RUPUNUNI, GUYANA — Crime investigators search for clues to unravel the mystery of who, what, when, where and why. Specially trained forces collect footprints, fingerprints, any traces that could lead to the truth.
Lucky for us, jaguars are not the best at covering up their traces when committing a crime …
The bulky, muscular jaws of jaguars pierce through skulls as if they were biting through a piece of cake. Jaguars tend to kill their victims by such crushing bites, rather than by suffocation as seen in other large cats. Once killed, the prey may be dragged to a more preferable site for consumption, where the jaguar will munch away. Any remains are often visited again over the next few nights.
Jaguars with a taste for beef, rather than wild meat, are cursed by this routine behavior. Their feeding on beef, or sheep, pork, horse or even dogs could be an opportunistic splurge, sheer indulgence, or necessity due to injury. Whatever the reason, owners of livestock are not too appreciative of a jaguar’s sensitive palate. Even the most conservation oriented rancher can only sustain so many losses. The jaguar, upon return to last night’s livestock kill may encounter the rancher and his gun (or bow and arrow) up in the tree right by what should have been another delicious meal. Now it is the jaguar who gets killed, or injured. Injured jaguars are bad news for ranchers, as they are very likely to become dependent on easy prey, like livestock. Killed jaguars, on the other hand, open up territories for new ones to come in, new ones that could start the same behavior all over again. Needless to say such encounters with livestock owners has done little good for the population, or the image of the jaguar.
Cattle ranching has been part of Rupununi culture for over a century. Hundreds, or thousands of square kilometers form grazing lands for the various ranches, like Karanambu. Villagers too may own livestock, albeit at a smaller scale. Allowed the freedom to forage wherever, cows wander the property in search of the hard to find nutritious sprouts, often created artificially by burning the savanna in an attempt to keep cattle close to the ranch station. Nevertheless, cattle roams free, in jaguar territory.
Low nutrient forage in the Rupununi savannas leads to a roam-free ranching style, where herds of cows, semi-wild, spread out onto the land and jaguars gain free access.
Since my arrival in the Rupununi, I have heard several stories of vaqueros or even youngsters waiting for jaguars that had killed horses or cows. Some still have the scars to illustrate their not so lucky encounter … Interestingly, the people that have suffered the most losses from jaguars, also seem to be the ones with the greatest passion to know, to understand and to conserve this magnificent predator.
Late one afternoon the news reached that one of Karanambu’s horses had been killed just a few miles away from the compound. We picked up a spare camera trap and rushed to the site. Passing by the outstation, a vaquero joined us to show where he had found the horse. Long before reaching, hundreds of black shapes in the trees gave away the location of the meal — black vultures lurking near the kill. They guided us towards an oval patch of grass that had been padded down. From there, a newly trampled trail led straight to the nearby bush. Following the trail, we stumbled upon the horse’s leg.
The first piece of evidence: grass padded down. Here, the young horse spent the last moments of its life grazing peacefully, until canines pierced its skull.
After killing the horse, the jaguar dragged the body into the shade of the nearby forest, not at all concerned about the evidence left behind.
A whip cracked loudly right behind us. The sound of the vaquero’s whip had me jump; that should have frightened any creatures nearby. Carefully, we crept through the tangle of branches. Flies happily buzzed about, bathing themselves in the scrumptious stench that greeted us as we entered the shade inside the forest patch. The young horse, now literally just skin and bones, had last been seen alive the morning before. From the sight of the leftovers, the jaguar must have been one hungry fellow, or maybe the vultures had gorged themselves with the meat, or, maybe, this jaguar was not alone? We had been finding tracks of jaguars traveling together for a while now. Could this be a male with mate, a mother with cub? Was this one of Karanambu’s healthy, stealthy jaguars, or had an old or injured individual moved into the area? With no meat left, would the jaguar(s) even come back?
Just a day earlier, the horse had been seen alive and well. Now, only skin and bones remained.
The next morning the carcass was gone.
He (or she) must have returned to the crime scene, but who was he (she)? Would the camera trap’s memory card reveal the face of the horse’s assassin? Was this jaguar listed in the Karanambu database?
With the excitement of a first-time crime investigator, any thoughts of exploring the rest of the area for clues completely slipped my mind. Soaked and covered in dirt from rainy season swamps, I plugged in the memory card filled with endless pictures of … vultures.
Hundreds of black vultures had given away the location of the carcass. After our departure right before dusk, they quickly returned to their stolen dinner. A king vulture gladly joined in on the feast.
And then …
Caught in action – The jaguar came in from the side entrance and dragged out the carcass. This was a familiar face.
Identified! - Running the coat pattern against the database, our killer was identified as Crane, a stout, healthy looking male that had been roaming Karanambu land for months.
In his book “Time is short, and the water rises” John Walsh tells the story of operation Gwamba — or how he and his team saved thousands of animals from the rising waters in a tropical rainforest after the Afobaka Dam was built in Suriname. The man-made structure caused a large stretch of rainforest to disappear under water, along with homes of people, and animals.
