To Boldly Go Where No One Wants To
The current pristine state of Belize’s Sarstoon-Temash National Park’s unique wetlands and mangrove complex owes much to its remoteness, difficult access, and hostile habitat; the discovery of oil there is changing that. A team of scientists collects ecological data which might help guide the Park’s management.
The skiff drifts quietly toward the riverside, the outboard still. A young man standing in the bow gently parts the branches overhanging the water till the boat touches the bank. He ties the bow line securely to a tree, then pulls the boat parallel to the shore.
Peering over the side of the skiff, I grab my camera bag, raise my leg over the gunnel and search carefully for a place to put my foot. I have a choice: leaf covered muck, thin arched root, or an unknown puddle inches or feet deep. The root it is. The second step? Same options. I chose another thin root. Now completely out of the boat, head down, I search for that third root. Cautiously I lift my back boot to step forward, my front boot slips, both plunge into a slurry of sludge.
Resigned to wet, muddied boots, I look up to see a tangled, confused wall of impenetrable roots rising from festering, thick blackwater. The stench of decay fills the air; a sheen of oil floats on stagnant pools; rotten, swollen logs carpeted by fungus and moss criss-cross the morass ahead; mosquitoes, biting flies, and spiderwebs surround me. Sweat drips from my forehead into my left eye.
Everywhere is shadowy and cramped, claustrophobic and foreboding. The sulfurous, dense forest lining the northern banks of the Sarstoon River, Belize’s southern common border with Guatemala, swamp all five of my senses at once. I’ve entered a foreign and hostile world — to man; but a veritable paradise to myriads forms of life not man.
I am knee deep in mud to document a team tasked with the first systematic survey of epiphytes in Belize, that small Central American country below Mexico that everyone has heard about, but few know. An epiphyte is a plant that grows non-parasitically upon another plant, meaning it gets water and food from the air, the rain, and the debris collecting around it, instead of from the plant it has grabbed on to.
The most well known epiphytes are the orchids and bromeliads. Epiphytes thrive in moist, shaded, rich nutrient-recycling habitats — hence our expedition into this wet, dark, smelly environment.
This survey project is a joint endeavor by the Marie Selby Botanical Gardens (MSBG) in Sarasota, Florida, the Caves Branch Botanical Gardens (CBBG) on the Hummingbird Highway in Belize, and the Environmental Research Institute (ERI) of the University of Belize. The team includes one of the world’s foremost plant taxonomists, Bruce Holst, director of Botany at MSBG; Ella Baron, creator and director of CBBG; and two young, agile, tree-climbing, sharp-eyed, well trained and highly motivated assistants from CBBG, Marvin and David.
We are entering the unexplored forests between Belize‘s two southern-most rivers, the Sarstoon and Temash, part of the Sarstoon-Temash National Park (STNP). The STNP protects the entire watersheds of these two wild and remote rivers, including a vast wetland complex and the most highly developed riverine mangrove in the country. Both rivers empty into the bountiful fishing grounds of the Caribbean Sea.
The current pristine state of STNP’s unique wetlands and mangrove complex owes much to its remoteness, difficult access, and hostile habitat. The discovery of oil there is changing that; a couple hundred acres have already been cleared for roads and a drilling platform. While the broad ecological characteristics of the STNP have been established from remote sensing (satellite and aerial photos), most details of the area’s fauna, flora and ecology have yet to be uncovered.
No species list exists and even the local residents are uncertain about the variety of wildlife that occurs in the park. Without this local environmental information, sustainable management of this wild area in the face of mounting development pressures is impossible. The team is here to help fill some of the knowledge gaps about the STNP, which might in turn help guide management; we are here to search for epiphytes.
The first morning, we ride a small 23’ skiff from Punta Gorda Town to the mouth of the Sarstoon River. Along the way we pass the southern-most, and one of the oldest coastal villages in Belize, the Garifuna community of Barranco. Small wooden dories bob in the calm waters, a single or two fishermen hand-line in each. Herons, egrets and pelicans reflect the orange light from the rising sun as cormorants dry their wings. We enter the river mouth; and the captain steers to the left, south towards Guatemala.
“Wait. Belize is that way?“ I ask, confused as I point to the right. Small wooden houses on stilts and rickety docks begin to take shape along the southern shoreline.
“We have to check in with the Guatemalan military“ the captain replies.
