Tales from the dark side - the Aripo experience

I don’t claim to be a country boy, and I don’t think I fit the mould of the city slicker.

Nonetheless, I did find it a bit daunting when I was handed the assignment to direct and produce the latest installment of the Environmental Management Authority’s video series on Trinidad and Tobago's Environmentally Sensitive Species and Environmentally Sensitive Areas (ESS/ESAs). 

I’d already spent five days in the Matura forest seeking the Pawi, and seven nights in the Main Ridge forest documenting the White-Tailed Sabrewing Hummingbird.

This time though, the film crew was hunting the country’s apex predator, and the only wildcat in the Caribbean archipelago… the ocelot. It meant that our task included living in the deep forests of the Aripo Savannas, hoping and praying for success where many have failed… and all in a very limited window of 15 days.

Mission: Aripo Ocelot.

First thing’s first… you can prepare all you want, but plans tend to go awry in the bush.

The journey into the Savannas started with a trek from the gravel road through waist-high grass and then conquering the collapsed river bridge. It’s an athletic downhill negotiation – maybe about 40-50 feet, then climbing or being hoisted onto the actual bridge and then uphill to leap over a vertical drop that promises a lot of pain for those with two left feet.

Do note, that each man is carrying his own gear, food, water and a share of the over 200 pounds in equipment that we’ll need during our time inside.

You’re now on an overgrown path that is still outside the scientific reserve, but nature doesn’t care. The bugs and mites start to investigate you from here. This is the time to be aware.

Once you trek past the only escape route to the flat, sprawling savannas, you’re back under the thick forest canopy that blots out the welcoming blue sky and creates an eerie and surreal environment direct from a straight-to-DVD horror flick.

It’s humid. High nineties or even a hundred. You begin weighing the risks of going shirtless to mitigate the endless stream of sweat that eventually pools in your boots, but offering the buffet special to the mites and mosquitoes that are faithfully – and expectedly – accompanying you.  You lose either way.

Gnarly trees animate in the shadows and threaten to point you the wrong way, and you have to scan each one for the dreaded “widow maker” before choosing a campsite. It’s not that the mapepire pit vipers aren’t there if you don’t see them… sometimes you smell them, with no clue as to from where they came or whence they went. You begin to think hard about all those Man vs Wild and Naked & Afraid episodes that could help you right now. But there’s no room for spare thinking. It’s all about getting in, getting the job done and getting out.

The rules of camp are simple. Don’t get killed.

It means checking every piece of cloth and clothing before use, and knocking out footwear, lest you become intimate with a neighbourhood scorpion. The mosquitoes are ever-present in the soundtrack of the forest, and I first thought they were small birds, the sheer size of them. Indeed, instead of swatting them, I discovered that it’s more efficient to literally push them aside. I think they’re unkillable.

If you think that’s troubling, it gets a hundred times worse at night. Night itself has a new meaning in the bush. Think of the uneasiness of not knowing if your eyes are open or closed.

 The darkness swallows the light.

The things that you saw during the day feel different on your skin at night. The lack of sight heightens your other senses; you can feel the microscopic ticks burrowing under your skin and feasting on you; you feel things exploring your bare skin, and while you’re not sure how many legs they have, you feel every footstep. 

You quickly learn of the mighty privilege it is to be able to use a washroom at two a.m. in your own home. Don’t ever complain that the tiles are cold or the bulb is too bright. In the nighttime bush, you are advised to hold your numbers like a Play Whe shelf mark, or risk the dangers that you cannot see… your flashlight might invariably allow you to see only what happened, after the fact.

Lying in a hammock strung between sturdy saplings allows you to appreciate how the forest is alive in the still of the night; mighty boughs bending and rubbing together, creating  everything from shuddering bass notes to unsettling shrieks in the still of the night; the cacophony of nocturnal creatures competing for food, seeking a mate, or simply letting all know the range of their territory.

 Guest accommodations.

The rains came. Hard. Twice. Yellow-alert level weather. Lightning would briefly pierce the darkness at clockwork intervals, while the doors of heaven would slam shut on us jarringly, as the wind howled at the mere mortals in a forbidden garden. The gully to our left filled quickly, and loose bamboo crashed through in the powerful deluge in the darkness. We managed to fill a few containers with rainwater, for washing non-consumables only. Industry-standard hygiene protocol is not a luxury one can afford in the wild. And I mean that on all counts, in all situations. Use your imagination.

No plate, no salt, no soap. No problem.

Then the tent housing our supplies and cameras collapsed under the weight of a downpour.

We scrambled to the rescue. We saved the equipment and some foodstuff, but we also noticed the water rising on the other side of the camp. It didn’t threaten us directly, but it was enough to displace dozens of hundreds of thousands of cockroaches of all sizes. And yes ladies, forest roaches can fly.

Between the tasks of checking the cameras, seeking trails, baiting trails, retrieving data and relocating cameras (if necessary) the days were spent planning meals, learning about the habitats and ecosystems in Aripo from our guide Richard, and playing cards. I don’t want to see a deck of cards for a looooong time.

Chef's special: Cheesy mashed potatoes with seared hot dogs in a cran-honey reduction.

A pleasant surprise was the revelation that one crew member, Nigel, brought a portable DVD player and an assortment of movies! We watched Samuel L. Jackson in Shaft after a dinner of potato and ramen, which was cooked on a stove fuelled by methylated spirit (those things are awesome!). We started another movie, but the battery died, so it was back to cards. Cellular service was intermittent at the site, and we decided not to Netflix and chill.

 Movie night with Nigel, Richard and myself.

There was evidence that we were not the only humans there.

We knew why we were there, and we knew that the hunting season is closed, and there was no good reason for anyone else to be there. Bad reason? Perhaps. Illegal hunters would probably be unhappy to be caught on candid camera, and an “accidental discharge” might be an option. Navin – the other team member - was not impressed by this.

Thankfully, our paths did not cross in person, and the team was able to complete our task with a certain level of success, before packing up and moving out.

I’ve been asked if I would do it again. The short answer is “Yes!”  I feel privileged to be able to practice my craft for the EMA, to create stories and references and documentation of our natural environment that are sure to resonate with this generation, and be a reference for future ones.

PS: The Ocelot documentary is currently in post-production and will be released soon, on my YouTube Channel.