In the Rupununi, rising waters guide the natural rhythm. Life, rather than destruction, springs from the rising waters, or so it should be …
The Rupununi savannas had been dry for months. My days in the field were filled with dusty trails, the soothing scent of savanna fires and a burning hot sun. Nevertheless, grasses were green still, and the river was high; too much rain for a true dry season. April past, May came, the actual wet season had to be starting any day now …
Every afternoon, the cicadas produced their deafening, high pitched noise. Red capped cardinals (Paroaria gularis) no longer visited the feeders. Jabiru storks (Jabiru mycteria) had moved away from their nests in the Ceiba trees and into the savannas. Nature was telling us that the rainy season was on its way, but to us it seemed like the creatures were merely desperately calling for the rains, because the dry season, as we had seen it for the past few months, was still going strong.
Two months of camera trapping had passed and cameras were being moved one more time to a former outstation of Karanambu, Cajueiro, where jaguars had once preyed on horses and cows of the ranch. Seasonal creeks meandering through Cajueiro guide the bushy vegetation along their edges straight up to the Pakaraima mountains, where endless rainforest still holds many secrets, and hopefully even more jaguars. The habitat, and the initial success of the project had driven my expectations for this area high up. We were going to get great photos here!
And we did: Savanna deer (Odocoileus virginianus), capybara (Hydrochoerus hydrochaeris) for the first time and, finally(!), an oncilla (Leopardus tigrinus), the smallest of the cats we had expected to find here. Our species list was growing, excitement was building … and the water was rising.
“Someone just poured a bucket into the gappo”, said one of the boys, describing how the dried creek that borders the Karanambu compound had gone from wildlife highway to fish freeway in a matter of hours. The creek had started to fill up with water running down from the mountains. Soon, the savannas would flood, transforming from endless green into a mirror of mountains and sky, shining silvery blue as far as the eye could reach. Soon, but they hadn’t yet.
The only way in or out: A healthy boat paddle straight through swamps for researchers and fishermen, a thirty minute round-about boat tour, with engine, through gorgeous galleries and lakes for tourists. The paddle across soon became my favorite part of field days, watching birds, lizards and caiman up close.
Rains seemed to come out of nowhere. Endless days of hot blue skies swallowed by darkness, washed away by rains. This could hardly be called rain, really — someone seemed to be pouring sky-size buckets of water on us. While shivering from the tropical coolness, concern started growing. We had to go check the cameras.
As soon as rains stopped for a moment, my guide and I paddled a boat through the now fully flooded gappo. On the other side, we saddled our horses and head out for what turned out to be quite the adventure ….
Other than a couple of creek crossings, the trip started out on dry land. By mid-morning, we touched the first water. Horses waded slowly, staggering now and then in search of solid ground under the layer of crystal clear water, ankle deep, knee deep, chest deep, endless water. My horse-with-no-name would stop, on several occasions, standing in water up to the saddle, with no intention of moving. My eyes searched the water for caiman or kamudi (local name for anaconda), or any other acceptable explanation as to why half-way underwater could possibly be a good place to take five. We had to get moving and check those cameras!
Endless water: What from afar had looked like grassland, really was wetland. Notice the clear water. Even when the horse’s knees were submerged, we could see the weeds at the bottom.
Amidst all this water, most cameras were still on dry ground — the pockets of land where we would expect to find wildlife hiding. It wasn’t until we reached the creek right by the old outstation, that my worst fears were confirmed. The GPS indicated that the camera was near, but our feet were dangling in water, and there was no dry land to be seen. Soon we realized, the camera must have disappeared under water, along with the familiar landmarks that could help locate it. The GPS was all we had now. A heavy rain started pouring as we dismounted the horses to wade into the creek.
Underwater cameras: Where not too long ago our first oncilla had roamed the grounds, cameras had disappeared underwater, together with the familiar land marks. Even horses could not help here, and they got to rest. Swimming with a GPS in hand and diving down to scan the trails and trees with our feet brought back three out of four cameras, one with pictures!
Somewhat nervous, and disoriented, I followed my guide through the thick vegetation, asking over and over: “Do you think it’s safe?” Suddenly, solid ground disappeared from under our feet. We hung from branches for a moment, letting the GPS point us in the right direction. Holding the GPS in one hand, and paddling with the other one, I tried to reach the camera site.
The current was pulling. Branches waved violently in the curtain of gushing rain. The reflection of dark clouds in the water crept over us like bad omens. The camera site was too far off. We admitted defeat. This camera would have to sit out the wet season under water.
Three more cameras were found drowned in the fast rising waters. By late afternoon, we started heading back, contemplating the best course of action for the project.
Victory: Happy to have a camera in hand. By this time, I was comfortable swimming in the flooded creeks, but the idea of caiman, kamudi (anacondas) and other creatures still had me on my toes, and I was thankful to have vaquero Richford on the lookout.
