Taking a Safari in South America

2 p.m. The guest lodge at Hato Pinero. My eyes follow the blades of the ceiling fan: eight revolutions ... nine. By the 10th I am asleep. It is siesta time at Hato Pinero, where Mother Nature sets the pace.

The 350 species of birds and more than 100 species of mammals here have the sense to slow down when the midday sun climbs into the sky and temperatures approach 100 degrees. They should know. They’ve been here a lot longer than we have.

My husband, Jack, and I had left Caracas, where we had been visiting friends, at 6 that morning. We had hired a car and driver to take us the 220 miles southwest to our destination, Hato Pinero, a working cattle ranch, wildlife refuge and eco-tourism enterprise just east of El Baul in Los Llanos, the 117,000-square-mile savanna in the heart of Venezuela.

We are neither environmental activists nor ardent birders but were just looking forward to a three-day safari. The only prerequisite was an appreciation of nature.

A raucous pair of red macaws escorted us along the last stretch of dirt road approaching the guest lodge. They were a foretaste of at least 100 species of birds, from hummingbirds and finches to storks and vultures, that we would see during our stay.

Nearly 50 years ago owner Antonio Branger banned hunting on his property, and since then animals and birds at Hato Pinero have enjoyed such a sense of security that visitors can observe them up close.

Bordered by the Portuguesa River on the south and the Cojedes River on the north, the 300-square-mile ranch raises more than 15,000 head of cattle and is home to a wildlife research station. Although ranchers are usually the scourge of the environmental community, Hato Pinero is proof that one can carefully exploit natural resources while preserving the ecosystem.

The guest lodge was added in the early 1980s, long before eco-tourism was fashionable. Built under a canopy of stately mango trees, the colonial-style lodge is done in rustic mahogany and adobe, with massive wood doors and wrought iron hardware. Its dozen rooms are simple but comfortable, with ceiling fans and shuttered, screened windows. That is where we were relaxing for a couple of hours after lunch--without the guilt I usually feel at taking a nap--because nature mandated this siesta.

At 4 p.m. a flat-topped truck outfitted with cushioned seats was waiting in front of the lodge. Armed with camera and binoculars, we climbed aboard and met Hato Pinero’s other guests--two Swedes, three Brits, a Pole and a Peruvian--and our bilingual guide, Gabriela Jimenez.

As the truck started, a familiar screeching broke out overhead: our feathered escorts, the macaws, heralding the start of our safari.

From atop the truck we could see for miles across grasslands interrupted only by the occasional hill or patch of forest. Within minutes Gabriela had spotted a savanna hawk perched on a dead tree in the distance. I prepared to adjust the zoom lens on my camera, only to find out it wasn’t necessary: The truck pulled up alongside the tree, and the hawk calmly eyed us from 15 feet away. Farther along, a black-headed, red-throated jabiru stork more than 4 feet tall foraged in the grass.

The scene reminded me of the African savanna, where we’d been on a safari years ago. But instead of elephant or zebra, the first mammal we spotted was the ubiquitous capybara, the world’s largest rodent. These short-legged, blunt-nosed animals look like oversized guinea pigs and can weigh more than 100 pounds. This pack numbered around 50, and our presence didn’t faze them as they lazily made their way to a nearby water hole.

By the time the sun was at that magical angle that softens shadows and paints the landscape golden, the scene before us was straight out of Creation: a flock of white ibis at the far end of the water hole and capybara ambling to the water’s edge under the watchful eye of a nearly submerged caiman, a species of South American crocodile. The far shore of the water hole was littered with benign-looking caiman, and we could get within a couple of yards of them before they slithered into the water. Gabriela told us to watch out for an anaconda. This boa constrictor, which lives among rocks and gnarled tree roots, is the world’s largest snake.

Darkness descended, and so did the mosquitoes. We beat a hasty retreat to the truck and outran them back to the lodge.

On the ride back, Gabriela strafed the fields and forest edges with a spotlight, hoping to glimpse some of the elusive wildcats: jaguar, puma and ocelot. But the glowing eyes that punctuated the darkness belonged to foxes, owls and deer. Suddenly the truck ground to a halt, and the driver jumped out to remove a large snake coiled in the road. It wasn’t an anaconda, but I was glad I wasn’t the one who had to move it.

Evenings at Hato Pinero were quiet. Dinner consisted of pumpkin soup followed by a tasty chicken dish, vegetables, salad and crispy bread made from cassava, or manioc (a starchy root), accompanied by wine we had brought with us. Afterward we gathered in the bar for a nightcap and discussions of the day’s events. Gabriela joined us, along with the ranch’s mascot, Gonzo, a 4-month-old Jack Russell pup that stole everyone’s heart. Most of the guests drifted off to their rooms by 10, for the day starts early at Hato Pinero.

The morning sun leaked through our shutters, and by 6:30 we were enjoying coffee, exotic juices, mangoes, toast, eggs, ham and the classic Venezuelan arepas , fried flattened balls of cornmeal dough filled with cheese. Over breakfast Gabriela explained that the morning’s excursion would take us down some meandering creeks, canos , that thread through the forests. The creeks are formed by the overflow of the vast river systems bordering Los Llanos. During the rainy season (May through November), the Orinoco River and its tributaries swell beyond their banks, and up to 80% of the plains are flooded. When German naturalist and explorer Alexander von Humboldt crossed Los Llanos in the rainy season of 1800, he likened it to “an ocean covered with seaweed.” By December the rivers recede to their banks, and the water holes gradually dry up, but the creeks and lagoons remain.

