If I can, Toucan.

On Thursday, Grace took an “office day,” which means no marching in the jungle, and no organized activities planned for me. So I decided to try my hand with the island’s one kayak. I spied the kayak under one of the docks, and spent ten or so minutes trying to figure out how to get to it without jumping in the water or the mud. Eventually I gave up and hopped off a dock into knee deep mud. I floundered for a bit and then decided to spread my weight and crawl to the kayak so I wouldn’t sink deeper. Just as I’m up to my elbows in mud, I hear Afka, a sweet Dutch scientist who researches fig wasps, call out to me and point out the easy, mud-free, solid ground path leading straight to the kayak. Totally unhelpful in my current predicament. I finally made it to the kayak after sinking several times up to my upper thighs and having to dive down the holes my legs made to retrieve a stuck chaco. I clamored into the kayak and spent a wonderful hour and a half exploring the little coves around the island. Sitting on the lake is extremely pieceful. Instead of being totally surrounding by the incessant buzzing, squawking, and yelping of the jungle, you get to enjoy the sounds from a nice distance and actually feel a cool lake breeze instead of it getting blocked by a million giant trees. Surprisingly, I saw no crocodiles and was able to successfully rinse off most of the mud while maintaining possession of both hands. I crawled back up the muddy bank to the path, only to realize all the construction workers (who are building a new office for the guardabosques (forest guards)) were laughing hysterically at my muddy misfortune. It wasn’t until later when I shaved my legs for the first time here that I realized the thousands of tiny little clams embedded in the mud had left small little scratches all over my body.

Struggling.

When you’re walking through the jungle, conversation drifts to all sorts of things. The highlight from this week was when I mentioned to Lucia that Grace hasn’t cut the check for my salary yet. In response to Grace’s protests about being “poor” Lucia offered the idea that Grace could marry an Arabian man and be his sixth wife. Because if a man can have six wives, that man can pay my salary.

Napping.

 

 

Jumping.

The falcon that stays under monkeys to catch insects as they fall.

Other highlights of the week include seeing maintenance workers using leaf blowers to clear the pathways. The rainforest is basically only leaves and thousands of leaves fall with every tiny breeze and miniscule raindrop. Not really sure what they were trying to accomplish here. I also really enjoyed watching a third bodily fluid come out of a Capuchin. Just as I was focusing my camera on a nicely posed monkey, she started vomiting. And just kept vomiting. I think it was a ploy to make me not take the picture. But don’t worry, this event was thoroughly documented. 

Monkey vomit.

I’ve been waiting all month to see toucans, one of my favorite jungle creatures. I saw them from afar while kayaking, but not really close enough to fully appreciate. Then one day while following the monkeys, I looked up and came face to face with a toucan, just a few feet away. 

Toucan.

On Tuesday, we went into the City again. Grace and I walked into a frozen yogurt place to enjoy their AC, and were accosted by the owner who gave us more than an earful about her “cookie crumbs imported from New York” and “yogurt transported on velvet-lined ships.” Basically we were held hostage until we bought yogurt. I normally am not a fan of froyo in the US because it’s too expensive and ice cream is always next door, so spending $7 on a cup of yogurt was not fun. 

Ruins of a church in Casco Viejo (Old City).

To make up for it, we went to a bar that had swings and again spent too much money on two mojitos. The evening ended with the usual trip to the grocery store to buy Cuba Libre in a can. One of the worst and best drink options out there. Steve, my favorite person on the island and some sort of scientist who is here from England to research bird nesting behaviors, proceeded to show us the assorted contents of his shopping bag. He purchased six or seven bottles of wine for his four days left and all snacks that he thought looked so bizarre they must be good.

Swing bar.

Some of the things I learned this week include that fig wasps can fly up to 15 km in one day (the world record is 160 km – which how someone tracked a fig wasp (the size of my smallest mole) that far is beyond me), and that sometimes if you stick your head inside a hollow tree trunk, you’ll find a nest full of bats! Bats make up more than half the mammal species on BCI, and I get to say hello to three bats every morning on our way to the office. 

Anteater in Gamboa.

A moth hiding a gecko, larger than my hand.

The newest horror of the jungle is tick bombs. I had heard tremblings of them, but was told they mostly exist in the dry season. Until today. When I was innocently marching through the jungle. Suddenly, I looked down and saw literally hundreds of tiny ticks speeding all over my feet and legs. I spent the next twenty minutes rolling duct tape all over my body and the next four hours in the jungle thoroughly traumatized. Thankfully, not a single tick made its way through my clothing armor and I still have yet to pull an embedded tick off my skin. 

Post Tick Bomb.