The horses’ feet hadn’t touched dry ground for hours. Richford ordered me to spur the horse and stay close behind. I looked at the sea of water we were about to cross and recognized what not too long ago had been a little creek, peacefully cobbling amongst water hyacinths. Suddenly, the trot of my horse changed. His head raised high, nostrils flaring, breathing loud — the four feet were no longer touching ground. We were swimming!
Swimming horses: Horses can be great swimmers. All one can do is relax, help the horse keep his head up and let him find his own way. Top left: expert vaquero Richford on his swimming horse. Top right: the Landrover parked in almost the exact same spot as the vaquero in the left picture (seen from the opposite side), just weeks before.
Shortly after, we touched dry land again. A glowing red sun, setting behind the mountains, reflected in the endless water between the grasses. A caiman snapped next to the road as we rode by. Delighted to feel steady ground under their feet and with home in sight, the horses were easily coaxed into a faster pace. As we galloped to the ranch in the last glowing rays of the setting sun, my eyes scanned the savannas and I wondered: where were the Rupununi jaguars now. …
RUPUNUNI, GUYANA — Jaguar coats are painted in a mesmerizing pattern of spots, or rosettes. In the North Rupununi, Makushi people (Amerindian tribe of the North Rupununi) tell the story of how the beautiful pattern was, in fact, designed by a tortoise, who outsmarted a tiger (jaguar). To avoid becoming the tiger’s dinner, the tortoise tied the tiger to a tree and paint the coat in “yellow, red and black”, colors chosen by the tiger himself. Since that day, the artistic design of the tortoise, inspired by the tiger’s careful color selection has been both a curse and a blessing for the jaguar …*
Once upon a time, its gorgeously spotted fur shed blood upon the jaguar’s future. When the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES) halted the international trade in jaguar parts in 1975, the same spots painted a brighter future for America’s largest cat. The spot pattern, so unique it could be used to identify individuals, has proven a great tool in conservation by allowing biologists to estimate jaguar population densities.
Why this matters?
Knowledge of numbers drives conservation. Unless we know how many jaguars there are today, how many we need to ensure their continued existence, and how many can be supported in the diverse habitats jaguars use, any conservation efforts (and dollars) would be a mere shot in the dark. We could, of course, forget about numbers and protect all and everything, if it weren’t for the growing human population and limited resources available. Thus, conservation realism dictates a business approach: smart investments based on numbers.
Counting spots, or rather spot patterns, will help us invest wisely in the jaguar’s future – connect the right dots in the right places to create a matrix of conservation units and corridors throughout the jaguar’s range from Northern Mexico all the way down to Argentina.
My piece of the investment puzzle: Karanambu — a gorgeous stretch of savanna wetland hidden between rainforest on nearby hills with many jaguars to spot … or not?
Nimrod, in the first camera trap photo of a jaguar at Karanambu (above), showed a characteristic “flower” on his right flank. Being asymmetrical between left and right, the coat pattern on the left flank differed of course, but with a large number of pictures and postures, photographs of both sides can eventually be linked. Lucky for us, Nimrod turned out to be quite the lens lover.
Camera trap photos taken at the edge of a pond where jaguar, Nimrod, was photographed on several occasions. Going clockwise from the top left: deer, collared peccary, labba or paca, tapir and an agouti in the center.
For a while, Nimrod ruled the grounds around Karanambu lodge, or so we thought … A male-female pair passed a camera more than 6 miles away, but no other individuals were photographed in Nimrod’s turf for weeks. Then, about a month after the first picture, the memory card from a station near the edge of a pond captured deer (Mazama americana), tapir (Tapirus terrestris), labba (Agouti paca), peccary (Pecari tajacu), agouti (Dasyprocta leporina), and Nimrod. But this time, he was not alone! Four paws and a spotted shape lurked from behind Nimrod’s bulky body. Compared to our friend’s stout build, and perhaps due to photographic effects, the other jaguar appeared small, and ‘Small’ got added to the database.
Nimrod and Small
But who was Small? Jaguar theories claim they are, like most cats, solitary creatures, only sharing territory temporarily with a mate, or, in the case of females, with cubs. Nimrod’s companion should be an adult female, or was she/he? Stories had reached me about not-so-typical jaguar social behavior. In research, an open mind is key — all options are possible until evidence demonstrates otherwise. Without a proper view on the new Karanambu jaguar, I had to resist temptation and not take assumptions for facts.
Curiosity burned. Would we ever find out who this was? Would the two of them continue traveling together? Shortly after, Nimrod was photographed again … alone.
Nimrod alone. again ...
Soon enough, Nimrod had company again, albeit possibly unwanted this time around. Jaguar tracks had been seen repeatedly on the bank opposite of Karanambu, by Crane pond, an oxbow lake so beautiful it undoubtedly mirrors heaven. During dry season, the creek giving access to the pond from the Rupununi river dries up, turning the pond into a well-hidden secret and the creek into a wildlife highway.
