The relationship between the animal and the palm is one of exclusive necessity. The seeds of the moriche and royal palms are formidable in size, far too large to pass through the digestive tract of a monkey or a bird. In her research for Texas Tech University, Alviz has identified the tapir as the only creature capable of ingesting these seeds whole and carrying them for kilometers across the landscape. When the animal finally deposits them, it does so in a state ready for germination, often in degraded areas where the forest has been cleared.
These morichales are more than just groves of trees; they are the water reservoirs of the plains, providing a cool sanctuary for anacondas and caimans. Without the tapir’s quiet, itinerant labor, the palms would remain clustered around their mother plants, unable to colonize new ground or survive the encroachment of cattle ranching and industry.
Further south, in the shadow of the Tungurahua volcano, Juan Pablo Reyes has watched the mountain tapir face a different struggle. When the peaks vent ash and fire, the animals must flee, yet their path is increasingly blocked. Between the Llanganates and Sangay national parks, the two largest strongholds for the species, the land is fractured by roads and farms. Reyes observes that for a species so vital to the ecosystem, the tapir is remarkably vulnerable to the lines we draw on a map.
The tapir is a survivor from another epoch, a relative of the horse and rhinoceros that has changed little in its appearance over millions of years. Its digestive system, a process of hindgut fermentation, allows it to process tough vegetation while leaving the embryos of future trees intact. As Eduardo Naranjo of El Colegio de la Frontera Sur notes, these animals do not merely live in the forest; they decide which plants will grow and where the shadows will fall for the next century.