Tuesday May 14, 2024

The light comes early. A bright clear sun in a blue sky. I feel the heat already. 

I stay in my hammock for a while, savoring the experience of waking up on a tropical island. 

Somehow it makes me think of the first times I woke up in hot climates. The beaches of the Everglades come to mind. A hot tropical sun that makes the air dance.

Through the mosquito net I see Sam’s hammock. I know he’s awake, but he also enjoys the moment.

Then a small rattling engine announces the arrival of a local fisherman. I don’t mind. For he is catching today’s meal. They live off the river.

We start to pack and after a quick breakfast we head the bow upstream for the Jaù river. 

The Negro is wide and the jungle slips by. The sun is hot and I cover my legs. The Amazon basin is flat and very rarely are there any rocks. Sam told me that he drilled a deep well at his house in Manaus. They hit rock at 40 meters / yard depth.

But now Sam suddenly steers the boat to the right bank where there are rocks visible. 

As we get closer we discern figurines carved into the rock. This was an ancient checkpoint for people from Peru traveling through the jungle towards Venezuela. The trip could last many years. But even Sam’s grandfather travelled for years to Peru and later to Belèm (at the mouth of the Amazon). Trips of thousands of kilometers, on foot, and surviving on what the jungle offered.

I pour water over the rock surface to increase the visibility, and I feel much intellectual satisfaction in seeing this place. The history of South America before the Spanish invasion, is largely a mystery. Because they had no writing, we have very little knowledge of events, chronology or even descriptions or explanations of their religion or architecture. We can only be amazed by what we see.

In stead of writing, they had a system of tying knots in ropes. Very little has survived and even less deciphered.

And here I stand in the heart of the jungle and I see with my own eyes what has been left behind, while Sam, an Indian himself, explains what he knows and tells me of his traditions. It’s a great moment.

We continue over the warm waters until, between the islands, we turn into the Jaú river. 

We skim over the water, the sun burning my skin. Then on the left there is an official building, a floating dock in front. We dock, climb up and go to the building where an official, all alone in the sweltering heat, checks our permit and passports. Sam knows him and there is no more inspection or questioning.

Back in the boat, we enter the park, mostly submerged because of the wet season. Trees rise up straight from the water, and we circle around them.

Sam wants to pass upstream over some waterfalls, because beyond them even the local Indians don’t come, and wildlife is very rich there.

At some point we see a turtle crossing the river, it’s head sticking out of the water. We try to catch it, because it doesn’t seem right, but we can’t grab it quickly enough. It’s a snapping turtle, so our fingers need to be well away from its head.

Foam on the water announces the rapids several miles before we reach them.

The river gets shallow and waves become pronounced. The water is running swiftly, and our engine needs its strength.

Then we see the falls. In several steps of over a meter (yard) each, brown water gushes down. The sound becomes loud, and we need to shout to talk to each other.

The boat dances on the waves and I am impressed with our engine.

Sam manoeuvres forward looking for quieter water behind clumps of rocks. But we can’t take the first step up. The mass of water is too great and falls down too far for us to go up against. After scanning for several minutes we see no place to do it.

I feel a fearsome disappointment when we finally drift to the side of the river to take a current for returning.

But just at that moment we see a side channel disgorging into the main stream. We sail upwards. It is narrow, flows fast, and trees and branches block the way.

We tie to a tree and get out. With a machete we cut a path along the stream to have a look at the streambed. 

The water moves very fast and there are rocks. 

What if we empty the boat, and carry the fuel drums and spare engine? The sweat runs down our faces and our shirts are dripping too - and that is without carrying anything. But maybe it is possible.

If we pull the boat we can bring it forward to a better place for unloading. I feel the excitement - and frankly, the call of water to cool off.

We have a long rope and holding on to roots and vines I work my way forward until I can tie the rope to a tree. From there I start pulling. Sam and Didi are out in the brook guiding and pushing it until it reaches the unloading point.

A quick conversation, all of us standing waist deep in the water: This was doable. Maybe we don’t need to unload.

Again I move forward, but here it’s so deep and the water runs so fast that I need to climb through the jungle to the next point.

I have the rope with a stick attached to it. I attach one end of the rope to the roots of a tree and throw the other end with the stick in the stream. Sam grabs it.

This time I need all of my strength, trying to keep my footing under water, pulling with the rope wrapped around a tree, to make sure I can hold the boat if things go wrong.

From behind Didi and Sam use all they have to prevent the boat from turning sideways, because then it will surely take in water and capsize.

For two hours we work like this. At some point the water is very deep and when my foot slips I am left hanging by a vine and the rope in the gushing water.

At another I climb along the vertical bank of the stream, holding on to tree roots. Suddenly it seems that my eyes malfunction. Something is moving. I try to focus, but the roots and all kind of organic dirt and spiderwebs are a hand width from my face.

I move my head backwards and suddenly see four tiny red spiders shaking in their webs. They are the most poisonous spiders in the world. This bald Dutchman finds himself in some odd places at times.

But my blood runs fast and I thoroughly enjoy the adventure.

And, by the way, Didi tells me later that its mouth is too small to bite human skin. So I was apparently in no danger at any point. From spiders at least.

We reach the final sharp bend in the stream where it splits off from the river. The water is a little more quiet. Here we lower our engine and turn upstream again. We have passed the steepest cascade, but we are by no means through the rapids. 

When driving over a big permanent wave we suddenly take in a lot of water. Then our engine simply doesn’t have the speed to go against the current. We hang precariously midstream without moving. 

Then we turn slightly sideways, water splashing everywhere, and I feel we are moving forward again.

We win the battle and finally the water becomes deeper and after half an hour we are in calm water again. Farther away from civilization than ever, in the Amazon jungle.

We enter a creek and inside a forest we recover and eat a snack.

It’s late afternoon and we want to make a camp to spend several nights. And soon Sam instructs us where to cut trees, how to watch for poisonous spiders and scorpions. We are busy until late. In the pitch dark I lower myself in the black water between the trees to cool off. Sam says it should be fine. ‘But keep your eyes open!’

As if I can see anything…

By the way, Sam has grown up in a local tribe very deep in the jungle. He knows this jungle inside out and can easily survive here. 

So tired now. I’ll sleep…