Can someone help with the difference in these three? I believe Jags are in South America and may be protected but would appreciate info on anyof these.
Thanks

Jaguar



(jag�w�r) , large New World carnivore of the cat family, Panthera onca. Jaguars range from the SW United States to S central Argentina. They have deep yellow or tawny coats marked with black rings, or rosettes, and spots. In all individuals at least some of the rings surround spots. This feature distinguishes the jaguar from the Old World leopard , which has similar markings, but never has rosettes with internal spots. The jaguar is also shorter-limbed and stockier than the leopard. An adult male jaguar is up to 7 ft (2.2 m) long, including the 2 1/2 -ft (76-cm) tail, stands about 2 1/2 ft (76 cm) high at the shoulder and weighs about 200 lb (90 kg). Although the jaguar is classified with the big cats, which can roar, it does not seem to do so, a characteristic which it shares with the snow and clouded leopards. Jaguars are very adaptable animals. They are primarily forest dwellers but may be found on the South American pampas, or even in rocky semidesert areas of Mexico and the United States. In some regions they live an almost entirely arboreal existence for months at a time when the forest floor is flooded. They are also good swimmers and sometimes catch fish for food. Jaguars hunt deer, agouti, capybara, and especially peccaries. They are retiring animals, not particularly inclined to attack people, but a jaguar may launch an attack or even stalk a human being if threatened. In Mexico the jaguar is known as el tigre, �the tiger,� although true tigers are found only in Asia. Jaguars are classified in the phylum Chordata , subphylum Vertebrata, class Mammalia, order Carnivora, family Felidae.



Leopard



large carnivore of the cat family, Panthera pardus, widely distributed in Africa and Asia. It is commonly yellow, buff, or gray, patterned with black spots and rings. The rings, unlike those of the New World jaguar , never have spots inside them. Black leopards are commonly called panthers, a name sometimes used for all leopards. They are not a distinct species but merely a color variant caused by melanism, or excessive pigmentation. Close inspection reveals the typical spotting, which is obscured by the darkness of the background. Leopards are somewhat smaller than lions and tigers; the largest males are about 7 ft (2.3 m) long, including the 3-ft (90-cm) tail. Leopards are solitary, largely nocturnal, and good climbers; they hunt both on the ground and in trees. They prey mostly on small animals such as monkeys, rodents, and birds. Leopards are found in much of Africa south of the Sahara and in parts of Asia from Israel to Korea and Indonesia. They are listed as threatened or endangered throughout their range, owing primarily to loss of their natural habitat and to illegal killing for Oriental folk medicine.







Cheetah



(che�te) , carnivore of the cat family, Acinonyx jubatus, native to Africa S of the Sahara and SW Asia as far east as India. Formerly numerous all over their range, they are extinct now in Asia except for small numbers in Iran's Dasht-e Kavir. The cheetah's method of hunting deviates from that of most cats in that it runs down its prey, rather than stalking it and pouncing upon it for the kill. This doglike method of hunting is suited to its habitat, which is open grassland. The swiftest four-footed animal alive, it can achieve bursts of speed of over 60 mi (95 km) per hr and is the only animal capable of running down black bucks and gazelles. An average cheetah is about 2 1/2 ft (75 cm) tall at the shoulder and weighs about 100 lb (45 kg). It has long legs and a tawny coat with closely spaced round black spots. It is unique among cats in having nonretractile claws. Cheetahs are tamable and were used for centuries in India for hunting game; they sometimes have been called hunting leopards.





Source: Columbia Encyclopedia, Sixth Edition, Copyright (c) 2004.

Spring,
Very good. I appreciate that info!!!!
Now...can anyone help with hunting availability of these three?

Regarding the jaguar, much heavier animals have been recorded, including one weighing 440 pounds. Thus an average jaguar is much bigger than an average leopard. This notwithstanding, man eaters are almost inexistent nowadays.
This was not always so, early records from the first pioneers in Buenos Aires speak of several killers.

This is a leopard:



This is a cheetah:



I don't have a photo of a jag, but this is the rear end of one captured by an AZ G&FD camera in southern AZ. -TONY

Thank you for the pictures, OW!!!
The leopard is very much more perportioned than the cheetah but I also suppose that is how the cheetah gets its speed. I did a search about jaguar and it seems that you cannot import the skin once you shoot them. I wonder who is the final word on this!?

The jaguar control falls within the jurisdiction of the USFWS.

I've never had reason to check the import restrictions, so don't know if one from SA or Mex. can be brought in legally with a CITES certificate. I'm sure the USFWS web site has a listing that shows such, however. -TONY

What is a CITES certicficate???
By the way I have written to the USFWS as we speak.
Thanks!

I'll guarantee you, IF you can find a place to legally shoot a Jaguar (very doubtful), you damn sure can't get a CITES permit and there is absolutely no way you can legally bring one into the USA.

From the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora:

What is CITES?


CITES (the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora) is an international agreement between Governments. Its aim is to ensure that international trade in specimens of wild animals and plants does not threaten their survival.

