Bolivian Pampas, part three: Life on a river, the second and third day

A squirrel monkey on the clothes line

The chorus of howler monkeys woke us up before dawn the next day. It sounded as if they were making a point of stopping at one lodge after the other, the noise swelling, then fading in the distance. They stayed invisible for the most part, however. Instead, we found capuchin and squirrel monkeys playing in the trees beside the wooden walkway, unconcerned with our presence, but not getting close enough for contact. We watched them for a while before Victor called us for breakfast. Irma had gone out of her way to bake pancakes and different scones, and oranges, papaya and bananas rounded out the meal.

This was going to be a long day with lots of opportunity to experience the local flora and fauna. The first part of the morning was dedicated to a walk across the pampas – not so different than walking through a swampy area at home after the snow melt, feeling for firm ground beneath our rubber boot-clad feet – to an 'island' about half a kilometre away. Groups of people from other lodges were doing the same thing, spread out over a fair distance. This was going to be a kind of group activity where we would all work together to go looking for snakes. Now, in wet season, this is not such an easy undertaking since the snakes move much faster in the water than on dry land, and of course there was no guarantee that we would spot a python, fake cobra or anaconda. The guides stayed in touch via cell phone to alert each other should one of the groups spot a snake.
It was hard to imagine that any snake would hold still to be viewed with so many sets of feet shaking the ground, but we weren't so sure anyway if we really wanted to find one, even if Victor declared they were neither poisonous nor in any other way dangerous to us. 
White egrets and jaribu storks stalked around in the grasslands, keeping their distance from the human intruders. And then, just when we had reached the slightly elevated and thus dry island, Victor got his call: a small anaconda had been found in a hollow tree. The guides shone a flashlight into the cave, and one by one we had a peek at the tightly coiled serpent. 

In the afternoon Victor took us upstream for an opportunity to 'swim with the dolphins'. His ability to find his way on the river with its myriad arms running through the maze of trees and reed was amazing. Idly, we contemplated what would happen to us if we were left alone here – all we could hope for was to find the main current and be carried back to the lodge area. None of us had any idea where we were, or even how far the water extended. A few times Victor took shortcuts through narrow channels, warning us to crouch to avoid low branches or thorny vines, at other times he cut through reeds and dense stands of high leafy plants with large morning-glory blossoms. 

 
Finally we had reached a quiet, lagoon-like part of the river. This, he told us, was where we would go swimming. It took only a few minutes before we could hear the spouting of the first dolphin, and soon there were three or four playing around the boat. These dolphins don't jump like salt water dolphins, and we only got to see backs and bellies and fins when they turned over. Johann, José Luis and André went in right away, but I was reluctant to join them, aware of my tendency to panic in open water. It was hard to resist the opportunity to cool off on this hot day, however, and the water was nice and warm, so I finally relented. As Johann had told me: I would have regretted it if I hadn't.

The dolphins kept their distance, surfacing from time to time around the perimeter of the lagoon. It was a privilege to watch them in their natural habitat, and we were not disappointed that they hadn't come closer to check out these strange visitors.

Swimming with(out?) the dolphins

We were going to stop at the 'sunset bar' – no more than a wooden shack with a spacious grassy area, a volleyball net and a few benches – for a cold beer around sunset, and since there was some time left Victor took us further upriver to an area we hadn't visited before. 

This was the dominion of the herons and egrets: dozens of these beautiful birds, their white plumage shot through by the rays of the late afternoon sun, were sitting on trees along the shoreline. When we came closer they lifted up with slow, measured wing beat, a flock of ethereal beings like otherworldly messengers flying ahead of us before settling down around the next bend. Trees and bushes took on a warm glow in the dwindling light, and again I felt totally at peace. 

Morning came early on our last day: we were going to watch the sunrise from a suitable viewpoint on the river and left at a quarter past five. Again the strange, hollow voices of the howler monkeys sounded in the quiet of the early morning, and birds were waking up slowly. Victor brought the boat into position in a little bay, and one by one we heard the boats from the other lodges do the same thing.
We had stopped along the bush, close to a carpet of water plants where a Happy Bird was sitting on its nest without stirring. It got its name because of the call it makes when disturbed, which resembles the sound of laughter. It is an inconspicuous brown bird of maybe the size of a partridge when it is sitting, but once it spreads its wings a wide, pale yellow band along the outer edge of the wings becomes visible, and it seems much bigger. When the first rays of the rising sun spread out over the water the Happy Bird started to stir as well, just as Victor had predicted. 

Waiting for the sunrise

 

 

 And there it was: the start to another beautiful day.

We would be leaving the pampas in a few hours, but the impressions of this paradise will stay with me for a long time.