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T R A V E L .S
T O R I E S
»Kayaking on Lake
Titicaca
»The Choro Trail: trekking
the Zongo Valley to Coroico
»Venezuela: Kayaking
in the Orinoco Delta
**New!!
Kayaking in circles on Lake Titicaca's Capachica Peninsula**
S L I D E S H O W S:
»The
Sama Reserve in Tarija
»Two Weeks in Apolobamba:
Trekking, Camelids & Kallawayas
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The Albino Rhino Rides Again!
Frank and I are currently travelling in Chile
and Argentina. Check out The
Minibus Diaries for stories and photos from the road.
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Monday November 27 2006
Capturing the Wild, Wily, and Woolly Vicuña
The following story comes from guest blogger,
Frank Seier, who lives in La Paz, Bolivia, with photos by Rory
William Finlay.
Sajama, Bolivia, November, 2006
As if being in the Parque Nacional/Area Protegida
Sajama on a gloriously sunny day, with blinding snow-capped Tata
Sajama and three other towering near-six thousand meter volcanoes
wasn’t magical enough. Factor in the altitude and a recent
visit to the "wildwest" village of Sajama, home to a
crumbling adobe medieval church and nearby puffing thermal springs
and geysers, and I was feeling pretty excited. To top it off,
my visit coincided with the third annual vicuña capture
and shearing – a community event that, to date, hasn’t
made it onto the tourist circuit and that few outsiders have had
the pleasure to witness or participate in. As a foreigner living
in Bolivia looking for rich wilderness and indigenous culture,
it doesn't get much better than this.
Sajama National Park is four hours drive southwest
of La Paz, just off the road to Arica, Chile (one of the best
highways in Bolivia). The park covers a huge area of remote altiplano,
with altitudes ranging from 4100 meters at the Village of Sajama,
to 6500 meters at the summit of Volcan Sajama (Bolivia’s
highest peak). There are several other volcanoes in the 6000 meter
range, some of which are shared with Chile’s Parque Nacional
Lauca just across the border. Of course, all this volcanic activity
gives rise to a plethora of steaming hotsprings and geysers.
Sajama Park’s elevation and remoteness
make it an ideal environment for the vicuña, the smallest
and only undomesticated of the 4 species of South American camelids
(the llama and alpaca have been domesticated by Andean people
for millennia – recently, the guanaco has been semi-domesticated
in Argentina by Guenguel)
The vicuña is a nationally protected species - in the 1980s,
it was seriously threatened in Sajama Park. Military personnel
and other hunters had reduced its population in and around the
park to 350 – a recent census indicates vicuña numbers
have increased to 3500 in the park, and another 1500 in its immediate
surroundings.
Until recently, it has been illegal under Bolivian
law to commercialize any part of the vicuña, including
its wool. Last year, however, a law was passed making the sale
of vicuña wool legal. This has significantly increased
the number of community capture/shearing events in Sajama Park
– in 2004, 5 communities conducted vicuña harvests,
this year nine are planned. This is due to the high market value
of its wool. It is the softest, lightest, warmest and most valuable
of the S.A. camelid wool (comparable in many ways to South Asia
pachmina) – the fleece closest to the animal has the feel
and density of cotton balls, it takes the fleece of 4 to 5 animals
to make a kilo, and a kilo is worth from $500 to $1000 depending
on quality/grade.
Its value is also a reflection of how labour-intensive
it is to collect vicuña wool. Vicuña are wild animals,
and very timid – its hard to get closer than about 50 meters
before they take notice and start moving off. Therefore, the first
and most difficult step in a shearing them is catching them.
The Plan
Current methods haven’t changed all that much from past
practices. Historically, Aymara herders constructed huge stone
corrals, into which they would drive the vicuña herds –
today, they erect barriers with fabric fishing net. In the case
of the Sajama village harvest, the natural geography helped a
great deal. The capture site was a huge U-shaped valley, with
the lateral moraines created by the receding Sajama glacier on
the flanks and the head wall of the glacier at the top. At the
bottom of the valley was a huge “bofedal”, or high-altitude
swamp, in which the vicuñas gathered to feed. These bofedals,
fed by glacier or snowcap runoff, have luxuriant, moist vegetation
in comparison to the surrounding arid and infertile altiplano,
making them a veritable chocolate shop for grazing animals.
