This marked the start of Day Four of a five-day kayak trip on Ecuador's Rio Shiripuno. We planned a short hike to a lake near our campsite. We'd already made mid-day and night hikes, but I had yet to satisfy one of the objectives I hoped to achieve on this trip.

I have two major passions: paddling and parrots. I chose this trip because it offered the opportunity to combine them: paddling in the Amazon rainforest, with the chance (hopefully) to photograph wild parrots.

During the first three days, we'd seen several parrots, but none close enough to photograph. Perhaps this morning's hike - our first early-morning jaunt into the green - would be different.

We followed Moi, our native guide, into the forest.

Moi is chief of the Huaorani tribe. His presence guaranteed a unique paddling adventure, starting from the moment we stepped onto the riverbank put-in. He greeted us by painting our faces with red dye from a seedpod of the bixa plant.

"This signifies you are friends of the Huaorani and welcome to travel in their territory," he said, through a translator, as we accepted our "jungle makeover."

We would spend five days traveling a section of river that snaked through Huaorani territory. A warrior-people who experienced first contact with Western civilization in 1956, they still consider themselves "unconquered." Examples: In 1987, a bishop acting as an oil industry emissary ended up as a human pincushion for several Huaorani spears. In 1996, they forcefully occupied oil company facilities to stop unregulated industrial development.

Although a sub-tribe called the Tagaeri, ("red-feet"), remains deep in the jungle shunning outside contact, many of the remaining 1,300 Huaorani strive for a balance between modern civilization and tradition. Through ecotourism, Moi hopes to preserve their land and culture.

Evidence of the jungle's wilder inhabitants increased as we motored upstream that first afternoon. Oropendulas, caciques, screaming pihas and other birds made their presence known by their cries. We also spied a hoatzin, or "stinky turkey," prehistoric-looking birds whose young sport claw-like "hands" on their wings, much like the now-extinct archaeopteryx.

It didn't take long for our first psittacine encounter; several macaws flew across the river in front of us less than an hour into the ride - too far away and moving too fast for a good photo op. I wasn't too concerned, though; I was too busy absorbing the jungle atmosphere.

No matter how many times you've watched Anaconda or Conan Doyle's Lost World, nothing quite prepares you for your first time in the Amazon. The further upstream we traveled, the further back in time the huge trees, dense foliage, and strange cries seemed to take us. Barely-discernible trails replaced roads and sidewalks. Instead of road signs, animal prints marked the riverbanks, caiman, ocelot and the occasional puma tracks reminding us we were not necessarily at the top of the food chain, here.

We reached the Huaorani village Nenquepare as darkness blanketed the jungle. Here our "time travel" took us another step further back in history. We sat in a traditional Huaorani shelter, hearing stories from Moi's 70-year-old father, Penti. In the dark hut lit only by a small fire, it was difficult to tell how many natives listened; they seemed to melt in and out of the shadows.

Through interpreters, Penti told us how, in his youth, he killed many oil company employees who entered Huaorani land without permission. His story-telling technique included dramatic actions, as he demonstrated how he speared them repeatedly to ensure their deaths. Glad I didn't work for an oil company …

Afterward, a young girl introduced us to her pet monkey. The Huaorani still eat monkeys, but when they kill females with young, they adopt the babies as pets. We took turns stroking its soft fur as it nestled in her arms.

The next morning, the Huaorani - some in traditional garb - demonstrated their six-foot long hunting blowguns, something I could not imagine lugging through the jungle for any distance. They attached a fuzzy material - found on indigenous trees - to the wooden thorn-like darts, the material acting much like an arrow's feathers to keep their flight straight.

While taking photos, my mind painted its own picture of how the Huaorani culture is disappearing, like so many others exposed to Western "civilization." Many of the younger people - desirous of modern society's perceived advantages - dressed in Chicago Bulls shirts, New York Yankee caps and their ilk. Older Huaoranis can feel their culture slipping away.

Although I originally chose this trip to paddle with parrots, I began to realize it was as much a cultural journey as a nature expedition.

