Tenemos Sed No Mas

I've come to realize that the longer I go without something the more I appreciate it. I have been in the jungle for about six weeks now and my list of things that fall under this category is getting longer. My travels have certainly taken me to more remote places than this, places like the Yukon Delta in Alaska and the Frank Church Wilderness in Idaho, but never for this long. Those short five-day trips were experienced knowing that pizza and running water were just a few days away, if not less. Cusuco, on the other hand, has been a comparative marathon of simplistic living, and I am definitely looking forward to some modern conveniences in the near future.

Don't get me wrong, though- I am a fan of simple living and being outdoors as often as I can. In a month and a half I haven't heard a car horn, a telephone ring, or the sound of a television, and that’s been wonderful. I have slept solidly almost every night, a claim I cannot always make back home, and I have breathed nothing but fresh forest air this entire time. On the other hand, I miss spitting into a sink instead of a sand-filled bucket, warm showers (I would be ecstatic with lukewarm water at this point), being able to eat whatever I want, whenever I want, sleeping in a bed, not sharing four toilets with dozens of strangers, having electricity all day, and not having to walk across a path of cinder blocks without falling in the mud on my way to piss in a plastic pipe that has bees in and around it.

I find it amusing to hear students and volunteers make the same complaints I've just made after only a few days, and to hear the high-pitched shrieks from guys and gals alike as they endure a frigid introduction to the showers. Having been at Base Camp longer than nearly everyone, including most of the staff who are constantly heading to other camps, I feel compelled to give newcomers a Grandpa Speech: "I remember when I first got here- no meat for a few days is tolerable, but after a week without beef you'll start hallucinating and getting the shakes. Oh, and you think the 3-mile walk back from Buenos Aires is tough? When I got here, it was 5 miles and uphill in both directions."

As I said in one of my earlier posts, fighting boredom is one of the biggest challenges here, especially at night. The folks in charge do their best to keep us entertained with movies and presentations on various topics (a duty which I have narrowly but successfully avoided so far), but the same routine every nght can only yield so much fun. Sure, there is the occasional card game (I taught one of the medics how to play cribbage), soccer with the locals (guess who wins?), some music trading (I've gotten thousands of songs from three different iPods since I've been here), and the book I just started isn't bad. But, again, these little activities can only produce so much satisfaction. Fortunately for us, there is booze.

Let's face it- alcohol hasn't been around for several thousand years because it's NOT fun. There's no getting around it- drinnking is a blast. What's that, you say? You have nothing to do tonight? Then let's get some beer. Keeping with that tradition, I have observed a certain progression in the perception of and interaction with alcohol here. It goes something like this:

1. Evidently we can get a away with "a couple quiet ones" down in the village since it is on the buffer zone of the park. My first visit there I managed to suck down five beers without a problem. Yes, there was the imminent 3-mile uphill walk back to Base Camp, but it was worth every step.

2. Dude, I wonder if we could sneak a few cans back from B.A.? Turns out, we could. A small group of my English friends smuggled up a good fourteen or so beers back from the village and we polished them off that night. Unfortunately, due to an unanticipated tent occupancy inventory, the stash of cans was found before I could clean it up the next day. Whoops!

3. We should probably keep this confined to our little group. Or not. Instead, let's see how many people we can cram into a two- or three-man tent for an evening of drinking. Turns out, you can fit eight adults, a small set of speakers, and a backpack full of beer that I had gradually accumulated.

4. No way, someone scored a bottle of rum?? Beer is cool, but liquor would be ideal since it involves less cleanup and, consequently, less risk of getting caught. And, shit, it's a lot more effective at getting the job done than beer, and can even be consumed in public if enough pineapple juice or coke is mixed in.

5. OK, so now anyone can get rum, almost any day of the week. It's not available in B.A. since the locals evidently don't handle it well (I was told that the machetes eventually come out, which generally isn't conducive to a quality party). Fortunately for the well-being of Base Camp, a local entrepreneur who initially sold only hand-made bracelets and necklaces eventually expanded his product line to include $10 bottles of rum, which is likely a huge rip-off, but I've happily bought two bottles so far.

6. Joe's going-away party- one of the key players in the Opwall/Cusuco effort was our man Joe, who has been part of the organization for years but recently left for a job in the Dominican Republic. Before he left, however, we managed to squeeze in a great going-away party, complete with a BBQ that included... beef! And what's a BBQ without beverages? At the beginning of the night I quietly, sneakily sipped on my rum and pineapple, but gradually watched the scene turn into a full-on party. Damn near everyone, including staff, students, and volunteers, seemed to have a drink in hand. And not just rum- people were actually drinking cans of Salva Vida in front of the main office. Yes, this was a one-time thing, but I think it fits neatly into my list as number 6.