“What? We have to check in with Guatemala authorities to enter a Belizean River?” Granted, half the river was Guatemala, but we plan on visiting the Belizean shoreline.
Unfortunately, Guatemala takes liberty with most of the southern Belize borderlands — from the Chiquibul forests of the southwestern border to the “Old Sarstoon“ to the south, as our national anthem says. Throughout the next two days, we witnessed evidence of illegal logging, illegal fishing, illegal hunting and even homesteading on the Sarstoon‘s northern river banks — Belize national territory — by Guatemalans. How do we know it’s Guatemalans?
“It is too far to come by boat from Punta Gorda Town” says the Captain “and Barranco is a village of fishermen and old people.”
The only evidence that we were in Belize is a partially hidden, tilted, weathered sign at the mouth of the river declaring the Sarstoon Temash National Park with “No Hunting, Fishing, Logging Allowed” — in English and Spanish. Right. The sign doesn’t even have the word “Belize” on it.
Without any evidence or protection of the Belizean Government, we had no choice but to obey the Guatemalan demands. It was either that or deal with the probability of a chase, boarding, searches, and young soldiers with automatic weapons. According to the Belizean captain, better to acquiesce then stir up unknown reactions.
Besides, “checking in” consisted of the captain yelling from the boat to two young men standing at the end of a flimsy dock — one in uniform, the other not — “we are heading up river for the day.” The young Guatemalan with an automatic weapon resting comfortably on his forearm replies with “Bueno” and a hand wave as if to a good friend, then pivots and walks back with his companion toward their hammocks in the shade. We turn and head up river.
We take a course parallel to the river bank. The tools of the epiphyte-finding trade appear — GPS, habitat maps, notebooks, and the most important tool, binoculars. Anyone observing our passage up the river would think we were birdwatchers as the entire team scours the river bank, binoculars pressed to their eyes, searching for green in a forest of green.
“There! That’s …” David shouts followed by an indecipherable — at least to me — latin name. The excitement of discovery is infectious. All eyes focus on where he is now pointing.
After a brief moment, Bruce says “No, I think that’s …” followed by similar sounding latin name.
Marvin waits a moment, then quietly says “I think David is right.” The skiff slows, begins a slow turn toward shore to get a better look.
“OK, let’s get it” Bruce finally concurs, and the team springs into action. Ella begins taking notes. Marvin grabs a collecting bag, a roll of brightly colored tape and a sharpie. The captain maneuvers the boat carefully to the bank while David gently guides the bow past branches to the trunk of the tree supporting the epiphyte. Bruce continues to study the plant, mentally going through memorized plant keys, checking characteristics in an attempt to identify the plant.
Taxonomy, the naming and categorizing of life, is one of the oldest human pursuits. Man has this instinctive urge to distinguish and group different kinds of life so that, once named and grouped, we might begin to understand and control. In order to categorize, scientists record observations; they measure and number; they use photographs; they pour over charts, maps and GPS points to locate; all to help recognize patterns.
You see epiphytes comprise about 10% of the world‘s total vascular flora, and in the tropics, can often be the most species-rich plant group in a habitat. Since epiphytes grow on trees, their fate is intimately linked to their hosts — as tropical forest begin to disappear, so do the hanging on epiphytes. Being sensitive to environmental degradation and their importance to tropical forest ecology — as collectors of detritus and water, epiphytes form a rich microhabitat all their own — epiphyte diversity can serve as an indicator of ecological health, and help provide a road map for sustainable management of forest ecosystems.
So the emphasis of this project is on diversity data — location, habitat, species, abundance and collecting for both museum specimens and to grow in botanical gardens like MSBG and CBBG.
“We need to be very careful before we collect,” Bruce explains “we need to make sure that it is not a rare species, or the only one in the habitat. We won‘t collect it if we only see one.” Bruce Holst is a remarkable scientist, not only in terms of the depth of his knowledge and width of his experience, but in his ability to transfer what he knows to others; he is always teaching, always questioning and always excited.
For example, at one point we are 100 yards into a planned half mile trek to sample a particular habitat Bruce has identified as “interesting” from remote sensing data. In front of us rises a tangled maze of vines and roots. We stand in ankle deep in muck and stagnant water. Every branch surrounding us appears to have thorns, spikes or prickles. Mosquitoes incessantly buzz. Flies bite. And the group is all smiles.
