Don Reginaldo was a chiclero for 20 years. That means he was essentially one of the most badass, tree-scaling, machete-wielding woodsmen in Central America—and probably the world—for a pretty significant portion of his 76 years. 

Today, although he cannot so easily shimmy up a Chico Zapote tree to harvest its resins for making chicle gum, he can name each plant in the forest, along with the medicinal qualities of each. He knows the forest as he knows his family.

He is also one of the last, proud native speakers of Maya Itzá, the language endemic to many of the indigenous people in Petén. His work was in the foundation and since has been the daily operation of la Asociación BioItzá. Though many of his colleagues have passed on, he remains, a remnant, a persistent reminder of an important and fading history. 

That can't be easy. When his children and grandchildren do not learn to speak their native tongue, when the memory of conversations held in Itzá fades, where will the memory of the Itzá go?

It is my hope that this project is one answer to that question. In this way, through Don Reginaldo, his son Adérito, and their organization Bio-Itzá, I will continue to do what little I can in order to preserve some part of a culture that once flourished. These are the remnants. This is their story, if only a part of it.

This iconic façade of the Catholic church in San José has a perfect vantage overlooking Lago Petén Itzá towards Santa Elena.

This is Yesica. 

She, like most of the women in San José is clever and strong. She told me today that she won’t have a boyfriend until she’s 22 years old (she’s almost 15 now) so that she’ll have time to study and get a good job. She’s got her priorities straight, which is often more than you could say for me. She has a coin collection with pieces from the US, Mexico, Denmark, France, and Canada, and she loves to draw. 

You might not be able to tell all of that just from a photo, but if you look closely enough, that twinkle in her eye contains a fair share. 

Angelic smile aside, Eddi is even more of a troublemaker than Jocelin––without the constant parental vigilance.

Dreisy patiently taught me as much Itzá as she knew, even going so far as to find newspaper and magazine articles with fragments of information of the Maya culture from which she comes but of which so little remains.

Gato asked me what my favorite beer was. I told him it was Fernson... second to Gallo, of course.

When the hills in San José just get too steep, a tuktuk is always around the corner waiting. And how can you turn down a ride when it's just five Quetzales per person?

Pigs roam the streets of San José, many of them pets that run free-range like many of the dogs in town.

Spines and vines are not an uncommon sight in the forest or the garden.

Morning light lays out long shadows, revealing this otherwise nearly invisible ant.

"Zompopos" build and clear roads through the leaf litter of the forest floor, industrious and architecturally adept just as the Mayas who occupied this forest alongside the ants centuries ago.

El Centro de Salud is the only medical resource in San José––so in an emergency, if the clinic is closed, residents must make the trek to Santa Elena, some 45 minutes away.

When the sun beats down on San José, the water of Lago Petén Itzá begins to call.

Fishermen paddle through crystal water and golden light.

Diving into Lago Petén Itzá is about as satisfying as it looks.

View from San José towards Santa Elena and Flores.

To throw ones self this headlong into anything... it takes courage.

A pair of dragonflies flit about the garden behind Bio-Itzá.

A practiced hand makes light work of the weeds in the medicinal garden at Bio-Itzá.

A brother and sister play a game of their own rules in the medicinal garden.

Two pigs forage together and play together in the streets of San José.

Dr. O'Hara shares a moment with Don Reginaldo on the stoop of Bio-Itzá.

Dr. Craig takes a break on the front step of the entryway to Bio-Itzá.

Gato prepares for a day hike into the Maya Biosphere Reserve, ever vigilant of the spiny bayaal vines that hangs treacherously above the road through the forest.

Our pickup cruises through and over whatever challenges the road has to offer. Today, there are none so severe as to prevent our crossing.

Crossing from the clear-cut and plowed milpas and cattle ranches where corn and beef thrive into the belly of the forest, the temperature drops and the air becomes cool, shaded by the dense canopy above.

Nico, Dayansi, Dalia, and their friends pose for a picture.

The sheet metal covering firewood and scrap planks doubles as a roof for a couple of children hiding from the rain.

Dayansi plays a sheepish, if halfhearted game of hide and seek.

Bio–Itzá implements a hands-on education in their medicinal forest garden just outside of old San José. Signs in the garden indicate the common names, scientific names, and Itzá names of each plant.

Don Reginaldo poses for a photo.

Don Reginaldo stands next to a map of Tikal in the Bio-Itzá school building.

Don Reginaldo, like a true professor, speaks with his hands, as well as his heart.

Intermittently throughout the day at this intersection, if you listen closely, you'll probably hear his mother calling after the curious, mischievous, handsy neighborhood troublemaker. "JOCELIIIIIIN!"

Boys play in the high waters of Petén Itzá as the sun sets, bathing the water in its warm glow.

It's hard not to take some deep pleasure in splashing ones way through shallow water.

Constellations stand out stark against the urban glow of Santa Elena across the lake.

A motorcycle and its riders pass under a streetlamp by the shore of Petén Itzá.

A fisherman makes his morning commute to the office.

Cormorants, caught off-guard by our boat take off in search of some peace and quiet.

La Iglesia Nuestra Señora de Los Remedios stands out above all other buildings on the island of Flores in Lago Petén Itzá.

A seat at the front of the boat provides a view of the prow as it slices through the crystal blue waters of Petén Itzá.

It's hard to resist dipping your hand into the cool, crystalline blue waters of Lago Petén Itzá. It's a simple, child-like pleasure.  

A heron stands at the prow of an abandoned canoe on the shore.

Flores, a city in the clouds on a lake in the sky.

One of our boats clips across the lake.

Families fish for the white fish with the tender flesh that Petén Itzá is well known for.

Piglets feed by the lake shore, fat and happy.

Dr. Craig gives Dalia and Dayansi a lesson on chords.

