The Mysteries of Life in the Amazon Jungle — Page 2
Story and photos by Debi Goodwin



Three men died on the venture (although none from the candiru). Roosevelt barely survived malaria and a serious infection that hastened his death three years later.

Sheltered in a Hostile Environment

By 2017, there had been no malaria in the region for decades and the chances of contracting yellow fever from a mosquito bite were low. Even so, we had our bug spray and Columbia protective clothing. At night, we were sheltered from danger in thatched huts. The view from our shower was of the forest undergrowth but a screen protected us from most insects and predators.  And yet when one of the walkers in our group wandered off our trail of boards, Daniel grew worried and wouldn’t move forward until the straggler was back on the track. Staring into the forest’s growth, it was easy to see how a traveler would get lost. It was easy to see how the Amazon could drive men mad.

Amazon butterfly

Although I felt no imminent danger, I could identify with Roosevelt’s sense of claustrophobia. I had a sense that if I didn’t keep moving, if someone didn’t keep cutting back vegetation the vines would grow right over me. And a sense that I would never be dry. In the rain and humidity, mushrooms grow in a day and clothes stay dank. In our hut, we kept our cameras and cellphones in a light box so that fungus wouldn’t get inside their casings.

I also understood the expedition’s bewilderment at the world around them. The Amazon may have the largest diversity of wildlife on the planet but that doesn’t mean you’ll spot any of it easily. Hiding is how birds and mammals defend themselves and wait to attack their prey. In the heat of the day there can be silence broken only by the extraordinary distant roar of the howler monkey. For the expedition one hundred years ago, the difficulty of finding wildlife meant hunger. For birders today, it can mean frustration at not spotting all the birds they’ve come to see. The Galapagos, where the wildlife have no predators and are easily approached, seems like Disneyland in comparison.

On a misty morning, we climbed the steel steps of a tower nearly one-hundred feet high to walk a canopy from which we saw yellow birds and toucans in far-off trees. It was there I lost my need to catalog anything. The vastness of the green expanse in all directions stunned me. I would never see so many varieties of trees from one vantage point again in my life.  And from then on, during walks, I found myself entranced by the way vines wrapped themselves around trees to reach the sunlight, the way a small plant grew in a spot of dabbled light that reached down through the trees, the way the trees grew buttress roots to hold on to their space in the soil. On the creeks, I was enchanted by the reflections of trees and debris of the black water. And I was happy to spot wildlife when I could. One day, I was rewarded when I was awakened from a nap by the swooshing sound of spider monkeys jumping from tree to tree by my hut.

spider monkey

The Jungle Creatures that are Behind the Leaves

At night, the forest was a soundtrack of screeches, squeaks, creaks and chirping that must have terrified the Roosevelt expedition but was only distracting to us inside our hut. One night we ventured out with flashlights to spot tarantulas as big as our hands, colorful tree frogs and scuttling scorpions. When a woman asked what a bullet ant looked like, Fernando, our native guide, said, pointing his light: “there’s one by that lady’s shoulder.” I jumped. I was the lady and the ant was as big as the tips of two fingers pressed together. Fernando said the pain of its sting was excruciating and lasted twenty-four hours. Dancing is said to help with the pain, he added. I didn’t want to find out if that was true.  

Even though I did nothing in my four days as tough as a single action of the Roosevelt journey or the daily lives of the forest’s inhabitants, I was glad to leave the hostile environment of the Amazon behind.

caiman

I left, though, with memories of the powerful will of nature to survive after seeing how opportunistic air plants attached themselves to trees, how ferns grew in rotting logs, how flowers bloomed in red and other bright colours to attract the pollinators they needed, how butterflies developed “eyes” on their wings to look frightening to predators.

I left, too, with the memory that nature often survives better through co-operation after seeing how lines of leaf-cutter ants march toward their nests with green leaves to feed the fungus on which they farm, and how the rodent agouti eats the fruit dropped by one tree and distributes its seeds far and wide ensuring the tree’s future.

And I left knowing that just because I couldn’t grasp the logic of the Amazon in what seemed like chaos that didn’t mean I couldn’t believe it existed.

They were all life lessons I was grateful for.


Debi Goodwin is a writer and photographer. She is the author of Citizens of Nowhere, a book about refugees’ adaptation to Canada and is currently working on two other books.

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Related Features:
Coming to Terms with Downpours, Bugs, and Visiting Creatures - Lea Aschkenas
Humble in the Jungle: Exploring Guyana's Rainforest - Laurie Gough
Orangutan Warfare in Borneo - Marco Ferrarese
Hiking in Teddy Roosevelt's Footsteps in Yosemite - Chris Epting


See other
South America travel stories from the archives


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