The villagers had constructed a huge net enclosure
around this bofedal, along the tops of the moraines and at the
head wall, 5 days in advance of the capture in order to accustom
the vicuñas to the net, and leaving 4 openings in order
to give them a sense of free movement. Our task would be to creep
silently up the valley under cover of the moraines, and on a coordinated
walkie-talkie signal, race up and over the moraines to close off
the four openings. As the vicuñas headed up-valley looking
for an escape, we would close off the human wall behind them,
eventually forcing them into a smaller net corral at the head
of the valley.
The approximately 200 villagers from Sajama
and 4 other surrounding communities (and handful of gringos) were
organized into 6 groups, 1 for each net opening and 2 to sweep
up from the bottom of the valley (this collective community work
practice, referred to as “ayni”, is still a common
Aymara custom in the altiplano). Organizing 200 Aymara campesinos
from 5 different communities is not easy – given the inhospitable
environment they have to survive in, and their history of isolation
from mainstream society and populated cities, they are fiercely
independent people, each having their own understanding and ideas
of how things should be done. As things played out, the plan threatened
to become more of an exercise in herding cats than capturing vicuña.
The Capture
In the end, the plan worked marvellously, with only a small group
of “rogue” machos (single males without their own
harems) escaping through one of the openings before it could be
closed off. As the 2 groups swept up from the bottom of the valley,
each gate-keeping group descended into the valley in turn, linking
hands with them in order to maintain intact the human cordon.
Then we marched up valley in a single horizontal line, sweeping
a herd of approximately 40 vicuña in front of us, made
up of typical nuclear family groups and rogue males (vicuña
are very social animals, and rarely are found alone – a
typical family grouping is made up of a dominant male, several
females and their various offspring – even a male without
his own harem will form a herd with other single males until such
time as he assembles a harem).
Vicuña, like other herding animals, behave
with a typical “herd mentality” – when feeling
threatened, they seek protection in the herd and the direction
of a leader. Our captured group of 40 went into a stampede, lead
around in increasingly smaller circles by the patriarch as he
looked for an escape route and our human cordon tightened in on
it. As we got closer, and eventually within 10 meters of them,
they seemed to sense escape was impossible, started to calm down,
and stood milling around without direction or further escape attempts.
In their now relatively chilled-out state, it was pretty straight-forward
to lead them off into the holding pen, and take a much-deserved
break before the next flurry of activity – the shearing.
The Shearing
Okay, I admit that I’ve never been to a sheep-shearing or
cattle-branding before, didn’t know what to expect and hadn’t
really given much thought to the details of the shearing process.
Also I admit that I have a somewhat sentimental view of vicuña
– although they are wild, I see them as pretty much harmless,
even cuddly, creatures. Aymara herdspeople, on the other hand,
are a pretty pragmatic bunch. While they are used to dealing with
llama and alpaca, much heavier and powerful animals, the wildness
of these 20 to 35 kilogram balls of energy make them a handful
to deal with (plus, their hooves are sharper). In a practical
sense, vicuña are basically “wool on the hoof”
to the locals – they need to be dealt with as efficiently
and pragmatically as possible (i.e. no warm and fuzzies).
Wrangling vicuña is not pretty –
basically it consists of grabbing them in a head-lock with one
arm, grabbing hold of their tail, hoisting them off the ground
as they (sometimes) thrash about wildly, doing the herky-jerky
with them out to the shearing floor, flipping them down onto the
ground and lashing their hindlegs to a stake driven into the ground
and stretching their forelegs out behind their ears (if any of
you played at all-star wrestling while you were kids, this procedure
is the animal-world equivalent of Dr. X giving you a snuggy, while
his tag-team partner puts you in a full-nelson). Needless to say,
this is all pretty distressing for the poor little vicuñas
. In Peru, they are experimenting with putting hoods on their
heads to cover their eyes and thereby lower their stress level.
At the very least, this would prevent them from seeing what comes
next – the pulling out and sharpening of the shears.
The shearing itself was pretty straightforward
– using manual shears, a two-person team can shear an animal
in about half an hour. The fleece comes off in a single piece,
with the texture, density and weight of cotton baton – this
is then handed off to a gaggle of cholitas, who pick out the naughty
bits, bag it and record the animal number for later record-keeping
of fleece weight and quality details. The vicuña wrangling
is then conducted in reverse and the animal is returned to the
holding-pen and the safety of the herd (although the shearing
procedure is conducted in a pretty mechanical fashion, without
much time for niceties, certain steps are taken to protect the
animals’ physical and mental health – since the animals
appear visibly distressed during the whole shearing procedure,
the Sajama communities are considering the use of hoods in the
future to reduce stress levels – in addition, the super-soft
underbelly wool is not sheared in order to maintain thermal protection
of the animal’s vital organs – young animals and pregnant
females are not sheared at all, as they are the most stress-prone
– and finally, each animal is given an anti-biotic injection
as a health precaution).
