Another century, a different way of life...

[AmBraCol]

The following bit of reminiscence popped up as I was backing up some old hard drives... thought some of you might find it of interest.



Memories From The Sertão


The sun was still high as I climbed into my hammock. It was near four o’clock and I’d slung my hammock about three meters in the air in the branches of a berry tree. It was hot and still with only an occasional breath of breeze moving the dusty foliage. It was early August, the dry season had begun two months before and now the animal citizens of the sertão were feeding on blossoms and berries under the great trees at night. This was to be my first attempt at the espera, that most typical of hunting styles in Brazil’s great northeast.

I hauled my pack up by parachute cord and got ready for the long night. I placed my spare shells in the loops of my vest and checked the old H&R singleshot 28 guage shotgun before slipping the full brass black powder shell with a load of 3T shot into the handcut chamber. The Ruger MKII with the long tapered barrel was examined, loaded and slipped back into its place. The quarry sought was deer and I didn’t trust my aim enough with the Ruger to risk using it. It would be called on for small game only, smaller even than the tiny deer typical of this region.

With a flapping and squawking the tree filled with pemba. The gamecock size birds went about their business of feeding, paying no attention to the motionless figure in the cloth sling. They moved on to roost and calm returned to the berry tree.

Darkness came and with it came countless unnamed noises in the dark. The scurrying and rustling of tiny feet was easily heard as the rats, possums and other small creatures went about enjoying the succulent repast of fermented fruit under the tree. Occasionally a louder noise would provoke a blinding flash from my flashlight and the activities below would barely slow as I sought the source of what surely would prove to be at least a cutía or paca if not a deer. Time after time I was greeted with the sight of some little rodent under a great pile of leaves, busily seeking out some morsel.

The night grew colder and the blanket was drawn tight. A breeze moved the branches and wafted my scent through the trees, this was not good for not only did the breeze seem to penetrate to my bones, it had the effect of sending a warning to my quarry.

The cold grew unbearable and then came the faint tinge of light in the east, announcing the coming heat. As the light grew more perceptible the pemba returned, squawking and flapping, to fill their crops with the morning meal. The Ruger spoke twice before the pemba moved on to find a quieter meal, leaving two of their number to provide my own meal. As I climbed down from my perch to await my companions I reflected on the passing of this way of life. The sertanejo’s life has never been easy. Now, with the vast acreages of virgin jungle being cleared to make way for vast plantations of rice, corn and soy, the game was disappearing and their simple way of life was threatened.

Those were simple days. Simple times. The people met in the vast southern regions in the state of Maranhão are sorely missed. There is nothing that compares to their simple cuisine and carefree lives. They are poor, most only having one set of clothes and only the bare necessities of life. When they pack up to move on, their earthly possessions will usually only occupy the back of a donkey, perhaps two. But they are very hospitable and friendly, freely sharing what little they have. Their diet usually consists of short grain rice, farinha (ground up manioc root which has been roasted until dry) and beans. It is a diet short on vitamins, proteins and fats. A typical breakfast consists of coffee and “cuis cuis”, a steamed loaf of ground rice or corn and if the hunters have been successful a bit of fried meat to go with it. Meat and fat is craved by all and fruits as well. When the oranges are in season they barely have a chance to turn slightly yellow before getting knocked down and eaten.

That is why the people hunt as they do. There is no talk of sport, they hunt for lunch or supper and returning home empty handed means white rice again with nothing to fill in the nutritional imbalance. So they take to the trees at night with flashlights and carefully hoarded batteries to await what ever chance may bring their way.

Most houses have at least one firearm of some kind. The “por fora” is very frequently found in various persuasions. This is the typical Brazilian muzzle loader. A typical one will have a paper thin barrel made even thinner by mistaken neglect. The people believe that a muzzleloader or shotgun becomes deadlier as it builds up “veneno” (poison) in its barrel over time. What actually occurs is that the barrel grows thinner and thinner and eventually will burst as the rust eats away at the already thin walls. A typical “por fora” will have around a .40 caliber smooth bore barrel made of some kind of iron curtain rod material. The breach area will be wound with a layer or two of iron wire by way of reinforcement. The nipple will be set in a bolster welded to the side of the barrel and the lock will not have a functional half cock. A variation on the theme is the “rabo de macaco” or “Monkey’s Tail” muzzle loader. In this variation the nipple is of the “inline” persuasion and the striker is directly behind the barrel. The typical load is a .38 spl case full of FFFg powder or possibly only a .32 SWL case full. A wad of jute or other fiber is pounded over the powder and a few pieces of 3T or smaller shot will be loaded on top, followed by another wad of fiber. When things work as they should, the por fora can be deadly out to 20 yards or so. After that it scatters to badly to be effective.

