The owl stays on my mind while the trail grows narrower and the slopes on either side steeper. If we can witness an undescribed species right above our cabins, who knows how many undiscovered animals and plants lay just beyond our vision in these steep, foggy trees, dripping with dew and shrouded in cloaks of air plants and moss.

Everywhere you look on the Guacamayos Ridge Trail, it's all layers and layers of green. But I keep looking down every bromeliad's throat, hoping for a frog.

After walking on the trail for the better half of the day, Gabriel calls us over and says, "look!"

Beneath a pile of leaves at the bottom of a bromeliad is a frog. It is so small, maybe the size of a pinky. He is not entirely spectacular, but seeing him, after working so hard to find him, is rewarding.

This tiny needle in a haystack reminds me of the lesson of the jungle, best described by Marcel Proust: “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.”