Chasing Alligators by Francisca Kellett
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I was touring through the Brazilian section of the Pantanal, the world's largest wetland area at 200,000 km². This vast region is split between Brazil, Bolivia and Paraguay and provides some of the best wildlife viewing in the New World. Yet despite being home to the largest concentration of wildlife in Brazil, the Pantanal remains relatively unvisited, overshadowed as it is by the better-known Amazon basin to the north.
Visitors to the Pantanal will agree that this is unjustified, as the Patanal is home to a plethora of species, from one of the world’s rarest parrots, the hyacinth macaw, of which one sees hundreds here, to panthers, ant-eaters, a variety of monkeys and the largest concentration of birds in Brazil. And unlike the dense foliage of the Amazon which makes wildlife viewing a difficult and time-consuming pursuit, the wide open spaces of the Pantanal offer optimum opportunities for spotting animals.
Our three-day trip began in Ciuabá, a subdued and characterless city on the edge of the wetlands. Our guide for the next three days, Laércio, met us outside our rambling downtown hotel at 5am, just as the first fingers of dawn stretched lazily from the horizon. He was short and wide, his barrel chest bulging through a ripped leather waistcoat. He lounged beside his rickety old minibus, one leg crooked lazily on a tyre.
Introducing himself with a crushing handshake, he bustled us into the mini-bus and we drove off with a shuddering start. Laércio drove like he dressed - with a recklessness to rival even the most masochistic of South American drivers.
Exhausted by the frights of a two-hour drive, we finally arrived at the entrance to the Transpantaneira, the raised red scar of the only road slicing into the Pantanal. We began to relax - there were no other vehicles to smash into along the Transpantaneira.
As we bounced through the merciless heat of the afternoon, the endless marshy green shimmering around us in a haze of humidity, Laércio eased his foot from the accelerator and began to explain the intimacies of the Pantanal. Its entire length was lined with pools which attract enormous flocks of birds, while the banks were dotted with jacaré (alligators) basking open-mouthed in the sun. Clouds of pink spoonbills rose above the murky water and flocks of white egrets picked their way delicately around the pools. Dozens of marabou storks rose above the water, their drity white wings dwarfing the alligators.
We pulled over every now and again to stand by the edge of the raised road and gaze out over the endless green wetlands. Laércio pointed out different species in a slow drawl, his leather hat perched on the back of his head. A smouldering cigarette drooped constantly from his lower lip, his hypnotic voice mingling with the buzz of insects.
We moved deeper into the Pantanal until we reached our first base, a large fazenda, or ranch, sprawling beside a forest. The indignant screech of a pair of wild red and green macaws greeted us as we bumped into the dusty courtyard.
That afternoon was spent drifting along a murky stretch of river in carved wooden canoes. The eerie silence of the languid water, disrupted by an occasional shriek from a spider monkey or the sudden babble of paraqueets, gave us an insight to the vastness and isolation of the area. In three hours we saw only one lonely fishermen wading precariously amongst the alligators by the bank.
We hung our fishing lines from the sides and relaxed into a heat-dazed stupor. As the sun dipped behind the trees, its filtered rays caught the banana-bright beak of a toucan flapping about the branches. The desperate call of a howler monkey drifted through the forest, and as we rounded a bend in the river we came across a huge group of capybaras, giant bristly guinea pigs, snuffling amongst the water lilies in the shallows. Soon after my proud piranha catch, fat mosquitoes emerged from the reeds and fussed about our faces forcing us to return to the fazenda.
The heat remained relentless that evening. We slumped in the courtyard cooling ourselves with icy caipiriñas, our ears ringing with the eerie rasp of a million cicadas. We tucked into a mammoth dinner of piranha stew, carne de sol and mounds of beans and rice, before being summoned by Laércio for a night walk.
The next two hours were spent scrambling in the pitch black of the forest, lit only by dawdling glow-worm. We saw little under the cover of the trees, other than a sprawling tarantula hiding in a hollow tree, but a stretch of pools beyond the edge of the forest revealed a number of larger residents.
As we emerged from the trees, Laércio stopped, trained his flashlight on the water and began to emit loud, guttural sounds. We stood at the edge of a pool, mesmerised, as the surface of the dark water broke repeatedly with hundreds of pairs of glowing eyes. The weird sounds made by our guide were meant to sound like the cry of a young alligator in distress; the entire local alligator population had come up to see what all the fuss was about.
Quick as a flash, he threw the torch at us and hurled himself into the water and after a few seconds of wild splashing, he emerged in the knee-deep, syrupy water, a young alligator held firmly by the throat. It hung motionless while we gathered round; a minute seemed enough attention for the poor creature and Laércio let it dash indignantly back into the water.
We made our way back to the ranch, flapping away giant insects and watching Laércio with a new-found respect. “Tomorrow we do same with jaguar,” he drawled over his shoulder.