Beyond the Amazon
Exploring
Brazil's Pantanal - the world's largest wetland
My bruised behind bounced on the hard wooden bench
of our rough old truck as it careened through a large puddle, propelling
a thick black cloud of mosquitoes up through the wooden boards of
the floor. They swarmed over every inch of exposed flesh like a biblical
plague, driving us to the brink of madness.
Yet, moments later, our itches were forgotten and
we found ourselves laughing with delight. As we lurched through another
deep pothole, a swirling mass of butterflies engulfed the truck, winding
their way up into the blue sky like confetti on the breeze. This is
the way of the Pantanal – to take whatever nature hands to you,
good or bad.
The Pantanal is one of the world’s last true wildernesses. Straddling
the borders of Brazil, Paraguay and Bolivia, it is the largest freshwater
wetland on the planet, and home to the highest concentrations of fauna
in the Americas. Few places can rival its grand scale, its ecological
importance, or its biodiversity, yet people in this country barely
recognize its name. Compared to its famous neighbour - the Amazon
Rainforest - the Pantanal has languished in obscurity.
This is all the more ironic when you consider that the Pantanal’s
open, grassy plains and wide, slow moving rivers are the perfect environment
for viewing some of the continent’s most elusive wildlife, drawing
producers of documentaries on Amazonian fauna to find animals that
are just too hard to film in the dense foliage of the jungle. Whether
interested in tropical birds, endangered mammals or flesh eating piranhas,
this place is the mother lode of South American fauna.
The
sheer size of the Pantanal can be intimidating – as much as
81,000 square miles of rolling savannah, seasonally flooded plains,
snaking rivers and wide lagoons. It would be hard to choose a starting
point to explore such a vast wilderness, were it not for the fact
that there are only two cities within the area –Cuiabá
and Corumbá, both in Brazil. We chose the latter as our base
of exploration.
The town of Corumbá is something of a backwater in an otherwise
aggressively developing Brazilian interior. Its potholed streets,
lined with low white buildings, see little passing traffic. The mellow
locals seem to linger permanently beneath the cooling shade of their
porches. Come midday, with the sun beating down hard as a nail, life
itself seems crushed - only the tourists are foolish enough to wander
the streets. But there is no question that it has the perfect location
for tourists, lying in the heart of one of the most unspoiled areas
of the Pantanal.
Leaving Corumbá, we set out along the only road - a narrow
dirt track that carves its lonely way through the heart of the Pantanal.
Riding safari-style, atop a beaten up old truck, we had a perfect
view of the lush green landscape as it swept past. A shallow swamp,
thick with lilies and reeds, surrounded us on all sides; the road
sat only a few feet above the water level. The smooth, dark surface
of the floodplain stretched out as far as the eye could see, blending
imperceptibly into the cloudless blue sky.
The Pantanal lies at the intersection of three major migratory flyways,
resulting in one of the most diverse avian communities on the planet.
650 species of birds, belonging to 66 distinct families have been
identified here. Even the roadside swamps were teeming with bird life.
Snowy Egrets and Blue Herons patrolled the fringes of every lagoon,
red and grey kingfishers watched the waters intently from high branches,
dozens of noisy green parrots flocked from tree to tree and pairs
of gangly Jabiru storks stood tall as scarecrows in the meadows.
The
roadway was also a popular area amongst the Pantanal’s larger
fauna. We found capybaras, giant otters and even a 9 ft anaconda,
coiled like a fire hose, basking in the warm tropical sun. Families
of rhea foraged in the meadows, wild pigs charged through the long
grass, and slender young marsh deer tiptoed past on high heels. The
afternoon flew past as we marvelled at this great show of nature.
Our camp was a humble affair: a few hammocks slung in a shady stand
of palm trees and a thatch hut that served as a kitchen and dining
room. There was no trace of another human being as far as we could
see; we were a tiny dot in an endless sea of green. A few other foreigners
were already encamped when we arrived, but I was far more interested
in the non-human residents. Four caimans from the neighbouring lagoon
essentially shared our camp, hanging out by the kitchen and fighting
over scraps when nobody was looking. Our guides assured us that they
were harmless, although I was a little disconcerted to learn that
the largest croc had a tendency to wander around in the middle of
the night. He caused no little apprehension during nocturnal latrine
visits.
The trees above us were host to a small family of
black howler monkeys, whose morning cries shook the earth beneath
our sleeping bodies. Brightly colored macaws, toucans, parrots and
woodpeckers also flitted through the leafy canopy, providing a pretty
good safari experience of their own as I lazed away the hot afternoons
in my hammock.
Each
new day in the Pantanal dawned cool and mysterious. A heavy mist lay
over the meadows and the grass glistened sliver with dew. The unearthly
roaring of howler monkeys reverberated over the plains, emanating
from hidden sources deep within the foliage. Suddenly the treetops
would burst into song as the waking birds called their morning greetings
to the world. Come first light, the vast plains were a hive of activity
as every little critter came to life.
Each morning, after breakfast, we set off on foot through the wilderness.
For three days, we followed a random and winding trajectory through
the open plains. Sometimes we waded for miles, thigh-deep in murky
water, with no escape from the blazing sun, at other times we strolled
through fragrant fields of lavender, crisp and fresh in the morning
air. Although hiking required more effort, we were thus able to get
close some of the Pantanal’s most elusive animals - chirping
groups of coatis foraging in the meadows; giant anteaters lolloping
about in search of anthills to plunder; tiny armadillos scurrying
to and fro like clockwork toys. Each trip held a new discovery.
The
most easily spotted animal, however, was not even a native. Everywhere
we went, we found large groups of cows chomping the meadows. Some
95% of the Pantanal lies within private ranches and between three
and eight million head of cattle roam the plains. This has been the
case for some 200 years, and it seems that the cows have arrived at
some kind of ecological balance, but it leaves the Pantanal with little
legal protection from improper exploitation.
On our fourth day, we awoke to dark and brooding skies. A cold wind
whipped at the treetops and clouds of mist rolled through the meadows.
The air became thick and heavy, crackling with energy, until finally
the heavens opened up with a roar. Sheet after sheet of cold rain
tore through the trees, soaking everything in a matter of seconds.
The clatter of water on the leaves above us was deafening; I feared
that the tents would buckle under the pressure. We cowered helplessly
in the palm thatch hut, watching the storm ransack our campsite. The
wet season was only a month away and this was just a prelude of what
would eventually cause the River Paraguay to burst its banks and flood
out into the surrounding plain. Soon the campsite, the highway, and
everything else would be under 15 feet of water - nature was preparing
to reclaim its property.
The storm finally abated as the last rays of sun pushed through the
dispersing clouds, and I sat in the damp grass to watch the final
spectacle of the day. The Pantanal’s beauty reached its zenith
at sunset. The birds were at their most vocal as they came in to roost.
Squawking to one another from the treetops, they exchanged the last
of the day’s gossip before falling silent. Below them, families
of capybara emerged from a long day spent cooling off in the water.
Shaking dry their fur in the last rays of the sun, the adults nudged
their pups gently towards the protection of the long grass.
The
boundless skies blazed orange and yellow, as if wildfire had erupted
on the grassy plains and scorched the earth black as charcoal. The
still waters of the great floodplain absorbed the red, gold and purple
of the dazzling sunset, creating a seamless union of all the elements
– fire and water, earth and sky. With a serenity that contrasted
starkly with the violence of the day’s storm, all life merged
for one breathtaking climax, and faded into the black of night.
