Intelligence in Nature - Jeremy Narby [5]
At dinner, my companions ordered a bottle of Peruvian wineâto âcontribute to the local economyââand we started storytelling and philosophizing. I was hoping to catch Munn to ask him about macaw intelligence. But the bird-watchers, including Munn, retired early, because they planned to get up at 4 A.M. and hike to the clay lick to observe the macaws and other parrots again. Though my companions and I had resolved to accompany them, we stayed up far too late, talking.
After a short nightâs sleep, I put on my shoes by candlelight. It was 4:15 A.M. and we were running late. The bird-watchers had already left the lodge. Toyeri, our Matsigenka guide, was waiting for us outside. He told us we had to hurry to be there before the birds arrived. We headed off equipped with flashlights, following Toyeri into the forest. He led us on an energetic, uphill hike that took an hour. I used my flashlight to beam a path through cold, vegetal darkness.
By the time we reached the clay lick, day was almost breaking. Toyeri took us to the base of a fifty-yard cliff made of reddish clay and ushered us into a sizable blind made of palm leaves. The bird-watchers were all there and had deployed their cameras and powerful binoculars on tripods. The blind had the feel of a nest of spies. We were told to be quiet, because the macaws and other parrots were due to appear any time, and visible or audible human presence would keep them away.
One of my travel companions was an electronic musician who wished to tape the sound of the birds. He realized that conditions in the blind were not optimal for recording. He needed complete silence in the vicinity of the microphone. He discussed the problem with Toyeri, who made a gesture for us to follow him. Toyeri took us to a small mound one hundred yards opposite the clay cliff. We hid under tree cover in a spot that allowed us to peek out through the vegetation and catch a panoramic view.
The clay cliff in front of us began to echo with bird calls, chirps, and squawks. It sounded like an aviary. Out of nowhere, hundreds of birds had congregated. I closed my eyes and listened. The sound reminded me of the scene in Hitchcockâs film The Birds, in which thousands of seagulls flock together and let off a threatening din. But these macaws sounded raucous and celebratory, rather than threatening.
During a pause in the sound recording, I asked Toyeri to name some of the birds we were hearing. He pulled out the Birds of Colombia book from his shoulder bag and started reeling off names in English, which I noted down: scarlet macaws, blue-and-gold macaws, chestnut-fronted macaws, white-eyed parakeets, yellow-and-crowned parrots, blue-headed parrotsâ¦
The cliff had become a wall of spinning rainbow colors. The racket the birds made was both symphonic and deafening. As they hung out on the red-clay cliff, they also appeared to squabble, tumble off, and dive-bomb one another, twirling and pirouetting, while other birds flew over to nearby trees letting out loud screeches. Magnificent colors and movements blended with dissonant sounds in a dazzling spectacle.
I asked Toyeri what he thought the birds were saying to one another. He replied (in Spanish): âThey are all friends. They make such noise when they eat clay because they are saying âeverybody come over here, itâs really good here.â For them, the minerals and salts are like sweets for us. It is their food. They do this from half past five to seven-fifteen. Then they all go their separate ways to the forest. This