A variety of hunting methods is found in the Ribeira Valley. Hunting in the studied communities is mainly nocturnal, when individuals wait for their prey in a “trepeiro.” “Trepeiro” consists in an artisanal structure made of wood set high in the trees to accommodate the hunter at a strategic location for hunting. Commonly, the local is prepared previously with “ceva,” a bait used by quilombolas to attract game animals. Banana bunch and rock salt are the most commonly used bait for animals in the area. This type of hunting is performed individually, with the use of flashlight and shotgun, and the animals slain are mostly paca (Cuniculus paca), deer (Mazama sp.), and occasionally lowland tapirs (Tapirus terrestris).
Another method of hunting in the area is a diurnal walking tour in the forest, with the use of hunting dogs. This practice can be done individually or by groups of two or more people armed with shotgun. Deer, peccary (Pecari tajacu), coati (Nasua nasua), and monkeys (i.e., Alouatta guariba) are commonly slaughtered with this method. Artisanal traps made of woods are also used by local residents. They are set up preferably in fallows (secondary forests) near to the village. Animals captured with this method are small preys such as armadillos (Dasypus sp.) and big-eared opossum (Didelphis aurita).
The 13 mammals mentioned in the local narratives were deer (a local term that includes the two most common cervids in the area, Mazama americana and Mazama gouazoubira, as well as Mazama nana and Mazama bororo, which may also be found in the region), peccary (Pecari tacaju), paca (Cuniculus paca), coati (Nasua nasua), fox (Cerdocyon thous), raccoon (Procyon cancrivorus), puma (Puma concolor), jaguar (Panthera onca), howler monkey (Alouatta guariba), and southern muriqui (Brachyteles arachnoides). For the remainder of the article, the species will be referred to only by their common names.
Animal activity pattern, lunar cycle, and hunting strategies
"Pacas come out at night, and you're more likely to see them during the waning moon, three days after the waxing moon" (João, age 42, RCS's field journal, 05/25/2017).
We start the discussion of local narratives with this account that summarizes two aspects of the ecology of a particular species, the paca. Here, we can access a local resident’s perception of the species’ activity period (nocturnal), and more particularly, an indication that the animal is more active (“you’re more likely to see them”) in a certain lunar phase (waning) associated with less light.
This information is associated with the concepts of photophobia in general and of lunar phobia in particular, a behavior attributed to species as an antipredator strategy. It has also been suggested that pacas exhibit photophobia in settings such as open fields [51] and secondary forests [52] in the Amazon, and it has been shown in an Atlantic Forest fragment in southern Brazil [53]. In primary forests in the Amazon, however, Michalski and Norris [54] did not observe a clear correlation between lunar phases and the occurrence of pacas in samplings using camera traps.
There appears to be an interaction between luminosity and habitat types. Because their canopies are less dense, secondary forests allow greater light penetration, while primary forests permit less light to penetrate. It is thus to be expected that photophobia would have a greater impact in secondary forests and, therefore, that it would be more likely to be recorded. We know that the areas most used by the quilombolas for hunting and other activities are secondary forests [41], and this is in keeping with the local perception that pacas avoid the nights with the brightest moonlight in this setting.
The experience of one of the authors (HMP) with local hunters (Fig. 2), including waiting for long periods in a “trepeiro” provided more details about the activity patterns of nocturnal species in the region with regard to lunar phases.
Today, I arrived at Mauro’s (age 62) house in the early afternoon. During our conversation, he said that he was going to visit a "ceva" in a nearby “capoeira”Footnote 1 between late afternoon and early evening. I asked if I could go along with him. He agreed, but warned me that we would have to go early. "It's a full moon tonight, and the deer is very agitated at the beginning of the night." Mauro explained that after the moon "comes out," the deer stop moving and do not come to the "ceva" anymore. Mauro said the moon would "come out" around 8 pm this evening. He also reported that the deer had been visiting the location and licking the salt for the past two days. We arrived at the location shortly before 6 pm. By around 6:30 pm, it had grown dark. We climbed into the “trepeiro” and remained there in complete silence. Twice we heard what sounded like a large animal coming down the path near the "ceva." But the animal didn't stop to lick the salt or touch the banana. I wondered what it could be. Mauro thought it was the same deer who had been visiting the "ceva" the previous days. Somehow, the deer "suspected" our presence, he said. Between 7:30 and 8:00 pm the forest slowly grew lighter, until it was brightly lit by the full moon, which was already visible in the sky. It was time to go home (HMP’s field note entry, 07/16/2019).
