Tag Archives: Conservation

Landscapes, Wildlife and a Feeding Frenzy at Cradle Mountain

4 Replies

Tuesday 10 September 2024 – When we looked out of the window this morning, it had clearly rained hard during the night, but it was difficult to tell if it was drizzling right now or whether the weather was just that air-borne moisture you get when you’re in a cloud. Anyway, it wasn’t bucketing down as we walked round the lodge’s lake to breakfast, and there was possibly even the hint of a lift in the weather.

On the basis of various weather forecasts, we decided that rather than wrap ourselves up in something warm and stay indoors, we should go for a walk. Not obviously, by any means, though.  Just down the road from our hotel is the Cradle Mountain Visitor Centre,

where we went to get our Parks Pass and also a ticket for the shuttle bus which would take us to one of the well-known walks in the area, a circuit round Dove Lake. The total cost was not small, but, as with the Russell Falls park, it was clear as we walked around that there was a lot of work involved in maintaining paths and other facilities, so it was money well spent.

The terrain we could see from the bus

underlined how wet the place was. Basically, we have been wet and cold since we left Hobart, and we asked the hotel receptionist if this was normal. She said, emphatically, that it was not; in the 12 seasons she’d worked in Cradle Mountain, this was the first time they’d had such consistent rain for such a long time – every day for two weeks.

The shuttle bus has a few stops en route to Dove Lake, the first of which was at the Ranger Station;

they were clearly expecting me and wanted to make sure that I stayed safe.

At Dove Lake, the prospects for spectacular scenery were a little less than uplifting

but since we’d made the effort (and paid the bus fare!) to get there and it was only drizzling, we grimly struck out on the 6km Dove Lake circuit. This is largely a well-maintained path

with steps to help with ascents and descents

and boardwalk to get you across the tricky bits. Every so often, the drizzle would stop for a few minutes, and one could begin to make out the reason that the area is called Cradle Mountain,

and the general scenery, whilst being exceedingly moist, was not unattractive.

As we worked our way along the path, the weather lifted a little more, the cradle became clearer to see,

and we could see that there was snow on the upper slopes of the mountains on the other side of the lake.

Every so often there was something to remark on, whether it be multiple Pandanus trees

or some extra highlights among the greens of the trees.

We reached the far end of the lake

and continued on the path, through an area called the “Ballroom Forest”.

It’s clearly a forest, and probably rainforest at that, but we couldn’t fathom the reason for its other name.

We noticed at this point that the top of the cradle was beginning to clear, and one could actually make out snow on the slopes.

The unrelenting treeness of the view gave way to rock at one point

though in the event it meant that one had to duck as one went past – there was a distinct lack of headroom.

We carried on, along paths that were easy to follow but more difficult to walk on – there were more uneven surfaces, and the unremitting rain of the previous days meant that there was, more often than not, a river running along the middle of the path, requiring fancy footwork for those, like me, who were not wearing boots and didn’t want wet feet.

The return half features quite a steep climb

at the top of which a pied currawong came to ask us why we were breathing so hard.

At about this time, the weather really did lift and we could see the cradle quite clearly as we looked back,

but the lump we’d just climbed over was getting in the way, and we wondered if we’d miss out on a clear view of the mountains before we finished the walk.  The clouds did swirl back in as we passed a boathouse

but eventually, our luck was in as we reached the point on the circuit where the Iconic Cradle Mountain Shot could be captured.

There are even instructions on a noticeboard as to how to post your attempt at the shot on social media. That’s how iconic the location is.

In the end, it was an enjoyable walk, as it ended with the sun almost shining, and there being no rain, so we were glad we had made the effort to get out. As we drove back to the hotel and I concentrated on avoiding the craters in the road, Jane suddenly yelled “wombat!”. At first, I thought this was a critique of my driving, but actually it was because there was, indeed, a wombat beside the road, so we screeched to a halt so we could take a closer look. This was my first-ever wombat,

much more interesting than the wallaby which was quietly lying a little further away wondering what all the fuss was about.

