instincts for some idiotic western petulance for ‘‘bottle feeding’’. Over and over the new born across from me nursed, never loud or demanding, just the needs of a one month old infant. Towards the bow, was another, older infant, perhaps 18 months of age, loud, annoying and petulant! His mother seemed to ignore his needs. But, on occasion, from above or below her sweater, she would offer him her breast, and we would have peace again.

Arriving at the field station, and having read the descriptions there of, I was expecting a dock or a landing. Such was not to be! This landing was like all the rest, just not as steep, just soft mud. My first step was into this soft mud, up to my ankle before I could retract. Half a foot further, what I hoped was firmness, I stepped with trepidation. Indeed, I had chosen wisely on my second try! Now, to lift my bag ashore without setting it in the mud! Under the direction of our guide, Carlos, there was a platform about 50 feet up the bank where we could place our baggage, without it sinking halfway to China. So, don’t pause in the darkness, just keep walking. You haven’t really experienced darkness unless you have climbed down into a canoe, or landed on the shore of a jungle outpost! Now you know darkness. But wait! This is only the landing; the research station is up the hill, which you cannot see. So, you dig for your flashlight. Now, this is a new, very powerful flashlight. You direct the beam upward, and upward again until the beam disappears. However, this new powerful light cannot fathom or foretell the mountain ahead of you! Finally, your light catches the albedo of sign, overgrown with algae or some tropical encapsulation, and approaching, you fix on the numbers. It says there are 296 steps upward ahead of you. What felt like lightweight luggage at the airport, now feels like one of those pieces of mining equipment you saw in Laberinto. You remember the one, a huge piece of mining equipment, about a half a ton! Your baggage now has new meaning to the suggestion "pack light".

And so you begin. Your baggage has to get up there in some way, and it doesn’t have legs of its own! By the time you get to the first landing where you can sit for a minute, you have forgotten what number of step you were on. Surly, it has to be approaching 100, but memory says it is something more like 38! Or was that 28----it doesn’t really matter, you have a long way to go and unless you want to sleep here on the landing, you had better get moving. Alas, you can see the top! No wait, that is just a landing, and the stairway makes a radical turn to the left out of sight of your wishful view. Arriving there, your flashlight reveals what appear to be another hundred steps! Oh gawd, I am going to die right here. Then a voice behind says, “Dad, I’ll carry it from here!” Without embarrassment or hesitation you acquiesce!

Arriving at the summit of this ascent, wishing for a cocktail, or even a cup of coffee, you notice that you have not arrived. You can’t even find a building with your new most powerful flashlight. By now, you are so overwhelmed by fatigue and disappointment that even this does not surprise or disappoint you. At least there are no more steps!

Peregrinating along the trail, the station comes into view. Shown to our quarters, we can at last unburden our luggage so carefully packed to be as lightweight as possible. The bed is there, the mosquito net is above it, and I am here at last! Best of all, dinner awaits!

17 May—Day one at the field station
We are given a brief tour of the facility. Apparently we, Joel and I are the only guest. Our guide, Carlos speaks pretty good English, and Joel is pretty good with his Spanish.
Breakfast is ham and eggs with toast, lunch, I can't remember lunch, and dinner was chicken with rice. We are shown the trail system, and the “rules”, which are few, and left to enjoy our day. I am not even going to guess how many miles we walked today, less than five I am sure, probably less than two. But, whose counting! Our second night was restful, but the mattress is too thin. I can feel the staves beneath me!

18 May—Day two
Joel and I are anxious to take it all in, NOW! But this ole body doesn’t get it! We walked, photographed, and had a fantastic time, but I am dying! Everything hurts! Monkeys came to the station this evening, Squirrel Monkeys by the dozen, and a larger Capuchin, brown face, I believe. At night we hung a dirty shirt out with a UV light on it, and got a reasonable collection of moths, katydids, beetles, etc, with one spectacular moth. In my hurry, I collected the moth before Joel could photograph it---------sorry Joel!

19 May—Day three
Obviously, I didn’t start this journal until are third day here! A good nights sleep, and lots of Ibuprophen, has put me in a better frame of mind. Just sit and relax, has become my mantra. There is plenty of time to get that National Geographic photo!
We started with a good breakfast that I believe was tuna salad and rice. It might have been the remainder of the catfish we had eaten on two other occasions.

Joel took some incredible photos last night, extreme close-ups of critters. I was taking my post-breakfast nap when several groups of monkeys decided that I should be up!

21 May—day 5
Neglecting a journal for even a day is treacherous! So many occurrences get lost in the dark recesses of this ancient mind.
We had one night (the 19th) without any rain! Joel and I set the black light trap with only mediocre success. A few moths collected, nothing to get excited about. Then, yesterday the 20th, we had a full day of sun! On my hike I got to study a hawk at fairly close distance. It was a Black Caracara, and it was probably in pursuit of the large black "Curassow", a turkey-sized bird that had just flushed in front of me. First time I saw the Curassow, the day before; it was walking the trail just ahead of me. The Curassow was a large bird, black, with white tail tips, and a robust red beak! I ran in pursuit, but it only picked up its pace, staying just ahead of me, about 100 feet. After a few minutes, it stepped off the trail and into the oblivion of the verdant forest. I ran to its exit point, and for such a large bird, and being so conspicuous in it’s complete blackness, I was surprised at how it could just disappear into the void of the forest. Seeing it a second time, so close to my previous sighting, certainly the same bird, was exciting, especially when it began to vocalize. The first sighting it made no sound. This time however, it woke up the dead, and the rest of the forest, with its raucous calls. Though they are reportedly rare due to over hunting, I could hear another bird answering its distress calls, at some great distance, perhaps several miles away.

