Moistlings

After four hours on the road, we make it to a transfer point and are beckoned into the back of a large truck with two bench seats, back to back. The truck has open sides, an open back, and also an open front. It’s mostly open. We panic slightly when all the other travellers are put in a different truck, questioning whether we are in the right place. We set off on a long dusty track, sampling the local delicacies of dust and grit when overtaken. The truck slowly rolls over rickety looking wooden bridges when marshes spring up out of the dirt track. I wince, hoping that the structures will hold. At regular points we pass caiman crocodiles basking in the sun, watching us pass by, not blinking a reptilian eyelid.

We get dropped off at the reception of Lontra Pantanal (Animal Pantanal) and are met by a cool Brazillian dude called Bruno. Bruno looks like Will.I.Am on downtime, wearing swimshorts and the official green Lontra Pantanal polo shirt. He shows us round and explains the schedule for the next couple of days.

“At half past four you are going to go Piranha fishing” said Bruno.
My eyes locked into Lucy’s knowing this was one of the highlights of the Brazillian leg of the journey. We are introduced to our guide Carlos who has a Mexican/Colombian/Central American lilt to his voice. A little like Cheech Marin from Cheech and Chong.

Carlos brings a number of bamboo fishing rods all prepared with hooks and weights.

I ask him: ” What do you use for bait?”
“Cow heart” he replied.
“They hunt like shark, they can smell the blood in the water”

We receive a rod each and walk down to the side of the river which is just by the hotel dining room/kitchen. The sun has begun to sink in the sky offering the magical hour of golden/red sunlight that looks so good in photographs. The place is serene with wildlife teeming around the outskirts of the hotel.

Carlos hands us the chunks of Cow heart which is dark brown/red in colour, moist and fleshy like uncooked steak.

“You need to completely cover the hook” says Carlos as I try not to spike myself on the giant reversed barbs. The meat tugs like a facial piercing as the hook is pushed all the way through. Rods fully loaded we drop our Bamboo rods deep to try to get the bait deep in the water. Within less than ten seconds, Lucy gets a bite and it’s a big one. She gleefully screams and raises the rod from the water. It’s a Piranha.

“Give it to me” says Carlos.

Lucy rotates the rod with the Piranha, which is forcefully trying to flip itself off the hook. Carlos grabs the line, carefully manipulating the fish from its tail end. He removes the large hook and uses it to pull its bottom lip downwards. This reveals the large razor sharp teeth leaving no doubt of its species. Carlos takes the fish to the river steps, pulls out a large sharp looking knife, inserts it into the mouth of the fish and slices upwards cutting through the jaw and beyond, rendering it very dead indeed. The sound of the slice leaves an indelible memory association on the experience.

Slightly jealous, I return my attention back to my rod (wahey!) and after a couple of sneaky Piranhas play a game of steal the bait, I catch one too. This one is executed in a similar fashion by Carlos and I feel like a manly man again. Catcher of bitey fish.

We carry on fishing until the sun dips close to the forest canopy, each catching two more Piranhas, then go to watch the sunset on the elevated bridge at the end of the small shanty village.

The nighttime sound texture changes from birdsong to amphibious chatter as the moistlings party in the steaming swamps of the Pantanal. We collapse into bed unable to party any longer.