On January 24th I woke up in Quito. Excitement reminiscent of the night before still wafted through the air. We all knew that this day was going to bring us our first taste of the Amazon. We had spent the summer and fall quarter with anticipation of this adventure swimming in the depths of our minds. With haste, we packed the bus. Meanwhile, coffee fueled chatter began filling the air. Clearing the dense city of Quito with its accompanying narrow streets filled with traffic took patience. As we distanced ourselves from the clusterfuck that defines Quito, landscapes were seen as fleeting images and began to take on new shapes and colors. Cobblestone houses that form the peripherals of Quito were disappearing, while foliage began taking back its grasp of the natural environment. As we traversed down a dirt road the vegetation welcomed us with a warm embrace as it hung in an almost full circumference around both sides of the bus. We were released from this embrace into new and inspiring vistas of steep cliffs followed by valleys of new species of trees, bamboo, layers of shrubbery, and new animal life that I have yet to familiarize myself with. As we traveled further down that broken road a culture familiar to my own surfaced as we passed through a thriving mountain town. A grin illuminated my face as we passed by a soccer field in the center of town. Unfortunately there was no time for a match, so a potential extension to my current euphoria blurred by.

Soon thereafter we arrived at the cloud forest of Maquipucuna. Maqui is a resort style field station with an emphasis on resort. I knew this before we arrived; yet I was still surprised by how truly fairytale-esque this place was. Tourists who want to take a bite out of tropical ecology without sacrificing comfort are the target audience of this resort. As a result, there were cultural components of the experience that made me feel a little uneasy. We were fed three square meals per day with precise timing: breakfast, a filling lunch, a dinner guided by taste not quantity. There was a frustrating part about these feeding experiences. Our trail guides were the ones serving us food and dining with us was against protocol. This was unfortunate because after a day out in the field we have become full of questions and we would have benefitted from the opportunity to converse with their intelligent brains. Ultimately, this is just me being nit picky. This was quite an experience. The weather was reminiscent of my recent Hawaiian vacation: a bit humid, but perfectly warm. I spent most of my time in the belly of the forest whose canopy protected me from the real heat of the day.

The field station grows coffee plants and roasts the beans on site. These particular coffee plants are shade-grown Arabica coffee. It is important to note that habitats that produce shade-grown coffee ecologically outshine sun-grown coffee as they increase the numbers and species of birds as well as improve bird habitat, soul protection/erosion control, carbon sequestration, natural pest control and improve pollination. On top of that this was the best coffee that my young tongue has tasted. Oh yeah, and there was more than just coffee. I was also immersed in a cloud forest ecosystem while finding myself below the equator for the first time. Out in the forest I spent my time walking the trails with small groups of classmates and a trail guide, Edison. La selva was the third parental figure during Eddy’s development and as a byproduct he was overflowing with knowledge. He helped us identity plants and animals, while leaking information about how the indigenous peoples used particular plant species for medicines, remedies, and other various applications. We saw a particular species coined the Tree fern that are billions of years old and are one of the most basal plants in existence that we are currently aware of. From my perspective, it was difficult to see the forest through all the thickness of ferns, vines dripping from seemingly every branch and tree crown literally holding the forest together, epiphytes, bromeliads, palms, and much more. The diversity and abundance of the plant livelihood made it difficult to see more than 5 feet into the forest on either side. It also makes it difficult to see through this sensory noise when you have yet to develop a proper scale, micro or macro among others, to observe the environment. While walking any arbitrary stop along the forest path yielded a cities-worth of plant and insect diversity. We had arrived during the Cicada’s mating season. A roar that pierced every listener’s eardrums marked their presence. Their call intensifies quickly, peaks with a sharp claustrophobic shrill, and releases your attention instantly as it quickly silences. I wonder if the displeasure of this auditory experience would be forgivable if released with a long, gradual drone? I tap into an auditory rhythm while walking passed a group of Cicadas. A particular bird chimes in with rhythmic precision during the moment of silence between the auditory onslaughts of the cicada’s chorus.

Because this was my first introduction to a tropical ecosystem my expectations were high. These expectations were surely crafted by the books I have read, our cultural addiction to sensory stimulation, and the stain left by Planet Earth. Let it now be known that the rainforest is filled with constant activity, but it will not always be what you are looking for and it will be quite difficult for a noob to make sense of the noise. Because of my naivety I used these walks to focus on developing a search image that would allow me to parse through the overwhelming thickness of the unfamiliar flora and fauna. My hope was that this approach would allow me to see things intuitively like I am able to do in a temperate rainforest as a virtue of experience. Of course this will take much more experience in a tropical ecosystem to begin to grasp, but the beginning of this Gestalt approach was taking form. During the last day or two I was able to make dissection slices into the natural world.