Not only did I see my first wombat in this area, but also my first-ever pademelon!

so we were very happy as we got back to the hotel.  We had a short rest before we had to go out again, on the day’s booked excursion to a place even closer than the Visitor Centre. As we drove there, we passed a couple of cars off to the side of the road, a sure sign that there was Something To See.  In this case, there were a couple more wombats, just grazing away beside the road. I got some video of one of them,

and we carried on to our activity, which was at a place called Devils@Cradle. I guess its name gives away what we’d find there:

Tasmanian Devils, an endangered species of marsupial found only on this island. We had booked to see them being fed, which happens late in the day, as they are basically crepuscular creatures, but we turned up early so that we could take a look around and see what other creatures were being looked after there.  These included Quolls, of two different sorts: Eastern Quoll

(also seen here in a dark morph)

and Spotted Tail Quoll.

These, like the Devils are (a) marsupials, (b) endangered and (c) nowhere near as cute as they look. All three creatures are ravenous meat eaters and not to be treated lightly; as far as they’re concerned, humans are just meat, and so trying to pet them is likely to end in tears, as in fingers being torn off hands. Each animal has hugely strong jaws – ounce for ounce stronger even than hyenas – and their jaws can gape extraordinarily wide, which helps them as they tear and rend. This one, though, was just yawning.

The Devils@Cradle centre, whilst undeniably a tourist attraction, is actually a serious scientific endeavour as part of conservation efforts concerning these creatures.  The Tasmanian Devils, particularly, are at risk, mainly because of human activity, killing them often out of fear (they can make a blood-curdling screeching sound if they’re in disagreement among themselves) or because they can be a threat to domestic animals. A result of this depleted population is a lack of genetic diversity, and a rather unpleasant – transmissible – cancer has struck a large majority of the Devil population. Devils@Cradle has a small but significantly cancer-free population of Tasmanian Devils to help preserve the species. Its decline is very unfortunate, because Devils have an important role to play in the environment; like hyenas, they can hunt but also clear up remnants of carcases left by other predators. Sadly, if these carcases are roadkill, the Devils themselves are threatened by traffic; in their eagerness to consume the carcase, they just pile in and will still be on the road as the next vehicle comes along…

The Quolls too are under threat from urban development and, particularly, from the feral cat population, so the establishment is also involved in maintaining a breeding population and managing reintroductions.

Devils@Cradle, though, has no government funding, so depends on visitors for its money. One of the attractions they offer is a chance to see the animals being fed. It’s a very well-organised and information-rich activity. In our case, our guide was Sarah,

seen here displaying the wallaby legs that she would be using to feed the Devils. She was very knowledgeable, engaging and informative about the creatures, the need for conservation and the work that the centre is doing.

If you are of a sensitive nature, I suggest you skip the rest of this post, as it features images of bits of animals being torn to shreds.

Still here?  OK, here are some still images of Devils being fed

(note the currawong, which is hanging around in case something is left over) and the quolls ditto.

Note that Sarah doesn’t just throw them the meat, because then they would just grab it and run for cover; to ensure they stay out for the punters, she attaches it to a hook so that the spectacle can be watched.

They may look cute, but, like the Bugblatter Beast of Traal, they’re very ravenous.

Here’s some video which might really put you off your dinner. You Have Been Warned.

It was a very interesting evening – informative and educational, albeit cold and wet as it rained towards the end of it, not that the animals cared.

So ended our day at Cradle Mountain. Tomorrow we head back east, for some R&R at Launceston in north central Tasmania. We have no formal activities booked but you can bet your sweet bippies that if it ain’t raining we’ll go for a walk. Obviously.

P-p-p-pick up a Penguin*

7 Replies

Tuesday 3 September 2024 – Today’s excursion involved a couple of ferry journeys, and so we were very pleased to note that the high winds of the previous days had dropped. The forecast for the day was reasonably good – some sunshine and no rain. Our target for the day was a pair of islands south of Melbourne – French and Philip Islands – and we would be part of (yet) another “small group” tour.  We hied ourselves to the designated pickup point at the appointed hour – and waited for just long enough to be worried that Someone Had Blundered. Some 20 minutes later than our appointed pickup time, we phoned the organising company who reassured us that we were in the right place, just that the traffic was bad.

