Week 1
¡Buenos días! We arrived at La Selva Biological Station just as the sky dissolved into darkness, which was at 6:30 pm, and already pitch black. That’s something I’ll need to get used to. Though, any unfamiliarity quickly melted with our first meal: pescado with lentils and freshly made juice (always served with sugar or no sugar, your pick!). It was simple and satisfying, and that kind of warmth carried through the first full day.
We woke at 5:15 am, the time difference nudging us into early risers. After a breakfast of rice, beans, and soft bread filled with custard, we set off into the forest for our first hike. The very first wildlife sighting? A slow-moving, darker-colored three-toed sloth, nestled comfortably above us. Not long after, we encountered soldier ants, who are fascinating little powerlifters capable of carrying up to 20 times their body weight. There’s only one queen per colony, a reminder of the complex systems working just beneath the leaf litter.
As we crossed a narrow bridge to enter the classroom forest, a heron rested gracefully near the riverbank our first bird of the day. The forest transitioned from secondary to primary as we walked, with palm trees and denser canopy marking the shift. Mosses, moths the size of hands, and a tree that looked like a wall, nicknamed “The Tree of Life,” made the hike feel enchanted. Even the insects left an impression: I saw a mica pajarera (a bird-eating spider), and a small copper-gray snake curled quietly on a branch that later disappeared when we passed again.
Hummingbirds darted between purple flowers, and we glimpsed our first woodpecker on a Cecropia tree (later finding out a favorite of howler monkeys. Though we didn’t spot the monkeys, we definitely heard them. Their calls echoed through the trees, deep and guttural, like distant bulldogs barking.
By the afternoon, after a delicious lunch with berry juice and sun on our faces, we gathered for a lecture on global warming and species extinction. A staggering statistic stood out: the planet is expected to rise by 4 degrees Celsius by 2100. That night, over tres leches cake, we reflected on how ecosystems are rapidly changing and how our generation must bear witness and act.
Soundscapes and Birdsong:
My blog and research center on soundscape ecology, specifically how the study of how natural sounds reflect and influence biodiversity. Inspired from listening to IU’s bird playbacks at night, I’m exploring how the richness of sound correlates with bird diversity in tropical forests. Birds, after all, are vocal creatures, and their presence or absence can tell powerful stories about ecological health.
On one of our hikes, we used Kestrel instruments to measure temperature, humidity, and dew point, but the readings were erratic. What stayed consistent, however, was the presence of birds (toucans, hummingbirds, and the iconic Montezuma Oropendola). Their sounds stood out even more when layered against the growing intrusion of human-made noise: distant planes, helicopters, and even generators.
One surprising find? The further into the forest we went, the fewer birds we heard. This could be due to canopy density or species distribution, but it raised questions we hope to unpack as we begin data collection.
Highlights of the Week:
- Seeing blue-and-black poison dart frogs pop like ornaments against green foliage
- Discovering fungi that looked like feet, and bright red fruits
- Watching capuchin monkeys swing from tree to tree on the arboretum trail and spotting a toucan perched across from a yellow vine snake (a thrilling but safe distance apart!).
- Finding a baby bird on the ground (a tough moment, knowing that nature must run its course)
- Experiencing a night hike in the pouring rain, where we saw a Fer-de-Lance, various frogs, and even a sloth tucked high in the canopy
Humor in the Field:
We found “our spot” next to the cafeteria, technically outside, but sheltered and perfect for journal writing. One running joke involved the wall fans. We’d turn them on, the Irish group would turn them off, and our taller friend would turn them back on at our request. It happened twice and we laughed every time.
Preparing for data collection
Our study begins at 5:30 am each morning. We record for 45 minutes at designated points and observe changes in sound and species. One shocker? A small twig-colored snake lunged at a teammate (likely a jumping pit viper)! No injuries, just an adrenaline spike!
We’re now refining our fieldwork plan by spacing data points by 1000m and analyzing changes in species richness and sound across locations. Our hypothesis is that richer soundscapes correlate with higher bird presence, and that anthropogenic noise might disrupt vocal activity or occupancy.
One of the hikes that really stuck with me this week was our visit to the arboretum trail. We got lucky and spotted a big group of capuchin monkeys swinging through the trees. They were moving through the canopy being incredibly fast and loud. Not long after, we saw two toucans on a high branch, making loud calls and almost wrestling over food. Right below them, someone pointed out a small yellow snake coiled tightly on a branch, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. It was wild to see so many species stacked together in the same space. Later during the hike, I felt something crawling up my leg and, to my horror, it was a neon green spider. It took two people to help get it off, and we all couldn’t stop laughing about it. These random, up-close moments like when monkeys chatter, birds call, and insects sneak up on you, make the forest feel alive in every direction. They reminded me that sound and movement aren’t just background noise out here; they’re constant clues to how this ecosystem works and how much is going on, even when we’re not paying attention.
La Selva sings in birdsong, frog chirps, rustling leaves, and the rain drumming on leaves at night. But it also whispers warnings: of warming temperatures, disappearing species, and a narrowing window for action. I hope to capture some of those whispers in this blog, and I invite you to listen in.
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