Amazonia – Travel Challenges Part 3

By Gary Tomlin

Yurimanguas, Peru — This thriving river port city of 70,000 is at the end of the highway. It’s all boats and waterways from here. Large multi-decked, self-propelled, cargo barges and smaller, faster, people boats, called rapid boats, transport all that is necessary, from spaghetti to tractors, to sustain life for all of the villages of the Huagalla River, the Marañón River and the city of Nauta. The cargo boats take four to eight days to reach Nauta. The rapid boats I’ll be traveling on can cover the 325 miles in 14 hours.

It took four hours to reach the Village of Lagunas. This was the first leg of my river adventure, and my first look at these abundant waterways.

The rivers cut through the rainforest which grows right up to the shorelines. You get no visual depth inland — just an intimidating jungle wall of rich, green flora with human-sized leaves.

There are small settlements carved into the forest with a few thatched roof dwellings built on stilts. I saw two commercial operations. One appeared to be a mine, and the other a base camp perhaps supporting oil exploration and production.

The Huallaga is about as wide as the Illinois River, or the Tanana River in Alaska, or the Sacramento River in California.

In Lagunas, I transferred to a dugout. I had booked a three day paddle on the Samiria River in the Pacaya-Samiria National Preserve (8,000 sq. mile).

There were several boats on the shore, and my guide selected the smallest. A tiny, tippy, rounded-hull of a dugout canoe, with a damaged and crooked gunnel. It was a precarious barrier between me in the storied masses of hungry, sharp-tooth Amazon piranha that I’ve heard so much about. 

The boat was full of water and I had serious misgivings while watching the guide bail it out. When he got it dry, he laid wooden cross-slats on the bottom that trussed, leveled and elevated a floor mat made of small bamboo poles. He loaded our gear, food and a chair for me. 

None of this inspired confidence in the boat, and I could foresee capsizing as unavoidable. I came very close to cancelling the trip. I had to willfully muster courage, ladled with Faith, to get into that dinky boat. 

As it worked out, the load pushed the boat down into the water, nearly to the gunnels, and it became remarkably stable. So stable that before it was over, the guide was standing on the bow, chopping through a downed tree trunk that blocked our course. He took full swings with an ax, while I sculled with my paddle to hold us in place against the current as he worked.

Adán, 74, was the consummate river man and guide, and I deeply regretted not being able to communicate with him. He could have shared a lifetime of knowledge about the natural order of the forest.

The Samiria River has an average width of a two-lane highway, and a fast current that moved us through a wonderland of overpowering greenery, elusive monkeys, playful dolphins and an endless chorus of exotic bird songs.

Bliss!

Slowly the realization started to grow, that half of this trip is going to be paddling back upstream against this propelling current.

The halfway point was Camp Gloria. A basic, rustic, built-on-stilts-over-water, facility, that provided lodging for three support people, and the guides and guests of four canoe tours.

This brought water charged energy, to living at the basic level of needs, with respect for your neighbors, in an atmosphere of mellow, communal Karma. Gloria is aptly named and among the coolest and most peaceful places I’ve ever been.

For all of my preparation, and careful planning, I never gave any consideration to the rain in the rainforest — until confronted with it an hour after we arrived at camp. My rain gear was proven and adequate. It was the head game that I had not prepared. It was fortunate that my first blush came while watching it from under a thatched roof. That dialed me in to face it.

We were about three hours into the trip upstream when the sky broke.Sightseeing was over. The visibility went to about 25-feet. The paddling demanded all focus.  It rained so hard that the river level actually rose, and the opposing force of the current increased. 

I was fully engaged. Two old men coordinating our strength, skills and bonding in the face of a challenge from Nature. 

After about an hour and a half, I was getting rummy in the head, tightness in my chest, and near my limit, then the rain let up. That’s how Nature does me. She requires everything I have, but everything I have, is always enough.

It returned to a wonderfully enchanted tour the rest of the way back to Lagunas. 

That night, I caught a rapid boat down to the Marañon River, and on to its mouth where it merges with the Ucayali River and becomes the Amazon at the City of Nauta. — where I got off of the boat shortly after dawn.

It was a 10-hour boat ride through the night. There was a little to see, and I slept for most of it.

#30