It is not uncommon to find a variety of shotguns in the homes in the area. The .410 and the .28 guage are probably the most common, but one can find all the gauges if time is given to search and to talk with folks. The 9.1 mm, 36 (.410), . 32, .28, 24, .20, .16 and 12 gauges can all be found. Brazilian law forbids anything in a “magnum” gauge or caliber but I’ve seen 12 gauge 3" magnums in the hands of some of the more well to do. Full length brass shells with berdan primers and black powder are by far the most common fodder for the shotgun in northern brazil. Some of the smokeless powders are beginning to take root and find a following. Tupan is one of the early powders to begin replacing black powder. It got a bad rap because it split shells and had to be packed tight. It there wasn’t enough compression it would not burn properly. I learned to load with this powder. It was in a .32 gauge Boito that belonged to an american rancher. He’d leave it with me while he was in the US earning money to keep the ranch going. I’d use a mallet and dowels to pack the wad over the powder, keeping the primer from contacting anything by holding it in a special base. The split shell problem was only in older guns. I’ve seen the sertanejo shooting a shotgun that headspaced on string wrapped around the base of the shell. This was because the chamber had eroded away from years of neglect. It did OK with black powder, but the newfangled powders built up to much pressure and split the shells, or worse.

The .22 was the most common of the rifles. It is used to hunt everything on the south american continent. They will use it for everything from doves to mountain lions and jaguars. The CBC singleshot is fairly common as are the CBC bolt actions. I’ve even seen Belgian “half automatic” rifles and others brought in from the US and Europe. Some of the finest were brought in by priests or protestant missionaries. The .22 is well regarded and often misused. Some of the hunters will shoot a deer from over 100 yards away and then have to track it with hounds.

There is also a good quantity of model ‘73 and ‘92 Winchesters, mostly in 44-40. These are left over from the rubber days. The rubber workers demanded the best weapons available for protection from (and aggression against) the indians. I saw one 38-40 round and 32-20 ammo was available, but the 44-40 was king of the centerfire rifles.

A good revolver was sought by many and the S&W was king. The old Military and Police was very common and many an old timer refuses to give up his “smeetchy”. Almost invariably the S&W was in .38 spl. Colts were not unheard of, they were known as the “cavalinho” or “little horse” revolver, but I never personally handled one. But most folks carried them for protection against two legged varmints or because they WERE two legged varmints. Few people used them for hunting, I was regarded as a rich man because I used my Rossi .38 so much. With shells costing US$2 a piece, no wonder folks didn’t shoot them much. I’d carried loading supplies in and so could shoot my .38 cheaper than a .22. I paid for my loading setup by selling shells to folks. I’d take six empties for one loaded round, not a bad profit, or sell ammo for half the store price if they supplied the brass. The berdan primers would be drilled out and replaced with boxer primers and loaded with a light load of powder. Some of the brass was balloon head and also received light loads. My ammo was more accurate than that sold by CBC and I even sold 400 rounds to the police. Once I learned more about Brazil’s laws I ceased selling reloaded ammo and only used it for my own shooting. They finally allowed reloading, but not the sale of reloaded ammo. I even replaced my supply of primers via mail order. Powder was the “Especial de Caça”, a smokeless shotgun powder. This I’d load under a hard cast WC or SWC HP. The hollow points were cast from Lee’s 150 grain HP mold, the wadcutters were from a Lyman mold a friend swapped to me.

I learned to make do with about anything. A friend showed up with a Broomhandled Mauser and some dud shells. I pulled the bullets, drilled out the berdan primer, dumped in a load of Bullseye and pushed the bullets back in. After firing twice the cases were to loose to hold the bullets, but making do allowed the old gun to speak once more after a half century of silence. It had the original wood shoulder stock/holster and was in fairly good condition, but I never could convince them to let me have it.

