"Get ready to duck," yells Michael Malone, our Canadian tour guide, who bears a striking resemblance to "Crocodile" Dundee. "Pull in your shoulders and look forward, or you'll get whacked," he says.
Whacked? An aerial root hanging down from the mangrove tree in front of me swings into my shoulder and punctures my skin. Whacked.
"There are boa constrictors in these trees," says Malone with a shrug. "Let's try to keep them out of the boat. They aren't venomous - they just crush the life out of their prey, and they are kind of a hassle to deal with." I picture a boa con-strictor falling into our 12-person boat; somehow hassle is not the first word that comes to mind.
It is 8:30 in the morning, and sun drops dance upon the still water of Manialtepec Lagoon. Manialtepec - translation: "a place where the water springs from the hills" - is a four-mile-long saltwater lagoon about 10 minutes west, by car, of Puerto Escondido, a small fishing village on the southern Pacific coast of Mexico. I am on a Hidden Voyages Ecotour birding adventure, and we, the binoculars-holding passengers, must duck as we enter a maze of mangrove trees.
Within the swamp, aerial roots cascade from the treetops while ground roots erupt from the muddy water. It is dark under the tree canopy, and a few moments pass before I see that the trees are ... pulsing: trunks and branches are coated with golfball-sized, mangrove tree crabs. Their needlelike legs click as they move and feed on leaves.
"We have come to chaco de la plata, 'the silver pool,' an isolated part of the lagoon, to look for a specialized heron," explains Malone. I am still scanning the trees for dangling boas when someone spots the heron.
"Look at the beak, eh," says the Canadian woman in front of me. The boat-billed heron is a quirky bird with the standard body of a heron and a beak like Donald Duck. "It uses its big crushing bill to feed on mangrove crabs," explains Malone, the birdman of Puerto Escondido. He specializes in lagoons and has been running tours like this one for 19 years.
"We started this business," he says, "because people really wanted to see the beautiful birds in their natural environment." Ironically, Malone and his wife first came to Mexico for the same reason the birds do: "We were escaping winter," he says with a smile.
As the tour continues, I am surprised to see dozens of great blue herons, diving ducks, egrets, osprey and ibis. Malone is not the only Northerner who appreciates the warmth of Mexico during the winter months. "Many of our northern birds vacated their frozen forests, and they are down here in the mangroves," explains Malone. "This is a very important time for them to rebuild their strength."
I always knew that birds migrated, but somehow I never imagined a great blue heron flying alongside a tropical parrot. An orange-fronted parakeet flits around our boat while parrots the color of fresh green grass fly overhead. Lalo, our boatman, makes owl calls to bring birds out of the trees: "Pssshhheeepppp - Pssshhheeepp." A cinnamon hummingbird darts out of a tree and lands in front of our boat. Its magical wings are the color of sparkling cider. A snow-white egret gracefully lands in a nearby tree while a great blue heron stands next to a sunning iguana.
"These lagoons are critical to our North American birds," explains Malone. "The great blue heron could be down from British Columbia. The lesser scaup, osprey or fish hawk could be down from Washington." Or down from Queen Anne! I have fed these beautiful birds in the canal by the Seattle Pacific University campus since I was 8 years old.
According to Malone, Mexico has the fourth-richest biodiversity of anywhere in the world. There are more than 80 species of bats, and more than 700 of reptiles. "Both plants and animals are arriving from two different continents," says Malone. "We have anteaters from South America and white-tailed deer from North America."
As we round a bend in the river, I suddenly have a clear view of the Sierra Madre Mountains. Unfortunately, this perfect view is due to a swamp forest clear-cut. "Swamp forest is one of the most diverse ecosystems in the world, and we tear it down for cattle grazing," says Malone. "We lose thousands of species [that way]."
Cattle dung floats by me, and the mood of the tour has suddenly changed. "We have been trying for 15 years to get protection for this lagoon," says Malone. Each year, near Christmas, ranchers come into the lagoon and, using a backhoe, artificially drain all of the water into the ocean.
"Fish and shrimp are left high and dry," says Malone. And so are the birds. A feast-and-famine situation is created. The fish lose their home and the birds, after a few days of gorging on beached fish, lose their food. The lagoon ecosystem breaks down.
"If this area were in the U.S. or Canada, it would be a state park," clarifies Malone. "It would be protected." Lalo has begun a group called the watershed committee for the protection of Manialtepec Lagoon. It includes 17 different communities living on the river and on the lagoon. And last year Malone and his associates offered a birding course to guides working in and around Puerto Escondido. They provided binoculars, field guides and important environmental education about the surrounding ecosystems.
"Ecotourism is a new concept for Mexico," states Malone. "As an ecotourism operator I encourage the locals to leave the natural systems alone." The agapanthus lily, also known as Lily of the Nile, glows on top of the water, and fairy purple hyacinths peek from the tall, green grasses. "You aren't going to change the world," says Malone. "The ranchers who artificially drain the lagoon hold a lot of power."
Yet, as we start heading back, I am not so sure. Lalo, who is on a mission to clean up this river, maneuvers our boat near shore and picks up a bleach bottle floating among cattails. I am reminded of how powerful small gestures can be.
"Many of you should recognize this familiar friend from the North," says Malone, pointing to a duck known as the lesser scaup. "He's down here for about four months to enjoy the seafood." I recognize this "familiar friend," and almost instantly I am sitting on a bench with my father at the bottom of Queen Anne Hill. I have crumbled bread in my hand, and we, dad and daughter, are mesmerized by a family of ducks. It is a quiet moment, except for the quacking, and I feel close to my father.
Each year Malone documents the damage that is done when the lagoon is artificially drained. Each year more people learn about the delicate balance of ecosystems and the importance they play in our lives. Each year our world gets smaller, and "over there" quickly becomes "right here." My familiar bird friends in Mexico brought back wonderful childhood memories and reminded me of how interconnected we all truly are.
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