Belize Yellow-headed Parrot Nest Box Project

Trip Report!

Wakulla Springs, Florida

May, 2014

Hate reading? Want to get right to the photos? Click this link https://www.flickr.com/photos/58252145@N08/sets/

to go to our Flickr page to see over 200 awesome images of Belize, parrots, pine trees and other neat places.

First I must start by making excuses and/or apologizing for the general tardiness of reporting back from the assignment you helped my son, Larkin and me undertake to the extreme southern end of Belize, Central America (One must always add a modifier to properly georeference this mini country with a population about the size of Tallahassee. The Guatemalans know Belize as “ours” while the transnational drug cartels simply think of it as a friendly northbound stopover). But let me simply chalk up the several months between our travels and today to doing some deep processing and thinking about the bigger implications of our trip to help “save” a little-known parrot subspecies.

The two of us - father and son - had an amazing trip. It was eye-opening. We saw some spectacular sights and wildlife. We stayed safe more or less from both human and non-human dangers and parasites. We even slipped past a TV-addled border guard without being extorted for importing a new chainsaw and ladders.

Most critically, we accomplished our two primary objectives: 1.) Finish installing another round of 10 large artificial cavity nest boxes 25 feet up inside living pine trees for the Yellow-headed parrot

and 2.) have Larkin take great pictures the whole time. Beyond that, we even overachieved our expectations by finishing the work quickly with relative ease due to some equipment improvements which allowed us extra time to visit the nearby rainforest in the foothills of the Maya Mountains, and to have a leisurely journey back through the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico as we had found the cheapest airfare from there.

A major highlight of the trip and shining moment of complete high-fiving triumph was shared by Larkin, me and our conservation contact on the ground, Mario Muschamp at the end of one long day in the field as we stopped back by a cavity installation made the day prior to record its GPS coordinates. One Yellow-headed parrot was inside checking out the box and its mate was standing on the outside of the entrance hole. “Why, honey, this is a perfect spot to lay eggs and raise some chicks!” As we approached and realized what we were observing, Larkin scrambled to get a shot as both birds loudly called and flew to an adjacent tree. It was a time I don’t think any of the three of us will ever forget.

And so the days passed. Waking up before sunrise on the savanna, listening to the parrots with their tremulous calls flying in at first light from their evening roosts, eating a simple breakfast with Marie Sharp’s hot sauce for increased palatability, then off on the all-terrain vehicle across waves of wet grass to another distant stand of Caribbean pines. The rainy season had stopped about a day after we arrived in Punta Gorda in a downpour and now each day was prettier than the next, humid, never scorching hot, but certainly not cold either. Opting to bring some of the more aggressive high-kickback chains for the saw was about the best decision I ever made (yes, it’s the little things that count), and each cavity installation went by like a pleasant sawdust-coated dream.

How many hours of my life have I done this one routine, up on a skinny ladder, saw in hand carving out another rectangle for one more box? In a move that was bittersweet and liberating at the same time, I gave away my tree climbing harness to Mario and his crew – a trifle of an object, really, but one that had been important to me and kept me safe for many thousands of hours like a protective totem. I’d seen the pictures of Mario’s right hand man, Andrew, working on these cavities last year (he was a quick study) rigged up in the pine trees with some sort of granny-knotted rope contraption that looked like it definitely took the fun out of functional. Andrew’s homemade harness served as a metaphor for doing anything and everything with nothing, as the Belizeans always seem capable of.

For those that are expecting some premiums in exchange for your awesome online donations, never fear, I have not forgotten you. And for those who want to skip the rest of the storytelling and get straight to the pictures, I am excited to point you to our Flickr account where we have uploaded over 200 of our best pictures and divided them into the parrot-centric portion of our project and all the related travel and nearby sights. Most of Larkin’s photos are indicated with his name in the watermark.

RIP Larkin’s Cannon EOS D5, which made a sickening grinding noise as it gasped its last breath on a remote beach north of Punta Allen, Mexico near the conclusion of our trip. The rest of the photos were taken somewhat crudely with a GoPro and in some cases even a cellphone camera, but I think you’ll agree they really do tell a compelling story! Click HERE to go right to our Flickr page with all three albums from the trip, or copy and paste this url into your browser: https://flic.kr/s/aHsjWFJQ6H

