Monteverde: Where Life Began

Although it was midday, the dense green canopy blocked out the sun and engulfed the trail in shadow, still wet with yesterday's rain and the morning's mist. The air was humid, though not swelteringly hot like the lowland rainforests, and was rich with the smells of vegetation, of earth, of the processes of life - a smell unique to this place. I was in the Reserva Biológica Bosque Nuboso Monteverde, the Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve, on one of its most remote trails approaching a sweeping vista on top of a mountain at the continental divide.


The Dense Canopy in Monteverde



As I walked slowly along the trail the trees became shorter and thinner, letting some diffused light reach me. The bird songs that fill the air in most of the cloud forest faded into a quiet calmness. The thick, green, wet ferns glistened silently on the sides of the muddy pathway. I continued walking up, towards the light at the end of the trail, beyond the trees. The sound of wind grew louder, first as a gentle breeze in the distance, then as sudden gusts.

Finally, when I reached the vista at the end of the trail, I was covered in a blinding blanket of white. The thick clouds were swirling around me; warm currents coming up one side of the mountain colliding violently above me with cold air sweeping down from the other side. I had been to this overlook many times before and had always encountered thick, omnipresent clouds, and powerful Atlantic and Pacific winds crashing together.

This was my third visit to Monteverde in four years; first as a student in a study abroad program called Sustainable Futures, and then twice more as a teacher in the same program. My wife was coming to visit this time, but was stuck in San Jose, the capital city, because a rainstorm had washed out the bridge – and all forms of communication – to Monteverde on the Pan American highway in the valley far below.

In the 1950s, a group of American Quakers from Alabama who were opposed to the draft for the Korean War left the U.S. in search of greener pastures. What they found was so remote, so far from “civilization” – and in a country without a standing army – that they decided to stay and make it home. What they found was Monteverde, a mountainous cloud forest with rich, fertile soils nestled 1,600 meters high on the Pacific slope overlooking the Gulf of Nicoya in Costa Rica. They made their living on cattle and coffee. The impassable mud road from the coast up to Monteverde made self sufficiency necessary.



Monteverde Cloud Forest


The community began to grow, and forests became cow pastures and homes. They soon realized that even in a cloud forest, water was a precious and scarce commodity. Its source was the forest itself, and without the forest, there would be no water, and the community would cease functioning. They decided to protect large tracts of land in the mountains above their community. Today, these are the reserves that draw researchers and tourists from around the world. Its reserves are all private, unlike the country’s other national parks, and include the original Monteverde Cloud Forest Reserve, the Santa Elena Cloud Forest Reserve, owned and operated by the local high school, and the Bosque Eterno de Los Ninos (the Children’s Eternal Forest) that can be accessed through the Sendero Bajo del Tigre (Jaguar Canyon Trail).


Although the guidebooks may not say this, Ticos – what Costa Ricans call themselves – had already settled the region by the time the Quakers arrived. Today, Ticos make up the majority of the Monteverde population and their livelihoods are based largely on eco-tourism. Monteverde’s protected areas draw tourists, its tourists drive the economy, and its economy has a way of turning on itself, as development consumes much of what draws people to it. The community supports a resident population of less than 10,000, and an annual visiting population of over 200,000. Its infrastructure and resources are burdened accordingly. In the land of diesel engines, even this remote mountain-top village suffers from exhaust fumes that choke the air. Although seemingly a tropical paradise, Monteverde even has a cold, windy, dry season. And, to prevent any disappointment, you should know ahead of time that there are no Macaws, its Jaguars were extirpated, and its monkeys, tapirs and sloths are elusive.

Despite all of this, Monteverde is a truly wonderful and unique place. It is in a cloud forest, not a rain forest, and to the lament of local tour guides most tourists refuse to learn the difference (cloud forests have less rain but are usually cloaked in fog). You will find an abundant variety of other wildlife, including hundreds of species of birds, tens of thousands of insect species, and many reptiles and amphibians, although its most famous amphibian, the Golden Toad, mysteriously went extinct in the 1980s. Its epiphytes, like mosses, bromeliads, and orchids are abundant. It has several varieties of fungus that glow in the dark. 

