Essequibo Headwaters Expedition, Guyana, South America (2000)
ESSEQUIBO HEADWATERS EXPEDITION
March 2000 by Eldon R. Gemmil
I gazed across the narrow channel, now at flood stage, and ochre colored from the oxidized iron of the tropical soils. It was a feeling of both relief and foreboding. One of those rare moments of truth when the culmination of over two years of planning, investment of time a
nd resources, and many days of grueling work as human pack mules had finally come to a reckoning. The critical question – is the upper Kamoa river, unknown to white men, capable of providing us safe passage back to civilization. The first part of the answer looked promising. Yes, the river was big enough for our 17 ft. portable canoes (or Pakboats) loaded with us and our gear. Since there was no recorded information on the river’s size, and no maps including Landsat imagery that revealed its size through the forest canopy, the critical information could only be predicted. I had done this over a year earlier using some principals of fluvial geomorphology, a relatively new river science. Using Landsat imagery, one small segment of river that was visible enough to measure the wave length, amplitude and radius of curvature of its bends was found. This data plus measurements of drainage areas was plugged into some equations to predict a 40′ to 60′ wide by 4′ to 6′ deep channel. I even stuck my neck out and published this procedure and its results in the Summer, 1998 issue of Wilderness Canoeing Magazine.
Ok! So the river is big enough. But, could we survive the blow downs of spiny bamboo mixed with fallen trees and vines that completely blocked the channel in numerous areas? This species of bamboo is a “plant from hell” because its tough stems are heavily armored with inch long, razor sharp spines capable of ripping one to shreds. Moreover, the current was pushy and we were concerned that the spines and the sharp stubs resulting from clearing narrow tunnels through the stuff would puncture the fabric skin of our Pakboats. If this should happen, there would be little or no opportunity to land and recommission the canoe. An upset in these waters could involve a welcoming committee of piranha, electric eel, and even anaconda.
If we started down river and had to turn back, there was barely enough food and time to make it. So, we put our trust in ourselves, the design and workmanship of Scansport – manufacturer of the Pakboats, and Providence. Armed with sharpened machetes and good back paddling technique, we launched, hacked and threaded our way down river. Scraping over and under and cutting through fallen logs, vines and bamboo thickets, it sometimes took 3 hours to go a mile. Our shirts and skin were ripped by thorns and stung by the marabunta wasps that nested in the stuff. That first evening, after dark, we finally found a little hill where we could camp above water. The next morning we inspected the Pakboats and to our surprise, not one puncture or leak was found – a testament to their durability and design. We continued on chopping, paddling, lining and running down granite falls and rapids for four more days until we reached finally reached the “mother river herself” – the Essequibo. Soon we arrived at the village where the Wai Wai were on the shoreline to welcome us back.
That’s how our journey ended. It began in the US with four adventurous Marylanders planning a month long exploratory expedition into the remote and little known headwaters region of the Essequibo river. Here, almost under the equator, lies one of Earth’s last great wilderness areas. Starting high in the Acarai mountains on the border of Guyana and Brazil (and the headwaters of the Amazon), the Essequibo flows northward over several hundred miles to the Atlantic. Its headwaters cover some 15,000 square miles of contiguous, primary, lowland, and mountain rainforest .
Geologically, the area rests upon the Guayana Shield, one of the continent’s two Precambrian crystalline shields. Because of its ancient origins, even before the continental drift separating South America from Africa, the Shield has produced a complex mosaic of lithological units. Unlike the northern areas of Guyana and Venezuela, which are well explored, the tectonic and geological history of the southern area is only superficially understood .
Reflecting the geologic and physiographic variety of the Guayana Shield is a tremendous diversity of plant and animal life. Approximately 15,000 species of vascular plants have been identified in the Venezuelan Guyana to the West. After 250 years of botanical exploration there are still large areas on the Shield that are poorly known floristically. The lowland flora are extremely diverse and very poorly sampled . One can only guess at the cures for diseases that must exist in this living pharmacy. This diversity continues with the indigenous fauna that includes species and subspecies found rarely or nowhere else. Species such as the jaguar, harpy eagle, Guinian cock-of-the-rock, poison arrow frog, golden frog, laberria viper, ant bears, giant Brazilian river otter, ant birds, curassows, toucans, blue morpho butterflies, blue and yellow macaws form a boundless laboratory for the taxonomist, ecologist, and photographer.
