Iguazu - The Rainbow Falls

Spectacular, magnificent, breathtaking! Iguazu Falls is all of this and more. No words can really sum up the experience of being so close to a 3 kilometre horseshoe of cascading water crashing in over 270 huge plumes of smoky vapour onto rocks 80 metres below. You can only stand in awe and stare at the  wonderful natural spectacle all around you.

We arrived here in the melt of a Brazilian spring afternoon two days ago, the temperature in the mid 30s encouraging swarms of yellow butterflies to flitter around the roadsides and woodland trails. Our hotel, being within the National Park boundary, provides exclusive access to the walkways before 9am and after 6pm ; between times the paths and lookout points are thronged with hordes of fellow tourists that arrive in a never ending stream of shuttle buses. We have just come back from a saunter along the trail to the Devil's Throat, just us two and half a dozen others, where we felt the cool refreshing spray from the falls wash over us in the early morning calm. From the vantage point above this site which puts you at the heart of the screaming torrents, we watched a rainbow form as the sun slowly rose through the protected rain forest, illuminating the whole gorge with soft dawn light. It cost a lot of money to come on this trip, but sights like that are surely priceless?

Yesterday, during a day of draining heat beating from a flawless sky of blue, we had a trip to the Argentinian side of the falls where a metal walkway takes you to the very lip of the major drops. About 75% of the falls belongs to Argentina where a Disneyland type infrastructure has developed to cope with the 2million visitors careering around this place every year. Happily the shops and restaurants are sited so as not to spoil the natural splendour. The walkways extend over several kilometres affording some truly awe inspiring vistas that in places allow the spray to soak you. And always the thundering roar of unimaginable volumes of water. But you know, as good for me was watching clusters of gorgeous butterflies; yellow, blue, red and gold, some tiny and intricately patterned, others large floating insects of an unimaginable iridescence, flit around the margins of puddles to partake of minerals exposed by evaporation. Young girls were moved to having friends take images of them dancing with the milling throng; most just watched and drank in the spectacle.

Wildlife is all pervasive here. The grounds of the hotel, an extremely good one, play host to hummingbirds, paint-by-numbers tanagers and flycatchers. The tiles roofing the buildings house many pairs of grey-chested martins that dive with speed and impressive accuracy between bathers to drink from the swimming pool. Actually the swimming pool is a good place to birdwatch with several species using the edges as drinking areas. While lounging around with a piña colada and trying not to look too obviously at bikini clad ladies, I watched cowbirds, ground doves, kingbirds, kiskadees and even lapwings come to slake their thirst. And over all, the vulture amass on thermal to chase one another, spar and look for food.

The waterfalls themselves screen nesting great dusky swifts that wheel around in impressive flocks before diving through then towering water to their nests placed on a ledge behind the curtain of foam. We watched a ferruginous Pygmy owl catch a lizard bigger than itself from a few feet in front of us, carry it to a tree and proceed to slowly dismember it with an all too inadequate beak. The kitchen block of the restaurant attracts many moths, crickets and other such insect life. Early in the morning just before sunrise the walls of the building are covered with multi-hued insects of all shapes and sizes; twenty minutes later the mockingbirds and plush-crested jays have mopped them up. A free breakfast if ever there was one.

As we were packing our cases this morning, there reached our ears the frenzied squawking of a group of red-rumpled caciques - a weaver bird - that nest in palms just outside the window. There clinging on to the shiny palm leaves attempting to dismantle one of the long, pendulous, intricately woven nests was a magnificent toco toucan. A real drama being played out at eye level. The toucan probed here and there, hopped around from tree to tree, croaked to itself in frustration but could not reach into the nest cups to predate eggs or chicks. It persisted for several minutes before eventually giving up and looping away, its gaudy beak leading the way.

So now we fly via Buenos Aires to Santiago in Chile en route to the Falklands. In fact I am typing this blog from 30,000 feet as we cruise south on the first leg of that episode. I hope you are enjoying reading the blog as much as I enjoy writing it. Sometimes it can be difficult to know quite how to convey in mere words the scenes we witness, but I trust you get a sense of things on offer in this most fascinating of continents. Thanks for staying with me.