Late one night, the caiman research team spotted a jaguar on the bank near the creek. Nimrod again? No! Thankfully, the team had taken pictures and the spot pattern told us this was a new one! Eagerly, we awaited the next set of camera trap pictures from the station by Crane Pond. BINGO! Jaguar number five “Crane”, got added to the list.
Crane
Interestingly, Crane was not at all the jaguar spotted by the Caiman catchers. Karanambu now had three sizeable male jaguars all seen within a couple of miles from each other in less than two months. Were they all residents? Nimrod had been patrolling his turf, and he had not been alone …What about Crane? And who was Small? And what was the other mystery jaguar doing by Crane pond? Would the cameras spot them again? When? Where?
The excitement of the getting the first picture had turned into a different drive: spotting Karanambu’s jaguars over and over again, and glimpse into the life of these Rupununi roamers.
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*Special thanks to Isaac Rogers, from the Yupukari Village, for telling me the story of how the jaguar got its spots.
RUPUNUNI, GUYANA — Fellow field biologists with much experience in camera trapping projects had described field days as Christmas morning. Every few days or weeks, cameras need a change of batteries and memory cards (or film). As you move from camera to camera, anticipation builds; reading the number of pictures on each card, you can’t help but wonder: what pictures does this card hold? Filled with hope that at least one of those tiny square packages holds the present you have been hoping for, you unwrap them one by one by plugging them into the computer.
The cards click, windows pop up, the package is unwrapped and a hidden world unfolds on your screen.
Some cards return with merely a couple of photographs, others may hold hundreds. Quantity is somewhat irrelevant in this case — the card with the least photograph may just be the one to return the biggest price, in my case: a jaguar shot.
Not wanting to get my hopes up of finding my big price at the first check, just ten days after placing the cameras, my mind critically reviewed the camera trapping protocol. How could we, with so few cameras (16!) over such a large area possibly get a jaguar to pass by exactly where we placed those cameras? There were so many locations without a single of my elusive electronic eyes; the jaguar(s), if even present, could be walking in a thousand other places without ever passing the exact spot of the camera, right?
My critical mind only led to one conclusion: these protocols had been developed by some clever and creative minds!
The basic idea is simple. With cameras scattered across the area at more or less equal distances and with at least one camera per potential jaguar territory, placed in a spot favorable by a jaguars (like roads, water holes, etc.), the animal is likely to pass by the camera during his many wanderings inside the territory.
By the time I was ready to head back to the field, only two excuses for the lack of jaguar shots remained: Time had been too short for a jaguar to pass by one of the cameras, a likely possibility in case of large territories. On the other hand, jaguars reported in this area could just be traveling through, rather than being residents. In such case, their passing by a camera would not be the result of wandering around in the same general area, but sheer luck!
Upon my return from the field, everybody gathered around the computer, Karanambu’s infamous rum punch at hand. Cards were plugged in one by one. Starting with cards that had the most pictures, the screens popped up with great shots of all sorts:
A few sips of rum punch, a toast to great pictures!
But there were more still … One of the cameras had been set up just about one mile from the Karanambu compound, near the road to the airstrip , where cars, motorbikes, bicycles and pedestrians pass multiple times a day. This was the busiest place of all for traffic and very close to living quarters. With only seven pictures, several of which I knew were pictures of us walking by, expectations were low. Pictures popped up: me, me, Esteban, me again, and …
WAH! I stared at the screen, incapable of grasping what I was really looking at. I heard people jumping up behind me. Laughter, sounds of joy! What in the blur of excitement and confusion had looked to me like a pitch black background with a golden glow was in fact: my first every jaguar picture! Sharp and clear, full body shot, taken just days after we had left the camera there.
Nimrod, the mighty hunter
The nightly sounds of a roaring jaguar nearby now had a face, and a name, given to him by Diane McTurk: Nimrod, the mighty hunter!
Nimrod looked fit and thoroughly fed. What was Nimrod’s story? Did he live on Karanambu land? Was there a mate for him? Were there any other males he had to compete with? Did he have enough to feed on, or was he stealing cows, horses, sheep or dogs?
We have the next couple of months to unravel his story, a few months to discover just how many jaguars roared in Karanambu’s corner of the Rupununi …
RUPUNUNI, GUYANA — Karanambu Lodge hosts tourists of all shapes and sizes, from the young to the wise, from back country explorers to city slickers, traveling here from all corners of the world with one common interest: wildlife. Endless bird species capture their imagination as they sip their rum punch during a sunset river trip. Giant water lilies patiently reveal their beauty as they unfold their leaves before the eyes of Karanambu’s visitors. Birds and lilies are all part of the package deal. The savannas, on the other hand, reveal their many secrets to only a few. All stare into the vast expanse of grassland, interrupted only by the occasional bush island or lake. All wonder: where is the wildlife, why are these savannas so empty? Lucky ones are greeted by the giant anteater during an early morning drive in the antique Land Rover. But many hope for the herds of grazers, darting deer and playful families of small mammals, so dictated by endless documentaries on the great plains of Africa.
