Dusk
was rising from the water when we approached Caiman Lake. We were
bound for the Jurassic: here we would be traveling back in
time. Caiman Lake, on the periphery of the ACRCTT, is host to
one of the Amazon's most peculiar denizens: the hoatzin, a
chicken-sized bird whose young possess wings with claws like a
reptile's. Looking at one of these birds, you can't help but think
of Archaeopteryx, the dinosaur-era bird whose name translates to
"Ancient Wing." The hoatzin is not a remnant of that time,
but a reminder of it. The hoatzin is actually a member of the cuckoo
family. It evolved its primitive characteristics quite separately
from its prehistoric look-alike, millions of years later. But just
looking at a hoatzin seems to transport you back in time. As we
neared the spindly, leafless snag in which the hoatzins had built
their nest, it was easy to imagine the Jurassic swamp where the
first known link between reptiles and birds glided between
prehistoric conifers.
Like
Archaeopteryx, the hoatzin is a poor flier, gliding when it can to
avoid flapping clumsily or clambering through the foliage. They eat
arum and marsh plants, fermenting it in the fore gut, and
communicate with harsh, primitive, croaking cries. They build their
twig-and-stick nests, much like those of herons, over water so that
when danger threatens, the young, who are excellent swimmers, can
plunge to safety.
They use the two claws on each wing to climb back to the nest.
Two of the chicken-sized birds hissed down at us like reptiles--as
Archaeopteryx would have done 150 million years ago over the still
waters of Solnhofen lagoon.
The hoatzin is about the same size as the Archaeopteryx. The
adults are about two feet long, weighing two pounds. The two birds
above us had long tails, like Archaeopteryx had (though the fossil
bird had a long, bony, lizard's tail, not just feathers.) Their
plumage is streaked brown above and yellowish below. Their heads
bear loose orange crests, and their bright red eyes stare out from
bright blue faces.
So many of the creatures here in the Amazon link us to ancient
time. In the genetic plans for their bodies, the fish and the
plants, the dolphins and the birds remember the time of armor and
claw--just as our own bodies remember. Al of us, after all, are
shape-shifters: As embryos, humans first resemble fish. And from
gilled creatures floating in the womb's warm ocean, we transform to
lives more amphibian, more reptilian, until finally, we assume
mammalian form, complete with tails.
Weeks
before birth, we are indistinguishable from fetal monkeys. We
emerge as complete humans only after recapitulating our evolutionary
history, the plan of our bodies paying homage to our ancient
ancestors.
And this is one of the deeply satisfying delights to a visit to
the reserve and its environs: it is like a living time machine,
preserving not only the glories of the present for the future, but
also safeguarding a past that elsewhere has vanished.
Dusk
was rising from the water when we approached Caiman Lake. We were
bound for the Jurassic: here we would be traveling back in
time. Caiman Lake, on the periphery of the ACRCTT, is host to
one of the Amazon's most peculiar denizens: the hoatzin, a
chicken-sized bird whose young possess wings with claws like a
reptile's. Looking at one of these birds, you can't help but think
of Archaeopteryx, the dinosaur-era bird whose name translates to
"Ancient Wing." The hoatzin is not a remnant of that time,
but a reminder of it. The hoatzin is actually a member of the cuckoo
family. It evolved its primitive characteristics quite separately
from its prehistoric look-alike, millions of years later. But just
looking at a hoatzin seems to transport you back in time. As we
neared the spindly, leafless snag in which the hoatzins had built
their nest, it was easy to imagine the Jurassic swamp where the
first known link between reptiles and birds glided between
prehistoric conifers.
Like
Archaeopteryx, the hoatzin is a poor flier, gliding when it can to
avoid flapping clumsily or clambering through the foliage. They eat
arum and marsh plants, fermenting it in the fore gut, and
communicate with harsh, primitive, croaking cries. They build their
twig-and-stick nests, much like those of herons, over water so that
when danger threatens, the young, who are excellent swimmers, can
plunge to safety.