A few seconds after ringing off, a man came for us.  He was called Bill (photo later) and was in charge of a 20-seater bus which was going to be full. So, a “fairly small” group tour, then. The traffic was, indeed, pretty bad as Bill wrangled his bus through interminable queues and waits at traffic lights with only the odd acid remark about the driving ability of the other motorists. As well as that, he managed to engage us, and all the others he picked up, in conversation, and did a very skillful job at it, too – he could chat about any number of sports, political situations, a smattering of science, and he was very engaging. He also managed the very fine trick of being laconic and talkative at the same time – no mean feat.

The ferry to French Island leaves from Stony Point, over 80 km south of Melbourne, and Bill had a lot of pickups to do and a target of 1150, which was the time the ferry would leave – with or without us. He made it with seconds to spare and basically bundled half of us on the the ferry with instructions to meet (a) Scott, the catcher on French Island and (b) him later on (after he had taken the remaining passengers on a different tour), at about 3.30pm in the pub by the jetty on Philip Island. And so, come about 11.15, we were met by Scott

and his transport for the day for us.

This is an OKA, built specially for taking tourists round potentially tricky terrain.  It makes few concessions to comfort inside

and has quite the control bunker behind the wheel.

Before we set off, Scott briefed us on French Island, which is a very unusual place. 75% of it is National Park and officially a biosphere reserve, and 25% is settled.

The island has 110 inhabitants, no running water, no electricity. No rates, no police, no roads (just dirt tracks). There’s a single general store, which is also the post office and the fuel station. There’s a primary school, which has six pupils and two teachers. Some of the inhabitants are farmers, and there are sheep, horses and beef cattle on the island – no dairy farming, as it would be too expensive to deal with the milk.

The first thing we did was to go for lunch to meet Lee and Celia, a couple of inhabitants, at their smallholding, Mandalye Park Homestead.

There was a bit of a distraction as we exited the OKA, as, by the gate, there was a koala in the tree – and she had a young’un with her, which caused the usual ripple of excitement.

Scott estimated the age of this baby to be about five months. Koalas were introduced to the island over 100 years ago and have been so successful that they now have to be controlled as a population; they are so dim that they will simply eat a eucalyptus tree to death by consuming all its leaves. The Kangaroo Island koalas came originally from French Island, apparently.

Eventually we trooped inside the farmhouse for a fairly basic, but very pleasant lunch

and a chance to chat with Lee, who had been there on a permanent basis for about seven years, having started out as a weekend visitor to the island. We were nearly joined by a peacock, which caused a bit of a stir,

and outside one could see the evidence of how strong the winds had been over the recent days.

From talking to Lee, it was clear that the island’s appeal was very niche. Life is entirely off-grid: his water comes primarily from catching rain, although he has a borehole which is only slightly brackish, so livestock will drink it and it can be boiled for human consumption; electricity is from solar panels and battery with a generator backup; sewage is based on a septic tank; mobile coverage drifts over sporadically  from the mainland; vehicles can only get to the island via a barge (see later) which can take a couple of cars or a truck and is very expensive. It’s a strange life, but our chap wouldn’t now exchange it for anything else.

For over 70 years the island’s economy was dependent upon chicory – cultivated for the root, not the familiar salad leaf. The root has long been cultivated in Europe as a coffee additive or substitute, it was, inter alia, the basis for ersatz coffee such as Camp Coffee. It was introduced to the island in 1895. The site had an old chicory kiln, used for drying the roots.

After lunch, Scott bounced us around the island in the OKA, with occasional stops. From a wildlife point of view, we saw a couple more koalas, any number of purple swamp hens,

Cape Barren geese (here with their goslings),

black swans,

and, excitingly, an echidna, an animal Jane was very keen to see. This one was a short-beaked echidna.

This is also known as a spiny anteater and, like the platypus (which I am very keen to see at some stage) is a monotreme, meaning it only has one bank of oars is a marsupial mammal which lays eggs but suckles its young. They are normally very shy, so we were lucky to get such a decent view of one.

As well as the wildlife, we saw some tamelife: beef cattle

and horses.

We also saw some sheep, which were being guarded by an alpaca, but sadly whizzed past them before we could get a photo.

