| In the middle of a three month long stay in Panamá I decided to take advantage of my proximity to the South American continent and take a short detour to Ecuador. This small country is home to over 1500 species of birds, and has been developing a decent reputation as a tourist destination. I decided to maximize the potential species I might encounter by arranging stays both in the mountains and in the Amazon basin; to follow is my account of this journey. |
The two-hour flight on Copa Airlines from Panamá City was a pleasant one- they actually served a small meal, a rather tasty
little chicken and cheese wrap (or a salad). I was struck by the fact that the airport in Quito is located more or less in the center of the city; houses flanked the runways, and there was
not the "buffer zone" to which I am accustomed in the States (I was told later that a larger airport is being built north of the city).
We arrived perfectly on time, and Ecuadoran customs was rather efficient (most countries in
the world treat their guests a lot better than we do in the U.S.). When I stepped outside to find a taxi I was greeted by smartly dressed
drivers in shirts and ties; Quito certainly does an excellent job of making a good first impression. The drive to Fuente de Piedra II
took about 15 minutes at a cost of five dollars (yes, Ecuador is on the dollar as well!). Here I received my first surprise of the trip;
the fellow at the front desk told me the hotel was closed due to some problem or another.
There is a Fuente de Piedra I that can take up the slack, but
they had no record of my reservation, which was made on my behalf by Tandayapa Lodge. Fortunately the gentleman was kind enough to call the office of Tandayapa
for me (I pat myself on the back for remembering to bring the number), and Erin, one of the owners (I think), was able to find out what the story was. It turned out that they had made my reservation for the wrong day,
but they were able to find out that Fuente de Piedra I had room for me. It was only about a 15 minute walk to the sister hotel, which is not as centrally located, but
it's still in a good neighborhood. It took me a minute or two to explain my situation to the pretty girl at the front desk; I've learned that when I'm flustered about something I lose my command
of the language, and it's best that I stop and take a deep breath before speaking. My grammar is terrible, but I can pretty much
communicate anything really important. I have this to say about Fuente de Piedra I- it's the best $24 hotel room I've ever had. The
place is actually quite nice, very warm and wooden, with a mountain chalet kind of feel. My room was very clean and decent-sized; it has two twin beds, a small desk,
a clothes closet, and even cable TV. There's a small shared veranda on each floor, each of which has five or six rooms. I'm really rather pleased with the accomodations.
I was disapponted that the hotel's restaurant was closed for the night, and, without much knowledge of the area, I wound up eating at a fast-food restaurant, which served me a huge
and tasty meal of chicken, rice, beans, plantains, soup, salad, and drink for less than $3! I had a few hours of daylight left,
so I took a short walk to one of Quito's many city parks, El Parque El Ejido (pictured at left). The park was rather open and sparsely vegetated (which I was to learn
is typical of Quito's parks), but I still managed to find two new birds for my life list, one of which (Golden-rumped Euphonia) I did not see again on the trip.
I also allowed myself to be victimized by a possible hustle; a pleasant young man approached me to ask for a donation for an
organization that supposedly supported arts programs for the handicapped. He was low-key and not aggressive, and he tried out his broken English
before deciding that my modest Spanish was adequate for the task. I gave him a few bucks, and if the cause was not genuine I cannot
complain at all about the means by which I was taken.
I rather liked Quito, which came as a surprise to me; as I live in a huge city, I seldom particularly enjoy my stays in other metropolitan areas.
I stayed in the Mariscal Sucre district, which houses a great deal of tourists and also serves to entertain Ecuadorians of modest means. The
area once had a reputation as a hotspot for crime, but on this stay I was aware of a strong police presence, and I never felt threatened.
Granted, I did not test the boundaries, and I only went out early in the night, and stayed on heavily-trafficked streets, but I believe
that Ecuador has made a concerted effort to improve its image in the eyes of the world, starting with the safety factor.
Remarkably I managed to repeat my lodging-related troubles on my brief stay for one day between the two eco-lodges. I asked Tandayapa to confirm where I would be staying on the 1st of July, and I was assured by the manager that I would be returning to Fuente de Piedra I. Of course, when I was dropped off at this site I was told that I was to stay at Fuente de Piedra II, where I was originally booked. I was foolish enough to let my driver go before confirming the reservation, so I once again enjoyed the 15-minute walk across the Mariscal. Tandayapa may be a fine destination for birding, but they need to get the business end of things together. I am a relatively young and fit person, so the walk with my luggage was not such a trial, but for many guests at the Lodge (older folks, those with children) the mistake would have been a substantial imposition. But, as it turned out, I was happy to have stayed at Fuente de Piedra II; it is more centrally-located than its sister hotel, and I was able to enjoy the social scene in the heart of the Mariscal. I walked a bit until I found myself in the large Parque Carolina; it was Sunday, so it was overrun with locals, but I enjoyed a pleasant walk in the park's quiet botanical gardens. A western-style mall was nearby, and I picked up a few things at a huge grocery store, and enjoyed a decent and inexpensive pasta lunch from a kiosk in the large food court. One of the more pleasant aspects of the walk was that certain streets were closed to vehicular traffic on Sunday, so I could stroll without looking over my shoulder. This was intelligently planned; on the major thoroughfares only one direction was closed, and a different one on parallel streets, so I never saw any substantial vehicular backup. The walk from the hotel to the park took roughly one half-hour, and I could have done it by taxi for roughly a dollar, or twenty-five cents on the trolley car (locally known as the trolé). The hotel itself was a bit more sterile, but the room was still clean and relatively spacious. I was able to walk only a few blocks to an area full of restaurants, and I had a fine dinner in a bar/restaurant where I amused myslef by rooting along with the locals for Ecuador in a football match versus Mexico (Ecuador lost, as expected). I stopped elsewhere for a drink or two, and made the acquaintance of a pretty young Ecuadorian woman who let me kill some time in her company. If I were to visit Ecuador again, I would most certainly give myself a bit more time in Quito. both for the social scene and for the chance to enjoy some of the more tourist-related diversions, such as the charming old city and the lift that takes one to a more mountainous locale. Ecuador is clearly making an effort to become more tourist-friendly, and deserves to be reevaluated in the guide books. |
My first stop was the well-respected Tandayapa Bird Lodge, located on the western slope of the Andes.
The lodge is located outside the tiny village of Tandayapa, about an hour-and-a-half's drive northwest of Quito by the fastest road.
The shot at right shows Tandayapa village as I approached on foot one day; it's not the best shot because it felt a bit patronizing to stand in the middle of town snapping
photos. In the larger image preceding this paragraph you can see the village in the bottom of the frame, as seen from the road that crosses Tandayapa Pass to Mindo (the Lodge
is to the left of the village in this shot, not visible). The Lodge sits at about 1750m (just under 5800'), if I recall correctly,
and the highest accessible spot at the top of the pass is at 2350m (about 7800'). Given the great size of the Andes, these are relatively low elevations,a dn there are many species
of birds that do not come this low, and many more that do not reach these altitudes. The range maps in The Birds of Ecuador (one of the better field guides, by the by,
as well it should be, as it is the size of a good dictionary) tend to show the ranges of many birds of the mid-to-high elevations as two solid lines flanking the highest volcanoes.
