Ticks and Jaguar poop

I apologize both for the length of time that has elapsed since the last post, and also for the length in text of this one. At least this one you can work on reading for a month, which is most likely when Tyler will post the next one.

With Machu Pichu securely checked off my list and Tyler lodged somewhere in the Huayhuash range wiping his ass with a rock, my path took me back down through Peru and across most of Bolivia. I made the journey from Cusco all the way to Santa Cruz, Bolivia in one go; a Herculean journey which took 3 buses and roughly 36 odd hours to complete. My destination was a small wild animal rescue project, located out in the remote jungle, where I would be spending a couple of weeks volunteering and working with the animals.

I’d first heard about a wild animal rescue/reserve in Bolivia many months before, the project and volunteer opportunity slowly working its way securely onto a side-route of the gringo trail. It sounded like a good experience, a chance to actually do something to help the world in some way, and an opportunity to frolic in the jungle with wild animals like Mowgli in the Jungle Book. I decided it was something I really wanted to do, and would probably be more valuable to me than adding yet another South American trek to what was already a fairly substantial list (although one that I would certainly not mind adding items to).

It was now roughly the 28th of July and I planned to start at the park on the 1st of August. The park of course had no idea about this, as I had yet to actually contact them. Everyone had told me it was just a show-up-and-work type operation, so I didn’t worry about it much beforehand. Of course, on the 28th when I took a look at their website, I wasn’t particularly stoked to find a notice saying that the park was overrun with visitors and that they were requesting no one else show up until the 5th at the earliest. This didn’t fit with my plans, as I had exactly 4 weeks until I was to meet with Tyler in Rio, and I wanted to be at the park for 2 and back in Buenos Aires for another 2 before we met up (my trip back to Buenos Aires had a particular reason, one which some of you know and others will have to wait for). If I had to wait a week to start at the park, I would lose a week in BsAs, and I simply was unwilling to make that trade.

So, I sent an email to the park to determine if the rules applied to me as well, and was disappointed to discover that they, in fact, did. The guy with whom I was corresponding told me that I could possibly go to the park beforehand, but that the best I could hope for was to be able to work with the birds, as virtually everyone wanted to work with the pumas and monkeys. Since I have about as much interest in birds as I do in, say, flowers (pretty to look at but otherwise useless to me), I wasn’t too stoked. I replied to his email in an attempt to double-check that the application of the rules to me couldn’t in fact be overruled, but his reply left no doubt that for once, they actually couldn’t be. However, he added, as a conciliatory aside tossed out more as an attempt to offer something, anything, than in any real expectation that I would be interested, that they had another park I would be more than welcome at.

This new park was in the early stages of construction, having been set up only a year or so before. It was located out in the jungle north of Santa Cruz, an hour from the nearest town, which wasn’t much at all. The park had no electricity, no communication, and very little infrastructure, and had been built to handle the overflow of animals from the main park and provide larger areas mostly for the large cats. This sounded perfect to me.

The guy to whom I spoke had little to no information about how to get to the park or even how to get in contact with them. There being no communication, there was no way to let them know I was coming.

"Are you sure that they want me there?" I asked, to which he replied that undoubtedly they would welcome me there. I hoped I didn’t hear a note of uncertainty in his email.

So, a long journey later, I found myself stepping off a bus in the town of Guarayos, a single long, dusty street with a few shops and a decent-sized square in the center. In was dark, maybe 9 at night, and I had decided to stay the night in Guarayos and make my way the last hour to the park in the morning. There was a late bus that would get me there, but I’d be showing up in the unknown at roughly 10 or so in the middle of the jungle at a park that had no idea I was coming.

I set about looking for a hotel, my first stop a comparatively nice-looking place off the main square. I walked into the completely empty lobby to find a bored-looking girl behind the counter studiously ignoring me. I got her attention and inquired about a room, to which she replied they were 70 bolivianos each. I wanted to pay less than 25, the price I'd paid for a pretty good room in Santa Cruz. 70 for a room in this place was equivalent to a man with the looks of Steve Buschemi demanding no less than Penelope Cruz for a wife. Obviously, this girl simply didn't want to do anything resembling work, which was what I represented. I tried to turn on the charm, but met with no luck.

