Rio Chucunaque is the longest river in Panama, flowing into the Pacific Ocean through Rio Tuira not far from the Columbia border. At Puerto Limon at dawn one morning, we stepped into dugout canoes wobbling on the Chucunaque bound for the Embera-Wounaan community of Sinai on Rio Membrillo, a major tributary of the Chucunaque.
35 feet or so long, three feet wide, and fitted with seats knocked together with scrap lumber pieces and apparently designed to hold bananas, not fannies, these canoes are the only means of transport along the rivers. And they were taking us to seek one of birding's holy grails: the Harpy Eagle.
35 feet or so long, three feet wide, and fitted with seats knocked together with scrap lumber pieces and apparently designed to hold bananas, not fannies, these canoes are the only means of transport along the rivers. And they were taking us to seek one of birding's holy grails: the Harpy Eagle.
The canoe design has not changed from its days as an oar-powered vessel. Pushed upstream instead by a 15 hp Yamaha into a late rainy season current, the gunnels were not up to the job and water sloshed around our feet despite constant bailing by the boat boy. Only expert piloting by the captain prevented swamping as the canoe wound around river bends. Birdwatching was optional; bilge water monitoring occupied most of our attention.
Led by Carlos, senior guide for the Canopy Family which organized our Panama trip, this river cruise was the highlight of our tour and followed a route only slightly more dizzying than the several miles of what purported to be a road that brought us to the river.
Part of the Winding Trip
An earlier trip up the Chucunaque for a different rare bird, the Dusky-backed Jacamar (subject of a future Post), encountered calmer waters and allowed casual observation of birds and other life on the river, including people.
Capped Heron
But for those who live here, a river is not just a recreational opportunity. It is a lifeline, transportation corridor, food supply, washing machine, kitchen sink, bathroom sink, bathtub, swimming pool, water supply, horse bath, and trash receptacle, and even more things we might not recognize.
The Harpy trek followed the Chucunaque a ways then turned up Rio Membrillo and after two and a half hours and 37 kilometers we came to a landing, of sorts, at a plantain plantation owned by Alex, a member of the local community. Alex and his family discovered the Harpy Eagle nest, negotiated a deal with Canopy Family, built an impressive 2 1/2 kilometer trail (mostly out of mud), and proudly entertain birding tourists on land that would otherwise never be seen by any who do not live there.
After feeding the native black flies and mosquitos for awhile, we headed up the trail, pausing occasionally for cool birds that Carlos found, like a Gray-lined Hawk eating a small iguana and a Great Jacamar posing as a giant hummingbird.
An hour or so brought us to a nicely prepared clearing near the nest but safely out of disturbance range. Only 15 minutes at the site and the female Harpy flashed onto the nest with food for her nearly fledged chick. Soon she was spotted by Alex preening on an open branch of the Cuipo tree, affording us what our guide Carlos said was the best view yet seen on the 10 or so visits.
Perched Nearby
Apparently Unconcerned About Visitors
All very exciting of course, if you are a birder, but the real excitement was yet to come. After adding to our mud collection on the way back to the canoes, we continued a ways upstream to pay our respects, and fees, to the Embera-Wounaan community of Sinai. And buy some genuine craftwork. Then back to the canoes for what we expected to be a smoother, drier ride downstream. And so it proved for the first 15 minutes, until the sky opened up and it started raining so hard it seemed like bananas and sloth babies were mixed in.
All very exciting of course, if you are a birder, but the real excitement was yet to come. After adding to our mud collection on the way back to the canoes, we continued a ways upstream to pay our respects, and fees, to the Embera-Wounaan community of Sinai. And buy some genuine craftwork. Then back to the canoes for what we expected to be a smoother, drier ride downstream. And so it proved for the first 15 minutes, until the sky opened up and it started raining so hard it seemed like bananas and sloth babies were mixed in.
Bailing again assuming priority for the boat boy and not swamping the resumed focus of the captain. Nearby lightning strikes added to the romance. A Disney ride this was not.
Wrapped in a plastic poncho keeping my cameras and almost 1/5th of my torso dry, I marveled aloud at the experience and the unlikelihood of any repeat in our lifetime. Ed, huddled under an umbrella keeping only the underside of the umbrella dry, agreed: "not in the time we have left." As rain pellets the size and hardness of dried peas stung our arms and legs, I channeled Bill Murray in "Caddyshack", by quoting "I don't think the heavy stuff is going to come down for awhile yet."
I was right. A brief easing of the rain and a ray of sun in the distance were followed within minutes by a resumption of the deluge and with renewed vigor. Contemplating another two hours of this, some of the romance began to wear off and I was quite relieved that Christine had opted to remain at camp. But only another hour or so was required to complete the washing of our shoes and pants, no longer mud coated. The final half hour of the trek constituted something of a spin cycle, as the thankfully warm breeze attempted futilely to wring moisture from our clothes.
All worthwhile and no complaints. Thanks to the Canopy folks, we had accomplished the trip’s primary mission: a hard-won lifer. And photos and memories not likely to be repeated.
More photos from the trip may be seen here:
https://www.flickr.com/gp/cswood-photos/12QvT0
More photos from the trip may be seen here:
https://www.flickr.com/gp/cswood-photos/12QvT0
Comments
Post a Comment