The Rupununi does not disclose her secrets so easily. The Rupununi savannas are home to mostly solitary roamers, elusive creatures of the night. Her true beauty is revealed only to those roaming amongst her richness long enough, walking along her invisible trails often enough to see not just an expanse of green bordered by mountains, but single trees, creek bends, hidden springs and mountain shapes as never failing silent guides.
It is in this secretive landscape that Panthera has established the first jaguar study in Guyana.
The Jaguar Corridor Initiative Map: This theoretical matrix of Jaguar Conservation Units (JCU) and corridors does not run through the Rupununi, but more than theoretical models need to be considered: Confirmed presence of jaguars, availability of prey species, people’s attitudes towards jaguars, current land use practices, envisioned development of the area and options for habitat protection all contribute to the final decision on where efforts should be focused. Panthera’s initial on-the-ground assessments of where to commence jaguar research in Guyana has led to the selection of Karanambu, in the middle of the North Rupununi (red dot).
Few inhabitants of the North Rupununi have actually seen a jaguar. Most stories of sightings come from vaquerosSpanish for cowboy or a hired hand who tends cattle and performs duties on horseback. and are filled with details of killed cows and hours of waiting for the jaguar to return to its kill the next night. Although jaguars are not actively hunted in the area, the rare individual that opts for a beef dinner is likely to find a group of hunters guarding the dead cow upon its return the next night, ready to face the jaguar and protect the remaining cattle. Cows are too precious — the low-nutrient grass of these savannas results in a slow breeding process. Luckily jaguars still seem to find plenty other prey, minimizing such unfortunate encounters. Or maybe there just aren’t that many jaguars?
How many jaguars could be found here at one time? Are they residents or simply transient individuals passing through on their road between the forested Kanuku and Pakaraima mountains?
I arrived at Karanambu with a gigantic duffle bag stuffed with boxes of equipment. The secret weapon in our mission: camera traps, motion triggered digital cameras. These cameras would be our eyes, scattered across the immense landscape of Karanambu, watching day and night for creatures unseen by us. We would be putting this set of cameras up in sets that would move around on Karanambu land to cover as much of the area as possible.
Where to start? Jaguars, like many other animals, often travel along roads and trails where vegetation does not hinder their movements, so the best spots to put the cameras: roads, hunting trails, wildlife trails and water holes. As much as I had read about camera trapping to study large carnivores, this was my first hands-on experience. Expertise training came flying in just a couple weeks after my arrival: Esteban Payan, Northern South America Coordinator for Panthera’s Jaguar Corridor Initiative. For two days we studied maps, walked the trails and cut through tunnels of grass and bush. We tried to get information on trails from staff members, who were not too eager to share their hunting secrets, at first. With two guides to lead us, a GPS to keep track of our camera locations and loaded with cameras and batteries, we trailed for miles through the savanna in search of spots where jaguars might pass.
By the time Esteban left, half the cameras were up and running. For the other half, I was on my own, equipped with all the practical tips and tricks there were to learn about camera trapping.
After the many miles walked, hours in hot sun, crawling through dirt and ants to test the cameras, hacking away at grass and shrubs to clear the view, hauling cameras around on horseback, using the GPS to create our grid-like set-up, and collecting quite the number of cuts and bruises along the way, I was introduced to the tough part of the project: patience. The cameras would be checked in ten days, making sure the batteries wouldn’t run out. We would get our first few pictures too, but ten days might be too soon to spot a jaguar, even with 16 elusive eyes watching day and night for even more elusive creatures. Ten days of patience, not enough, or was it?
RUPUNUNI, GUYANA — As a Panthera grantee, my research might be focused on jaguars, but as volunteer conservation biologist for Karanambu Trust, more than just jaguars cross my path.
Karanambu is known worldwide because of Diane McTurk, keeper of orphaned giant river otters and famous for her successful attempts at reintroducing these orphans back into the wild as adults. (For more about this work, read Lucy Spelman’s Blog, Saving Otters.) Diane’s heart is larger than the Rupununi savanna, and therefore she’ll accept any animal brought to her, pay for it if so asked, to ensure the animal’s well-being. From mouse opossum to tapir, crab-eating raccoon to giant river otter: few mammal species have never called Karanambu their home.
Crab-eating raccoon (Procyon cancrivorus): Karanambu is known for Diane McTurk’s heart for animals and many creatures have been brought to Karanambu. Trevi (aka Bandit) arrived at Karanambu when he was just a few weeks old. His chance of survival in the wild would be small, but he gladly plays the role of ‘beloved beast’, allowing himself to be pampered by his personal staff. (Check out those feet!)
