How to Walk a Puma
Page 19
The next day, we motored upriver for what seemed an anticlimactically short time and arrived back at the checkpoint, and soon after that I was on a bus back to Coca, travelling alongside jungle that had been scorched and slashed.
If I had learnt anything from the Huaorani it was that the trick of life is not to be content with what you have, but to be happy with what you do not. The trip was never really about jaguars anyway, or birds, or about finding myself, losing myself, or defying my age, but about seeking something wild and rare, not just in the jungle, but in me. I’d feared that too many years of desk-bound normalcy had killed off this part of me, but chasing the jaguar took me to so many places that I would never have been if I’d owned a fridge. I came to South America to find a jaguar, but came away with so much more. I found a truly wonderful girlfriend, a country that made adversity into something uplifting, the scariest pet you could ever have; at the same time, I learnt that constant travel is exhausting, and that maybe, just maybe, it is okay to settle down. For a little while, anyway.
Of course, I didn’t find the jaguar, but that just means I have to keep looking.
Afterword
I often wish life was like a story that you could go back and edit if it didn’t work out, but I can’t think of much that I would change about my eighteen months in South America. Overwhelmingly my memories are happy ones, but some are tinged with sadness.
Hollywood would have us believe that accidents happen in slow motion, and that the greatest challenge to romance is some obstacle and, with that overcome, all will be triumphant. But of course accidents come at full and out-of-control speed like a crazed puma or a raft being sucked into a whirlpool, and the hardest romantic endeavour is not to get together, but stay together. After leaving South America I flew to London to be reunited with Lisa, but I couldn’t stay in London long, and the strain of too much time and distance meant that the Minke and I decided to end our relationship. We remain friends, and I will forever be glad for her company through so much of the trip.
At the time of writing I am employed in a job I love, working with colleagues I consider friends and on occasion even respect, travelling the world and quite enjoying the looks people give me when they see the dirty, frayed piece of string around my waist.
Acknowledgements
My sincere thanks go to the following people:
Harris and Marguerite Gomez for giving me the softest landing imaginable in South America, and being such wonderful friends.
Pete Oxford and Renee Bish, wildlife photographers extraordinaire, for saving my bacon, then putting it in some of the most exciting situations I have experienced. Much of this book would not have come about without their advice and introductions.
The Minke, for more than can be said or written.
Tom Quesenberry (now that’s a funny name, isn’t it?) and Mariela Tenorio, who run the beautiful El Monte Lodge in Mindo, for arranging and assisting with so much of the Huaorani trip, and laughing as heartily as the Huaorani at all my maladies.
Bec Smart, Bondy, Mick Payne, Adrian, Rob Thoren and Nina at Inti Wara Yassi.
Sam Sudar for getting in a car with me.
Julio, the night watchman at Hostel Americana in El Calafate.
Marcello Yndio, for the way he killed a chicken.
Peter Fitzsimmons, for coffee, advice, and constant reminders that he sells more books than me.
Guillerme and Andres at the Sacha office, Tomas the manager, as well as all the staff at Sacha Lodge for making my stay there so pleasurable and monkey-filled.
Aaron Sorkin for answering so many questions, and the Undeletables for laughs and thought-provoking debate.
Marcella Liljesthrom for the swallows.
Friederike ‘Wildchild’ Wildberg for some wise words, but mainly for being German yet funny.
Lloyd Temple Camp, because he wants to be mentioned in a book.
Donald Brown for the same reason (and yes, yes, yes, it is true, he also kept me employed for several years when few people would).
Tarli Young for saving me from a planned life of luxury and comfort in Costa Rica, and inadvertently sending me to Bolivia and Inti Wara Yassi instead.
Ben and Kate Loxton for insisting I waste some time in debauchery and laugh myself silly while doing so. And Yahtzee too.
Diana Balcazar for expert guiding while filming in Colombia.
Matt Mitchell and Jonny Hall at Hostel Revolution, Quito.