7. ???? I'm not sure what could top the party. Maybe we will get a keg and a bartender and some strippers next time? Who knows, but I am looking forward to it.

Walking with Jesus

With the exception of walking to the village of Buenos Aires, we are always required to be accompanied by a local guide. These guys are great, and I am glad they are here, not only because they protect us from the variety of harms of the jungle such as snakes and individuals of various illegal enterprises, but they are also the main source of cultural wealth amidst a steady sea of gringos and an easily accessible, and patient, means by which we can practice our Spanish.

The guides, or guias in Spanish, come in a variety of personalities, ages (one can't be much more than fourteen) and names, including Santiago, Antonio, Manuel, and Jesus, but they all share some certain commonalities, the most obvious of these being the ever-present machetes. The long, sharp knives never leave the guides' sight, and are used for everything from personal safety to hacking down vines obstructing forest trails. The blades are kept in prime condition using sharpening stones, a process from which I've seen emerge blood from the guide's hand after a subtle slip. But, instead of pausing to get cleaned up, the guy just keep sharpening, blood and all, with the same wide grin he had when he started.

Another common trait most of the guides share is their physical appearance and condition. With few exceptions, I would say that most of the guias stand only around five and a half feet tall, which may not sound like a stature worthy of protecting large groups of people, but the lack of height is also accompanied by a complete lack of fat. If you look up the word "lean" in the dictionary, you will find a photo of our guides next to it. These guys can hike all day, every day, with comparatively little water and even less complaining. And, in addition to endurance, our amigos are surprisingly strong- i've seen them routiney carrying a bundle of sixteen small mammal traps on one shoulder, and another guy actually carrying a generator on his back. Some of the guides will come back from a fast 90-minute "hike" that more closely resembles a jog, and still find the energy to play a game of soccer.

I recently visited my first forest camp, Cantiles, and came back in the same day. There are certainly more difficult trails here, but the camino to Cantiles is far from easy with its slippery, narrow tracks so steep in spots that guide ropes have been installed. The last stretch in particular contains such trails, and takes a good 35 minutes, at a good pace, on the return trip. A few weeks ago, however, there was a snake bite "drill" (I use quotes because the test went so far that the snake bite "actress" actually got an I.V. in her arm and was almost airlifted unnecessarily out of the forest due to some communication issues). During the drill one of the guides, Chico, was required to run from Cantiles to the radio repeater at the top of the hill in order to get a signal. Under the impression that a life was at stake, Chico selflessly shaved the normal thirty-five minutes into a superhuman sixteen. No one is sure how he did it.

Another commonality of many guides is the size of their families. Like much of Latin America, Honduras is very, very Catholic, and hence in opposition to birth control methods. Evidently at Opwall's marine sites, some locals expressed serious discontent when they found out that the medic stocked condoms and morning-after pills. That said, you can imagine how big families get here- I heard one of our guides has nine kids!.

In terms of families, it's not just the size but the closeness that the guides seem to share as well. Money is not distributed solely within the immediate family, nor is living space. On one of our return trips from the village of Buenos Aires, one guide, Juan, invited three of us in for coffee, an extremely generous offer considering many guides make a mere $3 a day from what I've heard. The coffee was awesome- possibly grown within a couple of kilometers from where we were drinking it, and prepared hot, fresh, and with lots of sugar (I think the generosity of the act added to the flavor as well). In the time it took me to drink my cup, I might have met Juan's mother, sister or sister-in-law, sons, daughters, nieces, and nephews in one little house. Juan's daughter, not quite two years old yet, was possibly the cutest little girl I'd ever seen. For most of our visit she stared up at me with big Latin eyes and kept hitting my knee with her bottle.

The coffee invite was, hands-down, the best cultural experience I've had in Honduras, perhaps anywhere, and I look forward to the next one.

Critters

Cusuco National Park, and the tropics in general, are home to an incredible diversity of plants and wildlife. The year-round heat and humidity, combined with intense seasonal bursts of rainfall, create the perfect recipe from which life can flourish. Some species are ubiquitous throughout the region, but many are so specialized in their habitats that they are found nowhere else on earth. Cusuco alone has several of these species, including at least one type of tree along with several frogs that exist only within the park's boundaries.

In my short time here I have already seen an amazing variety of snakes. One kind, a parrot snake, is bright green and climbs effortlessly in a vertical motion through the branches of the forest. Another snake looks identical to the highly venomous coral snake found here, but is only colored this way as a mimic to fool predators. A third snake, a blond something or other (insert blond joke here), is so strong that it can extend a third of its body length straight out from a branch without bending. And one of my more recent snake encounters was with one that actually eats scorpions.

