The shiver-inducing howls of dogs smelling blood. The scream of hyacinth macaws as a jaguar scrambles into the manduvi tree that conceals their nest in its broad trunk. The gulping of hot, wet air as the hunter tries to slow his heart enough to hold the barrel steady. “You never forget your first kill,” says Antônio Wendel Leite Ribeiro, once the most famous hunter in the area, as he scans the horizon.
In the distance, a young female jaguar emerges from the undergrowth and creeps towards a lake to drink. Her shoulder blades ripple like a sleeping baby’s eyelids and her head hangs low. “It’s Levantina, my favourite,” Ribeiro whispers, reaching for his camera. “She was abandoned by her mother and has been teaching herself to hunt. She nearly got a marsh deer the other day… I was so proud."
In the distance, a young female jaguar emerges from the undergrowth and creeps towards a lake to drink. Her shoulder blades ripple like a sleeping baby’s eyelids and her head hangs low. “It’s Levantina, my favourite,” Ribeiro whispers, reaching for his camera. “She was abandoned by her mother and has been teaching herself to hunt. She nearly got a marsh deer the other day… I was so proud."
Former jaguar poacher turned conservationist Antônio Wendel Leite Ribeiro, left, fresh pastures along the road to Refúgio Ecológico Caiman
These enigmatic cats are at the top of the food chain of the world’s largest wetland, the Pantanal, which stretches its flood-and-flame-sculpted talons throughout 42 million hectares of Bolivia, Paraguay and Brazil. As apex predators, they play a key role in keeping prey populations stable, preventing overgrazing and maintaining plant biodiversity.
In recent decades, they have become the star of a burgeoning ecotourism scene spearheaded by Caiman Ecological Refuge, the brainchild of Roberto Klabin, who fell in love with safari-style holidays in Africa and decided to introduce them to his family’s ranch in the Eighties. Today, the hacienda-style eco-lodge has 18 suites, a private rental villa and more than 52,000 hectares of grounds. It is also home to Onçafari, a non-profit organisation that has become a powerful voice for jaguar conservation in Brazil and where Ribeiro works as a driver, tracking and protecting the creatures he used to hunt.
These enigmatic cats are at the top of the food chain of the world’s largest wetland, the Pantanal, which stretches its flood-and-flame-sculpted talons throughout 42 million hectares of Bolivia, Paraguay and Brazil. As apex predators, they play a key role in keeping prey populations stable, preventing overgrazing and maintaining plant biodiversity.
In recent decades, they have become the star of a burgeoning ecotourism scene spearheaded by Caiman Ecological Refuge, the brainchild of Roberto Klabin, who fell in love with safari-style holidays in Africa and decided to introduce them to his family’s ranch in the Eighties. Today, the hacienda-style eco-lodge has 18 suites, a private rental villa and more than 52,000 hectares of grounds. It is also home to Onçafari, a non-profit organisation that has become a powerful voice for jaguar conservation in Brazil and where Ribeiro works as a driver, tracking and protecting the creatures he used to hunt.
Field guide Mauricio Abib on the lookout for wildlife during an early-morning safari in the Pantanal, left, and a turkey vulture drying its wings in the sun
When numerous rivers flood during the rainy season, large swathes of this epic ecoscape are submerged. The rest of the year, a Noah’s ark of curious creatures perform a subtle, savage dance throughout its blonde grasslands and islands of vegetation. The jaguars here – estimated to be between 4,000 and 10,000 in number – are the largest in the world, growing fat on the blubber of capybaras, white-lipped peccaries and the Nelore cattle that crop the fertile pasture.
Tensions between jaguars and Pantaneiros – as locals are known – began with the birth of cattle ranching in the region in the 16th century. Although it was banned in 1967, hunting still occurs on private ranches, particularly those that cannot reap the economic benefits of ecotourism because they are accessible only by horse, boat or plane during the wet season.
When numerous rivers flood during the rainy season, large swathes of this epic ecoscape are submerged. The rest of the year, a Noah’s ark of curious creatures perform a subtle, savage dance throughout its blonde grasslands and islands of vegetation. The jaguars here – estimated to be between 4,000 and 10,000 in number – are the largest in the world, growing fat on the blubber of capybaras, white-lipped peccaries and the Nelore cattle that crop the fertile pasture.
Tensions between jaguars and Pantaneiros – as locals are known – began with the birth of cattle ranching in the region in the 16th century. Although it was banned in 1967, hunting still occurs on private ranches, particularly those that cannot reap the economic benefits of ecotourism because they are accessible only by horse, boat or plane during the wet season.
Cattle make their way from one pasture to the next in the golden afternoon light
"When I was a child, jaguars were seen as the enemy. My father taught me the alarm sound of various animals so we would always know if one was nearby,” recalls Ribeiro, who grew up on this ranch before it became Caiman. Although his father was a machine operator, he always dreamed of being a hunter. “I was so nervous the night before my first hunt, but it was also the biggest honour I could dream of at the time."
