Dracula Youth Reserve Expedition: Day 5

Handsome Flycatcher, photo by Callie Broaddus

Saturday, November 14, 2020

Part 1: Written by Pearson McGovern
Part 2: Written by Callie Broaddus
Part 3: Written by Natalia Espinoza

Part 1

Day five started with our customary drone flight from the abandoned pasture above camp, filling our memory cards with blankets of dripping green, billowing clouds, and a beautiful cascade of two twin waterfalls nestled deep in the hidden jungle. The morning conditions and the associated soft light set the ideal stage for sending our drone, affectionately-dubbed “Bebecito,” to the sky. After our perfectly timed flight, both maximizing flight time and ensuring that Bebecito made it back to camp (rather than crash landing and requiring a search mission … *foreshadowing*), we joined Javier and Daniel Valencia in opening two perpendicular mist nets along the forest edge.

This double waterfall discovered via drone sits on the border of Dracula Reserve. After careful analysis of the GPS points and landscape, we realized these waterfalls were previously unknown even to the land owner and the EcoMinga team—powerful evidence of the value these drone surveys offer to scientific exploration. Photo by Callie Broaddus

Having learned yesterday’s lesson of practicing absolute quiet while the nets are open, we were quickly rewarded with our first bird (a beautiful male Handsome Flycatcher) in the net at around 7:20. This was in stark contrast to the day prior in which we were empty-handed for the first hour of the morning. While we would end catching three of the same species seen the day prior, we also added two new species to our list. These included a female Booted Racket-tail, and a Club-winged Manakin that spurred a five-minute lesson on lekking behavior from our fellow Youth Council member Daniel, more affectionately nicknamed Señor Sonrisas (“Mr. Smiles”) due to his unceasing, contagious, and very toothy grin. Though would have been content to continue catching, measuring, and photographing birds for hours, an especially sunny morning had us closing the nets early; birds can rapidly overheat in sunny conditions.

Club-winged Manakin. Photo by Callie Broaddus

Daniel Valencia getting a lesson on taking measurements from reserve manager Javier Robayo. Here, he measures the beak of a Golden Tanager. Photo by Callie Broaddus

We descended the steep hill back to camp for yet another great breakfast from Doña Rosío and I joined the Herp Team for final swabbing (all amphibians were swabbed to monitor for Chytrid fungus which has devastated amphibian populations worldwide) and measuring of the unreleased Rhaebo colomai and Atelopus coynei specimens. It was time to split up. With Callie remaining in camp to photograph all of our specimens from the previous night (see Part 2), Natalia joined the Daniels and Milton for a hike to the lowest stretch of stream where the animals were to be released (see Part 3 below), and I joined Juanito on his transect line for the day. We were off to a hot start when a mere 200 meters from camp we stumbled upon our third snake species of the expedition crossing the trail in front of us. Our fifth individual snake in nearly as many days, this small yet exciting Cope’s Tropical Racer (Mastigodryas pulchriceps), was unfortunately not an accurate indicator of the success we would have during our morning frog survey. 

Mastigodryas pulchriceps photobombed by an unidentified flying insect (UFI?) in our outdoor field studio. Photo by Callie Broaddus

We came up empty-handed following the initial rush of adding to our snake total for the trip, but Juanito had an idea to make the outing an adventure nonetheless. I knew to be ready for something exciting when he introduced the idea of taking an alternate route back to camp by asking me if I like to climb...I quickly learned what he was referring to as we made our way up the stream and came face to face with a beautiful, misty wall of stacked waterfalls. Not only did this slippery vertical stream provide us with the climb and views of a lifetime but also the opportunity for a much-needed shower. I couldn’t help but think how lucky I was to get to see this special place in person. 

Juan Pablo hikes up a stream near a cave on the day’s herp survey. Photo by Pearson McGovern

While the waterfalls did provide the most scenic alternative route, they didn’t leave us much time at camp before we had to head back out for the night survey of the same stretch of stream. As had proved customary on the trip so far, the night was again a great success. We added two more R. colomai, which meant we had now officially recorded the species on all three transects, and a heart-capturing (as described by Callie) Snail Eating Snake (Dipsas elegans) coiled around the frayed tips of a streamside fern.

When the herpetologists returned to camp with this Elegant Snail-Eater, it quickly became the center of attention.

It wasn’t until we returned to camp that we learned from Mario that this snake may actually represent cryptic speciation within the D. elegans complex. This was the first male specimen captured at this site—an important distinction given the importance of male hemipenis structure in the species description process. We knew this expedition had the potential to register new species or extend known species distributions, but it took seeing Mario light up with excitement at this find for the magnitude of that potential to really sink in. Even more excitingly, this wouldn’t be the last time we would see Mario light up at the sight of one of the team’s finds ... 

