While our first day got off to an early start (5 am departure from Quito), it took until the early afternoon before it fully settled in that I was actually in a foreign country again. After all, trips to the grocery store had become rare in 2020, let alone expeditions to far off lands.
Read MoreWhat does nature mean to me? What doesn’t nature mean to me? Nature is my everything. Nature is my sanctuary, my playground, my study, my place of physical and mental rebirth, my place of infinite knowledge and discovery. Nature is my second mother. Nature is where I was raised, where I was nurtured, where I learned the way the world works, and where I found myself in some of the greatest moments of living so far.
Read MoreThis particular drama starts with an ant. Or does it start with a mushroom—or is that where it ends? For cyclical mother nature, ends and beginnings don't really exist, and so I will start where I like, and that is with a spore.
Read MoreA good night’s sleep in proper beds meant that Callie, Carter, and I awoke feeling refreshed on Friday, ready for our long drive back to Quito. But the general mood at Dracula House that morning was different to what it had been previously—Javier was tense, keen to get us out of Carchi province as early as possible to ensure our journey wasn’t compromised by any more blockaded roads or intensifying political demonstrations. We hurried to eat breakfast and gather together all of our belongings—clothes, camera kit, and all—that were strewn messily about the place.
Read MoreIt was raining when we woke up at 6AM, so instead of birding and drone-flying, we started gathering our scattered belongings and packing our tents. Callie’s black Pelican case was to be sent home early with the morning team of porters, so we had to make hard decisions about what camera equipment to do without for the day.
Read MoreIt was a bittersweet morning, as today was the day the Reserva Expedition team would be leaving camp for good. At least, that’s what we thought, right up until the moment we heard the dulcet tones of our trusty satellite telephone. It was a colleague from Chical, calling to deliver the news that strikes in the nearby town of Tulcán were escalating, and that many of the surrounding roads had been blockaded.
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