Everywhere and nowhere in the Peruvian jungle
Michael J. Woods went by boat up a hazard-filled river - and found a wildlife paradise that locals and ecologists have joined forces to preserve
Copyright 2001 Financial Times (London)
December 8, 2001
By MICHAEL J WOODS
The fig tree, towering above the rainforest canopy, spread its boughs wide. Fruit-laden branches moved gently in the breeze.
Delicate, blond squirrel monkeys were feeding towards the ends of the finer twigs while slightly larger capuchins, with dark caps and prehensile tails, preferred the security of the large branches.
Above them, from the very top of the tree, invisible through the dense foliage, came the raucous cries of feasting parrots. Suddenly there was a squeal of alarm. It was followed immediately by a cacophony of noise and a panic of activity. The parrots rose in a great, screaming swarm, and fled. Monkeys came hurtling from the outermost parts, flinging themselves downwards from whatever danger, perhaps an eagle, unseen by us. Then I noticed what I took to be a capuchin taking cover among the huge branches.
I looked again and realised that I was staring into the face of a tayra, a rainforest equivalent of the pine marten, complete with a similar creamy yellow chest patch. Unperturbed, this animal and its mate clambered off through the branches to feed on figs. I had discovered an animal paradise.
I was staying in the Peruvian jungle, at the Tambopata Research Centre, beside the River Malinosky, which runs between the Tambopata National Reserve and the Bahuaja Sonene National Park. The Bahuaja is the second largest national park in Peru, after Manu, and lies in the south of the country.
My journey had started at the town of Puerto Maldonada, where I had boarded a long, narrow boat powered by an outboard motor which thrust us upstream, carving through the caramel coloured waters of the River Tambopata. The river was running hard and the boatman had to avoid the tree trunks and mats of flotsam rocketing down towards us.
After a couple of hours we pulled in to the bottom of a flight of wooden steps and climbed the bank to Posada Amazonas. Like the research centre, Posada Amazonas was established by Rainforest Expeditions but, unlike its wilderness counterpart, Posada was built on land belonging to the local Ese'eja community.
In return for not hunting, logging or farming the estimated 10,000 acres (4,000 hectares) concession area, the community receives 60 per cent of the profits, has 50 per cent of the decision-making powers and receives both employment and training at the 24-room lodge. Furthermore, at the end of the 20-year lease, the Ese'eja have the choice of taking over the lodge.
The jungle is on the doorstep and trails lead to various highlights, including a tower enabling the intrepid to climb into the sunshine above the canopy. The lodge's other speciality is an early morning visit to a nearby oxbow lake which is home to a social group of rare giant otters. While they are not seen on every visit, the lake is a spectacular place for rainforest birds.
Some venture no farther than Posada Amazonas. For them it is taste enough. But I found the research centre to be quite a different place, smaller and more intimate. I reached it after a five- hour boat ride, first up the River Tambopata and then the more mushroom-coloured Malinosky. There are rapids to be negotiated and distant views of the jagged blue-grey line of the Andes' foothills give it a back country feel.
Regularly attacked by the river, the forest stands back from the edge, dead and dismembered trees tangled at its feet. The boat before mine, and the one that followed, spotted jaguars on the banks. This is wild country.
Tambopata Research Centre is best known for its macaw lick, bare clay to which parrots and macaws flock on a daily basis to peck up essential minerals. We viewed it from the opposite bank of the river. Sitting on the beach at first light, along with the researchers, we waited expectantly as the parrots began to gather, whirring in on stubby wings and stacking out the trees above the clay cliff.
The macaws followed in twos and threes, flapping slowly, cursing harshly and dragging their long tails. The parrots and smaller macaws danced across the clay face, checking out the joint for danger. At last a few bold birds landed and suddenly the whole area was a riot of colour.
This is no pale, washed-out rainbow. Macaws and parrots have powerfully painted plumage - sky blue, pillar box red, daffodil yellow and apple green - there is nothing coy about it. It was a wonderful, ever shifting kaleidoscope that is as much to do with the birds which are flying around as those which settle on the clay.
Activities at the centre are not confined to daylight hours. After dinner one night we walked back to that fig tree. At first I strode along with my torch resolutely switched off - until a bushmaster snake crossed the path at our feet without even a hiss. My torch stayed alight after that.
The red eyes of a cayman reflected in our spotlight and we picked out a small, fleeing rodent before we drew near to our objective, smelling the fermenting fruit before we even saw the tree.
Abruptly Monica, our excellent Peruvian guide, started back. She whispered with both relief and excitement: "It's a tapir!" The great beast, a relative of the rhino, turned and crashed off, leaving our hearts thumping.
On my last morning I took a dug-out canoe upriver into the national park. Three of us hauled and paddled the heavy boat upstream, sliding it under the trunks of fallen trees and wading through knee-deep rapids. It was pioneering stuff. At last we reached the creek leading to our destination lake only to find it completely choked by mounds of debris. There was no choice but to turn back.
Just for a moment, though, we were all silent, simply soaking up the sounds and the atmosphere of this awesome rainforest. We were in the middle of nowhere and yet everywhere.