The following morning saw us (and extended family) packed into a couple of cars and departing Arima northbound via the winding mountainous Blanchisseuse Road. This narrow rainforested pass tested my stomach for Trini driving customs in earnest. Our driver, unperturbed by the sharp turns and drastic dropoffs that the terrain had to offer, maintained a crazed, breakneck pace for the duration of our journey, despite the children and terrified foreigners in tow. While I can say with some amount of certainty that I did not perish on the drive, I distinctly remember intently looking at my knuckles, pale white from my tightly clenched fists, and the soreness in my hands when we stopped at a pullout to enjoy some of the roadside scenery.

The primary purpose of our stop was to visit a picturesque waterfall whose identity I have been unable to ascertain in the years since (if you, dear reader, happen to know the name of this waterfall, I would be most grateful if you would let me know!), although it is likely one of undoubtedly countless unnamed little falls in the area.

We lingered for a few minutes, taking turns snapping photos of each other in front of the little cascade, some of us steeling up the courage to step back into the car to continue the drive.

Some twenty minutes later, we found ourselves piling out of the vehicles at the parking lot for the destination that would prove to be the highlight of our stay: the Asa Wright Nature Center! The center, with its astonishingly high biodiversity, is notable for being one of the best birdwatching spots in the Caribbean, and is also home to a major colony of the bizarre, cave-dwelling oilbirds, which are unique for being the only flying nocturnal frugivorous birds in the world. At the time we visited, the oilbird night tour was only available to guests staying at the lodge, so we would not be able to see these unique animals, but our visit was nonetheless filled with countless once-in-a-lifetime encounters.

Already before even setting foot on the trails, the center was delivering! We made our way to the visitor center, once the home of the eponymous conservationist, now converted into a lodge to accommodate ecotourists from around the globe.

We passed a few moments on the world-famous veranda, which gives a stunning view of the forested slopes of the Arima Valley and hosts a generously stocked feeding station that offers fruits, nectar and other goodies for the vast array of birds and other wildlife visitors. Already the jewels of the valley were making themselves seen.

I reluctantly peeled myself from the observation area to begin our guided tour, but we would have time to revisit afterwards. We took the stairway down and began our walk into the rainforest. Mere moments after the tour had begun, we spotted a sizable reptilian inhabitant of the valley.

The first stop on the tour was a small botanical garden, which showcases some of the native flora, as well as provides some of the produce used in meals served at the lodge. We sampled the aromas of a plethora of spices, some familiar to me, some new. Our guide was highly informative.

A frequent sight on our walk were leafcutter ants (Atta cephalotes), which were fascinating to observe as they conducted their lives. There was something surreal about watching these ants, often the far-away subject of documentaries, suddenly right before me and very real.

As our path took us from the garden to the trail proper, some portions of the walkway had raised mounds along the side, perhaps a foot or two in height. Our guide explained that these were the leafcutters' nests, containing extensive systems of underground chambers where they cultivate fungi for consumption. As a result of the ongoing process of decomposition as the fungi break down leaf matter provided by the ants, the chambers can become so hot that the ants incorporate ventilation structures into their design. Even more fascinatingly, the fungus that the ants cultivate is now so dependent on them (as they are on it) that it no longer produces spores to reproduce, and is propagated entirely by the ants.

Another common insect encountered on our walk were termites. Our guide informed us that termites actually taste very much like carrots, and half-jokingly asked if anyone would like to try some. This happened to be at a point in my life when I was becoming particularly interested in entomophagy, the human consumption of insects, and I happily obliged. He was exactly right!

One of the many notable features of the Asa Wright Nature Center is the presence of several easily accessible leks of both white-bearded and golden-headed manakins, where the male birds gather together to perform elaborate displays to compete for the attention of observing females.

As we passed by the lekking area, we remained vigilant, hoping to spot a manakin in the brush. Sure enough, before too long, the round form of a male white-bearded manakin materialized out of the growth. We were only able to catch a glimpse of him before he flew off, and he was the only one we saw.

