Crocks in the Pasture
by Charlie Lacy
In January of 1978 I was living in Santa Cruz de la Sierra, Bolivia. As a
one-hundred percent hands on cattle production consultant I would often go
motorcycle-back rather than horse-back. Of course the change of mount
depended on the situation. On this particular occasion, it was for pure
pleasure and I was riding a high fender, Honda 250 dirt bike. The gas tank
was bright red, with a small decal of the Honda emblem, on each side, the
bike's frame was painted black and the high clearance rubber fenders were
white, the bike was painted the standard colors of most dirt bikes at this
time. I'd taken pride in outfitting my bike with large rawhide saddle bags, a
leather scabbard for my old Remington pump, model 50, 12 gage, a large cloth
covered canteen for whatever I happened to be drinking, a canvass scabbard
with a machete and two cutoff boot tops that I had sown across the bottom
and used to carry whatever else I thought would be needed at the time. It was
a Sunday morning and my friend Rafael "Rafa" and I were on our way to the
"Dunes" of Santa Cruz.
The dunes were located about thirty minutes drive from the city of Santa
Cruz and were a interesting natural phenomena. Santa Cruz, Bolivia is
located in the South Central part of the country, in a semi-dry area, which
could be compared, topographically, with South West Texas. I was always
amazed at the similarities.
The dunes were, for some unexplainable reason, high sand dunes of light
brown, fine grain sand, which covered an isolated area of approximately 300
acres, surrounded by a few trees, brush, rocks and rolling hills. The dunes
were great for getting a suntan, motorcycle riding up and down the sandy
hills or just visiting with your friends. There was no refreshment stands,
if you wanted to eat or drink something you had to take it with you, as a
matter of fact there wasn't even a paved road to the dunes. There were no
signs or markers, just a dirt road leading off into a pasture from the
highway and from there everyone more or less picked their route to the
dunes. It was a favorite spot for weekend and holiday outings and normally
during these occasions, more than a couple a hundred people would show up at
the dunes.
We were going slow, I had just turned off the highway into the pasture that
led to the dunes, when Rafa, who was riding on the back, leaned to one side
and due to the loaded bike being unbalanced, it tipped over. Rafa and I
were both laughing, but suddenly I realized the heavy bike was on my leg and
I yelled at Rafa to help me get it off. It only took a minute to straighten
the bike, but while I was pinned under the bike, the hot muffler was resting
on the bare skin on the inside of my right ankle. There wasn't too much
pain but I could see that I had a good burn. We mounted the trail bike and
went on to the dunes, but after a while my leg started bothering me so I
left Rafa and rode the bike home. When I arrived at the house, the lower
part of my leg had started to swell and it was hurting like hell. It was a
bad burn, but not that serious to go a doctor. I cleaned the burn, took
some antibiotics, laid down on the bed, propped my leg up on a cushion and
after a while it started to feel a little better. Just as I was about to
dose off and at these times, as fate would have it, the phone rang, it was
my old friend Abe, who was calling me from Miami, Florida.
Abe explained that he had an emergency and been trying to phone me for the
past couple of days and luckily he finally got through. At that time the
telephone service wasn't that good in Bolivia. Abe was the owner of
Reliance Industries, with headquarters in Miami, although they had
operations in several Latin American countries. Reliance Industries was a
frozen boxed boneless meat importer-exporter, which included a horse meat
packing plant in Managua, that exported boneless horse meat to Japan.
Reliance also owned a refrigerated container company, amongst other things
and on occasions they were involved in the exportation of live cattle. I
hadn't talked with Abe for over a year, so his phone call was a pleasant
experience, that is until he began to tell me why he called.
To make a long story short, Abe had contacts in the country of Suriname,
which was located on the North Eastern coast of South America and had sold
them 335 head of "pure, registered Brahman cattle" he'd purchased in Costa
Rica. He shipped the cattle on two cattle transport ships that loaded in
the Costa Rican Atlantic port City of Limon. Unfortunately the smaller of
the two vessels sunk off the coast of Venezuela, the crew was saved but the
cattle were lost; however the cattle were insured, so Abe didn't lose to
much on this load. The larger ship arrived with its cargo of 11 bulls, 197
cows and 7 horses at the Suriname port of Paramaribo, which almost turned
out to be a big loss.
Considering the circumstances, which included the animals being enclosed
below deck and at sea for three weeks, the cattle were in fair condition
physically, but the buyers refused to accept the cattle due to the fact that
they didn't look like "pure, registered Brahman Cattle". As it turned out,
the fine folks at the Cattleman's Association in Costa Rica, who were
"helping" Abe, sort of messed up and had shipped common commercial cattle.
