The next day, we started work on the trail. This essentially involved a lot of raking and cutting away of the branches and plants that made it difficult to pass. Trying to keep a solid footing while raking the damp leaves on the hill up to the lookout was really difficult and, obviously, the humidity made it a gruelling experience. Despite having a tiresome three days, we planned to go for a night walk along the trail. We’d been talking about doing one since I arrived and we feared we’d never get round to doing one unless we forced ourselves to get out their at night. Armed with the longest sleeved clothes that we had, wellies, a headtorch, a couple of homemade staffs and a machete, we set off along the back end of the trail which runs along the river. Given the slipperiness, sheer edges off the side of the trail and the quite real chance of torrential rain at any time, I decided not to take my camera as it would have been too difficult to bring it back without damaging it. On reflection, I think it probably would have been fine to take it with me.
As we left the living area discussing our chances of seeing snakes, tarantulas or anything at all, a cloudy snail eater slithered beneath our feet before shooting off into the bushes. It's genuinely such a beautifully patterned snake. It has silvery-black pixelated stripes running along its body. Being an arboreal snake that usually only comes down to the ground to switch between trees, we were lucky to have seen it. We barely made it onto the trail when the enormous roar of croaking frogs or toads, the noise I could hear throughout the night, became so loud it stopped us in our tracks. It was coming from the river next to us, where I’d staked out in the morning a couple of days before, so we excitedly cut through the bushes. We were completely surrounded by hundreds of pairs of eyes, shining bright white in the beam of our head torches, glaring back at us. We were able to get close enough to the see that nearly all of them were cane toads. Most of them stood in the shallows of the river with their front legs straight and shoulders far apart, pulling a stereotypical macho pose. Some sat on the rocks, overlooking the commotion, while the remaining few remained hidden in the bushes, given away only by their big bulging eyes shining in the light. We were left in awe. Just sat there, trying to soak in the thunderous noise.
The amount of different arachnids and insects we saw once we carried on with the trail was incredible. Far more variety than I could ever wish to identify in the time I'm was staying here. We saw three tarantulas, each the size of my hand, gently retreating back into their holes at the base of trees in a chillingly calculated manner. The whole track was lit up by the eyes of thousands of spiders that lay on every leaf or rock. One of the larger species I also had trouble identifying was particularly aggressive. Rather than running away like most of the other species, they jumped forward and attacked the staff or machete. We also saw four different species of what looked to be related to stick insects. Three of which were all sat twenty centimetres from each other, all with distinctively different patterns. The most notable having a black chevron in a circle of white on its back but still I haven't been able to work out what it is. On each and every fallen tree along the trail we found at least two or three tractor millipedes mating or feeding on the decomposing plant matter. We saw five tailless whip scorpions along the way and one Central American bark scorpion. After two hours or so of walking slowly, meticulously scanning the side of the trail, we reached the river crossing at which point we decided to head back. This was, without doubt, the most wildlife I’d seen in such a short space of time and distance. It was a real shame I decided to err on the side of caution and not to bring my camera with me. It was definitely a moment worth capturing.
Comments