Panama Travel Journal - Day 7

Day 7 November 19, 2009, / last day in field
-By Bob Chastain
Today we are all wiped out after a long last night. I was reluctant to let it slip through my fingers and relished the time doing something real and lasting. The horses were coming at about 9:00 am, so Kevin had us up by about 7:00 am with a “we need to get a move on” wake-up call. Once we realized the overwhelming task at hand the hugeness of what we had to do set in. We had a hike that would take some of our group eight hours and we had about 80 frogs to take out of bags, label with all our notes, gather moss, transfer all the frogs to small Tuperware-type containers, and pack onto two coolers that would go on horses for the long ride out. On top of this, we had to pack up four days worth of muddy everything, put it in bags and get them on five horses by 9:00 or 10:00 am in order to make it out before dark. By 9:30 it was clear that this was never ever going to happen. The group decided Mark, Jamie and Roberto would leave early to give them some extra trail time before dark. Matt, Kevin, Della, Jorge, Edgardo and I would stay behind to pack up.

Three hours later we were on the trail. That means it is 1:00 pm and it gets dark at 6:00-ish. Do the math. We were never going to make it at the normal pace and that would have us walking in the muddy darkness. Matt had left one hour earlier and got a little head start. I can’t do a good job of describing the feeling of the hike. I thought and thought about it as I walked hill after hill…..after hill. The best I can do is have you imagine the toughest physical activity you have ever done. Now imagine doing it in ankle deep mud and jungle so thick that you can not really recognize any of the landmarks that you can mentally check off in your head as you pass by. We basically had three landmarks. The house in the valley where we passed up water, and this is about half way. The intersection of the trail with the road that is too muddy to drive, and the house where we took the banner picture on the way in. Most other stuff looks the same. Without landmarks it is just mile after mile up hill after hill. Boiled all down, imagine doing this activity until you feel as if you can’t do it anymore. Now, do it until you are mentally and physically spent. When all of that is done, add two more hours of mud-walking.

You ask the Spanish speaking guides “how much farther” and get the same answer you always get, “Una houra,” one more hour. Hiking this thing in the dark was a real and scary possibility since this same hike took us all day the last time with a 9:00 am start and we have had four long and sleepless nights in the jungle. So what did we do. For those of you who know me, you can deduce that we developed a strategy. In a nutshell, here is the high tech plan Della, Kevin and I employed. First, we would draft off each other like Tour de France riders. Each one taking their turn in the lead setting the fastest pace they could manage. The person in the middle tried to catch up while not getting too far away from of the past leader who was now tired and in the back. The middle person’s job was to catch the leader while not demoralizing the person in last. If that happens the group falls apart and the peliton can never catch the breakaway party. After that, it is pretty simple. Basically run or slip down hills at a break neck pace, literally. Sort of the same technique used to ski bumps or to mountain bike a steep hill. Jog some on the flats and push hard on the uphill until your will and strength are completely tapped. Five hours later as the very last light disappeared, I pulled my pack into the back of our Smithsonian (STRI) truck. I was elated and heartbroken. The first communication I had with the outside world came in the form of a four line text to my wife. “We are out. We just now arrived at the truck. I don’t think my heart will ever be the same. I love you.” My heart breaks now as I write this at the thought of never going back. I can only hope I will, but with partners all over the country, who knows if I will ever get another slot to go.


Day 7, past midnight

It’s now 12:46 am in the morning and six hours after we hit the truck. I have eaten at a Panamanian KFC, delivered frogs to the drop off point, showered with my clothes, treated all my wounds and insect bites with iodine and alcohol, treated my red and infected feet, and now I lay writing this in a huge hotel room wishing for a hammock in the jungle after a wet and strenuous day of searching for frogs. I started this blog stating my principle that I believe you hope there are people out there doing the work to save the things we all love and wish to protect. The things you can hardly remember in your busy day-to-day life. The things I am scared to death I will forget as I get farther and farther from the jungle. The sound of a heavy rain as it comes through the trees and then hits the tin roof of our shelter. The feeling of the cool morning air as I finally get comfortable in my hammock. The “pop” of the gastrotheca frog late in the night. The feeling of a warm Mountain house meal in my hand. The feeling of watching Edgardo catch a frog and have the joy of a 9-year-old boy, the sound of howler monkeys, and the though that I just passed an eyelash viper and it failed to bit me. Little things that I know will grow dim with time. The way, as your child grows, you know another day has passed and you will lose them soon. I feel the slipping away now. My heart that was healed when I caught “Bob” now feels broken because, while people like Jeff Corwin make nature fun and accessible, it is slipping away and I know you don’t want to think so. “Things must be getting better,” you say. Actually some things are, but there is much work to be done. And like the frog’s race against the onset of chytrid, you race against things lost that can never return without serious work on your part and our part. Edgardo, who I collected frogs with on the last afternoon, has personally seen the mass die off of frogs in two separate populations in Panama. Who cares about frogs that disappear off the face of the earth? You, I suspect, or you would not be following this trip and opening up your heart to the possibility that you personally can do something to make the world a better place. After all, in reality, that is why we are here. To put these wonderful species into a protected breeding program. An assurance or insurance policy against their disappearance while we wait for people to get serious about the conservation of the natural world; and I can see it happening now and in my kids eyes. I have hope for animals and their world.