I wonder if these populations are genetically isolated, or do they occasionally cross from east to west by means of valleys or passes? The Andes are indeed a formidable barrier, even for a creature
with wings....
On the morning of the 26th I was picked up at 5:30 in the morning by a guide and driver from Tandayapa; this was to be the only day on which I had the services of a professional birding guide. They were a curious pair: the driver gave his name as George, and he was a tall fellow with the looks of a young Anthony Quinn; the guide was named José, and was about five-foot-nothing with a slight frame and shoulder-length hair. I learned later that José was born in the Amazon region, and at an early age his aptitude for finding birds was noted and fostered by several well-known birders and ornithologists. José is now a full-time birding guide and has seen much of the world, a rare thing for the indigenous peoples of the Amazon. He's an excellent birder, and his English is strong enough that I didn't have to test my Spanish, a good thing as I was feeling rather run down. We picked up the Old Nono/Mindo Road in Quito, and rumbled up into the Andes. This road still passes through the village of Nono, but a new paved highway that curves north and then west ut of Quito cuts a lot of time out of the drive if one is going directly to Mindo (a top-notch birding town itself). But we were in no hurry, and we were also planning to spend a chunk of the day at Yanacocha Reserve, a splendid piece of high-elevation temperate forest habitat. I snapped a lot of shots of the scenery, and below are two of my favorites, nice looks at the surrounding forest and volcanoes. |
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I was truly cold that morning, a sensation I had not felt in some time, largely because the trail upon which we walked was windy and
had not yet been touched by the sun. The reserve managers had added a few touches that I really liked, such as hummingbird
feeders at various points along the trail, but they also whizzed back and forth on ORVs in the performance of their duties, which
was irritating. Another group of birders was working the area, led by a well-known ex-pat birder named Mitch Lysinger, and we
graciously traded info all morning as we crossed each others' paths. The birding was outstanding, highlighted by a number of high-elevation
hummingbirds. Yanacocha lies mostly above 3000m (10000'), and the only species which occupy higher elevations in Ecuador are those which specialize in the paramo habitat,
the moist alpine grasslands of the northern Andes. I saw a surprisingly small number of birds on this excursion, but every single species
was a life bird. I suppose the only disappointing feature of the reserve was that the slopes rose and fell steeply on either side
of the path, so bushwhacking was next to impossible. This made it unlikely that I would have a chance to see species such as Ocellated Tapaculo
or Tawny Antpitta (both of which were heard), neither of which is likely to be found without waiting patiently in the midst of the forest.
I also feel like we pushed ourselves a little hard that morning, as it was about 1:00 before we returned to the car for what turned out
to be a good-sized box lunch. Considering I had not had breakfast (which José said was supposed to be provided by the hotel) and had travelled
the day before, 8 hours was a long time to be awake with only a bottle of water as sustenance. As a consequence, I started feeling run-down and feverish
for the remainder of the ride, and although we picked up some nice birds on roadside stops, my heart wasn't in it. It didn't help that
it was raining lightly for most of the afternoon (one of the few times it rained during my stay), rendering me damp as well as sickly.
I was very happy when we arrived at Tandayapa...
As the Lodge was not full, I had a choice of rooms, and I chose the charming (albeit low-ceilinged) cubbyhole underneath the
hummingbird feeder platform. This was possibly a mistake, as the large windows opening onto the forest floor had no screens, nor
was there mosquito netting above my bed, so I was eaten alive each night.
As for the aforementioned trails; in my four full days at the Lodge I walked every inch of the trails at least once, most of them two or three times. I found something different on every walk,
and even late in the aternoon there were good birds to be found. The trails ranged from easy and relatively level to moderate and fairly steep; all of them pretty much did not stray
from the deep forest, although there were a few really nice spots where one could study treetops across ravines with a broad field of view. A few spots were muddy, but in general the toughest spots had courduroy
As for the birding, it was simply fantastic! I was challenging myself as never before, as this was the first time I was visiting a neotropical country without expert
help to get me started. I was going to discover if the birding skills I've developed in Panamá for the last four years would help me fly blind into unknown territory, and come out with some proverbial feathers in my cap.
I'm proud to say that things worked out just fine; I definitely missed a few birds, but I saw and identified more, and they became easier
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Yes, hummingbirds at and around feeders are relatively easy to capture on film! The hummingbird variety dwindled when I reached the lowlands, and I only saw three species in the Amazon, but my trip total was
33 species of hummingbirds, all but three of them new to me! And the funny thing is, I missed quite a few....
I left Tandayapa Lodge at the quite-reasonable hour of 10:00 a.m., in a prearranged taxi. The driver was a nice fellow, and spoke
clear and slow Spanish, and I enjoyed one of the best conversations in Spanish of my life on the 90-minute ride to Quito.
Ecuadorian Spanish is actually among the best in the world, and lots of folks come here to learn the language without
picking up a regional accent. One of the most interesting parts of the trip was our passage through the area known as
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| Early on the morning of the 2nd I caught a taxi to the airport for my short flight over the Andes to Coca, gateway to the Rio Napo. I was reminded of a lesson I should have learned from my domestic travel in Panamá; there is no point in arriving at the airport for a domestic flight more than one hour beforehand, as it is at this point that the counters open for check-in. The Icaro Airlines counter displays a sign indicating the flight for which they are currently checking people in, and until one's flight is indicated they will not take care of you. I suppose this is a matter of the tiny airline tracking baggage more easily. It was fine by me; I had purchased an extra pastry the day before at a great panaderia in Quito, and found a cup of coffee to wash down my breakfast while I observed the hustle and bustle of Quito's domestic terminal. It was indeed chaotic, as the front door, a couple of kiosks, the first line of security, the counters, the waiting area, and the main security checkpoint were all crammed into perhaps a 100x100 room. But the seemingly long lines were largely illusory due to the tight quarters, and when my time came I was checked in and through security in short order. By the by, my identification was checked neither at the counter nor at security; my paperwork for the flight had been left for me at Fuente de Piedra II by the staff of Yuturi Lodge, but I could have been anybody getting on that plane! The one-hour flight east to Coca was rather uneventful- although I was impressed that the flight attendants managed to serve a beverage and small snack during the short hop- and dense cloud cover robbed me of most of what I assume would be a spectacular view of the mountains surrounding Quito. As we descended into Coca the change in topography was striking, as rugged volcanoes and dense population centers gave way to interspersed farms and jungle, with countless waterways snaking through it all. I'll now break away from my narrative for a moment to offer some details regarding the city of Coca and the surrounding area. |
Coca is officially called Puerto Francisco de Orellana, and is the capital of Orellana Province. The province is named for
a lieutenant of Gonzalo Pizarro, governor of Quito in the early 16th century, and the brother of the notorious Francisco Pizarro.
