If there is any mammal I am more eager to see than the giant anteater, it would have to be jaguar. Living and birding here in southeast Arizona, of course, I have a chance, remote as it is, every time I am out, and I was fortunate enough this past year to visit several areas where that most dramatic of wild cats is said to be common.
My early November trip to Guyana took us to several sites where the locals had seen jaguars occasionally, and we kept our eyes peeled for any sign of the king of the forest. On our way out from Iwokrama one day, our sharp-eyed driver spied drag marks across the road. We stopped to investigate, and a little bit of forensic reconstruction led us to an astonishing scene.
A giant armadillo, still bleeding and just a few feet away from the large mounded hole it had attempted to escape into. The locals decided that the jaguar, whose tracks were plainly visible on the roadside, had seized the armadillo and dragged it across the road, where it broke free and sought shelter in a hole; the cat managed to grab it again and dispatch it, leaving the carcass probably when we got out of the vehicles. The consensus was that the jaguar was still in the area, no doubt watching its cache–and thus watching us.
I thought for a moment that that last bit was added only for the frisson, a bit of spice thrown into the adventure for the tourists. But as we got back to the vehicles, there was an unpleasant aroma in the air, a musty, stale smell that I couldn’t place. “The jaguar,” our driver said, and off we drove. Close, very close!
