TRAVELANDLEISUREASIA.COM / SEPTEMBER 2019 95
The jaguars were the keystone species in
Iberá, Maita explained. These charismatic
creatures have not been present in the area
since the 1960s. Their reintroduction is the
most challenging part of the rewilding
program. CLT’s program has five animals,
which are still being monitored in large
enclosures. The staff bring prey—capybaras
and caimans—into the pen so that the
institutionalized cats can gradually relearn
how to hunt. In June 2018, one of the females
gave birth to twin cubs. When they reach
maturity, around the age of two, the pair will be
released as the first wild jaguars in Iberá in
more than 50 years.
CLT has also reintroduced giant anteaters,
tapirs, and collared peccaries, which look like
small wild pigs, and bolstered the population of
endangered pampas deer. These animals
sometimes come from zoos, Maita explained, so
there can be a period of adjustment; one of the
collared peccaries has refused to get with the
program and followed me round the grounds of
San Alonso like a pet dog. Some species need
more help than others. The macaws, which had
spent their lives hopping between perches in
captiv it y, had to be tra ined to fly dista nces in a
“macaw gym.” Trainers placed food at the far
end of a makeshift plastic tunnel, which was
gradually lengthened from a few meters to
almost a kilometer as the birds slowly regained
their muscle tone.TWO DAYS LATER, among the curling mists
of early morning, a pair of gauchos were
waiting with horses on the western flanks of
the wetlands, a couple of hours away from San
Alonso and not far from Concepción. Short and
rotund, Omar had a cheeky smile and the kind
of stiff-brimmed black hat that Don Quixote
might have worn. Ruben, his sidekick, wore
corduroy trousers and the gaucho’s traditional
baggy beret. As we mounted, a silent Guarani
boy, the son of a former mariscador, appeared
by our side. He might have stepped out of a
sepia photograph. Barefoot, with shoulder-
length black hair and a long knife in his sash,
he went from rider to rider solemnly shaking
our hands like a self-appointed envoy
welcoming us to the wetlands.
We set off, our horses splashing down
avenues of shallow water. With a rope tied to
his saddle, Omar pulled a canoe containing our
gear. After an hour or so we emerged on dry
land and rode across soft pastures scattered
with cattle. Here and there we passed isolated
homesteads, the buildings composed of plank
boarding, the fences of bamboo stakes.
We stopped for lunch on a small island. “I
used to lead cattle through these channels,”
Omar laughed. “Now I am leading visitors.”
“Which do you prefer?” I asked.
“Cattle ask fewer questions.”
After we had eaten, we unsaddled our
horses, loaded the gear into a canoe, and
stripped down to bathing suits. Mounting
bareback, we rode the horses into deep
channels, hanging on to their manes and
spurring them forward with our bare feet. In a
moment, the water reached their shoulders. My
horse plunged onward, lifting her head above
the water, until I realized she was swimming,
her step replaced by a fluid swaying.
Following Omar’s lead, I slid off her back,
over her wide rump and into the water, where I
caught hold of her tail. Beneath me, I could see
her legs moving in slow motion. She swam
beautifully, calm and determined, holding her