342 FISHES OF WESTERN SOUTH AMERICA 
Authors frequently allude to encounters with fishermen. I do not believe 
that I ever met a fisherman in the interior of South America, that is in a professional 
sense, although many persons take time from other occupations to do some fishing 
for home consumption, and even, of course, taking time for rather extensive trips 
to better fishing grounds. In fact, it is only when in need of meat that the urge 
overtakes the average individual, or when the rainy season begins to draw near. 
At other times it is difficult to persuade most men to forsake their usual pursuits, 
even for wages. The same remark may be made concerning the profession of shep- 
herd in the mountain section. Sheep and llamas are kept and are herded, but the 
business of herding sheep is a family matter, except upon large sheep ranches. 
The inhabitants of Amazonia as one man are sensitive to the criticism of 
foreigners bestowed upon the piraructi; many times they ask a foreigner to say 
whether he regards it as the equal of the cod, in the dried state. In this I could well 
reassure them. The more forward-looking inhabitants are discussing the practi- 
cability of restoring the species to something like its pristine abundance by legislation 
and by the introduction of hatcheries or nurseries. In this they are thinking not 
only of a diminishing food supply, but they look forward to such increase that they 
will be able to export a dried or tinned product in competition with the fisheries of 
other parts of the world. The Loretan has much ground for criticism of the Gov- 
ernment at Lima, he believes, and the matter of the neglected fisheries is one of 
them. 
The most important Amazonian fish is one of the least known. _ Its life history, 
habits, food, migrations are not only unknown, but misinformation about them 
prevails, and a fertile subject for future study awaits someone. Now limited almost 
altogether to the more hidden and least inhabited backwater lakes, the inhabitants 
of the more populous navigable streams engage in seasonal fishing trips, sometimes 
of several weeks duration. On the shores of the bayoux they set up semipermanent 
camps, known in Brazil as fector/as (factories). These consist usually only of poles 
set in the ground in lieu of walls, and a substantial thatch. Hammocks swing from 
pole to pole, and the cooking fire is lighted in the center. Perishables hang from 
the pole rafters. The rising waters of the creciente, when the rainy season has begun 
at the headwaters, is the best time to work. At that time the paiche and various 
other species are traveling upstream into the bayoux and backwaters. (Fig. 20.) 
A favorite method of locating the prey consists in mounting guard over a barri- 
cade placed across the shallower passages in the cochas (lakes) or cavas (channels). 
The barricade is made of brush, palm fronds, and the like, thrust into the mud of 
the bottom. When the fish on its way upstream reaches the fence (see Fig. 33) 
it becomes a victim of the man poised in his canoe, harpoon in hand. _ I have else- 
where described the more elaborate weirs of more permanent form. (Figs. 25, 26.) 
While traveling up and down the rivers with the inhabitants, I noted that there 
is always much excitement when a paiche leaps, even at a distance. The paddlers 
forget to paddle, and every voice is heard together, ‘‘Paich’, paich’!”’ It is like the 
view-halloo at the fox-chase, or still more the ery of “whale” from the masthead 
and decks of the whaler. The natives taught me how to recognize the paiche leap- 
ing, even though it was half a mile distant, distinguishing it from several of the 