Our safari truck was waiting, and when Gonzo howled at our departure, Gabriela scooped him up and took him along. Soon we stopped beside a creek, and our driver, Luis, helped us into two small boats. A glossy black cormorant led the way, and herons waited until we were almost upon them before taking flight. Kingfishers flitted among the branches overhanging the water, and we saw our first hoatzin. These primitive birds with crested heads grow to 2 feet long and are abundant in the hot swamps of South America. They seemed to delight in startling us when they erupted cackling out of the foliage.

Caiman sunned themselves on the banks, mocked by capuchin monkeys in the trees. An 18-inch green iguana sat motionless on a branch, certain he was invisible in the foliage. Turtles slid into the water at our approach. Parrots cavorted in the trees while Gonzo slept in my lap. “Does it get any better than this?” I wondered idly.

The creek widened, and Luis stopped to let us fish for piranha. Some of Los Llanos’ water holes and creeks almost boil with piranha, and in no time I had one on the line. They are surprisingly small and beautiful, with a flush of red spreading from their cheeks down their bellies. Their ferocious reputation comes from their razor-sharp rows of teeth. Luis removed one from a hook and demonstrated the scissor-like motion of the jaw. He held the piranha up to an overhanging branch, which was severed in short order. Branch after branch followed, neither the piranha nor we tiring of the game. When a large caiman swam over to investigate, we decided it was time to return to the lodge.

After a hearty lunch of soup, lasagna, salad and fruit, followed by a siesta, it was time for the afternoon excursion. Sunset found us at another water hole with the largest population of birds we’d seen yet: countless white and scarlet ibises, flycatchers, caracaras, orioles, snowy egrets and even a shy tiger heron. Flocks of curassow called from the treetops, and on a bare branch a king vulture fixed his unsettling white eye on us. The most colorful of all vultures, the king is predominantly white, with a head and neck of blue, red and a startling dash of yellow. He was well named, we decided, as his giant wings propelled him into the air. Behind us the sun sank into the savanna with a final burst of color.

On our final morning at Hato Pinero the group split up: Half of us chose to explore on horseback with Pablo, a llanero guide. Llaneros , those weather-hardened cowboys who have been romanticized in Venezuelan folklore over the years, are to Venezuela what the gaucho is to Argentina and the cowboy to America. Pablo was an expert horseman who nevertheless was helpful to novice equestrians like me. On horseback I felt even closer to nature, and every now and again we’d rein in our mounts to admire a vermilion flycatcher lighting on a fence post or to watch the intricate dance of a pair of parrots.

A stop at the ranch’s small biological research station was the highlight of the morning. Arranged around a courtyard, the one-story building houses research facilities and a few rooms for resident scientists. But what captivated us was the heart of the compound. Soothingly cool and dark, the hall had the smell of learning: of books and old maps and leather chairs. The walls were lined with shelves containing bones, jars, animal skulls and countless books. The computer sitting on a desk seemed decidedly anachronistic.

Scientists from all over the world come here to conduct studies in ecology and animal behavior. A study of the social behavior of capuchin monkeys was in progress, and other research has aided recovery of endangered species such as jaguar, ocelot and tapir. Pablo showed us a worm farm that transforms manure into a highly concentrated organic fertilizer.

The sun was directly overhead when we emerged from the research station, and fortunately the horses knew a shortcut back to the corral. Walking across the courtyard to the lodge, I saw a movement under a mango tree. Was it a caiman this far from water? It was a 4-foot-long iguana, helping itself to mangoes.

For our last lunch we sampled the national dish of Venezuela: pabellon criollo , tasty shredded beef accompanied by rice, black beans and plantain.

Afterward we exchanged addresses with Gabriela and the other guests and said our goodbyes. While Hato Pinero rested, we headed back to Caracas. I hoped our driver would take his time.

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Guidebook: Wild Times at Hato * Getting there: From LAX, Continental Airlines flies direct (with one stop) to Caracas, Venezuela. There’s connecting service on American, Delta, United, Mexicana, LACSA, Avianca and COPA. Restricted round-trip fares begin at $669.

Hato Pinero is about 220 miles from Caracas, a five-to six-hour drive. Hiring a car with driver costs $258 for up to four passengers round trip. A plane can be chartered in Caracas for up to five people for $1,112 round trip.

* Where to stay: Hato Pinero lodge’s 11 guest rooms are rustic, with comfortable beds, showers but no hot water. There is no swimming pool because, as owner Don Antonio said, “Hato Pinero isn’t a spa; it’s a wildlife preserve.” Daily per-person rates are $150 from December to April and $120 from May to November, including three meals, open bar, two guided tours daily, horseback riding and boat excursions. A 16% tax is added. Book through Biotours in Caracas; tel. 011-58-212-991-0079, fax 011-58-212-991-6668. A 20% deposit is required with reservations. Hato Pinero’s Web site is https://www.branger.com/pinero.html.

* When to go: December through April is the best time for wildlife viewing, as animals congregate around receding water holes. We went in late May, enjoying off-season rates and still good weather.

* For more information: Consulate General of Venezuela, 7 E. 51st St., New York, NY 10022; tel. (212) 826-1660, https://www.traveldocs.com/ve/embassy.htm.

--Tatjana Deary