One of my favorite places to hang out was at an old black smith’s place. I’d sit in his shop and talk all day with him about guns. He was self taught and could build about anything you needed to repair a gun, from scratch. His drill was homemade as were many of his tools. Welding was done in the forge. .22 shells served to braze with and if he didn’t like you he wouldn’t do the job. If he DID like you it still might take six months or longer because he couldn’t talk and work at the same time. What a character! He learned not to double charge .22 shells. Once he’d taken a dud shell apart and dumped the powder in another shell with priming and pushed the bullet back in. He then proceeded to fire it in a Belgian half automatic rifle he owned. The bolt cracked in two and the bullet buried itself so deep in a mango tree that he never was able to dig it out. That was when he learned a) not to double charge .22 shells and b) how to weld a bolt back together again. He later traded that rifle off. I saw one like it, chambered originally for the .22 short. It would eject the case when you fired it and keep the bolt open so you could load another round. It was a singleshot. For some reason you could load it with .22 LR shells and it worked fine.

The sertanejo is typically a fine person. Their ways are different from ours and I learned a lot from them. They are very pragmatic when it comes to hunting, sport has nothing to do with it. What ever it takes to get the dinner pot filled is fine with them. Unfortunately the habitat is shrinking and the hunting pressure is to heavy for the declining population of game animals. I gave up hunting because I didn’t need to hunt to survive. We lived on goats which took care of our protein needs and I even helped others get into raising goats as well. But I regret that I never did get one of the elusive deer while hunting from a hammock.

[Ray]

This is most interesting !

[Steve in MO]

Great story, Paul!

[JBowen]

Thanks, Paul!
It's amazing how people can make do with so little.

JBowen

[KWK]

Well written; thank you. I'd never heard of the region. Google's satellite view shows it today mostly covered in farms, to an extent similar to parts of Illinois around me, but without everything laid out on a compass grid. I noticed only one town of any size in the area. From the google van, it looks to be tidier than the majority of the few towns in South America I've visited.

[AJMD429]

.
It reminds me of when I was in college and got to return home to the family homestead for an occasional weekend.

Often the best places to pitch a tent would be 'taken' by city-folks who figure anything outside their subdivision is a public park. Sometimes I'd chase them off, and occasionally if they parked too close to the river, their car might accidentally roll in while they were down-river fishing, which was at least better than my neighbor's treatment (flipping over the vehicles with his front-end loader, or if he was in a hurry, he'd just toss a gallon jug of gasoline under their vehicle and drop a match).

Mostly after my youthful testosterone levels calmed down though, I just wanted to get away from the city, and it was easier to ignore the trespassers and just find another place on the property to relax, especially if I didn't get there until late.

It was too much trouble to pitch a tent unless the weather was nasty, so in good weather, I'd take a rope and a blanket and warm clothes, and find a tree with a crotch that was a wide angle and 5 ft or more off the ground. I'd climb up to the crotch, pad it with the folded blanket, and use the rope to make a 'guardrail' so when I fell asleep straddling the crotch of the tree I'd not fall out, and if I looped it right I could make sure my feet had a rest, as well as I could hang a backpack with snacks, binoculars, maybe a book to read, and my Ruger Mark-2 pistol. I'd also have my Ruger 10/22 rifle slung over a branch.

I began the habit of sleeping in trees after a few nights of sleeping on the ground beside a fire, and waking to a pack of wild dogs (back then - now it's more likely to be coyotes) sniffing at my feet or chasing each other or some unknown game through my 'campsite'. It reminded me of reading how our ancestors probably escaped African predators by sleeping in trees as well, like our primate relatives. On the other hand, reading a Louis L'Amour western while doing this weekend-retreat stuff, made me relate more to those living a thousand miles west of me a century and a half ago.

Definitely simpler times - AND - something we should STILL strive for - AND - teach our KIDS and GRANDKIDS to strive for.

My youngest kid lives next door now, and is able to be a full-time mom - waking with the rugrat, feeding it, doing some inside project or craft, then as soon as it's light outside (pretty much regardless of the weather), they head outside to feed the chickens, goats, dogs, and find stuff to explore around the meadow, woods, stream, pond, sandbar, or river. Once us old-folks next door wake up (our work schedules preclude normal hours on our days off), they pop in and share a snack or show us the cool rocks or bugs or flowers they found. Pretty soon we'll start some shooting lessons (the kid is only 2 years old), and I want to be sure all the grandkids get at least some of this kind of lifestyle. Plenty of time to learn and work and do, but in the context of the 'real world' instead of just all television (they don't own one) and classroom (they plan to homeschool).

So - let's all try to keep alive the 'different way of life' to the extent we are able. It is a blissful way to mitigate the stresses of modern life.

Thanks for sharing the story.

[earlmck]

Thanks for that "look back" Paul. Very interesting.