Monteverde's forests are also the breeding grounds for Resplendent Quetzals, aptly named as it is one of the most beautiful, graceful birds in the world. It has sparkling emerald green plumage on its head and back, and a brilliant ruby colored chest. Its meter long iridescent green tail feathers were used by Mayan and Aztec rulers in head dresses. To them, the Quetzal was considered divine.   

Resplendent Quetzal - hijosdeltiempo

When my wife finally arrived, I treated her to a “casado” at a local restaurant. A casado is the typical Costa Rican lunch; it includes a meat, white rice, black beans, fried banana, and a salad. It’s the type of treat that has to grow on you. Costa Rican food is not considered world-class cuisine. It’s always rice and beans, and sometimes beans and rice. Hopefully you can get some chicken because the pork and beef are usually less than perfect, and the spices are non-existent. The food grows on you though; a little salt and a long hike can make anything the perfect meal. I still cook “gallo pinto” – a fried egg over a mixture of fried rice and beans – for breakfast at home in the states. And my wife, being from Puerto Rico, loved the mixture of traditional Hispanic flavors, especially the fried banana.

 After the meal, we walked towards our cabin on the dirt road up the mountain through the farm fields and forests. As the sun set over the Pacific, behind the tall fig trees, the sky lit up in an orange and red glow. In one loud chorus in the dark, the tree fogs began to buzz, the crickets began to chirp, and the owls and nighthawks began to call. We could hear the low rumble of Volcan Arenal, an active volcanoe not far away. The full moon was enough to light our way as we walked without flashlights. 

Sunset in Monteverde

The next day, we woke to the sounds Bellbirds ringing loudly in the trees above us. The distant roar of howler monkeys came rolling through the trees. After a breakfast of gallo pinto and fruit, we set off on a hike to the waterfall in the San Luis valley, a neighboring community. We walked along the road through Monteverde, passed turquoise colored Blue-crowned Motmots as they wagged their tails like pendulums on grandfather clocks, heard the soft cooing of Orange-bellied Trogons, and were screamed at by large, irritated Brown Jays.

Blue-crowned Motmot

Orange-bellied Trogon

The road, called “La Trocha”, hugs the side of the mountain and zigzags its way down into San Luis. We could see the entire valley from the road, from Monteverde, to San Luis, and on to Puntarenas on the Pacific coast. Hardwood forests stretched in all directions. The clouds were below us, moving slowly over the valley, up the steep mountain sides, and into the forests. Honeycreepers flew in and out of the fog around us. Keel-billed Toucans called from trees on the cliffs. We passed oxen-led carts brining fresh cream in large metal canisters up to the cheese factory at the top of the mountain.

La Trocha

After arriving at the valley floor, underneath the clouds, we had to walk back up the other side to reach the waterfall. After nearly three hours, we reached the waterfall; a tall, thin, raging stream of cold, clear Monteverde water. Flocks of swifts came flying through the narrow canyons carved by the rushing water water to welcome us to our destination. They flew in formation like well-trained jet fighters, evading the jagged rock edges, as their screams echoed off the rock walls above us. It was a long hike, well worth the effort, but we decided to take a taxi back up to our cabin.

The San Luis Valley

San Luis Waterfall

I wanted our last hike in Monteverde to be to the vista overlooking the continental divide. I had never been there on a clear day, and it was raining again. We entered the Monteverede Cloud Forest Reserve on the morning of the last day. Near the entrance, we sat at a garden and were bombarded by hundreds of hummingbirds, frantically chasing each other from feeder to feeder. As we walked through the reserve, we saw Emerald Toucanets and Prong-billed Barbets in the canopy. Endangered Black Guans scattered through understory. A Higjland Tinamou, one of the most ancient species of birds, walked onto the trail in front of us before darting back into the vegetation. A Collared Forest Falcon perched on a nearby twenty-foot tall tree-fern at one of the highest points in the reserve.

Black Guan

By noon, we had come to the final trail towards the vista. We walked out along the narrow point that led to the continental divide. Mist surrounded us on all sides, but quickly began fading. Rather than gusts, we could hear the sizzle of water vapor boiling off in the hot tropical sun. Within only a few moments the view that had eluded me for so long came dramatically into focus. The mountain gave way on either side of us, dropping 1,600 meters on our right towards the Pacific and on our left towards the Atlantic. The sun shone brightly on two broad valleys, their tropical forests unbroken in both directions; we were surrounded by a Central American wilderness.