Oh yes all the cattle were tattooed in the ear with numbers that matched the
registration papers, but someone had done the old fast switch with the cattle
before they were loaded. The best that I could figure out was that someone had
shown and sold Abe some good registered, pure-bred cattle, but actually delivered
some false registration papers and shipped some common commercial cattle
whose fresh tattooed numbers matched the papers. This wasn't the first nor
the last time that something like this has happened in Costa Rica.
Well, Abe wanted me to me go to Suriname as soon as possible, which to Abe
meant the next day. He had been a good friend and a client for several
years and I was caught up with my work assignments so I didn't really have a
choice, I had to go. He'd given me the name and the phone number of his
representative in Suriname and the only thing I could say, before he hang-up
was "Abe, where in the hell is Suriname?"
As it turned out there were two ways to get to Suriname from Santa Cruz
Bolivia. The first route was via Lloyd Aero Boliviano (Lab) airlines, about
five hours to Panama, than change planes to Caracas, Venezuela. From
Caracas via the island of Curacao than on to Port of Spain, the capitol of
Trinidad y Tobago, another plane to Georgetown British Guayana, than on to
Paramaribo, Suriname. Unfortunately there were long stopovers at each
airport, without connecting flights and the trip would take about five days.
There were weekly flights from Santa Cruz to Sao Paulo, Brasil, with
connections to Suriname, but I'd have to wait four days for the next
scheduled flight, out of Santa Cruz.
The second route, which turned out to be my choice, was an 8:00 a.m. train
departure from Santa Cruz that arrived at Corumbá, Brasil about 5:00 p.m.
the same day. The train from Santa Cruz was no more than an old yellow
school bus, with dark green narrow sits, that had been adapted for the
railroad tracks. The tires and wheels had been removed from the bus and
replaced with train wheels that fit on the tracks. The driver drove the
train-bus just like he would had the bus been on a road, except it didn't
have a steering wheel. He had to shift the gears to build up the speed and
in fifth gear the bus was rolling along at about 40 miles per hour. The
driver must have stopped at least 50 times between Santa Cruz and Corumbá.
At each stop Indian women and children were selling empanadas, large white
kernel corn on the cob, corn chips, other foods and fruit juices or coca
colas, in plastic bags with a straw. It was a hard trip and I was happy to
get to the boarder town of Corumbá. At the boarder I changed to a very
modern and comfortable Brasilian train and arrived at Sao Paulo the next
morning. From Sao Paulo I flew to Belém, Brasil, located near the mouth of
the Amazon river. Unlucky I had to wait two and a half days in Belém for
the next plane to Suriname, but finally after about 4 days out of Santa
Cruz, I arrived at the Suriname airport. My leg hadn't bothered me, I guess
because I was sitting most of the time.
There wasn't room in my luggage for my custom made zippered leather
leggins, that Mr. Roy, who worked for Buck Steiner, in Austin, Texas, had
made for me, a few years before, so I folded them and put them under the
seat of the airplane. Wouldn't you know it, I was so excited about arriving
in Suriname that when I got off the plane I left my leggins under the seat.
I remembered the leggins just as I cleared customs and heard my plane taking
off down the runway. Well there was nothing I could do but report the lost
leggins to the CLM ticket desk and hope for the best. Apart from the
leggins, the only other cattle working equipment I had brought was a pair of
riding spurs, which fortunately were packed away, two pair of boots, some levis, a
few western shirts and of course my hat. Needless to say I never recovered the
lost leggins, that I found out later would have come in very handy there in
Suriname. My plane had arrived at the airport about 9:00 p.m. and by about
10:00 p.m. I was on a small bus on my way to the capitol city, Paramaribo,
about an hour's drive away from the airport. Interesting enough, one of the
first things that caught my attention was the fact that the people drove on
the left hand side of the road in Suriname.
Abe had made me reservations at the Hotel Krosmapokski and when I arrived
there were several messages waiting from Abe. I phoned Abe the next morning
and he was delighted that I had finally arrived. He had been worried that
something might have happened to me and was relieved that I had made it OK.
Abe wanted the mess cleaned up, the cattle and horses liquidated and as
always, as soon as possible. He gave me his instructions and as soon as he
hung up I went to work.
