Through the mangroves |
Monkey River Town |
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Monkey River |
Six camouflaged bats |
Close-up of a bat |
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Sunday morning found us in a small boat on our way to the Monkey River, about fifteen miles southwest of Placencia. After paralleling the coastline for several miles, our driver turned and began motoring through the mangrove swamps, looking for manatee. Manatee are shy, slow-moving creatures that have learned to avoid boats, some of which injure and kill them. To better our chances of seeing one, we found a large opening in the mangroves, cut the engines, and sat and waited. After a short time we were rewarded by evidence of five or six manatees, although we never saw more than just their noses as they exhaled.
Our next stop was in Monkey River Town, a small village at the mouth of the river, to pick up a guide. Our guide was amazing - he seemed to know everything possible about the local flora and fauna - and pointed out so much we would have otherwise missed. Cruising up the river we saw bats, bright orange iguana and even a few howler monkeys.
After voyaging upriver we set aground at the trailhead and followed our guide down the narrow path. The competition between plants for available sunlight here is so fierce that there are no gaps in the greenery. Leaves fill out the upper canopy as they reach towards the sun, and the foliage is so dense you can't see more than a few feet horizontally through the jungle. In many places the path was more of a dimly lit tunnel through the vegetation than an actual trail. Soon it began getting muddy, and with the mud came the incessant buzzing of mosquitoes. And these weren't just any mosquitoes, but rather, some sort of super-bug that laughed at the thick coat of DEET I had applied and feasted away on my blood, making me quite happy I had chosen to take the anti-malaria medication.
Hiking along I tried to gingerly sidestep the mud puddles, but they soon became too deep and too wide to avoid. At some point you grin and bear it and just walk straight through. I was wearing Teva-type sandals and it was neat feeling the wet earth squoosh between my toes as I stepped into the ever-growing pools of thick mud, and then make a sucking "schlurp" sound as I pulled my foot out.
Walking quickly became difficult. I struggled to walk without falling as my feet slid back and forth inside my sandals. I tightened the straps as much as I could to make it easier, but then one of the cheap straps broke and I had to walk slowly to keep the shoes upon my feet. Finally I stepped into a puddle and "schlurp", pulled my foot out without a sandal. Our guide lent me his boots to complete the hike; I wouldn't have minded tromping barefoot through the mud but for the thorns, spines and other dangers to my delicate city feet that lurked within the dirt.
Suddenly, there was a series of raucous howls like nothing I had ever heard before. You could tell they orginated some distance away, but nevertheless were unbelievably loud. If I hadn't known better I would have guessed the noises to have come from the local population of jaguars who frequent the area, but as it turned out what we were hearing were the aptly-named howler monkeys.
Although we saw scores of tracks from many different animals, the only denizen we actually saw during that hike was a four-eyed opossum who came to drink from a puddle. (Well, there was also the horrible, horrible tarantula, but that's not something I wanted to see.)
Believe it or not, depite the heat, humidity, mosquito bites, an arachnid encouter, difficulty traversing the trail, my lost shoe, and not really seeing any wildlife, this was my favourite part of the trip! There is something about conquering a challenge and travelling somewhere most people would avoid to make a destination worthwhile.
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Three howler monkeys |
Trailhead |
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Trail through dense jungle |
And it keeps getting muddier |
Four-eyed opossum |
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