Although our B-movie-esque fantasy of a campsite full of girls was unfulfilled, the day took a turn for the exciting when Otobo stated that Joe and I were going to accompany his father, Omallave, on a hunt--something we had been jonesing to do since we arrived Inside. We are heading to one of the nearby salt licks, deep in the woods where much of the peccaries and birds feast and probably our greatest chance to encounter a jaguar. But for me, the main draw is just seeing Omallave in his element. Just him and his the tradition weapons of choice: the spear and blow-gun, which will hopefully not be used on me.
The trip inside the forest is to be just Joe and I with the Old Man as Otobo states that he is going to stay with the canoe along the river. As the Old Man only speaks Huao this marks the first time that Joe and I will be without at least a marginal means of communication, totally trusting Omallave to not lose us or get us killed by god knows what. During the course of the 1.5 hour hike in Omallave frequently stops, listening to sounds unheard to us, occassionaly smells the ground and leads us to what we hope will be the craziest thing our eyes have seen. His tracking skills remind me alot of my old roommate Matt Kopp in the midst of a buffet--smell, lick, and attack.
Eventually we reach the salt lick and the Old Man conveys in his best pantomiming that the pack of peccaries (sometimes numbering 200+) has left, which is a big disappointment to us but there is still a ton of macaws and other exotic birds that Omallave has his sights on.
Right before he advances on the birds with his blow-gun the Old Man strips off his BVDs and stalks around in only his Komi (a string around the waist which holds Mr. Johnson upright), which the Huao believe give them strength. I make a mental note to myself about this year's Halloween costume.
Omallave is using the poisen tipped darts, which once shot into the bird, take about a minute or two before it's effects fell the bird. While watching him silently creep around in search of a good shot, it is apparent that we are witnessing an activity largely unchanged in more than a thousand years of history. This feeling of awe is followed by the tinge of disappointment knowing that this type of primitive behavior may very well die with the Old Man.
While Omallave is shooting away, he is indicating that his eyesight is failing him and Joe and I act as spotters for him. In the back of my head, I am wondering if Otobo sent us out in the middle of nowhere with a blind man...
Eventually, Omallave makes a direct hit and we wait for the bird to fall, which it does with a load bang. It would have taken Joe and I hours to locate the fallen bird but the Old Man, using his 6th jungle sense finds it immediately.
On the way out of the jungle we encounter and briefly follow a group of monkeys, although we lose them before the Old Man can get close enough for a shot. Also hear what sounds like a freight train but is a pack of peccaries far off in the distance.
On the way out, it occurs to me that we have just had one of those experiences that will never be accurately conveyed with words, written or told. The weeks of fly swatting, ant attacks, and isolated existing has been made worth it in one single experience.
Here are two videos of Omallave stalking around the forest:
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