The Continental Divide

 

Giant Tree Fern



Times Beach Nature Preserve - A Gem in Downtown Buffalo

Few would argue that downtown Buffalo isn’t undergoing a renaissance – new offices are springing up, eclectic housing is bringing people back to the core, the Erie Canal is being celebrated, UB is finally coming home, and new markets, shops, and cafés are making downtown a destination once again. But the heart of downtown is not just in its buildings; nature is running through its veins.

One of the city’s most unique and most recently recognized natural amenities is the fifty acre Times Beach Nature Preserve. Located in downtown Buffalo where the Buffalo River converges with Lake Erie, Times Beach was formally designated a nature preserve in 2006, although it has been an important habitat for decades.

The Times Beach site was at one time an actual sand beach. The growth of industry along the Lake Erie waterfront and the Buffalo River caused its use for recreational bathing to be discontinued. From 1972 until 1976, after much of the city’s industry had disappeared, the site was used by the Army Corps of Engineers as a Contained Disposal Facility where dredging from the Buffalo River shipping lanes were pumped and stored. These spoils, which were highly contaminated with various pollutants, remain today.

Since 1976, nature has reclaimed Times Beach. Cattail marshes, forests, and meadows have grown over the site. Consultants have identified diverse habitat including aquatic, shoreline, upland and forest ecosystems at Times Beach. Over the last decade, a group now recognized as the Times Beach Oversight Committee, made up of citizens with broad backgrounds including local politics, environmental and ecological activism, and ornithology, worked with the City of Buffalo, the Army Corps of Engineers, and Erie County, to designate Times Beach as a nature preserve. The County helped build trails, boardwalks, viewing blinds, overlooks, fencing, and interpretive signage within the Times Beach Nature Preserve.

The Niagara River and the Buffalo shoreline of Lake Erie are part of a Globally Significant Important Bird Area. Times Beach Nature Preserve is part of the flyway for migratory birds and provides habitat for many visiting and breeding birds and other animals including endangered, threatened, and protected species. Ornithologists have counted 240 bird species at Times Beach.

Times Beach also benefits the people of the region. Representative Jack Quinn said that "increasing access to Times Beach for the residents of Buffalo and Western New York is an integral part of the waterfront development process” (Governor’s Press Release, 2004). Many bird watchers and families now go to Times Beach each year. Recently, the bike trail that runs along the Niagara River from Lake Ontario to Lake Erie was extended to Times Beach Nature Preserve, connecting it to other outer harbor waterfront amenities including the NFTA Small Boat Harbor, Tifft Nature Preserve, Gallagher Beach State Park, and the new Bell Slip park.

Times Beach and these other natural and recreational amenities could help improve Buffalo’s economy as the city hopes to capitalize on waterfront and natural recreation with projects that include the proposed Bass Pro in downtown and the recently opened Erie Canal commercial slip. An emerging field of study called ecological economics quantifies the value of ecological services and has shown that the monetary value of natural areas, including forests and marshes, is greatest if they are left intact, and not developed, logged, or paved. These ecological services preserve biodiversity, clean the air and water, and sustain human life. By cleaning the air we breathe and the water we drink, they help save money that would otherwise need to be spent to do the same. Stormwater, which would otherwise require costly infrastructure to collect and clean, is absorbed and purified for free at Times Beach. Instead, the money can be spent on education and job creation.

Public access to ecological wonders like Times Beach is an important part of conservation – when people, especially kids, have a chance to experience nature, they will undoubtedly learn to cherish it. The strength to protect Times Beach and other places like it can only come from new generations of people that recognize their value. Enjoy the preserve, walk through it, experience the sights and sounds of the natural world, and marvel at the regenerative power of nature. But if you do get a chance to go to Times Beach, tread lightly – it is a nature preserve, a sanctuary for exhausted wildlife desperate for shelter that is increasingly rare along the waterfront. Be mindful that protecting its natural inhabitants is the only way to protect Times Beach.