John Purcell and Tamsin Steel for putting me up—and putting up with me—when I was recently single and a moping dullard.
Louis, Hoens and Jan Louis Nortje who gave me somewhere to stay during the main editing phase of this book, far from South America in Namibia.
And finally, thanks to the team at Allen & Unwin—Louise Thurtell, Clara Finlay and Angela Handley.
About the Author
Peter Allison has led safaris in South Africa, Botswana and Namibia. It was his love of animals that first led him to Africa at the age of 19, and by the late 1990s he’d graduated from being a safari guide himself to leading the training of guides for the region’s largest safari operator. Peter has led safaris that have featured in such magazines as Vogue and Conde Nast Traveller. He has also assisted National Geographic photographers and appeared on television shows such as Jack Hanna’s Animal Adventures. In between globetrotting the world as a marketeer for Africa’s leading safari company, he divides his time between Sydney and Cape Town.
Plates
Roy the puma loved his jungle trails, but also had a strange penchant for walking on top of pipes. The Roy Boys would try to emulate him—the first person to slip had to buy that evening’s beers. And would most likely get bitten for their impudence.
Pumas and jaguars may seem fierce, but South America’s deadliest animals are frogs with skin so poisonous just touching them can be fatal. I probably shouldn’t have picked this little fellow up then.
This squirrel monkey made himself an inverted hammock outside my room at Sacha Lodge.
Cabbage Patch Kids grow up eventually. Maybe one day I will too.
Detail of a Bird of Paradise flower, an example of the extravagant flora in the Amazon basin.
… almost as extravagant as the insect life (right)—this fellow is a Lantern or Peanut Bug. The Kichwa believe that if one bites you you must have sex within 24 hours or die. I’m pretty sure a man came up with that.
The amazing Omagewe, born before his tribe (the Huaorani) had any contact with the outside world and still living a mostly traditional lifestyle. He showed me the jungle in a way few living people could.
The caecilian looks like an overgrown earthworm the size of a snake, but is neither. It is one of the bizarre animals that attracted me to South America—an amphibian that lives underground.
Getting fitted for my string (made from the fibres of a local palm tree)—the string would be all I wore for much of my time with the Huaorani.
…all I wore apart from sunscreen, which I was sorely in need of, and merely sore without.
As my time with the Huaorani wore on, stocks from the outside world dwindled. This smoked chicken would be my last familiar meat and soon I was sampling paca (a long-legged forest relative of the guinea pig) among other new treats.
This fish and cassava would have been delicious on any other day, but a mystery lurgy laid me low and I almost offended my hosts by refusing it.
Omagewe’s wife (whose name I could never pronounce) made this loom in less than a minute, then wove me armbands, which included strands of Omagewe’s hair that he hacked from his head with a machete.
Many of the older Huaorani dress traditionally most days, despite having access to modern clothing.
I kept a diary for the first time in twenty years while in Yasuni National Park with the Huaorani, and kept it despite the moulding humidity and occasional interruptions, like this Borer beetle that fell from the thatch onto the page.
A Dwarf Caiman, innocuous as it never grows to more than two met
res. I was very happy to see it, but more than anything I wanted to see a jaguar.
The longest blowdarts in the Amazon are made by the Huaorani, but are meant to shoot things above them, such as birds or monkeys, and are too heavy to hold straight in front of you as I am attempting here.
Otobo holds a lantern bug, maybe wondering if his wife will believe the Kichwa legend about them.
Copyright
First published in the UK by Nicholas Brealey Publishing in 2012
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Tel: 888 BREALEY
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www.nicholasbrealey.com
www.peterallison.com
© Peter Allison, 2012
The right of Peter Allison to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
eISBN 978–1–85788–985–7
Map and illustrations by Guy Holt
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording and/or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publishers. This book may not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise disposed of by way of trade in any form, binding or cover other than that in which it is published, without the prior consent of the publishers.
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