Next up on the tour was the bearded bellbird, whose incredibly loud call gives it its name. This call, which sounds uncannily similar to a hammer striking an anvil, was familiar to me as a background noise in Jurassic Park, traditionally my favorite film, so it was especially surreal to hear one in the flesh! Speaking of flesh, the male of this strange species sports fleshy wattles on the throat (hence "beard"). Although we did hear several calls from a distance, we were not fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of this remarkable bird. The tour moved on.

After our lovely walk drew to a close, we made our way back to the veranda, which I was eager to return to. The next half hour or so, spent poised on that famous balcony, whipping my camera back and forth at every hint of movement, was perhaps the most densely rich birdwatching experience of my life. Animals familiar to me from Amazon Trail, a childhood favorite PC game, dashed before me, vividly present and real, and more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.

Suddenly, a larger visitor arrived on scene: a crested oropendola! This was one of the birds I was previously familiar with (but of course had never seen), and was a spectacular sight. The unique hanging woven nests of these sleek, crow-sized birds adorned the sitting area on the balcony for guests to admire. Among the smaller tanagers and bananaquits at the feeder, this powerful, deliberate visitor stood out.

It was here that I caught my first sighting of what was likely my favorite bird on the islands: the Trinidad motmot (Momotus bahamensis). This stunning bird, with its bizarre racket-shaped tail and vibrant plumage, was like none I had ever seen. I would be lucky enough to see more during our trip.

After the passing of that all-to-short half hour, other members of our party (residents to whom all of these backyard birds must have seemed very unexciting) were beginning to pressure the rest of us to pay a visit to the mall. The mall. I was devastated. I could have happily spent days, or perhaps an eternity, resting on that veranda and watching life unfold in the Arima Valley below and never tired of it. As it was, I was at the mercy of our driver and our hosts, and it was with extreme, despondent reluctance that I was finally peeled away, crestfallen yet monumentally grateful to have experienced it at all.

We returned southward back in the direction of Arima, passing it to swing westward to nearby Trincity. It would be a minor point of teasing (to my mother, mainly) in the years to come that that unfolding of events was allowed to pass. "Remember how we left a once-in-a-lifetime experience at a world-class nature center to go to the mall?"

And yet... something special did happen there.

As we situated ourselves in the parking lot at the Trincity Mall, my mind still aflutter with countless images and sounds of exotic birds darting from perch to perch enacting that elegant ballet of their lives, I saw something. It was small, walking on a curb a ways off. I pulled out my camera to get a better look at what it was, and zoomed in...

Oh. It's just a dove.

I almost turned off my camera when I saw it. It was, after all, just a bland-looking dove, and I'd seen plenty of those. And it certainly wouldn't make for a nice picture.

"But you've never seen this kind of bland-looking dove," a voice in my head whispered, "and you might not ever again."

"That's true," I agreed with myself. "You never know, I might wish I had a picture of this dove sometime down the road. After all, it's a new species for me."

And in that moment, something magical happened, and something fell into place: a desire to represent species diversity through my camera, to pursue and capture the trophies of life in a worldwide treasure hunt. Species, the project that would come to consume me and change the way I experienced the world, from national parks to mall parking lots, was born, and nothing would ever be the same for me again.

The mall itself was like any American mall. I got some much-needed AA batteries (my camera at the time consuming them like snacks) and a miniature Trinidad and Tobago flag, which I had specifically been looking for, and had hoped to make a tradition of in future travels. The gift shop there also had calabash purses, which were interesting to see after their mention early in our trip. It wasn't until a day or two later that I noticed that the flag I bought was attached backwards to the pole, and I wondered to myself if this was done intentionally to lightly mock clueless tourists. I was able to reattach it to correct the error.

We made a stop at the grocery store on the way home, where I picked up some pear soda and cream soda; not exactly exotic, but new to me nonetheless. The rest of the day passed without note, but we would continue adventuring the next day.