Tambopata: Jewel of the Amazon

Scarlet macaws in the Tambopata National Reserve

During my last week of the trip I had an incredible adventure into the Tambopata National Reserve, the jewel of this part of the jungle. Saying goodbye to the Kawsay station and all of the incredible people I met was hard, I made lifelong friends that I will miss so much, but I left with an excitement for my final adventure of the trip. 

But a surprise was waiting for me for those last few days. The past week had been one of the hottest yet, where for the first time in my life I could accurately describe myself as utterly dripping in sweat. However, as soon as I left the station, a friaje hit cold and hard. A friaje is a weather phenomenon that occurs in the Amazon Rainforest when cold air masses from the Antarctic, channeled by the River Plate basin, cause a drastic and sudden drop in temperature. I had experienced a few during my month in the jungle, they rolled in giving us a nice break from the intense heat and brought temperatures where we felt comfortable in long sleeves or maybe a hoodie. They had never lasted more than two days and had hardly been too noteworthy. But this one, coupled with days of out-of-season thunderstorms and downpours, was certainly a shock. 

After spending a day in Puerto Maldonado, I woke up for my tour to the National Reserve to pouring rain. I scampered the way from my room to breakfast, hoping it would let up before the long boat ride I would be taking up the Tambopata River. However, my hopes went unheard and before long the streets were beginning to fill with water and thunder claps were echoing through the sky. The temperature had plummeted even further overnight and I found myself shivering despite my fleece and raincoat. The rain failed to let up during our 2 hour drive out of town and as we stood at the bank of the river waiting for our boat, all our stuff was soaked through in minutes. There is something beautiful being on the river in the rain, the raindrops pierce the surface making it appear alive. But for me on that particular boat ride, the hood of my rain jacket was falling over my eyes and I sat curled over my backpack, willing my body to stop the water from reaching my camera. My head peaked up every few minutes as my curiosity to see this new part of the jungle got hold of me but each time I quickly ducked back down as the raindrops whipped my face so fiercely I had to shut my eyes. The boat rocked with the churning of the river and I tried to zone out the claps of thunder while dangerously aware that I sat aboard nothing more than a large piece of floating metal as lightning fizzled around me. As we passed further up river a new noise made me peek my head up again. What I saw was the biggest gold mining operation I had yet encountered, with all the machines up and running and at least 20 people crowding around them and scattered across the bank. The Madre de Dios river had been vastly wide, meaning any mining site we went past was at least a few hundred feet away on the bank. The Tambopata was an entirely different story, the river was narrow and winding, the miners so close I could make out the cold expressions on their faces as we rode past. If it hadn't been for the thunder and churning water taking up all the space in my mind, I would have felt unsettled. 

