“He’ll make a fine trophy,” Ernest declared, dragging the immense reptile from the vegetation.
Too much sun, drink and time on the choppy sea had left John and Peter weak and lethargic. Swimming toward the distant beach the two men found each stroke to be a struggle, their arms and legs feeling more like heavy weights than useful limbs. Crashing onto the beach, the two paused to assuage their bodies’ cries for sympathy and rest before moving on to the task at hand. Knowing that they were being watched, and undoubtedly critiqued by their host, John and Peter reluctantly stood and began scanning the beach for signs of wounded animal. After a lengthy search, and convinced that it could not be found, they began discussing their return swim to the boat anchored so far from shore. Just as they entered the surf they spotted their host, Ernest Hemingway, swimming toward them, a rifle high above his head, yelling that the search wasn’t over until the animal was found.
Ernest Hemingway’s hunting adventures in Africa are well known to American sportsmen and to countless others who enjoy his wonderful contributions to fine literature. But few are aware of Hemingway’s two lizard hunts. Although not as widely explored as the hunts that inspired Green Hills of Africa or True at First Light, these hunts for cold-blooded game were none the less just as exciting.
While in Cuba scouting locations for an upcoming movie, screenwriter Peter Viertel (The African Queen, The Old Man and the Sea) called on his friend Hemingway. As the two reminisced about the last time they saw one another, Ernest invited Peter to a day of fishing on his boat, Pilar. After Viertel explained that he was in Cuba on business with movie director John Huston (The Maltese Falcon, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre) Ernest extended the offer to include Huston.
Despite beautiful weather and a relatively calm sea on the day of their excursion, the three failed to have any luck cruising the Gulf Stream for marlin. With such a poor showing, Ernest suggested anchoring off his favorite cove for a leisurely lunch. As they waited for boathand Gregorio to prepare lunch, Ernest, John and Peter passed the time drinking beer and engaging in mild conversation. Seeing the empty beer bottles stack up, Ernest threw them in the ocean to use as target practice for the .22 caliber rifle he kept onboard. They let some of the bottles drift for about a hundred yards before taking a shot at them. In-between shooting and thinking, Ernest proudly boasted that one of his sons was such a good marksman that he frequently hit flying fish while airborne, leaping from the wake of the boat.
After coming topside to announce that lunch was almost ready, Gregorio asked if they had seen the huge iguana sunning on the distant shore. The men immediately turned their gaze to the beach. Peter, unfortunately, couldn’t spot the creature from so far away. Not wasting a moment, Ernest thrust a pair of binoculars into Peter’s chest and told him to look harder. Now seeing the lizard, Peter was able to give a blow-by-blow description of bullet placement.
Ernest’s first bullet exploded in the sand just under the iguana. His second was off-target as well. The third shot hit its mark and the lizard flipped violently before escaping into the brush above the beach.
Knowing that Ernest wouldn’t rest, or allow lunch to be served, until the animal was found, Peter and John took it upon themselves to find the wounded lizard. They jumped into the water and swam toward shore. As the realization of what they were doing mixed with the blazing Cuban sun and the effects of several beers, the men thought of returning to the Pilar, but changed their minds at the sight of Ernest vehemently staring at their every move. His penetrating stare persisted as they searched the beach for the cold-blooded trophy, but to no avail. Displeased by his companions’ lack of progress, Ernest made his way to shore, rifle held high above his head and the rolling waves.
Within15 minutes on land Ernest had found blood trail and followed it to a high stand of boulders just above the beach. Peering into a small rock cave hidden within the jumble of stones, Ernest detected movement and wasted no time in thrusting his rifle into the opening for a shot. Peter immediately voiced his concerns about a ricochet, but was met with an angry scowl From Ernest who announced he was about to give the big lizard “the gift of death.”
The rifle’s report was suddenly echoed by the sounds of scaly flesh bouncing off rock walls in violent struggle. And then silence.
Pulling the body from the cave, Ernest declared it was the largest iguana he’d ever seen and that he would have it made into a purse for his wife Mary. He was ecstatic beyond means as he swam back to the boat, the trophy lizard held high above his head. Mary carried the handbag for years and when asked, always told the story of Ernest’s iguana hunt and how her purse came to be.
Another adventure that began on a whim was Ernest’s hunt for a Komodo dragon with his younger brother Les. Altl10ugh known for his exaggerated sense of storytelling, Leicester Hemingway detailed their incredible hunt for the giant lizards of Komodo Island in a series of audio tapes that came to light in 1997. In them he explained that, due to a misunderstanding in travel arrangements, he and Ernest found themselves heading by boat to Flores Island from Singapore in the spring of 1941. When the boat stopped for the night off the island of Komodo, the men hatched a plan to make the most out of their bad travel arrangements.