Let Me Take You down To Rio

And here we Are in Rio De Janiero, the River of January, so called apparently because when the Portuguese explorers 'discovered' Guanabara Bay on 1st January 1502, they thought it was the outlet from a river system. At least that's the popular explanation, another is that 16th century Portuguese  differed from the modern day lingo and 'Rio' then applied to any body of water; sounds much more plausible.

Whatever the origins, the city now sprawls for miles, snaking along valleys between granite hills thrust from the earth like so many giant shark teeth. Some 11 million people call the city home and that number is growing all the time. Inflation is rampant, corruption amongst officials a kind of recreational pastime, housing cramped and squalid, architecture crumbling. It would also be wise not to fall into the sea and take a mouthful of the water because water is not the only substance that will enter your fragile system. Over 50% of the sewage created by the multi-hued population is pumped into the ocean untreated. Yes folks there is an awful lot of crap in Rio. You may recall that before the 2016 Olympics the authorities tried to clean up the areas where triathletes had to perform their swimming element. I guess some progress was made, but it is estimated that it would take 20 years of effort to clean the environment and get the sea back to health again. And that isn't going to happen.

For all that, the natural surroundings of the area are quite spectacular and Copacabana Beach a delightful place to chill. Brazilians are a very easy going, laid back bunch who are very friendly and accommodating. There are hawkers on the beach trying to sell their wares, hats and cool drinks mostly, but if you shake your head they smile and move away. No unnecessary hassle or pestering. As I look out of my hotel window I can see sugar loaf mountain to the left, the highest peak in a chain of hills curving round and reaching into the Atlantic Ocean. To the right is a promontory, home to a fortress complete with big guns that would defend the bay from any attack. Inbetween all of this is a curve of whitish sand several kilometres long, dotted with bars and lifeguard lookout stations, volleyball nets, football posts and mini gyms. The bronzed bodies of sun worshippers laze around or parade along the shoreline seeking admiring glances. But it is a place for all kinds of people of all shapes and sizes; a place for relaxation. However we have been warned several times of the potential for muggings in the beach area. Because of this we take nothing with us when we leave the hotel to stroll along the prom, accept a few bank notes and a small compact camera that fits handily into a breast pocket. Nothing much to interest any local lads who take delight in plundering the wealth of tourists.

Yesterday we spent in true tourist mode being safely escorted by our excellent guide for the day to the major sights of the city. First up the iconic statue of Christ the Redeemer that we've all seen many times on TV or in movies, perched as it is atop a hill overlooking the city at an elevation of 710 metres. The view from the top is indeed spectacular if a little difficult to appreciate with hundreds of other tourists jostling for space. Gotta be done though. Next was a cable car ride to the summit of Sugarloaf Mountain, not so tall as Christ at only 395 metres, but giving a beautiful panoramic view of the curving beaches all along the coast. 

Today we spent the morning ambling along the beach, getting splattered by waves that somehow crept up unobserved and soaked our lower portions. The afternoon we spent at the Botanical Gardens. 

So here is where we move away from the more traditional and normal activities associated with a seaside holiday and enter the realms of Madden World where as most people ooh and ahh at a huge granite statue of our saviour, the numpty that produces this blog spends his time trying to photograph black vultures, wondering what those swifts are or oohing and ahhing at a king vulture soaring over the valley below. Each to his own. The wildlife watching opportunities here are not obvious to the majority of folk, but they do exist and in fact are quite spectacular in their own way. For example while we were sitting at the rooftop bar yesterday evening we noticed quite a few magnificent frigatebirds circling over nearby peaks. Numbers of this large angular seabird slowly increased untilI I reckon about 500 birds came in from a days pirating at sea to gain a bit of height over land and then drift away in small groups to their roosting site. At least I imagine that was what was going on. And then the black vultures come quite close when you're 16 floors into the sky affording great views as they soar back and forth looking for something to scavenge. From our room we get a commanding view of the ocean and I've noticed brown boobies (not on the beach) moving offshore, cruising low over the waves in effortless style. Amongst them occasionally are large shearwaters which may be Cory's or may be something else - too distant to see clearly. We've even seen a house sparrow.