Mastigodryas pulchriceps, photo by Callie Broaddus

I couldn’t help but relate this feeling—that there is so much left to still discover and learn—to the broader field of conservation, a field in which the only real prerequisite is curiosity towards nature. A curiosity to never stop educating yourself and learning from others. For me, the excitement of knowing that around every corner, and in the Chocó quite literally under every leaf, there is something new to be discovered is the fuel that keeps the curiosity burning.

Part 2: Callie’s Notes

With Pearson and Natalia off on their respective adventures, I remained at camp with Javier and Doña Rosío, who was always cleaning up from one meal or preparing for the next. You’re never guaranteed a clear sky in the cloud forest, so we needed to use this blazing sun while we had it. Javier and I set to work laying out solar panels to charge batteries, throwing everyone’s damp clothes onto the black plastic roof to dry, and performing some emergency camera repair. Unfortunately, the previous night’s downpour had flooded Daniel C.’s backpack, drenching his DSLR camera and lenses to an extent that not even gallon bags of silica beads could remedy. (Pro tip: I’ve discovered that if you position your uncapped lens at exactly the right angle, so the sun flows perpendicularly through each glass element, it is possible to salvage an inundated lens.)

After our necessary housekeeping, Javier and I photographed specimens in our “field studio”, capturing all the data our herp team would need—front, back, each side, dorsal, ventral, with its numeric tag, and with a tiny ruler for scale. But it wasn’t just the herps that needed our attention. The previous day, I had noticed a tree near camp that seemed to have an extraordinary number of orchids living on it, and we finally had a window of time to check them out. On this one small tree, we found eight species of orchid. I pointed to a pitcher-shaped flower and called for Javier’s attention.

Lepanthes sp., photo by Callie Broaddus

His immediate reaction, “What! No, this cannot be … this cannot be!” was followed by a brief explanation: This orchid resembled the uncommon Lepanthes ribes, but had several distinct differences, and had not been seen in this area before. “New species?” I asked. “Maybe,” he replied.

Javier inspects what we’ve tentatively identified as Pleurothalis thryssa through a loupe. Photo by Callie Broaddus

For the next hour, we split up and searched the trees encircling the campsite for more orchids. When our paths reconnected, Javier asked me, “Callie, do you believe in fairies?” Of all the places we could have camped, we had apparently landed in the middle of what can only be described as an orchid fairy ring.

Part 3: Natalia’s Notes

Milton, the two Daniels, and I left camp around 11 am to release the three A. coynei and R. colomai. While this was also a collecting trip, these two endangered species had to be released at the exact GPS point at which they had been found.

We soon split up: Daniel C. would be releasing R. colomai, while the rest of us headed towards what the herpetologists soon started calling the Quebrada de los Atelopus (Atelopus ravine), in honor of the five individuals that had been found there. We walked up a small hill of recovering pastures and back down to a creek at the bottom of a mountain … then to the top again, reaching an altitude of 1690 meters … and finally down to the water at 1075 meters. We spent the next 2 hours walking along the water, searching for our target species. After hiking for about 250 meters, we reached the crest of a waterfall, where, on a large vertical rock, Daniel V. caught a tiny toad. It was a juvenile R. colomai, its belly covered in a beautiful pattern of swirls. 

Juvenile Rhaebo colomai, Endangered on the IUCN Red List. Photo by Callie Broaddus

Delighted with the find, we sat close to the crest of the waterfall to eat some raisins with almonds and take in the beauty around us. I looked down at the water rushing beneath us and, in that moment, felt as if nothing else in the world but this place mattered, and I wished with all my heart for it to stay like this, just as I was witnessing it, forever. I couldn’t help but feel a wave of gratitude for all the people who have contributed, or are working tirelessly, to protect it. I could’ve sat there for hours, but we were on a mission to release the A. coynei further upstream. We watched in awe as each toad happily and elegantly made its way back to freedom, and I realized that, if we failed to protect its habitat, this could be the last time I saw this species.

Daniel V. and Milton watch as the Critically Endangered Atelopus coynei toad they’ve just released climbs, hops, and swims from rock to rock. Can you spot it? Video still frame by Natalia Espinoza

We started making our way back to camp at 4 pm. The hike was so steep that my legs kept shaking, but Milton patiently walked behind me (at what must have been turtle pace for him), sharing stories of his childhood and life, just to distract me. Once we’d made it to the top and I had caught my breath, I started sharing stories with him as well. This was one of the most special days of the expedition, not only because I witnessed the release of one of my country’s most endangered species and visited what I now consider one of the most beautiful places on this earth, but also because after this hike, Milton and I started becoming good friends.