“We have found epiphyte Nirvana!” Bruce exclaims while Ella, David and Marvin are already hard at work doing their science. “In just this small area we have already identified 5 new plants, I’m sure there are more” Bruce laughs as he gets to work. We never move deeper into the forest, spending close to two hours within 100 yards of the river bank.
The procedure is always the same. First the cameras come out to photograph the plant in situ from multiple angles. Bruce records GPS points while Ella takes notes on the habitat, time of day, how big and what the host tree is — stuff like that. David plans his route to collect the prized specimen while Marvin grabs the sharpie and flagging tape.
“Number 9997?” Marvin half questions, half announces, pausing for a confirmation before beginning to write the number plainly on the tape.
“9997 it is,” Ella responds, now framing and snapping photos of the epiphyte.
Meanwhile David has either climbed, crawled or pulled himself to the plant; the dexterity and strength to do so requires not only a young body, but also experienced eyes to avoid the many dangers of placing skin on vegetation in the tropics — a swarm of biting ants; a disturbed wasp or hornet nest; thorns, spines and prickles; or snakes, always a concern.
Marvin hands the numbered roll of tape to David who then holds it near the plant so that more photos can be taken matching epiphyte to host tree to habitat. Each collected plant has a unique number. Bruce has been visiting and inventorying plants around the world for over 30 years. On this trip he reached a milestone — his 10,000th collected specimen.
Once all the data is recorded that can be without touching the epiphyte, the plant is collected. Using knives, pruning shears, telescoping loppers or fingers, the collecting operation is almost surgical; great care is taken to disturb as little as possible of both the plant and the substrate it is attached to. If possible, only part of the plant is collected. After everyone has had a chance to view, photograph, examine why it is what it is (usually a conversation including words like sheath, pseudobulb, rhizome, stipule or petiole), and exclaim how beautiful and delicate it is; the epiphyte is tied with the numbered flagging tape, and placed gingerly into a collecting bag and stored in a shaded part of the skiff.
This operation is repeated almost 100 times throughout the two days. Epiphytes are collected from crawling on the ground at the base of a tree; kneeling over arching roots; standing over broken stumps; tiptoeing and stretching to reach lower branches; standing on someone‘s shoulder; climbing a nearby trunk or telescoping loppers 30 feet into the air. All the while, the team marveling at the three-dimensionality of life surrounding them. Not just plants but the raucous screech of parrots, the still invisibility of lizards, the community of ants and termites, and the distance call of the howler monkey.
You see, while most people might be repulsed by the harsh sensory onslaught of these riverine forests, these modern day explorers flourish, driven by the ancestral drive to explore, to learn, to experience the new and to understand.
They search out these dark, damp, difficult environments to add their light to the ever-growing glow of understanding about our world. To go where no Belizean has gone before — or wants to.
They believe man needs to learn as much as possible about how natural systems work today in order to manange resources into the future. Bruce, Ella, Marvin and David know that nature can be damaged beyond repair, and the knowledge of epiphyte distribution — as specialized and esoteric as it is — may act as a harbinger that man is approaching that tipping point.
The task does not end with the field collection. We arrive back in PG at dusk; muddy, sweaty, stinking, sore and bone tired. The deck of the skiff is full of the refuse of collection: loose leaves, broken branches, the odd spider, muddy boot prints and piles of crocus sacks full of epiphyte booty. No time to relax. After a quick rinse, the team is spreading out their day‘s collections, identifying, organizing into groups, pressing for botanical collections, downloading images and transcribing notes, and discussing and laughing about this epiphyte characteristic or that; this latin name or that; laughing about Ella sinking up to her thighs in mud; Bruce getting an ID wrong, Marvin getting it right. You would never know one person was a world expert, one was self taught naturalist, and two were young assistants.
By midnight, all is in order. The empty pizza boxes stacked for disposal, the plant presses secured, collecting equipment made ready for tomorrow. The batteries are charging, the floor has been swept of debris. Knowledge has been passed and stories told. The pillows are calling so that the darkness of ignorance might be held back by the glow of knowledge again tomorrow.
FOOTNOTE: For more about Caves Branch Epiphyte Inventory Project, visit Caves Branch Botanical Gardens.
Tony Rath is a professional photographer based along the shore of the Caribbean Sea specializing in natural, underwater and cultural images.
