Published by TRIBUNE-REVIEW
By Bill Zlatos
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Boating on the Manu River in southwestern Peru, I brace a lunch of pork and spaghetti against a strong gust. Suddenly, my guide gives me an incredible birthday gift.
He peers through his binoculars and points to the left bank more than 200 feet away.
"Jaguar!" he yells.
For many wildlife lovers, Peru's Manu Biosphere in the Amazon River Basin offers a diversity of plant and animal life one can only expect to see on cable TV nature shows. Roughly the size of Connecticut and Rhode Island, the area consists of the Manu National Park and the Manu Reserved Zone, which tourists, led by guides, may visit.
The region is home to 10 percent of the world's birds -- about 1,000 species -- and 10 percent of its plant life. It has 13 species of monkeys. Among the 13 species designated as "threatened" are ocelots and black caimans -- a kind of crocodile. And, of course, my jaguar.
The weeklong trip offers the chance to go deeper into the more isolated areas of the park and see much of it.
Take a bus to Manu and a plane back to Cusco. It costs more, but shaves a day of travel off the trip. And tourists get a spectacular aerial view of the jungle canopy and more time to explore quaint Cusco, the ancient Incan capital of Peru.
I join 10 other tourists from around the world on our bus, which leaves Cusco, follows the Urubamba River across the Sacred Valley and climbs a dirt road into the Andes.
After crossing a 13,000-foot pass, we stop to observe the chullpas, pre-Incan graves. About 5 feet high, these circular stone tombs once held the mummies of the royal family buried in fetal positions. The gold and silver treasure stashed with them has long since been plundered.
An obelisk marks the entrance to misty Manu at Acjanacu. We descend into the dwarf forest, the cloud forest and then to our lodge in the lowland rain forest. The lodges on this trip are spartan by American standards -- screened cabins with little more than twin cots for furniture and separate kitchen, shower and toilet facilities. At least it discourages more tourists from coming.
Wildlife abounds
We rise at 5 a.m. the next day and hike to a camouflaged blind to observe the Andean cock-of-the-rocks. The male birds preen in their reddish orange plumage with black tails and red crests to attract the females. The males woo the ladies in their guttural voices. After breakfast, most of the group rides mountain bikes for two hours. David, an architect from Switzerland, and I opt for a nature hike. We see brilliantly colored butterflies, eagles, a swallowtail kite, white-collared swifts, tree ferns, and a wasp nest hanging in the bamboo.
That afternoon, we launch two rafts on the Alta Madre de Dios River. Water from the Class I and II rapids splashes over the bow. With the guide's permission, I jump in to cool off. Most of my companions follow suit. We might as well swim now before we reach the Manu River and its crocodiles, piranhas, electric eels and snakes.
We observe animals during hikes in the jungle, from towers or from a 25-foot-long motorized boat with a bright blue canopy. Our pilot expertly guides the boat through a maze of logs lodged in the river. Sometimes, turtles, herons, egrets and other birds perch on the limbs.
Close encounters
On our third day, we awaken at 5 a.m. and boat 15 minutes on the Alta Madre de Dios River to a rocky island 300 feet from shore. We sit on inch-thick mattresses and face a clearing on the bank. Birds soon flock in the trees above a 50-foot-high clay lick. Parrots and parakeet first swoop down, then macaws.
They peck at the clay for minerals that counteract the toxins in the unripe fruit they eat. As if at a deli, the colorful birds patiently await their turn.
Later that morning, the boat pulls ashore where a stream joins the main river. We climb 75 feet, and I plop into a pool fed by a hot spring. The water is 105 degrees, but I soon get used to it.
On my descent, however, I hear a shriek. Heidi Coyle, a tourist from St. John's in the Virgin Islands, is standing in the stream and trying to balance herself on a rock when she notices a snake a foot away. Our guide identifies it as a poisonous coral snake.
"I was very scared," she said later. "I was looking around because where there's one, there's more."
The 3-foot snake eventually swims away, ending our snake encounters for the rest of the trip.
We ride the boat for five hours. Egrets, herons and cormorants stand on rocky islands, the banks or in river shallows. Vultures soar overhead or flock ominously in trees. Flood-tossed trees stripped of bark and blanched by lichen clog the river or are strewn ashore. And wild cane flourishes on the banks like the dandelions in my backyard.