Widespread information nowadays about the endangered status of many prominent species, such as the tiger and elephants, might make the need for such a convention seem obvious. But at the time when the ideas for CITES were first formed, in the 1960s, international discussion of the regulation of wildlife trade for conservation purposes was something relatively new. With hindsight, the need for CITES is clear. Annually, international wildlife trade is estimated to be worth billions of dollars and to include hundreds of millions of plant and animal specimens. The trade is diverse, ranging from live animals and plants to a vast array of wildlife products derived from them, including food products, exotic leather goods, wooden musical instruments, timber, tourist curios and medicines. Levels of exploitation of some animal and plant species are high and the trade in them, together with other factors, such as habitat loss, is capable of heavily depleting their populations and even bringing some species close to extinction. Many wildlife species in trade are not endangered, but the existence of an agreement to ensure the sustainability of the trade is important in order to safeguard these resources for the future.

Because the trade in wild animals and plants crosses borders between countries, the effort to regulate it requires international cooperation to safeguard certain species from over-exploitation. CITES was conceived in the spirit of such cooperation. Today, it accords varying degrees of protection to more than 30,000 species of animals and plants, whether they are traded as live specimens, fur coats or dried herbs.

CITES was drafted as a result of a resolution adopted in 1963 at a meeting of members of IUCN (The World Conservation Union). The text of the Convention was finally agreed at a meeting of representatives of 80 countries in Washington DC., United States of America, on 3 March 1973, and on 1 July 1975 CITES entered in force.

CITES is an international agreement to which States (countries) adhere voluntarily. States that have agreed to be bound by the Convention ('joined' CITES) are known as Parties. Although CITES is legally binding on the Parties - in other words they have to implement the Convention - it does not take the place of national laws. Rather it provides a framework to be respected by each Party, which has to adopt its own domestic legislation to make sure that CITES is implemented at the national level.

Not one species protected by CITES has become extinct as a result of trade since the Convention entered into force and, for many years, CITES has been among the largest conservation agreements in existence, with now 166 Parties.

This below from the SCI web site:



Importing Trophies

Jaguar



The jaguar is also listed as "endangered" by the U.S. under the Endangered Species Act (ESA) and the U.S. currently will not issue permits to import jaguars.



Jaguars are also listed on Appendix I of CITES. This means that you must have a CITES export permit from the country of origin and a CITES import permit as well. The import permit must be issued first.

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This gives some good info concerning the USFWS and the JAGUAR



Here's some good info on all CATS



-TONY

Tony, You took a picture of a King Cheetah??!

Nickudu,

Indeed, and I had explained the circumstances to someone in one of my two LIVE wildlife threads I cited in the Leopard Mount thread. If you didn't see those threads, here they are again:

OW's LIVE African Wildlife Photos

OW's LIVE African Wildlife Photos #2

You can find a legal jaguar hunt in Paraguay for the tidy sum of 20K and they make some kind of reproduction for you to take home...
I would love to shoot a jaguar, they are magnificent.

Great pic Saeed, I assume they have tongues like sandpaper! By the way, do they show any strong hunting instincts day to day?

No you can't hunt jaguars legally on Paraguay or any other country. Sometimes (in any of these countries) a farmer can ask for a special authorization for shoot a problem jaguar, but most of them just shoot them without authorization!!!

Be careful with your "legal" 20K hunt
As everything in those countries money talks but I will very suspicious with the authentication of the papers.

The only possible way is having a friend farmer with tigres in his farm but I will not got through customs with a SINGLE jaguar hair in my pocket !!

Good hunting
LG

Yes, their tongues are very rough, and no, they have absolutely no hunting instincts.

I suppose this comes from being fed by humans.

Absolutely adorable as pets though.

They'll no doubt amount to real balls of fire like this one has.

I just checked the website and the Paraguayan jaguar hunt was no longer posted...(www.safariinternational)
Here is what Samuel Baker wrote about hunting w/cheetahs (from the gutenberg website)
On the day following our arrival at Dubka, we devoted ourselves to
hunting the black-buck with cheetah. In this sport, all persons,
excepting the keepers of the animals, are simply spectators, and no
interference is permitted. Each cheetah occupies a peculiar cage, which
forms the body of a cart, drawn by two bullocks. When game is expected,
the cheetah is taken from the cage, and occupies the outside seat upon
the top, together with the keeper. The animal is blinded by a hood,
similar to that worn by the falcon, and it sits upright like a dog, with
the master's arm around it, waiting to be released from the hood, which
it fully understands is the signal that game is sighted.

There were plenty of black-buck, and we were not long in finding a herd,
in which were several good old buck, as black as night. Nothing could be
more favourable than the character of the ground, for the natural habits
of the cheetah. The surface was quite flat and firm, being a succession
of glades more or less open, surrounded by scattered bush. A cheetah was
now taken from its cage, and it at once leapt to the top, and sat with
its master, who had released it from the hood. After an advance of about
200 yards, the wheels making no noise upon the level surface, we espied
the herd of about twenty antelopes, and the cart at once halted until
they had slowly moved from view. Again the cart moved forward for 70 or
80 paces, and two bucks were seen trotting away to the left, as they had
caught a glimpse of the approaching cart. In an instant the cheetah was
loosed; for a moment it hesitated, and then bounded forward, although
the two bucks had disappeared. We now observed that the cheetah not only
slackened its pace, but it crept cautiously forward, as though looking
for the lost game.