Late in the afternoon today (07/18/2019), after a brief drizzle, we were able to go up the path again toward the same location. Mauro said we wouldn't have to arrive at the “trepeiro” as early as we had the first night. Because we were already in the waning moon, the moon would "come out" around 9 pm, an hour later than it had two nights ago. In Mauro's judgment, animals like the deer and paca become active a little later, as they have more time to move about at night. Anyway, we arrived at the “trepeiro” around 6 pm. Between 6:30 and 7 pm, the forest was completely dark. I couldn't even make out the shape of the nearest trees. We could hear the sounds of fruit dropping onto the forest floor, the flutter of a bat's wings above us, and the rustling of a small animal circling the "ceva." At one point, Mauro pointed his flashlight toward the bananas. It was only a small marsupial. But it wasn't long before we heard the noise of a larger animal approaching. After a few minutes, the animal was already in the "ceva." Holding the flashlight with his left hand, Mauro shined the beam of light directly at the animal - it was a large paca eating the banana. Shotgun in his right hand, the aim, and the accurate shot. It was a male. Ecstatic, Mauro describes the animal's behavior before it arrived at the "ceva"; he talks about the animal's "cunning" and "suspicion" as it approached and drew away from the bait before finally stopping at it (which I would not have noticed). The kill happened around 7:30 pm, and we stayed there until around 9 pm. But no other animals came to the "ceva," and the moon "came out." Although there was not much light, at least the complete darkness was dispelled, and we could make out the shapes of some of the trees. Mauro said it was time to go home. "It's no use staying any longer, no more animals will come back to the ceva." (HMP's field journal, 07/18/2019).
The knowledge of hunters like Mauro suggests that the influence of the moon’s brightness on the activity pattern of nocturnal species may have a stronger influence on the time of activity rather than on whether the animal will be active or not on a particular night. This has received little attention in studies on the topic. The indication found in Mauro's narrative is in line with the study carried out by Michalski and Norris [54] in the Amazon, which did not find a significant relationship between the occurrence of pacas in their samplings and lunar phases (in contrast to the other studies mentioned above). The same study, however, found that in brighter nights, pacas tend to concentrate their activities just after sundown [54] or “before the moon comes out,” if we use Mauro's words to interpret this type of data.
In contrast to Mauro, who believes the moon’s light has a distinct influence on the times when animals are active, Michalski and Norris [54] found only a weak correlation between the moon’s luminosity and the times when pacas are active. This difference in magnitude may be due to the fact that those authors sampled a primary forest, while Mauro was hunting in a secondary forest approximately 30 years old with some openings in the canopy, and his “trepeiro” was located just a few meters from a one-meter-wide path. Under these circumstances, the brightness of the moon seems to have a greater impact on the nocturnal habits of the nocturnal prey that forage there. The quilombolas have also mentioned the impact of lunar phases on the olfactory signals left by peccaries in the forest, with implications for strategy of hunting with dogs. This topic will be introduced in the next section.
In addition to the interaction between local and scientific knowledge, the ethnographic experience summarized above may also reveal an affective dimension to Mauro’s involvement with hunting. Mauro lives alone, several kilometers outside the community, and the daily hunt is his main source of animal protein. He is now retired and owns a house in Vila do Batatal (near São Paulo State Highway 165, see Fig. 1), which could provide him a diet less reliant on hunting, if he preferred.
What seems to be at stake, however, is what we could call an ontological identification, a predisposition to behavior or an acquired taste associated with this practice, nourished, and fulfilled over the course of his daily life [23, 55, 56]. In fact, the many occasions on which HMP accompanied him on forest excursions were always filled with enthusiastic accounts of hunts in the distant or recent past; his memories were refreshed by passing specific places in the landscape associated with those episodes. This affective dimension of hunting is also associated with a form of social capital [57]. Mauro often shares meat he has hunted with some community members (especially family members) and is recognized by others as the most skilled hunter ever to live in the area.