Francisco de Orellana was dispatched to prospect for gold and other booty, and wound up floating all the way down the Rio Napo to the
Amazon, and from there to the Atlantic Ocean, becoming the first European to cross the continent. Orellana Province is part of the region
known as the Oriente, which is really just a broad term for the lowlands east of the Andes. Every Ecuadorian I spoke to referred the
area simply as The Amazon, as the region is indeed part of the upper Amazon basin. Dozens of rivers big and small wind down out of the mountains
through the Oriente on roughly a southeasterly course, ultimately emptying into the Amazon. The Northern Oriente, which is more or less
comprised of the entire provinces of Sucumbios, Orellana, and Pastaza, is a huge and almost roadless area dominated by water and rainforest.
In fact, I am only aware of three roads in the province of Orellana: a main road heading north from Coca to Lago Agrio; the Vía Auca, built by oil companies heading south to
Tiguino (the bridge to the Vía Auca is pictured at right); and the Vía Maxus, another oil-exploitation road,
one with no outlets, south of the Rio Napo, heading from Pompeya deep into what was formerly virgin
forest and home to the indigenous Huaorani people. In fact, the exploitation of resources by multinational extractive industries
is by a good measure the most critical social and environmental issue faced by the people of the Oriente. The Rio Napo is a wide and shallow body of water that
cuts right into the heart of the Amazonian rainforest, and into the territory of a number of indigenous tribes.
The Napo is heavily-trafficked by barges such as the one pictured at left, loaded with trucks and other heavy equipment, heading downstream to massive compounds
where oil, mining, and lumber companies coordinate their extractive activities. The problem with the dominance of these industries is essentially twofold: first,
over time the work penetrates more and more deeply into remote areas that previously were occupied only by wildlife and indigenous peoples who generally live a very traditional lifestyle.
Not to say that the indigenous have no impact whatsoever on the environment, but low population density and centuries of learning to work with the land have
combined to minmize that impact. Modern industry fragments the forest with roads and pipelines, and brings thousands of workers who require housing and sustinance, most
of which is culled from the forest around them. Second, the profit from these enterprises does little or nothing to benefit the Ecuadorian people beyond the relative handful of
jobs created, most of which are unskilled and low-paying. A learned Ecuadorian with whom I spoke on the subject estimated that over 80% of the profit from oil extraction and like industries
leaves the country; of the other 20%, only five to ten percent goes to education, road maintenance, and other infrastructure requirements. The rest goes to a few wealthy Ecuadorian families
who essentially own the country; my friend named for me the three or four families in each region who wield all of the local power, and own most of the land (as an American it's hard for me
to cast stones in this matter- how many families have run this country since 1988?).
Even when Ecuadorian workers try to assert themselves and demand a piece of the pie (as they
did with massive strikes in 2004), the oil companies quickly renege on any concessions they might have made. Reformation is unlikely to come from the political side of the spectrum, as most elected officials
in Ecuador have strong ties to big industry (sound familiar?), and many of those are directly on the take. It is hard to see how this situation might improve, although recently international pressure
has had some positive effect. One can only hope that changes take hold before both the magnificent rainforest and the ancient cultures housed therein are lost.
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Anyway, let me climb down off of my soapbox and get back to the story. After collecting my luggage at the tiny airport in Coca I was greeted by a fellow named Eduardo,
who was to be my guide during my stay at Yuturi Lodge. I was joined by several other people, some of whom, I later learned, were headed for Yarina Lodge,
sister to Yuturi. After Eduardo made sure he had everybody we piled ourselves and our luggage into a couple of taxis and headed for the dock. I didn't see enough
of Coca to really get much of an impression, but it struck me as your typical frontier town, with a bustling central boulevard lined with shops, people, and plenty of traffic. It actually looked like a
bit of fun. The dock was located at the Hotel Oasis, a rather dingy affair conveniently located along the north bank of the Rio Napo. A fellow traveller said he had come by bus the day before and spent the night
at a hotel next door, and found it to be quite acceptable at $15 a night. The Oasis seems to serve as the port for all of the lodges along the Rio Napo (I believe there are six), as other boats emblazoned with the names
of their destinations departed while we waited. (I later wished we had the twin motors of the Sacha Lodge boat, although they and the equally highly-regarded La Selva Lodge
are more expensive than Yuturi, and not as remote).
Next to our dock was a grounded airplane, with the words "Rumba Nautica" painted on the side, which apparently had been fashioned into a disco of sorts.
Coffee and water were made available to us while the staff took care of some business, which included fitting us for rubber boots that we were to use for the duration
of our stay at Yuturi. My feet are wider and larger than most Ecuadorians', but they had a decent selection and my pair was reasonably comfortable, and I was happy not to have to cart my own around Ecuador.
Yuturi Lodge, like most of the Napo eco-lodges, has set itineraries, either four-night or three-night packages, mostly because of the logistical difficulties of ferrying
both passengers and supplies up and down the river. We waited for over an hour to depart, which I didn't mind at all, as I picked up a couple of life birds
near the dock, and also enjoyed the local race of the widespread and familiar Blue-Gray Tanager, whose bold white wingbars came as a surprise.
When all of our gear and supplies were loaded and covered with a thick tarp we climbed into
the motorized canoe for the long (four-five hour) ride to Yuturi Lodge, about 180 kilometers
downriver from Coca. I realized after the fact that I had foolishly failed to photograph our boat; fortunately, I captured a similar craft in the foreground of the shot of the airplane/disco above.
Our boat was a bit smaller and had only a single engine, but was the same basic shape, with plastic cushions on bench seats and a tarp to keep out at least the worst of potential rain.
The ride out was fascinating; the Rio Napo is wide but very shallow, as much slow-moving floodplain as river, and our motorman often zig-zagged back and forth across the river to navigate around the muddiest spots.
As you can see from the picture at right, the Napo is a huge river, the largest in Amazonian Ecuador, and from its center there was not much to see. But we passed many river islands big and small, and when we got close
to shore we could see the homes of indigenous peoples, the aforementioned industrial compounds, a few small towns, and high earthen banks that implied that we were seeing the river at not even close to its highest level.
We passed boats from various tourist operations, small canoes paddled by locals, barges with heavy equipment, and a few motorized canoes that seemed to be local mass transit. We spotted members of the Ecuadorian army at various points, a reminder
of the somewhat contestuous relations with neighboring Peru, whose border lay farther downriver. I was surprised at how many places were
equipped with electrical lines, but Eduardo told me this service was run by generators installed by the industrial sites.