Not all life is welcome on the island. It has a problem with pests such as rabbits and, increasingly, deer; but the real demons are feral cats, which they are trying to eradicate because they cause such havoc among the other wildlife which have no defences against them. There are cat traps across the island

(apparently KFC is the bait of choice) and motion-sensitive cat-cams such as this one.

Yes, there it is. There.

We passed the island’s fire station

with its indicator of likelihood of bush fire;

the school, and the general store.

Approaching the coast, we passed mangrove swamps

and reached the barge which enables vehicular access to the island.

Apparently it costs about Aus$900 to use the barge – a very expensive way of transporting anything.

The principal roads across the island are high-quality dirt tracks, but Scott took us off these on to rougher trails

which run through the National Park, showing how densely scrubby it is, as opposed to the open spaces of the settled portion of the island.

Then it was time to return to the jetty

and await the ferry

which would take us on to Philip Island. It was clear that A Lot Of Shopping had been done on the mainland.

We speculated that this might possibly be stock for the General Store.

And so we said goodbye to French Island – a funny old place, with a funny old lifestyle. I dare say we could have seen a lot more of the allegedly diverse birdlife on the island, but to do so would have taken a lot of time.

Although it’s smaller than French Island, it’s immediately obvious that Philip Island is more conventionally settled.

Amusingly for us Brits, one lands on the north of the island at a place called Cowes; but the island, although it also has a place called Ventnor, is much smaller than the Isle of Wight.

We settled down in the Philip Island Hotel for coffee and beer whilst we awaited Bill. He came along and we rejoined his bus for a trip out to the area where live the animals that have made Philip Island famous – Little Penguins; the island supports a colony of some 40,000 of these, the smallest known penguin species. En route, we noted that penguins weren’t the only wildlife to be seen.

Although the island is noted for its penguin population, it is also home to short-tailed shearwaters (commonly called “mutton birds”), fur seals, wallabies (like the one above) and eastern barred bandicoots. We’d hoped to see one of these last creatures, but failed, sadly.

We eventually reached the western point of the island, where the penguins make their burrows. The westernmost point is marked by The Nobbies

where there is a visitor centre and a boardwalk along which one can walk to examine the various burrows of the Little Penguins.

Bill

walked us around the boardwalk, pointing out penguin burrows both natural

and man-made.

At one stage, people lived in the area and this threatened the penguin population; so the people were actually moved away and these man-made burrows created to help re-establish the penguin population. It’s now self-sustaining so there is no need for more man-made burrows.

A couple of the burrows had, we thought, got penguins inside them. It was difficult to be sure, though.

There were cape barren geese here, too

along with their goslings

and I caught sight of a white-faced heron among the rocks.

The general view was quite striking

with lots of breaking waves

contributing to the general mistiness of the air. As we got towards sunset, the area became very popular

as people gathered for a daily event for which Philip Island is widely-known – the Penguin Parade. There are even signposts to the Penguin Parade Centre and Car Park, such is the popularity of this fairly unique phenomenon. After some time at the Nobbies, Bill took us to the Penguin Parade Centre which is quite gob-smackingly big.

When I saw this, my heart sank, as I envisaged the ruthless monetisation of some poor unfortunate penguins.

The whole Penguin Parade thing is a well-oiled machine, with people turning up in their hundreds as the sun goes down, all to see these penguins making a dash from the sea to their burrows on land.

We were actually booked to be part of a premium group – a ranger-led viewing of this parade and prime seating.  Our guide for this was a nice lass called Annie

who explained at length and with great enthusiasm about the penguins, their life cycle and what was going to happen. She also explained that photography was forbidden, something I found very frustrating. I had read that the flashes on cameras and phones were distracting and stressful for the penguins and so I thought that meant that a lot of care would be taken to avoid flashes going off. But no, all photography was forbidden. I can understand the reasoning behind this, but that doesn’t stop me from being annoyed that I was penalised for the stupidity of others who simply don’t know how to turn off their cameras’ flash functions.