 For the weekend escape, Grace and I decided we hadn’t had enough of island living and made our way to Isla Taboga (different than Trinidad and Tobago, but just as much Calypso). We took a boat from our island to Gamboa, waited for two hours, took a Red Devil (bus) towards Panama City, panicked because the bus was so late, took a taxi up the Amador Causeway, took a Ferry to the island, and finally a small golf cart up a steep hill to our “hotel.” Although our book recommended the hotel, I think I dialed the wrong number and instead reached Morgan Freeman and his daughter. They were extremely kind and friendly, offering me free beer and pointing out all the restaurants and umbrella salesman they were related to. They even went so far as to let Grace and I stay in a luxurious room that I think also doubled as their oven. The upside is, the room was so hot no way a bed bug could survive and it had a glorious view of the beach and hillside. 

View from our Hotel in Isla Taboga.

The island was full of broiling hot sun, perfect sand, beautiful water, smallish fish for snorkeling, and some of the best fried whole corvina (white fish) that I’ve ever had. 48 hours of sun, sand, and shrimp is all you need to prepare you for another week on BCI.

Grace on the boat.

Boat passing in the Canal.

  

Sunrise on BCI.

Our froggie pet.

Another monkey species that squeeks at you like a bird.

Mimi and Pilar, two adult females from Capuchin group FC

The entrance to a small beehive.

PortoBELLO

Our weekend adventure began bright and early with a 6:30 am boat to Gamboa. Grace had only communicated with the dive company via Whatsapp, so as the hours ticked by, we got progressively more worried that they weren’t coming and our dreams would be crushed. Just as I had given up all hope, Tonia pulled up in a white pickup, hours late, but ready to take us diving in Portobelo. Grace and I got in the car and promptly fell asleep, really opening up our trust in Tonia and vulnerability for kidnapping.

Octopus Gardens. We saw neither an octopus nor a garden.

An hour and a half later, we arrived at the Octopus Gardens, a small hotel/dive outpost right over the water. Portobelo is on the Caribbean coast and has some of the most famous dive sights in Panamanian waters. Without giving us much of a chance to get settled, we found ourselves being fit for dive gear and tossed into a boat by Rafael, our dive guide. The boat took us away from the mouth of the river to a clearer section of ocean by a small island. I was the first in the water, after plopping backwards off the side of the boat. Almost immediately, I thought I was having an allergic reaction to my wetsuit on contact with the water. Instead, I discovered that I must have jumped right onto a pile of jellyfish and had gotten stung on the backs of both knees. Since peeing through a wetsuit onto my leg wasn’t an option, we proceeded forth and did our first dive.

The reef was gorgeous. We saw giant lobsters, tons of colorful coral, and tropical reef fish. And as has been the case with the last fourteen dives Grace and I have done, we got mocked for holding hands under the water the entire time.

I’m discovering I’m slightly prone to seasickness and have been unsuccessful at boat diving without throwing up between dives. I was trying to find a way to discretely throw up, when Rafael caught me and just told me to get in the water and make sure to face the direction of Grace and not him. We kept going and our second dive was really fun. We descended and immediately found a sunken C45 twin engine airplane that the U.S. Army sank four years ago for divers. The plane was completely covered in coral, but still maintained a general plane shape. Even after we were out of our wetsuits and on stable ground, Grace refused to pee on my leg.

We spent the evening in the porch hammock, drinking strange cocktails that resulted from the hotel bar being out of every normal alcoholic drink ingredient and thus improvising. We were invited to a small family’s birthday celebration, but had to discretely dispose of the cake that tasted like dried grass. The next morning, we snorkeled on the reef in front of our hotel. 

Grace.

We took the bus to Portobelo. Panamanian buses are not normal. Called Red Devils, they’re old school buses, rumored to have been rejected by the U.S. for failing safety standards, and are decked out in purple boas, brightly colored tagging, speakers, disco balls, mirrors, you name it. The drivers careen around corners, barrel down streets, and don’t pay attention to stop signs or lane lines. 

Our Red Devil.

 Portobelo isn’t my most favorite of places. While the “city” has an incredible history, it’s pretty impoverished and unsanitary. You walk down the street and will see an average of twenty mangy dogs pooping on the ground. Portobelo used to be the busiest port in Central America: an old, crumbling building housed the gold “collected” in the Americas before it was sent back to the king of Spain. Since it held such a treasure trove, much of its most famous history is that of pirates. Three well-sized forts guarded the city from pirate attacks, and the forts are easily the most interesting and impressive remains the city has to offer. Rusted cannons lay scattered near the walls, that are all made of rocks and giant chunks of coral. The pirate history basically sounds like Pirates of the Caribbean. We also walked past a steep, green cliff that we later discovered is the remains of a castle that is now all but forgotten and covered in vines and rainforest. 

Grace.

Grace, Grace, Grace.

The other fort.