We stopped after a few hours in the tiny village of Pañacocha ("Lake of Piranhas" in the local tongue),
or at least the portion of it that lay along the river (I believe the bulk of the community lies farther inland, near an eponymous lake).
Here we stopped in a rustic general store and paid a small fee for the privilege of using an even more rustic bathroom. I enjoyed
watching a few kids play football (soccer, if you must) in the dirt "road" between the dock and a few buildings; when a deflected kick sent
the ball into the river, the nearest kid would adroitly clamber down the steep bank and nab the ball before it floated too far away.
Shortly after leaving Pañacocha we went around a large island, forced our way over a particularly shallow mudbank, and then detoured south down a tributary
of the Napo. We were now on the Rio Yuturi, and I was seeing the Amazonian ecosystem up close for the first time, an experience I shall not soon forget.
The short trip down the Rio Yuturi was actually the slowest part of the journey, as the river was very shallow, narrow, and winding, and our long canoe only made the sharp turns
by virtue of a coordinated effort between the pilot and a spotter perched at the bow. At one point we seemed to be blocked by a recently-fallen tree crossing the river;
the staff took turns hacking away with a machete at some mid-sized branches, and we all heaved at the passing trunk to help us surge past the barricade. It was jolly-good fun. (I noticed that, a day or two later, somebody
had ventured out with a chainsaw to carve a more manageable path.) Despite the excitement of the journey itself, we were all glad to see the dock of the Yuturi Lodge appear around a bend. We were
even more happy when we saw the Lodge itself, which was more interesting than any photos we had seen. Several more staff members came out to greet us and help with luggage and supplies; the only small glitch was
that they had assumed that the other solo traveller and myself were together, and had assigned us a shared cabin. This was cleared up with only a short wait while
they prepared my solo digs; if the place was full, we would have been glad to share, but as they were nowhere near capacity there seemed to be no reason to subject a virtual stranger to my snoring!
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Let me take a moment to mention my fellow guests, as well as the Ecuadorians who cared for us during my stay; I hope
I have remembered names properly, as I am writing well-after the fact. Only three other guests shared my time at Yuturi Lodge.
The aforementioned solo traveller was a gentleman named Brian, a soft-spoken big fellow from Vancouver Island, British Columbia, who was on a three-week vacation
tour covering much of Ecuador, including the Galápagos Islands. Brian grades wood for a timber company, and I was intrigued to hear his side of the story
on the matter of the lumber industry, a business that is much-demonized by the environmental movement (to which I at least partly belong), and one that is pursued in a different manner in Canada
as opposed to the U.S. (national parks in Canada, for example, are actually protected by law against resource removal).
The other guests were a newlywed couple from the Republic of Ireland, Colin and Mary (at left in the group photo),
who were taking a bold and diverse tour of Ecuador as their honeymoon. They were charming and adventuresome folks, and Colin proved
to be the most adept of us at all of the indigenous skills to which we were introduced (more about this later), prompting us to joke
that he belonged to a long-lost Ecuadorian/Irish tribe. All of my fellow guests were well-rounded and articulate, so our dinner-table discussions
were lively and enlightening. I could not have asked for better company. By the by, notice my deep neotropical tan in the photo (I am at bottom right); I look like
I'm participating in a minstrel show!
At center in the photo is our lead guide, Eduardo, originally from the Quito area. He was a rather laid-back and informal fellow, but extremely intelligent and well-versed in the workings of the fauna and flora of the Amazonian ecosystem. He admitted that he was anything but an expert birder, but he was interested in learning more, and was sharp-eyed and familiar with the larger and more flashy birds of the area, which was good enough for most of the group, all of whom had a more general interest in wildlife than my specific passion. This was not a problem for me, as I had no expectations as to having an expert bird guide present. Eduardo was knowledgable on a wide range of topics, not limited to natural history, and engaged the group with marvelous details regarding the natural functions and traditional uses of many plants, insects, and other animals. His general nature skills were on a par with any guide I have yet encountered. 
Eduardo was assisted by a charming young fellow named Franklin (pictured at left staring up at the biggest tree I've ever seen);
at least that's what they told us- I've been surprised before at the anglo-style names assigned to people in Latin America, so who knows?
Franklin has a Latino father and a Quichua mother (more about the Quichua later), and had the good looks of someone blessed
with the best features of both ethnic groups. He wore a constant smile, and was possessed of exceptional woodsman's skills.
He spoke not a word of English, but my limited Spanish was enough to facilate our direct conversation, and although he did not know the common names of most birds, his eyes were so sharp
that he was usually the first person to see a cryptically-perched bird (although I was proud to trump him a few times). I would have been delighted if
I had more skilled birding guides present, but Eduardo and Franklin were so observant and so willing to work with me that I hardly suffered for a lack of assistance.
Not to mention the sharp eyes of my fellow travellers; none of them were birders, but they were keenly aware of their surroundings, and each one could be credited with
noticing at least one bird that I might have otherwise overlooked. I'd like to think that I gave them even more back.
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As I mentioned earlier, Yuturi Lodge is surrounded by two major Amazonian forest types, terra firme (the solid ground upon which the Lodge sits) and
varzea, seasonally flooded forest which was, at the time of my visit, entirely under water. Our daily hiking trips, naturally, took place on solid ground, but we paddled
in our canoes through varzea every day. In the pictures above, typical varzea is at left, and terra firme (with varzea plants in the foreground) at right. Besides the differences
in light and color, one can see the difference in the size and type of vegetation.
At right is a close-up of the varzea vegetation; the palm trees in the foreground are uniquely adapted to the environment, with downward-facing spines evolved to
frustrate the efforts of all but the most skilled fruit thieves. Consequently a number of species will raise their young in these well-defended riverside trees, facing increased aerial attacks but little
threat from below. For a more thourough and articulate description of the function of these different forest types, please refer to
John Kricher's seminal work, A Neotropical Companion.
Our daily scheduled activities gave us a good look at both major habitat-types; on two of our three full mornings we took a field trip in a pair of small canoes, thankfully with Franklin and Eduardo providing the propulsion. We paddled slowly through the flooded varzea until we disembarked at the heads of narrow, muddy trails that extended deep into terra firme forest. One day we stayed out long enough to have lunch in the forest (sandwiches, fruit, and beverages carried by our guides), on the other we returned to the lodge to dine. The paths we followed were often barely-discernible, more customarily used by local indigenous peoples to hunt, forage, or as access to small villages. And, although we were on 'terra firme', the trails were anything but dry, 
and we often struggled through mud or crossed streams via narrow and slippery logs (such a crossing is pictured at left). Eduardo entertained the group with natural historylectures regarding the identity and function of many
neotropical plants and animals; he was obviously well-versed on such subjects, but, as I have enjoyed such lessons many times in the past (heck, I've delivered a few myself), I was eager to separate myslef
from the modest noise of the group so I might patiently seek out birds. On our first hike I asked Eduardo if they were hiking on more or less a straight line, so that I could linger behind and still catch up in time for lunch;
he said that there were a few possible turns ahead, but that Franklin could break off a branch to block a turn that I should not take. I waited far enough behind until I could
no longer hear the voices of the group, and commenced birding at a rather slow pace (uncharacteristic for me, as I tend to move at a good clip). I noticed that at one point Franklin doubled back to make sure I was still on track,
and I waved him off to assure him that I was okay. At a couple of trail junctions I followed Franklin's signs, but mostly I followed the western-stye boot prints and occasional voices lifting over the jungle sound.
