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Outside Magazine July 2001

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Free Cuba Now (cont.)

FROM OUR NEW BASE of operations at Cayo las Brujas, there was one more item on the sportsmen's itinerary before Trey and I could get in the kayaks: dove hunting. Five of us piled into taxis along with five camo-clad guides and a hunting dog that curled up and slept on the floor of the backseat. We climbed a rough dirt road into the foothills outside the city of Santa Clara and parked at a small clapboard farmhouse. The dog, Pedro, hopped out of the car, and he and I took a long leak against a fence post. Above rose a pastured hill strung with cattle; below, the fields rolled away to the jungled ridges of the Escambray Mountains.

"There's a lot of remote Cuba that is really unknown to most people, reserves and natural areas that basically exist untouched and that are awaiting discovery by foreigners," says Al Read, executive vice-chairman of Geographic Expeditions, one of the largest adventure outfitters in the United States. Read says that his company is "sniffing around" in Cuba, laying the groundwork for cultural exchanges and post-embargo trips. "We like to be on the cutting edge, and we look forward to running trips there. It depends, of course, on how the Cubans handle it."

"There's a lot of remote Cuba that is really unknown," says one of the largest U.S. outfitters, who's "sniffing around" for post-embargo trips.

Armando Menocal, a world-class Wyoming climber who's been helping the Cuban rock-climbing community get off the ground, agrees. "The embargo isn't really the issue; it's the Cuban concept of tourism," he says. Menocal, whose parents are from Cuba, spent nearly two years getting the proper permits to lead hiking tours around the country. "To their ministry of tourism, tourism means building a resort hotel. Or they'll build one trail. They have a massive bureaucracy. In general, their attitude with regard to most of their natural areas is that if it has any importance, it's closed. Only recently are they realizing that with guides they can open places up to Cubans and foreigners."

I looked over at the jovial, free-spending sportsmen loading their guns in khakis and polo shirts, and thought how this was an unlikely way to launch adventure travel in Cuba.

Pedro was sitting 30 feet away in the stubble of a rice field, staring at me, waiting for me to get my act together and shoot a bird. He was black and exactly the size of a 200-cigar humidor. His upper lip was stuck on a tooth, which gave him a quizzical expression. Every time I missed a bird he blinked once and trembled. "Perrito," I murmured. "You are being unreasonable, almost indecent. A man must have a first time." This is the way Hemingway used to talk to his Havana cats, but it meant nothing to the dog. In the taxi to the campo, speeding past miles of sugarcane fields, my guide, Rolando, explained that Pedro was one of the best upland hunting dogs in Villa Clara province. He said he was half cocker spaniel.

"What's the other half?"

"Cuban."

Despite the pressure the dog was putting on me and the fact that a dove doesn't act anything like a clay pigeon, the only other flying thing I'd shot at in my life, I was happy. The warm air smelled of burning grass. The sun was going down behind me. It threw a smoky light on the rolling pastures, the hedgerows of wild peas and orchids, and the gray trunks of the royal palms. Palomas, mourning doves, rose in waves and cut across the slopes like volleys of arrows. They were fast and beautiful.

Rolando whistled. I looked uphill and two birds swooped out of the sun. I mounted, swung the gun on the first dove, and fired. The dog knew I had a hit before I did: He was already airborne and bounding over the rough furrows. When he brought the bird back it was limp and still warm. A breeze ruffled the feathers of its soft neck. This is no different from fishing, I thought, as I held the bird in my hand. A small life for part of a meal. But the warmth of the bird, the concentrated beauty of it, the fact that it had just been flyingÑit was different. I wasn't sure if I would ever do it again.

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