Amazonian Rush Hour

I jump when I hear them howl and my candles flicker, threatening to take away my only source of light. Without the moon the Amazon sky looms above the treetops like an oil spill floats on water: thick, dimensionless, a black so palpable I fear it will suffocate me in my sleep.

Their human-like cries pierce the thick humid air, forcing me out of my sleepy stupor like a splash of cold water. Though I’m not on the ground. I’m 120 feet above land, overlooking the Tipputini River from a bird tower, just an arm’s length away from the rainforest canopy— home to nine different species of howler monkeys.

It’s been otherwise silent, or so my urban conditioned ears had me believe when I arrived at dusk. But as the hours passed my hearing re-calibrated so that I can no longer ignore the chorus of my surroundings: the fluttering of macaws, the unmistakable shuffling of dart frogs and the scurrying of beetles on the platforms beneath me — their hard shells popping like hot kernels on the stove when they fall through the platform cracks. With each pop images of the invertebrates and insects I’ve encountered during my stay at the Tipputini Biodiversity Station flash across my mind. Tarantulas and bush crickets, flat-backed millipedes the length of my hand.

Having already spent four months in Quito, I thought experiencing the rainforest would deepen my understanding of Ecuadorian culture. But as I sit here, miles from civilization, I realize I’m in another culture entirely. Unmanaged by humanity, its members are so vast, their languages so diverse, that even after decades of research only a small percentage of its customs are known.

The Amazon rainforest spans across nine countries and 1.4 billion acres of land, and I’m at its apex. The greatest concentration of biodiversity on Earth is here in the stretch of rainforest before me. The insect species alone number more than 2.5 million — double the population of Quito. One in five of all cataloged birds appear each morning, a cultural phenomenon I’m here to witness with binoculars and camera.

Although I anticipated sleeping until dawn, I haven’t been brave enough to close my eyes. Oreos crumbs sprinkle my bare toes, stuck in place by sweat. All night I’ve mistaken them for ants, but as I reach down now to brush them aside it’s clear they are crumbs. I look up. The darkness is lifting.

Within moments the sky fades into grey, then into violent hues of purple, orange and yellow. Fog blankets the canopy. I don't move as the rainforest wakes. Like rush hour on a Monday morning it bustles with activity, intensifying as the sun rises. I can’t take my eyes off this colorful parade for fear it will dissolve as quickly as it erupted.

So I put my camera down, and listen to the echoing cries of toucans, macaws, kingfishers, and the deep howls of monkeys welcoming this foreigner into their culture.