Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
pointedtosomespoorsthatwerestillfillingwithwaterandsaid,
tigre
(tiger).Ourarrivalmust
have frightened the beast away, but I was amazed and puzzled how Mancha could know the
smell, tigers being unknown in his
querencia
, as the Argentine gauchos so prettily call the re-
gionwhereahorseisborn.
Querer
means'tolike'or'tolove',and
querencia
isthenoun.Itis
a well-known fact among range people that any horse or cow will always return to its
queren-
cia
ifitcanescapeandiftherearenofencestopreventitfromsodoing.Ihaveknownanimals
to travel almost fabulous distances, crossing mountains, rivers and deserts to appear finally
back in their
querencia
. With the progress of civilisation they have less and less opportunity
to give us proof of this and other wonderful instincts they still possess.
The border between Panama and Costa Rica has been more or less surveyed; as no landmarks
exist it is impossible to tell when one crosses the line. Furthermore, in many places it is very
difficult to follow the right trail, animal tracks leading one astray, and on several occasions
we went the wrong way. Here and there a fallen tree obstructed our path and then we had to
clear the track with our machetes. I was amazed at my guide's skill with his blade and the
speed with which he could cut. Near a stream he once detected recently-made tracks of a big
tapir which they call
macho de monte
in these parts. I unstrapped the rifle and we followed
the spoor. Unfortunately the big brute saw us in time and disappeared into the bushes through
which we could not possibly fight our way.
Our supplies were running low, and we had come across no game for some time when we
struckasolitaryhutinajungleclearing.Wewerehungry,andlookedforwardtotheprospects
of a good meal. The inhabitants of this hut told us that they were very short of eatables and
that oneoftheir members hadgonefarinsearch ofrice andbeans, butthat hewas likely tobe
awayforsomedaysyet.Thenewsdidnothelptocheerusup,andwelookedateachotherlike
childrenwhohavebrokenmother'sfavouritepitcher,untilsomebodysuggestedthatwegoout
hunting wild turkeys or wild pigs. We pushed through thick, almost impenetrable jungle for
hours but saw no trace of game. The gymnastics of climbing over and worming through the
creepersandbusheshadbeguntotiremewhenatroopoflargeblackmonkeyscamejumping,
high up, from tree to tree.
One of our party suggested to shoot, for he said we were not likely to bag anything else,
and as I agreed that a monkey in the hand was worth two wild turkeys in the bush, I made
ready to fire. The monkeys were flying from tree to tree and reminded me of trapeze acrobats
in a circus. When I had a good chance I fired several shots in quick succession. I heard two
or three heavy thuds and knew that some of my shots had taken effect. One monkey had been
badly wounded and remained hanging high up on a branch. My second shot made him fall