By negotiating with the islanders through the captain, Ernest was able to procure two .505 Mannlicher rifles and ammo, horses, a guide and a rented hut on the beach for a night. With less than a full day to bag a dragon, Ernest and Les wasted no time in riding into the interior of the island to begin their hunt. Having recently done research on the famous lizards for a magazine pitch, Les suggested that they shoot a bait animal with the hopes that it would attract one of the big predators. Ernest agreed. They were riding in a deep liver basin thick with vegetation when Les spotted a hog crossing the trail ahead of them. He pulled the reins tight and dropped the 60-pound pig with a single shot to the head.
Delighted that they now had bait, Les tossed his rifle to Ernest, dismounted and made his way to the hog. Halfway to the bait something scurried from the brush and grabbed Les around his right ankle, knocking him to the ground. Les twisted to break free from the grip, only then seeing that he was in the jaws of the very animal he was hunting.
Les began kicking the lizard in the snout repeatedly with his good leg trying to break free, all the while waiting for his older brother to come to his aid. Ernest spun atop his horse, trying to get a clear shot at the enormous reptile, which was lipping the flesh from his younger brother’s leg. Les delivered another hard kick and the lizard pulled back, allowing him to retreat a few feet. Ernest ran to his brother’s side as the dragon retreated into some brush.
“He went in there!” Les winced in pain, pointing to the beast partially hidden in the close undergrowth.
Ernest raised his rifle and fired. The lizard twisted in pain, trying to right its body as Ernest fired a second shot, this time hitting the dragon in the head.
“He’ll make a fine trophy,” Ernest declared, dragging the immense reptile from the vegetation. At slightly over nine feet in length, the dragon was gigantic, with feet as big around as a catcher’s mitt and talon-like claws, each over two inches in length. Suddenly remembering his brother’s situation Ernest blurted, “Oh damn, how the hell is the foot?”
“Not so good,” Les replied, grimacing in pain.
Ernest leaned over to inspect his brother’s wounds and found that the dragon’s poisonous saliva had already begun breaking down the flesh. In an attempt to stop the decay, Ernest cinched his belt above the bite before cutting into the flesh in order to “bleed” the wound. But after closer examination, Ernest found the bite much worse than he originally suspected.
“I can’t cut more deeply,” Ernest announced, “It’s all tendons and bones in there.”
Lacking any sense of bedside manner, the guide concurred.
“Bad … very bad.”
Les was taken by horseback to the hut they had rented on the beach where Ernest did his best to clean the wound, using a mixture of Gordon’s gin and iodine. Les slowly fell into a fretful sleep, his body wracked not only from the poisonous saliva but from the sealing heat and the homemade concoction that Ernest used to clean his wounds.
Trying to raise his brother’s spirits, Ernest had arranged for the entrails and bones of the bait pig to be brought near camp in an attempt to lure in another dragon. Ernest hoped that if a dragon did present itself in the night, Les would be able to shoot the animal from his hut with the aid of a flashlight.
As the night progressed, Les slipped in and out of consciousness from the pain in his leg. Even cleaned with alcohol and iodine the wound continued to rot, causing unbearable pain. So unbearable, in fact, that when a dragon did hit the bait, all Les could do was encourage his brother to take it for him. Ernest reluctantly agreed.
The small flashlight scanned the distant edge of the shoreline until it came across a dark figure clawing at the pig entrails and swallowing whole chunks of intestines and viscera. Glowing yellow eyes reflected in the weak beam of light followed by a darting tongue trying to smell the source of its disturbance. Ernest held the .505 tight and fired. Orange-yellow flame sliced through the darkness followed by the sound of metal striking solid flesh. The dragon twisted and fell into the rotting flesh of its meal, dead from a single shot to the head.
Les watched the flashlight bobbing across the darkened landscape as his brother ran tohis trophy.
“It’s over fifteen feet long!” Ernest yelled before returning to his brother. But just as he had before, Ernest’s excitement subsided at the sight, and smell, of his brother’s wounds. The hut reeked of rot, and it was apparent that gangrene had begun to set in.
Ernest summoned the village medicine man and for the rest of the night he and Ernest used a combination of old and new healing techniques — a sterile knife, honey balm, a strong dose of gin and even maggots to save Les’ leg. By the time the boat returned in the morning the leg had been saved, and Ernest would soon to relate the amazing story of slaying two dragons, ending it on a happy note instead of a bad one.
This memoir recounts the quarter-century long friendship between Hemingway and Leonard Lyons, which eventually came to include Lyons’s wife and three sons. In this short book Jeffrey Lyons recounts visits to Hemingway in Cuba (where “Papa” first taught him how to shoot a gun) as well as nights out with the great writer at such popular New York watering holes as the Stork Club and Toots Shor’s. Throughout the book Hemingway comes across as a hard-working, generous, and thoughtful man of letters, and not the gruff, hard drinking beast perpetually looking for a fight that he was often perceived as. This is a book about friendship, loyalty, and trust between a famed novelist and a working journalist and his family. Buy Now