At the Botanical Gardens today, an oasis of green and calm amongst the traffic noise and mayhem of the city, we saw several rather wonderful things. I say we because in all honesty I didn't find a thing myself. My son and daughter-in-law found a magnificent pair of channel-billed toucans that we were able to observe feeding at close quarters. These rather spectacular birds have become quite used to people and as long as you are quiet and move slowly will go about their business unperturbed. Beautiful birds. Then my wife noticed a small hawk perched on a low branch, a roadside hawk I believe. This gorgeous creature simply sat there as we watched it from a few metres away scanning the ground for any movement. Then the kids again with a much larger hawk sitting some distance away which I haven't as yet identified. To cap it all the waiter at the cafe, noticing my binoculars and camera, called me over to a small tree to point out a walnut sized hummingbird's nest within which a nearly fully grown chick resided. What a wonderful thing to see, so tiny, so dainty. It's good to have a little help now and again.

After that excitement it is time to return to the hotel, sit by the rooftop swimming pool sipping a beer or a cocktail, watching the frigatebirds cruise by as the sunset stains the clouds over Copacabana salmon pink. As the hot of the day gives way to a sultry evening, all around the bay a sweeping arc of floodlights illuminate the sands leading the eye to the misty outline of the hills beyond where light of houses twinkle like so many stars. A gentle breeze springs up and I have to pinch myself to realise where I am. The only thing to do is allow your senses to be intoxicated, drink it all in and smile.

A Great Spectacle

It was undoubtedly the wine, too much wine (not for the first time), that had me dancing. A little number with Valquiria who had looked after us all so well at this farewell BBQ. A fitting, if somewhat stumbling end to this leg of our South American voyage.

Tomorrow morning will see us leave Caiman Lodge for the 4 hour drive back to Campo Grande. Goodbye to the burrowing owls that perch, as always, on fence posts close to the buildings. Farewell to the caracaras and their two young that sit beside the road waiting for some dainty morsel, a frog or lizard perhaps, to foolishly venture too close. Cheerio to the caiman that lounge motionless with open mouths by the numerous pools that line the way. Tchau to the Pantanal that has provided us with wonderful wildlife every minute of every day, at least when it wasn't pouring with rain. Although even then the antics of the toads and frogs gave cause for a smile.

Our last day was spent walking through the forest that covers higher ground between flooded meadows. Our native guide told us the medicinal, culinary and practical value of certain trees and plants, explaining how native tribesmen found uses for just about everything that grows hereabouts. Fruits and nuts that are nutritious or can be boiled to use as a poultice, husks of small coconuts that can be sliced and used for making buttons, the clear juice from one plant that when dry turns black and stains your skin for a week, ideal for tattooing the body. I've done something similar at Ranworth when leading groups of people along the boardwalk trail there; hazel for fencing, bruised meadowsweet for fragrance, willow bark for aspirin, guelder rose for treating pain and arthritis, sedge as matting. Different continents, contrasting cultures, human needs satisfied by nature.

The trails through the sandy soil are utilised by several species of ant as a highway to a food source. Thousands of tiny leaf cutters, each with a small sprig of greenery, marched purposefully to their nest where they will feed on the fungus which grows on the store of composting vegetation. Other ants some bigger and powerful looking, others black and tiny, scurried hither and thither. Best not to stay still too long here lest some of these small insects decide to crawl over your shoes and explore what lies up your trouser leg: their stings can be quite painful believe me. 

The dense undergrowth masks most wildlife from view but we did see a coati foraging around a small clearing and a capuchin monkey adeptly moving around in a tall fig tree. We also stumbled upon the dried husk of a dead caiman that had been killed by a jaguar, one of the fifty that roam around this immense site. The fate of the reptile as cat food was in no doubt, we could see very clearly the puncture wounds on the skull caused by the jaguar's powerful bite. 

