It’s been a cycle and a half since I last wrote, but Motiepa—the first group we followed after the four day break—proved to be pretty straight forward and uneventful. The monkeys didn’t give us too much trouble, and we actually found them hanging out right above the road near the trail head. They did eventually move into the forest more, but much of our time was spent sitting on the hot asphalt in the sun, staring up at one of their favorite fruit trees. While working under the dense canopy we are used to the heat and humidity, but not so much the direct sunlight. So our umbrellas served more as parasols than paraguas (Spanish for umbrellas, notice the “for sun” vs. “for water” Latin roots).
Another by-product of standing out on the road was getting approached a lot by locals and tourists. Generally we don’t interact too often with tourists—we hear them from a distance but we spend most of our time off the main paths. Our encounters vary, often resulting in Sarie lecturing them for yelling to get the attention of the monkeys, which obviously disrupts our behavioral study and results in her wrath. But this particular cycle we met several extremely likable groups who were respectful of the forest and its creatures, and sincerely interested about our work.
Over the break we received some bittersweet news, Jason would leaving shortly to go work with another of Dr. Estrada’s graduate students near Playa del Carman for his remaining time here. He’ll be helping the student get started on her study with spider monkeys. While we’re all very jealous that he’ll be living it up on the beach and gaining experience with a different species, we will miss him very much. So on our day off we all went to play cards at his favorite hang out, Mono Blanco in El Panchan.
Next we tackled the Balams, who gave us a good work out and never seemed to rest or settle down like good howler monkeys are supposed to—at least according to the scientists who follow them. Today, day two of the Balams, Sarie gave me the go ahead to bring my DSLR to the field. It’s something I obviously have been planning to do ever since I got here, but have been very apprehensive for several reasons. For one, it is very dear to my heart and wallet and the forest is not a forgiving place. It normally rains at least a little everyday, and often downpours. Also the gear is not light, and would be a huge burden on top of all my other gear. Plus, I’m here to work. While the occasional snap shot with a point and shoot is not that disruptive, busting out my DSLR and assorted lenses is a little more time consuming and distracting. I tend to go in “the zone” as a photographer, and I was worried about trying to multitask and juggle my more important responsibility as a behavioral researcher. But the weather has been unusually dry and clear, so I decided to take the chance while I still could.
Unfortunately it was my day to perform the scans, which is generally the most time consuming of the duties because it entails taking the GPS coordinates and recoding the behaviors of all the individuals every 15 minutes. So I got a little stressed out trying to follow the monkeys with a heavy backpack, and take photos while still being productive and keeping tabs on everyone. The Balams took us to a remote area with a lot of crumbling Mayan foundations, a pain to walk on but fascinating to examine.
While the monkeys didn’t come down as low as I had hoped, I still managed to get a few decent shots. But when they’re residing at the top of the canopy with the sun directly behind them, they are reduced to mere silhouettes in my viewfinder. It rained for a bit, but I brought a sturdy camera backpack with a good rain cover so my gear was pretty well-protected.
However, my camera proved to be more useful for things a little more at our level. Towards the end of the work day we were clustered under a tree, staring up at the monkeys and straining our necks per usual. I reached in front of me to grab a thick liana (wooded vine) to hold onto for support. The instant I tightened my grip around the vine I experienced intense pain and shock, and I pulled back my hand to reveal a green and purple, heavily armed caterpillar on the other side of the liana. Yes, I realize a caterpillar hardly sounds dangerous, but this guy packed a powerful punch. The potent burning sensation in my finger didn’t subside, but rather steadily increased until my whole hand felt like it was on fire. I could see angry welts developing at each of the six contact points my index finger had with one of the stinging barbs. And while my finger began to swell and throb, my thoughts had shifted urgently in another direction.
“Must grab my camera!” I switched from telephoto to macro, and set up shot after shot of the decorative insect while it stood perfectly still—understandably unafraid of anything. The sting was definitely one of the most painful I’ve ever experienced, but having it occur on the one day I brought my camera (and macro lens to boot) made the pain more than worthwhile. Call me a masochist, but I came out of the experience totally pleased with the results (and at least the sting was on my non-shutter finger).
Today was Jason’s departure day so we all made a group dinner and shared a toast in his honor—wishing him luck on his new adventure.
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