By Laine Gonzales
Silver Solas Award-winner in the Animal Encounter category
Willowy mist drifts upwards, obscuring my view. Bright pinks and oranges glint across the water’s glassy surface. I stretch and wipe the sleepiness from my morning eyes. It’s sunrise on the Amazon.
From my boat, I see treetops poking through the mist. The tropical rainforest lining both riverbanks shelters a diversity of birds, more than inhabit the entire continental United States. Erupting from those unseen avian singers, a chorus of chirps, squawks and whistles rings through the still air and beats against my eardrums.
Trees and birds interest me, but the object of my quest inhabits the river. Scanning the water’s surface, I look for signs of disturbance. Fishermen cast their nets from dugout canoes. A thin cloud of birds surrounds each boat. Birds dart to the water, occasionally emerging with fish gripped in their bills.
Patience. I keep my eyes focused on the water. Chances are slim, but maybe those fish will attract the creature I most want to see.
Other boats pass, the whir of their motors interrupting the bird chorus. Water swirls in the wake of one boat. Staring hard, I train my eyes on that spot. Please don’t let it be my imagination.
A few seconds pass. My heart jumps as a bright pink form leaps clear of the water. My squeal seems to awaken the other three passengers. No one but our guide and boat driver noticed, and now the pink form has vanished below the murky surface.
Whales and dolphins are my passion. As a marine biologist, I’ve worked on projects with gray whales, humpbacks, orcas and bottlenose dolphins. In awe of how completely they’ve adapted to their watery world, I’ve treasured the rare moments when I’ve observed their surface behaviors. When I came to Peru, I couldn’t fathom leaving the Amazon basin without seeing freshwater dolphins.
Locally known as the boto or bufeo, the Amazon River Dolphin is pink. Notable facial features include a fatty forehead and long, pointy beak. Drawn upwards at the corners, its mouth appears frozen in a constant smile. A tiny eye and large ear opening adorn either side of its bulbous head.
My eyes riveted on the water, I don’t blink, move, or breathe. It’s likely this dolphin swims alone. Unlike many oceanic species, botos don’t form pods.River dolphins, like their saltwater brethren, spend most of their lives submerged. I’m lucky to have seen this one. Fingers crossed it will emerge again.
More seconds pass. This time, half of its body clears the water. Its flippers parallel the water’s surface. Able to paddle one flipper forward while the other moves in reverse, the boto can swim forward, backward and pivot while pursuing prey. Just as birds move effortlessly through the air, botos navigate underwater, dodging vegetation and sliding through submerged mangrove roots.
“That dolphin is pink.” The person seated to my right breaks my trance by declaring the obvious. His mild amusement contrasts with my utter joy. Does he know that these dolphins are endangered, and he is fortunate to have seen this one?
Like other dolphins, the boto uses echolocation sonar as its main means of locating prey. The fat in its forehead acts as a lens, focusing sonar blasts. Unfused neck vertebrae allow it to move its head from side to side providing a wide-angle “field of view.”
I wait, anticipating another appearance, while my boatmates fidget. One person speaks up. “Will we be seeing other animals this morning?” I know I’m a nerd, but I can’t believe they aren’t enthralled by this encounter.
Its pink color is the boto’s most obvious feature. The degree of pinkness – scar tissue – correlates with the number of skirmishes it’s had. Aggressive males bite one another, fighting over access to females. Pinker males are more “macho” and make better mate choices. While wooing a female, a male might sweeten the deal by grabbing a floating object with its beak and beating it against the water’s surface. Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade?
As the dolphin surfaces a third time, I gleefully announce its reappearance, hoping to generate enthusiasm amongst my fellow passengers.
“Look, there it is again. Isn’t this exciting?”
“Exciting? It doesn’t do anything but surface for a brief second then submerge. I’d rather we go search for birds.”
I painstakingly explain, “Their taste for fish brings them into conflict with humans. Some fishermen kill them to avoid competition, but mostly they get tangled in fishing nets. They must surface to breathe. Trapped below, they drown. As humans encroach further into their habitat, more nets get cast and more dolphins get caught. That’s why they’re endangered. We are incredibly lucky we spotted one.”
A few heads nod, so I continue.
“Amazonian folklore bestows them with magical powers. Some tribes believe they are ‘encantados’ or shapeshifters. Inhabiting the river by day, they come ashore at night disguised as seductive men. They socialize, attend parties and woo young women. Unable to completely shed their dolphin anatomy, they wear white hats to cover their blowholes. They can’t remain ashore and must return to the river before sunrise.”
Now I see some smiles. Stories get ’em every time.
I look to where I last saw the dolphin, but it has disappeared again. I don’t mind waiting for it to resurface, but I know the rest of the group has grown impatient. As we head off in search of other treasures, a smile lights up my face.
In a unique and unforgettable way, the Amazon has said “good morning.”
~ ~ ~
Laine Gonzales is a travel writer and photographer who has journeyed to all seven continents and most of the fifty US states. In Antarctica, she waded into the frigid Southern Ocean waters to collect plankton. She helped lasso Nile crocodiles in South Africa, fed captive sun bears in Borneo, and tagged nesting sea turtles in Costa Rica. Her narrative “Pteropods in the Balance” appeared in the online journal Hidden Compass and four of her travel stories have won Travelers’ Tales Solas Awards. She ventured briefly into podcasting/vodcasting, and her “Tales of an Ecological Badass” can be heard at Spotify