Amazonian Basin (Bolivia)
30 OCT - 17 NOV
I'm stubborn, I mean really stubborn, so much so that at times it can be quite detrimental. The day after I was attacked by Yuma I decided that I was going to get back out on the trails and walk that damn cat to the point of exhaustion. Yeah, I was going to show that wild beast who was boss! I mean it already sounded as though everyone in the park had a similar story of either being attacked, 'jumped' or mauled, I was simply going to have to suck it up and deal with the situation, no matter what the consequence. It was only later, in my own quiet time and with some equally critical reflection that I realised the park, with its specific type of 'eco-adrenaline-adventure' activity may in actual fact be a large drawcard for a specific group of people that we'd commonly term as 'nut jobs'.
Out on the trail with Yuma on my second day was not a particularly pleasurable experience. I was hyper-vigilant, I was overly watchful and wary of every single move the cat was making. Everytime she stopped on the trail, every slight turn that she made, I assumed the worst and had mentally prepared for a rush at my legs, or even worse, my nether regions - 'why oh why had I decided to leave the box at home?'...'Always protect yours nuts Henry, ALWAYS!'.
Popular - see that mouth? That's why there's a need to protect your nuts!
The previous day I had made some mental notes of a few hazzards or some potentially difficult situations on the trail should the cat decide that it wanted to test my metal. The day before I had dismissed these thoughts as being overly cautious but now out in her territory on my second day and in light of past events I was at best only hopeful that she wouldn't try to test me...unfortunately I didn't have to wait long until the battle commenced.
Taking photos of the flora - better than getting attacked by the local fauna
Walking down into a little gully I already envisaged would would happen with the cat out in front of me on 2-3 metre lead, it was kind of a self fulfilling prophecy. As Yuma reached higher ground and comfortably stood a metre or so above my head she turned to face me, then immediately she gave me that evil hiss which I knew was a test but at the same time automatically had me hitting panic stations. Looking at her straight in the eyes I was judging the distance and already agreeing with the assessment that Yuma had already made, 'Yes, a leap from there would have you around my throat quite successfully'. Facing off for what felt like an eternity I saw her feet start to move and then she took two or three quick steps. I tell you, there is nothing quite like the experience of mentally preparing yourself for a puma to be flying at your head. It's not like being in a plane where you have the tried and true 'brace position' to use for your protection - although if you're going to be hitting land at somewhere close to 500kms p/hour is there really any comfort or solace to be found in placing your head between your legs? In any case, as quickly as the move started and as quickly as I started back pedalling, it was over. She stopped before pouncing. Yuma just stared me out from her vantage point with a type of defiant look that said 'I own you'. The damn cat had bluffed me and caught me with my pants down. It knew very well that I was scared and this test I had failed dismally. There was no recourse, there was no coming back from here.
Meal time for Popular
Later in the walk Yuma did go for me one more time and drew blood but by then I had mentally checked out. There was just no way in the world that I'd be comfortable walking her again let alone on my own. In my mind it was just too dangerous and too stupid a notion to contemplate. That honour would need to be accepted by another brainsick volunteer whose disturbed nature would adequately suit the moody and temperamental Yuma.
The next day I was transferred to a male puma named Sayan. He had an interesting story. For sometime he had been the pet of a Bolivian family on the outskirts of Sucre. Most of his life had unfortunately been spent in a relatively small cage, an absolutely cruel existence especially considering that over the years he actually got too big for the cage and effectively 'grew into it', deforming his spine and leading to extreme digestive problems. One particular year his Bolivian 'carers' were suffering financially, perhaps their cocoa crops were failing or perhaps the Uruguayan matè market was starting to look for more exotic import destinations than nearby neighbour Bolivia. Whatever it was, their financial crises demanded a quick and prompt resolution, the 'family decision' being that a sacrifice to the Gods would be enough to alleviate their difficulties and set them onto a new path of wealth, prosperity and good fortunre - Sayan was to be their offering.
Popular - in his usual spot - just chilling out and escaping the sun
Now, the story of how Sayan was saved seems to be a little patchy. Apparently volunteers from one of the parks had heard through the grapevine of the existence of this cat in Sucre. They decided that it would be in their best interests to make a visit to this family and convince them that the best place for the cat would be far beyond the Sucre city limits in the wilds of a former cocoa plantation. Fortunately their actions couldn't have come at a more opportune moment. In the way the story was told to me, the scene must have been reminiscent of an epic drug bust of one of the new wave Mexican narco-cartels. The door was kicked down and in rolled the volunteers with their peace flags fluttering in their swift wake, finding poor little Sayan tied to the table with his 'death clock' reading at under five seconds. When I imagine the scene in my own head I see the patriarch of the family with a double handed grip on a huge kitchen knife ready to plunge it into Sayans' heart - and then my mind automatically defaults to what an 'epic fail' it must have been from the families' perspective. Their lives were just about to become infinitely better with this offering to the Gods and on the stroke of midnight it all imploded with these 'do good campaigners' breaking down the doors and stealing their golden ticket. I wonder how the family fared in life after those events?
