My first night of a 4 month field season, I settled down to sleep listening to the buzzes and squawks of the jungle night, mosquito net carefully tucked in all around my mattress. After a while, in the pitch dark, I felt the net trembling, as an animal climbed down the cord that held it up. Then it climbed down the net itself, and then – I’m not sure if it was the first night or later on once this had become routine – it ran across my toes. Welcome to the rainforest, where the creatures come to you.
A few minutes later I heard it knock over all the things I’d unpacked onto my shelves in an attempt to settle in to my new home. It turned out to be an opossum, a large mousey marsupial, which was encouraged on its nightly forays by a long-term resident at the field station who lived in the room next to mine, who left apple cores out for it to find.
Earlier in the evening I’d discovered a very effective (for someone who isn’t good with spiders) energy saving device above the lightswitch.
It was a good introduction, as various animals were frequently found in the station buildings, from the boa that settled in a couple of metres beyond my desk in the library, to the (absolutely massive) tarantula that appeared in my bedroom (some may wonder why an arachnophobe would live in the jungle), the frogs and geckos that patrolled the bedroom walls, the curly centipedes that would drop from the palm thatched dorm roof, the cockroaches that could be found snacking on soap in the middle of the night, and once a tiny black scoprion in the middle of my bedroom floor.
I became quite attached to one particular creature that I shared a cabin with for a while, although the first time I saw it – a black frog appearing in the toilet bowl when I flushed it – it made me jump. He would appear as the flush was pressed, swim hard against the current to avoid being swept away, and disappear again under the rim afterwards. It took me ages to figure out he wasn’t living just out of sight in the bowl, but up in the cistern. What the toilet offered over the forest I don’t know, but he was always there, swimming away. Until one day I was devastated to see him swim not quite hard enough, and disappear down the pipe. I was happy to see him again a few days later, or if not the same frog, another who shared its taste in cisterns.
My field assistant once encountered a jaguar a few metres away when he made a night-time trip from the dorm building to the bathroom cabin, at CICRA’s satellite station CM1. The two buildings are separated by a short stretch of grass. As he was about to return to the dorm, he spotted huge eye-shine in the beam of his headtorch, and could even make out the markings on the jaguar’s face. The eyes moved down to the ground, and back up again, as if sizing up prey. The following morning dawned grey and rainy, meaning no mist-netting could be done, and I wondered why he was up and wide awake so early. He hadn’t been able to get back to sleep.
CM1 bathrooms are evidently treacherous places, as this photo from good friend and fellow CICRA resident, Brian Phillips, shows. Might make you re-think how badly you need to go.