We followed quietly upon horseback, and in a few seconds we saw the two
bucks about 120 yards distant, standing with their attention fixed upon
us. At the same instant the cheetah dashed forward with an extraordinary
rush; the two bucks, at the sight of their dreaded enemy, bounded away
at their usual speed, with the cheetah following, until all animals were
lost to view among the scattered bushes.

We galloped forward in the direction they had taken, and in less than
300 yards we arrived at the spot where the cheetah had pinned the buck;
this was lying upon its back without a struggle, while the firm jaws of
the pursuer gripped its throat.

The cheetah did not attempt to shake or tear the prey, but simply
retained its hold, thus strangling the victim, which had ceased all
resistance.

The keeper now arranged the hood upon the cheetah's head, thus masking
the eyes, which were gleaming with wild excitement, but it in no way
relaxed its grip. Taking a strong cord, the keeper now passed it several
times around the neck of the buck, while it was still held in the jaws
of the cheetah, and drawing the cord tight, he carefully cut the throat
close to the teeth of the tenacious animal. As the blood spurted from
the wound, it was caught in a large but shallow wooden bowl or ladle,
furnished with a handle. When this was nearly full, the mask was taken
off the cheetah, and upon seeing the spoon full of blood it relaxed its
grasp and immediately began to lap the blood from its well-known ladle.
When the meal was finished, the mask or hood was replaced, and the
cheetah was once more confined within its cage, as it would not run
again during that day.

The wooden ladle is, to the cheetah, an attraction corresponding to the
"lure" of a falcon; the latter is an arrangement of feathers to imitate
a bird. The ladle is known by the cheetah to be always connected with
blood, which it receives as a reward after a successful hunt; therefore,
when loose, and perhaps disobedient to a call, it will generally be
recovered by exhibiting the much-loved spoon, to which it returns, like
a horse to a sieve of oats.

Now that is a cool story! Wouldn't I love to partake/observe such a hunt today!!!!

Boghossian,
Now I understand.....

LG

Do you know that booking agent?
Although I sympathise with the plight of the jaguar, part of you wants to shoot one so you won't regret missing the opportunity (see those who missed tiger shikar). I also don't see how they can really accurately estimate the numbers of jaguar...
My grandmother also used to keep a cheetah (Aldo) who died upon swallowing a tennis ball...

Yes, but doesn't matter.

You have been very lucky not spending 20K in an ILEGAL hunt. Incredible they were offering it in internet, some people don't fear nothing



LG

The internet is like the wild west, just mention the 45-70 and you'll see some exciting death threats and big words
Don't worry if I had two coins to rub together, they would be in a safari deposit, you could stock an entire trophy room for that sum, including flights.

Outdoor Writer,

Some great photographs. I recognise Savannah (also the king cheetah) from Tshukudu in one of them......incidentally, as you know she's very tame, but she does have the hunting instinct and occasionally upsets the guests by nailing the odd buck on their morning walks. It's hard to believe, but she even takes kudu females from time to time.

Steve,

Yup, that's her. She is an incredibly tame cat that scared the living bejabbers out of me one night.

We had rented a car in Jo'berg, and it was parked next to our cabin the first night there. We had arrived well after dark when I decided to retrieve something I had left in the car. As I stepped out the door, this huge shadow appeared on the ground. Savannah was roaming behind the cabin, but she was still hidden back there while the shadow preceded her where I could see it. Needless to say, I retreated indoors quickly and couldn't believe it when she walked into the open. I quickly got my partner out to the porch.

Of course, it wouldn't have been quite as startling if I had known it was a damn tame cheetah at the time, but I didn't find out until I replayed what happened to our "guide" the next day.

I got some really nice photos of her in the late evening sun one night while she was out roaming the reserve after something eat. They're slides, though, and I haven't scanned any yet. I'll do it when I get back from my NZ hunt on June 7. -TONY

Tony,

You're lucky she didn't get into your chalet. She has a habit of laying on the bed until she's kicked off and just before she leaves, she wets the bed........and boy does it stink!!!..........other than that she's a real sweetie, but a sweetie with a sense of humour!

Did you ever meet that female physcho Leopard they have there? She's a real dangerous piece of work.

We managed to keep her out of the room by making sure the screen door on the porch was always closed.

RE: leopard

There was a female in with the male (photos in this thread) but I'm not sure she was the physcho one because they had a couple others scattered about too.

Are you located near there? -TONY

How you all of these guys get young cheetahs/leopards? Trapping, or some kind of 'rescue' program?

Boghossian,



Not sure what the routine is with the pet cheetahs. Steve can probably fill you in on it.



