We elected to take the adventurous jungle river tour down the Monkey River offered by our seaside inn while in Placencia, Belize. So at sunrise, we delivered ourselves to the resort's boat captain, Cagey, armed with bug spray and plenty of water ready for our exciting jungle experience.
Cagey raced our canoe-size whaler through mangrove avenues of a lagoon and then southward along the Belizean coastline. His mastering of the outboard gave new meaning to free-range. At full throttle, our boat repetitively slammed against the surface of the water as we worried about not arriving at our destination in one piece.
Through broken English, competing with the whine of a Vespa-like motor, Cagey tried to answer our questions about this region of Belize. His inability to communicate exactly where he was taking us other than full-speed ahead concerned us only until we spotted the Monkey River township at the mouth of the river.
The town appeared unattached to operating a conservation area; no ranger station, no official patrol boats, no checkpoint to collect fees. We arrived to roosters scattered their flock along the riverbank, local fisherman sitting on a log sharing tales of yesterday's catch, and a lone dog perched on a stranded sandbar longing for the return of his owner from the sea.
Our river guide approached us from his clapboard hut as if he just finished his breakfast of champions. Like a choreographed dance, he pounced on our boat with binoculars and machete in hand. We quickly learned his name was “Barrie” that sounded like “Bar-re”. His appearance was stamped laid-back with Rastafarian hair and a smile as wide as the horizon. He proved his value immediately by guiding Cagey around and away from the other tour boats that belched enough smoke to choke out even the elusive toucan.
The boat cruised quietly along the red mangrove-lined riverbank like a crocodile on the hunt while we kept sharp eyes open with the anticipation of viewing their famous Keel-billed Toucan. A chorus of crickets started harmonizing to the warmth of the day; a Basilisk lizard amused us with his ability to walk on water; and Oropendolas entertained with their strange gargled calls while throwing their body forward over a branch mimicking a broken cuckoo clock.
The white noise of insects magnified as the strength of the sun's lamp grew brighter and warmer. Peering through Barrie's binoculars, an unexpected roar startled me as it bellowed out from the dense growth near our boat. We looked at each other with excitement, could this be a Jaguar thirsty enough to come out of hiding? When another intense burst of thunder bellowed out from the trees above, we finally saw what produced this cacophony heard for over a mile.
A troop of Baboons, each weighing no more than 15 to 25 pounds, moved their slender catlike bodies from one limb to another as if playing tag. A bone in their throat acts as an amplifier to give them their “King Kong”-like clamor. Munching a mango in one hand, an adolescent Baboon used his invisible microphone to produce a ferocious rendition of “Hit the Road, Jack”.
Taking heed of their suggestion, our guides suspended the river cruise for a jungle experience on foot. At the start, we were warned to protect ourselves from fire ants and mosquitoes. Faster than the Basilisk lizard, we donned sneakers and drenched our bodies with bug spray while noting that our hearty guide did neither.
We intrepidly followed Barrie and his machete along an unmarked path lined with Travelers palm, thorny vines and Banyan trees. The breath of the forest washed over us as the buzz of insects quieted to our presence. It did not take long for Barrie to discover a boisterous family of Baboons in a set of palm trees. It was likely they found us as the troop wasted no time in sending a “get lost” message by lobbing branches down like grenades on the enemy.
Further down the river, the boat beached at our next stop on a secluded sandbar. A buffet setup displayed grilled spicy chicken with a sweet mango salsa, veggie pasta salad, a mixture of tropical fruit and tart lemon bars for dessert. 
To help us avoid becoming lunch for a hungry crocodile, our faithful guides offered a watchful eye as river centurions while we sought relief from the heat.
While sun-bathing like the iguana on a neighboring tree, our eyes become heavy from the humidity and buzz that flavor the tropics. This tour had offered much reward, especially for those who seek to find the infamous howler monkey. No toucan or jaguar, but we were pleased with our tour.
Lying on this isolated beach, we could almost imagine that we were part of a Tarzan movie, being swept away into the romance of the jungle. Then a growl of distance Baboons would once again remind us that we were only guests in their home.
At the end of the day, even though we thoroughly enjoyed our jungle and river experience, we preferred our evening siesta of rum punches, in either our favorite hammock or on the beach enjoying the sunset light.
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