Peruvians on Parade
By Maryalice Yakutchik
Aguas Calientes, Peru — I'm caught in the vortex of a wildly peculiar parade of Peruvians being led by Jeff, and I'm thinking it's only a matter of time until November 6 officially is recognized as Fiesta de la Corwinia.
I can imagine it now: Instead of elaborate dresses and masks of the "negrita" and "big devil" which people don during the Fiesta de la Candelaria (Peru's biggest and most impressive folkloric fiesta), they'll wear khaki shorts a' la Corwin and fuzzy black masks with yellow rings around the eyes.
They'll take to the streets — or, more appropriately, to the train tracks. The parade will feature floats of caged Spectacled bears being carried, dragged and pushed toward freedom by an exuberant crowd.
They'll commemorate Fiesta de la Corwinia not for religious reasons but for the cause of conservation. Someday way in the future, when Peru's cloud forests again runneth over with Spectacled bears — the presence of which indicates the overall health of a spectacularly vertical ecosystem — they'll recall this day as a first baby step, a humble beginning of a long process.
They'll celebrate the symbolism behind one bear being "freed" today from a pen into a naturalistic enclosure of several acres. They'll recall the energy and commitment it took to transport a bear just one and a half miles, a seemingly insignificant act that set into motion the long and arduous process of restoring an endangered population to its rightful place in nature.
Lest you suspect that I've been helping myself to Peppi's ketamine and am, as a result, delusional, let me remind you that you've gotta start somewhere.
That truism fluttered into my conscious earlier today during a hike in the forest on my way back to the hotel from Peppi's pen. (Peppi had undergone a physical exam performed by a vet and assisted by Jeff, and was deemed no worse for the wear of his long journey yesterday.)
It was then that I happened upon Moises, a gentle Peruvian man with passion for the orchids and butterflies native to this cloud forest. He invited me to see his butterfly house, inside of which was sheer magic.
A gorgeously patterned creature (species Caligo oileus, according to Moises) was just emerging from its brown chrysalis. All it knew was that it was free now, despite being in Moises cage. Most remarkable of all, given the context of this story, were its new wings, each of which was prominently marked with a big brown eye encircled with a yellow ring. It looked, well, Spectacled.
Like this butterfly, Peppi's own freedom is relative, but when you think of it, like Jeff does, as a part of a process, then it begins to take on a higher meaning.
Let me put it into some context. Spectacled bear meat is tasty, I hear. Probably more so if you are eeking out an existence and the bear helps itself to the maize you're growing in order to feed your children. Consider the fact that the immediate descendants of the very same people who hunted and poisoned this pesky and potentially dangerous bear nearly into extinction now are devoting what limited resources they have to saving it.
The fact that Jeff is here — cameras in tow — cheering them on in front of a worldwide audience can't hurt their foreward momentum.
Speaking of momentum, I am, as I mentioned earlier, caught in the vortex of a peculiar parade of Peruvians. They have fashioned a new cage for the bear to move it from its present pen to a new enclosure. (The other transport paddock, sturdy as it was, broke during yesterday's activities as a result of Peppi's considerable poundage.)
This new cage is creatively designed. Instead of having just pole-handles by which to hoist it overhead, it has casters underneath so it can be pushed along a train track — the main artery in a place lacking roads, paved or otherwise.
With the added weight of a bear inside, the cage can really build up speed as it slide-rolls down the train tracks. Which is what it's doing right now.
A dozen men, including Jeff, had it hoisted on their shoulders for the first part of the trip from the old enclosure (which is nice, compared to where Peppi came from) to the all-new all-improved bigger better more natural enclosure of several acres. But now they are pushing and pulling it down the tracks, and I am one of a gaggle of spectators who finds myself flying to keep up.
Since Jeff is running at full tilt, so is his crew obligated to do likewise. But sprinting is no easy feat when you're negotiating the tricky terrain of train tracks set irregularly into rocks, and there are deep culverts on each side, and you're toting a big camera and long microphone and bags and bags of batteries and cables and filters and . . .
Ironically, it's the crew member carrying the least of all who's the first to wipe out. Kim has lost his footing and fallen down into the culvert where he is lying on his back, spread-eagled, his legs flailing in the air like an overturned beetle. He is not hurt. Mauricio, the camera man, has one of several options: He can stop to film Kim, which he'd love to do for posterity; or be can stop to help Kim up, which he'd love to do for Kim's sake. Option three is that he keeps running which is exactly what he does because Kim, as producer, would be the first to remind him that it's his responsibility to capture on film every nuance of this crazy parade for an upcoming episode of The Jeff Corwin Experience.
Suddenly, someone's shouting " Uno, Dos, Tres, VAMOS!!!" On cue, the sweaty, panting group hoists the cage from the ground to their shoulders and heads down the culvert on the left and up a muddy hill on the other side. They stop at a gate of a newly-installed and yet-to-be activated electric fence.
They carry the cage inside of the fence. The vet ties a rope to the door of the cage and hands the rope to Jeff who situates himself on a rocky outcrop above the cage just outside the fence. Someone activates the wires.
The men are breathless with exertion and excitement. A woman stands beside me, chattering incessantly in Spanish and repeatedly blessing herself. The film crew is poised and ready.
Jeff yanks the rope. The bear is free to walk out of its cage. Some had worried that it would charge the fence, shock itself. But it simply runs off, as wild bears are wont to do, finding cover within the interior of the enclosure. Within seconds of its release, the bear has found privacy and protection. Everyone loses sight of the animal, including Mauricio.
He turns his lens to Jeff. Jeff does a quick wrap up.
Fiesta de la Corwinia is over — for now.
Tomorrow: The crew heads up to Machu Picchu.