Tshukudu -- the reserve we're talking about -- does have an excellent lion breeding program of its own, however. And they have one that takes daily walks with the tourist types. -TONY

Lorenzo;

What about Panama to hunt? (Darien country) I am a very long time away from the American tropics. In 1946 I know it was legal to shoot jaguar. (BTW, whatever the original post in this thread said, I heard that the jaguar hunted man. Also, I was told that jaguar regularly weighed from 250-300 lbs.I heard this from San Blas Indians who served as guides into the Darien country. I saw Motilone Indians out of Venezuela who wore jaguar teeth on bracelets and the teeth looked about 3" long. I saw a jaguar on a sand bar (trying to dig up a caiman nest of eggs) who was twice the size of any leopard) Why is the jaguar protected in jungle country nowadays? The people I met in 1946 who lived there were terrified of the jaguar. ( I guess, having better access to a "treinta-treinta" may have helped them)

I would like to share this Jaguar hunting story with AR members. It was written by one of my clients David Lauzen.
I hope you find it as exciting as I did.


MONSTER OF THE PANTANAL

by David P.. Lauzen

My jaguar journal finally ended in Bolivia's swamps. We saw no fewer than seven of the
spotted cats during my five-day hunt.
Some guys just have to do it the hard way. Of course, that's what it's all about sometimes
- no pain, no gain. Gordon MacQuarrie, who wrote some of the very finest sporting literature years back (The Old Duck Hunter's Association, Inc.), put it very well in a story called "Ya Gotta Suffer."
Of all the North American big game animals, the jaguar sits on the top of my list for a number of reasons. For one thing, he's a worthwhile animal. He lives in some of the most demanding country found in this hemisphere. He potentially is very dangerous; even the hunting of him causes plenty of physical abuse, not to mention mental wear and tear. But more importantly, he never comes easy when hunted fair chase. And that's the problem with so many of the big game animals today - they're too damn easy.
This is the story of my fourth jaguar safari. The first three were indeed full of all sorts of calamities - nights spent in caves. insect bites, frustrations. sweat. and even a bout with tropical fever. It was booked through Lloyd Zeman out in Cody, Wyoming, with Tony de Almeida and Richard Mason of Sao Paulo and Cuiaba, Brazil. They both are known around the world as the finest and most successful jaguar hunters anywhere. Of the seven documented jaguars taken with 20-inch skulls or better, all seven have been collected with Dick and Tony II need I say more?
The area I hunted was the Pantanal swamps of Bolivia just over the border from the Mato Grosso of Brazil. For some unknown reason, Brazil allows no hunting, even though the jaguars play holy hell on the cattle there. However, the Bolivian officials see the problem a bit differently, and cattle killers may be hunted.
So much for the preliminaries; now on to the meat. After joining Dick in Caceres, Brazil, we flew to one of the ranches in Bolivia that he hunts, deep in the Pantanal swamps. We arrived on February 16,1985.
Sunday, February 17. 1985
Today was very full indeed. It started with wake up at 3:30 a.m.. which was a mere ten minutes after we went to bed, or so it seemed. We then drove one and a half hours to our jumping-off ranch and saddled up for a long, hot ride - six and a half hours. We finally were hailed by our canoes, and after saying howdy for awhile we poled out to camp, which took another three and a half hours. We pulled in at 5:00 p.m. and, during sundowners. were rousted by a six-foot
ananconda. It didn't survive to see the brilliant sunset. Pity.
This is the rainy season in the Pantanal,
and there is at least a foot of water most places. We're using two dugout boats to get around. The remainder of the time (which is most of the time) we walk. The water tends to slow you down, but in the heat, it's nice to have it around. I've found that the pause that refreshes is filling my helmet full of swamp water and then dumping it 'on my head. It's as glorious as the heat is sweltering. I am sitting here, it seems, cooking in my own juice.
After dinner last night, Dantas decided to go out and roar a bit. He was only gone a half hour or so when he returned to tell us to grab our stuff. He'd roared once and three different cats had answered. It promised to be an interesting evening, perhaps the most exciting and perhaps the most foolish of my life.
The first plan was to walk from camp to a vantage spot where we could try to bring a cat up. By 8:00 we were in position and calling. Almost immediately we had an answer, and it appeared we had a cat coming in fast.

Let me try to explain what it's like: You're sitting in a dripping, muddy mess. It's clear out, and when you look real hard, you can make out a star through the thick canopy of vegetation. You're sweating like you've never sweated before (or at least since your last visit to the Pantanal) and, of course, your eyes sting from the salt. I suppose the sweat comes from the sweltering temperature and conditions, but thinking about what's out there doesn't help. Nature did its finest work in the design of a killing machine when the jaguar came about. And now here you sit, waiting - hoping - for the jaguar to make its presence known to you.
It's so blasted dark that the only way you can keep in contact with your guide is by touch. The caller is grunting into a gourd, making a series of low roars. You go into full cock when the cat answers. You know it will come in; the problem is where to position yourself for the shot.
I had at my disposal two 12 gauge tubes loaded with three-inch 00 buck, and they are deadly out to 50 yards or so, but the hair on the back of my neck still tingles when I remember how that cat roared back and came slowly and deliberately splashing through the swamp. Finally, we even could hear the water dripping off the animal. By now, I was shoulder-to-shoulder with Dantas, and he
had me positioned to anticipate the jaguar's
final approach. Suddenly, he shook my shoulder to let me know he was about to turn on his flashlight. I would have only a couple of seconds to adjust my eyes to the light, find the cat, aim and fire.
When he switched on his torch, I snicked off the safety on my double. And - damnit anyway -I couldn't find the jaguar. Dantas