Portobelo

We chose our lunch restaurant based on distance from pooping dogs and percentage of shade. We both ordered the same shrimp meal, but I think I enjoyed mine more as Grace's had multiple ants added for extra protein. Another ride on a Red Devil brought us back to the Octopus Gardens. This time, we got to watch the music video for “Wiggle” with thirty grandmas coming home from church.  

Upon learning we needed to settle our bill with cash only, we had hunted the few dirty streets of Portobelo for an ATM, and were only told that there “might be one” but it probably wasn’t working. Needless to say, everything worked out and we ended with one euro, three pennies, and a few Croatian coins in our wallets.

Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes? IndiAllie and the Last Crusade.

We wake up every morning to the Indiana Jones Theme Song. Sometimes it’s the only way you’ll get out of bed at 7 am for another day in the jungle. My second method of waking myself up is to inhale half a canister of Deet, as I spray my entire body before putting on clothes. Then I layer on the Permethrin-infused jungle clothes, making sure every loose opening or hole is somehow tucked into disappearance. Then I finish with waterproof hiking boots and knee-high gators. So far a few ticks have made their way into hidden crevices of my clothing, but none have been fortunate enough to suck my blood and leave Rocky Mountain Spotted Sickness in their stead. The more amazing feat though (knock on wood) is I have yet to get a chigger bite. Chiggers are the horror most people here first talk of, and supposedly unavoidable when you trek off trail in the jungle. Which is always for us. 

My field outfit.

 Breakfast is the low point of the day. Apparently, it doesn’t matter whether you show up thirty minutes early or ten minutes late, there still will only ever be half a scope of eggs remaining for you.

HALF of the flight of stairs we march up every morning.

We stop by the office each morning to gather up our cameras, binoculars, radios, antenna, GPS, and snacks. We usually meet Nohely and Lucia here. They’re hired by Grace’s adviser, Meg, and the principal investigator on the white-faced capuchin research projects. They’re both Panamanian, and although they do speak English, I prefer to speak Spanish with them as they’re some of my only opportunity for practice, and we can tell secrets about Grace without her always understanding. 

Grace hunting for a monkey signal.

We follow three Capuchin groups: FC, Top, and VT. I’ve only met the first two, since these are the ones Grace is following for her project. Lucia picks a group in the morning to try to find and then we march along a slippery, muddy, leaf-laden path towards their general domain and hope for the best. We have a small radio antenna that we can use to pick up the signals from a radio-collared monkey in each group. Unfortunately, you have to be within a couple of hundred meters of that particular monkey anyways for the signal to work. Which usually means you’ll see or hear the monkeys almost simultaneously. Regardless, it takes under eleven seconds for my entire body to be drenched in sweat. Who knew your knees could sweat enough to leave a mark.

My sweat after 200 m of walking.

Grace's sweat after 200 m of walking.

 Nohely and Lucia gather baseline behavioral data by doing “focals” which means they spy on one monkey for ten minutes and write down literally every action that monkey performs. Grace is gathering data on foraging habits on Attalea palm trees. Basically, she waits for a monkey to descend onto the giant fruit clump and then counts how many they touch, bite, drop, and eat and the interactions between feeding monkeys. It can get kind of chaotic when five or six monkeys pounce upon one fruit clump, or when a tree has multiple clumps, or when an area has multiple fruiting trees, or when you hear feeding but are stuck in a giant thicket of plants and can’t seem to escape. I mostly offer my assistance in attempting to determine if the trees have two clumps and tracking who leaves the tree when and in what direction. 

 

Feeding on an Attalea palm.

For my first day in the jungle, the monkeys were extremely cooperative and Grace and I found FC within a few minutes. Once we find the monkeys, we follow them wherever, literally wherever, they go for the next five hours. So you can have a five hour day or a ten hour day and have no idea

what to expect when you start. Unfortunately, the monkeys aren’t great at following the preexisting paths, so much of our time is spent sliding down hills, crashing into trees, and panicking when you run head on into a spider web. Sometimes, when you’re slipping down a muddy hill, you grab onto a tree for dear life and find that you’ve pulled the tree out of the ground and are just left with it in your hand. Other times, you step on a nice sturdy log only to find it completely decayed beneath your foot.

One of the giant spiders I've had on probably every body part.

The jungle is also home to a whole host of insects and creatures that I never dreamed existed. I thought fuzzy caterpillars, large wasps, and giant spiders in Thailand jungles were bad. I think there have to be more spiders in the jungle than plants. Also unfortunately, I am convinced the first day of spider run-ins gave me PTSD so every time anything unexpected brushes against me there is immediate crippling panic. The ant people tell me that there’s an ant species whose bite is akin to a bullet. Sometimes you wake up and walk outside your door and the first thing you see is a tarantula the size of a dinner plate. Other times, you’re sitting in the office and panic when a giant leaf-like grasshopper hits the window and starts doing what can only be a mating dance towards you.