The Ch'alla
Aymara are very respectful and appreciative of Mother Earth, or
Pachamama, and the gifts she has bestowed on them – this
is shown in many ways, the most common being the spilling on the
ground, as an offering of a small quantity of whatever alcoholic
beverage is about to be consumed. The other common form of respect
is a “challa”, the burning of a “mesa”,
or table, of assorted icons, together with the incantation of
prayers and wishes that Pachamama continue dispensing her beneficence.
In the case of the Sajama vicuña capture
and harvest, the offering was extremely simple but very poignant
at the same time. After the last sheared vicuña was returned
to the holding pen, and the herd sensed that it was whole again,
one wall of the enclosure was dismantled and a path through the
pack of community-members was cleared to create an easy escape
route for the vicuñas. Again, in classic herd behaviour,
none of the vicuña wanted to be the one to take the first
step toward freedom. A young animal made a break for the opening
and escaped, but none followed. Then, all at once, the herd moved
as a whole toward the opening, and stampeded through it, to the
cheers of the community members. And in the ultimate display of
respect to Pachamama, the community leaders and elders showered
the herd with coca leaves, the “sacred leaf of the Andes”
as it streamed past them and back to the wild.
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Monday November 20, 2006
The 3 Rs for Migrating South: Repair, Replace,
Replenish
Apart from working just too darn much since
I got back, I have been on a search and replace mission here in
Gear-freak Heaven. Knowing there would be a good chance I'd be
heading back down south at Christmas, I've been getting our gear
repaired, replaced and replenished (damn the crook that pinched
my favourite North Face ultra-light rain pants right out of the
van). In conversations about our recent 12 month trip around the
southern cone of South America, several friends have asked me
what were the most indispensable "things" we used on our 12 month
trip. That list jives quite closely with all the gear I have been
rounding up in preparation for the next trip (my new blog The
Albino Rhino Rides Again, is coming soon!)
Here's a list of a few of our favourite things:
-My Canon Powershot A75. Fantastic little point-and-shoot
that after 2 years of sea, salt and sand finally sputtered to
a halt at the end of our last trip. Soon to be replaced.
- Collapsable lexan wine
glasses. After 3 years they cracked. We glued. We drank. Drink.
Glue. Repeat weekly.
- Feathercraft K2 Sprayskirt. We lost it in
Chiloé. It blew off the beach, swept into the surf, or we dropped
it somewhere. Losing a spray skirt is like losing a paddle, you
can't kayak without one ( the outcome of the story: Frank took
a ferry back to the mainland and had a replacement made out of
crunchy cheap nylon from Brazil). I have ordered a new one from
Feathercraft on Granville Island where I will go and stock up on
glues, sailing cord and fondle the grafite paddles.
- Primus Whisperlite Multi-fuel stove. Once
we figured out that kerosene was the best fuel for this firey little
rocket-launcher, we could boil a pot of water and be sipping tea in
under seven minutes. It's bombproof, but I've picked up a
"maintenance kit" just in case.
- My Moonstone Pak-lite goretex jacket. Damn,
I loved that jacket. Six months ago the zipper broke and Moonstone
went bankrupt (coincidence?). The kind folks at Valhalla Pure lobbied Columbia
Sportswear (who bailed out Moonstone) to honour the lifetime warranty, and I got a brand new Arc'teryx
jacket out of the deal.
- Holy
Soles. better than flip-flops. We've both worn holes into..
well, the... soles.
- Black Diamond Aluminum cookset. I don't think
were designed to be used as much as we have used them. The no-stick
coating only just recently started peeling off.
- And of course the beloved Albino Rhino, which has
been tuned, had the electrical system overhauled and re-wired
(including the addition of a new auxilliary battery) and a new fan (from a used Korean
Toyota Corolla Taxi) has been plunked into the dashboard.
And a few favourite things that are still going
strong:
- My Patagonia Fleece Hoody. As with most items
from "Patagucci", this fleecey pile of goodness was
a rather pricey purchase - one which I agonized over many moons
ago. I wear it every day and it still looks new.
- Mini stainless steel espresso maker, Made
in India. We bought ours at the market in Sucre, and I prayed
to it every morning.