We are particularly indebted to Ms. Celia Mahung and all the staff at TIDE (most especially Mario Muschamp, of course), a nongovernmental conservation group tasked with co-managing the lands we were so fortunate to be able to work on and visit. (Look Mario Muschamp up on Facebook to see some images of YHP nestlings in the boxes installed this year.) If they could have half our money and we could have half their enthusiasm, American and Belizean conservation would both be the wealthier. Other places and people who made our travels special were all the staff at BFREE (Belize Foundation for Research Environment and Education, run by Jacob Marlin from Gainesville, FL. I can’t imagine the travails he put into turning such a remote outpost into a beacon of hope in a desperate world. Giant thanks to the numerous psycho bus drivers and at least one really high taxi driver who all made valiant and ultimately successful efforts at not killing us despite of or because of the various chemicals bathing their brains. Way to keep it real! We would be remiss not to rave about the fabulous camping (glamping) digs and super friendly Ollie, Abel and Antonio at TurquesaTulum next to the beach in Mexico. $15 per night for a place to stay plus breakfast across from the spectacular beach was downright fiscally responsible compared to the $300 price tag next door, not to mention probably more fun meeting so many like-minded and easygoing travelers. Lastly, if Larkin was writing this, he would want you to know what a blast he had not only in the wilds of Belize but getting to debut as an international DJ (technically speaking), at a very hip and happening international Hostel in Playa Del Carmen, Mexico. I imagine he will be adding more Mexican entry stamps on his passport once he has some positive cash flow.

To an ecologist, Belize is still something of a paradise. While development presses in from all sides (and the Guatemalans get blamed for everything), compared to the suburbanscape of just about everywhere between Miami, Boston and Omaha this little country crams in some pretty wild terrain and biodiversity. To the average North American tourist, it’s a somewhat shabby tropical wonderland punctuated by what I presume (but have never seen) to be a few charming and insanely over-priced eco-resort monstrosities tucked back in the karst hills away from the whimsically ramshackle to downright skeezy towns and cities.

To the US State Department, it is a crime scene masquerading as a country, boasting the world’s 3^th highest per-capita murder rate* outside of a war zone run by paid professionals. Competition in the region for that top seed in the murder rankings is fierce, with Honduras now pulling far ahead of the pack, but what Belize lacks in hard numbers, they make up for with violent ingenuity. One Belize City based gang, the “Dog Pound Gang” or some such, could have been seen as lame because they were extra dirt poor and thus poorly equipped without much firepower. Well, they probably stole this idea from that naked cannibal on the bridge in Miami, but they achieved a certain level of respect by biting their victims as their trademark answer to cappn’ yo ass. But I digress.

Larkin and I saw much of the country (and what seemed like about half its population) from the vantage point of the crammed-full back of a hand painted Bluebird schoolbus, the only real way to get around the place.

Of course the US State department explicitly warned us not to do it, pointing out with dire earnestness, “Buses and cars do not yield to pedestrians. Public transportation can be problematic and unreliable. Public buses are prone to safety and security problems and should be avoided. Buses often operate in poor conditions and lack adequate maintenance. Bus drivers are often observed exceeding the speed limits (during day and night hours) and passing othervehicles at unsafe locations.” If that’s all true, why do they let little Mayan girls hop on to sell baked goods as the bus careens around another potholed mountain curve at 65mph? Speaking of food transport, we also observed that sometimes these vehicles are used to carry unrefrigerated and increasingly pungent reef fish next to backpacks in the back of the bus.

Other random bus-bound observations I made were that 1. Despite many busses far exceeding not just speed limits but actual carrying capacity with people smushed at odd angles and stacked on each other like Legos, folks generally did not smell bad or much at all for that matter. This was totally confusing in a pleasantly unexpected sort of way. 2. No one got angry at all about the terrible service, scary driving or having someone else’s 200 pound Aunt Myrna sitting on their lap. They are Zen masters. 3. Either the population is very young (it is), there are not many old people around (average life expectancy is 68 years), or old people just don’t ride the bus because it seemed like the median age was usually about 20, most everyone sporting fashionable Chinese knock-off designer labeled clothing. 4. The people are friendly, very ethnically diverse and appear peacefully integrated. I probed several times to find the fracture lines, and either they weren’t going to say much incriminating to an American or the atmosphere is about as relaxed as it actually looks. The only real minority? Light skinned, light haired Gringos, unless you count the Mennonites who look like they all just arrived from Saskatoon in flip flops and straw hats.

*Don’t take my word for it; read for yourself the State Department’s Belize 2013 Crime and Safety Report

I herewith attach a short story, at some peril of it being terribly misunderstood, penned over a decade ago by friend and uber-loquacious adventureman Bruce “Sleazeweazel” Morgan (captured in a moment of contemplative repose, below)

that captures the essence of Belize for those who step past the barricades at the cruise ship docks. Belize is a great place with dedicated people doing some really challenging conservation work. It's also kind of a mess, thanks largely to the lingering effects of colonialism and enduring colonialist attitudes. I must be clear in saying that you really might be offended and intrigued at the same time if you read further and I have received absolutely no permission or monetary compensation to re-tell this sordid tale as first recounted to me by The Sleaze. As he says, “all rights, and wrongs, reserved by the author”. Caveat emptor. You have been warned...

