By Mary Ann Anderson
Deep into the rainforest, the warm air is sticky with humidity and a ghostly mist hangs just above our heads. Through the tangled web of tropical trees of fig, bamboo and palm come sounds, curiously exotic and occasionally shiver-inducing.
Somewhere close by I hear low growls and grunts mixed in with high, excited shrieking, and then next comes a concert of “grunh, grrunh, snuhh, snohrt” of what must be hippos with sinus problems splashing around in pools carved by tumbling waterfalls.
From afar I listen to a lion, his unmistakable guttural roar absolutely commanding respect of anything or anybody within earshot. The ground practically vibrates, and I stand still for a moment, mesmerised by the sound. But then, even with Leo somewhere nearby, I continue along the pathway through the jungle filled with brilliantly plumed parrots, macaws, hummingbirds and hornbills.
I’m uneasy, a little tense as I keep a watchful eye to the trees, as there are monkeys nearby. I’m not a monkey fan — or maybe that should be a fan of monkeys — and to put it simply, they scare the puddin’ out of me. Once, a very long time ago, an errant chimpanzee had escaped its handler, made a mad dash straight toward me, and then leaped into my arms, apparently enthralled by whatever chimp magnet I was wearing that day. While he did no harm — he was more playful than anything — I was still startled and terrifyingly aware of his sharp teeth inches from my face. But however playful he was, he left an indelible mark, and even today, more than 30 years later, I’m still cautious of all critters simian and primate.
So, then, one might question why I would let myself be surrounded by them in the deepest reaches of a jungle landscape.
Because I’m at Omaha’s Henry Doorly Zoo and Aquarium, a melange of upward of 60,000 creatures of fur, feather and fins from the seven continents. First opened in Riverview Park in 1894, it is one of the oldest and certainly most respected zoos in the US, and consistently on the top 10 of travel lists worldwide.
Back at the wild kingdom of the Lied Jungle, where “Lied” is pronounced “Leed,” the guide tells our group that it is America’s largest indoor rainforest and pulls together critters from Africa, Asia and South America. Parts of the rainforest soar to about eight stories high, plenty of room for the thank-goodness-they’re-behind-fences monkeys and chimps that are running around, making all manner of racket, and swinging from tree to tree.
Among the species here are white-handed gibbon, De Brazza’s monkey, brown-headed spider monkey, and a baboon or two. Baboons are just naughty and seem to take some sort of perverse pleasure in parading around their hind-ends when they’re ready to mate. That day was no exception. I’m pretty sure there aren’t many things on earth as unappealing as a baboon’s derriere, famously red and lumpy like chewed-up bubble gum, except perhaps to another baboon. Several of us couldn’t help but to laugh at the baboon version of come hither, darling.
And those hippos I had heard earlier are actually pygmy hippos. If ever there was a term that should be an oxymoron, then it should be pygmy hippo.
Eventually I wandered over to Hubbard Gorilla Valley. As a child growing up in rural Georgia, in a home surrounded by deep woods and the tallest of pines, I learned a healthy respect for nature at an early age. In that sense, gorillas, much like the lions, are held in the highest regard in the animal kingdom.
The winter day was cold and the zoo had few visitors so I had the gorillas practically to myself. With hints of profound arrogance, one of the gorillas stared straight into my eyes. For a moment, I was transported back to a gorilla trekking trip I had taken to Uganda several years ago.
Our guides in that dark African forest had warned us that if the silverback were to charge, to stay still and don’t panic. But here, at this moment in faraway Nebraska, I gazed back into the gorilla’s wrinkled face and soft-yet-piercing chocolate eyes, knowing full well that if he somehow broke the strong, solid plate glass between us, there would be no doubt that I would panic and run screaming into the winter day.
Only after my visit did a gorilla actually make a charge toward a family and managed to crack the acrylic shield in the process. The story goes that the glass-cracking gorilla was already on the outs with another gorilla, which only proves that gorillas sometimes go bananas, too.
The zoo is, of course, more than gorillas and naughty baboons. Another well-visited area of the zoo is the Desert Dome, a very cool exhibit that transports you to the hot sands of three deserts all in one place. If you’re a fan of superlatives, it’s the world’s largest indoor desert under the world’s largest geodesic dome (it’s like a biosphere) and was created to mimic Africa’s Namib Desert, Australia’s Red Center and Ayers Rock, and America’s Sonoran Desert all in one place, complete with samplings of flora and fauna found in each one.
Expect to see critters including rock hyraxes, rattlesnakes and the klipspringer, a diminutive African antelope whose name means “rock jumper.” Anytime I see penguins, I get happy feet. Penguins are just so cute and irresistible, and I’m particularly fond of the macaroni species with its feathered cap of yellow that it wears like a crown of gold. More than 85 penguins, including the macaroni, gentoo and rockhopper, live in the Suzanne and Walter Scott Aquarium at the zoo, another favourite stop of zoo visitors.
Much like other exhibits at the zoo, the aquarium melds elements from the across the globe. The penguins have company with piranhas from the Amazon, giant spider crabs from the Pacific, sharks, coral from the Caribbean, and a mishmash of luminously coloured fish species from just about everywhere there is water, whether it be ocean, river or lake.
Here’s the bottom line. From cheetahs to tigers to butterflies to formal gardens to the African Grasslands, which is the self-explanatory name of the newest exhibit scheduled to open next year, the Omaha Zoo is world class on every level, whether it’s education, conservation or simply a place to get away from it all in this slice of Heartland Americana.
A zoo isn’t by any means the same as, say, the unfenced plains of Africa, the vine-tangled jungles of the Amazon or snow-capped mountains of India. But this is one zoo so pretty darned close that you practically require a passport to get there. —MCT
A white-handed gibbon is among the residents of the Lied Jungle at Omaha’s Henry Doorly Zoo and Aquarium.
