Bwindi Impenetrable National Forest apart from having one of the best place names, is very much a storybook jungle. The steep mountainsides are enshrouded with enough rich verdant growth to make a botanist weep with joy. Driving through it you get the sensation that a lost civilization of dinosaurs could be more feet from the road and you would never find it. Trees tower over the canopy and drape enticingly over the winding dirt roads. I am in danger of getting whiplash searching for birds and monkeys from the passenger seat. I want to dive into the leafy green and start exploring. I am not particularly concerned about whether I ever come out again.
Bwindi is humid, cool and high altitude rainforest, which is unfortunately a perfect storm of asthma triggers for me. My airways clog almost instantly. The stairs between my cabin and the dining room make me breathe like an arthritic pug. I'm starting to have serious concerns about the trek.
The briefing does very little to alleviate my anxiety. Perhaps it is the brand new camoflauge uniform, but our guide seems prepared to singlehandedly overthrow a small government and addresses the assembled tourists like a polite but firm first grade teacher before a field trip. He introduces us to our armed escort who are once again, there to protect us from the scourge of bloodthirsty forest elephants who will certainly not attack us. They could not be more emphatic about this point. "Do not be afraid of their guns" our guide assures us. One of the guards smiles sheepishly. The lecture continues with a dissertation on the unpredictable nature of gorillas. We are told the trackers will do their level best to locate the apes, but we should be preparing for a long difficult hike. He describes the procedures for dealing with the sick or injured who don't get to see gorillas, and exactly why we won't get our money back if anything goes wrong. I have nightmare visions of being carried away in a stretcher.
We separate into smaller groups and head off into separate directions to find our assigned family, who we have been introduced to by the medium of laminated photograph. A brief ride up the road and we're on the trail.
I realize that I may be misleading my public by the use of the word "trail'. You are no doubt picturing a swath of bare dirt running through the woods wide enough to admit two people to walk side by side. This in the jungle is known as a "road". A jungle path is a collection of soil patches almost exactly the size and shape of a human foot that the plants haven't had time to reclaim yet. The particular trail we are following is being hacked clear with machetes and would require climbing equipment if it were about two degrees steeper. After about ten minutes of what you could either describe as hiking or a controlled fall, we reach a patch of level ground where we are joined by our trackers. They affirm that the gorillas are nearby.
"How near?" Someone asks breathlessly.
The lead tracker is lost in meditation over the question for a moment.
"Oh... About seven meters" he concludes.
You may think that you are prepared to see a gorilla in the wild. You may have read all the pertinent literature and even seen spectacular wild animals before, but I am here to tell you that nothing in your previous experiences can prepare your mind for the spectacular moment when you first encounter a mountain gorilla on his own terms. Gorillas are massive, somehow larger than their actual size. Our first sighting was the black-back male. He was suspended impossibly fifteen feet up in the branches nibbling leaves, and like most adolescents, looking slightly bored by the proceedings. Our gasps of amazement and frantic fumbling for cameras barely caused him to raise an eyebrow.
It is a curious trait, apparently common to all wild primates, that once you see one the rest of them suddenly materialize around you even though they were previously invisible. Shadows and moving branches are revealed to be a mother with an infant clinging to her portly belly or a pair of boisterous juveniles.
"Let's go see the silverback" our guide suggests with a smile. We labor breathless uphill both in anticipation and because of the punishing track. The silverback is lounging in the undergrowth with the contentment and physique of a reclining Budda. He is both the undisputed king of his domain and a majestic version of a paunchy teamster on his sofa. He wanders a bit through the forest to hoist himself aloft with an acrobatic grace and raw strength that are unbelievable for a creature of such mass and girth. Nearby a youngster sits plucking at the vegetation with a cherubic expression in it's amber eyes . The only thing that prevents me from hugging it is the certain knowledge that this gentle innocent creature could easily tear off my arm.
The experience of seeing the two African great apes in the wild could not be more different. Chimpanzees are full of bluster and bombast. An aspect of energetic activity seems to follow them even when they're sitting still. A chimp's default expression is calculating. Gorillas on the other hand have an air of sagacious contemplation. It is hard to imagine any circumstance that would cause an adult gorilla to hurry. They move with the rare relaxed casualness of an herbivore that is unquestionably evolutionarily sure it has no predators. While chimpanzees fill the air with their calls, gorillas content themselves with the periodic grunt, rumble or comically long burst of flatulence. Young gorillas will have momentary flashes of exuberance, but even these are unconcerned bouts of playfulness.
The guides, trackers and guards were fantastically helpful in pointing out the best spots to view the gorillas, and indicating exactly how close you could safely observe them. It was much closer than I imagined. They would also help you negotiate the difficult ground, either by suggesting the best foothold , holding your gear, or by offering a hand to support you. We we're kindly told that a pair of female gorillas seated on the ground were to be our final moments of our assigned hour with gorilla family and we should take our last photographs now. Reluctantly, we watched them meander away. From uphill one last gorilla decided to rejoin the main group. Bustling down the path, she passed within an inch of my leg.
I have never known an hour to pass so quickly in my entire life.
When I finally emerged from the woods, gasping like a landed fish, I was awarded a certificate to confirm that I had been to see mountain gorillas, as if this wasn't an event I would remember on my deathbed.