I knew they were stopping for lunch at about 11:30, and when I found the group I approached their location quietly, and emerged from the forest from but a few meters away, seeming to surprise even the local guides. From this point on they did
not worry that I might get lost. I don't claim to be an expert in jungle fieldcraft, but I can follow tracks, and I am capable of being nearly silent when left on my own- my Panamanian friends get a kick out of my self-description as 'sneaky'.
A couple of gimmicky but interesting activities were scheduled for our late afternoons (allowing time for a good siesta after lunch). We all took a shot at using a blowgun, a hollow piece of bamboo that serves as
the traditional weapon of the local indigenous peoples (I'm pictured at right, doing my worst). We aimed a sharpened piece of wood at a grapefruit posted at a distance of perhaps five meters; truly skilled local hunters can hit a monkey high in a tree
from at least 25 meters, perhaps more. I had a hard time with the balance of the bamboo, and felt lucky to hit the board a couple of times; Colin, our Irish/Ecuadorian tribesman, hit the fruit 3 out of 4 times! Franklin, although suffering from a cold, stepped back to double
our firing distance, and nailed the same percentage. Another evening we went piranha fishing; three species of piranhas can be found in the waters around Yuturi Lodge- Eduardo swore that none were known to attack humans, and that it was safe to swim in the river (I have to believe that
he was correct- eco-lodges are not often successful when their guests are occasionally eaten by carnivorous fish!). We paddled out to a quiet spot at dusk, and attached chunks of meat to our stick-and-string rods and tossed them into the river; needless to say, Colin was the only winner,
catching a small piranha on his first try (but none thereafter). It was actually a rather dull activity, but the evening on the water
was so beautiful that we really didn't mind.
Our other major field trip entailed a long boat ride back out to the junction of the Rio Napo, and then upstream for a couple of stops, one of which was a large island, the other an indigenous village along the shore. I will now digress once again to discuss the people of this village, and a bit of their origins. |
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The indigenous peoples of the upper Amazon are often referred to as simply 'Quichua', a term that is somewhat broadly
applied to the peoples of both the highlands and lowlands. The groups included in this name are actually members of different tribes
and quite diverse cultures. Eduardo confused me by referring to describing some tribes as belonging to the Quichua group and others
by distinct tribal names. He at least acknowledged their diversity by explaining that certain neighboring Quichua groups spoke
different languages; I'll certainly need to study more to sort out the relationships between the various indigenous cultures of the region.
The term 'Quichua' itself is a misnomer; it is a Spanish name for the official language of the Inka Empire (I use the proper spelling of
the culture here- most readers will have only seen 'Inca', which is erroneous), a language more properly known as 'Runa Simi'. Still, the use of
the term Quichua is so pervasive that many of the people to whom it refers (especially those in close contact with the Latino majority) use it in self-description;
my use of the term here is a matter of literary convenience, and is not intended to reflect the diversity and complexity of Ecuador's many extant indigneous cultures.
We visited a village on the south bank of the Rio Napo, one that was clearly accustomed to visiting tourists. Yuturi Lodge is situated on indigenous lands and, besides the sharing of profits, part of the arrangement between the lodge proprietors and the landowners is that most employees are locals, and that tour groups visit a village both for their own edification and for the opportunity to purchase handmade crafts. Several small children ran up to greet us almost as soon as we tied up our canoes, and, as no adults were present, the oldest of them escorted us to the common room of a thatch and bamboo house which contained a few handicrafts for sale. Unfortunately, another group of tourists had recently passed through and cleaned them out of all of the woven bags and other textiles that I was looking forward to purchasing (good for the village, bad for us), and our selections were limited largely to blowguns, spears, and other instruments of combat! 
I couldn't think of a way to get the larger items through customs, let alone in one piece, so I settled for a nicely-crafted
wooden knife (I wanted to buy something). After our brief shopping stop we walked farther down the shore to the handsome private home pictured at left.
The ornamental plantings (I forget the plant's name) lining the entry path are traditional and considered a symbol of hospitality.
The house itself is fabricated from a mix of thatch, tin, bamboo, and milled timber, and small piles of wood for patchwork purposes were lying about the property.
The house was on stilts; although it sat well-back from the river, and well-above the high water line, the Rio Napo no doubt experiences occasional surges, and rainwater
flowing into the river no doubt would be a hazard to a ground-level structure.
Various fowl and even a domesticated parrot occupied the yards, along with an assortment of plants that served various purposes for the family (one was achiote, a
favorite seasoning in the region, the juice from which provided a nice, bright red dye, which Franklin was happy to apply to his face).
One of the staple crops planted here and around the village was yucca (also known as manioc or cassava), a hardy root vegetable native to the Americas. The yucca
root is harvested by the Quichua at various ages for various purposes (as I recall from 3 months to 15 months), and the villagers constantly maintained plots at different stages of growth so that a ready supply of the crop
was constantly available for any need. One of the uses of yucca is as the base for chicha, a fermented beverage traditionally created by masticating the yucca and spitting it into pots, on the theory that enzymes in the saliva
help the fermentation process (contemporary Quichua generally have accepted that the mastication is unneccesary). Chicha is traditionally served as a form of welcome to all guests to any Quichua home, and we were handed
a bowl of the briny, chunky liquid from which to take a sip. I found it bitter and unpleasant, but I appreciated the gesture; Franklin, himself half-Quichua, happily enjoyed many sips as a broad smile formed across his face. We teased
him for the rest of the day that he was drunk from the chicha (especially when he made minor navigational errors while piloting our boat!). We were
led into an open common room, which adjoined sleeping quarters and a large kitchen; the kitchen apparently was reserved for hosting family and other village members, and in fact the family had other guests at the time of our visit.
The common room was sparsely furnished, with only a long wooden bench and a small table or two. A couple of posters advertising a political candidate decorated the walls; the man pictured apparently was a very wealthy Ecuadorian of dubious character
who had run for President three times, and who was constitutionally prohibited from giving it a fourth try. He apparently was quite bitter about his failure to buy political power, but Ecuadorians can be thankful that an individual
so blatantly beholden to the interests of big industry had not managed to seize the reigns of power. I did not take the presence of his propaganda in this family's home to indicate
support, but I think they were simply making use of a colorful and free piece of wallpaper.
