The following morning, Danni was back at the boat, inquiring whether we wanted to go to the jungle that afternoon. We were still pretty wiped out from all the activity and continuous trading from the day before, so we declined that idea. Then he suggested "crocodilio" hunting that night. Before I could respond, Phillip was saying "yes, yes, yes". At seven that evening we boarded 
Danni's dug-out pirogue again and set off on a nighttime hunting expedition. We motored on a plane over the mirror like water in the darkness. The sound of Danni's 40 horse engine and the wind rushing past our ears, drowned out the evening's jungle noises. With a habitual, perhaps even instinctive pull on the engines tiller, the pirogue turned towards the shore piercing through the jungle trees masking the rivers banks into a small cano. Once inside, Danni cut the engine and began to paddle gently, quietly up the narrow jungle stream.
A flashlight in hand, our guide searched the mangrove like roots for the shy caimon. Twenty minutes later he spotted on whispering: "crocodilio". He maneuvered the boat closer, without ever lifting the paddle out of the water. We could see the caimon's glowing eyes reflecting in the flashlight's beam. Just as quietly as we had drifted up to the caimon, it retreated in a backwards motion, sinking its protruding snout and eyes below the water's surface. Danni ran to the front of the boat in pursuit with his flashlight beam, but he was gone.
Danni's dug-out pirogue again and set off on a nighttime hunting expedition. We motored on a plane over the mirror like water in the darkness. The sound of Danni's 40 horse engine and the wind rushing past our ears, drowned out the evening's jungle noises. With a habitual, perhaps even instinctive pull on the engines tiller, the pirogue turned towards the shore piercing through the jungle trees masking the rivers banks into a small cano. Once inside, Danni cut the engine and began to paddle gently, quietly up the narrow jungle stream.
A flashlight in hand, our guide searched the mangrove like roots for the shy caimon. Twenty minutes later he spotted on whispering: "crocodilio". He maneuvered the boat closer, without ever lifting the paddle out of the water. We could see the caimon's glowing eyes reflecting in the flashlight's beam. Just as quietly as we had drifted up to the caimon, it retreated in a backwards motion, sinking its protruding snout and eyes below the water's surface. Danni ran to the front of the boat in pursuit with his flashlight beam, but he was gone.Shortly there after, we came upon a 6 footer. Danni shown the light while I took aim. I took the shot and hit the caimon. Danni rapidly paddled for the spot where it went down. Shining the flashlight into the muddy water. It looked as though he was going to jump in after him. Dani holding the paddle had his arm up to his shoulder in the water and his nose two inches above the water's surface, poking around trying to find the caimon. After a five minute search, he gave up with great disappointment. That "crocodilio" would have fed half of the village.
We returned to the Adamo empty handed at midnight. The next night, Danni invited us to go again. I asked what time he would pick us up. "8:00pm" "Okay" I said, "What time is it now?" Danni walked out of his hut, looked at the sun and said "5:00pm". He was the Warrau version of Crocodile Dundee.
That night Danni caught one baby caimon by hand. He kept it for a photo op. "Too small to eat" he lamented.