The rain stops and a strange, biblical sunset bruises the sky. Cattle loom through the dusk like fallen angels. Ribeiro turns around in his seat to continue the story. He was just nine years old when he joined a hunt for the first time and 10 when he learned to shoot. Aged 13, he began travelling throughout the Pantanal as a hired killer and, by the time he was 16, was already a famous hunter. “I never ate the cats I shot but the other farmhands used to barbecue them. Some believe jaguar flesh makes you strong and fearless."
"When I was a child, jaguars were seen as the enemy. My father taught me the alarm sound of various animals so we would always know if one was nearby,” recalls Ribeiro, who grew up on this ranch before it became Caiman. Although his father was a machine operator, he always dreamed of being a hunter. “I was so nervous the night before my first hunt, but it was also the biggest honour I could dream of at the time."
The rain stops and a strange, biblical sunset bruises the sky. Cattle loom through the dusk like fallen angels. Ribeiro turns around in his seat to continue the story. He was just nine years old when he joined a hunt for the first time and 10 when he learned to shoot. Aged 13, he began travelling throughout the Pantanal as a hired killer and, by the time he was 16, was already a famous hunter. “I never ate the cats I shot but the other farmhands used to barbecue them. Some believe jaguar flesh makes you strong and fearless."
Pantanal birdlife, left, and a local cattle rancher who works shoulder to shoulder with conservationists like Riberio at Refúgio Ecológico Caiman
With two young children to support, Ribeiro accepted an offer to live on a remote ranch in the middle of the Pantanal and hunt full-time. “It was a harsh place, without electricity. The only food we had was what I could shoot.” His wife, Quercilene, spoke of the jaguar as the queen of the forest and never approved of his profession. Gradually, Ribeiro began looking at the carcasses differently, stroking the fur and admiring the razor teeth.
"In 2000, we moved to Campo Grande (the capital of the state of Mato Grosso do Sul), mostly for the children’s sake. We didn’t feel they were learning the right values in the Pantanal, with no school and surrounded by death.” Quercilene took on a job as a domestic worker and Ribeiro became a security guard. For nine years, the pair were only able to spend time together once a week because of their schedules. Gradually, depression began to claim him. “I felt useless in that concrete jungle. Tracking and hunting jaguars was the only thing I really knew how to do."
With two young children to support, Ribeiro accepted an offer to live on a remote ranch in the middle of the Pantanal and hunt full-time. “It was a harsh place, without electricity. The only food we had was what I could shoot.” His wife, Quercilene, spoke of the jaguar as the queen of the forest and never approved of his profession. Gradually, Ribeiro began looking at the carcasses differently, stroking the fur and admiring the razor teeth.
"In 2000, we moved to Campo Grande (the capital of the state of Mato Grosso do Sul), mostly for the children’s sake. We didn’t feel they were learning the right values in the Pantanal, with no school and surrounded by death.” Quercilene took on a job as a domestic worker and Ribeiro became a security guard. For nine years, the pair were only able to spend time together once a week because of their schedules. Gradually, depression began to claim him. “I felt useless in that concrete jungle. Tracking and hunting jaguars was the only thing I really knew how to do."
The road to Refúgio Ecológico Caiman
When he got a call from Caiman inviting him to return to the farm on which he’d learned to hunt, it seemed like a sign from God. Farmers who operate in Caiman’s grounds are compensated when cats kill their cattle and Klabin has funded the building of fences around local houses to protect children and domestic animals. “I also use my tracking skills to check predation marks, which help the Onçafari team monitor the animals."
Of course, Ribeiro’s ex-hunter’s eye also ensures optimal jaguar sightings for travellers like me. As he starts the engine, he points out the tip of Levantina’s tail disappearing into the bushes. “If we don’t act now to protect jaguars, our children’s children may never see that,” he says, turning the car towards home. “I have two granddaughters who are proud of my work now. It has been a difficult journey but, aged 46, I am finally free."
When he got a call from Caiman inviting him to return to the farm on which he’d learned to hunt, it seemed like a sign from God. Farmers who operate in Caiman’s grounds are compensated when cats kill their cattle and Klabin has funded the building of fences around local houses to protect children and domestic animals. “I also use my tracking skills to check predation marks, which help the Onçafari team monitor the animals."
Of course, Ribeiro’s ex-hunter’s eye also ensures optimal jaguar sightings for travellers like me. As he starts the engine, he points out the tip of Levantina’s tail disappearing into the bushes. “If we don’t act now to protect jaguars, our children’s children may never see that,” he says, turning the car towards home. “I have two granddaughters who are proud of my work now. It has been a difficult journey but, aged 46, I am finally free."
The Lowdown
Rates at Caiman Pantanal cost from £620 a night on an all-inclusive basis; originaltravel.co.uk
Between January and July 2024, an extreme fire season saw 2.6 million hectares of the Pantanal burn, including many areas of the Caiman reserve. You can donate to help replace lost equipment, pay for medical fees for injured animals and replant trees at recuperapantanal.com.br
Between January and July 2024, an extreme fire season saw 2.6 million hectares of the Pantanal burn, including many areas of the Caiman reserve. You can donate to help replace lost equipment, pay for medical fees for injured animals and replant trees at recuperapantanal.com.br