Anyhoo…

Having carefully briefed us and equipped us with binoculars and earpieces so that we could (almost) hear her commentary, Annie led us towards our prime viewing spot, via a couple of displays in the centre, such as this rather cute one,

which looks rather cute and pointless, but actually portrays something valid and important – helping penguins after oil spills. When these happen, volunteers seek out penguins who have been affected, and put them in these jackets (knitted also by volunteers) to prevent them trying to clean themselves and so ingesting the oil while they’re being transported to somewhere where they can be cleaned off before being released back into the water.  We particularly like the jacket on the left, which is a nod to a certain publisher.

There’s also a display of a fox with a dead penguin in its mouth. Foxes have been a huge problem on the island, as they don’t just take one bird but can kill several dozen in a frenzy. There has been a fox eradication programme on the island over the past quarter-century, and they can now declare the island fox-free.  Just one problem, though; there’s a land bridge over which foxes could make their way on to the island, so there’s a motion-detecting camera by the bridge to alert people when a fox comes over. This way it can be tracked and eliminated.

We joined the crowds heading towards the beach

and took our reserved seats in a brand-new grandstand which offered us a, well, grandstand view. The sun went down, and the only light came from some orange and yellow lamps illuminating the area; apparently, penguins don’t see well in this part of the spectrum, so it doesn’t affect or distract them.

The penguins’ main predators are hawks and other large birds. Their strategy therefore for getting from the sea across the exposed area of beach to the safety of their burrows in the dunes, involves a) waiting until after dark, and b) making a run for it in sizeable groups where there is safety in numbers. In almost complete darkness, it was difficult to see clearly what was going on. They must have emerged from the sea, but it seemed that groups of penguins just materialised and started making their way up the beach on their penguin highway – the path that they take time after time as they leave the water and head to their burrows, which might be quite some distance away. I was a good boy and didn’t try to take photos; OK, officer, it was too dark, really. The centre is good enough to provide some, like this one, which shows the penguins leaving the water.

There’s also a YouTube video showing what happens

though Jane found something which is far more fun – an Andrew Cotter commentary special, done in his own inimitable style.

The whole penguin journey is, indeed, hugely commercially exploited. But Annie pointed out that the centre is entirely and only paid for by visitors, and their contribution enables research into these penguins and funds conservation and protection for them. And it is rather well done; tightly controlled so that crowds don’t distract and distress the penguins, and ensuring an environment that means the penguins can survive and thrive.

In theory, we might have seen a bandicoot, but I think the darkness, the noise and the crowds make it near-impossible to see a live one.  The best we could do was one in a display case.

The final thing Annie showed us was an artwork made entirely out of the detritus found on the beach and in the water. She asked us to guess what it was that the seals were made out of,

and no-one got it right: cigarette butt filters. That was a sobering message to leave us with.

By this stage it was about 7.45pm and we had a two-hour journey back to Melbourne, so it was very late by the time we arrived back at the apartment. However, we hadn’t got an early start for the next day, the main feature of which was going to be lunch with friends, so that wasn’t a problem. The morrow would be our last full day in Melbourne, but unlikely to feature anything particularly worthy of comment; so it’s likely to be a couple of days until I next update these pages. I hope you’ll be here to read them when that happens.

 

* For those giving the title a blank look, this is a reference to a 1970s advertisement for a chocolate biscuit bar called a Penguin. The voice over was done by Derek Nimmo, an actor who achieved wide recognition for his ability to portray posh people who had a stammer.

Day 17 – Aquiares – Fully Washed or Natural?

4 Replies

Tuesday 7 March 2023 – The day held a fully-guided, whole-day programme for us, to learn about the place we were staying – Aquiares; not a Spanish word at all, but from the pre-Columbian native language meaning “the land between rivers”.

The Hacienda set us up with a nice breakfast, with fried eggs and the ubiquitous Gallo Pinto, accompanied by coffee, served in a delightful filter pot.

This was a startling deviation from our usual breakfast fare which is tea, preferably Earl Grey, preferably with milk, because we’re English, so deal with it.  Coffee was provided and we never actually felt that asking for tea would be a good idea.  Jane, whose nose makes much more of scents that mine does, noticed a strong overtone of farmyard in the aroma of the coffee, which was also served without milk.  It was good coffee, but very different from what we would have had mid-morning at home.

