Is there someplace you find yourself returning to again and again?
Well, I just got back from Zabalo River, deep in the Ecuadorian Amazon—the world’s first quiet park designated by Quiet Parks International. It’s in the zone that is considered the heart of biodiversity and the lungs of the planet. The air there is as delicious as the smell of fresh-baked donuts. Just breathing in that fresh oxygen with all those nice volatiles that come from all these aromatic plants, is enough of an experience. But the auditory horizon there, and I’ve measured it, can go up to 20 miles, and operate in the range of the upper-30s decibels or lower-40s decibels—so much quieter than the human voice. You can hear the curassow, which is a bird that I think personifies the voice of the wilderness there, because it captures the sense of solitude which is not about being disconnected or all alone. Instead, it’s about being completely connected and at peace. And there’s a six-inch-long grasshopper that when I first heard for the first time more than 10 years ago, I assumed had to be a bird. Then I locked into some like, hyper-quick insect jazz, which had so many piercing parts because these insects which are occupying basically the same bandwidth, but are of different species, so they have to partition this resource through this rhythm sequence, and they’re all working with each other like a great circle dance where they have to jump in and jump out.
How does one experience the sounds of the Amazon rainforest?
There are tours led by the Cofán, the Indigenous people who have never lost their listening abilities to the industralized world—and they offer these very affordable listening tours. There are camps and trails designed for visitors, so you stay in comfortable thatched huts, travel in canoes, and eat their foods. And they’re really good at welcoming you and keeping you safe, whether you’re a single person or a group of seven people.
As travelers, it can often feel like we are part of the problem. Can we do anything differently?
Our only hope to save these quiet places is to actually travel to them—but then go back and let everyone know that you came for the quiet and how valuable it was for you. In a world of 8 billion people, every bit of land surface and much of the ocean will be used for some purpose, but it’s important to remember that [the right kind of] tourism drives economies, and quiet-seeking travel will help drive quiet preservation to the benefit of all. And who could be a better tourist than one who just wants to be quiet and will pay to experience it? At any price, I consider it a bargain.
Speaking of protection, tell us about the One Square Inch of Silence.
Ah, the One Square Inch of Silence is in the Hoh Valley rainforest, which is a World Heritage Site, a biosphere reserve in the Olympic National Park, which I lovingly refer to as the listener’s Yosemite. It is basically like three parks in one. You have the glacier-capped peaks, so you have the piercing calls of the marmot, which you can hear in the middle of the night and it’s just beautiful. From Hurricane Ridge, you can hear the different tonalities of the valleys below and the rivers that flow in them. It’s also the largest contiguous coniferous forest, which is home to the Roosevelt elk. And when you hear the elk at a distance—which is the safest place to hear it bugle—you get to hear its flute-like sound, which is created by the sound waves traveling through the ancient forest. It’s really guttural and aggressive and fear-inspiring. You’re going to want to leave, and that’s its intent as well, but over a distance, it’s just absolutely a beautiful sound.
