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The
crack of the machete echoes throughout the wood. Caesar,
my Belizean "ranchero" guide, is cutting a swathe
through jungle so thick that even on a trail we must halt
occasionally while he clears the way for our horses to pass.
He wields the blade expertly, years of experience directing
each precise swing of the razor sharp edge. His stoic mount
does not even flinch as the flying steel skirts his head,
and it is clear that the horses too have become experts
in travel through their jungle home. We have ridden several
miles through dense vegetation, seeing and hearing animals
that I have never experienced before. An iguana as long
as my outstretched arms suns lazily high in the trees above
the river, the sharp silhouette of spikes along his spine
betraying his prehistoric past and reinforcing the strange
feeling of having stepped backwards in time. I expect at
any moment to round a corner and find my way blocked by
the trunk like leg of a brontosaurus or the predatory hiss
of a velociraptor! Instead, we hear howler monkeys roaring
their eerie warning from a distance, and my ears vibrate
with the symphony of clicks and fiddles played by a myriad
of small, unseen creatures.
Our
horses are sure footed even down steep and muddy inclines,
through stream crossings, and up perilously wet opposite
shores. Eventually we leave the jungle and enter an open
meadow full of grazing horses. Caesar points out them out
enthusiastically; incredibly, he knows the name and history
of every horse we encounter and he is particularly pleased
when we come across a tiny two week old bright red foal
peering at us cautiously from behind his momma's tender
flank. She is alert as she faces us, then affectionate as
she leans to gently nuzzle the babe, and I am touched at
her rapt attention to the care of her little one. From the
pastures we continue on into an endless grove of orange
trees, where we laugh at one another as we strain from the
horses' backs to pluck oranges from the trees, our fingertips
often just brushing the lovely fruit as our mouths water
in anticipation. The entire field smells deliciously of
sun and orange and fresh vital plant life, and it seems
we are walking through a vision of heaven with the dappled
shadows formed by the orange trees on all sides of us and
the blue sky frosted with cloud above us.
Back
in the jungle, we come to a trail winding through thick
palms, passing ancient Guanacaste trees with diameters big
enough to smoke the insides out of and build a small cabin
within their enormous girth! We ride along the banks of
a little river, an offshoot of the mighty Belize River,
until the brush becomes too thick to let us pass. Than Ceaser
spurs his horse down the muddy bank until it is belly deep
in water, and when mine follows we ride down this aquatic
highway with our feet pulled out of the stirrups and cocked
at right angles to our knees. Half a mile later we exit,
and I feel a little prickle on the back of my spine when
Ceaser pauses and points to a set of tracks imprinted clearly
in the thick mud. Four toes, large pad, and conspicuously
absent claw marks indicate that the creature who made these
tracks is cat, not canine. Jaguar. One of the fiercest predators
in the world. An animal with jaw strength stronger than
a lion, a solitary hunter who knows and cares nothing for
social hierarchy, the jaguar is a cat that even in captivity
can never be tamed. It is thrilling to know that there are
places in the world that this majestic feline still haunts,
queen of her domain and free to live as she was meant to
live.
We
are riding through the rolling hills and labyrinthine jungles
of a tropical rain forest nestled north of the Maya Mountains
and only 40 miles east of the Guatemala border. The area,
supported by agriculture, consists of a network of small
farms barely eking out a survival amongst the immensity
of the surrounding wild lands, connected by rough dirt roads
that the locals navigate in rugged pick ups. Many of these
farms can only be reached by foot, on small boats that are
pulled across the muddy Belize River with spidery guide
lines that stretch like traps from shore to shore. This
is the Cayo District of inland Belize, Central America,
a stunning place that can offer you a riding experience
like nothing you've ever know. |
