The Chaco - Illustrated

If much of this post seems familiar it is because it is taken verbatim from my earlier post, "Back from the Chaco". However, this post does have additions and, more importantly, pictures.

I was in the Parque Nacional Defensores del Chaco towards the end of the dry season so everything was very dry, extremely dusty and decidedly warm.

My guide was Joni (pronounced Johnny) Arnold, who insists his parents were from Germany, despite his English surname. He grew up in a Mennonite community in Eastern Paraguay, and so found it easy to fit in with the Mennonites in Filadelfia. However, he speaks Spanish in preference to German, which is not the norm in Filadelfia. It is very odd to see bilingual signs in the supermarket, with German being the more prominent. Some of the comments below are dependent on my understanding of Joni`s words, which was imperfect. I apologise if any errors have crept in.

Those who worked with me will agree that I am not the best organised person on the planet, but I am way ahead of Joni.

At least he took vehicle preparation seriously. He just wasn´t very good at it. We had two spare tyres and plenty of extra diesel. We also had 20 litres of drinking water, which turned out to be barely enough.

Within an hour we had a flat tyre. OK, that´s bad luck. It can happen to anyone. Joni told me several times that it was 18 months since he last had a flat. But it must have been a rear tyre because the jack wasn´t big enough to lift the front axle so that the wheel was clear of the ground.

I was going to suggest that we lift the jack up on a rock when I realised that there were no rocks. The Chaco is an ancient sea bed and the ground is innocent of stones.

However, we were not far from town and it was hardly any time before a farmer came along. He and Joni chattered away in German while a he-man size hydraulic jack was produced and deployed. The farmer seemed quite pleased that his quite recent investment in this technology was being used. Maybe his wife had disapproved of the purchase.

We drove North to the most remote park in Paraguay. Coming the other way was a wind that was hotter and stronger than any Canterbury Norwester I have experienced. It whipped up the dust to the extent that, on occasion, we couldn`t see to drive.

And when a truck went past it was as though the daylight had been turned off for a couple of moments.

Apart from the ground doves examining the road for goodness knows what sustenance, birds were uncommon. The most obvious were the vultures and caracaras riding the thermals.

The vegetation of the Chaco is dominated by these huge cactus ´trees´.

At least one driver had much worse than a puncture to deal with that day.

Joni examining the wreckage. The driver is on the far right.

This truck had left the road and half-buried itself in the dust. Lots of bits, including the chassis, were bent but miraculously no-one seemed to have been injured. About a dozen men, whom I supposed were passengers, were philosophically lying in the shade waiting for a rescue. Two days later, when we drove back, everything had been cleared away.

Proof that I made it to the remotest park in Paraguay.

At the Park HQ we stopped for lunch. Having eaten I stalked a parakeet and then wandered over to the artifical lake, like the ones all the farmers create for their stock to drink at.

And perched on a twig was the most gorgeous small bird I have ever seen. It had a scarlet head, neck, breast and tummy that gleamed as if it were new that morning. A black stripe extended from the beak to the eyes, like a tiny Lone Ranger mask. This superhero outfit was moderated by tasteful, dark greeny wings. It was a vermillion flycatcher. In Bill Oddie`s Little Black Bird Book he quotes a vulgar birder expression for a really wonderful new bird. I will settle for MEGATICK.

Spring stirring in a Chaco cactus.

There is only one road in the park, to the one campsite, which was infested with other nature lovers, a band of German Jehova`s Witnesses taking a break from pestering the pacifist and rather solemn Mennonites of Filadelfia and Loma Plata. They actually produced copies of Watchtower in English and offered them to me.

However, offer made and declined, they proved to be pleasant and two or three managed simple conversations in English.

For the evening we drove on to the end of the road, a picnic spot at the base of Cerro Leon, the Park`s only hill. One of the drawbacks of driving through the Chaco is that you can`t see much beyond what is at the edge of the road. Most of Paraguay is an old sea bed and very, very flat.

An unidentified plant putting out new leaves in anticipation of the rains, probably still 4-6 weeks away.

There is a track up the hill, which we climbed to enjoy views of the Chaco under a haze. I guess it`s due to the dust. In the rainy season everything is washed clean, the trees sprout new leaves and the impression is quite different.

There is a cabin at the campsite, with beds and mattresses. The generator was not working so we had no light and the fridge was useless. Isn`t it lucky that I carry a torch with spare batteries, eh Joni?