Finally, more out of exasperation than any interest, she asked what I was doing in Guarayos in the first place. I told her I planned to work at the park, which actually resulted in a slight thaw. She had a cousin who had worked there once, and wanted to visit herself. I implied that I could use my not-insubstantial influence to get her a special tour of the park if she helped me out, and after looking at me askance with suspicious eyes for a period not less than 10 seconds, she agreed to let me stay for 20. However, as she led me upstairs to a room, there was a seemingly unending list of conditions. She didn't have any interest in doing work, and didn't want to have to clean the room after I left. The shortened list of demands consisted of the following, barked out at me over her shoulder as she led me upstairs: No using the bathroom; she didn't want to have to clean it. Absolutely no showering. No using the bed linens, I had to use a sleeping bag or just lay on top. No using the towels or anything else. And after a few more, she concluded with the demand that I leave before 7 in the morning when her boss showed up, or she'd get in trouble for giving me such an awesome deal.

The next morning, after re-arranging the bedclothes to make it look like I hadn't used them, I shouldered my pack and headed out into the dusty streets to find some breakfast and look for a bus out to the park. Two fried cheese-filled bread thingys and a coffee later, I waited in the dirt for a bus to show up. It finally arrived, and I explained to the driver where I wanted to go. He seemed to be familiar with the place, and waved me back to sit down. About an hour had passed and I was struggling against the sleepy head-nod when he stopped in the middle of the long, straight, paved highway through the jungle, apparently in the middle of nowhere. It took a few seconds for me to realize that everyone was staring at me and the shouts of the bus driver were aimed in my direction. I had arrived.

I got off the bus and looked around, seeing nothing but jungle in every direction, until finally I spotted a small dirt road leading off the road and two girls walking up to the bus from it. They were both obviously Bolivian, and one of them had a baby monkey perched on her shoulder with it's long tail wrapped around her neck for balance. I said hello, and started to explain my situation, but they mostly ignored me and retrieved a bag of some sort of food from the bus driver who apparently made deliveries to the park, and then began heading back down the road. One of the girls indicated I should follow, so I did, wondering what the hell I'd gotten myself into. A short distance down the road was a wooden gate, painted in a multitude of colors and covered in drawings and sayings about conservation, which was my first indication I may actually have come to the right place. The road opened up into an open area in the jungle with a few crude buildings around the perimeter, with a large tree supporting a hammock and a hammocky-chair thing. Behind the tree was a building half-open to the air, with mosquito netting nailed up to create the top half of the walls, in which I could see a few people sitting at a long table.


The other Bolivian girl with baby howler monkeys

"Perfect, finally a tall male," someone said, and I turned to see a tall girl with long red hair and big rubber boots tromping purposefully towards me. She looked me up and down and then said in her Norwegian accent, "You will work with the jaguar with me. Are you ready to go out?" I stammered that I'd be happy to work with the jaguar, very excited inside, but that I'd just gotten there and didn't know what was happening yet. She apologized, asking one of the bolivian girls to show me where to get rid of my pack, and then ushered me into the net-enclosed building where I found three gringos around a table, one guy and two girls. They cheerfully greeted me, finishing up their breakfasts as the introductions were made, before I was whisked off to another crude brick building where the Bolivian girl, Noemi, showed me into a room with three bunk-beds, festooned with mosquito nets and strewn with clothes, gear, and half-burnt candles everywhere. She instructed me to pick a bed, as this was where the gringos slept. I chose a top bunk, one of only two beds open, and tossed down my pack. At this point, the giant Norwegian girl returned, introducing herself as Linda, and asked if I was ready to go out and get to work. I quickly changed my clothes, and mere minutes later found myself walking a narrow trail through the jungle with Linda and an Israeli girl Iris.