When we began paddling our kayaks downstream that afternoon, our focus returned to nature. A heron greeted us at a river bend; a harpy eagle stood watch atop a tree. Sounds of larger, unseen animals crashing through the foliage reminded us we were not alone.

I enjoyed the experiences, but in the back of my mind, I still thought about photo ops.

Our first jungle hike took place that night. Hoping to find caimans (cousins of American crocodiles and alligators) at a nearby lake, we donned our headlamps and followed Moi into the dark, trusting the chief and his machete to keep us safe from poisonous snakes and other hazards.

We found no caimans that night - we got lucky the next night - but the sounds alone made the trek worthwhile. Frogs, insects and night birds croaked, chirped and cried out to us. We found a bug that lit up neon green spots on its head - but only when in contact with our skin, whose warmth triggered the light.

We paddled the next morning away. After lunch, our guides introduced us to a Huaorani purifying ritual, a.k.a. "jungle spa." Smothered in soft riverbank mud from head to foot, we sat in the sun baking, then washed off in the river, symbolically washing away our impurities.

I hoped - in vain - for a parrot photo op during the afternoon hike. Moi took us to a clay lick where birds and other animals obtain salts and other minerals, but explained this was not a good time for observing parrots there.

I did become very aware of how the jungle supplies everything needed to survive - as well as several obstacles to survival. Moi showed us plants the Huaorani use regularly: they weave the leaves of one plant into strands for hammocks, bags and other useful implements; the wood from another for making spears; another, for blowguns.

He also showed us plants renowned for healing snakebite, toothaches, diarrhea, rashes and other ailments. We ate some lemon ants that do indeed possess a lemony tang. The irony of that struck me; in restaurants at home, I send back salads with bugs in them; after two nights in the jungle, I was eating them right off a tree like fresh-picked fruit.

In between wiping sweat-soaked brows and gulping copious quantities of water to stay hydrated in the baking humidity, we also met some less-friendly Amazon insects: Conga ants, a.k.a. "24-hour ants," (their bites hurt for a day); a caterpillar that shoots a cyanide-like poison; and another caterpillar with poisonous spikes, deadly to touch. Moi also showed us a poison-dart frog, the toxin source for Huaorani darts.

The jungle gives, and the jungle takes away ….

That night's campsite, on a bluff high above the river, provided us with the opportunity to spot more parrots and toucans in the surrounding trees. Still not close enough to photograph, though …

While the lack of photo opportunities continued to disappoint, our journey's cultural aspect continued to delight. Moi treated us to a Huaorani version of "dinner and a movie:" yucca root (a potato-like staple many of the Amazon's indigenous peoples eat) baked in coals and Huaorani stories, all involving people interacting with animals. He also told us how, during one obviously "plant-enhanced" training session with a shaman, he transformed into his spirit being, the jaguar.

It beat hell out of popcorn and Surroundsound.

Which brings us to back to Day Four … During our morning hike, we spied a white-throated toucan, a kingfisher and several hoatzins. No parrots, though - and no good photo ops.

During our final hour-long paddle the next morning, a multitude of feelings flashed through me at light speed. On the last leg of any trip, I want to slow down time, postpone the inevitable. That feeling ran deeper this time.

I felt disappointed that I never took any good close-up photos of wild parrots. However, the unique cultural experience gave rise to the thought that perhaps the joy of simply watching parrots in the wild was enough, perhaps getting good photos was not so important.

As we approached our takeout, I also wondered, if I returned in 10 years, would this forest, its parrots and its indigenous people still be here - or would advancing "civilization" swallow them up as it has so many other parts of Amazonia before…?

GETTING THERE: Several airlines fly to Quito, Ecuador's capital city regularly, including Continental and American Airlines.

OUTFITTERS: You can book this trip directly with EcoAdventour www.ecoadventour.com
or through Adventure Life Company www.adventure-life.com , 1-800-344-6118.
Adventure Life will book hotels, arrange airport pick-ups/drop-offs, in-country flight bookings and trip extensions.

About The Photos:
1: Dawn on the Rio Shiripuno.
2: Huaorani warriors in traditional garb
3: This caiman is a relative of the American crocodile