There are few places on earth as resistant to "progress" as Belize. The fecund earth and its myriad forms of life seem to conspire against the human presence. Many a dream of agriculture and industry has slowly rotted to death in the steaming jungles and squalid coastal towns of this tiny Central American nation. The de facto capital Belize City (think "Disease City") is a paragon of putrescence, equaled in its chaos filth and crime only by those African port cities tainted by a history of French colonialism.

The primary Belizean industries are fishing, tourism, government, indolence and theft (perhaps I am being redundant?). Most people have an avowed distaste for the "bush". I once asked why and was told: "Mon, dere be snake and tiger out dere, and bad spirit too!" This prevailing attitude has been a godsend for conservation.

The Mayan Indians were the original inhabitants of Belize, but were for the most part extirpated during the conquest at the tum of the last century. Only a few villages remained in the southernmost part of the country, but these have subsequently prospered. As the population expanded, satellite villages sprung up throughout rural parts of the country. These new villages have been greatly augmented by immigration from overpopulated Guatemala. The Mayans are a very traditional hardworking people who prefer not to mix with others. Slash and burn "milpa'' farming is the standard practice, but some are turning to more sustainable methods.

This industriousness and a high birthrate, combined with a traditional knowledge of woodcraft, makes the Mayan people a significant threat to the remaining wild lands of Belize. It is hard to deny the justice of their claims for land, however, for the Belizean wildness is littered with the crumbling ruins of ancient Mayan cities. Artifacts are everywhere, and it is easy to see that what is now Belize was once densely populated, perhaps even on the scale of rural China today. Where else in all the remaining wild world is virgin jungle filled with the remains of a once prosperous civilization? It is tempting to indulge in the Gaian fantasy that Mother Nature tried human occupation then rejected it. Perhaps the bugs, snakes, spines, disease and chaos that make it nearly impossible to live there today are the results of that edict.

Throughout overpopulated Central America the word has gotten out, Belize is a rich empty land without laws or borders. Simply walk through the jungle until you get there, then do as you please. No border patrol to tum you back, no minefield to demark the boundary. The result of this frontier ethic has been to flood the country with rootless Mestizo refugees in search of a better life. The energy of these people greatly exceeds that of the indigenous Belizeans, thereby exacerbating their effect. They are not afraid of the jungle, and see it only as an opportunity to wield the axe and plow which they do with great abandon. This influx has been greatly abetted by corrupt politicians and agricultural interests particularly citrus and banana growers, who, under the guise of humanitarian reform see the refugees as a source of cheap labor. Rootless people are at the root of rural crime, so now the jungle is full of desperados. Where once the peaceful black Belizean grew a little ganja for his friends and family, now armed gangs of Hispanic refugees ("Spanish men" as they are called) grow whole plantations of dope for export. Make the mistake of accidentally wandering into one of these clandestine fields and you will be shot dead on the spot. Watching dope plants grow is a tedious business, so the refugees wander about in the jungle looking for temples to loot and jaguars to shoot. As Mestizos they have no scruples concerning the graves of their ancestors as do the Mayans, so no stone is left unturned. In the race to see who can have the most impoverished and malnourished children, the Mestizos with their hybrid vigor always seem to win. Thus the coming of the refugees is a disaster both for the local people and for the ecosystem.

Last but not least, this motley human stew would not be complete without the endless variety of backpacking tourists, white Rastas, crackpot businessmen, scientists, weirdos and evangelicals that pour in from all corners of the globe. Ethnicity is a commodity in Belize, and tourists can be seen in all stages of “going native”. The final stage is to go home penniless. Some come to sample the low quality Belizean bud, others to drink rum on the beach until comatose. Wannabe Jim Joneses seek to save the savages from themselves, while others in emulation of Indiana Jones, plan to loot a few temples wile unraveling the secrets of paleoastronomy. (Hale Boppers listen up, this temple was actually a landing pad for ancient astronauts!) Defenseless Chinese businessmen who dream of a new Taiwan soon find themselves being used as a food source by local gangsters. Lebanese businessmen screw everybody by selling overpriced low quality Chinese goods. You’ll take what you can get. Pasty faced white girls come for their AIDS inoculation, and leave well satisfied. Megalomaniac developers dream of mega resorts until the bugs and bureaucrats have drained the last of their vital juices. Monomaniacal scientists search for undiscovered life forms, and find them to their dismay living within their abdomen. Perhaps strangest of all are the dour Mennonites who do all the useful work in the country, and have actually managed to find a way to live here. Sooner or later all the rest leave.

Where better than Belize to nurture the fond hope that the works of man are merely ephemeral events that will ultimately be effaced by entropy? One should always have hope.