But the best sighting we had was that of a young spectacled owl that had been found by the park ranger who radioed to our guide so he could bring us to see. There perched against a tree trunk some 40 metres or so into the wood was the most beautiful bird. Very difficult to see against the dappled striping of light and shade was an owlet with the most amazing panda like facial colouration. A white face contrasting with a mask of deepest black from which two yellow eyes gazed at us with a distinct measure of distrust. It flew off deeper into the wood after a while having had enough of this troop of primates trying to get close. Despite our attempts at relocation it wasn't prepared to show itself again. A wonderful sighting though and one we simply could never have managed on our own.

So, we move on to new ground where we will no doubt experience much of interest. I'll try to do it all justice in these blog posts. Thanks for tuning in so far, you are most welcome to stay with me and come along for the ride.

The Mad, Mad Moonlight

News came half way through our evening safari of a jaguar kill. We drove directly to the site where biologists from the local conservation team were staking out the half devoured carcass of a cow; they were hoping to identify which particular cat was responsible. In the gathering dusk, the sky streaked with vibrant pink and gold, we sat quietly hoping that the creature would return to have its fill. There were a couple of other small parties doing the same thing but before long they gave up and drove off, leaving just our jeep and that of the scientists to sit and wait. We sat, we waited. An hour passed, maybe more. Biting insects homed in for blood, a cacophony of frog song rent the still night air; we expectantly lingered. Nothing. Periodically the scene would be illuminated as one of the science team scanned the field with a powerful beam, but no jaguar appeared. We eventually had little option but to give up and return to the lodge, a drive of 30 minutes or so. Over dinner our lovely guide Valquiria suggested we return to the kill site and see if our luck would change. Some of our small party thought this a mad idea, we on the other hand readily agreed......

At the other end of the day, after a sunrise diffused through a curtain of mist over the lake, I jokingly challenged our daytime guide, Rafael, to find us a photographable toco toucan. A few minutes later as I was about my ablutions in the bathroom there was a knock on the door to inform us a toucan was, at that very moment, raiding nests in a palm just outside the lodge. Dispensing with scrubbing various parts clean, I cautiously poked my head outside to find myself almost eyeball to eyeball with the bird of Guinness fame, the clownish freak of ad campaigns and travel brochures. A wonderful, ridiculously brightly coloured, yet cruelly efficient predator that is a toco toucan. This individual, mobbed by kiskadees and other smaller birds, was intent on poking its enormous bill into the detritus gathered between the fronds of the Palm in search of nests to raid. It despatched two broods of eggs and chicks as we watched before blithely flying off to plunder elsewhere, trailing a loose stream of distressed birds in its wake. 7am and the target bird safely captured digitally, not a bad start at all.

The remainder of our penultimate day visiting this huge estate in the southern Pantanal was spent traversing new paths and seeing new things; always new things to delight and engage. In the middle of the day, oppressive heat and humidity means most guests seek the cool sanctuary of their rooms or maybe the pool. This mad Englishman however chooses to spend his time rummaging by the lakeside looking for butterflies, or sitting under the shade of the gazebo to sip a cool beer and to struggle with the words with which to write these blogs. And all around the martins chirrup and go about their business, the cicadas buzz and the capybara immerse themselves in the shallow water. Too many distractions. There is such a wealth of life here that it would take more time than I have to even begin to do it justice. All I can do is try to give a flavour with words and pictures.

