AMAZON AND THE GALAPOGOS DAY 6 - THE FAIRY BUTTERFLY

 

Sooooo, guess what happened in the rainforest today? Rain. Buckets of soaking rain starting last night around 9 and still going strong at 6am when we get up. Ivonne, our Aussie adventuremate for the last 2 days, had to leave at 5:30 this morning to make her flight from Coca. Going upstream, that’s about 3 hours total between the open paddle canoe and the open motor canoe. She’ll later report that she wore a raincoat and two ponchos, the entire time bailing water and thinking that they were going to capsize.  Sometimes, maybe most times, nature is not turtle-tears gentle.  

Omar, our naturalist guide, doesn’t see any sense in going out in this mess, so we chill at the lodge and indulge in too much of that great coffee. From this vantage point, the rain is lovely, romantic even, as we sit on the outdoor couch and watch the rainforest do its thing. The groups who arrived yesterday pressured their guides into going out on schedule, and it’s the only time we hear Omar question any of his peers’ decisions.  We’ve been absolutely thrilled with our safari so far, so we just leave things in our capable guide’s hands. 

When the rain slows to manageable rates, we set out on a hike to a spirit Kapok tree, one so large and majestic the natives perform spiritual rituals at its base.  We don our LaSelva branded ponchos (one size fits all, available in the gift shop!) and get in the canoe only after Guillermo finishes bailing it out with a cut off bleach bottle scooper and setting down some dry cushions.  No soggy bottoms for the guests at LaSelva!  Soggy everything else, but not your tushy!   

We paddle lake-to-creek, run the canoe aground and exit from the front. The jungle itself is the star today, a moment to watch this, the engine of the world’s environment, as it hums along.  The forest floor is flooded to the top of our boots in most places, the thin layer of topsoil saturated and the clay below filling up like a ceramic bowl.  The pure water hits the ground and is mixed with the decaying nutrients, turning it instantly black. Over the next day or so, this black water will make it to the creek, then the lake, then the stream, into the Napo river and eventually into the Amazon river, hydrating an entire continent.  We see all the individual colors of that blend, and we better understand the striations on top of the still morning lake yesterday. 

We see star mushrooms and brown mushrooms glistening from the rainwater.   We stand in the gap of a strangler fig tree where its initial victim died and has now totally vanished.  We play with a fat millipede, but not the centipedes because they bite. We see a slimy, snake sized, worm like reptile who usually lives underground, but is topside today as its habitat is flooded by the rain and he needs to breathe.  

We get to the sacred Kapok, immediately understand its alure. The buttress-like roots twist to form about a dozen or so “rooms” where large mammals often make their homes. When the indigenous people seek to work out life’s more difficult situations, or just need some spiritual guidance, they come, drink a strong hallucinogenic tea, and spend the night here. They frequently report the spirit tree has spoken to them or otherwise guided their journey.  We explore the base of the tree, posing for pictures and marveling at the sheer magnitude of the thing and feeling its energy.  

By the time we’re back in the canoe, the rain has pretty much stopped. We’re going to do another loop around the perimeter of the lake. It’s here where Mandy’s Fairy Butterfly comes to check in again, flapping itself all the way over the lake to do so. The fairy is shy and doesn’t stick around for photos, but we know she has a higher purpose than a few snapshots.  

 

Omar looks up with genuine surprise.  There’s an entire flock of macaws just to our right, a rare occurrence as these birds usually travel solo or in pairs.  He speaks in fast Spanish to Guillermo, who speed paddles up onto the bank.  We charge out. The hunt is on!  Like excited children, we traipse through the thick woods, making our own trail as we point lenses of all shapes and sizes skyward.  They are far away but we can watch them lunching on the ripe palm fruit and hear the shells as they drop to the ground with repeated thuds.  For some reason, I feel like I’m in a 1800s British safari group, and we’re having quite the spot of fun! 

Back to base camp for lunch and a nap. The days follow the rhythm of the jungle - Active mornings, mid-day lulls, very active afternoons and evenings - so you rest when you can. 

 

At 3, we canoe to the motor launch, and power past the parrot clay lick (no action today) and dock at Yasuní National Park.  It’s just the 4 of us today, so Omar can bring us here for some more challenging hiking. At about one million hectares, it’s a massive place, the southern third of which is off limits as it’s home to one of the few uncontacted tribes still in existence on the planet.  The start of the 2-hour hike is long and steep, as we carefully pick our way up the slippery mountain trail.  Omar points out a neatly perforated palm leaf, the holes made by a tent bat in order to have the leaf fold to become last night’s shelter.  

It’s our last Amazon excursion and our efforts are rewarded with some fantastic parting gifts.  A few new types of monkeys are spotted but elude pix.  That makes 6 of the eight here if you’re keeping score.  We cross paths, thankfully briefly, with a wild boar, his signature funk wafting in the air long after he was gone. A straight billed hermit hummingbird perched on a branch flicking his tale as a mating call gives us the rare chance to capture this creature being still.  A scarlet macaw, in all his splendor, lands above us. Usually skittish, this male decides to chide us, teasing us with his lunch, and staring us down when the camera shutter clicks annoy him.  His cock-of-the-walk attitude is projected right through the lens.  We hang with this guy for a solid 10 minutes, a lifetime by jungle photography standards.  Another highlight reel. 

 

It’s a long, precarious hike back down, mud filling our treads as we do our best to not turn this into a slip-and-slide.  We stop often for pictures of the flowers that obviously have waited their whole lives to be photographed.  

Seconds after we push off from the dock, Omar has the river pilot stop, reverse, and bring us up close to the shoreline.  Two howler monkeys, one VERY obviously a male, are hanging out in a tree just enjoying the river view.  I’ll swear the one even waved goodbye to us.  

The motor canoe ride is fast and, in a jiff, we’re paddling back home. Mandy’s Fairy Butterfly makes today’s last appearance to say goodnight.  Back at the lodge, we shower and meet in the lobby for our farewell cocktail and closing instructions. Sean, the friendly host/desk clerk/waiter/whatever-you-need guy, makes Mandy weep with his sincere thanks and kind thoughts.  As darkness falls, tonight’s concert of pigmy owl calls, frog song, cicada chirps and flapping bat wings begins.  

Our final dinner is intimate with just us and Omar.  We discuss future travel dreams over another artfully plated meal and a bottle of Ecuadorian white.  We request to see the chef and thank him for his work over the last 4 days.  Then it’s hugs and thanks for Omar as our meal winds down. When we get up, the owner of the resort, a woman about our age, approaches us to thank us for keeping this project alive. She’s kind and loving, and our few minutes with her make the perfect ending. 

(This picture is for you, Ivonne)