I had arrived at Karanambu just a few days earlier, and was busy organizing equipment for the jaguar research project. All of a sudden commotion stirred the peaceful morning — people running and shouting: something was happening at the boat landing, just about 100 meters away from the compound. Dropping everything, I ran out with some of the staff members. At the landing was a boat with two fishermen and three baby giant river otters with a rope around their necks. The pups were squealing, frightened, unsure where they were and what their fate might be. The fishermen had found them sitting on the bank with no parents around, and they wanted to hand them to Diane, so she could raise these three little pups.
Giant river otter pups (Pteronura brasiliensis): The giant river otter is an endangered species. Here, in the Rupununi, they are commonly spotted. Karanambu is known for its otter rehabilitation program. Fishermen brought in three pups that morning, thinking they had been abandoned by their family.
‘They have to go back’, we all agreed. The look on the faces of the fishermen showed confusion: these pups were abandoned, why take them back? The fishermen were clearly disappointed in our disapproving response, but once they realized we were not going to accept anything less than the return of these animals to their holt, the fishermen took the pups with the promise to place them back at the exact location where they had found them.
We had wanted to go along to ensure their well-being, but the fishermen showed no patience. By the time we had a boat ready to go, the fishermen were gone, with the three pups. We — Karanambu Lodge’s co-manager, a boat captain and I — took off, heading towards the location where the pups had been picked up. All we could do now was to check if they had been dropped off and wait for the parents to return. If the parents did not return that day, we’d have to take the young ones back with us, and raise them by hand.
The fishermen held their promise. We met them on our way. One of them threw the pups in our boat, jumped in too and off we were. The pups were terrified, squeaking and squealing, as I tried to photograph their throat patterns. These patterns are like finger prints, or tiger stripes, or jaguar spots: unique to each individual. If we could record their pattern, we would be able to recognize and possibly track them later. Soon we reached the holt. The sand in the midst of branches on the bank indicated this holt was actively used. As soon as the fisherman threw the pups somewhat hard-handedly onto the bank, they started their journey up the steep bank. All three clearly knew the way home. We recorded the GPS location, crossed the river, and waited.
Giant river otter throat pattern: These patterns are like finger prints, or tiger stripes, or jaguar spots: unique to each individual.
It was midday. The river was quiet, with only an occasional fish jumping up. Surrounding forests appeared asleep. The hot air was accompanied by a comforting breeze. buzzing about the banks welcomed their fresh meal sent straight from the far away exotic lands of Belgium and the US. Blood with chocolate flavor was a clear hit; tiny black winged things covered every bare piece of my skin. Kabura stings leave a bright red dot, and within minutes they had painted a polka dot pattern on my hands and feet. Hunger quickly erased kabura from my mind and we unpacked the pasta, fish and farine. For those of you not familiar with farine, a tourism specialist from the U.S. I ran into put it simply: “I don’t eat farine anymore, as my dentist suggested I stop eating rocks”. Farine is a fried cassava product. The fried grains are yellowish in color and pretty hard. They need to be mixed with gravy or water to turn soft. It’s the common staple around here and anyone living here long enough seems to consider it essential. Admitted: once you learn how to eat it, farine makes excellent field researchers food!
We ate, we waited, a few minutes, and a few minutes more. We wandered through the forest for a bit, returned to the boat and waited a while longer. With binoculars, we scanned the river, stared at the holt. Fish jumped, motor boats sounded in the background. We heard something. No otters. We waited and watched. We heard something. Splash. Huff. Puff. The typical out-of-breath sound following a water splash: giant river otter!
The captain’s finger pointed to the river and he whispered: there, there! Even before the words had come out of his mouth, I saw it: a little brown head sticking out of the river. This animal clearly only had one goal: getting to the holt. As it approached, more of its body came out of the water. When reaching the holt, it carefully raised higher, scouting 180 degrees, raising higher, scouting and then … up it went! The boat captain got all excited again: another one, another one! And sure enough, a few minutes later a family of five broke the silent afternoon with happy squeaks and splashes as they played and swam off to a nearby bush. The parents had returned to pick up the three pups.
A family reunited, three little rascals saved. Karanambu!
Otter pups at their holt: (Insert: parent returning to the holt). The fishermen finally gave in and brought the otter pups back to where they were found. The parents returned and an otter family was re-united. The fishermen should be rewarded. Or not? Were they expecting to be paid for bringing the pups to Karanambu? If they are rewarded for returning them, will they continue to collect pups just to receive the reward? Conservation should be about carrots, rather than sticks: incentives, rather than punishments. Still, rewards for saving animals can lead to slippery roads.
RUPUNUNI, GUYANA — Karanambu Lodge is a family-size eco-lodge in the midst of the North Rupununi, hidden in between the Pakaraima mountains and the Kanuku mountains. It is here that I am based as Karanambu Trust’s first resident biologist, undertaking one the first jaguar research projects in Guyana. No surprise, the many eco-tourists passing through are curious to know more about the study. Without exception they will ask: have you seen one yet? Upon which I smile, and admit ‘no, not yet’. Fascinating as jaguar research may be, I would not be the first one studying these elusive creatures without seeing one for months, or years even. Jaguar research is not for those who dream of seeing one, but for those who dream that others will, for a long time to come. The thrill of jaguar research comes from knowing that they are there, watching.