Only the patriarch of the home came out to visit us (and to serve us chicha), a quiet but friendly fellow named Rafael.
We all introduced ourselves and told him where we were from- I have no doubt that it was quite interesting to the villagers to know how far many of us had travelled to visit their home.
Eduardo told us a bit about Rafael's home and his people, and then the latter shared a piece of traditional music. The music was part of a traditional wedding dance, and Colin and Mary were kind
enough to give their best try at a traditional dance (I have the whole entertaining episode on video). Rafael played a flute-like wind instrument crafted from the bone of a Harpy Eagle; Eduardo was quick to point out that the instrument was
probably about 50 years-old, and I must respect the fact that every part of the bird was used for one purpose or another, even as my heart laments at the harvesting of such a rare and beautiful species.
Rafael was accompanied by the best efforts of Franklin on a small drum, I believe one made from the skin of a peccary. The music was dissonant to my ears, which are more acclimated to a different sort
of rhythm and melody, but it was energetic and strangely beautiful. I am grateful for having heard it. The whole experience at Rafael's
home was pleasant and enlightening, and we all gladly tossed a few dollars into the proverbial hat at the end of our stay.
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Our visit to the Quichua village gave us the chance to view another habitat-type; secondary forest. Generally speaking, this term describes
the forest around populated areas that has been distinctly altered to serve human needs.
This is not necessarily a bad thing; human impact can take many forms, from the high-impact
(logging, mining, large-scale agriculture, sustinence-hunting) to more modest impacts (light farming, selective logging. fruit harvesting, the foraging of semi-domestic animals). Some species of birds and other animals
have adapted quite well to the partially-cleared secondary forest. After leaving the village we visited a large mid-river island known as "Monkey Island (Isla de los Monos)", where a local conservation group
was reintroducing a troupe of the locally-endangered Woolly Monkey (Lagothrix sp.), which I would assume to be the local species, Common Woolly Monkey, although the animals were quite dark and could have represented the more localized
Yellow-tailed Woolly Monkey of Peru, or some form of intergrade. Woolly Monkey populations in Amazonian Ecuador have been largely diminished by subsistence hunting; during our blowgun exercise we were informed that
this large primate was a favorite target of indigenous hunters, and known for its succulent meat. It seems unlikely that the small indigenous population could exert enough pressure to significantly reduce the monkeys' numbers; bush-hunting
by large numbers of workers exported by the extractive industries likely initiated a more precipitous decline. The large river islands of the Napo, the Amazon, and all of her tributaries are distinct eco-systems in and of themselves, hosting many species
of wildlife that are completely or virtually unknown from the mainland, and I wish I'd had more time to explore this environment. As it stood, we struggled to even get onshore; several meters of knee-deep mud lay between our boat and dry land. Franklin
slogged his way onshore, took his machete to a few large branches, and laid them as a path of sorts; it was still quite an adventure to get ashore (and back to the boat). The monkeys, certainly quite handsome animals, were found within seconds of reaching shore,
so I asked the guides if I could safely follow the island's trails in search of birds. They decided that Franklin would
accompany me; as it turned out, I didn't really need the guidance, but his company was welcome, as his sharp eyes helped me locate
a few new species of birds, including the spectacular Scarlet-crowned and Gilded Barbets. I will have to make it a point to spend more quality
time on the river islands on future visits to the region.
We also enjoyed a couple of night excursions, once hiking by torchlight in the trails behind the Lodge, and once canoeing around the river a bit. On the latter tour we found only a couple of Black Caimans (a smallish crocodile) and a couple of roosting Common Pauraques (a widespread nocturnal bird). The walking tour was more rewarding- Colin once again demonstrated his acumen, finding numerous spiders, insects, and other invertebrates in the light of his torch. The most thrilling moment came when I was nearly surprised out of my boots by a spooked, unidentified owl that flew right past my head- Colin was a few meters away, and said that he, too, was caught off-guard by the loud wingbeats. Most of the nocturnal avian life remained unseen; a pair of Spectacled Owls often greeted the dawn from across the river, and Great, Common, and Long-tailed Potoos lent their distinct and striking voices to the chorus at dawn and dusk (the latter was never seen, and thus is not on my Life List, although it was certainly present). 
Aside from a multitude of birds (discussed below), a number of non-avian species graced us with their presence. Am amphibian species referred to only as "Common Toad"
(pictured at left) was seen everywhere, along with an assortment of small lizards, anoles, salamanders, and other creepy-crawlies that I could not identify without a trained
herpetologist on hand (or a good book on the subject- neither option was available). I don't recall seeing a single snake, something of a disappointment, as magnificent anacondas inhabit
the region. Contrary to the popular image of the explorer-shaped bulge in the belly of a giant snake, anacondas are not known to consume human beings. Eduardo did share a perhaps-apocryphal local legend of a Quichua
swimmer who was unfortunate enough to encounter a desperate and starving anaconda, but even if the tale is true it is considered the only such occurrence in many generations.
The poison dart frog pictured at right offered some entertainment; the neurotoxin on its skin is perhaps the most lethal poison found in nature, but Franklin carefully cornered and picked up the sedentary critter; it promptly hopped out
of his hand and bounced off of Mary's arm, prompting her (understandably) to react as if shot. We all shared a good laugh, although every one of us probably would have reacted in the same manner if we had been in her shoes!
Other sightings on non-avian wildlife were few and far between; aside from the Woolly Monkeys, the only primates spotted were several large troupes of Common Squirrel Monkeys Saimiri sciureus seen in passing along the river. The other mammalian highlight was Giant Otter Pteronura brasiliensis, an enormous version of our familiar and playful North American species, one which can reach lengths of over 6 feet from head to tip of tail! Ginat Otters are rather shy, and sensitive to any disturbance in their home waters (such as the noise of oars dipping into the water), so it took alert eyes to spot them before they dove and disappeared into the tangles of the varzea. Brian proved to be our top "otter spotter', and we enjoyed three or four good looks at these magnificent creatures (according to Eduardo much better than average), once even watching one come up with a large fish. |
I had to work quite hard to find the birds around the Yuturi Lodge, for a number of reasons:
This having been said, I was actually delighted with the number of birds I managed to spot on my first trip to the Amazon. I had, in fact, spent many hours studying Yuturi's checklist and cross-referencing the brilliant two-volume Birds of Ecuador by Ridgely and Greenfield. 
But the real key was that I found ways to spend solo time working at my own pace and with no agenda other than finding birds.
In the early hours of the afternoon I took advantage of unstructured time to take a canoe out for a spin, being careful to stay close to the main channel leading back to the Lodge.
