The rain has stopped, for now. It started last night, as we were doing our turtle survey, which meant that we were trying to spot turtles near midnight on an almost pitch-black beach, with the only light coming from the flashes of bioluminescent algae in the surf – and it was raining.
Of course, we didn’t have a chance in hell.
After six miles of walking through the waves and driving rain, stepping over driftwood and watching for turtles, we were all soaked through – but, then again, we were pretty much soaked through by the time we even reached the beach, which meant that we weren’t actually getting any wetter, and even by 1 in the morning it was still warm enough that the rain felt pleasant. In Oregon I’m pretty sure at least one person would have dropped dead from hypothermia before we even reached the midway point.
Earlier in the day we had a pair of bird banders come into the field station – it’s only accessible by boat – and they captured a handful of white-collared manikins from the nets around the station, before a family of tourists arrived and the station manager went to show them around. And then one of the girls volunteering here discovered a Brazilian wandering spider (the most venomous in the world, highly aggressive and enormous) on the curtain by her bed in the dorm, so Mike captured it and released it outside, and then we left to go on a hike through the National Park upriver by Tortuguero village, where we looked for snakes.
There are seven volunteers here now, four of whom are due to leave on Sunday (we’ve got more on the way next week), plus the station manager and two dogs, which are barking at the moment as another tourist boat goes by. Edie is defrosting the freezer, and the family of howler monkeys living by the station seems to be hiding from the rain at the moment. There are animals everywhere here – besides the monkeys and seemingly endless variety of birds, I’ve seen a basilisk (Jesus) lizard, which can walk on water, an iguana, bright pink poison dart frogs, golden silk orb weaver spiders (which make enormous webs, and were everywhere around here until the rain started), plus a couple of caiman, which the station manager tried to catch with his hands as we going kayaking yesterday morning.
The town of Tortuguero is small but they sell enough in the way of groceries for the volunteers to get by at the station. Meat and cheese are sketchy, though, so meals seem to be heavy on bread, peanut butter, and jelly. We had pancakes for lunch. We went on a grocery run immediately after my arrival on Wednesday, then had to take the boat in again yesterday when the propane ran out unexpectedly (Mike said there’s probably a leak). Oreos and Ritz only come wrapped in four-packs, within the main package, apparently because they would go stale too quickly in the rainforest, otherwise.
On my bus ride out to the northeast coast on Wednesday, I passed miles of banana plantations, marked by bright blue bags protecting the bananas, and roller-coaster like monorail contraptions for transporting fruit to the road. I came in on the overnight flight to Denver, so I was pretty tired on the ride, but the scenery was some of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Even the most run-down villages here somehow manage to look idyllic and pastoral. If it weren’t for the non-stop rain and constant 80+ percent humidity, I’m pretty sure everyone would live here.
I’ll write more later: the girls are going to try to cut Mike’s hair now, which could prove interesting.
Best wishes,
Of course, we didn’t have a chance in hell.
After six miles of walking through the waves and driving rain, stepping over driftwood and watching for turtles, we were all soaked through – but, then again, we were pretty much soaked through by the time we even reached the beach, which meant that we weren’t actually getting any wetter, and even by 1 in the morning it was still warm enough that the rain felt pleasant. In Oregon I’m pretty sure at least one person would have dropped dead from hypothermia before we even reached the midway point.
Earlier in the day we had a pair of bird banders come into the field station – it’s only accessible by boat – and they captured a handful of white-collared manikins from the nets around the station, before a family of tourists arrived and the station manager went to show them around. And then one of the girls volunteering here discovered a Brazilian wandering spider (the most venomous in the world, highly aggressive and enormous) on the curtain by her bed in the dorm, so Mike captured it and released it outside, and then we left to go on a hike through the National Park upriver by Tortuguero village, where we looked for snakes.
There are seven volunteers here now, four of whom are due to leave on Sunday (we’ve got more on the way next week), plus the station manager and two dogs, which are barking at the moment as another tourist boat goes by. Edie is defrosting the freezer, and the family of howler monkeys living by the station seems to be hiding from the rain at the moment. There are animals everywhere here – besides the monkeys and seemingly endless variety of birds, I’ve seen a basilisk (Jesus) lizard, which can walk on water, an iguana, bright pink poison dart frogs, golden silk orb weaver spiders (which make enormous webs, and were everywhere around here until the rain started), plus a couple of caiman, which the station manager tried to catch with his hands as we going kayaking yesterday morning.
The town of Tortuguero is small but they sell enough in the way of groceries for the volunteers to get by at the station. Meat and cheese are sketchy, though, so meals seem to be heavy on bread, peanut butter, and jelly. We had pancakes for lunch. We went on a grocery run immediately after my arrival on Wednesday, then had to take the boat in again yesterday when the propane ran out unexpectedly (Mike said there’s probably a leak). Oreos and Ritz only come wrapped in four-packs, within the main package, apparently because they would go stale too quickly in the rainforest, otherwise.
On my bus ride out to the northeast coast on Wednesday, I passed miles of banana plantations, marked by bright blue bags protecting the bananas, and roller-coaster like monorail contraptions for transporting fruit to the road. I came in on the overnight flight to Denver, so I was pretty tired on the ride, but the scenery was some of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Even the most run-down villages here somehow manage to look idyllic and pastoral. If it weren’t for the non-stop rain and constant 80+ percent humidity, I’m pretty sure everyone would live here.
I’ll write more later: the girls are going to try to cut Mike’s hair now, which could prove interesting.
Best wishes,
Nathan
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