When we finally arrived at the bank we were shocked to find we still had a short hike before we would make it to the lodge. Grateful I had only brought a backpack I rushed up the steps and down the washed out trail, mud caking my boots and leaves dumping buckets of water down my back as I brushed past. We all made it to the lodge exhausted, drenched, and shivering. I was glad I wasn’t completely alone as three other girls I knew from Kawsay were also doing the tour and we all sat together laughing about the wild time this unexpected change in weather had brought. After a filling lunch and a few hours of waiting, the rain finally let up enough for us to start our activities. We met with our guide and the rest of our tour group, which consisted of the four of us, a German lady, and a couple from Spain. We pulled our wet boots back on and began to hike through the forest to the canopy tower. Throughout the hike I was stunned and perplexed by just how different this forest was to the station I had lived on for the past month. The trees, the forest composition, the terrain, the flowers, the insects, even down to the energy was different. Though I hadn't traveled far it felt like I had stepped through a portal into an entirely different ecosystem. I found myself grinning from ear to ear as I rediscovered the jungle and saw the new ways in which the forest presented itself. Our guide bent down and showed us these towers made of red clay protruding out of the ground. They were like nothing I had seen at Kawsay, the guide explained they were cicada nests and the towers were for the cicadas to crawl up in if their burrows flooded in the rain. When we made it to the tower we were in awe of just how massive it was. None of our brains had fully grasped how tall 50 meters actually was but we certainly felt it as soon as we began to climb. The skies were still dark and the wind made the tower wobble the higher we got. When we reached the top we opened a trap door and climbed out onto the platform of the watchtower, marveling at the vast expanse of the forest beneath us. The canopy, which had seemed immeasurably tall and impenetrable from the ground, sat far below us rustling in the breeze. Each tree branched out with its own unique structure, the color of the leaves varying vastly between each one. Colors ranged through all the possible shades of green, oranges, yellows, and even a bright purple. We watched as a toucan flew below us, a slightly ridiculous looking creature with its yellow beak nearly the same size as its body. A pair of scarlet macaws flew overhead and their characteristic screech carried through the winds. I practiced trying to recognize trees I knew – the great lupuna and the beautiful shihuahuaco’s I had studied during my time at Kawsay. Through the canopy there were countless Brazil nut trees, trees you couldn’t find on the Madre de Dios river. These trees produce the nuts many people rely on for their income, collecting the fruits and breaking through the hard layers of shells – a surprisingly dangerous job. The bases of these trees are infamous for harboring the deadly shushupe bushmaster snake, one of the deadliest snake bites in the world with a high mortality rate even with treatment. The snakes live in the holes and leaf litter by the trees to feast on the rats drawn to the trees for the tasty brazil nuts. As our guide pointed out the trees he told us the story of how his best friend lost his life to one of the deadly creatures when they were just teenagers. His family had moved out of the city to make money collecting brazil nuts, scavenging the forest at the base of the trees for the fruits whose layers of tough shell made them deadly as cannon balls when they fell from the branches. He was just a young boy, freshly 14 years old, far in the forest early one morning digging through the dry leaves for the fruits when the bushmaster struck. No less than 12 feet, it lashed out from the trunk straight for his face. The second the fangs pierced his skin all hope was lost. The bushmasters are vicious, striking repeatedly with 2 inch fangs – the longest fangs of any venomous snake in the Western Hemisphere. He had hemorrhaged and died before the first rays of sun had peaked above the horizon. 

 When the sun had set – and the temperature dropped to the point of shivering – we strapped on our headlamps and as many jackets as we had brought and headed back down to the riverbank. We were off to look for caimans (basically the South American version of alligators) however, the cold weather was certainly not ideal for spotting the cold blooded creatures. While keeping our eyes out for the caimans, we set our sights towards searching for mammals who may be venturing to the river for a drink. Within 10 minutes we had struck gold. We saw them from across the river, potato shaped creatures with stubby heads and short legs. I hurriedly grabbed my camera and began trying to film the capybaras, so excited that I was actually seeing them and expecting them to dart for the forest any second as our boat approached. The next thing I knew the front of our boat was sliding into the sand mere feet from where they still sat, seemingly unbothered by our approach. The two creatures merely sat there, their eyes appearing half closed with barely a glance in our directions. They were extremely bizarre creatures with massive bodies, short legs, stubby webbed toes, tiny ears perched on the top of their snouts, long whiskers, and distinctly rodent noses. We sat watching them for over 10 minutes, so close we surely could have reached out and pet them. One wandered into the water for a drink and gave our boat a good look over before doing its business right into the river. I could have kept watching them for hours, I was fascinated by the strange creatures and amazed at our close proximity. We continued our search for caimans, spotting about 4 small ones along the banks and in the water, all of which darted out of sight as soon as we approached. 

I went to bed colder than I ever thought it was possible to be in the Amazon. I shivered under my blankets in clothes still damp from the rain and the high humidity that hung in the air. The air itself felt like ice, a wet cold I am certainly not accustomed to, and having only packed a day bag I lacked the warmth of layers. 