Spider outside the kitchen eating a giant cicada.

My favorite animal. A gudi.

A poison dart frog.

A small deer.

A beetle.

A bug.

A giant tree.

Bravo Luis. "Gordo." Alpha male of FC.

The next day however, we spent three and a half hours walking through the jungle, unable to detect any of the groups, and finally ran into FC just as our time ran out and we had to head back to the labs. That day was instead full of other wildlife encounters. We saw spider monkeys, howler monkeys, coatis, agudis, woodpeckers, guans, a great tinamou, and an anteater. Howlers are the most common and easy monkey to find, as you can hear them across the island. They also have an attitude and maliciously aim and/or throw their poop at your head, so we spent some of this day avoiding that.

On Wednesday, we had another encounter with poop. We were following Top, and one of the female monkeys, Uma, left a nice sample high up in a tree. So Grace and I repeatedly ran into the tree until some of the sample fell to the ground. Lucia gathered it for testing.

On Thursday, we had our most exciting poop encounter yet. The morning began innocently with a routine hour of data collection, when suddenly, a monkey ran through a tree above Grace and sprayed her with its poop. She was quite nicely, evenly, and fully covered in monkey poop. Unfortunately we weren’t able to take a sample.

Grace and Lucia collecting Uma's poop sample.

Grace collecting a poop sample in a different way.

Grace protecting herself from poop.

Rainstorms in the forest are a bizarre phenomenon. You can hear torrential downpours happening all around you, but there’s about a twenty minute delay before the rain reaches the rainforest floor. The most fun thing about the rain is that the next day you go out in the jungle, eight million more leaves will be on the ground covering all sorts of slippery rocks and roots and gaping holes in the ground, so you have to been even more careful where you dare step. 

A small snake.

We’ve had two snake encounters so far. One was outside our room, and we just saw the tail slither harmlessly up the hill. The other was when Grace stepped up on a giant log, I looked down and saw a small vine snake right next to her boot. Fortunately, she hadn’t bothered it and it looked small and unpoisonous. But honestly, I have no clue how to identify a poisonous snake here. A small sign warning us about poisonous snakes greats us every day as we leave our room but doesn’t say much. I’m just hoping I don’t accidentally grab a vine for support and end up with a snake in my hand. 

Grace's hand lens.

After getting back from our jungle treks, all I want to do was dive in the lake and never leave. But apparently you can’t do that either because the lake is infested with crocodiles. Might have to risk that if it gets any hotter.

As soon as we get back from the jungle, we strip down and inspect for ticks, shower, and then eat our late lunch. Most afternoons you can find a group of students in hammocks on the balcony that overlooks Lake Gatun, relaxing, and watching ships go through the canal. One calm afternoon of data entering (Grace) and hammock reading (me) was spoiled by a sudden spluttering and Grace panicking. She’d just opened a Snickers bar and immediately got a mouthful of ants. Remind me to never eat anything here ever. 

Our afternoon hammocks on the balcony overlooking Lake Gatun.

 On Tuesdays, we get to go into the City for scientific seminars. Attendance at these seminars was not outlined in my job description, so instead Grace and I found ourselves going to the mall to watch the Minion Movie. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED. Much to Grace’s chagrin and my excitement, the movie was only shown in Spanish. Which means under ten sentences are translated since Minions speak Minion anyways. Hilarious. We had time for fish market ceviche then met up with the group at a Mexican restaurant for margaritas and tacos on the rooftop terrace. The evening ends with a mad rush at the grocery store for alcohol and chocolate by all the students and large amounts of Cheetos for Grace and me. 

The people on the island are their own group of interesting. Everyone does such vastly different research, and a lot of people have been here for years, watching the evolution of research and researchers happening. While everyone’s interests are so foreign and opposite of my own, it’s actually really fun listening to people panic about their ant colonies or seedlings or fig wasps and to hear the variety of accents telling jungle stories. It’s nice to have a small community of people who are the only ones in the world who can truly understand the weirdness, horrors, and hilarity of life on Barro Colorado Island. And even though everyone says you adapt to the humidity and heat after a few days, Grace and I are definitely still the sweatiest people here.

Dinner is a communal event and the most social part of the day (unless, like Grace, you consider watching the monkeys a social activity). Grace and I happen to love the food on the island (save breakfast) and don’t understand why everyone complains so much. The cooks are great too, there are four of them and they’re all incredibly friendly and love to talk to the visitors.

The days end with a return to our luxuriously air-conditioned room and a bedtime story from the cockroach under my bed.

It’s already been over a week here. And I found myself excited to go into the jungle today. Maybe this isn’t so bad. Or maybe I already have bush madness…