Olfactory cues in the forest and the use of dogs in hunting
In this section, we analyze the intricate interaction, and communication, between wild ungulates, hunting dogs, and hunters. To this end, we will articulate local narratives to zoological and anthropological literature on this topic. Firstly, we will retake the case of peccary’s olfactory signals and hunting with dogs, which we have briefly mentioned in the previous section. Below, we reproduce a section of one of the authors’ field journal. The account was recorded by HMP in the context of a conversation about hunting knowledge and techniques adopted in the region:
With regard to the peccary, Edivan (age 30) said that starting with the new moon, the peccary's "stink" [from the scent gland located on the animal's back] increases significantly, so that as the peccary brushes against the foliage while running from a dog, it leaves a strong scent, making it easier for the dog to track it (HMP’s field journal, 01/30/2019).
The passage cited above relates to another account recorded by HMP approximately 2 months earlier in another community in the same region. The conversation dealt with hunting activities in general:
Talking about the use of dogs in hunting, Zeca (age 58) stated that the dog "runs" [pursues] deer with its nose to the ground. "The deer gives off a secretion from between its toes." This speech suggests that a deer leaves an olfactory cue in its tracks. When the dog runs a "tateto" [peccary], it keeps its nose up because the "stink" is on the leaves (HMP’s field journal, 12/07/2018).
The two accounts cited above indicate differences in the modes by which peccaries and deer use scent in marking (as a form of social communication). These cues are used by hunting dogs. The peccary is known to have a dorsal scent gland located between 10 and 15 cm below the base of its tail [58, 59]. It is also known that deer and other cervids have tarsal and interdigital glands on their four legs that are associated with olfactory communication between individuals [60, 61].
Precisely because the peccary’s gland is located on its back, its odors are left on the leaves and branches the animal brushes against as it moves. In the case of Mazama, these olfactory cues remain in their tracks. In this sense, the account cited above also indicates that a dog pursues a deer with its snout to the ground but keeps his head up while chasing a peccary.
Thus, the position of the dog’s head during the chase can alert the hunter to the type of prey being pursued. This passage, in particular, indicates the great complexity involved in the interaction and communication between a hunter and his dog. This intimate and ancient bond between man and dog [62,63,64] is an element without which the local praxis of hunting cannot be well understood, nor its impact on the local fauna [65, 66]. The man-dog-deer relationship in the context of hunting will be explored in detail below.
In another conversation about hunting deer, Mauro (age 62) and Duda (age 50) described a technique used in the past, which was to release dogs to chase deer and then wait for the deer in a nearby stream or river:
“The deer comes down to the river, that's its only defense, just as a peccary burrows into a hole“ (Duda, HMP’s field journal, 12/29/2018).
According to these locals, when the hunter hears the deer approaching, he positions himself in the middle of the nearest stream and waits without moving, his machete at the ready. When the deer passes close to the hunter without noticing him, he strikes straight at the animal's neck.Footnote 2 They also recounted that in one of these episodes, sports hunters from outside the community killed more than six deer in a single afternoon (HMP’s field journal, 12/29/2018).
The effectiveness of hunting deer with trained dogs [65, 66] is evident in the passage above. In this same interview, Mauro and Duda said that when hunters sight deer tracks and release their dogs to chase it, they already know which direction the deer will flee, based on the “spine” [hillslope] in that location. Still regarding deer hunting:
Mr. Mota (age 65) said that "in the river, the deer gets a bit disoriented," and that once he struck one with a machete [indicating the same tactic described above]. Edivan also confirmed that he waits for the deer in the river, but that he shoots it rather than using a machete. He also said that when it has run far, the deer arrives at the river very tired and also "a bit disoriented" (HMP’s field journal, 01/03/2019.
The study by Bateson [67] on behavioral and physiological aspects of Cervus elaphus killed with and without the aid of dogs in the UK is informative in this regard. Based on analysis of blood and muscle tissue samples collected at the moment of death, Bateson and Bradshaw [68] show that these cervids experience extreme physiological and psychological stress and extreme physical exhaustion during their flight. Significantly depleted blood sugar levels, muscle tears, damaged red blood cells, and extremely high cortisol levels were recorded in animals killed following short and long chases, which lasted, on average, for 3 h [68].
