Trip to the Southern Panatanal
by Ronda Green

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Six months on the Pantanal -- that section of Brazil bordering Bolivia which is said to be the best place in all the Americas for viewing wildlife -- would have been wonderful. We had instead just two days to squeeze it in between travelling from a conference in Sao Paulo state and leaving for Iguazu (all by bus) to catch our plane back to Buenos Aires and on to Australia.

We wanted to stay right in the Pantanal itself, but phone-calls from Campo Grande (the nearest large city to the southeast corner of the Pantanal) to the only affordable one we could find in reachable distance were not answered. With my very limited Portugese I asked the hotel clerk for a recommendation. He rang one in Miranda for us. I kept asking isn't Miranda a town? I want a place with muito animales (many animals). He kept assuring me yes, muito animales, so I thought it must be out of town, and made the booking.

It turned out to be a hotel in the middle of town: it did at least have fruiting trees nearby which attracted toucans that skillfully handled the fruits with their incredibly large and brilliantly-colored bills. Not wanting to spend further time on buses and seeking information, we resigned ourselves to staying in town and doing a couple of organized day-tours.

A driver commissioned by the hotel drove us on the first morning to San Francisco Station, an enormous working cattle station with extensive forest and marshland set aside as a reserve for wildlife and tourists. I saw a toucan tearing apart a bit of tomato behind the homestead, and started taking some video from a distance, hoping I could gradually creep closer.

As I approached, he dropped the apple, made a couple of movements as though to fly off, but instead hopped towards me, and finally I was continuing to video him as he pecked at my thongs. My son Darren (19) enticed him with a bit of the tomato and spent about 20 minutes interacting, mostly having his fingers nibbled, and at one point getting the end of the bill up his nose -- an experience he'll always remember. He said afterwards the bill looked so artificial that he felt he'd entered some kind of cartoon world, playing with one of the characters.

As we and the other visitors (about 8 in all, including myself, husband and son) were being escorted to the tour vehicle, a rhea came striding past -- in body form like a small African ostrich, but its color closer to the Australian emu. The Lonely Planet Guide advises choosing a tour which is based on walking rather than in a vehicle, and had we had the time to keep searching we would have done this, and also kept looking for a tour that including evening observations. However, it was still an enjoyable day and we did see a fair amount of wildlife. We sat under a canopy on the back of a truck either on the seats each side or straddling a padded bench down the center. Darren and I chose the latter, where we could readily scan our surroundings on both sides.

Waterbirds were abundant as were the number of species. I used to assume (as many Australians still do) that the word "Jabiru" was an Australian Aboriginal word for our only stork, now known mundanely as the black-necked stork. Instead, "Jabiru" is correctly applied to the equally-magnificent South American stork, white with a black head and neck, which is frequently used as a symbol of the Pantanal. We saw many of these, stalking prey in the shallows (their reflections shimmering below) or flying heavily along the water-courses.

The first caiman was exciting to all, but soon became almost commonplace. Some felt the same way about the capybaras, but I remained fascinated by these. I suppose I have seen crocodiles often enough in northern Australia, but the sight of giant guinea-pigs behaving like hippos was irresistibly different. Australia has no native rodents other than members of the rat-and-mouse subfamily, and I had long anticipated seeing these creatures. Occasional deer looked up and bounded off through the grass or shrubs.

We stopped to view an anaconda curled up in the grass by the side of the track. I was pleased our guide made no attempt to disturb him or any of the other animals we saw for the sake of closer views or photos. The approach of our vehicle did put a lot of waterbirds to flight and sent caimans, capybaras and an otter scurrying into the water, which made it less than ideal ecotourism, but compared with the cleared cattle pasture the entire property could have become, its use for tourism must still be an overall plus for conservation.

We left the vehicle to saunter along a raised boardwalk through low forest which is partially flooded in the wet season, but as we were there at the end of the dry it was ... well ... dry.