........Back to the jaguar stakeout. Our second visit took place in complete darkness with a sky so clear and full of stars I felt like weeping. Orion, initially clearly recognisable, all but faded away into the millions of other bright points reaching our eyes from countless light years across time and space. Sitting there under an umbrella of starlight we once again waited for a powerful and majestic cat to appear. Sadly, in this hope we were to be disappointed; no such animal graced the scene before us this night. Instead we had to be content with watching fireflies flashing phosphorescence as they danced flirtatiously across the clearing and listening again to the crescendo of frog song all around. Toward 11pm I fancied my eyes were becoming quite accustomed to the dark but realised that the moon was slowly rising from behind some trees. A moon the colour of golden honey, illuminating the thin wisps of cloud with its radiance. I don't think I've ever sat and watched a moonrise in its entirety and it was a truly magical experience. A jaguar would have been better, but as a second prize, watching the lunar orb slowly arc across the velvet blue of a Brazilian sky was good enough for me.

........And a honey coloured moon he was bouncing around, he was laughing saying 'Dear, this is mad'..... Steve Harley (from the song Sling It)

The Hungry Night

The head of the ocelot, such a cryptically patterned beast, could just be seen behind a screen of grass as it sat motionless beside a shallow pool. It's white ear patches reflected the light shone by our guide who, ever alert, had spotted the cat from his vantage point sitting on the front of our jeep. Our small group, all British, whispered to each other in excited tones; all trying to get a fix on this most unexpected of finds. After a little while the beautifully marked animal smoothly sauntered across our field of vision drawing gasps of delight from all. The grace of big cats, lithe of limb, just has to be admired. More so when seen in the wild, in a foreign land with thousands of croaking frogs, cicadas and the cries of night birds echoing all around as the sultry heat of the evening continues to draw sweat.

We've moved south. A three hour drive took us from Rio Mutum to Cuiaba where we boarded a late evening flight to Campo Grande the gateway to the southern Pantanal. After an overnight stay and a further 4 hour drive we find ourselves in the rather wonderful and aptly named Caiman Lodge. Our room overlooks a large wetland where jacanas, capybara and caiman prowl. Over all grey-breasted martins hawk the plentiful insects to feed young in nests squeezed into gaps in the roofing just above our heads. Within minutes of arriving I watched with mounting trepidation a small caiman try its luck with hunting a brood of four well grown jacana chicks. The birds knew something was not quite right, but since the reptile showed its mastery of immobility, they couldn't quite work out where the danger lie. The more experienced parent bird knew better however, squawking an alarm with wings, gathering her progeny and moving them away. The drama continued as they stepped across the lilies on their elongated toes. Another caiman, bigger, covered in weed, more stealthy, rose from the mire and lunged at the birds. They scattered in panic and luckily for them managed to escape the jaws that appeared from the waters to consume them.

The days here fall into a pleasant routine of getting up at about 5.30am, stepping out onto the verandah to watch the sun rise through mist rising from the lake before breakfasting and heading out around 7am for a drive along the many trails crisscrossing the huge estate. It is all quite leisurely with frequent stops to admire any bird or animal of interest. The land here is flat with mixed Savannah, woodland and open water. The raised dirt road was made by scooping out sand and gravel directly from either side. This has resulted in a series of shallow ponds forming at regular intervals where Ibis, herons, storks and spoonbills prowl around on their long scaly legs looking for any movement betraying the location of a frog or fish. The lush forest provides food and shelter for many species of bird and provides cover for peccaries, lizards, and tortoises. We return for lunch at about 12.30 and then are free to lounge around until 5pm when we go out for our evening/night safari scanning the fields and trees for nocturnal wildlife. It is all rather excellent.

There's something altogether magical about looking for wildlife after dark. The senses are sharpened, the excitement palpable as the expectation of an encounter with an animal not normally seen or heard makes you strain eyes and ears to react to the slightest movement. The ocelot was not the only animal we encountered on our debut night excursion here: far from it. Giant anteaters, armadillos, tapir, owls and nightjars feature heavily in the program. What a delight it is to sit quietly watching these wild animals go about their lives unconcerned by our presence.

But we really don't have to travel very far to experience wonderful wildlife. 200 yards from the lodge is a fence which is used by a pair of burrowing owls. They gaze lazily at us every morning as we pass in the vehicle, slowly turning their heads to watch us through half opened eyes. In a tree just beyond resides a pair of bat falcons. As I type we have just returned from a walk with the guide to look at these gorgeous birds close to. One of the owls amazingly sat on a post 10 feet from us and didn't even bother to look around until I whistled to attract it's attention for a picture. One of the falcons whizzed in over our heads and proceeded to sit on a branch to preen in full view. Exhilarating.

