134 JUNGLE PEACE 



needed to mark his absurd resemblance to some 

 strange, extinct reptile. A young dinosaur must 

 have looked much like this, while for all that 

 my glance revealed, I might have been looking 

 at a diminutive Galapagos tortoise. Indeed this 

 simile came to mind often when I became more 

 intimate with nestling hoatzins. 



Sam, my black tree-climber, kicked off his 

 shoes and began creeping along the horizontal 

 limbs of the pimplers. At every step he felt 

 carefully with a calloused sole in order to avoid 

 the longer of the cruel thorns, and punctuated 

 every yard with some gasp of pain or muttered 

 personal prayer, " Pleas' doan' stick me, 

 Thorns!'' 



At last his hand touched the branch, and it 

 shook slightly. The young bird stretched his 

 mittened hands high above his head and waved 

 them a moment. With similar intent a boxer 

 or wrestler flexes his muscles and bends his 

 body. One or two uncertain, forward steps 

 brought the bird to the edge of the nest at the 

 base of a small branch. There he stood, and 

 raising one wing leaned heavily against the 

 stem, bracing himself. My man climbed higher 

 and the nest swayed violently. 