Suddenly, we spot a dead white caiman, upside down and lodged in the branches of a tree stuck in the Manu River. Three vultures perch atop the 10-foot-long body until we pull alongside it.
Treetop view
Back in camp, I go into the jungle on a canopy tour. We climb a series of five towers linked by inch-thick cables. The purpose ostensibly is to observe wildlife from the treetops. But we see no critters as we zoom as far as 300 feet among the ivy like modern-day Tarzans and Janes. I even practice my Tarzan yell.
Most of our success in spotting wildlife is because of the skill of our guides, Alvaro Zamora and Abdel Martinez. They are adept at following the tracks or slightest movements of animals and pointing them out to us.
We stalk a wild pig, rustling and grunting down the trail. For a fleeting moment, I make out its silhouette. We see a poison frog, used by Indians for arrows and darts, inside the hollow of a tree. Of more concern are the inch-long giant ants, whose bites scare even the natives. The giant ant nests and those of termites and wasps hang on trees throughout the jungle.
The jungle is not as hot as I expect but noisier. The air is filled with the chirping of the cicada, the howling of monkeys and the squawking of parrots and macaws.
During our hikes, light filters through the dense foliage, casting mottled shadows on a jungle floor of matted leaves. We enjoy watching the spider, squirrel and brown capuchin monkeys swinging from tree to tree, sometimes baby in tow.
On one occasion, we observe some spider monkeys high in the fig and sava trees. Disapproving our presence, the monkeys shower us with leaves and limbs. We do not budge. Then they defecate on us, scoring a direct hit on a tourist. That gets us moving.
One of my favorite Amazon Basin animals is the giant river otter. We visit them by flatboat on Salvador Lake, an oxbow lake and the biggest one in Manu. Oxbow lakes are formed by a change in the course of a river.
We eventually spot a family of six otters, each about four and half feet long, as entertaining as circus clowns. They play or fight with each other, then dive into the lake and surface, clutching and crunching fish, bones and all. They are absolutely mesmerizing.
In addition to the animals, the guides point out a wide variety of plant life. We see walking palms, trees whose roots move toward sunlight. I am amazed at a giant fig tree. It stands on a root system of tentacles 25 feet tall and spreading out 100 feet in diameter.
The leche leche tree grows about 130 feet high, and its flared trunk stretches 10 feet across. On another hike, the guide stops to show us a cocoa tree, the source of chocolate. I kiss it.
Tribal lodge
Tourists are few in Manu, but we visit a lodge of eight thatched huts of the Matchiguenga, the biggest Indian tribe in this region. I am told there are three kinds of Indians in Peru: those who have assimilated the white man's ways; those who have some contact with whites, but still follow the traditional way of life; and "the naked people," who live isolated in the jungle.
The leader of this lodge, Carlos, is of the second type. He demonstrates his skill with the bow and arrow, and we tourists take turns with the bow and later play soccer with our hosts.
At the lodge, I buy two necklaces made of seeds, the tusk of a wild pig and the skull of a pacu, a fish related to the piranha, for my son and nephew. I also buy them handmade bows and arrows with feathers from a variety of birds.
Imagine my sweet talking to get bows and arrows through four airports on the way home.
After a week in the jungle, most of my group returns by boat down the Manu River to a grassy airstrip guarded by ducks. On the way there, my eyes glaze over by the abundance of wildlife I've seen and, imagining there's little new to see, I leave my camera in my pack rather than around my neck. All the better to steady my lunch against the breeze blowing into our faces.
It is about 1:30 p.m. when Abdel spots the jaguar. He stands -- fortunately for us -- in a clearing on the river bank where he probably had just quenched his thirst. His sleek tawny body, about six feet long, ripples with muscles.
In just a matter of seconds, the cat lumbers back to the jungle -- indifferent to and undaunted by us. The brush and wild cane soon blend into the natural camouflage of his fur as we fumble for our cameras. David snaps the only photograph among us, but by now the jaguar's body blends into the jungle, making him virtually invisible.
It marks only the second jaguar Abdel has seen all year, and it happens on my birthday.