The future of the Times Beach Nature Preserve is uncertain. Adjacent to Times Beach, a 130 acre parcel of land is the target of future condominium and retail space. To many people in the Buffalo area, including most politicians and developers, this adjacent parcel, which is currently controlled by the Niagara Frontier Transportation Authority, symbolizes the city’s potential for successful waterfront development. There are also new bridge proposals to connect downtown to the outer harbor to improve accessibility. However, in many ways, the Times Beach Nature Preserve is threatened by proposed waterfront development. An ecosystem, especially one that is an important flyway for migratory birds, will be harmed if it is surrounded by high rise buildings, parking lots, and a steady flow of traffic.

In February, Times Beach may seem lifeless – blanketed with ice and snow and battered by cold lake winds. But if you can brave the temperatures or have some time to explore Times Beach on one of our rare sunny and “warm” winter days, you’ll see many fresh animal tracks in the snow and notice some feathery fluttering in the trees. Raccoons, Red Fox, White Tailed Deer, and Eastern Cottontail Rabbits are abundant. Chickadees will call to you, White-Breasted Nuthatches will claw their way up and down tree trunks in search of food, Turkeys will run from you in the underbrush and the soft knocking of Hairy and Downy Woodpeckers will catch your ear.

No, winter at Times Beach is not lifeless – many animals are alive and well – but winter is a time of dormancy. Life is incubating all around you, in the trees, beneath the snow, and under the ice. In less than two months, new, green spring shoots will rocket through the warming earth towards the sky, wildflowers will bloom, insects will begin buzzing again, and thousands of migrating song birds including warblers that have spent the winter in the American south or even as far as the Caribbean and Central and South America will return tired from their journey but jubilant to start anew.

Beautiful Native Flowers

Not long ago, Western New York was completely covered by a thick sheet of glacial ice, miles deep and thousands of miles wide. As the Ice Age glaciers receded, their melt waters fed streams, rivers, lakes and marshes that provided habitat to an increasingly complex variety of creatures. Temperatures warmed, rich and fertile soils formed, and new plants and animals co-evolved as new opportunities for survival arose. The plants that we consider native to our area quickly took hold.

Although there are different ways to define what makes a plant “native”, they are generally considered plants that develop, occur naturally, or have existed for many years in an area. Even if a plant is native to an area it will require a specific habitat, like a marsh or meadow, to grow. And, like all things, what’s native to an area will change with time as climate and habitats change.

Native plants have important ecological functions. They provide habitat for wildlife and are the nutrient source at the base of the food chain. Many animals developed to rely on specific native plants for survival. For example, certain butterflies lay eggs on only one type of plant; without that plant, the hatched caterpillars will have no source of leafy green to feed on. Some birds need specific types of trees for their seeds or berries, and without those trees, the birds will simply go elsewhere. Beavers seem to chew through any type of vegetation, but they prefer native willows, aspens, cottonwoods and alders. Without these trees, beavers will move on as well.

Unfortunately, human development threatens our native plants.  Many native plant and animal species are now extirpated from our area. Few old growth forests remain. Most marshes have been drained. Our meadows have become mowed lawns or monoculture crops. And our native plants continue to disappear as our urban areas grow.

The destruction of habitat for human use is often intentional, but sometimes not. Introduced disease wiped out the American Chestnut Tree. Deer, now overpopulated as a result of the killing of their natural predators, so rapidly eat the understory of forests that few plants survive, including tree saplings and plants like trilliums or Jack-in-the-Pulpits. Other introduced plants out-compete native plants for habitat. Purple Loosestrife and Phragmites are “invasive” plants that are overtaking cattail marshes across the northeast, driving out native vegetation.

Each spring, many thousands of Western New Yorkers become gardeners. Our unconscious connections with our ancestor’s agricultural heritage, to the “family farm”, draw us to gardening. It is in the spring when we carry out our planting plans formulated during the long winter when our imaginations transformed blankets of white snow into tall trees, bushes and wildflowers.  When the sun shines, we find a way to garden, with or without the space for it. Our front windows are filled with green, our porches overgrown with potted vegetables and hanging flowers, and our front walkways wind and disappear through meadows of color.

