Peru Manu: Part II Aug 20—29, 2007
Posted by Steve Hilty
Steve Hilty
Steve Hilty is the senior author of A Guide to the Birds of Colombia, and the recently published Birds of Venezuela, both by Princeton University Press. Other credits inclu...Related Trips
After the first few days afield there was little doubt in anyone's mind that they were in one of the world's great tropical wildernesses. The macaws had something to do with it. Over 50 Red-and-green Macaws argued over a clay bank and draped themselves over tree limbs like animated pieces of brightly colored cloth, as they worked up the courage to leave the safety of the trees and descend to the open clay bank. Thirty minutes away, by boat, at the Manu Wildlife Center, Scarlet Macaws were leaving the clearing to feed at distant sites just as the sun's first rays bathed the canopy in a golden glow. Pairs and trios of Blue-and-yellow Macaws were streaming back and forth. One perched atop a dead palm stub and excavated a cavity with its massive beak. Big gaudy macaws, like toucans, are quintessential icons of tropical latitudes, but they represent something else too. They are excellent indicators of truly wild areas where human impact is minimal, where hunting, poaching, and other activities degrade or alter the natural balance of animals and birds.
And, there were other signs of the excellent health of the area. A Bartlett's Tinamou crouched and preened by a trail for more than ten minutes. Five Pale-winged Trumpeters stalked past our assembled group, backs humped and black eyes glistening as they eyed us suspiciously for a few moments, then circled back and eventually paused to rest in the middle of the trail. They seemed almost oblivious to the assembling group of humans who were now snapping pictures of them. A pair of Orinoco Geese on a river sandbar shepherded their family of six goslings to safety at the approach of our boat. One morning, observing from a canopy platform in a large Ceiba tree, we saw several dozen toucans representing no less than six species. In trees bordering a quiet oxbow lake the calls of three families of Horned Screamers boomed and echoed back and forth across the lake at dawn as each, in turn, announced their presence. On branches overhanging this same lake, 50 hoatzins dozed in disheveled indolence in the soft morning light. Nearby, three giant otters huffed and snorted, and dived for fish. Soon an otter held a fish aloft with both front paws. Backpedaling in the water, it unceremoniously chewed at its slippery prize, biting away first the head, then working rearward, bones crunching, lips smacking.
The Manu experience is all-encompassing, from the largest to the smallest creatures. A black spider monkey whoops from the canopy of a tall tree. A Pavonine Quetzal calls softly, its slow mournful cries betraying its presence in a fruiting tree, while a mixed species flock flits through foliage. Amidst this vibrancy of life humans seem almost an aberration, temporary observers of the ebb and flow of life in this great wilderness engine.