The Dinosaur Reef

               There is an ancient reef on Bonaire. It has been building for millennia, calciferous shell upon calciferous shell of the coral stacking upon one another, steadily rising and crushing down on those below to form limestone. As ancient seas receded and the reef grew upwards it broke the surface, an Atlantis in reverse.  The reef was left high and dry. The very life that formed it was turned to dust leaving nothing but towering limestone ridges and the calciferous outlines of the homes once occupied by the coral and their algae tenants.

The Valley of Roi Sangu

Bowl of Fontein, the one natural source of fresh water on the island

For centuries the coral high rises remained exposed to the incessant wind and sporadic rain. The two forces conspired to create vast labyrinths of caves, crevasses and crevices in the limestone and jagged spires at the tops of the ridges reaching towards the blue of the sky. The wear and tear on the once grand reef covered the island in a fine dust, and on the unforgiving wind came the seeds of the first plants, falling into the dust filled cracks, gradually colonising the reef.

In the nutrient poor and water free reef (there is just one natural spring on the island, a mere trickle barely capable of filling a washing machine, all water is obtained through desalination or wells) the plants move slowly, the Wayaka (Guayacum officinalis), with its beautiful camouflage bark, taking centuries to reach the size of an English garden shrub. As the trees grew they took weird shapes, contorting in relentless wind, thickening their leaves and bark and sap to resist the scorching sun. In the odd nooks and crannies in the trees settled dry forest epiphytes, the orchids with their massive pseudo-bulbs to store any water that they encountered for leaner times.

The only known fully mature Wayaka tree (<1000yrs) left on the island after large scale harvesting of their self-lubricating wood for use in ship building

Dry forest epiphytes

 As the plants took hold the reef began to return to life. The dinosaurs that once moved through the blue above the reef returned. But not the dense boned aquatic lineages of the sea, the lightweight agile lineage of the skies, the birds. But life did not return on the scale it had once been beneath the waves, there are a mere 55 species of bird capable of surviving on this desolate rock year round, and a large number are introduced.  But these 55 come in all shapes and sizes. The minute jewels zipping just above the ground, only settling for an instant on flowers here and there before changing direction too fast to be followed; the splashes of fluorescence screaming their presence in sound and in sight; the savage hunters flushing the others before them in panic.

   

            

A common emerald humming bird female (Chlorostilbon meliisugus) settles for a moment

The fluorescent golden or yellow oriole (Oriolus oriolus)

A crested caracara (Caracara cheriway) takes this year’s fledgling (right) through life’s basics

Then there are the contemplative and playful. The parrots. With their curiosity and adaptability that allows them to exploit this harsh environment. There are two species: the Yellow shouldered amazon (Amazona barbadensis) and the Prikichi (Aratinga pertinax xanthogenia) (whom we shall meet later in more detail). They have made themselves at home, taking advantage of the ants drilling into impenetrable fruit of the callibash tree  and of human irrigation and cultivation of mangoes, papaya and plantains, chattering excitedly as they do so.  And like the morey eels that still inhabit the reef below the sea, they slink into the caves that line the sides of the ancient reefs ridges. In the quiet, coolness of the dark they nestle and nurture their families preparing them for the great blueness that still lies above the reef.

The Peninsula pair enjoying the sunrise at the mouth of Roi Sangu