Howler

Have you ever noticed how much louder noises sound at night, especially if they are scary noises? I heard a loud, scary noise one night in the jungles of southern Mexico. More of that in a bit. First let me share some random memories of our time at Advanced Base.

Strange the things that stick in one’s memory. As if it were yesterday, I remember sitting in a small dugout canoe, rinsing diapers in the river. The canoe must have been tied to the dock because it didn’t go floating away. 

Once during free time, I talked Ed into swimming across the river with me. I’m sure it was against his better judgment, because neither of us were strong swimmers. We made it to the opposite shore with no problem. The current seemed stronger on the return, perhaps because we were already tired. We angled into the current, aiming for a spot a bit upstream, knowing that the current carried us toward dangerous rapids. We both did some hard praying and finally gained the home shore a little above the rapids. Exhausted and thankful, we crawled out of the river determined never to try that again.

On one hike we came across an Indian man beginning to make a dugout canoe out of a tree trunk. The tree had been felled and trimmed with axes. We went back several times to watch his progress. We were amazed at how expertly he shaped and smoothed that canoe with only an adz.

Often we walked down a short trail to a milpa to gather firewood. The milpa is a cornfield, not much like the cornfields we see around here. The Indians used the slash and burn method of farming as their ancestors had done for generations. The farmer went into the jungle and hacked down the undergrowth with a machete. After it dried a few days, he set fire to it. It might smolder for several days. After the rains came, he walked through his milpa, climbing over fallen logs and punching holes in the ground with a dibble stick to plant his corn. After the corn was harvested the milpa lay fallow until the jungle reclaimed it. This abandoned milpa provided ample firewood for our camp.

Oh, yes, I said I’d tell you about the loud, scary noise I heard one night in the jungles of southern Mexico. Ed had gone on a week-long hike to visit old Mayan ruins. Everyone in camp went except women with children and one staff man whom we’ll call Ralph.

The days were fun with no classes and time to explore around camp. One day we found an armadillo. Ralph said it would be good to eat, so he killed it. Have you ever killed an armadillo? I’ll not comment on that except to say they don’t die easy. Once it was dressed and cooked, we found it a welcome variation to our boring diet of beans and tortillas. It tasted much like the white meat of chicken.

The nights were long and dark. I’d never thought much about the strange night sounds of the jungle. With Ed beside me in bed, I’d felt secure and the night seemed friendly. With him gone, every strange sound was magnified and seemed a threat to me and our children. One night I was awakened by a horrible howling noise. I lay trembling, wondering how I would protect the children if that terrible, unknown creature invaded our open shelter. I tried to pray, but God seemed far away. Night after night I went to bed dreading that awful howling. It didn’t come again during that week, but it had unnerved me so I slept fitfully.

When the hikers returned, they told of seeing old ruins nearly covered by the jungle, remnants of what had once been the mighty Mayan Empire. They also brought a story of God’s protection. As they hiked along the trail, Ed stepped right over a deadly jungle snake, not even seeing it. The man following directly behind him shot the snake with a twenty-two rife. If God hadn’t guided Ed’s steps, he might have died out there in the jungle. I had to confess my lack of faith and thank God for his protection.

Now, about that ferocious animal I was afraid of, the one with the horrible howl—it was the harmless little howler monkey!