The forgoing are some of the reasons that an exploratory expedition into this intriguing area appealed to us. Our objective was to fly from the coast of Guyana approximately 400 miles south to a small jungle airstrip (GUNNS) and the Wai Wai Amerindian village it serves near the confluence of the Kassikaityu and the Essequibo rivers (see map). From our location at this Wai Wai settlement, we planned to meet our Amerindian companions, assemble our gear and supplies, and travel up the meandering Kassikaityu through lowland and foot hill country to the base of the Wassarai Mountains and the extent of river navigation The distance of this leg is approximately 100 river miles (see route itinerary). In the mountains, we would ascend a deep canyon valley and portage, our canoes, food, and gear approximately 15 miles across the divide into the watershed of the Kamoa River. Once through the mountain pass we would reach the upper Kamoa river. Here we would assemble our portable 17 foot long open canoes or Pakboats and begin the approximately 85 mile homeward leg of the journey. The Kamoa would carry us eastward to the Essequibo which would lead us north and back to the village.
The Wai Wai are the country’s most remote and traditional tribe, sparsely inhabiting the southern forests. They are generally believed to have derived as a branch of the Caribs. They are known for their fine craft work and red cassava graters. Using fierce hunting dogs and poison arrows, the Wai Wai live by hunting, fishing, and subsistence agriculture. They continue to practice the art of making bala-uitu, or curare arrow poison. This ancient art, once wide spread throughout tropical South America, has been lost among many Indian tribes. To us their life appeared idyllic, seemingly living in harmony with their environment and each other. There was obviously a great amount of affection between parents and children. Each family member had their own responsibilities and all worked together happily accomplishing the necessities of life. A strong sense of community was present within the village. The Touchou and Council play an important structural role in this.
After a 3 ½ hour flight over unbroken emerald forest our tiny twin engine Islanders landed on a rude dirt airstrip in a bit of open savanna. We, our food, fuel and supplies, 2400 lb in all, were crammed in two of these aircraft. When we landed the light skinned, stocky Wai Wai were there to meet us. From the airstrip, all our supplies and gear were carried on a caravan of sturdy shoulders to a long thatched building with walls made of upright sticks and poles lashed together with vines and bark cord. The floor was made of hard beaten red clay. Here we spread out our gear and hung our hammocks. Later we strolled down to the river to bathe and to have a look at the log dugouts, two of which would carry us on the first phase of our journey down the Essequibo to the Kassikaktyu River and upstream on the latter into its headwaters in the Wassarai Mountains.
After we became settled into the village, the Touchou or Chief called a formal meeting with us and the tribal council to discuss details about our proposed route, who would go with us, what dugouts would be used etc. Since only a few could speak English, most such discourse took place through a third party translator – a Wai Wai who was fluent in both languages. The Wai Wai have a beautiful, soft, flowing language of hunters. When spoken in the forest, it drifts through the trees like a gentle breeze causing minimal alarm to potential game.
With the rising sun of March 4, we unzipped the mosquito netting and hatched from our hammock cocoons to begin a day of new experience and adventure. Soon someone brought us some fresh eggs, someone else – bunches of ripe bananas and oranges and voila! – a healthy breakfast was at hand. After breakfast, we began to pack and prepare for the first leg of our journey. This part would entail traveling down the Essequibo to the Kassikaityu in two log dugouts powered by a 15 hp outboard and the new 8 hp Yamaha (short shanked for a dugout) outboard that we shipped in from Maryland respectively, thence upstream on that river as far into the nortern edge of the Wassarai Mountains as we could get the dugouts. During this day we met with Wachanna Yaymochi (age 44) , Charakura Yukuma (38), and Sayra Ayaw (25), the three Wai Wai villagers who would accompany us on our trek. Wachanna and Charakula are of medium height and muscular build. Sayra, the youngest, is taller and lean. All have families, are good watermen and are used to hard work in the bush hunting and working their fields with hand tools. Wachanna spoke English the most fluently of the three and often helped in translations between us. We outfitted Romeo, Wachanna, Charakura and Sayra each with a pair of knee rubber boots, a pack frame, mosquito netting for their hammocks, a new cutlass and file, and a light blanket. Since malaria in the bush posed a real threat to everyone, we immediately started them on daily doses of deoxycycline (an effective prophylactic against the chloroquinine resistant type). We also carried fansidar, electrolyte salts, and aspirin (fever reduction) to treat anyone who came down with it. We brought mosquito repellent and mosquito netting as additional preventative measures. Many expeditions in the past have been plagued with this life threatening disease. We were determined not to let it happen to ours. As we departed, the entire village came to the river side to see us off. We left at 10:30 AM watching the last of any civilization for the next 3 weeks disappear around the first bend in the Esseqiuibo.