There`s no shortage of dead wood around so cooking over an open fire was easy. Sleeping indoors was a hot option. There were just two mattresses left, so we dragged them outside and slept under the stars. The JWs had elegant mosquito nets. Joni didn`t bother with such refinements. We slept unprotected and, since it was so dry, were not bothered by mossies. However, there was fly with a whine that sounded very like a mossie. I`d have preferred a net. The haze meant that only the brightest stars were visible, but I did see bats chasing moths in the light of the fire`s embers.

The palo boracho (drunken tree) is found only in the Chaco. It is not a cactus but it has nonetheless developed a system for storing water during the wet season to tide it over during the dry months. The reservoir is in the trunk, often generating a distinctive bottle-shaped bulge. It is frequently planted around estancias in the Chaco. Other examples were already putting out new growth and I happily watched a turquoise-fronted parrot munching palo boracho shoots.

Another similarity with a cactus is the growth of offensive weapons. The palo boracho´s spikes are not as needle like as a cactus, but they are hard and sharp.

The fruits stay on the tree until the following spring when they burst to reveal small seeds packed in something very like cotton wool. The wool helps to disperse the seeds.

Day 2 was spent entirely in the Park. We farewelled the JWs early and went to explore other trails.

Joni on Day 1, when he wasn´t feeling ill.

Only there aren`t many. There is a another one that goes half way up the hill to a lookout, and one that meanders around on the flat. I walked along this one by myself because Joni was unwell. In fact, he spent most of the day dozing in the ute.

It was interesting, rather than spectacular, walking through the Chaco. Most of the trees were dormant, but I did find new growth and even flowers to photograph. Birds were not numerous, but the variety of species was remarkable. I seldom saw a species twice. Except the vultures.

This nest appeared to be unoccupied, but since I reckoned it was built by wasps or hornets I didn´t knock on the door. I showed it to Joni the next day. He helpfully described it as built by "insects". However, he did tell me that the dark ´sock´ to the left was an old hummingbird´s nest.

After about 50 minutes the trail became rocky and indistinct. Without a guide I had turn back. We returned to the camp for lunch, which was enlivened by the arrival of a family group of blue and yellow tanagers.

We both had a siesta.

The vultures would fly over every so often. I imagined them checking, "Drat, the humans still have water. Look again in 4 hours."

With nowhere new to explore I set off again on the flat track. Sure enough, I saw new species of birds, two types of parrot. On my way back I saw an animal. They generally vanish in the dry season, but this one was poking a white head out of a fallen tree trunk. I stopped and watched through my binoculars as it sniffed and growled. I`m pretty sure I was seen and smelled. But I stayed still and finally, after a number of false starts the white head was followed by a long, brown body and a long, brown tail. It trotted rapidly along its home `roof` directly away from me and vanished into the undergrowth.

Home to the white headed animal.

When he woke up, Joni was a disappointment. He could not recognise the beast from my description, although I`m sure there are not many white headed mammals in the Chaco. The Filadelfia museum finally solved the mystery. It was a tayra, a kind of giant (5kg) stoat.

Somehow the cooking/washing water supply was exhausted. It started out as a huge plastic drum, brim full. What had Joni been doing?

Not a big deal, though, because the campsite has an underground reservoir of rain water captured during the wet season. Joni retied the bucket to the line and dropped it into the reservoir. Heave. And the line came up without the bucket. We never saw the bucket again. I guess it sank.

There was one more vessel, a plastic container with water to flush the toilet. This time I tied it with a proper bowline and was able to draw plenty of water to store in our big drum.

A Chaco flower.

On the final morning Joni was much better. I showed him where the tayra slept and the path was alive with new and exciting birds, only about half of which I could identify from the field guide. One I did identify was the tiniest woodpecker you can imagine. It was smaller than a sparrow.

We set off back towards Park HQ. While Joni signed us out I looked for the vermillion flycatcher again. No luck, but I did see red crested cardinals. These are birds that are dressed in professional grey and white as if they were off to an important business meeting, to which they have added a scarlet jester`s hood. I also saw my first scythebill.

It`s amazing how, once you first identify a bird, they can suddenly be everywhere. We saw many more cardinals as we drove back to Filadelfia. We did finish off the water, but the vultures were disappointed. We lasted back to the town with fantasies of cold beers playing in our heads. And the hotel had a swimming pool. That dip was worth 3 beers!

Joni, having made a small fortune from the trip, invited me to an asado (barbecue) at his house for the evening. He cooked enough meat for about twelve, although it was only he, his wife and me. And there was cold beer.