Despite the difficulty of controlling the canoe, I added several life birds and species of interest on these aquatic jaunts, including the common Speckled Chachalaca, the enigmatic Zigzag Heron, the shy Sungrebe,
five species of kingfisher, including the elusive Green-and Rufous (several times), Spot-breasted and (the stunning) Cream-colored Woodpeckers,
the bizarre Bare-neched Fruitcrow, the huge and stunning Violaceous Jay, several lovely Red-capped Cardinals, and many tanagers including
Fulvous Shrike-Tanager and Masked Crimson Tanager. I also enjoyed the tranquility of the river, the cove formed by the overhanging tree pictured at right being a favorite spot
(I found my first Amazonian Streaked Antwren in the tangles of this tree). The images below were all captured from my canoe,
which generally accounts for their poor quality. From left to right: the common Crimson-crested Woodpecker; another common bird, Russet-backed Oropendola
(click here to hear a brief recording of this bird's fascinating call);
my very first White-eared Jacamars, a fairly uncommon species anywhere in its range.
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| I also discovered that a series of trails behind the Lodge led deep into terra firme, and spent every spare minute wandering these trails. It was here that I managed to spot and identify a number of cryptic antbirds, most of which were essentially gray in plumage. I worked hard on these birds, and confirmed each and every one of my identifications by employing playback (I did have a complete set of antbird recordings on hand). I also stumbled across such gems as Great-billed and Straight-billed Hermits, Green-and-gold Tanager, Wing-barred Piprites, Cinnamon-throated Woodcreeper, and a spectacular male Wire-tailed Manakin, which was close enough that I should have collected video, but I fumbled with the camera in my excitement. The Quechua village yielded a few birds not seen elsewhere, including Black-billed Thrush and Drab Water-Tyrant, and the broad expanse of the Rio Napo had its own specialties, including Sand-colored Nighthawk, Large-billed Tern, Pied Plover, White-banded Swallow, Velvet-fronted Grackle, and the spectacular Oriole Blackbird. Casual study of the treetops around Yuturi Lodge itself rewarded me with a few more species, including Lettered Aracari, White-throated Toucan, Thrush-like Wren, Black-fronted Nunbird, and Rufous-bellied Euphonia. I wish the Lodge had hummingbird or fruit feeders set up, as I imagine that a number of species might be seen more easily with these in place, and I suspect Yuturi might move in this direction as word spreads and more birders come to visit. I only scratched the surface of the birding potential of the area, and I have every intention of making a return trip, perhaps with a little better preparation! |
| No description of a visit to Tandayapa is complete without mention of one of the most remarkable species of birds in the world, the unique Hoatzin. This monotypic species is perhaps most closely-related to the cuckoos, but really belongs in a class by itself. In the classic book Birds of Tropical America Steven Hilty described the Hoatzin as "half-bird, half spare parts," as succinct a description as can be applied to this bizarre creature. Hoatzins have a large crest of feathers, blue facial skin, and showy black, white, and rufous patterns on the body. Young birds have a vestigial claw on their wings, which they use to climb out of the water after diving out of their nests to elude potential predators. Hoatzins are very social, and were seen often in large groups along the river's edge. constantly emitting their strange grunting call (click here for my decent recording of a group of barking Hoatzins). The Hoatzins aroung Yuturi Lodge seemed quite unafraid of humans, although occasionally I crossed the line and approached a group too closely, at which point they awkwardly crashed into a slightly-more-distant perch. The Hoatzins also seemed to like our thatch huts, and in the early morning I was often awakened by the sound of several of these huge birds clambering about the roof of my hut while grunting away (I got used to it). There are not words to describe this fascinating species; I'll let the pictures below speak for themselves. |
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Here's the data on the species of birds seen on my first trip to Ecuador:
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| I was essentially happy with both of my main accomodations, although Yuturi Lodge stood out in terms of how well they managed under difficult logistical circumstances. I would visit either location again, given the opportunity, although there are more choices available in the foothills that merit a look. I was pleasantly surprised by the city of Quito, and would like to explore it a bit more. Ecuadorians in general were quite hospitable, and I was particularly impressed with the quality and clarity of their spoken Spanish; I was able to communicate in my second language much more easily than in most other countries I have visited. The trip was an unqualified success, and a splendid introduction to the South American continent, and has only left me wanting more! |
Still, this room was perfecly comfortable and very private, and it was blessed with abundant hot water. I snuck a peek at the rooms
in the main lodge, and they were quite nicely appointed. For some reason I failed to take any photos of the Lodge
except for that of the hummingbird feeders at right. Check out 
or stones laid down, and even occasional hand rails. I was pleased to find a plastic lawn chair waiting for me at a nice vista along the toughest trail, the Toucan Trail, and thought it was such
a good idea that I wish they'd tossed around a few more! Besides the hummingbird feeders there was also a fruit feeder outside the common area; to be honest it didn't attract much except a fat Red-tailed Squirrel
and an occasional Blue-winged Mountain-Tanager. The proper placement of fruit feeders is a tricky thing, and it was obvious to me that
this was not a priority at Tandayapa. This was too bad, because there are so many tanagers in the area that it would have been nice to have a shot at seeing some without killing
my neck staring at treetops! There was a lower viewing platform as well, with a nice view of a part of the valley, and although I did
not have much luck there I think it could be productive. I also rather liked the Hide, basically a tin shack with a screen on
one wall, and an ultraviolet light burning constantly to attract insects and, in turn, birds. I saw Immaculate Antbird and White-throated Quail-Dove
there every morning, and once a Spotted Barbtail came in to give me an unusually close look. The area around the Hide, which included a small vista, was also excellent,
and good for Lineated Foliage-Gleaner, Bronze-olive Pygmy-Tyrant, and, one morning, Olive Finch, a very tough bird to find in this area.
I also enjoyed walking both up and down the Nono/Mindo Road, both directions yielding different birds, and the latter offering splendid vistas of the
valley (not to mention the unlikely pairing of a tarantula and a huge wasp pictured at right, each of which was
about three inches in length!). One day I took a boxed lunch and walked all the way to
Tandayapa Pass, past the rather touristy but well-situated Bellavista Lodge, to an elevation of 2350m. I figured the hike to be about 15 kilometers round-trip, with
an elevation gain of about 700 meters. I made the uphill hike in about 4.5 hours, not bad considering that I was stopping often for birds, moving at what I call the Speed
of Birding (S.O.B.). 
At left is what seemed to be the most abundant species of butterfly along the road; I was intrigued when I would come upon clusters of a few dozen butterflies sitting on the road. They were
invariably siting atop a dead creature of some sort, and I wonder if they were feeding or depositing larvae in a food source.