Native plants are and should be an increasing part of our gardens. And using native plants in your garden is no compromise. Native plants are adapted to our climate and, if given the right planting conditions, can survive with less maintenance than non-native plants and return year after year. If you use native plants, you will be more likely to see many of our native birds and butterflies fluttering through your yard, or making their home there. Above all else, native plants will be a beautiful addition to your garden.  They have fragrant and colorful flowers, and different varieties will bloom at different times during the spring, summer and fall. There are native plants appropriate for sunny and shaded conditions, wet and dry soils, and even water gardens. There are even orchids and carnivorous plants native to our area.

If you have a lot of sun, try using a variety of native liatris, a pink blaze of feather flowers, or a species of milkweed like the orange flowered Butterfly Weed (Asclepias tuberose) or Common Milkweed (Asclepias syriaca). If you have sun and moist soils, try planting Cardinal Flower (Lobelia cardinalis), a tall spike of brilliant red flowers, or Joe Pye-Weed (Eupatorium purpureum), an even taller cluster of pinkish flowers. Native asters can add color to your garden throughout the fall. All of these flowers are great sources of nectar and pollen for hummingbirds, butterflies, and other insects. There are many species of native ferns and flowering trilliums appropriate for shade gardens. Blue-flag (Iris versicolor) is a native iris that can survive in partially submerged in water or in moist soils.

If you do use native plants in your garden, it is important not to collect them from the wild. Many native plants have declined because of over collecting from natural areas and some are protected by law. They should be bought from local nurseries that do not collect them from the wild either. Most local nurseries sell versions of our own native plants, called cultivars, or plants deliberately selected and bred for specific desirable characteristics like flower color or size. You’re likely to find cultivars of Black Eyed-Susans (Rudbeckia hirta), Beebalm (Monarda fistulosa), or Coneflower (Echinacea purpurea). (The Latin names in the parentheses are of the true native plant, not the cultivar.)

I use native plants in my garden to try to restore what we’ve lost. I know I have won some small battle when a beautiful butterfly rests on one of my flowers. But gardening can also be part of the regeneration of our communities as we try better to coexist with nature. With some patience, gardening with native plants can help transform our backyards, indeed our cities, back into waving meadows and even thick, deep, life sustaining forests.

Wild Niagara

The new year in Western New York brings with it a few certainties – the days will be short, the nights long, and the temperatures cold. New Year’s resolutions will be made and then broken. It will snow… a lot. And, if you pay attention, you will see an incredible natural phenomenon unfold all around you; the massive winter migration of birds to and through our own backyard.

Birds, like people, know when it’s too cold, and it is cold in January in the northern hemisphere. Beginning in late fall and early winter, on masse they travel thousands of miles in huge flocks headed south, and of all places many chose to stay here. Why Western New York? Although we often forget, we are home to one of the world’s greatest natural wonders, Niagara Falls, and much of the world’s freshwater flows between Lake Erie and Lake Ontario through the Niagara River. This means that while almost every lake, pond, river, and stream north of us are frozen, the massive size and fast flow of the Niagara keeps it open all winter long. For most birds, open water is essential. We are like Florida to real “snow birds”; despite our own laments about blizzards and ice, these birds spend their days swimming, fishing, and relieving the stress of raising chicks from the now distant summer.

If you go to the river this month you will see scenes reminiscent of a National Geographic film; thousands of birds splashing, diving, squeaking and squawking through the water, blanketing the river from one country to the other.  In some places the water is calm and the birds float motionless, keeping warm, resting. Further from shore, large “rafts” of birds float slowly downstream with the ice. In still other places, closer to the brink of the falls, the birds and especially the gulls, inspired by the excitement of the rapids, surf up and down with the waves, quickly searching for food before lifting from the water to start over further upstream.

These birds always know when they’re being watched. Stop your car by the side of the road, roll down your window, and each sleeping bird will quickly waken, uncurl its head from its fluffed-up body, see you, instantly disappear beneath the water, or swim away, never losing sight of you from the corner of its eye. Birds resting on shore will rapidly waddle towards the water, half flying as they flap their wings in a panic, and crash into the water.

