El Yunque Rain Forest Awash in Beauty
CARIBBEAN NATIONAL FOREST, Puerto Rico _ From beneath my double protection _ a poncho and an umbrella of branches overhead _ the rain sounds like the roar of applause at a rock concert, noisy and unbroken.
A few big drops break through the leaves above and land on my hood with juicy plops.
“We came to the rain forest, and it is raining,” says guide Jose Morales. “We’re in the real environment.”
The racket of the rain is brief. The downpour passes on to water another grove in the forest. Locals call this surviving swath of tropical garden El Yunque to honor a good spirit of the Taino Indians. Yuquiyu, early islanders said, lived in these heights, wrapped in clouds, watered by drenching rains and protecting them from evil. Spaniards who came 500 years ago garbled the name, and the error stuck.
Because El Yunque is just 25 miles east of the cruise port and attractions of San Juan, the forest sees many travelers eager to know what a rain forest looks, sounds and feels like. Puerto Ricans come here to picnic, walk the trails and savor an environment very different from the urban neighborhoods in which many live.
As I walk with Jose, I’m like most visitors eager to experience this place. But I’m also hoping that somewhere in this green-on-green world, I’ll see one of the endangered Puerto Rican parrots that live here and one of the coqui frogs that share their woods.
We begin at El Portal Visitor Center, less than 3 miles off the main highway. Opened in 1996, the center can be a springboard to the rest of 28,000-acre El Yunque, or a satisfying rain-forest sampler in itself if time is short. An elevated walkway into the cathedral-like building puts visitors almost at treetop level, and the lizard cuckoo, red-legged thrush or other bird they might never find in the dense foliage along a trail is almost eye to eye here.
Inside the center are hands-on exhibits that explain the rain forest’s importance and future, and its plant and animal life. A gift shop is well-stocked with nature books, and guided walks on a nature trail begin here.
In the garden near the trailhead, Jose and I spot a chunky little Puerto Rican tody hopping across interlocking branches in pursuit of bugs. Only yards down the path, we enter a sort of emerald city, its inhabitants a dizzying drapery of plants climbing over one another toward sunlight. In their shadows, lizards, geckos, snakes, insects, rats, bats and frogs eke out a living.
An emerald lizard so vividly colored that it almost glows clings, motionless, to a tree trunk, hoping we won’t see it. But, minutes later, a brown lizard with black stripes like tire tracks down its back eyes me boldly. He even raises himself from the thick grass stalk where he’s clinging to get a closer look.
An hour later, we’re driving toward La Coca Falls, an 85-foot cascade that prances down a black cliff. In a pool at its rock-strewn base, visitors wade or cool themselves in the falls’ mist.
La Coca is so photogenic that it generally has a crowd of lookers, some of whom also are attracted by the site’s gift shop. Beside La Coca’s asphalt parking lot, one of my wishes is granted.
“I never promise,” Jose says as he moves toward a fallen branch at the pavement’s edge. But, for three years, he’s known just which rotted-out limb is the home of a coqui. He carefully pulls aside a sheaf of tall grass, and we look in on one of the operatic amphibians that serenade much of Puerto Rico from dusk to dawn but are seldom seen.
The brown mite in front of me is barely longer than its printed name: eleutherodactylus.
Taken aback that we’ve caught him lounging, he jumps quickly out of sight deeper in the branch.
I don’t know who’s more delighted, Jose at finding his friend still thriving or me at having a very little dream come true.
Rain returns as we drive higher and to the Palo Colorado area. It’s estimated that 100 billion gallons of rain fall on El Yunque in an average year. The 16 feet of water is enough to nourish 11 major rivers.
But as we start up Caimitillo Trail, raindrops have eased to drips off of path-side leaves.
The Puerto Rican parrot numbered 100,000 or more when Christopher Columbus came to the island. The brilliantly green bird with the broad white eye ring, indigo-tipped wings and bright red band above its beak now numbers fewer than 200. Most live in a breeding and research station in El Yunque where only scientists may go.
But if we are to see one of the few dozen of these foot-long rarities that fly free, this area and trail hold promise. The palo colorado trees it prefers for nesting and the sierra palm berries it likes to eat are both here.
We walk a short distance uphill and find mailboxlike constructions attached to some trees. These nest boxes are designed to look like the endangered parrot’s favored hollow limbs but are deep enough to discourage predators such as meat-eating birds or a marauding mongoose.
Platforms are attached to nearby trees. During nesting season, researchers will crouch on them to watch for hatchlings.
We stand in the quiet, hoping to hear the parrot’s distinctive bugling. But seeing their man-made nursery is as close as we’ll get to seeing the bird.
I’m not disappointed. I’ve splashed in real rain-forest showers, been a breath away from a coqui, seen flowers in show-off colors and trees and vines in tangled profusion, and been buzzed by a Puerto Rican emerald hummingbird.
All in one damp, green day.
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Mary Ellen Botter: mebotter@dallasnews.com
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