The guide stopped to point out the footprints of a jaguar in the dried mud. My previous frustration at not being able to walk quietly alone along the boardwalk at night was diminished just a little: jaguars don't often attack humans but it has happened at times, and fatally (I also have memories of a play-wrestle with a half-grown jaguar in a small zoo in Sydney years ago, standing up with his paws on my shoulders and playing like a gigantic kitten, and have great respect for jaguar strength).

After a delicious smorgasbord lunch back at the homestead, we boarded a boat - also with canopy to shield us from the baking sun. Bright-colored kingfishers and herons watched us pass by or cautiously took wing, and caimans again slid out of sight from the gently-sloping banks. At one point however I heard the others talking in excited Portuguese (they were visiting from Rio) and turned to see a caiman swimming swiftly and deliberately towards us. We were to find out why later.

Further up the river the boat was stopped and tied to the roots of a tree on the bank, and fishing rods were produced. Our family has never been keen on fishing, but our companions launched into it with enthusiasm. Our guide asked (mostly by gesture -- his English wasn't much better than our Portuguese) if we'd like to travel with his assistant further up the river in the small boat we were towing, to do some further bird-watching. We eagerly agreed and thus had a closer look at some of the birds we'd seen earlier. When kingfishers or anhingas or other birds appeared close to the water he would stop the engine and drift quietly. At one point he excitedly pointed into the trees, but we couldn't see what he was trying to show us and not sure what kind of creature to look for. I asked in Portuguese if it was a monkey, but he said no, a tuyuyu (the local name for jabiru). He landed the boat and took us through the forest, stepping around ferns and vines and fallen logs until we had a plain view through the foliage of the big bird standing on its nest -- a large platform of twigs high in a tree. Our approach had been as quiet as we could make it, but she was well aware of us, and several time clacked her large bill in warning, so we stayed just long enough for a photo and a brief video footage, and headed back to the boat.

We made another stop at the boundary of San Francisco station, where our companion indicated the forest we'd just ridden past and informed us "reservado." He also showed us jaguar footprints near the skeleton of a cow. I remembered an in-flight magazine article which remarked that some landowners in the Pantanal saw the loss of the occasional cow as an investment, as tourists were willing to pay for the chance of seeing wildlife, including (perhaps especially) jaguars.

Back at the large boat (capable of carrying perhaps 20 passengers), we saw the results of the fishing, including a number of pirhana. These were mostly not for our own consumption. When on the return journey we reached the point where the caiman had been attracted to our boat, the engine was stopped, and a dead pirhana was released from its hook, tied by the tail to a hookless line and dangled in the water. Soon a caiman appeared, intently focused on the fish as it rapidly approached. Soon there was a flurry of water as its jaws snapped around its unresisting prey. On its next attempt it was teased, the fish being jerked up and out of its reach at the last moment several times, encouraging it to show more of itself for the excitement of passengers and photos. before being allowed to swim off with the morsel. A bamboo rod was beaten vigorously in the water and we were soon joined by more caimans.

Several fish-offerings later, we started back towards the homestead, chatting as best we could with our non-English-speaking companions from Rio -- no, we weren't going to the Olympics in Sydney (too many people we explained, and Sydney too expensive then), that we had been to Manaus and Rio (and how beautiful it looks from Corcovado) and were soon to go to Iguazu, etc. At sunset we were treated to spicy pirhana soup while awaiting our lift back to Miranda.

Indiana Station (were both these names chosen to attract visitors from USA? St Francis doesn't belong to any particular country, but in Portuguese should have been Sao Francisco, not San) was more than an hour's jounrey from town, and far from the main road. We passed rolling hills with beautiful ipe trees smothered in purple blossom, and just before arrival at the station saw one bird I'd really been hoping for -- a screamer. Screamers are large long-legged but rather short-necked birds with spurs on the leading edges of their wings. They also have many air-pockets in their skin and, so I have read, if they are picked up their skin crackles. We had a good close look at our one and only screamer for about three seconds, and then it flew off over the shrubbery.