I was setting quietly on my plastic stool, and saw an agouti (Paca) emerge from the woods. It lingered for a moment, and then moved on down the trail in its saltatorial manner. I was setting quietly in the dappled sun, what little light can filter through so dense a canopy, waiting for a butterfly to appear to witness my net! It was in this quiet moment that the Paca chose to reveal its presence. At this location, the intersection of trail #2, #22, and #1, that I collected a spectacular blue morph butterfly, among other treasures.

Following #1 to #2, and proceeding to the intersection of #17 and #23, I came across a bend in the otherwise overgrown forest, when a grouse-like bird startled me, bursting into the canopy with the exuberance of a locomotive! It was not far beyond this observation that Joel caught up with me. I had left on my own, but had, as required logged in my destination. We are required, although no one checks up on you, to log your name, time, and trail, and date. Given that there in excess of 60 miles of trails in the reservation, there are numerous hazards unfamiliar to the likes of a city boy, such as the trail that is guarded by a large caiman. And you must be cognizant of the fact that this is the home of one of the world’s most deadly vipers, the Fer-de-lance, and its brother, the equally deadly Bushmaster. The Bushmaster is the heaviest viper in the world. It is probably a good idea to log out your destination, so that if you don’t return, rescuers will have some idea were to look for your swollen and blackened body. The famous tropical herpetologist, Arche Carr, was once bit by a Fer-de-lance, and as he tells the story, he sat down to log the chronicle of his certain death, for the betterment of science. He had been bitten, but not envenomed, and so his notes became the basis for a discussion about the fragility of viper fangs, and the need for a snake to protect them, as in not always using there fangs! At that time there was no known cure or antivenin available, today, there is an antivenin specifically for the Fer-de-lance, but it is hardly available way back here in the remotest part of the Amazon. So, log out! This, of course, assumes that a puma or a jaguar had not consumed you. Both big cats are abundant here, and the Jaguar is the strongest cat in the world for its size.

I read recently that of the 10 most painful stings, the Bullet Ant is listed. The Honey Bee and the Yellow Jacket wasp are also on this list, but way below the Bullet Ant in severity. I see them everyday. Even the plants will sting you, dissolve you, or at least make you regret that you used them for a handhold to extricate yourself from the mud, the mud that seems to want to swallow you! There are more kinds of bees, wasps, and biting things here than anywhere on earth, but that is why I came here! No complaints, but do log out your destination so your family will have some idea where they can recover your parts!

It is raining as I write this 7AM morning; rain, as only the tropical realm can deliver. I am no expert, but I would hazard a guess that this is one of those 5 inches and hour downpours. Not the heaviest we have had, but a good downpour nonetheless. It has been raining for close to two hours now, and no relief in sight. You might wonder where does that much water go. The Madre de Dios River is a tributary of the greater Amazon River, and I would be quick to remind you that the mouth of the Amazon is more than 100 miles wide, and that its flow is so voluminous, that fresh water is found more that 200 miles off the coast of South America. When Columbus first arrived here just before the turn of the 16th century, about 1496, his crew bucketed brown fresh water from the sea, days before they sighted the coast of South America. That’s where this much rainfall goes! Here at the reserve, we sit on a high promontory, well above the flow below. Nevertheless, rubber boots are derigueur as I write! The boardwalk pathways around the compound are elevated about 15 inches off the ground. As I write, there appear to be about 5 inches freeboard.

Joel is out photographing right now! I am enjoying being in here, out of the downpour, watching the earth deliver its deluge. One part of me wishes that I was out there with him, but it is just a small part! For about a minute, it seemed to be letting up, but then comes a wet reminder that this was the place to be, it even made up for that brief interlude with a gully-washer downpour! While I am dry, the humidity is probably between 95% and 98%, making writing difficult. The buildings at the compound are large. I am guessing that they are 50 to 100 feet long, and probably 40 feet tall. They are open, though fully screened. If they were not screened, your blood would have served to mature the eggs of bazillion mosquitoes. As it is, only a half dozen of the critters pester me now.