Hans, a young man of Dutch descent, was Abe's "cattleman representative" in
Suriname. Incidently, at the time, Suriname, whose former name was Dutch
Guayana, had just become an independent Dutch republic. It was a very small
country with a population of approximately 250,000 people, of which two
percent were white. The black native inhabitants spoke Taki-Taki, which was
a local dialect, although many could speak a little Spanish, some French,
Portuguese, Dutch and broken English. I got along fine speaking English,
some occasional Spanish and a few words of Portuguese I had learned during a
work assignment in Brasil. Apart from the natives, there was a large Hindu
population, that basically owned and ran the country. Their temples were
beautiful. The majority of the black natives, lived in the country and were
known as Brush Negroes. Most of the native women, who lived outside of
town, appeared to have wore nothing more than a piece of long bright colored
cotton fabric. The cloth was rapped around the waist and tied. It hung down to
about their ankles and they were bare from the waist up. Being fairly close to the
equator, Suriname has a damp and hot tropical climate, maybe for that reason the
women chose to dress only from the waist down.
I phoned Hans and he gave me directions to his house. Hans lived walking
distance from the hotel and when I arrived, about 10:00 a.m., he was still
in pajamas. His wife was still asleep and the house was a dirty mess. We
talked for a few minutes and he agreed to pick me up and take me out to see
the cattle, in Abe's truck, right after lunch. After lunch turned out to be
about 4:00 p.m. and before we could leave to see the cattle, Hans had a
couple of things to do in town. I'd almost began to lose my patience,
because it was late when we arrived at the small farm he had rented for the
cattle. The place belonged to a family of Dutch farmers and was about a hour's
drive away from Paramaribo.
It was getting dark, but I could see the cattle were thin, weak and looked
like hell. All the cattle and the horses were enclosed in a wire holding
pen. The pen surrounded a small muddy lake and the cattle were slowly
walking around looking for something to eat. Hans introduced me to his
friends, the owners, who admitted they knew nothing about beef cattle,
although they did have a couple of milk cows. The owners seemed to be very
backward people, living outback in the jungle with few opportunities to go
to town. The farm house was a shack and the owners appeared to be having a
hard time. Now it was dark, so we politely dismissed ourselves, got in the
truck and started back to town.
On the way back to town I asked Hans why the cattle were in such terrible
condition and what was the actual situation of the cattle and his
relationship with Abe. You might say I asked the whole nine yards. Again,
I'll make another long story short, Hans had only agreed to sell the cattle
for a commission. Abe bought the second hand truck so Hans could get around
and as to date he hadn't sold any of the cattle and really wasn't interested
in the cattle. Hans and his wife were from Amsterdam and had never ridden a
horse, lived in the country or much less worked with cattle. It seemed that
poor ole Abe was catching it from every direction and for that reason he was so
anxious for me to get to Suriname.
The next day I started early. I couldn't depend on Hans so I took a taxi
out to the farm. In the day light I'd at least have a better understanding
of what I was up against. I knocked on the door of the house but there was
no answer so I went out to the barn. I found some bridles and two
wellington style saddles that I knew must have been sent with the horses
from Costa Rica. I caught a white gelding, saddled him and when out to
check the cattle.
The pastures were covered, for the most part, in guinea grass. The guinea
is a good grass for cattle in the tropics, but it has a very high moisture
content during the rainy season, consequently the animals must consume large
amounts to receive a minimum nutritional benefit. Cattle fill up fast on
guinea grass due to high water content and after only a couple of hour's
grazing, they lay down. The fullness passes after an hour or so and than
the cattle will get up and continue grazing. Cattle can temporarily get
full two or three times a day.
I was trotting towards the cattle which I could see in the distance, but
suddenly, as I was crossing sort of a small swampy area, the white gelding
jumped sideways about six feet, crow hopped a couple of times and wanted to
start running. I wasn't expecting him to shy and he almost threw me off.
After I regained control I surprisingly saw a pair of greenish-gray eyes
staring at me about ten yards away, just above the surface of the water.
Something alive was in that swamp but I couldn't tell, from that distance,
exactly what it was. It couldn't be to big because the eyes weren't to far
apart, but I wasn't going to take any changes.
I turned the white horse around and walked him a few yards out of the
water. By now he was still trembling, but he'd calmed down a bit. We stood
there looking at those glassy looking eyes and suddenly I could see other
sets of eyes, all of them staring at us. I was trying to imagine what in
the hell they might be. They were to big to be a snake, but I couldn't
think of anything else that might be living in that swampy water. Well,
what the hell, I turned the horse around again and walked him farther away
from the water. I kicked him up to a slow gallop, turned him towards the
swamp and spurred him into a run. Thank God the water was shallow, because
when we got to the edge of the swamp that white gelding was almost running flat
out. As we entered the water there was a tremendous movement on the opposite
end of the swamp and to my surprise there must have been at least ten small to
medium size crocodiles running, twisting and splashing, trying to get out of
our way. By the time I got the horse stopped the crocks had disappeared into
the tall grass, so I continued on towards the cattle.