"Thank you, Peru," I say aloud.
By Bill Zlatos
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Boating on the Manu River in southwestern Peru, I brace a lunch of pork and spaghetti against a strong gust. Suddenly, my guide gives me an incredible birthday gift.
He peers through his binoculars and points to the left bank more than 200 feet away.
"Jaguar!" he yells.
For many wildlife lovers, Peru's Manu Biosphere in the Amazon River Basin offers a diversity of plant and animal life one can only expect to see on cable TV nature shows. Roughly the size of Connecticut and Rhode Island, the area consists of the Manu National Park and the Manu Reserved Zone, which tourists, led by guides, may visit.
The region is home to 10 percent of the world's birds -- about 1,000 species -- and 10 percent of its plant life. It has 13 species of monkeys. Among the 13 species designated as "threatened" are ocelots and black caimans -- a kind of crocodile. And, of course, my jaguar.
The weeklong trip offers the chance to go deeper into the more isolated areas of the park and see much of it.
Take a bus to Manu and a plane back to Cusco. It costs more, but shaves a day of travel off the trip. And tourists get a spectacular aerial view of the jungle canopy and more time to explore quaint Cusco, the ancient Incan capital of Peru.
I join 10 other tourists from around the world on our bus, which leaves Cusco, follows the Urubamba River across the Sacred Valley and climbs a dirt road into the Andes.
After crossing a 13,000-foot pass, we stop to observe the chullpas, pre-Incan graves. About 5 feet high, these circular stone tombs once held the mummies of the royal family buried in fetal positions. The gold and silver treasure stashed with them has long since been plundered.
An obelisk marks the entrance to misty Manu at Acjanacu. We descend into the dwarf forest, the cloud forest and then to our lodge in the lowland rain forest. The lodges on this trip are spartan by American standards -- screened cabins with little more than twin cots for furniture and separate kitchen, shower and toilet facilities. At least it discourages more tourists from coming.
Wildlife abounds
We rise at 5 a.m. the next day and hike to a camouflaged blind to observe the Andean cock-of-the-rocks. The male birds preen in their reddish orange plumage with black tails and red crests to attract the females. The males woo the ladies in their guttural voices. After breakfast, most of the group rides mountain bikes for two hours. David, an architect from Switzerland, and I opt for a nature hike. We see brilliantly colored butterflies, eagles, a swallowtail kite, white-collared swifts, tree ferns, and a wasp nest hanging in the bamboo.
That afternoon, we launch two rafts on the Alta Madre de Dios River. Water from the Class I and II rapids splashes over the bow. With the guide's permission, I jump in to cool off. Most of my companions follow suit. We might as well swim now before we reach the Manu River and its crocodiles, piranhas, electric eels and snakes.
We observe animals during hikes in the jungle, from towers or from a 25-foot-long motorized boat with a bright blue canopy. Our pilot expertly guides the boat through a maze of logs lodged in the river. Sometimes, turtles, herons, egrets and other birds perch on the limbs.
Close encounters
On our third day, we awaken at 5 a.m. and boat 15 minutes on the Alta Madre de Dios River to a rocky island 300 feet from shore. We sit on inch-thick mattresses and face a clearing on the bank. Birds soon flock in the trees above a 50-foot-high clay lick. Parrots and parakeet first swoop down, then macaws.
They peck at the clay for minerals that counteract the toxins in the unripe fruit they eat. As if at a deli, the colorful birds patiently await their turn.
Later that morning, the boat pulls ashore where a stream joins the main river. We climb 75 feet, and I plop into a pool fed by a hot spring. The water is 105 degrees, but I soon get used to it.
On my descent, however, I hear a shriek. Heidi Coyle, a tourist from St. John's in the Virgin Islands, is standing in the stream and trying to balance herself on a rock when she notices a snake a foot away. Our guide identifies it as a poisonous coral snake.
"I was very scared," she said later. "I was looking around because where there's one, there's more."
The 3-foot snake eventually swims away, ending our snake encounters for the rest of the trip.
We ride the boat for five hours. Egrets, herons and cormorants stand on rocky islands, the banks or in river shallows. Vultures soar overhead or flock ominously in trees. Flood-tossed trees stripped of bark and blanched by lichen clog the river or are strewn ashore. And wild cane flourishes on the banks like the dandelions in my backyard.