Joel has ventured out the last several evenings to capture, digital images, and digital audio, of the jungle night. Last night was an exception. He left late, about 8:30PM, and when I awoke at 11:30PM, he had not returned. A father worries. We had spent the better part of an hour, trying to figure out which batteries were still useable, and which required recharge (all of them!). We cobbled together three AAA sized batteries for his headlamp, and put the remainder in a pile for recharge. At 11:30PM I decided that if he did not show in the next 15 minutes, I would have to dress and find his carcass somewhere on a trail, but which one? My camera has a momentary LED light when you depress the shutter button. I used this light to locate my disassembled headlamp. By the way, the generator only runs between 6PM and 9PM. Headlamp in hand, I fumbled for the pile of discharged batteries in the hope that some would still retain enough power to illuminate my headlamp. The last three batteries seemed to retain a bit of a charge, but how to insert them. Which end first? You have to get the polarity correct or it won’t work. The flat end of the battery is the negative pole and it always goes on the spring side of the battery compartment. So, quickly as I could, I located the spring with my finger, the flat end of the battery and approximated both, a little push, and POP, first battery in place! That’s one, the other two went quickly, but with Joel probably convulsing from a viper bite it was just too slow. Now I have some light, but my wits are lost. Light won’t help find your wits! I found my fanny pack in which I keep my Sawyer Extractor for viper bites, a bottle of water, a book of matches (who knows what for in this rain) and a couple of energy bars. I stepped outside and into the rain. I recovered my monopod from the UV trap we had set up. Fully geared now, I set off in search of my son. With 60 miles of trails and >36 marked location, I was hopeful that he had logged in his nighttime sojourn. So I headed to the chalkboard for a beginning. As I approached the building where the chalkboard hangs, I could see a faint headlamp in the distance. To my enormous relief, it was Joel! It is now 12:15AM and he is not viper bit, or crocodile dismembered, or jaguar disassembled, nor is he in anaphylaxis from the stings of a hive of angry wasps!

I tried to explain to him why his nightly peregrinations, alone, were not acceptable, why I was so concerned, and why he should have some respect for my consternation. He listened, but other than his being a little bit more aware, I don’t believe any thing changed. He was off the next night as usual, but at least I was able to sleep. I have to admire his tenacity, I would have done just the same thing, but with a little more understanding of the dangers that lay before me.

22 May—day six at the field station
Last night Joel and I went out together to photograph nature at night. Our first encounter and photographic opportunity, was a marching line of leaf cutter ants. We photographed them using the flashlights for illumination, both in front and from behind. While viewing them, we discovered an exceedingly small Opilonid, (harvestman), doing harvestman things. Its orange body was so small that six of them might equal a small pea in size. Its legs were enormously long, perhaps two inches each. Attached to one leg was a parasitic mite, bright orange in color. Again, we photographed it from in front and behind. Because of its size, any depth of field was limited for lack of bright light. But, we managed to capture some acceptable photos. Finishing this project, we located a juvenile mantis nearby. The spines on its arms were like something out of a horror movie. It swayed back and forth, in the manner of a mantis. Exceedingly threatening, save for its size! It was about 3/4 an inch in length. From the mantis, we saw nearby, a Bullet Ant, apparently attempting to clean itself. Usually they are moving to fast to photograph, but this one was on a leaf, vigorously attempting to clean itself. There appeared to be a fungal growth on the back of its neck, just behind its head, that might account for it’s vigorous cleaning. On an adjacent tree opposite to the ant, there was a feeding crab spider, perhaps two and a half inches in leg span. Setting flat and motionless, it was waiting for a prey to approach closely. On several occasions, its stillness was punctuated with a sudden rush in pursuit of a prey, only to quickly reassume its original position. It would overwhelm its victim, scooping it up and consuming it quickly. This adventure took several hours, and was completed, from the leafcutter ants, to the crab spider in the space of a square yard. We simply rotated this way or that to get all the wildlife! The evening was great, and working with Joel was so informative!
Preface:
Joel and I have been doing our brand of adventure travel since he was 13 and we crossed the Isthmus of Panama in a road less area on foot. He and his brother Michael and I walked across the Isthmus where only Guaymis Indians, had an ancient trail marked, on occasion, by pictographs. Down the spine of the peaks that conjoin the Americas, we hiked over one ridge after another, much like the Spanish did when first they discovered Central America in 1498. That trail and adventure was difficult to organize, but the logistics for our Amazon adventure was even more complex. Joel set up this trip, I like to think having learned from the Master!
He has gone on to travel in India and Thailand, while I have continued in remote areas such as the lone canoe trip I made down the Sheenjek River in ANWR, Alaska, just a few years ago. The jungles are always calling so I have sought them out in Ecuador, Southern Panama, the wilds of Costa Rica, Brazil, Mexico, Borneo, East Africa, and led dive trips to the Celebes Sea east of Borneo, the Sea of Cortez, Bali, and Belize, always with adventure in mind. I will never forget seeing a small anomalous sphere, about the size of a softball, in a stream in the jungles of Panama. Stooping over, I fished it out only to discover that it was a pre-Columbian burial Huaca, perhaps 600 years old, washed out from an ancient grave by the adjacent stream. Move over Indiana Jones and Bear Gillis, you haven't got anything on us! Now, however, I think that my adventures have come to an end. My Septuagenarian status puts limits on my capacity to endure the hardships associated with the sort of over-the-top adventure that we have come to love. This book is a tribute to my daughter Karen, sons Michael and Joel for putting up with my kind of adventurous peregrinations, and to my son Joel for his photographic acumen.