Jason Miller- From Along the River Mapuera
One morning, the village men decided to go hunting, and I was fortunate enough to witness firsthand the amazing abilities of a Wai Wai hunter and his dogs.
Early in the morning, well before daylight, the hunters spread out into the forest. Everyone was quiet, barely making a sound. Hiking through dense jungle is hard enough without sounding like a bulldozer coming through, but the Wai Wai seem to move effortlessly and silently through the undergrowth. Even the dogs slipped between the trees and vines with barely a sound. It was already hot before the sun rose, and sweat ran freely as we made our way through the thick vegetation.
As the smaller groups separated and headed in different directions, I began to understand the plan. The mighty river would serve as a natural boundary, with the hunters driving game toward the water, where men in canoes waited quietly for their arrival.
Perhaps I should have volunteered for canoe duty, because hiking through dense jungle is not for the faint of heart.
Even after the sun climbed high into the sky, darkness still blanketed much of the jungle floor. Trees, vines, and just about every other kind of vegetation competed for sunlight, leaving the ground below in deep shadows. It was a strange feeling to know the sun was shining overhead while we continued through what seemed like a green tunnel, surrounded by tangled roots, leaves, and vines.
The Wai Wai hunt with traditional weapons such as bows and arrows, small, thin spears, and machetes. At least a few men in each group also carry old shotguns, some held together with tape and wire but still fully functional. Ammunition is expensive and almost impossible to obtain, so during all my travels with the Wai Wai, I have rarely heard the sound of a gunshot in the distance.
As the day wore on, the dogs began moving more freely through the forest, and the hunters gradually made their way toward the river. I was beginning to wonder whether any animals actually existed in that forest when, suddenly, a herd of wild hogs, or Pua’a, as the Wai Wai call them, burst through the jungle and plunged into the river, swimming desperately for the opposite bank.
One, two, four, eight… they just kept coming. I counted what appeared to be eleven hogs, one after another, leaping into the water and swimming for freedom. After spending hours walking through the forest without seeing much wildlife, the sudden appearance of so many animals was quite a sight.
The canoes sprang into action, quickly surrounding the hogs as they swam. A few managed to slip past and reach the opposite bank, but the hunters had the advantage. Nothing was wasted, and nothing was taken for granted. Rather than using precious ammunition, the men used their canoe oars, striking the hogs on the head with the sharp edge as they swam. Death came quickly and without a sound. It looked as though Pua’a would be on the menu that evening.
Eight of the hogs were hauled onto the riverbank, some of them fairly large. Everyone gathered around with enormous smiles on their faces. This was a substantial amount of meat, enough to feed not only their own village but neighboring villages as well. What had begun as a morning hunt had turned into a successful day for a good many people.
The hogs were lined up along the shore, their heads facing the water as they bled out, while the women nearby began boiling water. The men had constructed small wooden platforms that floated about two feet above the water, serving as makeshift tables for cleaning the animals. Knives were sharpened, and everyone seemed to ignore the heat, enjoying themselves and the success of the hunt. There was a great deal of activity along the riverbank, but everyone seemed to know exactly what needed to be done.
Once the water was boiling, it was poured over the hogs to loosen the hair, which could then be scraped away easily with a knife. As the women finished removing the hair from each animal, it was passed along to the cleaning tables. The organs were removed but certainly not wasted. Children lined up to claim intestines, livers, lungs, and other organs before running off toward the village, dragging their prizes through the dust behind them. To an outsider, the scene might have seemed a little chaotic, but to the Wai Wai, it was simply part of the process. Every usable part of the animal had value.
As the work continued, blood-stained water slowly made its way downstream. I was puzzled that the piranhas weren’t attracted to it, but I was assured that they don’t frequent this stretch of the river when the water is moving at this speed. Even so, I found it a little unnerving to watch people collecting drinking water downstream from the butchering area while children swam and disappeared beneath the surface, sometimes with bits of hog remains floating nearby.
One by one, the hogs were cleaned and cut into smaller sections, ready for cooking over the fire. Teenagers loaded pieces of meat into canoes and carried them off as gifts to surrounding villages. The sharing of food was just as much a part of the hunt as the hunting itself. A successful day meant more than a full cooking fire; it meant several communities would have meat to share.
When all was said and done, little remained except blood-stained sand and rocks along the riverbank. Even those would soon be washed clean by the current, and before long, the river would carry on as though nothing had happened.
By the time the sun began to set, the day’s work was done. Eight wild hogs had been cleaned, cut into manageable pieces, and distributed among the village and its neighbors. The riverbank was stained with blood, the canoes had carried their loads away, and the hunters could enjoy the satisfaction of a successful day in the forest. For the Wai Wai, it had been a good hunt, for me, an experience I will never forget.
The Wai Wai Hunt: A Day Along the Mapuera River
Copyright © 2026 by Jason Miller
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