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The jungle is almost silent. A natural mossy junkyard of
tree corpses and opportunistic vines line either side of the
narrow rivulet while tall, spindly kapok trees merge overhead
forming a verdant archway. Invisible birds call sporadically
to each other in shrill chirps shattering the silence like
distant gunshots. Chuka is perched precariously on the very
rear of the slender canoe and barely makes a sound as his
paddle caresses the still black water while my eyes dart in
all directions fruitlessly trying to locate the source of
these occasional noises.
The archetypical Amazonian Indian, Chuka is long-haired and
cherub-faced with bright, laser focussed eyes continually
scouring the canopy for any sign that might indicate wildlife.
Hunting (photographically) for prey in the dark anarchic igapo
is both exciting and frustrating. Subjects don't come and
neatly present themselves at a conveniently pre-focused distance,
rather duck and weave in and out of the foliage at the furthest
reach of your telephoto lens - if you can even see them! A
Cocoi Heron peers at us from behind a large palm frond while
a colourful Macaw perches way up in the canopy.
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Chuka perched precariously on the rear of the slender canoe
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Then there's something - deep in the forest. To me it's just
another random shrill. To Chuka it's an alarm! In a hushed
but urgent tone, he urges me, "Monkey come!" My
impatience and frustration is already showing, but Chuka knows
his careful efforts are about to yield results. "There!"
he motions frantically toward a distant kapok frond bobbing
tell-tale against the rain laden sky. I can barely make out
the silhouette of a tiny squirrel monkey as it explores the
loftiest branches in search of ripe morsels. Presented with
this meagre opportunity, I put down my SLR and instead video
the little rascal as he darts in and out of the tree forks
and leafy clumps.
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"There, there, there!" explodes Chuka, his brown
arm extended in six directions at once. Left, right, up, over!
Damn! Where now? While I was concentrating on the pathfinder,
the rest of the troupe had caught up and were now crashing
noisily from branch to branch and launching themselves across
the gulf between trees. It was raining monkeys!
Oh, for a ball-jointed spine. I try painfully to orientate
myself toward each little honey-brown and white opportunity
as they poke their faces out from bushy nooks and crannies
before launching themselves deeper into the trees. All the
while I am haunted by the fearful thought of capsizing the
narrow canoe with my twitching, clumsy bulk. By now I'm shooting
at everything that moves; knowing that a scant handful of
shots will be useful after the commotion is over.
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I can barely make out the silhouette of a tiny squirrel
monkey as it explores the loftiest branches in search of ripe
morsels
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Confident of the limitations of Chuka's English, I curse
loudly and liberally as each little rascal escapes my viewfinder
as the SLR's autofocus struggles to lock in the gloom. As
the last vestige of opportunity disappears into the dank undergrowth,
I sigh the sigh of the newly exorcised and turn to suddenly
realise two canoes full of camcorder-toting tourists are as
equally amused by this ape as the quickly escaping minor primates.
See Rod's website - Traveloscopy
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Photos and text © Roderick Eime. All rights reserved
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The canoe caresses the still black water
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Travel Writers: An Ape Amongst Monkeys by
Roderick Eime
