Seven weeks in the jungle

I was in a turmoil of mixed emotions as I stepped off the bus into Santa Cruz at 5am this morning.

On the one hand, these past seven weeks of continuous rain, apocalyptic mosquito swarms, choking oppressive humidity, rat infestations, mouldy clothes and  long days spent tramping through porridge-like jungle mud up to my knees in water have left me completely shattered, and I'm glad to be back in the mosquito-free bliss of relative civilisation again. On the other hand, the sense of community and solidarity fostered by these hellish conditions is something unlike anything else I have ever encountered and I am very sad to be leaving.

It is very difficult to describe what the park really is. Ostensibly it is a wildlife reserve, with the purpose of housing rejected and abused animals, principally big cats. However, in my mind it is so much more than that. It exists for me as a complex and colourful whirlwind of rain, running through the green jungle slapping past patuhu leaves, a powerful puma on the end of a rope, laughing faces lit by candlelight. It is waking up and taking a cold shower before pulling on damp smelly clothes, it is climbing vines in the jungle, it is a jumble of screeches and squawks from the jungle around. It is reading damp books on eastern philosophy as the roof drips and the rats run riot, it is losing rock-paper-scissors over dinner and having to wash all the dishes and climbing a hill in the hot sun, sweat dripping from my nose. It is sitting at the peak of a radio tower, basking in the cool breeze with people who are truly alive. I consider my time spent there as one of the most formative and incredible experiences of my life.

I was extremely privileged to be able to work with both quarantine animals and two big cats during my time at the park. For the first two weeks I helped out in qurantine with a tapir, squirrel monkeys, assorted birds, an otter called Beatrix (Beatrix Otter, geddit?) and a tejone. After that I was moved onto Tupac and Ru, a puma and jagur respectively. Tupac is featured in the photo heading this post.

Most mornings I would wake up at 6:30, take a cold shower, get dressed and head down to quarantine to feed Tony, a baby tapir. Then I'd head back up and squeeze in a bit of guitar practice before a breakfast of two eggs and dry bread. Then followed a trek to Tupac's cage, with my partner Andy we would clip on the two ropes and throw open the door, immediately without time to think we'd be racing down a jungle path, half running, half dragged by an energetic puma. A few hours of that, then back for lunch of rice and vegetables. Squeeze in some guitar after lunch then a half hour stroll to Ru's cage where Leigh and I would let him out on his runner to swim in the river. Perhaps get some digging done for his new runner system while he was out, then feed him and get back to camp for dinner, after which I'd get a bit more guitar in and chill out before bed at around 9:30.

I managed to get in about three hours of practice every day and it's started to pay off. Had a couple of INCREDIBLY fun jam sessions with other guitarists in the camp. The best one of these was just a few days ago. When I play with other musicians I feel... godlike. I can feel a tidal force of music building up and trying to explode through my fingers and out of the guitar, if only my clumsy fingers would just get more nimble and accurate! Practice of course is the only way this can happen. Every jam session fuels the fire and commits me even more fiercely to mastering this instrument.

Being away from internet, electricity and all the other distractions of life has had  wonderfully focussing effect on my mind. What's most important to me in life right now is to conquer my fears and keep progressing with my guitar playing. Turns out that walking with a potentially lethal giant cat every day turns down the volume on everything else that might scare you. A few weeks ago I climbed a radio tower with some friends at the camp. We trekked about an hour through the jungle up a hill to get there and then had to ascend 90m of vertical ladder to reach the top. I am not going to lie, I was very scared and almost bottled out. But I did it. Every single rung on the way up was a test of mental strength, I knew that all that stood between me and a bloody mess on the ground was hanging onto those rungs and just focussing on the next, and the next, and the next, and not looking down. When I arrived at the top I was shaking and pale.

The top of the tower blew my mind. It was an island of peaceful tranquility in the centre of endless jungle heat and damp. Everywhere I looked I saw an explosion of green bursting out towards the horizon. We basked in its peaceful serenity for hours, watching rain showers move around over the jungle below us. We only descended when rain threatened to drench us, but then something incredible happened. On the way down, I realised something - my fear of heights was... gone. Honestly, I literally had no fear of it any more. Hanging from a rung by one hand I looked down to see a certainly fatal drop below me and felt nothing beyond mild excitement. The next day I climbed a 15m jungle vine just to prove that I could, something I'd never have dared to do before. Nothing, no twist in the gut, no ball-dropping fear of heights like I was used to. Just fun and hard climbing work.

Turns out facing your fears destroys them. Who'da thunk? Once you've handled a terrified puma leaping for your face in a torrential downpour and been saved only by the quick thinking of your rope partner, then had to coax the majestic kitty back to his cage through two feet of water and mud... well there can't be all that much that phases you after that.

I could tell ten more stories like this and about the incredible people I have met and worked with but I think this post is long enough already. For now anyway I think chilling in Santa Cruz for a few days, swimming a little and recuperating is a fine idea. A fellow musician from the park, Stijn, will be joining me on Monday and we will probably explore the Bolivian salt flats together. I look forward to exploring new horizons and strumming guitar while he coaxes sweet tones from his Ukele.

I have started a spreadsheet to log practice time. This will hold me accountable, both to myself and to everyone else. It is viewable here.

Until the next adventure!