In addition to the snakes here, I have also seen some interesting insects and arachnids. The other day someone found a small tarantula, and I've also seen some other large spiders a little closer than I'd like, with one in the bathroom and one above my tent.

As for insects, I have frequent battles with small ants that make their way into my tent, and less confrontational encounters with large beetles, some dung, some scarub, that are often colored bright green and/or make strange clicking noises, audible if you hold the beetle up to your ear. In addition to these little guys, I have also witnessed a beautiful variety of butterflies, as well as a vicious looking, three-inch-long dobson fly complete with jaws and beady eyes.

And we can't leave out the birds. Someone caught an amazing hummingbird with an irridescent purple throat. There have also been reports of quetzals in the area, which I unfortunately have yet to see (and photograph), but if you do a quick Google Image search for 'quetzal', you'll see what I mean.

Cool, huh? Now the bad news- many of these amazing species, both here and around the world, are going extinct. Not just declining, but disappearing completely, meaning we will never see them again. Ever. How does this happen? There are a lot of factors, but the single most deadly culprit of species loss is habitat destruction. We're always hearing about saving the rainforest and, holy crap, there's a reason for it. Much of the world's tropical forests have already been wiped out for timber, agriculture, and urban development, and the outlook for the remainder isn't great..

It's one thing to hear about this sort of thing when I'm back home, but seeing it in person is a different story. Take one of my walks to the village of Buenos Aires for example. On the way down we are nicely surrounded by a mix of dense jungle and pine forest, but off in the distance (take your pick on which direction), are huge bare patches of hillside where more of that same dense jungle used to be. Now it's just a useless disaster waiting to happen- once there is no vegetation left, rainwater has a free-for-all since there is nothing to slow it down, which soon results in a mess of erosion that leads to some very murky rivers that were once crystal clear, not to mention the increase in potential for landslides.

A few years ago I would have just put all the blame on the loggers and farmers, whose little plantations can only be farmed for a couple of years at the expense of the former centuries-old arboreal residents, but I think it's important to look at their side of the story.

For one thing, Honduras is dirt poor, as are many tropical nations, so people are going to do whatever they need to in order to get money. And who can blame them? When it comes down to saving some frogs or feeding your children, the frogs are going to lose, every time.

So, what do we do? There is no single answer to this, of course, but there a lot a of steps that make a difference. A big one of these involves promoting more sustainable practices, such as shade-grown coffee. Chances are, if you're buying cheap shit, such as Folgers and Maxwell House, it may have been grown on a farm where a rainforest once stood. I realize you're going to keep buying the cheap shit, but treat yourself (and the jungle) to some good stuff once in awhile by splurging on anything with a 'Rainforest Alliance' logo on the package. The symbol indicates that the R.A. has monitored the environmental practices of its coffee-growing members.

Another way to combat habitat destruction, this one more obvious, is preservation. Designating land with protection in mind, such as creation of national parks and wildlife refuges, is generally a good way to ensure that forests will remain untouched. I have to stress the word 'generally', however, because in certain countries the concept of federally protected land is somewhat of a joke. Thailand, for example, has dozens of national parks, yet habitat destruction remains persistent.

Fortunately for Cusuco National Park, the organization under which I am employed, Operation Wallacea, or Opwall for short, is responsbile for a serious conservation effort for the benefit of the park. Opwall provides a base from which a variety of research can be conducted by a variety of people. Currently we have people from Ireland, the U.K., Germany, Belgium, Poland, Canada, Honduras, and the U.S. studying bats, reptiles, invertebrates, birds, plants, small mammals, and large mammals such as howler monkeys, tapirs, and large cats. Opwall provides the means and resources (food, guides, equipment, communication, etc.) by which scientists, dissertation students, and volunteers can collect considerable amounts of data at a variety of camps throughout the jungle. Or, to be accurate, throughout the world, as there are sites in Peru, Cuba, South Africa, Indonesia, and Egypt.

The conservation effort here in Cusuco is an ongoing one that has been around for several years. Soon, however, the data will be presented to large conservation organizations such as the World Wildlife Fund in the hopes that such organizations will recognize the biological value of the park and, in turn, provide the funding necessary to protect it- guards, guides, and infrastructure all cost money, and this is the best way we know of to get it.

To wrap this one up, I must say I am happy and grateful to be working for this organization. In my short time here I have seen an amazing variety of plants and wildlife, and I hope that my small contributions here will in some way support the efforts to preserve the complex and peaceful beauty of the rainforest.