Our next day began early, 4:30 am back in the boat and heading up river to the macaw clay licks. Unfortunately, because of the cold and rain the incredible spectacle of macaws flocking in to eat the clay did not occur. Instead, the birds stayed up in the trees and flew overhead but we were still fortunate enough to see all four species of macaw, blue fronted parrots, great headed parrots, and many species of parakeets. We ate a wonderful breakfast on the bank of the river and it was beautiful watching the macaw pairs fly in sync overhead. But the real treats of the day were on our way back to the lodge. We veered off course, heading up a smaller tributary to search for more wildlife and before we had fully changed our course we saw the first big caiman. A black caiman (one of the three species in the area) lay sprawled on the beach with its head up and mouth resting open. The beast was huge, nearly 3 meters long. Seeing it fully exposed on the sand was incredible – its tail rose in scaly patterns that were nothing short of dinosauric and its large belly carved a wide berth in the sand. When it saw us approaching it stood, raising its colossal bulk onto four stocky legs, and began to amble toward the water, straight towards us. It entered the river and began to swim with the classic back and forth motion, only its head and the tip of its tail peaking out of the water. It made directly for our boat, its mouth still open and so close to us we could see the vivid orange of its teeth. It stopped about 2 meters from us and stared open-mouthed as we all took the handsome beast's picture. At the rev of our engine it was gone, disappearing beneath the surface in a second. As we drove away up the river, we saw its head re-emerge right where we had just been and its eyes seemed to follow us away. Less than five minutes later we saw our next big caiman, a white caiman this time and not nearly the size of the first. It lay in a patch of brilliant green grass on the bank, its stunning white scales reflecting the small slivers of sunlight peaking through the clouds. My favorite spot of the day came just minutes later when we rounded a bend to see a sprawling beach dotted with capybaras. A big family group, eight in total, sat on the bank sleeping in little groups. Smaller juveniles lay beside their moms, truly resembling nothing more than an overgrown potato with slits for eyes. Again, they didn’t mind our presence one bit and our boat pulled up about a meter from where they lay. Our hearts all melted when the smallest one of all stood up and did the cutest stretch, reaching its little legs forwards and then pushing its butt high in the air before turning around and snuggling back in with mama. A big black bird with yellow eyes landed on the back of one of the largest females and began to peck the bugs from its coarse fur. A family of four turtles lay sunbathing on a log in the water just past the capybaras. It was a perfect picture of the wild and wondrous Amazon I had always dreamed of and all the pictures in the world couldn’t capture the beauty of the moment. 

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Illegal Gold Mining

Illegal mining is one of the biggest threats to the animals and environment in the Madre de Dios region and one I have seen prominently affecting the area. Gold and mercury are mined from the soil and clay and the business is currently booming as gold prices are over $3,000 per ounce. Illegal gold exports from Peru grew to $6.8 billion in 2024, surging 41% over 2023 – the problem is becoming evermore serious and the Madre de Dios region is the most heavily mined.  Just along the stretch of river from Puerto Maldonado to Kawsay there were at least 20 visible mining sites and certainly more hidden behind the treeline. It was very surprising to me at first how blatant it was while being extremely illegal. While at the research station, especially by the river, we would hear the generators from the mines pumping the sediment and clay from the river. On one of my last days at Kawsay we were surprised by the sound of explosions. We learned that the Peruvian Marines were going down the river blowing up mining equipment. They come once every 4-6 months to clear out the sites, however, it is nowhere near effective enough to put a dent into the operations. Many miners pay off the military to receive advanced warning of their visits and put out their old and unused equipment. This way the mining operations continue and the military can also appear to be doing something to stop it. The mining equipment and mines themselves are not at all what I would have pictured, no tractors or big machines. The mines are constructed of large branches, floating oil drums, empty gas canisters, sheet metal, mesh, pipes, and a generator and pump. Sediment and clay are pumped up from the river and filtered through some sort of catchment apparatus and the waste is left in piles along the banks. I am still not entirely sure how it all functions and no one I have asked has been able to give me the entire picture. The result of the sites mined are large holes in the ground and along the bank and mounds of exposed earth piled high along the sides. On my adventure to the Tambopata National Reserve, one of the biggest mining sites I’ve seen sat just downriver from the ranger station and entrance to the reserve – highlighting the visibility of the operations and the inability or unwillingness of officials to do anything about it. When I flew over the jungle to return to Cusco I passed over a massive mining site far from any civilization. The shore and surrounding area of the river was torn up and pock-marked with vast holes, cleared forest, and mounds of dirt and rock. I could see a small road winding its way away from the site and off into the jungle. It is heartbreaking to fly over a broken forest, to know the damage that has occurred to get to this state and the destruction it continues to bring. 

An unused mine we went past on the Tambopata river