We left Antsirabe the next morning. Only four days earlier, we’d watched the sun set behind ancient Baobabs and walked through forest where every tree had dropped its leaves for the dry season. We’d also cross miles of dirt road, travel down riverways in wooden pirogues and climb up steep limestone peaks.
Now the terrain was changing once again.
As the road continued to climb further to the south, the flat lands of the West began to disappear from view. Rice paddies stretched out across whole valleys, eucalyptus plantations blanketed hillside after hillside and villages were becoming more common. Water ran under bridges that had run dry in Menabe, while patches of green forest were reclaiming the slopes. The transformation happened fast!
Madagascar is depicted as a singular large island on maps. Yet traveling across Madagascar is a vastly different story. There are extreme variations in climate, elevation and geology occurring over relatively short distances resulting in unique eco-systems which seem like two completely different countries rather than opposing ends of the same island.
The central Highlands area of Madagascar contains some of the highest population densities anywhere in the country. Most every square metre of land appeared to be cultivated. Hill sides were developed into intricately stepped rice paddies, vegetable gardens and small orchards, and farmers worked extremely small areas using farming methods that have changed very little over centuries. Rice is much more than just Madagascar’s main source of nutrition. Its influence extends into people’s daily routine, local economies and even cultural traditions. Each town we drove through seemed to center around their crops, and even the tiniest valley had been expertly designed to capture precious water.
Life was everywhere unlike in the remote and sparsely populated west. School children wearing colorful uniforms strolled along side the road in groups. Women carried baskets filled with produce or bundles of firewood easily on their heads. Road side vendors sold bananas, cassava, Llychee and neat stacks of tomatoes awaiting travelers who pass by. The road provided a window into everyday life in Madagascar.
By the time we reached Ranomafana, the dust that followed us throughout western Madagascar was gone. The air felt different too, much cooler and denser.
A Forest Reborn
Ranomafana, which translates in the local language to “Hot water” or “Hot Spring” owes its existence to similar processes as those which formed Andasibe at the start of our trip.
Moist ocean winds flowing inland off the Indian Ocean meet Madagascar’s eastern escarpment, cool as they climb and release tremendous amounts of precipitation. Year after year. Century after century. These processes have supported one of the island’s most fertile rainforest environments.
However, Ranomafana is not merely another protected forest. Its history is quite recent.
In 1986, scientists made one of the most surprising zoological discoveries of the twentieth century when they identified a hitherto unknown primate inhabiting these forests, The Golden Bamboo Lemur. When Madagascar’s mammals were already thought to be reasonably well studied, finding a completely new lemur species surprised the scientific community and emphasized the biological value of the area.
Not long after that discovery, the Malagasy Government created Ranomafana National Park and protected over 40,000 ha of Montane Rainforest. Today, Ranomafana is part of the UNESCO-designated “Rainforests of the Atsinanana,” recognized as one of the world’s most important Biodiversity Hot Spots.
Underneath its canopy it quickly became apparent why. While sunlight penetrated nearly every corner of the forest floor at Kirindy, Ranomafana encloses you underneath layers upon layers of superimposed vegetation. Tree ferns towered above the paths and vines dangled between gigantic trunks coated in mosses, lichens & orchids. Every branch on the forest floor seemed to carry another layer of growth.
None of it appeared dormant, all of it grew.
Rainforests tend to appear disorganized at first glance but all layers perform a specific ecological role. The tallest canopy trees compete for sunlight high above the forest floor and shrubs, ferns and young saplings exist below them in constant shade. Microorganisms (such as bacteria), fungi and countless other organisms rapidly recycle nutrients to ensure that poor mineral-rich soils will sustain incredible levels of biodiversity.
Rather than forming a single, interconnected environment, rainforests form multiple “vertical” worlds stacked above each other. Many animals never descend from the canopy and many live their lives among tree trunks, dense understory or leaf litter covering the ground. In fact, a single tree may provide habitat for dozens of different species without competing directly for the same resources.
This complexity helps explain why Madagascar’s rainforests are among the most biologically diverse locations on Earth.