Karanambu Lodge
Panthera has top-researchers in almost every country where jaguars roam, all to accomplish one common goal: the Jaguar Corridor Initiative – a magnificent idea to keep jaguar populations connected throughout their range from Mexico to Argentina. Until now, Guyana was a missing dot on the corridor groundtruthingVerifying a theoretical model by conducting field research. map. Not anymore! As a newcomer to jaguar research (in practice at least), I have some big shoes to fill. But here we are, in the interior of Guyana, the Rupununi, making a first attempt at assessing what role this region, and Guyana, could play in the jaguar corridor.
Map of Guyana: Blue stars indicate major towns in the region (Annai, Lethem and Gunns, as well as Georgetown, the capital). The green circle is Iwokrama, location of the Centre for Rainforest Conservation and Development. In the midst of the rainforest of the Pakaraima mountains, Iwokrama is one of the first protected areas in Guyana and hopefully an example for many more.
The jaguar, America’s largest cat, is only one of Guyana’s giants. Many of these magnificent giants are endangered, but most seem to thrive in the Rupununi wetland, where rivers, creeks and seasonal swamps weave their way through the savanna and the scattered bush islands. During the wet season (April-September) rivers and creeks spill their water onto the savanna. When the Rupununi river drops in the dry season, it exposes sandbanks of all shapes and sizes. Guyana’s giants depend upon this cycle. Giant river otters (Pteronura brasiliensis) build their holts in the river banks. Giant river turtles (Podocnemis expansa) nest on the sandbanks. Black caiman (Melanosuchus niger), the largest members of the alligator family, use them to bask in the sun. Capybara (Hydrochoerus hydrochaeris), world’s largest rodents, and the impressive jabiru storks (Jabiru mycteria)stroll along the sandbanks in search of food. Whether for nesting, basking, foraging or drinking: wildlife is drawn to these sandbanks, and so are biologists! The moist sand leaves clear evidence for us wildlife detectives.
The high river banks in the dry season provide perfect habitat for holts made by the endangered giant river otter.
During my first visit to Karanambu in October last year, I had uttered the word ‘sandbank’ at least once a day, hoping to go scouting for tracks, and finding some signs of Guyana’s giants, including the animal I was about to study: the jaguar. But the dry season was late, and I was out of luck.
Upon my return in February, seasons seemed to have finally turned, and sandbanks were growing inch by inch! We were out on the river, returning from a giant river otter rescue mission. Sandbanks were lurking, and I convinced my companions to stop and have a look. A first opportunity at getting any data on wildlife here! Admitted, other than from pictures and drawings, I had no experience identifying tracks, and I was relying completely on the young Amerindian guide who was with me. He knew exactly what I was after, and I was hoping for him to jump up in excitement and show me a big, fat jaguar footprint. Nothing.
Aerial view of the Rupununi near Karanambu in February this year. As the water level drops, sand banks start to show (white along river edges), a central event in the life cycle of many species inhabiting the Rupununi wetlands. With a changing climate, and less predictable seasons, many of these species will suffer dramatic declines, like the endangered giant river turtles who nest on these beaches. Repeated flooding of the beaches during nesting season this year made me see firsthand how dramatic the consequences of climate change could be.
The guide just walked and pointed out what seemed to be small cat tracks, so I set off to explore my own stretch of sand. My eyes scanned the trail we had just walked, absorbing all the shapes and sizes of the prints in the mud. I stopped, looked down, looked more closely. Maybe this one was not so small after all. Could it be? In no time, the yellow field notebook with the printed ruler landed on the ground, right next to the track. About 9 cm wide and long, rather symmetrical … My mind raced through stored information from articles and pictures. Could it really be? I photographed the track, recorded its GPS location and continued exploring, giving myself time to let it sink in. Here I was, in some place I did not even know existed until a few month ago, walking along the edge of the Rupununi river where, not too long ago, a jaguar had passed.
Jaguar signs (clockwise): track, bed with armadillo remains, scratch mark on tree, scrape – Their elusive nature requires research techniques like camera traps (motion triggered cameras) and track surveys. The hard laterite soil of the Rupununi savannas leaves few options for track surveys, but sandy spots along roads, sandbanks and bush islands give away their travel routes.
That was two days into the project. The sandbanks did not last very long. Unusual rainfall patterns made the river rise again shortly after we found the tracks. Since then, the sandbanks have only shown again briefly a couple of times more. But the research continues. In the footsteps of many great names in cat conservation, I trail through the savannas to learn more about these jaguars, a small piece in a large puzzle to ensure that many more can walk in the footsteps of this Guyana giant.