And it is coffee that Aquiares is all about as a town, the Hacienda where we were staying is a refurbishment of the farmhouse for the coffee farm, and the day was to be about exploring coffee and Aqiares in more detail. Our guide Wilman, was, as far as locals were concerned, a stranger, since he hailed from Turrialba, a whole 5 miles distant. He gave us a full and intense day, as absorbing, entertaining and educational as our cacao session had been the day before, only much longer, deeper and more intense.

As we left the Hacienda, he bade us note the Ox Cart by its door, specifically its dimensions. Remember this for later.

Then we were taken deep into the coffee plantation.  This was possible because it’s huge – 926 hectares, the largest in Costa Rica and so big that it has 82 kilometres of trails in and around it. Our transport was not luxurious, but it was authentic, being one of the trucks used to transport the workers to the coal face.

Wilman disembarks from our “Tour Bus” into the coffee plantation

Since we were among the coffee plants,

Wilman then showed us how to pick coffee.  The things you pick are called “cherries” and the idea is that you pick the red ones.

Here’s what Jane and I ended up with after some 20 minutes of picking coffee.

It’s a back -breaking process, and the coffee plantation employs between 800 and 1,000 pickers (about half of whom are itinerants from Nicaragua) to pick the crop over about seven months of the year (July until February, roughly).

After we’d done this, he led us to a picking gang, whose chief was called Antonio

and a picker called Gerard but nicknamed Piggi, who showed us how it was really done.

Experienced pickers like Piggi would collect over thirty baskets every day. Antonio boasted that he once picked 80 baskets in a day (he started as a picker and worked his way up to be a chief, taking responsibility for a team of people picking in a certain area, marshalling them and making sure that the job is done effectively). The working day for a picker starts at 6am and finishes at midday, a siren at the factory sounding loudly (its a massive farm) to mark the beginning and end points.

Wilman also explained the anatomy of a cherry.  Inside the skin are two beans, which are covered in pulp, called mucillage (similar in principle to what we saw with cacao yesterday).

The mucillage is sweet and floral and the skin is fruity; these give the final product its distinctive taste.  This got us into the topic of varieties.  Although all the coffee plants at Aquiares are of the Arabica type, there are varieties within Arabica, each with their own characteristics and quality levels.  The finest quality beans are planted high on the hillside, the lower quality ones lower down.  So there is a tight control system to make sure that the right plants are seeded in the right place.  That said, we found a rogue bush.

This had found its way in through natural processes, and the beans would never get picked for the quality of coffee that was to be produced from that area.

Although the sun wasn’t beating down, the scenery was attractive.

 

The trees with orange flowers you can see are Poro trees and are important, as they are of the legume family, which means they enrich the soil by fixing nitrogen in it.  We could also see Aquiares town, with its coffee factory and church.

We then embarked on a walk, during which we could see the amazing extent of the plantation and the orderliness of the planting.

Wilman also told us about some of the farming methods used to maximise the crop while making the operation sustainable – cutting them back every so often to 60cm high, to increase bushiness;

planting new crops to replace older ones after about 25 years;

Young coffee plants
Mature coffee plants to same scale

and sometimes planting two close together so they compete to grow more cherries.

On the way, this being Costa Rica, we saw plenty of birds – vultures

and a Black Hawk

as well as many birds too small for me to photograph (I left my Big Lens behind for the day).

We descended further and further, past rainbow eucalyptus trees

which are not endemic but have been planted because they take moisture out of the soil and thus mitigate any rotting of the coffee plants, and also provide essential oils for creating other, non-coffee products.

Down and down we went

until we emerged at one of the rivers that give Aquiares its name.

There’s a waterfall there that even an Icelander might consider to be worthy of the name.

There are a lot of boulders and stones in the area

and Wilman told us that the previous July there had been so much rain – twice as much as the average rainfall for the whole month fell in one day – that the river actually changed course.  It used to run behind the diagonal line of bushes you see beyond the boulders in the middle of the picture.  All of the rocks had been moved there by the sheer volume and weight of water during that rainfall.  That must have been an impressive sight!

We toiled back up the slope to the Hacienda for a nice lunch – chicken, rice and beans! – and then Wilman took us on to part 2 of the day – a visit to the coffee factory and the village of Aquiares.

