Tuesday 11 August 2015

The Amazon Blog 16 - Deepest, darkest rainforest.

The previous day, at Macapa, the pilot station, the anchor was fouled resulting in two hours of manoeuvring before moving off. This delay was compounded by the strong current and as a result arrival at Santarem was two hours later than scheduled. It had been a sleepless night. Touring the deck watching six legged wonders arrive until 1:30 am and then three hours in a restless bed before returning to the deck. By 5am the temperature had plummeted to 82 degrees and humidity remained at 99%. No passengers appeared for half an hour, providing the opportunity to survey the night's arrivals. Five or six species of hawk moth, 60 or more species of other moths, a few beetles but in huge numbers, and an interesting selection of crickets and grasshoppers mobbed the lights and scrabbled along the edges of the open decks. A white moth, peppered with black and dark brown and the size of a breakfast plate lay on the upmost deck, small brown crickets taking shelter beneath the edges of its wings. A pair of hawk moths, broccoli green, straddled a bulkhead lamp next to a grasshopper with traffic-light red eyes.


Reaching up to photograph a variety of horse fly with green and red striped eyes the first request of the morning came in the form of a tall and undistinguished fellow with a moustache that had last been popular in Germany in the late thirties and early forties.


"You're the bug man aren't you?" Luckily the rhetorical nature of the question was not lost as there would not have been enough time to deny or confirm it before he went on, "so what are those birds on the starboard side?"
As this exchange took place on the port side the aforementioned birds could not be seen.
"Sorry, haven't been round there for a while so haven't seen them."
"Yes but what would they be."
"They're not really my field, birds. You ought to ask Geoff and Sally, the birders." Resisted adding that there was an indication in the title that might have assisted a successful enquiry.
"They're not out yet."
"They will be soon."
"Yes but the birds will have gone by then so you had better come around now to have a look."
He set off and following seemed unavoidable.
"We're too late," he glared.
"Never mind, I probably wouldn't have been able to identify them anyway." He had gone before the sentence was finished.

The trip to the National Forest Reserve took an hour in a local bus without air conditioning. The guide introduced himself as George and proceeded to offer a potted history of the reserve and some quite astonishing statistics the most surprising of which was the fact that this one reserve was the size of Texas. Someone from the ship had briefed George.
"We are most lucky, our group. We have on our group Professor Andrew, David the lecturer and Nick the bug man so all the experts are with our group. I know trees and will tell you about them. For other things you ask these experts."
The bus arrived at the entrance to the park where wardens manned an office in a small modern building which included toilets.

"You want to use loo, we stop and you go now. We drive seven kilometres into the reserve on this track before we walk."
Everyone disembarked, and most queued for the loo. The others explored the immediate environment: the forest began as a green wall with the smells of vibrant life and musty decay battling for ascendancy. Life, green in myriad forms stretching up from the thick, thorny understorey, to the life- filled canopy and on to the emergent giants of the rainforest, heads above the canopy like the taller lollies in a jar.. Decay, brown and moist, the domain of mycelia and millepedes, decomposers and detritus covering the ground beneath its green counterpart. A perfect balance from life to death and decomposition and then, taken up by roots recomposed to life once more: a perpetual resurrection. Flashing along the forest edge, butterflies in refracting the sun into every hue. A deep blue, deeper than the deepest tropical ocean with scarlet chevrons like some preposterous fabric dashing along came across the line of sight. Oranges and yellows, citrus brilliance against a thousand greens escape the camera in their haste. Short grass and herbs yielded grasshoppers and crickets with every footfall while other creatures scuttled, hopped, flew and crept away to disappear in the astonishing lushness.

"Excuse me."
"Yes."
"Please could you help us?"
"Of course."
"It's my aunt, she's in the toilet."
"I'm sorry, I'm not sure what I can . . ."
"Please come and help."
Taking an arm in her hand she led the way and thankfully explained.
"She had just been to the loo and was heading out when this huge creature landed between her and the door. She's too scared to come out past it."
A sigh of relief as the door was reached. There was aunt and between her and the outside world was a bush-cricket the size of a large mouse. It was quickly scooped up, its gender determined and therefore the legitimacy of its location in the female toilet. "Auntie" did not find the fact reassuring but was embarrassingly grateful. when it was removed.
"Thank you so, so much. I thought I'd have to wait here until it went and you all got back from your walk in the forest."
"It wouldn't have hurt you."
"But you're so brave. It could have bitten or scratched you."
"How can I thank you. Let me give you something for you trouble."
"Auntie! He's doesn't work for the cruise line."
"Yes he does. I've seen him on deck. Him and those bird people. They're there to tell us about the wildlife - like lecturers."
"Auntie!!" and then looking away from her elderly relative, "I'm so sorry. She doesn’t mean any harm. Oh no, you don't work for them do you?"
"No. It's OK. Glad to be able to help.'
"But auntie is right - you are always on deck telling people about the bugs and creepy crawlies. Why do you do that if you're not being paid?"
Red barely describes the colour of the lady who appeared around the corner.
"This is outrageous. What do you think you're doing here?"
"There was a large bush cricket . . ."
"Bug man! Pervert more like. You think that you can get away with anything by pretending to be an expert."
"He's staff on the ship"
"Auntie I've just told you . . . "
"Well I'm going to write to Fred Olsen and complain. Employing perverts, whatever next."
"Please don't do that - I asked him to help us."
The colour drained from the red-faced lady as her imagination tried to process the horror that it had created.
That was the moment to leave.

---OOO---
Back on board the coach it bucked and plunged its way deep into the forest and stopped at a point that looked no different from any other point on the last part of the journey and George instructed all to de- coach. As the party gathered on the track the red-faced lady approached, at speed, her face looking like a livid bruise. There was nowhere to run to - the forest wall seems to be without relief.
"That lady and her aunt have explained. I'm sorry. I won't write to Olsen now. In fact I'm pleased that they have paid you to be on this trip and can tell us all about the things we see." 

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