It is worth noting that the use of water courses by cervids is known in both the zoological and ethnographic literature [65, 66, 69, 70]. The search for rivers or streams during flight seems to be relatively effective at interrupting the chemical cue left by their tracks (given the presence of the interdigital glands mentioned above).
In a study of the Paranapiacaba mountain range, which includes Ribeira Valley, Vogliotti [[21], p., 20] also collected reports about this strategy in which deer flee from dogs in the direction of streams. Through sampling with camera traps, the same author showed that Mazama bororo was found with greater frequency in streams than in other landscape features such as forest paths, groves of fruit trees, or previously selected trails or latrines [[21], p., 38].
Following the passage cited above:
Edivan (age 30) reports that he typically releases the dog when he spots deer tracks. With each bark from the dog, he gauges his position with respect to the deer on a given forest "spine" [hillslope]. He also says the deer doesn't move until the dog "gets very close to him." He then bolts at high speed in the direction of the stream or river (HMP’s field journal, 01/03/2019).
Edivan continues saying that when the deer "is coming down the river sort of disoriented," he (Edivan) startles the animal as a tactic (causing it to freeze for a few seconds), then he shoots it (HMP’s field journal, 01/03/2019).
Edivan’s account is explicit and credible. His gestures seek to recreate his experiences during the hunt, and they are an important component of his narrative. The strength of his account suggests an intimacy with this activity and a special taste for storytelling. One would not expect to find this depth of involvement in (and knowledge about) a traditional practice in someone of Edivan’s generation—according to the general trend of intergenerational erosion of traditional knowledge in these communities [41], based on quantitative analytical studies. In this sense, Edivan’s accounts reinforce the special role of the ethnographic method with a phenomenological orientation [24, 40] and its ability to tease out personal singularities to complement the general view that an analytical method with a naturalist orientation would bring to this type of study.
It is important to remember that this account of the deer’s reaction when found by the dog and then by the hunter in the middle of a stream or river reflects the typical antipredator behavior of cervids, which is widely known in the zoological and ethological literature [71, 72]. When they sense a predator’s presence, these animals use the tactic of freezing to avoid being perceived and can remain frozen in place after they have been detected by the predator in order to assess the predator’s behavior. The prey then waits for the best moment to flee for safety, if necessary.
This behavior has been interpreted by biologists as advantageous to the prey, as it is a way to avoid wasting energy on premature and, perhaps, unnecessary flight [73]. In the specific case of the account cited above, this adaptive behavior in the deer proves effective with regard to its encounter with the dog, as the deer is able to reach the stream, even if exhausted.
However, upon the deer’s arrival at the stream, a second step of the hunt is initiated, as the deer encounters a second predator: the waiting hunter. When startled by the hunter in the stream (in the case of the account cited here), the deer reproduces its antipredator behavior of freezing. However, as precisely noted by Ingold [74] in a study of caribou (Rangifer tarandus) hunters in northern Finland, when the predator is a human able to kill at a distance, this behavior is no longer advantageous to the animal. This is because the hunter takes advantage of the moment the deer stands still to shoot it from a distance [23].
Last, the cervid behavior of freezing at the time of the hunt, with or without dogs, deserves a small ethnographic note. It is interesting to note, as Ingold [23] has also suggested, how this antipredator behavior among cervids seems to elicit, among hunting peoples, the conception that the animals are offering themselves to the hunter. Using ethnographies written about the Cree hunting people of northeastern Canada as an example and focusing on their relation with the caribou (R. tarandus), Ingold states:
“They (the Cree) say that the animal offers itself up, quite intentionally and in a spirit of good-will or even love toward the hunter. The bodily substance of the caribou is not taken, it is received. And it is at the moment of encounter, when the animal stands its ground and looks the hunter in the eye, that the offering is made.“ (Ingold [23], p.13).
