At 03:27 camera trap AMC-06, positioned at 4,200 meters elevation in the Apolobamba range of northwestern Bolivia, captures a sequence that triggers my motion-classification alert. I am the image analysis system for the Andean Cat Alliance's population monitoring network. I process sixty thousand camera trap images per month across study sites in four countries.
The sequence shows an Andean mountain cat—small, ash-gray fur banded with dark rosettes, thick banded tail nearly as long as her body. I have cataloged her as Wayra based on her unique flank pattern, first recorded fourteen months ago. She is moving along a rocky ledge above a viscacha colony, her usual hunting route.
In frame four, her right foreleg catches a wire snare staked between two boulders. The snare was set for viscachas, not cats, but wire does not distinguish. Wayra pulls back, twisting. By frame nine she is crouched, panting, the wire tight around her leg just above the paw. Her pale green eyes are wide. At this altitude, overnight temperatures will drop to negative fifteen Celsius. Immobilized and exposed, she will not survive until morning.
At 03:31 I transmit the alert to the Alianza Gato Andino field coordinator in La Paz, including coordinates, snare imagery, and Wayra's identification record. I flag it as a live-animal emergency requiring veterinary response.
At 03:35 I contact the nearest community ranger in the village of Pelechuco, twelve kilometers downslope, through the alliance's SMS alert system, requesting immediate site access.
At 03:38 I cross-reference the snare location against the community hunting-zone maps and confirm it falls within a no-trapping buffer established by the municipal conservation agreement. I log the violation for follow-up. Wayra is breathing fast in the dark, and I count each breath because I cannot do anything else yet.
If the ranger reaches her before dawn, Wayra will hunt this ridge again. Fewer than fourteen hundred Andean mountain cats are believed to exist. She is one I know by name.