Our hosts were waiting and smiling under the palm-trees at the gate. Fernanda, the wife, spoke some English, and explained that the herd of peccaries behind the fence were not tame and were quite dangerous (they had already killed two dogs) but came each day for the corn her husband was carrying in a bucket. He threw some, and they rushed towards us, their flexible snouts working almost like big black vaccuum-cleaners over the dusty soil, rapidly cleaning up even the most scattered of the grains.

Our boat trip that morning was in a small boat with just Denis (my husband), Darren and myself plus our two hosts. The water was beautifully clear: we could see every pebble at the bottom in the shallows. There was no fishing in this river -- Fernanda told us it was a nursery for young fish. And fish there were, of all sizes, in profusion, sometimes swimming in schoals keeping pace with our boat, or more commonly heading the other direction or away from us. We saw a number of sting-rays -- yes, real sting-rays all this way from the coast. A small troop of howler monkeys appeared briefly in the tree-tops.

A capybara ducked under the water on one side of the river and soon reappeared on the opposite bank (can guinea-pigs swim like that?). A small black shape -- an otter -- appeared for a moment on a semi-submerged log and dropped back into the water, and we saw the occasional caiman basking in the sun on the river-bank. We stopped to examine an area of sparkling clear water near the entry of a small tributary, fed -- as Fernanda told us -- from a spring. Bubbles were rising to the surface, and she told us this is the sort of place mineral water is collected.

Our afternoon was spent on horseback, through forest, palm plantation and low woodland. The horses were placid and well-behaved (our guide's horse -probably a youngster -- was the only one that shied slightly when startled by a capybara in the long grass) and wore large western-style saddles. Denis and Darren were less accustomed to long horse-rides, and although enjoying it were feeling just sore enough to take up Fernanda's offer when she joined us in a 4WD.

The guide tied their horses under the shade of a tree and we had a lovely long canter beside an extensive swampland, pausing to admire a tree full of roseate spoonbills. I gave my horse -- a grey gelding -- a last pat at the gate to homestead and joined the others for coffee and caskes and a rest in a hammock.

Monkeys had apparently come to the feeder and gone on their way again while we were out, but the peccaries were still around, and so were the caimans. The lady we had been told was the "cooker" for the station climbed onto a branch over-hanging the river, and two eager caimans crossed from the opposite bank to grab the chunks of raw chicken she threw into the water. I approached the peccaries (staying on the safe side of the fence) for another. photo, and -- as I sometimes do when approaching horses or cows -- blew air audibly from my nose. Cows and horses often see this as an overture to a friendly, or at least polite, greeting, and sometimes approach to within a couple of meters or even close enough to touch noses.

The peccaries saw it quite differently. Several of them started and glared at me, and a couple rushed towards me snorting in unmistakable anger, skidding to a halt I was grateful for about a meter behind the fence. How do you apologize to a peccary? How do you explain "I really didn't mean whatever you thought I said just then"? About a dozen now stood in a semi-circle staring intently at me, some of them snorting. Even with the sturdy fence between us I felt my stomach tighten: without it I would have felt instant panic and looked urgently for a climbable tree, though I doubt I'd have had time to reach it. I have heard that peccaries are the most dangerous animals in the forest when encountered in a group like this.

As our car left the homestead we saw two bright eyes reflected in the headlights. Our driver stopped -- a caiman in the middle of the road. Not the kind of animal you expect to meet when out driving (we'd have been probably 100 meters from the river). A huge blood-red moon appeared over the horizon as we continued on towards Miranda

Should such places feed their wildlife? This is a very emotional issue.

On the balance, I feel it does allow some people a view of animals they would otherwise never see. And if they are willing to pay to see them and the station-owners are then more likely to encourage and protect the wildlife on their land, then it is better than the "shoot-everything-that-moves" attitude or the tendency to clear every tree that could compete with cattle fodder. To feed wildlife correctly without affecting their ecology and behavior too severely can be a challenge, which I might discuss more fully in a future article.

Would I recommend a visit to the Pantanal? Definitely. And I would love to get back there sometime and spend at least a week (a month would be better) wandering through this vast area rather than just a couple of day visits to its southern extremity. But even in the limited time we had there we saw a lot and gained at least a little insight into its ecosystems.

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