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Daniel Saws a Bull in Half

By Chris Thompson - 2009-01-27

WARNING – GRAPHIC PHOTOGRAPHS

It was another normal day on the pampas, Rheas and sheep, a few million short thorny bushes, the wind laughing at us, and vast expanses of nothingness – pretty much a normal Friday. Passing kilometer 55, on ruta 7, going east towards Esparanza, we stopped in at Estancia Vangaurdia to beg for some water; as much as we like the pampas, we’d rather not die in them. If I had to pick a place, it’s not a bad one, but like I said, not quite yet. Luckily for us, this estancia wasn’t the normal 15km of rough gravel track from the main road; they’re into long driveways around here. There were a few gauchos standing around in front of one of the smaller buildings sitting at the foot of the hill above us.

Our minds being on water, it took a few minutes for us to notice the large, skinned, bloody, bull torso swinging from some sort of wooden scaffolding. Normally a hard thing to miss, especially after the stunning lack of anything all day. They were also sawing the bull in half with a hand saw. The smell of the blood and meat was overwhelming, powerful and primal, like the smell of fresh dark earth being tilled. As we walked up towards them, they looked up for a moment, and went back to work. Crazy gringos riding bikes around like monks paying pennance are pretty normal out here I guess.

The bull was hanging from a wooden beam pushed between the legs and tendons of the steers back legs, swinging back and forth while they worked on it. It looked like the whole thing was hung up using a rope fashioned from an old tire. They took turns sawing, working for a few minutes, and then switching off. It was something like drafting in a pace line, blood, guts, and sweat. Needless to say, we felt right at home…and a little hungry.

They pulled the razor sharp knives out of the sheath at the small of their back to slice through meat like butter, exposing a few inches of bull spine to saw through. As they sawed, sweating and grunting, a gruesome sawdust of bone and what looked like hamburger flew out of the cut. The bloody neck stump scraped across the rough concrete slab below the scaffolding, each saw stroke dragging it through the mud and blood.

By this point we were pretty sure this operation wasn’t up to FDA standards, so Daniel offered to take a hand at the sawing. He was on the spot, the reputation of all gringos was on the line as the hard working gauchos looked on.

He fell to his job with gusto, and started sawing away like he was born and raised sawing various animals in half. The ranchers were taken aback by the ‘rojo gringo of fury’, muttering various grunts of approval as the meat and blood flew up from the blur of the saw blade. The gauchos pulled the two halves of the bull apart, to keep the blade from binding up within the gory gash. Daniel continued to saw, with only six inches of neck between him and victory. Finally he took the last sanguinous stroke, and the bull was split in twain!

Victorious, Daniel stood over his fallen foe, but not without a price. The saw of the gauchos bites the careless. For some reason, the top of the saw was sharp, so there’s a little bit of Daniel blood mixed in with someone’s juicy steak; all in all, on par for food safety on the farm. After we were done, the gauchos relaxed a bit, weighing the bull quarters, and teasing one of estancias dogs with the barn cat. What was once a 2000 lb bull has been reduced to giant chunks of dark red meat, surrounded by thick, rich white fat. The 250 lb chunks are thrown into the super-sanitary pickup bed covered in plastic meat wagon, and carted off.

Another day on the ranch, another day in the pampas. I can’t really make fun of the sanitation too much, really. I’m sure I’d been even more shocked by what goes on in an American slaughter house. These cows are grass fed, live out on the range, and are probably being cooked and consumed within 100 kilometers of the estancia driveway. I know one thing…I really want a giant hunk of beef to gnaw on right now.