Jeffrey A. Gordon

From March 10-15, I had the rare pleasure of spending most of five days in the lovely cloud forest at Cabanas San Isidro, tucked into the east slope of the Ecuadorian Andes at about 2200 meters. I have very little time to share any of the many wonderful things I got to see and do there, so I’m going to start with the unquestionable highlight.

The last evening of our stay was gray and misty, the light just a dim glow. Forrest Rowland and I were sitting in the lounge near the cabins relaxing. Suddenly the door burst open and three of the lodge staff rushed in. They were obviously excited, having run all the way from the kitchen area. They blurted out a stream of even faster than normal Spanish, which I couldn’t completely parse, but one word sent a jolt of electricity through me: “tap-EAR.” Roughly translated, what they were saying was, “The tapir is here, if you would like to come see it.”

If you know me at all, you’ll know what the next two or three minutes were like: a mad scramble to grab camera and binoculars, jam on some sandals and then cover the couple of hundred meters to the dining room at breakneck speed without actually breaking my neck.

I had been praying for this moment. Though tapirs of any sort are rarely sighted, the word that a Mountain Tapir had been showing up around the lodge had come as unbelievable news when I arrived. But hopes of perhaps seeing it were dampened somewhat by the fact that the animal hadn’t been seen in over a week. But now it was back and I was flying.

Arriving at the dining room, I saw Forrest gesturing excitedly toward the woods.

Not more than a bus length away stood one of the rarest most spectacularly unusual mammals on the planet

It munched its way through the undergrowth, seemingly unconcerned with our presence. How was this even happening? Tapirs are a) rare and b) shy. In essence, I think it boils down to a lack of persecution. Stop hunting almost anything and it will tame down.

The tapir disappeared into the vegetation and I, hoping for a last glimpse of this weirdly magnificent beast, snuck down a side trail hoping to intersect its route. Nothing. I walked back up toward the dining room and almost instantly, the tapir’s massive head emerged from the bamboo and the animal lumbered down the path. My heart was in my throat. I squeezed off a few photos and tried to soak in all I could of this moment. 

Forrest and I will be returning to Cabanas San Isidro with our tour group in tow on Sunday, March 22 for a 3-night stay. It seems almost to much to hope for a repeat of this encounter, but it seemed to much to hope for the first time, too.

For a very entertaining and informative post on Lowland Tapirs in Guyana, see this post by Julie Zickefoose.

PS: Forrest and I went shopping a few days ago in downtown Quito, buying some nice hand lotion, soaps, and a nifty-looking assortment of chocolates to give to the San Isidro staff as a special thank you when we return. I know that in running to get us when the tapir appeared they were just doing their jobs. But they were doing them really, really well.

Tags: cabanassanisidro, ecuador, forrestrowland, tapirs

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