Me measuring a jaguar track on a sandy road – Following in the footsteps of Panthera’s prestigious researchers with the first jaguar project in Guyana as part of Panthera’s ambitious jaguar corridor. A challenging task, but great fun!
RUPUNUNI, GUYANA — Do you ever wonder how some people end up in the furthest corners of the world, with jobs that seem to come straight out of a National Geographic documentary? That was me, many years ago.
On the road from Georgetown to Lethem: 350 miles of dirt road across Guyana, mostly through rainforest, until reaching the Rupununi. The bus service that took me in earlier this year no longer exists today, because the road has washed away.
Born in Belgium, my earliest vision of nature and “the wild” was the Muggenbosken (Mosquito forest) Nature Reserve by our house, a forest about the size of two football fields. Here, I would roam around, admiring the beauty of seasons with flower blankets changing from white to yellow to purple, year after year after year. Little did I know, that I would have the chance to discover Earth’s treasures around the world, least of all God’s country: the Rupununi Savannas of Guyana, South America.
The tropics had fascinated me since those early days in the Muggenbosken. There was no internet then, only libraries with endless books that said nothing about opportunities to work in the tropics, yet I kept dreaming. And then there came the university years, and the amazing World Wide Web that announced all sorts of courses and internships in the tropics, the same source of information that told me any of these were clearly out of my reach. Dealing with issues of poaching, bush meat and human-wildlife conflict in primates and elephants — that’s what I had set my mind on. Not too many of those in Belgium. Still, I kept dreaming.
My Master’s thesis finally got me a step closer: trapping rodents in Tanzania to gain a better understanding of the spread of leptospirosis or Weil’s disease. These squigly leptospira bacteria affect people worldwide, but more so in the tropics where 1/1000 people may get infected during the wet season. Plenty of human-wildlife conflict there, albeit not the kind I had pictured. Rats, elephants, all the same: this was my first experience with the tropics and it stuck.
Mixing dagaa (fish) and peanut butter to bait traps for rodents in Morogoro, Tanzania.
Convinced that the ticket to research and conservation was a Ph.D., I embarked on an adventure, not knowing at all what a Ph.D really entailed. To make it more interesting, I moved from my country of beer and chocolate to Auburn, Ala. And an adventure it was. Ever been to the Southern U.S.? Not exactly the high-tech, diverse and vibrant place that TV shows about the great, awesome and fantastic United States of America. Yet, it was this little town where the doors to the world really opened for me. Having landed in a lab without a project or funding available (but no lack of enthusiasm from my advisor!), I set out to develop my own research, get my own funding. In the meantime, I had decided that too many people were already working with primates and elephants, and that large carnivores were more challenging. No surprise that working in a ground squirrel lab made a study on leopards, lions or jaguars a tad difficult.
Lizards is what I studied during my Ph.D., or more specifically, the Neotropical lizards called anoles. Besides turning me into a scientific researcher, those lizards had me exploring the Costa Rican rainforest, learning Spanish and meeting some of world’s greatest biologists. The lizards finally landed me at workshop in Costa Rica where the Jaguar Corridor Initiative for Central America was discussed by Panthera, an international cat conservation organization.
Norops limifrons: During my Ph.D., jaguars had to make room for lizards smaller than my finger. In search for the anoles of La Selva, Costa Rica, I discovered the world of conservation and the many threats to biodiversity.
My determination to get involved with Panthera did the rest. Hopping from conservation conference to carnivore meeting, sending endless emails, until one day I receive THE email: an invitation to consider a volunteer project on jaguars in the Rupununi of Guyana, for Panthera and in collaboration with Karanambu Trust. In all honesty, the immediate ‘YES!’ came wholeheartedly for Panthera, because I knew little or nothing about Guyana or the Rupununi at that time.
The road that runs from Georgetown to the Rupununi is an unpaved stretch of about 350 miles. Provided everything goes well, you could get from one end to the other in about 12 hours. In 99.9 percent of the time, however, the bus or car has to suffer through potholes and creeks with unsteady bridges (or no bridges at all). Chances are the bus will break down, or the road will be interrupted. Sometimes it takes days to reach the Rupununi. But you head onto that road, knowing you will arrive eventually.
A common scene on Rupununi roads: A flat tire, a tree stuck under the car or simply sunken into the slippery black mud like we did – every Rupununi roamer has a story about getting stuck on the road.
The road to the Rupununi – a matter of days, or decades: I have arrived.
Rupununi savannas: A piece of heaven hidden between the Pakaraima Mountains in the north and Kanuku Mountains in the south. Once a year, these savannas flood and shine with water.
Originally from Belgium, Evi Paemelaere is living her dream in the Rupununi Savannas. She'll be reporting about her research on the wildlife in this area.
Evi is able to do her research with the help of a grant from Panthera.
The Karanambu Trust
Evi is the The Karanambu Trust Conservation Biologist in residence. For more about the The Karanambu Trust read Lucy Spelman's blog, Saving Otters and visit The Karanambu Trust Web site.
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