My First House Guest

It didn’t take long to receive my first house guest in the biostation.

It was the first night of my field work, the first of many days that I would spend in the remote reaches of northern Ecuador’s Andes. I was the sole proprietor of the Piruahoca Biostation - its first occupant ever. My new home was a bare bones, but beautifully furnished, log cabin. Even more impressive, it was built almost entirely by the local residents. Situated on the edge of Cayambe-Coca National Park, the cabin was a half day’s hike to the nearest road. Then a full day’s hike to the nearest village. All the supplies to build this beautiful biostation had been carried in or crafted from the surrounding forest.

And this trail into the cabins was not an easy one. You were required to traverse multiple river crossings and slick slopes of knee-dee mud - down-and-up, down-and-up, then down again. The cabins (there are two; my biostation and a little clay hut) were nestled in a small clearing within the immense, biodiverse cloud forest. Enormous hardwoods rose in all directions to fill a diverse, green canopy. It remained unbroken, though composed from trees of all shapes and sizes, across the many hills and ravines. Miles of forest reigned until a snow-capped, 19,000 foot volcano emerged on the horizon. But from within, the forest hid all sights beyond a thick understory. Brushy epiphytes, vines, and tropical flowers draped over massive tree branches. All grew quickly in this tropical climate. Whole sections of the cloud forest were nearly impenetrable through the dense vegetation.

But tonight, I was comfortably snuggled into my humble abode. It was 8pm, about 90 minutes after dark. Bedtime. I was reading a book by the light of my headlamp when I heard it first. A flutter of wings. Bird or bat, I thought. Either way, I was safe beneath my massive bug net. And committed to stay beneath my 7 layers of blankets. Few needs could entice me to venture out into unheated cabin during the high-30 degree (Fahrenheit) nights.

A swallow appeared. I chased its silhouette with the beam of my flashlight, watching it skillfully pursue mosquitos. He cast a long shadow on the downwards sloping ceiling. With a nod to my new friend, I returned to my book. But this house guest was apparently determined to make his presence felt. And ever so rudely, he pooped on the bug net above my feet. Now I don’t know about you, but when my guests start pooping on the furniture, it’s time for them to go. I begrudgingly emerged my little nest. I studied the smooth wooden walls to figure out just how I might scale them. With some help from my bed frame, I ungracefully hoisted myself up onto the ten foot interior walls that partitioned 4 individual rooms inside this large hexagonal building. I could stand atop these walls without hitting my head at the building’s center. And I could now see the problem - there were several 2-foot gaps between the exterior walls and my overhanging roof. A space available for any bird, bat, or other new friend to drop in for a visit. Tonight, a pair of swallows perch casually on these exterior walls.

I couldn’t reach them with a broom, so I resorted to the next best thing. Throwing balls of tape at them. And if you ever find birds in your house, I wouldn’t suggest this strategy… it failed miserably. But I threw a few more things for good measure before I gave up. It was time to bring in the reserves. I sought help from Ramiero, a local villager who was staying in the clay hut next door. Clearly, the community was justified to provide me with some assistance during these first nights.

Ramiero quickly developed a more effective strategy. Like some arcade ninja, he jettisoned up the corner, using both walls as leverage. With that same grace, he began to pace between rooms along the tops of these perpendicular walls. However, these birds were even quicker. They anticipated his movements, flying back-and-forth to where he wasn’t.

After a few minutes of cat-and-mouse, one bird got tired of our little game and flew away. One down, one to go. But this final bird drove us mad - to the point where we were both tight-rope walking the walls and waving brooms around. Ramiero had his sweatshirt off, ready to smother the bird in-flight. But it was an impressive display of catlike reflexes from Ramiero that finally subdued our antagonist. He stealthily approached from the room below to snatch the bird with one hand.

Though to my surprise, he did not send the bird out into the night immediately. He instead took it over to show me. This must have been an odd sight. The 2 of us balanced on top of a narrow ten-foot wall, staring at this tiny bird. “Golindrina”, he said, stroking it ever so delicately. I only knew the English word, swallow. But at this point, all I wanted was for it to be out of my little house. And so we took our new friend to his freedom. We stood on the porch, like two proud parents, looking out into the night. Ever so gently, Ramiero set the bird atop a porch railing. We watched him get his bearings and fly off… right through the open door of Ramiero’s hut. Dumbstruck, we shared a look of disbelief that transcends language and a good laugh that comes with it. And thus, we began another game of hide-and-seek. This time, in a smoke-filled, traditional clay Ecuadorian hut, with the added challenge of climbing through wooden rafters looking for this small bird.

After another 10 minutes of failures, Ramiero shut off the lights. Why? I’m actually still not sure of his advanced bird-catching techniques. But whatever he did, it worked. With his tiny cell phone light and my headlamp, we located that sucker in the rafters. Once again, Ramiero got below him and snatched him up. Fool me once, fool me twice, this bird was not going to get the best of us again. We released him well away from the cabins. He disappeared into the thick cloud forest without a sound.

I would go on to make many more friends in that cloud forest. But none of them were quite as insistent as that first house guest.