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Caroni Swamp January 21

Only a crazy person would fly to Venezuela just to eat, but the Scarlet Ibis apparently does it everyday, 18 km from its roost in Trinidad’s Caroni wetlands to a feast of shrimp and fiddler crabs on the mainland.  Once the continental happy hour is over, the red birds return en mass to an island nation that honors them.  The Scarlet Ibis is the national bird of Trinidad (though, importantly, not Tobago), replacing the Queen’s mug on dollar bills since the Constitution of 1976.  This ibis is famous.  Birders flock in droves to Caroni, pronounced Karen-ee—according to Marie, pronounced Marry.   

A cursory google search for the largest swamps in the world produces a list which includes Bangladesh, Brazil, Russia, USA, even the desert nation of Sudan, but no mention of Trinidad.  This does not stop the tour guide from twice declaring that the Caroni Swamp the t’ird largest on the planet.  It is an admitted Trini trait—to exaggerate—so t’ird it shall be.  

Stretching from flooded inland rice fields to the Gulf of Paria, south of Port of Spain on the western coast, the Caroni River Delta consists of 10,000 acres of mangrove and tangled channels, wild and and protected, at least for the time being.  It is home to a fantastic assortment of small mammals, snakes and caimans, fish, and, most especially, birds.  And most especially of all, the Scarlet Ibis.    

Our motorized wooden pirogue launches an hour before sunset.  Our guide, Naaren, has been leading tours since he was a boy.  His trained eye proves invaluable:  A tropical screech owl blends seamlessly with the checkered bark of a black mangrove.  A Yellow-Crown Night Heron perches inconspicuously on the aerial roots of red mangrove.  A melon-size Silky Anteater clings to a trunk, its only recognizable feature being a thin tail, the rest looking like a velvet beanbag.  Cook’s Tree Boas hang about everywhere, with one coiled bundle estimated to be over six feet in length.  After chowing on bird and eggs (or anteaters), these snakes can stay in one place digesting for weeks at a time.  Naaren has been watching this particular one for days. 

The narrow channels are congested with wooden boat traffic, and often two lanes dwindle to hardly one, much like the roads, and there are occasional crashes among the upward-pointing “breathing roots“ and other briny timber.  Keep your hands inside the pirogue if you wish to keep them.  Facing forward is critical, as one could lose an eye to drooping overhead vegetation.  Small tree-climbing crabs, barely a square-inch, take advantage of a retreating tide to feed.  These crustaceans provide some of the carotene which gives the ibises and flamingos their flaming color.

After a few miles, the canals eventually empty into a large bay, with a panoramic view of the low interior mountains.  There is not a trace of civilization in sight except for the smoke from distant rice-field fires.  As vast as a valley lake, the water is no more than a meter deep.  Aimless flamingos wade about, while the sun sinks like a burning ship.  The shore birds are returning from a day’s work to find a comfortable, early-bird-special branch for the night.  Snowy Egrets, Grand Egrets, Pink Flamingos, and Scarlet Ibises, hundreds of them, are catching the last rays of daylight to settle on the island in the middle, safe from the terrestrial predators.  

 Naaren has been following these birds his whole life.  He knows what they are up to, and he reports that the populations are changing.  The flamingos only arrived a few years ago, they came from Venezuela, and they show no signs of ever going back.  Even the Scarlet Ibis is abandoning its traditional Venezuelan feeding grounds, a certain sign of demise for the mangrove wilderness on the free-for-all continent.  

But here, as far as the eye can see, nature still flourishes in diaphanous splendor.  David Attenborough and National Geographic have filmed it for the ages—a green island speckled impressionistically with vibrant reds, whites and blacks.  These are the colors of the flag, the skin tones, the barks of the mangrove, and the feathers of cormorant, egret, and ibis. 

“I know him.“

“David Attenborough?  Really?“

The guide nods at the honor.  “He says this is the most beautiful place.“ 

Well, at least, dee t’ird most beautiful, anyway.

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