Suddenly, we spot a dead white caiman, upside down and lodged in the branches of a tree stuck in the Manu River. Three vultures perch atop the 10-foot-long body until we pull alongside it.
Treetop view
Back in camp, I go into the jungle on a canopy tour. We climb a series of five towers linked by inch-thick cables. The purpose ostensibly is to observe wildlife from the treetops. But we see no critters as we zoom as far as 300 feet among the ivy like modern-day Tarzans and Janes. I even practice my Tarzan yell.
Most of our success in spotting wildlife is because of the skill of our guides, Alvaro Zamora and Abdel Martinez. They are adept at following the tracks or slightest movements of animals and pointing them out to us.
We stalk a wild pig, rustling and grunting down the trail. For a fleeting moment, I make out its silhouette. We see a poison frog, used by Indians for arrows and darts, inside the hollow of a tree. Of more concern are the inch-long giant ants, whose bites scare even the natives. The giant ant nests and those of termites and wasps hang on trees throughout the jungle.
The jungle is not as hot as I expect but noisier. The air is filled with the chirping of the cicada, the howling of monkeys and the squawking of parrots and macaws.
During our hikes, light filters through the dense foliage, casting mottled shadows on a jungle floor of matted leaves. We enjoy watching the spider, squirrel and brown capuchin monkeys swinging from tree to tree, sometimes baby in tow.
On one occasion, we observe some spider monkeys high in the fig and sava trees. Disapproving our presence, the monkeys shower us with leaves and limbs. We do not budge. Then they defecate on us, scoring a direct hit on a tourist. That gets us moving.
One of my favorite Amazon Basin animals is the giant river otter. We visit them by flatboat on Salvador Lake, an oxbow lake and the biggest one in Manu. Oxbow lakes are formed by a change in the course of a river.
We eventually spot a family of six otters, each about four and half feet long, as entertaining as circus clowns. They play or fight with each other, then dive into the lake and surface, clutching and crunching fish, bones and all. They are absolutely mesmerizing.
In addition to the animals, the guides point out a wide variety of plant life. We see walking palms, trees whose roots move toward sunlight. I am amazed at a giant fig tree. It stands on a root system of tentacles 25 feet tall and spreading out 100 feet in diameter.
The leche leche tree grows about 130 feet high, and its flared trunk stretches 10 feet across. On another hike, the guide stops to show us a cocoa tree, the source of chocolate. I kiss it.
Tribal lodge
Tourists are few in Manu, but we visit a lodge of eight thatched huts of the Matchiguenga, the biggest Indian tribe in this region. I am told there are three kinds of Indians in Peru: those who have assimilated the white man's ways; those who have some contact with whites, but still follow the traditional way of life; and "the naked people," who live isolated in the jungle.
The leader of this lodge, Carlos, is of the second type. He demonstrates his skill with the bow and arrow, and we tourists take turns with the bow and later play soccer with our hosts.
At the lodge, I buy two necklaces made of seeds, the tusk of a wild pig and the skull of a pacu, a fish related to the piranha, for my son and nephew. I also buy them handmade bows and arrows with feathers from a variety of birds.
Imagine my sweet talking to get bows and arrows through four airports on the way home.
After a week in the jungle, most of my group returns by boat down the Manu River to a grassy airstrip guarded by ducks. On the way there, my eyes glaze over by the abundance of wildlife I've seen and, imagining there's little new to see, I leave my camera in my pack rather than around my neck. All the better to steady my lunch against the breeze blowing into our faces.
It is about 1:30 p.m. when Abdel spots the jaguar. He stands -- fortunately for us -- in a clearing on the river bank where he probably had just quenched his thirst. His sleek tawny body, about six feet long, ripples with muscles.
In just a matter of seconds, the cat lumbers back to the jungle -- indifferent to and undaunted by us. The brush and wild cane soon blend into the natural camouflage of his fur as we fumble for our cameras. David snaps the only photograph among us, but by now the jaguar's body blends into the jungle, making him virtually invisible.
It marks only the second jaguar Abdel has seen all year, and it happens on my birthday.
"Thank you, Peru," I say aloud.