Along the way, they assured me that the jaguar, Yaguaru, was very safe, just don't show any fear. Oh yeah, and he'll definitely attack you. When he jumps up on you, just push him down forcefully, but be careful not to make it seem like you're playing. And no fear. That will only make him excited and possibly more aggressive. The first doubts crept into my mind, as they told me more about Yaguaru and how to deal with him. Apparently he didn't often like men, and had roughly treated a few past volunteers. Iris was only going out that day with us to take some photos, as she'd tried to work with Yaguaru for a few days and was too afraid to continue after one day he’d jumped up onto her back and bit her on the shoulder. Showing no fear might be a little easier if I hadn't already peed myself a little just hearing about all this.

After maybe five minutes walking, we came to a large empty cage filled with some wooden platforms and ropes. This was apparently the cage for the "pumitas", three young puma triplets. They weren't there, Noemi having taken them out for their walk already. Another five or ten minutes brought us to another cage, this one containing a large, gaunt puma sitting high up on a platform. Aside from the monkeys, this was the first animal I'd seen, and all my excitement came back. Puma is the spanish word for the same large cat found throughout the Americas, called in the U.S. either a mountain lion, or cougar. (I shouted "Go Huskies!" at the cage, but the big cat just looked at me. Not a college sports fan apparently.) This particular female, whose name I can't remember (starts with a V, Velma? Velia?), was very wild and frightened of humans. All of the animals in the park were rescued, often from either circuses or private "collectors", and V-cat had obviously been mistreated quite badly in her former life. Now, she could be walked and handled, but only by certain people she trusted, and even then could be very dangerous.



James, Noemi, and I with the pumitas, later on. Their names are Inti, Wara, and Yassi (which when put together is the name of the main park).


After we said hello to her, we continued on out into the jungle. We passed another empty cage, where Yaguaru had been kept before, but he had been moved to his new cage fairly recently. The old cage was too close to the pumas and the smell of them had made Yaguaru irritable and bad-tempered.

Finally, after perhaps 25 minutes walking, we came to Yaguaru's home. Rounding a bend in the trail, I saw ahead an ordinary chain-link fence with more jungle on the other side. As we approached, Linda began calling for him, shouting "Yaguaru! Yaguaruuuu!." When we reached the fence, we turned to the right and began following it as I peered into the dense foliage to try and catch a glimpse of my new friend. Suddenly, out of the underbrush tore a giant cat, racing along the chain link fence next to us.

My first thought after my heart attack faded away was one of surprise. When I heard the word "jaguar", I immediately thought of a large black cat. It turns out that jaguars are more often spotted, more like a cheetah’s markings than a panther, (which is the image I had in my mind when I heard the word jaguar). He was also bigger than I expected, coming almost to my waist, and thick like a tiger rather than slim and sleek like the pumas.

"This thing could tear me apart," I thought to myself as we approached the entrance to his cage. I hoped that wouldn't be the case. No fear, I reminded myself.

The entrance was sort of like an airlock system, with two doors and a small enclosed area between them. Linda told me to wait outside, and she'd bring him out to meet me in a second. She entered the first gate, and told me to hold it shut while she let Yaguaru in with her to the inner area. I suspected he may simply eat her, and was surprised when he affectionately rubbed his head on her legs like a giant housecat. She clipped a giant climbing carabiner attached to one end of a long length of thick rope, a super-leash, and then told me to stand back.

As she opened the outer gate, I fully expected the big guy to come over and give me snuggles like he had to her, and was somewhat surprised when instead he took one look at me and charged, leaping up to put his paws on my shoulders. I barely recovered in time to brace myself, and remembering what they’d told me before, threw him to the ground as calmly as I could. The thing I noticed most was the solid weight of him. He had been recently weighed at around 100 kilos, or 220 pounds. When an animal weighing that much jumps up onto your chest, it packs a considerable punch.

He leapt up again and again, not appearing angry but more likely simply testing me to see if he could push me around. Each time, I threw him down again, trying to stay calm and trying not to make it seem as if I were playing with him. After perhaps 5 or 6 times, he stayed down and turned away, headed back to Linda. Halfway there he turned and tried to pull a surprise attack, jumping one more time before giving up and heading off down the trail, Linda following with the rope in hand. I had been tested, and apparently passed. At least for now. I followed behind Linda as we headed out on the trail.