Searching the Canopy
At first we didn’t see anything but leaves. However, as we watched the canopy, we started to notice shapes. A family of Milne-Edward’s Sifakas leaped from one tall tree to another. The way they jumped between the trees was unbelievable. There is a difference between the two species of sifakas. The sifakas of the drier forests of Western Madagascar are thin grayish brown. We had thick black and white coats because we live in cooler temperatures in the Eastern Highlands. The family of sifakas would disappear behind a curtain of foliage and reappear several meters away. This made them harder to track than I thought.
The forest we walked through was just as impressive as the wildlife. Large trees rose into the canopy and disappeared. The canopy was layered with mosses, lichens and ferns growing on top of each other. Giant bird’s nest ferns grew high above us while orchids and climbing vines wrapped around trunks that were hundreds of years old. In some areas large bamboo stalks created green tunnels where the trail would disappear.
When we were tracking a group of Black-and-white ruffled lemurs, we were able to get close and watch them. They have beautiful coloration on their fur. Because of their size you wouldn’t think they would move well in the canopy. But once again, they moved quickly through the trees and vanished into the forest.
In the late morning we finally found what makes Ranomafana National Park so special. The Golden Bamboo Lemur feeds almost exclusively off of bamboo shoot (that contains a poisonous chemical called cyanide). If any other type of mammal ate this amount of poison it would die immediately. Scientists believe that the golden bamboo lemur can eat amounts of cyanide that are five times higher than what would kill a person. The exact reasons why this happens is still being studied. Watching them eating bamboo it was hard to think about how scientists discovering these lemurs in 1986 ultimately led to creating this protected area.
Not every encounter came from looking upwards. As we continued along the trail, a Ring-tailed Mongoose briefly emerged from the undergrowth before disappearing back into the dense vegetation. One of Madagascar’s endemic carnivores, it moved with remarkable speed and confidence, offering only a fleeting glimpse before vanishing.
Our guide constantly stopped by tree trunks and pointed to what I thought was just bark. After about three minutes I finally realized there was a gecko hiding under the bark. First we saw a Satanic Leaf-tailed Gecko, then a Mossy Leaf-tailed Gecko. These two species of geckos are experts at blending in with their surroundings. Their flat body shape, wavy edges and tail shaped like a leaf make them almost invisible. Once I was able to find them with my eyes I lost them every time I turned my head away for even a second.
There were many small day geckos that were endemic to Ranomafana basking on warm leaves. Emerald green contrasts with the dark colors of the rainforest. The Red-bellied Lemurs traveled through the mid-canopy and birds flew in and out of branches before disappearing into the dense jungle.
Our guide helped us locate many different animals that we never would have seen if he hadn’t been with us. He was always pointing in the right place and giving us directions on exactly where to look.
The Forest that Never Sleeps
After a short break in one of the hotel’s hot springs and a great dinner, we returned to the forest as dusk fell. This experience reminded me of Kirindy instantly. The atmosphere couldn’t have been more different.
There, our lights shone clearly between leafless trees revealing animals at considerable distances. Here, dense foliage consumed our light within meters. Darkness felt heavier and more intimate.
Each noise seemed magnified by the surrounding forest. Tiny frogs emerged adjacent to our path while calling loudly as their voices blended together into nearly constant song emanating beneath the canopy, and chameleons sleeping on thins branches seemed paler due to nocturnal colors causing them to stand out better than during daytime hours.
Like the dry forests of Western Madagascar which frequently accompany complete silence with darkness, Ranomafana never stopped moving. Water dripped constantly from leaves overhead. Streams flowed invisibly through narrow valleys, and insects generated a steady base level of sounds while beyond our range of vision mouse lemur vocalizations echoed occasionally through the canopy.
I doubt I could have identified each noise. Perhaps it was this uncertainty which contributed to my impression that the rainforest seemed so full of life! On our way back to our lodge I reflected on how differently Madagascar had changed during our last few weeks.
Andasibe and Ranomafana are not particularly far apart if measuring distance on a map. However ecologically they are two distinctly separate islands. One reason Madagascar has such an impressive amount of diversity is due to the number of extreme dissimilarities in landscape, climate, ecosystems… all contained within a single journey. Almost every week or less it felt as though we entered a completely foreign country; with its own forests, wildlife, geology and daily rhythms.
The next morning we would depart the forest. Before us lay granite walls bordering Tsaranoro Valley, Ring Tailed Lemurs at Anja Community Reserve and another Madagascar that we knew by now never to take lightly.