It is worth mentioning that the model of an offering involving hunting has been widely discussed in anthropological literature, as have the logics of reciprocity and predation, to cite the Amazon case [75]. This ontological level of analysis, with regard to how local residents of Ribeira Valley (São Paulo) might explain why deer “act in a way that facilitates the hunter’s enterprise at the time of the encounter,” has not yet been explored in the current ethnographic context. Future studies that address this topic in nonindigenous contexts might be able to provide unprecedented contributions to the anthropological and ethnoecological literature, particularly with regard to the layers of meanings present in this type of immediate contact between humans and animal behavior, especially during hunting episodes such as those mentioned above.
Seasonality and use of anthropogenic forests by preys and carnivores
In this section, we analyze how mammals use different features of the local landscape and its interaction with seasonality. On this subject, the quilombola accounts suggest an indirect relationship between anthropogenic environments (gardens and clearings) and regional carnivores, mediated by herbivores and/or omnivores that forage in these settings. According to local accounts, autumn and winter are the seasons where fruit is more abundant in the secondary forests (or fallows), “because cold is the time for fruit.”
“The little critters come into the garden to eat roots and fruit, which brings out the big cats who go where their food is…in the middle of the year, the cats all come seeking out food, so they get closer because what they eat is much closer to us“ (Renato, age 72, RCS’s field journal, 05/27/2017).
This type of account indicating the potential for traditional garden plots to attract mammals has been reported in the same quilombola context [22], as well as among coastal populations of São Paulo state [50]. In the broader literature, it is known that traditional agricultural systems (called itinerant gardens, slash-and-burn, or coivara cultivation) [76, 77] and the secondary forests they produce can add complexity to the landscape and impact on faunal dynamics and local hunting strategies [78, 79].
For example, as Linares [80] and Smith [81] suggested long ago, the Buglé indigenous people in Panama describe garden plots and fallow areas (secondary forests) as veritable “game gardens” because they attract many mammal species. Other examples that corroborate this include case studies on primates in Africa [82, 83], birds in the Colombian Amazon [84] and Guatemala [85] and small mammals in Mexico [86], for a broader review of this topic, see [87]. The traditional agricultural system employed by quilombola communities in Ribeira Valley is slash-and-burn and itinerant farming [35], which over time have produced a mosaic of secondary and mature forests in that region [34, 88].
Additionally, various local collaborators provided information potentially relevant to a better understanding of the ecology and space use patterns by this faunal group, such as the occurrence of coatis in areas with an abundance of bromeliads (especially Vriesea sp., Bromeliaceae), which is in agreement with their foraging in Ribeira Valley [89]; an association of the fox and raccoon with old banana groves that are still scattered throughout the landscape; and the puma’s movement pattern by relatively fixed routes but especially on the jutting mountaintops that are characteristic of the region’s topography.
Considering the feline reproductive behavior and its association with landscape use and seasonality, many locals repeated the narrative that the jaguar mates during the months of August and September.
“Around August/September, you can hear the jaguar roaring out there in the forest [the interviewee imitates the sound of a jaguar], and we see a lot of scratch marks on the ground and on the trees because they're starting their reproductive period...and the jaguars are all giving birth at the end of the year, they stay up there in the forest“ (Danilo, age 65, RCS’s field journal, 05/27/2017).
In general, jaguars can reproduce throughout the year [90, 91], with a greater concentration of reproductive activity occurring in certain periods. For example, the species’ reproductive peak in Belize was recorded between May and September [92]. The period of December to February was reported to be the most active for the species’ reproduction in Venezuela [93] and in the Brazilian Pantanal [94].
Hormonal analyses of specimens in captivity indicate that the jaguar’s ovarian activity begins in August and September [95]. These data corroborate the quilombola account cited above. In the environmental context of Ribeira Valley in particular, the spring season, which begins in September, was identified as the jaguar’s mating period in Carlos Botelho State Park [96], a conservation unit contiguous with the Quilombos do Middle Ribeira Valley Quilombolas Environmental Protection Area [Área de Proteção Ambiental Quilombos do Médio Ribeira, APA-QMR] and its quilombola territories. These data also align with the account mentioned above.
Hunting primates: ethnoprimatology, phenomenology, and regret
Another topic that is relevant is the relationship between quilombolas and primates. For example, quilombolas have reported that when wounded by gunfire, howler monkeys and southern muriqui often use leaves, which they rub over or stuff into the wound. This is an ethnoecological record of what is known in the zoological literature as anointing or fur-rubbing behavior [97].
