I’d woken up at the crack of dawn in Puerto Nariño; a glorious Colombian jungle town nestled on a bend of the Amazon River, says Vicky Maskell.
It was another hot day, and the deep earthy smell of the jungle lingered all around me. I was there to celebrate my birthday – a rather hasty last-minute decision driven by my love of all things jungle. Filled with anticipation for whether I might see a toucan or capybara, I was excited about the day ahead.
I’d joined a small jungle tour with a Swiss couple. After breakfast, we clambered into a small boat, huddling under the flimsy sheet acting as a roof which was our only option of shade. We crossed the river to find ourselves on Peruvian soil. There were greens and blues of every possible hue as far as the eye could see, interrupted by smatterings of intense colour from a flower, a bird, a butterfly or a creepy crawly with an unfathomable number of legs.
Later on, we crossed back to the Colombian side of the jungle. We’d been out in the blaring sunshine for several hours and I was pleased when our boat moored by a small jungle lodge.
We hopped out and walked up steep steps to a clearing. We could see a number of habituated monkeys in the trees, peering down, assessing who had what food that they might like. Someone held out a banana and a small capuchin monkey dropped down, grabbed the fruit, and scarpered. A howler monkey looked on.
Huddled in the trees, there was a raised platform, like a lifeguard tower, which promised views over the river and beyond. Having filled my water, I broke away from the rest of the group and clambered up the steps, munching on a piece of pineapple as I went. As I got to the top I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my head, and then another, and another. Wasps. Ten? Twenty? I’m not sure. I felt that I was being swarmed as each sting punctured my skin.
Before I had a chance to shout for help, a capuchin monkey jumped on my head. About the size of a pet cat, with a light brown face set like a mask on a darker brown body, I assume it had been watching proceedings from the nearest tree.
It grabbed a wasp out of my hair, then another, then another. It picked out wasps one by one with its thin, slender fingers, grasping a sting and gently removing it, before flicking it onto the floor.
By this time, I had involuntarily yelped, catching the attention of the others. One of them called up to my vantage point to ask what was going on. “Wasps! I’ve been stung, but this monkey is getting them off me,” I called back. “Really?!” they cried back. “Really!”
And then, seconds later – probably interrupted by my shouting – the capuchin monkey jumped back away from me and returned to its lookout in the tree, its long tail wafting an imaginary goodbye. I ran down the steps holding my arms over my head to protect me from any more wasps. Surprised at what had happened, the guide looked at my head and uttered, “Yes, you’ve been stung, but I really think that monkey saved you.” I nodded, beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed by what had just happened.
I love the jungle, it’s where my soul soars. Nature encompasses you. It drips from every branch, every leaf, every droplet in the air. Usually I watch in awe, stepping back to keep a safe distance from any wild thing that moves. But that day, the capuchin monkey broke that barrier, purposefully protecting me from harm. I certainly won’t forget that in a hurry.