I can look up from my seat to see the martins perched on the beams of the gazebo, parrots and parakeets screech past on whirling wings whilst a tiny hummingbird hovers within touching distance. Occasionally there will be a commotion from the nearby shallows to denote a tussle between capybara or a caiman slapping the water to proclaim his right to territory. Myriad frogs belt out a chorus of croaks and squeaks, kiskadees sing their names and vultures sail by on broad black wings. It is, all things considered, a rather pleasant way to spend some time. Another beer will round it off nicely I think.

The Blessed Dawn

My 5.30am alarm was almost drowned by the hammering of an early morning downpour. I rolled over thinking that it was pointless expecting my 6.00 appointment with our guide to go ahead. But then how many other opportunities would I get for a dawn paddle in a canoe on the waters of the northern Pantanal? I hauled myself out of bed, poked my head out of the door to find a gloriously fresh and clear morning. The heavenly fluting of thrushes, the harsh screeches of the guans, the wolf whistling of the yellow-rumpled cacique greeted the emerging rays of the sun. If it was good enough for them then so it was for I. 

We walked through the meadow to the edge of the lake, passing a family group of capybara and cackling green ibis along the way. Within a few weeks this whole area will be submerged with the waters reaching to the very edge of the lodge itself. The rains will slowly fill the basin that is the Pantanal to a depth of 2 metres or more and will transform an area the size of the UK into a huge water world teeming with acquatic life of all kinds. For now though we had an hour to gently float along the shallow margins of the lake in search of a Pygmy kingfisher that my guide was determined to find. 

Slowly slipping away from the jetty, sliding as if across a mirror, so still and undisturbed was the scene before us. No human sound at all: nothing except the gentle ripple of crystalline water as we glided along, the echo of birdsong gleefully greeting the dawn, the slap of fish escaping our intrusion and the occasional throaty roar of a bull caiman advertising his wares. And all around the reflected image of sun spangled clouds.

We spent our time drifting quietly into the shallow hyacinth cloaked margins but could not connect with the little kingfisher we sought. It didn't really matter though; just being there was enough. What we did see was a troop of giant river otters that were fishing amongst the lilies. One had caught a large fish and with this clamped firmly in its jaws raised its head and long neck out of the water to have a good enquiring look at the intruders. My guide can recognise individual animals by the patterning on their necks; she knows there are three separate groups that inhabit the immediate area. She can imitate their anguished calls which to my ears sound as if the creatures are in pain and whining to each other about their ills. Weird and wonderful.

So, no little kingfisher, but what price an experience like this? How lucky am I to be able to see, smell and drink in the sights and sounds of one of the worlds true wilderness areas. Can I give anything back? Not directly, except that talking to people about their passionate love for the region, trying to understand the problems that it faces, giving them encouragement in their endeavours may help just a little. Asking someone to try and find me a little kingfisher is in itself an inconsequential thing, but allowed us to talk about her hopes and fears and maybe, just for a small amount of time, allowed her to immerse herself afresh, through my eyes, into the wonders of the natural splendour she works in every day. In some small way perhaps it also allows you to appreciate what we all have around us and how fragile it can be. In contrast later that evening at the airport, we watched a little boy laughingly stamping on flying insects that had become trapped in the building, an act of human brutality compounded by his ignorant mother who, with a proud smile, continually pointed out to him another hapless creature he could despatch with a stomp of his foot. The Pantanal, Brazil, the World, faces many challenges: exploitation of wildlife (here it is over fishing and persecuting of Jaguars that sometimes attack cattle), pollution, human encroachment - the usual thing - all of them are man made and based on greed and ignorance. Thank goodness some people care enough to devote their lives to conserving the place because without them there really would be no hope.