motioned with the light, but I was looking too close. I lifted my cheek off the stock just in time to see yellow eyes turn to look into our light. I could barely make out the shadow of the body - the cat appeared to be very small and about 40 yards away. The flash and roar of my first barrel blinded me; however, I could still detect movement out front, so I let go with the second. Then there was silence. Had I connected? Everyone seemed to think I had, but there was no cat in sight. There also was no blood trail, due to the swamp, but we heard footsteps out in the bog.
I now know why the cat seemed so small. It had been standing in water and a lot of vegetation up to its belly, so I probably shot too
high. Nothing, however, will ever make me forget those agonizing minutes when we heard that low grumbling roar and the advancing footsteps.
That was a lot of excitement for one evening. But it was tame, indeed, compared to what was coming up a couple of hours later.
We were back at camp by 12:30 a.m., and after a bourbon to settle things down, I went into my tent, lit the candle, got out my journal to record the day's events and had just settled in when (seemingly from right outside my tent flap) a jaguar roared. The sensation was incredible. The camp was immediately alive and jabbering. After a bit, Dick hollered over that Dantas wanted to go out after the cat with no delay. In retrospect, I know I'd fallen out of my tree.
It was pitch dark, which was odd because there were a zilIion up-close stars as we poled along deeper into the swamp. The idea was to get around our island and come back on the opposite side and try to call the jaguar in to us. It worked very wel1 - almost too well.
In an hour or so we were around the island and gliding silently up a channel when we heard a plop, plop, plop ahead of us. The jaguar was very close.
Dantas motioned for me to get out of the dugout canoe and we very quietly waded toward the cat as the boy in the boat began call
ing with his hol1owed-out gourd. At first I
didn't realize he was going to call, and when he began - right next to me - I damn near jumped clean out of the swamp.
Damas and I were hip deep in the dark channel and v-e-r-y close ahead (and I mean to emphasize "very") was 240-odd pounds of nature's grandest killing machine. I think at this point Dantas and I definitely were testing each other's machismo. It was very heady, indeed, those who sit at home and watch National Geographic on TV don't know what they're missing.
The next ten minutes were the most exciting of my life. We knew the cat was directly to our front, and he began to move to our left. Dantas flashed his torch, but in the thick bush all we could do is hear the cat. As I said before, it was heady.
As we quietly waded towards the sounds, my nerves were fully cocked and ready to explode. When we suddenly hit an island. there in the mud were tracks so fresh that the water was just seeping into them. We tried to follow, but they led back to the water. There was a reason we no longer could hear our cat no more than ten yards away in the canoe, Dick was facing a very aggravated male jaguar of mountainous proportions some six yards away.
We backtracked and looked, but saw nothing. Just then, we heard it move quickly to our left front and both Damas and I - like complete fools - dashed after it. Once again, the only way we could keep in contact with each other was by touch.
Well, as with a lot of great hunts, it was all to no avail. That cat vanished into the swamp. As we headed toward the canoe, Dick rushed up and filled us in on the whole story, Had he not been where he was, Dantas or I may well have been mauled.
While we were checking the tracks, not more than twenty yards behind us in some bush was a huge male jaguar watching our every move. When one of the boys called again from the canoe, out it came from the bush and headed our way. Dick happened to be standing in the water next to the canoe and flashing his torch into the darkness. Much to his surprise, he found yel1ow eyes staring back. and they were getting closer. Drawing his .357 for protection, he drew a bead. At six yards, the cat stopped and watched. It was a stand-off. Meanwhile, just behind, Damas and I were frantically searching to find which way the cat had gone. Had Dick not intercepted the jaguar. it would have stumbled right into us from the
rear. And that could have spel1ed trouble with a capital T.
Well, Dick was in one hell of a fix. He couldn't holler to us for fear that the jaguar would jump him. It was a nasty situation at best. His only alternative was to stand there, his .357 poised in one hand: his torch in the other, hoping that (I) the jaguar wouldn't make a final charge, and (2) that we'd come
back - and soon.
Just after what had to be an agonizing minute or so the jaguar moved rapidly off. That's when Damas and I heard it.
I hope I've been able to explain all of this properly. Even now, I feel the same sense of excitement I felt when it was all happening. I fear my journalistic talents will not pay tribute to that exciting evening.
We all got back into the canoe to try to head the great cat off once again. We poled and called, and several times we heard the jaguar again. It was very exciting hearing it again, but it kept its distance and never got close to us. We finally gave up and decided to return in the morning with the hounds.
In rehashing the story on the way back to camp, we concluded that we had stumbled into a jaguar love affair. I'm sure I had shot at the female, and the big male Dick saw probably was her suitor. That explains why he answered the call so well.
I would like to take a minute or so to describe our situation in the Pantanal, the world's largest flood plain. During the rainy season, this big (240,000 square kilometers) bog floods and there is anywhere from a foot to five feet of water almost everywhere. The high ground forms the "islands" where the jaguars can be found. Our basic plan was to locate the jaguar highways between these islands by either calling them up at night or running them with our pack of a dozen hounds.
Our camp was located on one of these islands and I sincerely hoped we didn't get too much rain, otherwise we'd float away. The swamp was only a few feet from our doorstep.
Other than Dick Mason and myself, we had a staff of eight locals headed up by the old man," Damas, an accomplished tigrero.
We had two dugouts, but basically we waded through the marsh. Cotton clothing and canvas shoes were a must as they dry out quickly. The heat felt like what a blast furnace must feel like from the inside. We prayed for the daily rain showers because they were our only relief from the intense heat and humidity.
This hunt definitely was off to an exciting start .