- Merino Wool tops by MEC and Take
Out. The embodiment of comfy.
- Frank's Leatherman. His eyes light up when
he gets to use it, which is often.
- CDs of latin music we discovered on the way:
Manu Chao, Jorge Ben, Jorge Drexler, Bajo Fondo Tango Club, Jarabe
de Palo, Seu Jorge, Maná, Juanes, Susanna Baca, Superveille, Silvio Rodriguez,
Macaca, Mercedes Sosa... incredible music that takes me into the soul of Latin
America (especially helpful when I don't want to be in the bowels of North America).
Sunday November 19, 2006
One Tree Bolivia
My Bolivian friend Valia recently sent me a
link to her lovely new blog.
Valia is a gifted visual artist, curator and teacher, but these
days most of her time is taken up organising the WWF
One Tree Bolivia Project. Valia is from Santa Cruz de la Sierra,
which was just named the “world capital of native tropical forests
certification” in April, which, in addition to her talent for
organising and networking, makes her the ideal person to head
up such an exciting conservation program.
About One Tree, or Un Árbol in Spanish, from the WWF website:
"The initiative is an innovative educational
tool that cross cuts the Responsible Purchases Program that the
Bolivian Forest Trade Network (FTN Bolivia) is carrying forward.Its
purpose is to raise conscience on the sustainable and responsible
use of forest resources, the versatility of wood use, and the
importance of the forest industry throughout the entire productive
chain regarding employment opportunities. All of this was accomplished
in a creative exhibit that linked together forests, the industry,
art, and education.
“One Tree Bolivia is an excellent tool for spreading the
word about the importance of responsible forest management in
an attractive, participative, accessible, and widely distributed
manner,” stated Valia Carvalho, the artist in charge of
the project. Steve Gretzinger, Latin America coordinator for the
Global Forest and Trade Network (GFTN) commented that the initiative
“is not just a project that carries a conservationist message,
it also shows that jobs, earnings, and later on development for
communities can be stimulated through responsible management policies.”
One Tree Bolivia counts on the participation
of around fifty creators (artists, architects, and designers)
who will use all their creative potential to fashion artistic
and functional pieces out of what just one tree can provide, having
the goal of taking advantage of 100% of the tree from its roots,
trunk, branches, leaves, to the flowers, fruits, and other resources
that are derived from it."
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T R A V E L .S
T O R I E S
Paddling in Circles on Lake Titicaca (Aug 05)
click
here for more photos
Lost for the third, or fourth, time this elderly
man offered to guide us out of a maze of tall, spear-like, totora
reeds. We barely had to paddle to keep up with his laboured strokes
timed to strained breathing. After 15 minutes or so of creeping
behind him, we floated up ahead to see if we should still be following
along. I startled him by asking "Pardon sir, are we still going
to Ramis??" He looked at me, the whites of his bulgeing from under
the shadow of his fedora, as if for the first time. Having completely
forgotten he was being followed by two Gringos in a red kayak,
he mummbled for us to carry on, toward the hill. It was with this,
that we drew the conclusion he might be better following us.
Two weeks in Apolobamba (Aug 05)
click here for slideshow
This region north of Lake Titicaca, high up
on the Altiplano, is home to the Cordillera Apolobamba. Apart
from stunning peaks, creaking glaciers, Inca trails and Vicuñas
(dainty little camelids, a smaller, shyer version of an alpaca)
this remote area is home to the well-respected Kallawayas (travelling
shamans), goldminers, weavers and Alpaca breeders, amongst others
who try to eke out a living in this rugged land.
Life is tough on the Altiplano: An elderly couple
getting off the bus in the barren Ulla Ulla Vicuña Reserve,
in the Apolobamba protected area. As I squinted under the blinding
sun, I couldn't see a house or village anywhere. I wondered how
they would carry themselves and their heavy sacks as the elderly
man was blind and could hardly walk, and his wife was frail and
hunched over from years of back-breaking work. I often thought
of them as I struggled over 5000 meter passes and shivered in
the biting cold during a five-day trek through the Southern Apolobamba
range.
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While contemplating the implications of our
taxi's second flat tire, I explored this high-altitude cemetery
on the Tarija-Villazon road, one of Bolivia's many unpaved Autopistas.