Upon return to my camp, my body decided that the debt for all the perceived abuses of the last week was finally and irrevocably due. I was rendered useless for the rest of the day. It was entirely worth it.
Bwindi is humid, cool and high altitude rainforest, which is unfortunately a perfect storm of asthma triggers for me. My airways clog almost instantly. The stairs between my cabin and the dining room make me breathe like an arthritic pug. I'm starting to have serious concerns about the trek.
The briefing does very little to alleviate my anxiety. Perhaps it is the brand new camoflauge uniform, but our guide seems prepared to singlehandedly overthrow a small government and addresses the assembled tourists like a polite but firm first grade teacher before a field trip. He introduces us to our armed escort who are once again, there to protect us from the scourge of bloodthirsty forest elephants who will certainly not attack us. They could not be more emphatic about this point. "Do not be afraid of their guns" our guide assures us. One of the guards smiles sheepishly. The lecture continues with a dissertation on the unpredictable nature of gorillas. We are told the trackers will do their level best to locate the apes, but we should be preparing for a long difficult hike. He describes the procedures for dealing with the sick or injured who don't get to see gorillas, and exactly why we won't get our money back if anything goes wrong. I have nightmare visions of being carried away in a stretcher.
We separate into smaller groups and head off into separate directions to find our assigned family, who we have been introduced to by the medium of laminated photograph. A brief ride up the road and we're on the trail.
I realize that I may be misleading my public by the use of the word "trail'. You are no doubt picturing a swath of bare dirt running through the woods wide enough to admit two people to walk side by side. This in the jungle is known as a "road". A jungle path is a collection of soil patches almost exactly the size and shape of a human foot that the plants haven't had time to reclaim yet. The particular trail we are following is being hacked clear with machetes and would require climbing equipment if it were about two degrees steeper. After about ten minutes of what you could either describe as hiking or a controlled fall, we reach a patch of level ground where we are joined by our trackers. They affirm that the gorillas are nearby.
"How near?" Someone asks breathlessly.
The lead tracker is lost in meditation over the question for a moment.
"Oh... About seven meters" he concludes.
You may think that you are prepared to see a gorilla in the wild. You may have read all the pertinent literature and even seen spectacular wild animals before, but I am here to tell you that nothing in your previous experiences can prepare your mind for the spectacular moment when you first encounter a mountain gorilla on his own terms. Gorillas are massive, somehow larger than their actual size. Our first sighting was the black-back male. He was suspended impossibly fifteen feet up in the branches nibbling leaves, and like most adolescents, looking slightly bored by the proceedings. Our gasps of amazement and frantic fumbling for cameras barely caused him to raise an eyebrow.
It is a curious trait, apparently common to all wild primates, that once you see one the rest of them suddenly materialize around you even though they were previously invisible. Shadows and moving branches are revealed to be a mother with an infant clinging to her portly belly or a pair of boisterous juveniles.
"Let's go see the silverback" our guide suggests with a smile. We labor breathless uphill both in anticipation and because of the punishing track. The silverback is lounging in the undergrowth with the contentment and physique of a reclining Budda. He is both the undisputed king of his domain and a majestic version of a paunchy teamster on his sofa. He wanders a bit through the forest to hoist himself aloft with an acrobatic grace and raw strength that are unbelievable for a creature of such mass and girth. Nearby a youngster sits plucking at the vegetation with a cherubic expression in it's amber eyes . The only thing that prevents me from hugging it is the certain knowledge that this gentle innocent creature could easily tear off my arm.
The experience of seeing the two African great apes in the wild could not be more different. Chimpanzees are full of bluster and bombast. An aspect of energetic activity seems to follow them even when they're sitting still. A chimp's default expression is calculating. Gorillas on the other hand have an air of sagacious contemplation. It is hard to imagine any circumstance that would cause an adult gorilla to hurry. They move with the rare relaxed casualness of an herbivore that is unquestionably evolutionarily sure it has no predators. While chimpanzees fill the air with their calls, gorillas content themselves with the periodic grunt, rumble or comically long burst of flatulence. Young gorillas will have momentary flashes of exuberance, but even these are unconcerned bouts of playfulness.
The guides, trackers and guards were fantastically helpful in pointing out the best spots to view the gorillas, and indicating exactly how close you could safely observe them. It was much closer than I imagined. They would also help you negotiate the difficult ground, either by suggesting the best foothold , holding your gear, or by offering a hand to support you. We we're kindly told that a pair of female gorillas seated on the ground were to be our final moments of our assigned hour with gorilla family and we should take our last photographs now. Reluctantly, we watched them meander away. From uphill one last gorilla decided to rejoin the main group. Bustling down the path, she passed within an inch of my leg.
I have never known an hour to pass so quickly in my entire life.
When I finally emerged from the woods, gasping like a landed fish, I was awarded a certificate to confirm that I had been to see mountain gorillas, as if this wasn't an event I would remember on my deathbed.
Upon return to my camp, my body decided that the debt for all the perceived abuses of the last week was finally and irrevocably due. I was rendered useless for the rest of the day. It was entirely worth it.
Wow, great experience!
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