Monday, February 18, 1985
Today was a very tough day indeed. I'm bloody exhausted..As you can see, Dick's British euphemisms are rubbing off. Today we spent eleven hours wading in the bog. And, unfortunately, there's no cat skin hanging out to dry.
We were out of bed at 4:30 and after tea and porridge we boarded our canoes and sailed forth, the plan was to have Dantas, Me, and a few other boys take the dogs and put them on the big male's track. Dick was in one canoe with two boys, and both canoes were to act as blockers at the end of the island. I was forewarned that the end of the island was extremely thick, and that on several occasions in the past, jaguars have chosen that place for their final stand. "Extremely thick" is sort of like calling Custer's Last Stand an encounter with a couple of Sioux.
Right off the bat, the hounds took up the track, and off we went. I wish I could put into words how tough that march was. Rarely could I even stand up, let alone see more than a couple yards ahead. It was impossible even to hack our way through.
Once again, the cat gave us the slip. We emerged from the far end of the island to find Dick's canoe waiting for us. I got a break as we poled to the next island where the chase continued. Our pack had split, and it was readily apparent that we had several jaguars on our hands.
That was at about 8:00 a.m. We trudged back into camp around 4:00 p.m. I mean to tell you I was beat. My Prince of Wales helmet had been used to dump at least 50 gallons of water over me in an effort to keep my temperature gauge from going clear off the scale.
This was an exciting beginning, but I had been disappointed once again by the jaguar.
The next couple of days were spent searching the higher ground (usually about one foot above water level) for fresh tracks. We'd leave at first light with canoes full of hounds and hunters, but always failed to turn up anything fresh.
Wednesday, February 20, 1985
Anybody who comes to this bog is advised to bring plenty of rubbing alcohol. You get bitten frequently (hell, constantly), and combined with the wading in rather septic waters, infections grow in bumper crops. The daily dousing with rubbing alcohol at least keeps the sores clean. It also temporarily stops the incessant itch. I'm not sure which is worse - running around looking for anything to douse the fire with because your legs are on fire from the rubbing alcohol, or hopping on one leg while you're scratching the other, anticipating (and dreading) the rubbing alcohol.
Tonight finds me at a cattle station of a 400,000-acre ranch and I've been given the rancher's room. For the first time in a while, I will have a bed complete with mattress, springs, pillows and linen. I feel like a real big shot tonight.
We poled over here today with enough supplies for two days. Dick thought we should try this place because the cowboys say there are at least two big males on patrol over here.
At 5:30, we pushed off in two canoes to go roaring, stopped at two different spots, but didn't get any replies. However, at one of the stops, we did get a dose of excitement and I believe I lost ten years off my life. We had chosen to park on a spot directly over a rather large alligator! Well, that 'gator could stand us being above it for only so long and all at once the water around us erupted with one angry reptile. We were all taken aback, to say the least. .
We were back around 11:30 p.m. which was too late for dinner. The big news was that Dantas' canoe had gotten some response from a jaguar, and tomorrow we'll at least have a clue as to where to start.
Thursday, February 21, 1985 .
It looks as if I've put one well into the record books, and so appropriately, I drank everything in sight short of my rubbing alcohol. Tonight is for good cheer.
Friday, February 22, 1985 Yesterday started out like any other average (if there is such a thing) jaguar-hunting day.
It turned out to be the classic chase.
We left at dawn with our pack of hounds, heading in the general direction that Dantas had heard the roaring. By 5:30, we were poling back to the deep swamp.
The first stop was an island very close to camp. The plan was to get an idea of which way the cat had headed. We quickly determined that there were no fresh tracks on the
island, so we reboarded and poled to the next one.
We had better luck this time as there were fresh tracks, but they led off the island, so we gathered up our hounds and reboarded the canoes again. This happened two more times as we eliminated possible hiding places.
At this point, we had discovered two different tracks. One set was made by a female
that we believed was in heat, the other set had been made by a huge male. The boys were very excited as they looked down at the prints oozing in the mud. We apparently had discovered a real monster of the Pantanal.
While we were still looking in awe at these tracks, our lead dogs let out a howl that
could mean only one thing, that the jaguar was near. I was with Dantas,Volta, and Benedito, and I saw from the expressions on their faces that my guess was correct. They hastily let the remaining hounds go and now all eleven dogs were in pursuit. The chase had begun.
We covered the remainder of that island, slipping and sliding as we ran, trying to keep up with the pack. It was difficult to follow the guides' pace, but in the back of my mind I was thinking that maybe, just maybe, 35 days of pure hell were about to come to an end.
We crossed to another island and then another.
Several times we could hear by the howls the dogs made when the jaguar was at bay, followed by sounds of fighting. I hoped our pack wasn't getting torn to shreds (it had' happened on one of my hunts in Mexico).
The jaguar treed once, but when we sluiced up to the place, the hounds were only looking into the trees and howling. A quick check (which wasn't easy, given the jungle's double canopy), revealed the jaguar was gone. Its tracks led out to chest-deep water and into the thickest jungle imaginable. None of this stopped us. We plunged after it, keeping up the pursuit. .
There were four of us slogging through the bog. Our canoes were on each side of the island. always staying slightly ahead of the chase to keep the jaguar contained - at least until we came to the end of the island. Then there would be hell to pay.
It was obvious to me from the way the hunt was going that we were dealing with a wise old male that realized that to tree was a permanent mistake. It would know that the screaming hounds were merely a noisy distraction. No doubt it already had sent many dogs to their deaths. Given the chance. it would do the same to our pack. Old timers like this male knew that the real danger was behind the hounds. Man was the threat, and that's the way this jaguar played the game.