Reserva Biológica de Cordillera Sama
(May 05)
click here for slideshow
Three hours drive, and 1800 meters up from the
Southern City of Tarija lies a basin on the Altiplano containing
four lagoons punctuated with pink flamingos, a wandering sand
dune and dozen or so traditional pueblos. This is the Sama Reserve,
a protected area since 1996, and breathtakingly beautiful. The
Reserve has had much attention from international aid agencies,
and is being developed for eco-tourism. There is a new Albergue
in pueblo Tajzara operated by the community. From here just the
views alone - of the lagoons at sunrise and emerging stars at
sunset - make the journey to this isolated park worth the effort.
We spent two days exploring the area on mountain
bikes, followed by an overnight hike down a well-preserved pre-Inca
trail to the wine-making valley of Tarija.
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Two Warao boys paddle into the village of Curiapo,
South Orinoco Delta, Venezuela.
Kayaking on the River Orinoco click
here for more photos
"Puri Puri", or sand fly, was our
speed boat captain's name, and he drove like a stinging insect
should: persistent, swift and ruthless. His built-for-speed wooden
boat was saddled with two 70 horse-power motors. It felt like
we were riding on the top of an hydrofoil, flying above the surface
of the water, except for the rhythmic bashing against waves. Before
take-off, we were directed to load our gear in front. Meanwhile,
the remaining eight local passengers scrambled for the back. They
knew what they had coming. Gorgé, the doctor in Curiapo,
expertly applied his rain gear as if preparing for surgery. The
woman in front of me, positioned her young son against her breast
and tightly wound a plastic sheet over her shoulders, hermetically
sealing herself and her child into one. "Are these people
cautious, or what?", I thought as the raindrops, and the
140 horsepowers, started. At first the torrential downpour was
refreshing, within ten minutes I was starting to shiver, and my
lower spine and pelvic bone felt like they were beginning to fracture.
Sitting on top of our two kayak bags wedged
between wooden planks, we were getting a serious walloping at
the front of the boat. I kept my head down, occasionally peering
out at the magnificent scenery whilst gulping for air. When we
arrived at Curiapo, our destination, three hours later, sun- and
wind-burned, hair standing on end (even Frank's) and ears pasted
to the sides of our heads, we threatened: "This had better
be good," ... and it was.
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In the pouring rain, Frank does his best "Hunchback
of Notre Dame" impression by draping his poncho over his
backpack. We kept asking ourselves, "if this is the dry season,
what's it like in the wet?"
Trekking the Choro Trail (Aug 14-19, 2004) click
here for more photos
Back in January 2004, my partner Frank and I
had made an attempt at walking the El Choro Trail. It was the
rainy season, and we knew we were taking a risk at walking when
the path would be slippery, and storms could last for days. What
we didn't foresee, was that we would never even make it to the
trail head to start the trip.
After missing the 6 am bus to Zongo, our starting
point two hours up the road, we haggled with a "Taxista"
to to take us there. We felt we'd gotten off to a bad start, but
had overcome our temporary hurdles and were on our way. Now in
the rusty old taxi, bouncing up the bumpy mud road through fog
and light drizzle, we were soon watching the road through a blurry
patch in the windshield made by a single makeshift wiper feebly
smudging snowflakes to one side. The taxi would repeatedly sputter
to a halt and, after a carburetor adjustment, cough back into
action. But before too long we were outside in a blizzard, pushing
the now dead taxi uphill in minus 7 degree temperatures. At 4600
meters altitude, our lungs felt like they would explode from the
exertion. Panting, Frank and I looked at each other and agreed
that there were too many bad signs to start the trip that day.
We turned back to La Paz, determined to hike
El Choro in the dry season the following August.
Upon returning to La Paz seven months later,
we were very excited to hear reports of clear skies, warm temperatures
and that a brand new taxi would be waiting to take us up to Zongo
the following day.
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Kayaking on Lake Titicaca (Oct 2-9, 2004) click
here for more photos
"Maki pur kama!" we waved to the fishermen
as we back-paddled out of the plank landing on the Island of Tiquiri.
We had learned the night before how to say "hasta luego/see
you later" in Ayamara, the language of the people of this
land. This was our third morning of a seven-day paddle around
Lake Titicaca, the highest navigable lake on earth.
The light here is intoxicating. At 3860 meters,
an ether of thin air, intense sunshine, blue sky and ultra marine
water crystallizes focus, saturates colours and deepens shadows.
Ultra vivid scenes filled our minds and hearts as we navigated
our way past rocky coastline, tiny islets, tranquil white-sand
beaches and cliff hanging Inca Ruins.
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Thanks for visiting.
all photographs lindsay simmonds ©2005/2006
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