As I found out later, the crocodiles were considered as almost harmless.
They lived off of birds and other small animals, but on rare occasions they
might attack a new born calf. There were common in almost all the pastures
but I knew I could never get accustomed to those ugly devils.
As I approached the grazing cattle, I noticed a few of the animals may have
had screw worm problems and all of them needed to be sprayed for ticks. I
decided to gather them and push them towards the wire pen, where I could
take a closer look. The pasture was small, maybe a hundred acres and it
took almost no time at all to push the weak cattle to the holding pen. Just
as we arrived at the pen, the farmer and two of his sons were walking out to
meet us. The man told me he was just on his way out to collect the cattle,
which sort of surprised me. I asked myself, why would he pen the animals at
nine o'clock in the morning? I asked him if he'd planned on working the animals and
he replied "no, but to save the pasture, I always pen the cattle after about
two hours grazing". No wonder the cattle were so thin on this good guinea
pasture! I asked if he was giving the cattle salt, because I hadn't noticed
any in the pasture and he replied "no", and I thought just another reason
why the cattle couldn't gain any weight.
I gave the animals a good, close inspection, released the white horse and
walked about a half mile to the highway, where I caught a ride back to my
hotel. The first thing I did, when I arrived, was to phone Abe. I brought
Abe up to date on the situation and asked him to send me a good nylon rope
and some de-wormer, because I thought I could purchase the other things I
needed locally. Abe told me his accountant, Mike, would be on the next
airplane out of Miami and would bring me what I needed. He also asked me to
pickup the truck from Hans and to tell Hans that Mike would settle up when
he arrived. After lunch I picked up the truck and the first thing I did was to
buy some salt. I shopped around and found some Negovan for the ticks and a few other
things I thought I might need. It took Mike two days to arrive from Miami,
but by that time, with the exception of de-worming the cattle and doctoring
the ones with screw worms, almost everything was under control. I needed to
rope the cows to doctor them, but I hadn't seen a decent rope anywhere in
the country. Thank God Mike was bringing me a good nylon from the states!
The day before Mike arrived, I was riding one of the horses along the
highway, near the farm and I got lucky and sold five of the horses, to
another farmer, for a high price. I kept the two remaining horses to work
the cattle. The same afternoon I visited the Suriname slaughter plant
(abattoir) and sold two of the fattest bulls for slaughter. Beef prices
were high in Suriname and the bulls, although they were only in medium
flesh, brought exceptional prices.
Mike arrived the following afternoon and the first thing he did was to hand
me a plastic K-Mart bag and told me "here's the rope you wanted". I opened
the bag and pulled out about 50 feet of yellow nylon clothes line. I told
Mike I hadn't ordered any clothes line and Mike said "this isn't clothes
line, this the nylon rope you needed". I almost fell over backwards! I
explained to Mike that I needed a good nylon rope to work cattle, a rope
that I could throw and catch an animal in the loop, a strong rope that I
would tie to the saddle and pull an animal if I needed to, a rope that was a
rope and not a damn piece of yellow clothes line! Well, what could I say, obviously
no one in Abe's office knew what type of rope I needed and Mike was only doing what he
was told, I'd look around some more in town and maybe I could find what I
wanted. Sometimes life's a little tough being a cowboy.
The next day I bought fifteen yards of soft, 3/4 inch hemp rope at a local
hardware and doctored the screw worm cattle. Mike and I made a new deal
with the owner of the farm which permitted the cattle and the two horses ten
hours of grazing time a day and believe it or not, I even sold the same
Dutch farmer five gentle cows. It didn't take long for the cattle to change
their appearance and I managed to sell all the animals for good prices
before I left. Abe got lucky, he was looking at a pretty good loss on the
animals, but after it was all said and done, he either broke even or might
have made a little profit.
I ended up staying in Suriname for about another month before I'd finished
the job, but it has never ceased to amaze me having seeing all those crocks
in the pasture.
Charlie Lacy, a transplanted West Texan living in Costa Rica, is a tropical zone cattle production and marketing specialist. In the past twenty-five years he has lived and worked in many Latin American countries as a cattle project consultant with several international organizations, including the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations (FAO). Charlie is considered one of the few experts in his field and established the cattle marketing system for the country of Costa Rica. His short stories are true accounts of some of his experiences in the Latin American cattle business. Any comments about the stories can be sent to endovac@sol.racsa.co.cr.