By now, we were off the last island, wading up to our chests and higher. The jungle above us was so thick that I doubt that we could have gotten through if it had grown closer to the water. Only eighteen inches or so of us wasn't submerged. I also wondered if I would make it at all, considering the heat. Submerged at least my body remained cool enough to keep going.
Most of the time. we didn't even search for an opening. We had to move quickly - the jaguar could cover much more ground than our hounds in the deep stuff. Our main hope was that Dick was properly placed in the canoe to intercept and turn it back so that we could meet face to face.
The hounds sounded as if they were right behind the next thicket. but they always were beyond that. I began to wonder if we would ever catch up, and I truly wondered how much I had left in me. My legs hurt and I no longer could see clearly. The burning sweat was rolling freely into my eyes. The final act began just as I was on my last leg.
There were several shots from the bog
Dick had fired at the jaguar! What was happening out on the flat was indeed incredible - the type of stuff that will be told around campfires in the Pantanal for years to come.
Unbeknownst to us. (he big: male had left the cover, and when it did. Dick (pro that he is) was in the perfect spot to intercept it. Alexander was in the bow of the canoe and Juan Pedro was poling from the stern.
Alexander first noticed only the pair of devilish eyes quickly swimming towards them. When he hollered that the jaguar was coming, Juan Pedro dug his pole into the muck to give the dugout stability. When the animal was in range, Alexander gave it a colossal whack on the head with his pole to turn it back. Unfortunately, this served only to infuriate the cat. Dick drew his revolver and drew a bead in dead earnest when the cat's head reared out of the slime and attacked the boat. Alexander thought this through rather quickly, and hastily abandoned ship while Dick opened up with his .357. We had just emerged from the thick cover, so Dick's shooting turned the jaguar back to the four of us and our pack.
We had no idea, nor did Dick, of the damage he'd done to the cat. All we knew was that it was coming directly at us. This business at hand was for keeps! .
The pack was totally fogged and a bit scattered when the jaguar made for dry ground. It paused briefly on a small clump of thicket and met its end from a single shot from my .357 magnum. At the shot, it lurched sideways and went out of sight. I was in water over my smokes pocket and could see very little from that position.
The canoe advanced, as did we from the opposite direction, until we cautiously met on either side of the thicket. No one was in a hurry to tangle with a wounded jaguar,
especially one that Alexander had told us had been hunted and chased for so long on this ranch that it was famous for its elusiveness and cunning.
Alexander spotted it first, almost at the same time I did, a brilliant display of gold
- and black several inches below the water. The famous old male had finally made a mistake, but only after a courageous final effort.
We all were in awe when four of the boys hauled him out of the ooze into the dugout - that jaguar just seemed to keep getting bigger and bigger. But we dared not spend too much time staring. It was now 11:30 a.m. - six hours into the chase with the sun
directly overhead and beating us all into exhaustion - and we had to get back to camp.
With all the strength we had left, we poled and pushed the dugouts back to our cattle station base and the shade it offered. It took an hour and a half, but, of course, we were too damned excited to rest. The jaguar had to be celebrated and photographed,
measured and weighed. The true surprise was yet to come.
The jaguar, indeed, was an old man of tremendous size - and with a completely empty belly. It probably had been chasing that female whose tracks we'd first seen. Still, it weighed out at 112 kilos, or 247 pounds. With a full belly, it probably would have weighed 20 pounds more. Full or empty, this animal truly earned the title of Monster of the Pantanal.
It measured 84 inches between the pegs, which makes it the longest jaguar ever taken by Richard Mason and Tony de Almeida in their long career of hunting, which includes 88 kills.
(Incidentally, Dick Mason's scale only registered to 100 kilos, so the cat had to be rough-skinned and the skin and head weighed separately from the carcass.)
We awaited the skull with great anticipation. The boys skinned it out and then cleaned off the meat (the accepted method of measurement on a jaguar is the sum of the width and length of the skull), and finally, I was able to put the calipers on the great head. '
It looked to Dick to be a very short skull, but that was only because of its exceptional width. When the scoring had been checked, and rechecked with both Dick and I scoring, we tallied 20 6/16 inches. That makes it No.2 jaguar of all time � only � inch behind the current world record of 20 8/16 taken only last year, once again, by Mason.
As I sit writing this on the veranda cattle station, it's 1 :30 in the afternoon, the beer is lukewarm. There's ever so slight a breeze, but any is welcome. Under shorts- only is the uniform of the day. We are all hoping for a shower later today. I can glance to my left and see the huge hide salted and drying in the shade of a fig tree. The skull lies at the base of the same tree.
It's been 35 days and easily 50 pounds of sweat. I've endured Mexico twice and the Pantanal twice. But finally my jaguar hunting has paid a dividend. There have been dogs mauled and killed, nights spent in caves, and even one of our mules being snatched from under our noses by the very cat we were hunting. The bites on my lily-white body have been, to say the least, numerous.
This jaguar also has cost me a month�s bout with a tropical fever after last years hunt here in the Pantanal, and who knows what could have been the outcome had the fever taken hold while I was still in the swamps.
But it's over - at least for the present. I'll never be able to forget what the bold old
male's track looked like pressed into the mud with hound tracks all over it. And I'll certainly never be able to forget the gold and black splendor as we hauled him from the bog. Over? Hell, it's never over: supercharged moments in one's life come all too rarely, and jaguar hunting has more than it~ share of thrilling moments. Without a doubt, I'll be back.
One final detail on the jaguar I haven't mentioned: When one of the boys was cleaning up the huge skull, damned if he didn't find a spent.22 slug behind the cat's left jaw bone. It made me wonder about the fate of that most-likely lone hunter with a rifle too weak to kill. Did he survive the jaguar's fury?