Yaguaru, licking the front of my pants as he loved to do (it must have been the salt from my sweat that he dug, seeing as I never washed them and sweated all day long in the jungle heat)

Our job with Yaguaru was on some levels less rehabilitation, and more simply to keep him entertained and exercised. As with most of the animals in the park, he would never be able to be released in the wild. He was too used to humans and would end up being shot hanging around too close to people. So, working with him was more about making his life more enjoyable, and trying to use the park to spread the word about conservation.



I would spend most of the next two weeks working mainly with Yaguaru, helping Linda feed, walk, and entertain him. Our days were mostly the same, walking Yaguaru on the short trails that had already been cut out of the jungle in the morning, and taking him down to the river to swim in the afternoon. He had a runner line that we clipped him to there, and he could wander over a decent stretch of the river and play in the water. Surprisingly, jaguars love water, and he would play and swim in the water for hours, usually with his toy (a large truck tire he could chew on and drag around the river).



Yaguaru in the river (funny side note: he was apparently terrified of snakes, and if a stick floated by he'd freak out and run away. If you laughed at him, he’d notice and get pissed, and charge up to attack you for mocking him.)

Often I would bring a machete, and spend hours chopping down the jungle in an attempt to create more and longer trails. Swinging a machete to chop down jungle was awesome for exactly one day. After that, the blisters on my hands dampened my pleasure at hacking away at the foliage. I had to chuckle to myself sometimes thinking about how Save the Jungle people would be mad at us chopping down jungle to Save the Animals.

The first few days were strange, with the absurdity of the situation suddenly overtaking me at times while I walked this jaguar through the jungle on a leash. After a while, however, I found it less of an exhilarating experience, and more of a frustrating one. Yaguaru, it turns out, is a stubborn asshole. Despite our work creating new trails for him, he usually wanted to go down his old trail, back by where the pumas lived. Since he wasn’t allowed there anymore, many days a battle ensued right away with him trying to go down the wrong trail and us resisting. He was usually more amenable in the morning, and after perhaps two or three attempts to go the wrong way, he’d head off down the right trail. Once we reached the end of the trail, however, a new problem emerged, in that he wanted to continue off out into the bush rather than go back. To restrain his giant weight and strength, the only method available was to hold the rope firmly in your hands and then step on it (in front of where your hands were). Usually, this would be sufficient even if he ran full force to the end of its length, something he tried often only to be snapped back.

After he’d realized yet again that we weren’t going to allow him any further, he would usually lie down and simply refuse to move. It took a wide variety of tricks to get him to go again, although the best we discovered was to have Linda head off back down the trail and call to him. He liked Linda a great deal, much more than he liked me, and this approach worked about half the time. The other half, we’d have to sit and wait, sometimes hours, for him to decide he wanted a swim and to head back towards the cage and river.


Well then I’m just not moving.

Some days were worse than others, in that his temper frequently flared up. These were the bad times, when he would try to escape and be unable, and in his frustration attack either Linda or I. Occasionally he got fairly rough, and when he jumped and jumped again without stopping, and attacked your legs in an attempt to bring you down, it reiterated a failing of the leash system: a rope is great for keeping him from going away from you, but it does nothing to stop him from getting to you. On a couple of occasions, he became so agitated and violent, that the only recourse was to tie him to a tree and leave him alone until he calmed down. Sometimes this was a simple matter, a few times it was a difficult and frightening task involving both of use working to trick him into going the wrong way around a tree to attack one of us while the other tied him up. A few times I sincerely feared for my life, but luckily never sustained any injury more serious than scratches and small puncture wounds from his teeth. (I was actually quite disappointed at the end not to have at least one scar that I could then point when scars stories were brought out, and casually say, "See that one? Jaguar did that.")


I wish I could say this was Yaguaru being ferocious, but in fact this is his "My poop smells bad" face. If he pooped on a trail and then later walked by again, he’d always stop to smell it, then make that face. Then he’d smell it again. And again. "Oh that’s horrible! Oh my god! Wait, I better smell it again. . . Oh God, it’s still terrible!"

