﻿THE 
  JUNGLES 
  OF 
  PANAMA 
  

  

  141 
  

  

  Photograph 
  by 
  David 
  Fairchild 
  

  

  SIX 
  GIANT 
  WIZARDS, 
  THE 
  BAG 
  OF 
  A 
  SUNDAY 
  MORNING 
  

  

  Why 
  any 
  one 
  who 
  eats 
  eels 
  and 
  terrapins 
  and 
  snails 
  should 
  shudder 
  at 
  the 
  idea 
  of 
  eating 
  

   lizards 
  is 
  hard 
  to 
  understand; 
  but 
  many 
  do. 
  To 
  the 
  Taboga 
  people 
  they 
  are 
  as 
  great 
  a 
  

   delicacy 
  as 
  the 
  terrapin 
  is 
  to 
  us. 
  

  

  with 
  great 
  trees 
  covered 
  with 
  creeping 
  

   lianas, 
  and 
  was 
  told 
  that 
  it 
  had 
  all 
  grown 
  

   up 
  in 
  eight 
  years 
  from 
  cleared 
  land, 
  and 
  

   when 
  I 
  recollected 
  how 
  fungus 
  and 
  insect 
  

   pests 
  haunt 
  a 
  clearing, 
  I 
  could 
  better 
  com- 
  

   prehend 
  the 
  feeling 
  that, 
  after 
  all, 
  for 
  

   the 
  individual 
  of 
  small 
  means, 
  there 
  

   really 
  is 
  no 
  other 
  way 
  to 
  farm 
  than 
  to 
  cut 
  

   down 
  and 
  burn, 
  plant 
  and 
  get 
  a 
  crop 
  or 
  

   two; 
  then, 
  when 
  the 
  plants 
  and 
  weeds 
  of 
  

   the 
  returning 
  forest 
  drive 
  you 
  out, 
  move 
  

   on. 
  It 
  is 
  the 
  way 
  of 
  the 
  native 
  every- 
  

   where 
  ; 
  clear 
  a 
  spot, 
  rush 
  in, 
  rush 
  out 
  

   again, 
  and 
  let 
  the 
  land 
  grow 
  up 
  to 
  trees. 
  

  

  UP 
  THE 
  CHILIBRE 
  RIVER 
  IN 
  A 
  CAYUCO 
  

  

  To 
  paddle 
  up 
  a 
  strange 
  river 
  in 
  a 
  canoe 
  

   is 
  thrilling, 
  even 
  in 
  the 
  north; 
  every 
  turn 
  

   in 
  the 
  stream 
  opens 
  a 
  new 
  vista. 
  But 
  to 
  

   sit 
  in 
  a 
  real 
  dugout 
  made 
  from 
  a 
  giant 
  

   tropical 
  forest 
  tree, 
  with 
  the 
  beautifully 
  

   developed, 
  half-naked 
  form 
  of 
  an 
  Indian 
  

   in 
  front 
  of 
  you, 
  where 
  every 
  move 
  of 
  his 
  

   lithe 
  body 
  changes 
  the 
  shape 
  of 
  the 
  brown 
  

   statue 
  before 
  your 
  eyes 
  ; 
  to 
  be 
  so 
  near 
  

  

  the 
  dark, 
  still, 
  swift 
  water 
  that 
  your 
  hand 
  

   touches 
  it 
  and 
  can 
  pick 
  up 
  floating 
  fruits 
  

   as 
  they 
  pass, 
  and 
  noiselessly 
  to 
  thread 
  

   your 
  way 
  under 
  palms 
  and 
  great 
  lianas 
  

   up 
  a 
  tropical 
  stream, 
  is 
  an 
  experience 
  of 
  

   a 
  lifetime. 
  

  

  Hushed 
  by 
  the 
  stillness 
  of 
  everything, 
  

   nerves 
  keyed 
  up 
  by 
  the 
  instinct 
  which 
  

   comes 
  when 
  you 
  take 
  a 
  gun 
  in 
  your 
  hand, 
  

   and 
  guided 
  by 
  natives 
  whose 
  eyesight 
  is 
  

   so 
  keen 
  that 
  they 
  can 
  see 
  a 
  green 
  snake 
  

   lying 
  on 
  a 
  branch 
  forty 
  yards 
  away, 
  my 
  

   son 
  (Graham) 
  and 
  I 
  pushed 
  up 
  the 
  

   Chilibre, 
  and 
  up 
  it 
  to 
  the 
  Chilibrillo, 
  in 
  

   a 
  cayuco. 
  

  

  Not 
  in 
  those 
  parts 
  of 
  Java 
  or 
  Sumatra 
  

   where 
  I 
  have 
  been, 
  nor 
  in 
  the 
  South 
  Sea 
  

   Islands, 
  nor 
  anywhere 
  around 
  Rio, 
  not 
  

   even 
  in 
  the 
  Moluccas, 
  have 
  I 
  seen 
  any- 
  

   thing 
  which 
  approached 
  the 
  luxuriance 
  of 
  

   the 
  banks 
  of 
  vegetation 
  between 
  which 
  

   we 
  were 
  noiselessly 
  gliding. 
  

  

  "Culebra! 
  Culebra!" 
  whispered 
  the 
  

   Indian 
  in 
  front 
  of 
  me. 
  and 
  we 
  darted 
  

   under 
  overhanging 
  branches 
  to 
  get 
  a 
  

  

  