If you have a good pair of binoculars, you will see that there are many different species of waterfowl on the river between Buffalo and Niagara Falls, each a different size, shape and color. Some dive and resurface hundreds of feet away. Some seem to be alone, while others are lost in a sea of their own kind. All are beautiful and unique. These include but are not limited to Common and Red Breasted Mergansers, Goldeneyes, Greater and Lesser Scaup, Redheads, Canvasbacks, and the diminutive yet striking black and white Bufflehead. Arguably the most elegant bird that you will see, and the largest, is the Tundra Swan. All white with a slender, long, graceful neck, this swan is easily mistaken for a mound of soft powdery snow. Although you may see a few different kinds of swans, the Tundra Swan is distinguished by its black beak, and is Western New York’s only native swan, or one that has not been introduced from another continent or escaped from a zoo. As its name suggests, this swan spends its summers breeding and raising young on ponds in the tundra further north. In the winter, they can travel as far south as southern California and even Mexico.

But as you get nearer to the falls, be sure to keep your eyes on the sky. In the upper rapids, viewed from Goat Island or one of the overlooks on the Canadian side, you are likely to see massive flocks of gulls, flying in sync over the river. And when you see this, look back on the river – most of those ice flows are actually thousands of other gulls. As many as 19 different species of gulls can be seen on the Niagara River this time of year. They are not always easy to differentiate from each other, especially as they swim and fly quickly through a cloud of other gulls. But many gulls will be resting near shore on rocks, and you will start to notice that some are much larger than others, like Herring Gulls, and a few have jet black wings that cover their back when rested like Greater and Lesser Black Backed Gulls. The Iceland Gull is a large, very pale white gull that breeds as far away as Greenland but ironically not Iceland, and winters in our region.

If you have the time, warm clothes, and a sense of adventure, the trek down into the gorge north of the falls in parks on both sides of the river will be rewarding. Here, flocks of Bonaparte’s Gulls spend their day flying up and down the gorge, diving into the water to catch fish dazed by their tumble down the falls or one of the two hydroelectric dams. These gulls are smaller, mostly white with pale grey wings, and have a single black dot behind their eye, a remnant of their all-black head from the previous breeding season plumage.

This winter congregation of birds has allowed the Niagara River and its shores to be officially designated a globally significant important bird area, on par with the Galapagos Islands and the Alaskan National Wildlife Refuge for its environmental significance. Its protection has obvious ecological importance, but also economic importance. Because of Niagara Falls, our region attracts more tourists annually than the Grand Canyon and Yosemite National Park combined. Although little attention is paid to them, birdwatchers come from all over North America to witness this winter migration, and they spend money here. An estimated 7.8 million tourists visit Niagara Falls State Park on the U.S. side each year. If only a fraction of those visitors are here for the birds, that still means that they are spending millions of dollars in our region.

Unfortunately, although we are the only stewards of the Niagara River, we have not always been good stewards. We have channelized it for shipping, industrialized its shores, and diverted its flow to harness its massive power for our own. We even did the unthinkable once and simply turned Niagara Falls “off” just to study it. The recent Ken Burns documentary on the National Parks suggested that Niagara Falls was the inspiration for establishing our national park system, not because of its beauty, but because over a hundred years ago tourists and conservationists alike saw how we privatized it and turned it into an amusement park; they did not want the same fate for places like Yellowstone or the Everglades. As new monstrous hotels and casinos pop up on both shores, one has to wonder if we have learned anything from our mistakes.

Protecting the Niagara alone isn’t enough. It is part of the Great Lakes, the largest lake system in the world, and what happens in Chicago, or Detroit, or Cleveland, ends up here eventually. Pollution from the past lingers in our soils and leaches from Western New York’s numerous toxic waste dumps, some still active. Development, oil exploration, and climate change threaten the northern breeding grounds of most of our winter birds. Globally, we continue to lose bird species to extinction each year.

This isn’t to say the situation is hopeless – far from it. The Niagara is and will always be breathtaking, each and every season of the year. And like all things, change will come. Winter will soon be spring and a new variety of wildlife will come with it. Some birds that are common now may be rare in ten or twenty years. The falls themselves are only 12,000 years old, a sliver of geologic time. But if you do get a chance to see this awesome display of nature in this all-too-brief winter season of ours, you will know this – we have tried to tame the Niagara, but its heart is still wild.