Sunday, February 24, 1985
Today was rest-up-and-reorganize day. Tomorrow I'll head for home. I'd be lying if I
said I look forward to the trip. Purposely losing one's self in the bush is an unbreakable habit once a man's bitten by wanderlust. Out here, there's no pressure, no demands, and life slows way down. You notice things like the stars and clouds and a running creek. When you get back into "civilization." where it's really dangerous, all the real
pleasures are gone.
One day I'll quit all that concrete, noise, and the rat race, and I'll chuck the television, radio, traffic jams and telephones; and then I'll unwind and recognize long-term what's truly meaningful.
Now for the bad news. According to the U.S. Endangered Species Act, my jaguar's magnificent hide must stay in Bolivia. I cannot take any part of my trophy home (even though it was legally taken) because my government has decided to list jaguars as endangered species,
I find that odd because we were able to locate and identify no fewer than seven
different cats during my five-day hunt here, (I wonder what the total jaguar population in this one area alone must be? After all, how much ground can a hunting party cover when the quickest means of transportation is a poled canoe?) It doesn't make much sense to me,
The good news is that the SCI Board of Directors recently authorized a $20,000 grant for a study of the "endangered" jaguar, The research will be conducted by the same folks who did the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service's leopard study prior to the relisting that reflects that species' true status.
Perhaps there is hope that I someday will be able to daydream of those super-charged moments on the Pantanal while looking at a life-sized mount of my jaguar - in my own
trophy room.

GREAT story!!!! Thank you, ma'am!

Kathi,



If he's not a writer, he missed his calling. Excellent read, and I felt like I was following him through the muck. -TONY

Arts,
The Ethiopia mountain nyala hunt I faxed you previously was written by the same man.

Kathi

kathi@wldtravel

Indeed, I agree with Writer, the man is an excellent writer. I remember the Mtn. Nyala story in "Safari", was the Jaguar story there as well? I don't recall reading it. Regarding his Jaguar story and it's effectiveness, I, by choice, have never been a cat hunter, any of the worlds cats. They just don't interest me. That said, after reading his Jaguar story, I'd sure like to hunt them!

When exactly did the jaguar get the 'endangered' classification?
Also, could someone dodge this by shipping it to Mexico/Canada and then picking it up by truck (it must be an offence of some kind, but still!!)

In your pocession in the USA (without a permit) puts you in the foul smelling stuff, deep! Doesn't matter how you got it here. Older ones, prior to the ban, must have a permit or proof of acqusition prior to the ban--and then some of the socialist states still won't allow their pocession.