In general I spent most of my days walking up and down hills of one sort or another, and consequently felt limber and slim by the end of my stay at Tandayapa. I kicked the short-lived cold
by the end of my first full day there, mostly by sleeping a lot and keeping my first hikes to easy ones.
to find every day. I saw most of the flashier "must-see" birds of the valley, including the magnificent Andean Cock-of-the-Rock pictured
at left. This bird has the size and posture of a chicken, but is almost completely arboreal; I called this bird in with playback of its mating song, and although it
is a bit distant in this photo, the bright colors shine like the sun. I did not even hear an antpitta, which was a disappointment, and raptors made a poor showing overall, although I did not spend much of the prime hours
with my eyes cast upward. I did very well with furnariids, woodcreepers, woodpeckers, warblers, and tanagers, and reasonably well
with the many difficult flycatchers in the area. I missed a view species defined by the checklist as common, but in most cases it was because I did not visit appropriate
habitat (and some of the relatively common species are more easily heard than seen, a personal requirement for a life bird).
I also picked up quite a few of the truly rare species in the area, although nothing that was off-the-charts. Along the way
I picked up my 1300th life bird, a female White-bellied Emerald found along Nono/Mindo Road, below Tandayapa Village. The species on either side of the milestone
were actually more glamorous, the male and female Torrent Duck pictured at right (a hard find) and a stunning male Red-headed Barbet. But the hummingbird was satisfying in that
I spotted a tiny bright spot atop a dead branch at some distance, and then knew the field marks of the species well enough to identify it.
Hummingbirds were in general the highlight of this part of the trip; on my first day, between Yanacocha and the feeders at Tandayapa, I saw an astounding 21 species of hummingbird for the
first time! Several more species were added in the forest and at the higher elevations. Rather than go into great detail regarding these birds, I'd like to share a handful of stills from video
of these splendid and diverse creatures.
"Mitad del Mundo", or Middle of the World, the monument (pictured at right) placed on the Equator. That the monument is actually a few meters off is not important...
When we approached the valley containing this attraction, I noticed immediately the dust blowing around us; the residents of the area have removed virutally every tree
in sight, and it was really quite appalling. The driver informed me that the proper name of the town is San Lorenzo (if I remember
correctly), but most people know it as Mitad del Mundo. I cannot think of one reason I would ever go back to this hellhole,
not even to enjoy the gimmicky attractions at the monument that demonstrate that water flows in different directions in opposite hemispheres (which is categorically
false). We passed a few military schools, and the driver wondered why, after eleven years of peace, they were preparing for war.
We also passed a shiny new American-style shopping mall, and we both remarked how needless it seemed in a country that is so poor (I've thought the
same thing in Panamá). All in all I think I learned more about Ecuador from this man than at any other point in my trip. He dropped me
at Fuente de Piedra I (and handed me a business card for a family-run hotel- every cab driver in Latin America seems to be affiliated with a family-run
hotel). The nonsense with being in the wrong hotel I have described earlier; eventually I found time that evening to enjoy Quito's social scene, and to prepare for
my trip to the Amazon.
The Yuturi is a narrow, meandering river that passes through stunningly beautiful habitat, with no sign of human presence. Both of the
major forest types of the Amazon, terra firme and varzea, are found here, often on opposite banks of the river.
At left is a striking patch of varzea, a seasonally flooded forest with distinct vegetation and wildlife.
Terra firme, as the name implies, is above the water level at all times, although
it is still a very wet habitat (most of lowland Ecuador receives upwards of 200 inches of rain annually, no less than 8 inches in any given month).
Each habitat type is occupied by its own particular species, most notably, for me anyway, those
of the avian variety. Many species that may be common in one habitat type are entirely absent in the other,
even if that habitat lies only a 20-foot flight away across the river.
The extreme avian specialization means, of course, that plants, insects, and other life forms are equally if not more uniquely adapted to each habitat.
For a birder this demands a knowledge of the forest-type associated with each bird, and oftentimes a tricky identification
problem can be solved with virtual certainty by the location in which the bird in question was found.
Yuturi Lodge has, if I remember correctly, eight guest cabañas (pictured at left), well-constructed thatch and bamboo huts, each of which could sleep 2-3 persons.
Various other huts housed the staff and served as service buildings for miscellaneous purposes (these huts are behind me and to the left in the photo, out of sight).
A commmon "big house" (below at left) was lounge, dining area, and bar wrapped into one, with the kitchen taking up part of the space. Solid wooden stairs led to an observation
deck at the top, although the deck provided nothing much but a broader view of the generally level area. The common area contained a couple of long tables for dining, several hammocks,
and a table with maps and a handful of books and magazines clearly left by previous guests (much to my amusement, those magazines with photos of scantily-clad
models [Latin American fashion magazines show nudity] had clearly been scanned frequently by the staff and their guests). My cabin itself (pictured below at right), though rustic,
was quite comfortable; the bamboo and thatch construction was solid and thoroughly waterproof. I had a porch with a hammock, although I mostly dried hand-laundry there.
Two of the three single beds in my room were made up, with mosquito nets hung above all of them; in the evening hours I lived behind this net, which is why I miraculously survived
my stay in the Amazon with virtually no insect bites. I had a private bathroom with a warm (not hot) water shower, at least when the generator was on. The generator was smartly placed
well-away from the guest cabins, so I wasn't choking on diesel fumes, although the wiring strung loosely across the grounds was a bit dubious to this professional electrician. They ran the generator first thing in the morning and for a few hours
before bedtime, which allowed for good light while preparing for bed and ample time to recharge the batteries on my various electronic devices. A few wicker shelves were the only furniture in the room, but it seemed clean and spacious to me.
I never found spiders or scorpions dropping out of the thatch, although I did have to shake out a few large cockroaches, probably unavoidable in this remote and wild region. I was never
bothered by insects, flying or crawling, while I relaxed under the netting. I was amused that the grass around the lodge seemed neatly-maincured, which seemed out of place in the overgrown terrain,
but I realize that this was directly intended to keep large insects, snakes, and other critters away from the cabins, and in this regard the effort was entirely successful.
The staff of the Lodge occasionally engaged in small-scale football matches on the back of the grounds; I was a bit annoyed by the commotion at first, but quickly decided
I should not begrudge them their recreational diversion. If I'd had proper shoes on hand I might have joined them!
On the whole, I would say that the grounds were rustic but artfully-crafted, and
I can't imagine anyone but the most demanding traveller being anything but delighted by the level of comfort provided. The staff also did an incredible job
of preparing tasty and imaginative meals; we were served a mix of items clearly ferried in from town to fruits and veggies gleaned from the local forest. Rice and beans were served with every meal, but yucca and even pasta
provided other grains, and chicken and beef were on the menu. The culinary highlight came one afternoon when we saw a local fisherman at the dock tossing a four-foot-long catfish out of his canoe; we dined on fresh and succulent fish that evening.
Coffee and potable water were available at all times, and a cold beer was always available for a modest price in the fridge (next time I'll bring a bottle or two of wine!). On the whole I found the food to be outstanding, especially in comparison with
the unimaginative fare served at Tandayapa Lodge, and especially considering how far in advance the staff had to plan the transport of supplies.