The few days that I spent with Sayan were comfortable. Orr, the volunteer that had been looking after Sayan for the previous month, spoke ad nauseum in regards to what a great creature he was, as to what his respective idiosyncracies were, as to the best way to entertain him...and for the most part he was right, the cat was calm, fantastic, and I loved the way that he 'play stalked' me everytime I turned up to his cage. Unfortunately the realities of the wild cat scenario had dawned on me. No matter what I did, no matter how careful I was, these creatures only needed the smallest trigger and they would be 'at' you. That evening I decided that the daily exercise requirements of wild cats, with only my experts ninja skills as reasonable protection would probably not lead to a long and healthy life. I made the call and pulled the pin on the escapade. My next project was to be a group of Howler monkeys whose only requirements were to be an afternoon feed of bananas and a few hours let loose in the in the trees.
In a short Sayan post-script, my volunteer replacement, a young docile German guy by the name of Atiene had his arm savagely torn by the cat after Orr incorrectly judged the amount of playtime that the cat required. Atienes' arm looked like he had just come back from a weekend spent at a self-harm clinic, it had been shredded. Unfortunately Atiene had learnt of the ferocity of these cats the hard way ....a week or so later when I had left the conservation park I met Atiene briefly at Santa Cruz bus station, he was on his way to somewhere far safer. Apparently his 'heart conditions' had returned and he thought it best to leave the park in search of appropriate medical advice. I simply read that as code for, 'Bro, I was shit scared!'.
The Monkey Challenge
Ah monkeys, what could possibly go wrong with a cheeky group of Howler monkeys? After advising the park co-ordinators that being torn to pieces in the midst of the lush greenery of the Amazonian rainforest was not actually my thing - to their moderate dismay - I was transferred onto the rather cushy afternoon gig of 'walking the monkeys'. I know, counterintuitive right? How the hell do you go about walking monkeys? Is it even possible? Well as a matter of fact yes, to a limited extent it is.
The simple logistics of this gig was as such. Go to the monkey enclosure, take out the largest female monkey named Thalia (the Muse of comedy), put her onto your shoulder and walk her down to the monkey park with the other three monkeys, two males, named Bin Tong & Chico, and a young female named Faustina, following in Pied Piper fashion close behind. Then, in the park, you simply let them escape into the tree and lie back in your hammock for a few hours, reading, daydreaming or formulating your escape from the park. At the end of those few hours you call them back to their crib and lock them in for the night...so in theory it sounded like a cakewalk and in reality it looked easy as my American 'monkey coach', Chase, had pulled off those very steps teaching me the ropes.
Taking Thalia for a walk
Faustina
So with all the confidence of a veteran monkey walker I entered their enclosure one sunny Tuesday afternoon in November in order to take this group out for their afternoon session of tree swinging. Walking through the first of the double doors I could already tell that the monkeys were excited to be going. As I opened the second door however all four of these cheeky bastards shot straight past me and jumped onto the first door, which unfortunately had not been properly locked. Quickly realising the error of my ways I made my way for the door but this guys had split - it was a freakin' jailbreak of epic proportions. They were already out of reach and shooting up into the trees! Bloody hell, how was I going to explain this back at camp, '...well guys, yeah, I kind of lost your monkeys'. What kind of person is dumb enough to lose four monkeys on their very first day on the job? Well ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to Mr Henry Elisher!
Trying to keep an eye on these guys through the trees I called out their names continuously. I was like a bad Billy Ray Cyrus song on perpetual loop, nauseating and depressing. There was simply nothing that I could do to get them back. This essentially became my life for the next two hours, 'Thalia....Bin Tong....Chico...Faustina', 'Vamos Chico's, vamos'. As the hours of the day drew on I could envisage myself sitting out on the trail in candelit, calling out to the trees in the withering hope that these monkeys may return.
Cruisy afternoon - laying in a hammock with a bunch of monkeys
Hours went by and I sat by their cage, not knowing what to do or whom to turn to ....and then....with the sun dropping in the sky and the familiar colours of an Amazonian sunset colouring the sky behind the dark curtains of trees, these cheeky bastards made their way home, Thalia first, followed by Bin Tong, Chico and then Faustina. It was like the Brady Bunch had just come back from an afternoon picnic and Alice (aka, yours truly) was waiting for them with a cheesy grin and an equally cheesy line, 'Well where have you been you cheap banana sluts?'...ok, that wasn't my line but it should have been. In any case they were back home and I was happy that all was now well in my neck of the woods.
Hanging out with Thalia in her favourite spot
After that first day things became much easier. I figured out how to lock and unlock doors professionally, how to get Thalia onto my shoulder with any difficulties and also how to swing my afternoons away in a hammock as the kids played in the trees above my head. It was definitely a 'sweet ride'. Who knew that 'monkey business' was going to be so much fun?
