Final Moments
By Maryalice Yakutchik
Machu Picchu, Peru — There are certain things in life that you just don't do. For instance: You don't run from a charging elephant. "You never run," advises Jeff, calling on vast first-hand experience with the lovable-looking-but-lethal leviathans. You never ever ever ever run. That's how you die."
Another don't: beg, borrow or steal Jeff's ketchup. As sophisticated as his gastronomical tendencies are, the guy is a ketchup junkie and a proprietary one, at that. The other night at dinner, when my alpaca burger arrived sans condiment, I helped myself to some ketchup from a bowlful of the stuff that was sitting in front of Jeff; he was grudgingly polite, given that we had just met, but I sensed I had crossed a line. Today at lunch, Gary-the-soundman silently stole one of a half dozen packets of the stuff that Jeff had squirreled next to his plate. Jeff not only noticed, but he also threatened revenge by serpent.
And one final "don't": You don't visit Peru without going to Machu Picchu. This archeological complex, built in the 1400s by the great Inca ruler Pachacutec, is one of the wonders of the world. Even Jeff, a traveler so seasoned that he's on the verge of being jaded, is awe-struck by its grandeur.
Machu Picchu was a sacred city where the chosen few resided; probably Inca nobility and priests. Of course, no one lives here any more. The Incas mysteriously abandoned the place just 100 years after building it.
On a scale of one to 10, Machu Picchu ranks an 11 in cultural history, and somewhere in the negative numbers in terms of natural history. It simply ain't a happenin place in terms of wildlife — unless you consider a gazillion biting microscopic flies. Oh, and there's a mangy yellow dog wandering around the complex, begging for attention and food scraps.
Throughout history, the main roles animals likely played here, in Machu Picchu, were as food, and as sacrifice. When North American explorer Hiram Bingham first found the ruins in 1911, he noticed there were numerous pieces of ceramic scattered around The Temple of the Three Windows and surmised that this had been the site of animal sacrifice.
So I'm wonder how Jeff is going to put this animal-unfriendly place into the context of the conservation-minded show he's currently taping about Spectacled bears. And I'm about to find out, as soon as some winded tourists make their way out of the frame of the camera that's pointed on Jeff. (Situated at about 7,000 feet above sea level, the complex is a maze of terraces and steps; lots and lots of carved stone steps.)
"SHHHHHHH! Silencio!" Mauricio-the-cameraman hisses at the chatty audience that's beginning to gather.
"Ask politely," Jeff says. (Rudeness to fans, current or potential, is a major "don't.")
Mauricio is focused: "Ready? ACTION!"
"This, my friends, is one of the most prestigious archeological sites in South America," says Jeff, his smiling sunburnt face less than a yard from Mauricio's gaping lens.
"It was home to the Incas," Jeff adds, fumbling on the name "Pachacutec."
Take two. "Action!"
" . . . it was home to the Incas," Jeff says, "and a mammal lives here." He sweeps his arms to show the seemingly endless expanse of mountainous cloud forest terrain that surrounds Machu Picchu. "This is the habitat of the largest and rarest carnivore in all of South America: Tremarctos ornatus, the Spectacled bear!
'Like the Incas, this creature is close to becoming just a memory. . . "
What a transition. The guy is oh-so-smooth.
However, no matter how charmingly polished the host happens to be, an animal show like Corwin's will succeed only if he himself abides by a few don'ts: Don't build a show around fish; not charismatic enough. Ditto birds. But if an interesting avian topic happens to lend itself to a show that's really about bears (which tip the charismatic scale), you might want to spend a bit of time with it, especially if you're scrambling for any kind of wildlife.
David Ricalde Rios, a Peruvian biologist who's traveling with the crew this week as a consultant, has alerted Jeff to the fact that the Inca wren lives in Machu Picchu. And only in Machu Picchu. No where else in the world. In fact, this handsome insect-eater (gotta love it for that fact alone, I think, scratching the welts on my legs) is a little-known species and has never before been filmed, according to Rios.
Armed with a recording of the bird's musical call — a distinctively loud series of notes — Jeff ducks under a bit of brushy growth just outside the crowded entrance gate to the ruins. No sooner does he push the start button than a pair of Inca wrens swoops in close and lands near his head, calling back. Clearly, he's enchanted.
He's also admittedly saddened. This bird's habitat is so small and specialized — it lives in stands of bamboo-like Chusquea grass near the ruins — that it doesn't have a chance, Jeff predicts.
It's moments like these that reveal the real reason behind the success of his show. His humor, yeah, that's vital. His all-American good looks, yeah, those are important. But mostly it's his genuine concern about animals and their disappearing habitats. Not just cool slithering fer de lances. Not just endangered black rhinos. But even obscure brown birds.
He tells a character-revealing story about how and when he charted his course in life: "At about 4 or 5, a guy living next door to my grandmother was taking some whacks at a garter snake with a hoe," he recalls. "I snagged it, and it was wrangling around and I dropped it into a pile of wood. I dug around and found it again and it bit me. And I ran to my mother with it dangling from my arm. I was terrified, exhilarated, and intrigued. I forget if I was crying, but I probably was. Everyone wanted me to get rid of it.
"And I remember saying, But I love it!"
You don't ignore a moment like that.
