by Liam Howley Colpas are strange places indeed. We sit by them often, sometimes vainly, but always hoping to catch the sighting of a deer, or peccary, or descending howler monkey, or a jaguar (Panthera onca) as it occasionally passes in search of prey. Colpas are areas of earth where clay is exposed in the correct chemical form for consumption, with macaws, parrots and parakeets drawn irresistibly to vertical riverside walls or where mammals go to bowls and depressions within the forest. Sitting watching from a vantage point a good view of the character of a species is easily witnessed. I have seen red brocket deer many times in the mammal colpa of Refugio and each time I observe this stealth-like ghostly apparition that appears and disappears as the breeze shifts. It is always alone, its elegance enhanced by its wariness for it often lifts its head to listen, moving its ear in a pirouette, exposing its long neck, tasting the air for a warning scent. As it does so, it lifts a front hoof and tenses its rear calf, ready to spring away at a moments notice, looking poised to dance. This is routine, and moments later it will stretch its long neck towards the earth that it consumes to ease the passage of toxins throughout its system. And as quietly as it arrives it leaves, its halting gait stopping and starting, rustling less leaves than the breeze that announced its passage. In stark contrast, white lipped peccaries(Tayassu pecari ) come crashing into the colpa at great speed, their stampede reflecting their great numbers. They quickly halt, lie down, roll about and gorge themselves full of mud, pig like in the Orwellian sense. I am here today to see these creatures again. Chris Murray, who passes the colpa most days as he monitors his transect for Alan Lees macaw, parrot and raptor survey, has spotted a herd of sixty four ‘huanganas’ this morning. Huangana is the local name through which white lipped peccaries are known. Viewing the photos I can just imagine them rolling around in the mud below, like free spirited children, or decadent adults, consuming more than their share, gorging on the feast. He describes them as really disgusting, repulsive creatures, but there’s an innocent cuteness about them, that’s untamed, and completely in contrast with the elegant deer. In spite of his personal reservations about the species, it was his first time to witness white lipped peccaries and he was quite excited and enthusiastic. We set out this afternoon immediately after lunch, and start walking along the trail. The first five hundred metres or so is clay terra firme which is dominated by towering Brazil nut trees. I keep my senses honed as I walk, for this is a very good trail for seeing mammals. On one morning walk within those first five hundred metres I witnessed howler monkeys, brown capuchins, squirrel monkeys, saddle back tamarins, dusky titi monkeys, agouti’s and a red amazonian squirrel. Such exceptional sightings are not too common, and I was left wondering what had drawn all these mammals to this one point in the forest. I saw no obvious convergence around any given fruiting species, in the absence of which I’d had to assume that great endearing feature of life, chance. Yet it is possible to give chance a helping hand by remaining as quiet as possible and by taking your time, so Chris and I walked slowly, only occasionally conversing and when we did so in that low tone that blends into the background noise. The trail descends slowly here, its surface uneven as we cross from terra firme through seasonal swamp and into upper floodplain. With it being the afternoon, the sun grows hot and high, and neither of us are surprised when by the time we pass across the creek, known here as a quebrada, we have a score of zero sightings to report. Mammals, like humans here, take siestas, avoiding activity when the sun is high, but it was from here that Chris had first seen the peccaries, so we pay extra attention as we walk. Tracks are everywhere, and we hear the high pitched bark of a young peccary. I feel sorry for it for the lack of other sounds means that the poor creature has become separated from its mother and herd and is now easy prey. The appearance of a narrow trail created by the movement of the herd confirms that they are not in the immediate area. I hope that they are still near the colpa though. As we approach, I can hear a woodpecker tapping at a hollow trunk, creating that hole that insects will invade so providing it with a tasty meal. Drainage is poor and puddles begin appearing where the ground has become compacted with the thread of feet. Chris walking ahead points to a tangarana tree, that seemed optimally placed to grab hold of for support. I am aware of its presence, but glad for his warning nonetheless. Tangarana trees have a hollow pith in which resides tangarana ants. In return they protect the tree by preventing the growth of vines, lianas and lichens along its trunk, and typically clear vegetation for up to one metre from the tree in a circular fashion, removing all immediate competition. They enter in and out through holes in the trunk just large enough for their bodies, and are aggressive in attacking mammals that dare to assume that the tangarana tree possesses a potential resource for their activities. Having been bitten on numerous occasions by tangaranas I had learnt to take care of where I put my hands in the forest. Though this is an excellent example of symbiosis in nature, it is not the whole story of this remarkable relationship for locals had developed a very useful and innovative medicinal remedy from these ants. Those with rheumatism or arthritis often placed tangarana ants on the joints and encouraged them to bight. Their bight, containing formic acid, is reputed to provide very good relief. Some research indicates that formic acid also works well against gout and the bark of this tree is used to provide a very effective treatment for upset stomachs and cases of diarrhoea. I have on occasion had the opportunity to test this medicine and can testify to its remarkable properties. I can tell we are getting close for the land is descending and the vegetation differs here. Oenocarpus, known as ungurahui palms and tree ferns appear here. Socratea, the walking palm, presents its thorny roots, and one or too swollen bellied ponas become apparent through the tangled mass of vegetation. A patch of dense vines bars the way to the left of the trail. We slow right down, each step cautiously placed to elimate that snap of twig or crunching leaf that can so often send a mammal to flight, but it becomes increasingly obvious as we approach the colpa that they are not there. Their smell however is still quite strong and I can’t help wondering if each and every one of them rubbed their dorsal glands against every stem and inch of earth. We descend to the researchers blind, using a stem of Faramea for support, and pass by a specimen of Cinchona, or quinine as it’s also known. Cinchona is probably most famous for the use of its bark by the British for creating a tonic water that gave name to the famous gin and tonic. It was drunk by British officers in India and Burma as a preventative against malaria. I begin climbing. As I reach the top, Chris calls out, there is a deer nearby, looking to enter, but he believes that he has scared it off. Then again, maybe I have as I climbed, who knows, but I don’t worry. We watch from our vantage point, but the deer never approaches. Large black ants, unknown to both of us run about the blind. They are not aggressive, though their backs are armoured with spikes. When the wind starts rising, the prelude to our exit is set. The drone of rainfall striking the canopy gets closer and closer. Quickly descending the makeshift ladder we run up to the tourists blind. I don’t mind getting wet, after all these are hot sweaty days, and though it was a very quick shower it was enough to act as a catalyst and so send us on our return journey to the lodge. As we return we share our respective experience, as Chris points out the different birds, identifying them by call, teaching me sounds I don’t yet know, and I point out the characteristics of some of the tree species, like the red rooted mashonaste, or the coffee coloured latex of chimicua. I didn’t see any mammals this afternoon, but I am not preoccupied with that fact, for to merely walk is to open the door to anticipation and possibility. Photo: Chris Murray