…………

Life in the camp was routine, but pleasant. In the mornings the 4 other volunteers would join myself and the 5 bolivians working there as well in the screened-in dining area and have breakfast, after we completed our chores. My morning task was to feed the Pios (emus), and scoop up their runny poo and fling it out of their cage into the jungle. After breakfast, we’d head out to work with whatever animals we wanted to be with. Around noon, we all reconvened for lunch before heading back out into the jungle again. I often made the 20 minute walk from Yaguaru’s territory to the main camp and back alone, Linda preferring to stay with him and eat what I brought out to her.

At around 5 or 6, we’d all head back in again. Most days, I’d shower in one of the two rough stalls set up, populated by mosquitoes and fed by ice-cold water. After perhaps an hour of free-time, we’d meet for dinner. The first few days we had a cook, but she stopped coming, and from then on we’d all chip in and cook together. After dinner, eaten usually by candlelight, we’d talk and hang out in the netted building often to the sounds of cumbia from a small, battery-powered radio. Later, we’d all retire to our room, climbing up inside the draped mosquito nets to read by candlelight until finally falling asleep exhausted to the sounds of the jungle outside.

After the first week, the two Israeli girls left, leaving just Linda, James and I alone with the Bolivians. The strangest (and most worrisome) part of the whole deal was the complete lack of authority or organization. The closest thing to someone in charge was the veterinarian, a 23 year-old guy who was most likely just doing the only work he could find. He was nice and friendly, but had absolutely no ability to lead anything much less a desire to, and his ineffectuality was compounded by the fact that most of the animals hated him. Yaguaru in particular held a substantial grudge against him, and would attack him roughly any time he came around. The three young Bolivian boys were all under 15, and lived in nearby villages, working in the park in exchange for the possibility of a trip to England or somewhere else promised them by the man responsible for setting up the park (whom I never saw or met, and of whom I heard mixed reviews from ecological hero to self-serving megalomaniac). That left the two Bolivian girls, one of which was completely uninterested in doing work The other, Noemi, had worked in the main park for 6 months, and in this unregulated one for 2, so that made her somewhat of the leader of our group


One of the Bolivian boys, Juan Carlos

The Irish guy, James, and I made pretty quick friends, laughing together about how ridiculous the whole setup was. Here we were, a bunch of untrained volunteers and one semi-skilled disinterested vet, out in the jungle with no supervision or rules, placed in charge of 2 jaguars, 6 pumas, and a ton of monkeys, birds, and other animals. Have at it.

Perhaps the worst portion of the whole deal were the ticks. They were small, red ticks, not like the large deer ticks you find here, and they absolutely infested the entire area. My daily shower ritual involved no less than ten minutes finding and removing the disgusting little things. Every day, I discovered 10 or 11 of them, aside from one banner day in which I counted no less than 22. When you find one of the little buggers, the best method of removal is to grab and twist them clockwise at least 3 turns before pulling them out, as they burrow in their heads in a corkscrew movement and you have to reverse them out so the head doesn’t tear off and remain lodged in your flesh to fester. The twisting action is difficult to perform given their size, and the occasional difficulty added by their position on your body if they had chosen a particularly horrible spot to feast on your blood.

After my two weeks were up, I left the park an exhausted, mosquito-bitten, tick-infested, and different person. I wish I could say that the experience changed my life significantly, but in retrospect I find that my views on ecology and conservation are the same as before. I do have a clearer understanding of the challenges involved in conservation, and a greater respect for those who sacrifice their own time and bodies to work hands-on to make a difference. I don’t know that my time there mattered at all, that I made any effect whatsoever, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I had a fantastic adventure, a great time, and made friends with a jaguar. What more can anyone ask out of a two-week adventure?

Some other pictures:


This is the other jaguar Yaguarupi, with his best friend Jaime. Jaime has been working at the park for a number of years, and practically grew up with Yaguarupi. They’re best friends, and they actually wrestle in the river together. I only met Yaguarupi twice, and he attacked me both times.




Linda and Yaguaru.
- posted by Micah @ 12:17 AM