A duck rests in a cage at ARCAS, ever vigilant of those who watch.

Camouflage, or the cloak of a king?

It’s sad to see a jaguar kept in a cage.

There’s not much to be done for this one, the byproduct of black market trading and the demand for exotic animals for pets, and so he is unfit to survive in the wild.

There are only an estimated 200 jaguars left in the Maya Biosphere Reserve, but they continue to be hunted for their skins and teeth, sold for tiny profits by those desperate enough to resort to killing one of these magnificent cats.

Now he paces back and forth within a cage, safe for the moment, but not free.

A jungle king without his throne.

A woman walks along the shore in Flores, a basket atop her head.

A stray dog takes each chance she can get to find her next meal.

Mariposa is a friendly dog, but loyal to no one as she is to Yesica. 

An iguana basks in the warm sunlight, ready to dash at a moments notice.

Ever vigilant, a squadron of soldiers makes their way through San José on a day of protest against the government in the capital.

A friendly soccer match turns into a battle of skills at a moments notice, and then the court becomes a stage.

Ever curious, Alfonso's granddaughter poses for a photo. 

Gloomily through the fog, a few slender trees stand out from the largely clear-cut ranchlands that surround the preserved forest.

A horse, laden with food and water for a trek through the jungle takes a deserved break to forage for tasty tidbits.

Bearing a heavy burden, the horse looks back towards us as we take a break, waiting for a sign to continue along the path into the forest.

Light falls in shards through the leaves, landing gently upon the face of the horse.

A tiny toad hops across the path, blending in but for its movement.

Seasoned and knowledgeable about the forest, Alfonso guides with a practiced machete and a trained eye through the forest.

He, like the other guides, speaks Kekchí, a language as halting yet fluid as the forest canopy.

An afternoon rain brings cool air and leaves a gentle patina across the leaves.

A guide prepares tortillas for our evening meal.

Dr. O'Hara and Adérito share a conversation and a laugh in the light of a candle.

I met Adérito in September of 2011. After several long drives back and forth between the American Embassy in Guatemala City and his home in San José, Petén, an appeal to the federal government by a state senator, and months of waiting, his visa to visit South Dakota to give talks on the conservation work to which he has dedicated his life and his business. 

It wasn't an easy process, but he was able to spend several weeks in the states, where I was able to spend a few days with him playing soccer and stargazing in the Badlands National Park. 

We reunited in el Petén in January of 2017 during my first visit to Guatemala, where Adérito and his father Don Reginaldo were finally able to show their work, their land, and the history of their people to us, all of which they work their hardest to preserve for the future. 

It was striking to me how easily we, as a group of students from the United States, were able to hop on a plane in Atlanta to land in Guatemala, to spend two weeks in the country while learning about the local environment. We didn't need visas to enter the country, nor did we need them to cross the border into Belize, nor to return to the states, but for the people of Guatemala, months of preparation are often required to do either. 

Under the current regime in the United States, travel such as this is becoming even harder. In this day and age of the sharing of information, travel across borders is absolutely necessary, and without it, it will become more difficult to learn the important lessons that one can only learn by visiting a new place and immersing oneself in another culture or environment. Not only are increased regulations designed and fated to restrict access, but it will impact teaching and learning.

Adérito shared with us a saying he had learned from his father: "Si sabes pero no enseñas, no sabes nada." / "If you know but do not teach, you know nothing."

In the early morning, an agouti searches the periphery of our camp for scraps of food.

High above the forest floor, viewed from the top of an un-excavated temple in El Zotz, an epiphyte clings to a vine.

A trogon gives me a wary glance as I sneak ever closer to take another photo.

A howler monkey makes its way downwards towards a crook in the Ramón tree in which there rests a small pool of water. Here, he will slake his thirst with a cupped hand.

Two howlers groom each other, searching for insects in each others fur.

A spider monkey traverses a branch, her baby enraptured with the motion below on the forest floor.

I nearly stepped on this camouflaged pit viper as it lay coiled and motionless in the leaf litter of the forest floor.

A Leaf-nosed bat makes a sudden turn in midair, changing direction on a dime.

These bats fly effortlessly through the leaves and branches of the forest, never so much as grazing each other or the plants around them.

Temple IV at Tikal towers above the canopy from nearly 40 miles away.

Feathers the color of liquid emeralds, this Jacamar posed for several photos on a branch.

A spider monkey searches for the perfect fruit in the chico zapote tree.

In a break from his snacking, this spider monkey peered down momentarily, aware of my presence, but unconcerned.

An aracari gives me a curious glance.

Peeling the skin from the hard seeds of a palm, this aracari made short work of a cluster of the fruit.

With its serrated beak and flanged tongue, the seemingly awkward dimensions of the tucancillo quickly proved their deftness. 

The main temples of the Grand Plaza face each other above the treetops.

The skyline of Tikal, as seen from Temple IV.

The tower of Temple III, seen from the Gran Templo.

Temple IV, seen from the Gran Templo.

A motmot poses, regal with his blue crown in golden light.

Perhaps hoping for food, this ocelated turkey gave me a bit of a stare down.

A turkey passes along the path at the base of the Gran Templo.

Like a miniature brontosaurus walking backwards, the coati makes for quite the sight to tourists unaccustomed to such an animal.

An Orange-shouldered falcon cruises to the top of Temple I to wait for passing sparrows.

Temple I appears to glow as the sun sets behind my right shoulder. Venus rises in the Eastern sky, bidding the sun good night.

A worker at the sawmill takes a break, supporting himself against the piles of fresh-cut wood. The community here works to sustainably harvest hardwoods from the jungle around them in order to fairly and equitably share the wealth that the forest provides. 

A masked man and a man with a shotgun coast along the highway on the road to Belize.