Aquiares was founded in the 1890s by farmers looking to take advantage of Costa Rica´s railroad to the port of Limón.  An English family, the Lindos, acquired it in the early 1900s and built houses in the village and around the plantation, to house the workers and to attract more into the area.  There are still some of the original houses there

as well as buildings that were the original theatre and supermarket.

Originally the theatre
The old supermarket

In order to qualify as a village, and also to support the incoming workers, who were largely Catholic, the Lindo family also imported a church.

The aluminium shell came from Belgium, the clock from Germany, the wood for the interior from Italy. There was some repair work going on – indeed, the church seemed to be supported by prayer alone –

and therefore it was open and we were able to take a look inside.

But the main thrust of the afternoon was to see round the factory, which turned out to be quite a brain-boggling visit, both from its scale and the variety of coffees it deals with.

It’s a big place

overlooked by the “Tree of Life”

from which the coffee farm takes its logo.

Coffee, Community and Conservation are three important things to the farm – conservation because 75% of the plantation is given over to coffee plants, but the other 25% is forest and trees which are not only the basis for the company’s conservation efforts but also make the entire operation carbon negative – it produces more oxygen than CO2.  The farm is also part of the Rainforest Aliance.

Wilman took us through the process of taking the picked cherries and turning them into beans to be shipped all over the world, both with a view of the original processes and also of the modern ones, which involve all sorts of conduits, feeds and sophisticated machinery for sorting the beans by quality and size.

The vast majority – 85% – of the cherries go through a process called “fully washed”, where beans are deposited into silos

(note that the green hopper is exactly the same size as the ox cart outside the Hacienda, which was originally used to transport the cherries or beans).

From here the cherries are flushed along with water, and are sorted as part of the washing process – poor quality cherries sink, good quality cherries go on to have the pulp and mucilage mechanically removed before ending up in a huge drier

and then are stored in silos as part of the maturation process.

Then the beans are sorted in various ways (by density, weight, size and colour)

and end up in sacks – white for lower quality, brown for higher quality.

You’ve been paying attention, so you’ll know that there are still 15% of the beans unaccounted for.  Well done. I have to say that by this stage in the day my brain was definitely begging for mercy as Wilman threw more and more complexities into the mix.

The 15% that are not “fully washed” may go through one of several small batch processes: “natural” where whole cherries are laid out and dried by the heat of the sun

Today’s cherries in the foreground, older ones behind it

Fermented cherries in the foregound

(in case of no sun – like today; it was raining outside – there’s a hot air blower, driven by a furnace fired by excavated old coffee plants,

as part of the sustainability aspects of the operation).  Retaining the pulp gives fruity notes to the finished product.

The “honey” process involves drying the beans with their mucilage covering which gives honeyed and floral notes.

The beans may be fermented, either in their own mucilage or added molasses or even kefir, and the various different varieties are treated in a variety of different ways. The number of combinations is bewildering but there are basically four coffee varieties and three treatments that form most of the company’s output. More details about the operation, the history and the credentials can be found on the company’s website, of course. My brain was begging for mercy by this point; having tried to understand the complexities of cacao yesterday, absorbing those of fine coffee today was proving a bit too much.

But the general lesson is clear – chocolate and coffee are as subtle, varied and complex as wine. The coffee we had at breakfast at the Hacienda was a Centroamericano  variety, made by the Natural process.  It will be interesting to get back home and try our usual coffee to see if all this education has had any effect at all.

So, foot- and brainsore, we headed back to the Hacienda, past a view of the factory and its coffee drying greenhouses

and some of the colourful houses in the village,

including one which I have to say I would find exceedingly annoying were I to live here.

However, I don’t, so it’s none of my bleedin’ business.

We took a light supper at the Hacienda and eventually headed for bed in slightly eerie circumstances – the Hacienda staff had gone home and we were the only guests.  We had the whole place to ourselves and it felt really quite odd.  This was also the second day without either gin or Earl Grey tea, which contributed further to the other-worldliness of the experience.  But we surived, and slept well in preparation for moving on the next day.

The morrow should be pretty dull.  We simply have to move on to our next destination, San Gerardo de Dota. What can possibly go wrong?