AMAZONIA and ANDES TOUR

REFLECTIONS AND TRANSMOGRIFICATIONS
Relating to New Jersey Audubon Society’s Amazon Voyage,
July 30 to August 6,
as recalled and interpreted by Pete Dunne

Click here for Machu Picchu Extension Narrative.

Click here for a trip list of species seen (in PDF format).

(All Photos:  Dale Rosselet)

Point of Departure

     I am sitting at my desk at the New Jersey Audubon’s Cape May Bird Observatory.  Waiting for the coffee to brew.  Waiting for other staff to arrive.  Waiting for all the...

Thoughts                                                            

                                                                                  Musings

                                                           Insights

                   Pure Memories                                                                             Shards of memories

                                                                                                      Feelings

Sounds                                       Scents

                                                                            Images

     ...to weave themselves into a tapestry fit to present to you.  A shareholder in our wonderfully eventful voyage on the tributaries of the Amazon River in Peru.

     We came from disparate points.  Alaska, Georgia, Virginia, Pennsylvania, New Jersey.  We carried with us high expectations and used our minds and senses to dip into the riches of the Amazon Basin.  We came away bearing those riches.

     Tapestries are woven of separate threads and the one that is the story of our voyage is no different.  By different paths we made our way to Lima, some more eventful than others.

     Personally, with regards to air travel, I have never in a life-time had two consecutive mounts shot out from underneath me.  Nor have I ever been a party to the melting of jets’ tires on the tarmac.

     Don’t forget to include that story in your Holiday Season letter to friends.

     And while the ensuing 24-hours was frustrating, two things became quickly apparent. 

     First, the group was stellar.  Each and every member a pleasure to be with, adversity or no.

     Second, Dale’s smile could beguile a Sphinx, turn lead into gold, and even win the hearts of American Airline’s middle management.

     In the beginning, the Newark Airport contingent lost a day.  In the end, it seemed too insignificant to recall.

The Boat and Crew

     La Turquesa was made of and for the Amazon--most assuredly of wood taken right from the forest itself.  Despite her size she shared similarities with the many dugouts that also plied the opaque waters of the Ucayali, Pacaya and Tapiche Rivers.  She was shallow of draft and simple in design.  A boat made to travel anywhere and tie up opportunely. 

     Every other “cruise” ship I’ve ever traveled on needed deep water or a dock.

     The bridge was on a lower deck, close to the water (like the paddlers in their dugouts) and our foray below decks demonstrated how sturdily she was built.

     But comfort and luxury were also part of the ship’s compliment.  After a walk in the rain forest or a hot afternoon cruise the air conditioning in the room was a breath of fresh air.  We also discovered a new elixir that conferred youth and vigor upon all who partook--a drink, known to the native peoples, as a “Pisco Sour.”

     Cheers!

     Our naturalists were as accommodating and enthusiastic as they were knowledgeable (and their knowledge was voluminous).  The kitchen did a commendable job providing a varied menu to suit every taste.  The cabin crew (whose ranks must surely have been augmented by forest elves) worked magic on our quarters (and have you ever seen such artistry lavished on towels in your life?).

     You can learn a lot about a ship by studying the faces of the crew.  What I learned was that they took their jobs seriously and part of their job was both dispensing and having fun.  If anyone harbors doubts, it can only mean that they missed the pre-dinner entertainment on the top deck.

     I don’t know what it is about song that goes right to the heart.  Mixed with a Pisco Sour, it takes you right to the gates of heaven.

The Memories

     This missive becomes fragmented now.  The thoughts and memories bubble to the surface, winking like the backs of Pink Dolphins in the roiling waters where tributaries converge.  I could sort them with an effort of will but why?  Time and space; matter and antimatter; order and chaos.      Come on Amazon encounters.  Show me your stuff.  All for one; one for all (and every memory a perfect adventure in itself).  Let’s see what memories get to the tips of my fingers first and the winner is:

     GIANT OTTERS!!!  Or at least otter heads.  This gargantuan weasel has long ranked among my most wanted mammals on the planet.  Right up there with Snow Leopards and Unicorns.  Was it my imagination or were those heads the size of peach baskets?  

     Did you hear the excitement in Edgard’s voice when he found them?  Did you note, with petty smugness and tempered contrition, that the other half of the group arrived too late? 

     Magic, like justice, is not evenly apportioned across the planet.  Giant Otter is big juju and juju seemed to flow in the veins of our group.

     In the heaven’s too.

     I’ve got to tell you I love the night sky.  It’s part of my anchorage.  It’s the ethereal air I breathe.  I’m on a first name basis with six constellations and enjoy cordial relations with eight or nine others.

     I’ve seen the night sky over the Negev.  The Plains of East Africa.  Australia.  Arizona.  I’ve witnessed northern light shows that would have prompted Timothy Leary to go clean.  Seen meteor showers that made me think I was standing in the muzzle of a gattling gun.  Seen comets and sun dogs and rainbows and all the wonderful light shows a sky has to offer.

     But I have never seen anything like the Milky Way over the Amazon Basin.  It sucks the soul from your body and breathes it back transformed.  It stretches tendrils through the channels of your mind linking you to the infinite.

     Beam me up, Scotty?  Don’t bother.  I’m already there.  Here.  One-in-the-same.

     Jupiter and Saturn in the evening.  Dark Mars directly overhead at dawn.  Coffee now cold in the cup.  The measured toot of a Ferruginous Pygmy Owl.  Chachalacas in the darkness.  Cold light in the eastern sky.  The sweet scent of flowers and rot.

