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By Root 379 0

contained salts and minerals that supplement the birdsâ primarily vegetarian diet. Then a graduate student analyzed the seeds commonly eaten by the macaws and discovered they contain toxic alkaloids. Macaws prefer eating the seeds of fruit to their pulp, and they use their powerful, hooked beaks to crack and consume seeds from many different trees, unlike most birds in the tropical forest. It turns out, Munn said, that the clay the birds eat binds to these toxins and speeds their elimination from the body, and probably also lines the gut and protects it from the chemical erosion by the seedsâ toxins. Macaws take almost daily doses of clay to detoxify themselves, which allows them to eat foods that other animals cannot tolerate. He added that macaws choose clays with a much higher capacity to bind toxins than adjacent bands of clay, which they shun. They prefer clays rich in kaolin, which humans use to cure food poisoning.

As I listened to Munn, I realized that this was an example of intelligent behavior in nature. Homing in on the right clay and consuming it allows the birds to eat seeds and unripe fruits that are unpalatable and even lethal to other species. This gives them an edge over most other animals in their environment. But, I wondered, is this the kind of intelligence that humans exert when swallowing kaolin? Or is it just âinstinct,â or an âevolutionarily adaptive behaviorâ? Are the birds being choosy and cunning by some kind of automatic process? Or do they know what they are doing, like thinking subjects? Are humans âsmartâ when they eat clay, while macaws are merely âinstinctiveâ when they do the same?

Before I could ask Munn these questions, my companions and I were invited on a tour of the lodgeâs wildlife circuit. I thanked Munn for the interesting information and made a mental note to speak with him later.

Outside, a Matsigenka guide was waiting for us. His name was Hector Toyeri Andres. He was twenty-one years old, with jet-black hair and dark eyes He wore pants and a T-shirt, but walked barefoot with a traditional cotton bag hanging from his shoulder.

We greeted each other and he started talking in a strange language, which I soon realized was English. He said he would show us the animals. This was the first time I had heard an Amazonian Indian speak English. We headed off into the forest. Despite the midday heat, the air under the trees was fresh. Toyeri motioned for us to walk quietly single file behind him. After a short while he stopped and pointed to a tree ahead of us, and whispered something in English, which I did not understand. He delved into his shoulder bag, pulled out a largish book called Birds of Colombia, and flipped through it until he found a page filled with bird names like âwhite-winged shrike-tanager.â Toyeriâs pronunciation was not so badâI was just not familiar with the names of many tropical birds.

This was also the first time I had seen an indigenous Amazonian treat a book as a transportable tool for understanding the world. Traditionally, indigenous Amazonians have oral cultures, and do not use texts. Toyeri was from a new generation and had received training as a guide for ecotourists. He moved like a hunter, gliding swiftly and silently across the forest floor. He seemed attentive to movements at all levels. We walked across several streams and saw different birds and insects including leaf-cutter ants busily at work. But mammals were few and far between. At one point Toyeri spotted a large gray anteater climbing a tree, seemingly untroubled by our presence.

After the wildlife circuit, I spent the afternoon writing notes, then took a nap and fell into a deep sleep. When I awoke, night had fallen. I wandered into the lodgeâs dining area feeling a bit groggy, and found the American bird-watchers gathered around a portable computer. They were voicing enthusiasm at images of macaws they had filmed that morning. I took a look and saw explosions of colorâgreen, red, blue, yellow, close-ups of macaws vying for space on a clay cliff and squawking loudly. As I watched these bird-watchers