Croc Hunting in the Darien

After fighting through the guerrilla barricade and blasting my way into the FARC stronghold, I strode alone through the fecund jungle gardens of illicit drugs into the heart of the Darien. Among stilted villagers’ huts and captive gringo hostages, I sat down to unpack my presentation on formulating business plans and the proper way to set up group norms. It was time to get these kids organized and renouncing violence. Peace Corps Fuck Yeah!

Actually, I had a very peaceful ride in a white Peace Corps Toyota with several other volunteers. We passed a few checkpoints and had to make sure to have our IDs on us at all times, but we are in a very safe place. The capital of Santa Fe is a nice little town with several supermarkets, internet cafes, restaurants, and a big Catholic church. The site of our seminar is a nice concrete, wood, and palm leaf two story rancho at a complex run by nuns.

Nevertheless, I am out in the Darien Provence, the only place from Barrow, Alaska to Tierra del Fuego, Chile/Argentina where the Pan-American Highway does not go through. Neither Columbia nor Panama has a military presence in the center of the Darien Gap, thus leaving it to the control of local militias and paramilitaries. With the Peace Corps staff and other volunteers, I’ve crossed the American Embassy’s security line, but that was just to go to the closest bank and do a little shopping.

I am here as the future co-coordinator for the Agro-Negocio (Agro-Business) Initiative from the Business Sector side with Kat Fraser as my partner from the Agriculture Sector side. We are learning from the outgoing group about the structure and subject matter. The participants are all local farmers or future farmers, some indigenous and some Latinos, who are learning more about the financial, legal, and general business aspects of farm planning. It has been a great experience thus far and we are only half way through the workload.

The first night we were here, the Regional Leader volunteer and business volunteer who live in Santa Fe told us about a caiman (little species of alligator) that had moved into the fish pond on the farm at the nuns’ complex. They said the lizard wasn’t very big and the fish pond was small but deeper than a person. The local guys to run the farm weren’t about to get him. I offered to try to catch him myself.

The next day we went to the farm during the seminar and I looked for the caiman. I didn’t see him. Back at the Regional Leader’s house, where all of us facilitators are staying for these few weeks, I got more information about crocodile hunting from Leah’s boyfriend Colin, who said that you can see them at night with a flashlight and that it will help hunt them.

I went out that night with new batteries in my headlamp. I spotted the alligator almost right away, but I wasn’t sure I was looking at it because it was just a strange orange reflection on the surface. I watched him for about an hour and a half. I saw him float around, dive and resurface, and could kind of see his body beneath the murky waters. I also saw bullet ants, leaf cutter ants, and a crazy-big beetle, heard night birds, and got eaten by a truckload of mosquitoes despite my Off Spray. I returned home to get some more data before getting into the muck-water. Besides, I’d just showered.

This brings up a fascinating and often-cited fact of Peace Corps: the network of volunteers has rarely failed to offer up information on a topic. You can send an inquiry into the grapevine and it will come back with anecdotal and/or technical answers to nearly anything like grad schools, countries’ GNPs, or alligator wrestling. And generally, that’s just in your own country. These are amazingly capable and experienced people.

In this case, Colin knew from first-hand experience living in Ghana that the beasts hunted at night, that a flashlight in the eye confused them allowing a single person to get close enough to pounce, that it was best to grab them around the neck and hold them while they thrashed to let the lactic acid build up in their muscles and quickly exhaust them, and that you can then inch your hands up their snout until you close and can tie their tooth-filled jaws shut. He had a memorable event in his amateur wrestling career late one night at a campground (alcohol use possible) with a seven-footer that he tackled outright. Beware the quiet ones!

Armed with this invaluable information, I returned to the pond the next night, and I convinced two other volunteers to go with me this time. I hadn’t showered and had sweated buckets during the seminar all day so I figured the water would do me that good at least. We had a rope and flashlights, and Ed and I had had three beers each. We were ready. Mateo didn’t feel the need for bravery-in-a-can.

We found him after only a couple of minutes. Ed and Mateo kept an eye on him while I walked around the rest of the pond to see what’s what. When I came back, the gator submerged, but that was fine. I wasn’t planning on going in dressed.

I left my boxers on so that I would have something to which to clip my one-hand-open knife. This handy little three inch blade has been helpful since my days in Alaska and I trusted it to be a quick weapon if necessary. In my shorts with my headlamp, sandals, and rope, I eased myself into the water and approached the lizard. When I was close, I could see that his belly was enlarged like a ballast and guessed he used it to keep effortlessly afloat.

When I got within two arms lengths, he did a lightning quick U-turn and dove into the murk to my right. Remembering that Colin had told me he would resurface soon, I stoically scanned the surface while trying to ignore the constant bubbles bumping up my legs and torso. After several quiet minutes, I saw his eye again, in the opposite direction from which he’d dove, about five yards further and slightly left from where he’d been the last time.

Even more slowly this time, I slipped nearer and nearer until I was closer enough to make my move. I kept my body low in the water as the bottom came up so that my arms and shoulders could mobilize without alerting him. The whole time, I’d been wondering if I was really going to go after this beastie barehanded. I could get bit. I could get in trouble with the Peace Corps Medical Office. I could look foolish and overconfident (or worse) to the other volunteers.

This time, the caiman slowly closed his eyes and sunk backwards into the dirty water. I shot out my hands and caught him by the snout and throat. I raised him out of the water easily, lightly, and saw that he was only about three feet long at the most. He scarcely could struggle as I carried him back to Ed and Mateo, but he couldn’t do much.

We marveled at his ancient looking eye and strange ridges. We tied up his mouth tight. His tail whipped whenever free. We figure it couldn’t have gone any better or easier.

We gave the lizard to Ishmael who sleeps at the farm as well as runs it. The next morning, he showed him off to the seminar’s participants before taking him to the river and releasing him. He’s now happily fishing in a bigger place with more variety and less humans.

Both Ishmael and the nuns asked me if I had seen the two caimans. Or their mother. She hasn’t been seen in a while, but we are going to go back to find any more little ones. Kat called the next one, though Leah is itching to impress her fiancé and Ed and Mateo might want to get their feet wet. Peace Corps Fuck Yeah!