Mystery Feather

Along the north side of the island, our driver Greg pointed out places where Lost and Jurassic Park filmed, as well as other shows I’ve heard of but never seen. Everyone else on the bus would exclaim, “Oh yes, I remember that scene.”

If I had seen the movie, I still wouldn’t recognize the scenery. When I watch a movie or read a book, my mind is entirely in THAT place and time. I even have trouble recognizing people out of context. I ran into my Uncle Ray and Aunt Sharon at Costco a couple of years ago and thought, “those folks look familiar.”

But there’s one thing I DO recognize when I see it, a chicken feather. In the parking lot on Pali Point, as I stepped off the bus, there it was.

And right at the edge of the jungle, there were the chickens. Jungle fowl, more accurately. Like Zebra doves, they were begging crumbs from the tourists. They were medium-size birds that resembled Old English Game fowl, but with bigger leg bones and very strong wings. They could fly “like a bird” instead of flutter like most chickens I know. Greg said the rain forest is full of them, they don’t have many predators.


There were in excellent condition. Next time you’re at Pali Point, take some snacks for the chickens.

As our bus wound through the rain forest, Greg answered our questions about it. “Do people hunt out here?” “Not much,” he said. “It’s really dangerous. There aren’t any killer animals, but the mountainside is really steep and the shrubbery covers it. You can take one step and fall 200 feet.” Ouch.

We were dropped off at the hotel just before dark. The sun was setting almost exactly where it had come up that morning. I swear it. We said goodbye to our fun driver. (And tipped him handsomely.)

Jon took Bob and I to dinner at Wolfgang’s. It was a very high class place, so we did our best to act like we weren’t from Mayberry. Later, I listened to the music by the pool at the hotel again for a while. The guys went out investigating the night life, I think, but came in early and watched TV until the wee hours. To each his own.