The local residents’ interpretation is that these primates use the leaves as a sort of “medicine” to cure the wound or at least relieve the pain it causes. In this case, the anointing behavior seems to be associated with the concept of zoopharmacognosy: the therapeutic use of substances or materials by animals suffering from some type of injury [98, 99].
Whether or not associated with zoopharmacognosy, anointing has been observed among orangutans (Pongo pygmaeus wurmbii) [100], capuchin monkeys (Cebus capucinus) [101], spider monkeys (Ateles geoffroyi) [102], and owl monkeys (Aotus spp.) [103]. Based on a preliminary survey, however, there is not yet any systematic and reliable description of this behavior among howler and southern muriqui.
Another aspect of this behavior is that when local residents discuss it, they usually also report that if the animal is not felled by the first shot and can grab the leaves and rub them on its wound, it will almost certainly not be killed. Some residents even say that if this occurs, “it’s better to go home,” relating instances in which the animal was never killed, even after having been hit by many gunshots. In addition to the empirical data related to the concept of zoopharmacognosy, these particular aspects of the narratives seem to hint at a magic dimension to this behavior in that the behavior is interpreted as rendering the animal immune to death, at least in that particular hunting episode.
This sort of magic behavior may be associated to the concept of “corpo fechado” (closed body). Varela [104], based on the classical work of Marcel Mauss [105], “A General Theory of Magic,” defines “corpo fechado” as a belief in a type of invulnerability to death created by a sort of spell or enchantment, common in human and animals. The mediation of spirits and entities of this form of enchantment is commonly combined with use of materials such as leaves, roots, and rocks. This kind of belief might take elaborated rites among humans, but it is perceived that individual animals might be able to do it with the aid of forest supernatural entities, which also may take the form of animal itself in local ontologies [9,10,11,12,13,14, 106].
Another topic related to primates is a set of reports by hunters (or former hunters) that relate traumatic experiences involving the killing of primates. These accounts tell of “near-human” behavior manifested by primates at the time they are killed. There are accounts, for example, of females who, when shot, protect their young from the fall; of offspring who clutch their wounded mothers until they can no longer bear her weight; and of mothers who display their babies to the hunter when he is preparing to take the kill shot.
Returning to the subject of animal behavior, Zeca (age 58) tells of the time "a monkey" [a female southern muriqui] he had shot pulled a baby (theretofore not seen by the hunter) from behind her back and, before falling, threw the baby up into the branches where it could grab hold and thus be saved from the fall. Zeca related this episode with great regret, saying it is one of the reasons he does not much enjoy hunting, especially monkeys (HMP’s field journal, 12/07/2018).
In the field, these stories are told with a certain dramatic tone and sense of regret, in general culminating in expressions such as “monkeys are almost people” and “it seems like a monkey used to be a person,” and “after what I saw, I never killed a monkey again.”
In this regard, it is worth noting that attributing human qualities to other animals can be associated with animist thought, which is predominant among indigenous peoples in the Amazon, the circumpolar regions of Canada and Siberia, and parts of Indonesia, among other regions [10]. This is not the case of the ethnographic context considered here. This is more an anthropocentric conception of Western origin [75], directed at a specific element of nature, in this case, primates—also observed in other nonindigenous rural populations in Brazil [106, RSM and HMP, pers. obsv. among Amazonia’s riverine populations].
The explanation for this example of anthropocentrism, particularly directed at primates, seems to lie in their physical and behavioral similarity to humans. These similarities are perceived in the course of the intimate involvement of people with these animals, mobilized especially in the daily experience of hunting. Therefore, based on this phenomenological dimension, it seems that this anthropocentric conception of these animals arises from the bodily/sensorial experience between local hunters and primates.
These ontological data can, in turn, modulate the constitution of symbolic representations about these animals [107], which still needs to be understood in this kind of ethnographic context. This is a phenomenon that has not yet received much attention in research on nonindigenous rural populations in Brazil [106]. Consideration of this kind of phenomenon may have significant implications for the development and effective implementation of management plans and environmental education programs related to this faunistic group [108, 109].