The forests of Belize are full of wildlife, but most of the time you never see it. Animals are skittish, or well camouflaged, or nocturnal. We’ve heard that any time you’re in the jungle, a lot more creatures are watching you than you’re watching.
The best place to experience the diversity of Belize’s animal life is at the Belize Zoo, located on the Western Highway halfway between Belize City and Belmopan. We spent a hot afternoon there and then returned in the cool of the evening for a fantastic night tour.
“Zoo” isn’t the right word for this place. It’s more of an animal sanctuary, in that all of the residents are former illegal pets, or semi-domesticated animals used in a documentary film, or injured or orphaned creatures that rescuers brought to the zoo for care.
To our minds, this is what a zoo should look like. The 40 or so resident species are all native to Belize. So rather than build them elaborate simulated habitats, the zoo’s creators simply bought a tract of forest, put in a few fences and walking paths, and created enclosures full of natural habitat.
The cats and monkeys don’t just climb on artificial perches, they hang out in trees. Rather than soak in a concrete pond, the tapirs and peccaries wallow in real mud flats. The animals here seem much calmer than those in other zoos (less pacing and other obsessive behavior). Part of the reason may be that they feel at home here. The forest around them looks right and smells right—not like paint and concrete and fiberglass. It also sounds right: the other residents and the outside birds who stop here are the ones you’d expect to hear in a Belizean jungle. The predators at the zoo even get to practice their hunting skills sometimes on the lizards and birds that wander into their enclosures. It’s too bad that other zoos can’t or don’t follow this model.
Of course, it helps to have Belize’s fabulous array of species. Cats big (jaguar, puma) and small (ocelot, margay), fantastical-looking birds in vivid colors (such as parrots and toucans), lithe little monkeys, pig-like peccaries, opossum-like coatimundi, anteaters, huge storks and eagles and hawks, otters, wolverine-like jaguaroundis, big rodents (paca and agouti), and Belize’s national animal, the tapir (or mountain cow), which looks a bit like a cross between a horse, a hippo, and a pig.
Among the birds, we were especially struck by the bright green keel-billed toucan (Belize’s national bird); the red, yellow, and blue macaws, critically endangered because their feathers are so beautiful; and the bizarre harpy eagle. Harpy eagles are immense (four feet tall), gray, solidly built, with a square face unlike anything we’ve ever seen on a bird—almost human- or robot-looking or something.
Although Chris is no fan of primates, even she was taken with the monkeys. Spider monkeys are lanky creatures whose legs, arms, and tail are all the same length and equally dexterous. When they move through the trees, they do look a bit like spiders.
Black howler monkeys are bigger and stockier, though still fairly small. Their territorial threatening howl—which we heard on the night tour—is an odd, otherworldly sound. It’s a low, booming bellow that sounds strangely amplified, as though it’s coming through a speaker. Apparently, black howler monkeys have a hollow bone in their throat that produces the same effect as blowing over a flute or empty bottle, amplifying the sound. It’s definitely a noise to make you turn back in your tracks, because two or three monkeys sound like an army.
Our most memorable encounter at the zoo, though, was with Junior the jaguar. These beautiful spotted cats are endangered; fewer than 2,000 remain in the wild in Belize. On occasion, they venture too close to farms and prey on livestock. Farmers used to shoot or poison such “problem jaguars,” but the zoo has been fairly successful in getting farmers to call the zoo instead in such cases. Zoo staff trap the jaguar and bring it back to the zoo, where it enters a “rehab” program of getting partly socialized and used to captivity, enough to then be transferred to a zoo in another country. There, through breeding, it can help maintain the genetic diversity of the captive jaguar population. Taking cats out of the wild isn’t an ideal solution for “problem jaguars,” but it’s better than letting them be killed.
Junior’s mother was one of the problem jaguars taken to the Belize zoo. Soon after she arrived, she gave birth. But still stressed from her new captivity, she rejected her cub after a few days. Zoo staff hand-raised Junior, so he’s very friendly and used to people. At 2 years old, he’s now too big and strong to be cuddled and wrestled, but he still likes to be petted and scratched through the wire of his enclosure. Junior even knows some commands: he will climb up and over one of his high perches or do somersaults in exchange for yummy, crunchy chicken feet.
When we arrived at the zoo, a keeper was putting Junior through his paces and giving him his afternoon snack. It was fabulous to see such a beautiful, active animal up close. We even got to feed him a bit of chicken through the wire! The zoo has decided to keep Junior instead of transferring him to another facility because he’s such a good “animal ambassador” for the zoo’s education programs, teaching people about the importance of preserving jungle habitat in Belize.
Although many of the travelers we ecountered had heard of the zoo, few were aware that they could stay there—and thus go on the wonderful night tour to see the nocturnal animals awake. The zoo’s Tropical Education Center (about a mile down the highway) has a bunkhouse and three cabins built over a pond to house visitors. We opted for one of the cabins on stilts and ended our time at the zoo sitting on our well-screened porch watching a small crocodile glide lazily through the algae, while fish and turtles gave him a wide berth.