Tuesday, January 26^th was my second day in the cloud forest. On this particular day I decided to embark on an exhausting, yet inspiring journey into the primary forest. Before knowing the full extent of what I was getting into I had drank two cups of coffee (one before birding at 6 AM and one with breakfast at 9 AM or so). This hike turned out to be an all day hike (about 5-6 hours round trip) that covered 1200 meters of elevation gain. Shortly into the hike I was wrapped up in the middle of a consciousness-snatching phenomenon while inspecting the remains of a plant that Leafcutter Ants had devoured. This encounter with a Black Vulture and the rhythm of the interacting life around me tingled my primal senses. I let a short narrative unfold onto paper:

 

A full day of sun blinds the retinas and gives a logical excuse for the brain-body organism to accelerate the respiration process. A trail of ghost leaves floating across the path demanded my attention. I stop in my tracks and crouch closer to inspect this phenomenon. To my excitement, the mystery of floating leaves was replaced with the new mystery of Leafcutter Ants. I follow the trail back to the source and find a plant void of its meat and bare to its stems. I peer over the valley after taking a photo of the remains the plant. From the outskirts of my peripherals a mobile shadow begins to enter my gaze. I am sure that we have all experienced the shadow casted by a plane flying overhead. The size of the shadow is what diverted and demanded my consciousness. I shift my attention in that direction and to my delight I spot a large bird, perhaps the size of an eagle, soaring above the hillside and then out into the valley. The magnificent create spots a dark cloak across its belly and throat, while teasing the sensory experience with streaks of white under the end of its wing tips. The proliferated white endings are staggered in size and architecture while simultaneously sporting a small to medium curved beak that appears poised to inspect the carcass of its prey. At this point I am considering either a vulture or a raptor. As the predator flaps its wings to provide a few gusts of wind, nearby birds beneath the canopy begin to chorus. The characteristics and reputation of this bird are clearly known in the neighboring animal kingdom.

 

This was a beautiful experience and it provided me with complete optimism as I continued forward. The trail leading through the primary forest to the top of the hillside was fairly narrow. I had to share the narrow path leading to the top of the hillside with trails of ants that dissected the width of the path in half. This part of the walk was a delicate balance between keeping my gaze active while not stepping on defenseless ants. As a result, I had to walk with a wide-open stance that exposed me to millions of ant nutmegs occurring with every step. The higher I climbed, the more tranquil the forest became. Butterflies were flying by clumsily while seemingly fighting for sobriety. Vegetation surfaced everywhere staking claim over what is theirs. I pass ferns that have curled into infinity while waiting for glimpses of sun exposure to unleash. I have now made it to the top and my reward would have been a fantastic view of the surrounding valley if not for the clouds that rolled in. Despite this minor inconvenience, I was still rewarded with knowledge about a rare species of tree. The Dragon Tree bleeds red sap that is used to coagulate wounds, as a dye, a remedy for gastro-intestinal issues, and as a source of phytochemicals including alkaloids and procyanidins. The sun began moving downward in its trajectory and as the light was disappearing swarms of insects were revealing themselves. I was truly exhausted and barely hanging onto life once I made it back to the lodge. I slowly managed to get food into my stomach and then limped into bed. This hike was truly an amazing experience, but it came with a cost. After waking I began feeling ill. My body was feeling weak and my stomach was feeling the beginning symptoms of traveler’s diarrhea. Without going into too many details I will say that the next 5 days were troublesome. I believe that this sickness came in the aftermath of pushing my body too hard dovetailing with exposure to a new water source and diet. The sickness was fairly debilitating, but I was still able to drag my consciousness through the experiences that the other half of my duality demanded.

One of the shiny attributes of a cloud forest is the presence of immense bird diversity. I took this fact to heart and sought out to capture a portion of my experience through a microphone. To better my chances I asked my guide how to get diverse field recordings of the dawn chorus. With words feeling like intuitive wisdom he told me to find a fruiting tree because it is certain that a diversity of birds will flock that direction upon daybreak. On my last day at Maqui I woke at 4:45 AM with determination to catch the last hour of forest activity in the darkness while anticipating the frequency bath of the dawn chorus. After slapping my alarm around, I dragged myself out of bed and got myself motivated. With my headlamp guiding my path I wandered into the woods in search of a fruiting tree. I found a spot, laid down my poncho to protect me from the onslaught of chiggers, and set up my field recorder. Once again, I tried to capture the experience in a short narrative:

 

 

The waning hours of the night has only a few inhabitants, which allows each individual to be well heard and distinguishable to the train ear. If you’ve ever had the luxury of bathing in the frequency bath of a symphony orchestra, then this imagery will transmit. The songbird chorus is quite delightful. Each vocalizing species, both bird and otherwise, play an individual role in this surround sound experience. As dawn prepares to break, the orchestra begins to warm up. A great quality of this experience if the way in which you are lulled into hypnosis. The first participants (members of the orchestra) begin slowly, with breaks and pauses between calls. This transitions into a call and response tango as new members begin vocalizing. As more members add to the sound a discernable rhythm begins to mold. Each species has found its particular point of entrance. It is uncertain how the conductor guides this experience; whether it be by the avoidance of frequency overlap, filling in gaps of silence, or in attempt to shine in their particular niche, or otherwise. The orchestra begins gaining momentum similar to a middle school choir when the insecure tenor section begins breaking through with confidence. Meanwhile the conductor knows what she is doing. The acoustical layers become louder and harder to discern as members of the orchestra get selfish and try to stand out. Syncopation begins to disappear as a result and the collective sound rises into a wave of sound whose crescendo overwhelms untrained eardrums. The wall of noise sounds like the famous transition orchestra piece in “A Day In The Life” by The Beatles. As this frequency wave begins to dissipate and the members of the orchestra move onto partake in other evolutionary necessities, I am left with the methodical rhythm of “chirpers” who characterize the auditory experience of anyone who has hit the snooze button, clinging onto one more precious hour of sleep.