Honduras: Dawn climb
Climbing in the day is great but, for me, a dawn tree climb is the ultimate in adventure. This transition, from night to day, feels somehow incredibly special. You can breathe in the awakening forest as it stirs, as birds open their sleepy eyes and sing, and the day begins.
Every year, Operation Wallacea on expedition documents the incredible biodiversity of the remote mountain forests of Cusuco National Park, Honduras. Whilst surveying snakes, insects and much more, scientists and participants join Canopy Access on a tree climbing adventure. This unique experience lets you take in the view from 45m pine trees that jut up way above the thick jungle canopy.
Climbing trees is always remarkable. Now, when you have permission to scale the epiphyte-rich, emergent pine trees in a world biodiversity hot-spot, then it is truly an awesome experience. Cusuco National Park is one such place, known for its exceptional species richness. During the day as a Tree Safety Expert my job is to safely guide school and university students up into two beautiful trees to view the forest, spot wildlife whilst learning new skills, all at around 1500m above sea level. A couple of times each season when times and weather align, we do a dawn climb. This means a super early start…
The alarm goes off at 4am, and it’s time to crawl out of your cosy hammock. Quick boots check for spiders before you put them on, step over a salamander on the way to the toilets, then collect the kit at the rendezvous. Ace arborist and canopy teammate Simona and I set off into the darkness at 04:15 with head torches bobbing along the trail, into the jungle.
Today we have with us David, a member of the bird scientific team and so no stranger to early starts. Softly spoken and passionate about wildlife, David is in for a real treat today. Only 15 minutes later at the tree we switch head torches onto our helmets and, as it’s already warm, we slide full-body harnesses on over T-shirts and complete all our pre-climb checks. Then it’s time to leave the ground and begin climbing the ropes up, up, up and into the night.
You tend to focuss on the patch of ropes lit up by your head-torch, so that, before you know it, you’ve left the river far below. I keep checking in with David as we climb and all around us Slate Coloured Solitaires begin to sing their jangly, metallic, song for the new day. The sky shows the first flush of dawn now and and still were climb. More birds are vocal, there’s a Highland Guan calling in the pines on the ridge behind us, and I think I heard a Quetzal.
“Once at the top, it was everything I dreamed of and more…the sheer grandiosity of this place took my breath away in an instant. It was so incredibly green! And we saw so many birds!”
We arrive at the top of the lines and find a spot to sit as we watch the clouds change colour and gaze out for any wildlife. At first its very quiet, and quite misty but as soon as the sun comes up proper, it’s as if someone rang a bell and all the birds are singing and active. The trees now look amazing and the view is breath-talking, just the diversity of tree shapes and species, some in flower, some parasitic on others, some sporting large pendulous bee nests.
David writes:
The previous night, I stayed up until around 11pm, helping the bat scientific team and learning about some of 59 described bat species of Cusuco National Park. Naturally, the next day, way before dawn, I grudgingly got out of my warm cosy tent, yawning and eyes lids still glued to one another with sleep. But once I met up with tree climbing aces, Tim and Simona, and caught sight of a spark of excitement on their eyes, I quickly realised that I was in for a treat. Their eagerness, a vivid reminder of the adventures that lay ahead of (or above) us.
Standing next to the tree, marked as safe to climb by Tim and Simona, I immediately felt in awe with this beautiful, ~40m specimen that commanded being admired. I must admit that I had never done anything of this type before. Not because of a lack of eagerness for adventures, but instead because I have a mild fear of heights. Indeed, Tim and Simona never knew that I deposited this much trust (and my safety) in them. But it was not long until my imaginary fears dissipated, interrupted in part by the melodic chorus of nature, as birds warmed up their vocals, but also by another thought: the urge and desire to race up towards the top of this majestic tree, striving to outpace the sun, before it could shine its illuminating rays on all of us.
Once at the top, it was everything I dreamed of and more…the sheer grandiosity of this place took my breath away in an instant. It was so incredibly green! And we saw so many birds! Sixteen species in fact, including Grace’s Warbler, gleaning on pine needles nearby, or Tufted Flycatcher, swooping down a bare, tall tree stump to catch insects before coming back up to the same spot as if it belonged to the bird. We spotted two male Resplendent Quetzals chasing one another at the distance with their undulating vividly green tails and a vividly red male Hepatic Tanager scanning its surroundings.
Amidst the flurry of this bird activity, I even managed to overlook the mosquitoes – the usual uninvited party crashers when one is admiring a beautiful place anywhere in the world – feasting on my blood. Although in all fairness, the presence of mosquitoes is part of the reason why so many insectivorous birds congregate in this area high above the canopy!
At the end of our descent back to ground, I felt lucky, privileged even, and wished I could return back to witness it all again. “We saw all the birds!” exclaimed Tim, visibly very excited.
But it really did feel like that.
Twice the Tufted Flycatchers flit into our tree as the pair of Flame-coloured Tangers, glowing in the sun, dart about below. All the while, tiny, beautiful little Grace’s Warblers (spot its yellow belly in the pic above) flit about, singing, as they glean invisible insects from the pine needles around our head. Blue Crowned Chlorophonias do their usual high-speed fly-by, glittering iridescent green and even the Keel-billed Toucan puts in an appearance.
Munching on the finest Honduran chocolate we chat about being nearly 40m above the ground and all the kit keeping us safe and secure. David takes it all in his stride and is super cool on the ropes (giving us no idea he had a mild fear of heights!). The chocolate was great but all too soon our bellies remind us that the cooks will be nearly done cooking the morning’s fresh tortillas. With a last look around, we bid adieu to the warblers, give thanks to the tree, and descend down through the forest back to the ground and our calling breakfasts.