     Out of the dark a white moth flies.  Why am I grown so calm?

     “Good morning.”

     Terry, you scared the beejeebers out of me and...

     Pink Dolphins.  What else need be said.  What elaboration or modifiers could enhance the reality and experience of Pink Dolphins winking in the waters around our boat. 

     You see them, they gladden the heart.  They disappear and your chest constricts a little bit.

      Pink Dolphins.  Surfacing, now, in my mind.

Birds, birds, birds, birds, BIRDS!

     Here’s a tough one.  What bird species drawn from the planet’s richest biome stand out?  I guess it has to be parrots and macaws.  You love them for their color.  You love them for their raucous clamor.  You love them because they are everywhere and every time.  Train a glass; cock your ear.  It’s parrot time.

     One of my greatest memories will have to be the crowning flocks of Red-bellied Macaws seen from the deck of the boat.  Was it 100, 150...200 birds.  Was there one flock twice or two?  Even using the low ball estimate, the raucous flock still has the distinction of being the largest flock of macaws I have ever seen.

    One of the river’s little gifts was the Canary-winged Parakeet whose flashing yellow chevrons made identification a snap.  One of my personal delights was learning to tell White-eyed and Dusky-headed Parakeets apart in flight. 

    Hint/hint.  Underwings of White-eyed show red and yellow highlights.  Underwings (and tail) of Dusky-headed look all dark.

     You might expect that a raptor-firster (such as myself) would want to put the accent over birds with talons, and I won’t disappoint you.  The Crane Hawk that played hide and seek on our impromptu afternoon cruise was a special treat.  So, too, was the Laughing Falcon seen right from the deck of our boat.

     Isn’t it great when birds as striking as Black-collared Hawks, Great Black Hawks, and Road-side Hawks are perched at every turn in the river?  Isn’t a sky filled with vultures just the epitome of the tropics?

     And who can ever forget that morning in front of the Lodge.  I’ve had some fast paced birding in my time.  But that multi-species grab bag was almost too much for minds to accommodate.  Black-tailed Trogon, White-necked Jacobin, Spotted Tody-Flycatcher, Piratic Flycatcher, and (shield your eyes) Masked-crimson Tanagers!!!

     Thank heavens there are reflecting surfaces in binoculars.  In the same way that Medusa could only be regarded (by mortals) as a reflection in a polished shield unless the viewer wanted to be turned to stone, a pure, unfiltered look at this velvet red beauty of a tanager might well cause a person’s neural circuitry to seize.

     Sunbitterns on the banks.  Jabiru Storks on the bars.  Sand-colored Nightjars nestled in the sand. Large-billed Terns coursing over the river.  And there, framed in a mask of feathers that recalled the face of the Sun God a real, live...

     Hoatzin! 

     Way to go, Dale!  You’re the man!

And Us

     “Birding,” I like to tell the CMBO staff, “has a great deal to do with birds.  But it has everything to do with people.”  People are the key ingredient in any trip.  Get the right mix of the right, pure-hearted sorts, and magic happens.

     Our group was almost singular in its specialness.  I’m not blowing smoke here.  I’m pretty candid about these things.  I’ve been on tours with participants so vexing that I might cheerfully have dry gulched them, left by the side of the road (and all the other participants would have sworn, under oath, that it was a suicide).

     But not this trip.  To every man, woman, and child within it was a privilege and a pleasure to do a river with you.

     I doubt that anyone is going to forget the sonorous tones of Terry Morre’s voice for a while.  I think that Carol Easter logged more intense deck time than any other two of us (and Larry, you might not cotton to the label birder but you sure can spot birds).  Ed and Greenie Neuburg, you set a standard for enthusiasm and vigor that was hard to match (and Greenie, your brave and selfless interdiction at the foot of the canopy walkway certainly saved some or all of us from a painful memory).

     By the power assumed by me I hear by confer upon you the Southern Cross, First Class, for gallantry and selfless self-sacrifice in the face of dangers which were real and immediate.

     Hear!  Hear!

     Yes, I have other memories and thoughts and reflections that fall upon all members of our group (all favorable).  And while I set out, just a moment ago, to reference all, something made me stop.

     You see once when we were a we you looked to me to say “such and such is so.”  But now, with the trip over, I am a me and you are a you.  It occurred to me that respect must be shown to you and your regards.  You certainly don’t need me to paint a portrait of the people who shared a special point in our lives.  Part of what we drew from the basin that is the Amazon are our own special memories.

     Why should my memories have any more credence or precedence than your own?  

     Why would you want me to parrot back a wisdom you already have:

     That our group was terrific.  Never seen a finer.

Reflections upon Reflections

     It is now three days since my part of the trip ended.  There was a bit of travel misadventure at the end (hardly worth mentioning).  Most of the group, as I write, is still basking in the magic of Machu Picchu.  My thoughts, as well as my envy, are with them.

     I’m going to stop writing, now.  The rest of this missive will lie in the capable hands of Dale.  But let me finish by thanking each and every one of you for making this trip such a delight for me. 

     I’ll travel with you folks, anywhere.  You can suggest the time and place (or look to the next New Jersey Audubon travel brochure and see what the possibilities are). 

Stay well.  Feel the Juju.  When you figure out how to make a Pisco Sour, send me the recipe.

For tour itineraries, to register, or for more information contact:

NJAS Eco-Travel at: (908)-204-8998
9 Hardscrabble Road
Bernardsville, NJ 07924
or email travel@njaudubon.org.

If you are not a member and would like to become one, consider Joining New Jersey Audubon Society.