Romeo, Wachanna and Charakura took turns operating the outboards. As we ran the first minor rocky rapids, it became apparent that these individuals were experienced rivermen. A moderate pace was set that conserved fuel yet ate up the miles. We traveled until about 4 PM allowing a couple of hours to make camp. Enroute, we made a stop at the mouth of the Buanawau river to survey its channel cross section. This was part of a research project we developed to characterize the geomorphology of rivers in a pristine, neo-tropical, evergreen rainforest. It would be the first of numerous cross sections we were to do during the trip. Often the river channels were deep and of a murky brown color making wading with an extended surveyor’s rod a bit tricky. Having read for years about piranha, electric eels, stingrays and anaconda lurking in tropical waters, we always were a little on edge in doing this. Fortunately, no one was even bitten on the legs by the toothsome haimera, that are noted for this type of defense if one happens too close to their nest of eggs. Whenever the water levels were over waist deep, we either stood on a fallen log, if one was convenient, or maneuvered a dugout up into the channel from which we took the depth measurements. Working as a team, the eight of us soon became quite adept at the process that took, on average, about an hour. This included clearing brush, setting a level tape measure across the channel, taking the invert depths at intervals across the channel and recording that and other data. The potential hazards of our research didn’t end in the water. At one stream, Charakura sat down on a log while waiting for some equipment to arrive. I decided to sit on the same log, but just then spotted a slight movement. Right under my intended seat was a deadly bushmaster, coiled and ready to strike. On seeing this, Charakula leaped up and with two fast whacks of his cutlass converted one snake into three writhing pieces. Upon reflection, it would have been most embarrassing to imagine how the detailed epitaph on my grave stone could have read had things turned out differently! Since others would be passing this way, we figured it best the bushmaster no longer played a role in our group’s safety.
That evening, as we were making our first camp on the Kassikaityu, our Amerindian companions caught 3 large haimaras – a delicious fresh water fish that can attain several feet in length. These were caught Wai Wai style – without rod or reel, by simply twirling the baited hook overhead like a lasso and letting it fly off to a preordained spot. The often large fish were then hauled in tough-barehanded on the 80 lb test monofilament line. They were soon cleaned and cooked over an open fire thus ending our first exhilarating day on the river. From our hammocks the night sounds were much different and even more ancient than those we heard in the village. There were no dogs, or chickens or children singing – instead, mostly frogs booming or squeaking and insects chirping. Yet, somewhere in the forest, just before dawn echoed the familiar roars of a troop of howler monkeys. At daybreak, the Chachalacas took their place in the sequence along with the woop . . . woop . . . woop of the blue crowned mot mot. Who needed a clock?
We continued on for five days up the winding, ever narrowing Kassikaityu. The wildlife was incredible along the river. Capybara, the worlds largest rodent, splashed and sounded as we went by. The latter are an important food source for the anaconda or camoodi that we didn’t see, but knew were somewhere lurking in the murky depths. At the water’s edge near our last campsite was the partially digested carcass of some medium sized animal that had recently been disgorged by a camoodi. The anaconda have always been there as attested by the river’s name. Kassikaityu means “river of the dead” originating from the demise of a missionary who once was taken by such a creature along the river many years ago. Occasional floating logs that suddenly blinked revealed themselves to be banded caiman. Blue and gold (breasted) macaws flew over head in pairs or small groups. A labba, a rabbit sized rodent with renowned sweet, succulent meat, scurried along the river bank. Their flesh was so esteemed by the early colonists of British Guyana that they had a proverb that “The man who has eaten labba and drunk creek water will never die out of the Colony.” Sometimes a tapir was glimpsed crashing through the riparian vegetation. In the trees overlooking a river bend we saw some hoatzins – a large, weird reptile like bird of the gallery forest. They subsist almost entirely on philodendron leaves . All types of water oriented birds were present such as muscovy ducks, kingfishers, ibis, ducklars, and everywhere huge morpho butterflies flitted through the air transforming beams of sunlight into iridescent blue flashes. On several occasions, we encountered a group of the critically endangered giant river otter that, in their typical curiosity, would tread water, rising like partially filled champagne bottles to look us over. The Wai Wai would make an eerie sound that would, without fail, set the otter off into a chorus of their own strange language in reply. We Marylanders soon realized what a rare privilege it was to travel in this extraordinary country with these very special people of the rain forest. As time went on, the depth of this realization continued to increase.
By March 9 (Day 4) the river became so narrow that our progress was greatly slowed by trees, vines and brush that had fallen across the channel. We had no choice but to cut through many of these. The brush and vines could be dealt with by the front person wielding a cutlass. However, increasingly limbs and logs too large for this had to be cleared. Fortunately, Husqvarna,, one of the worlds leading manufacturers of chain saws, had provided us with a light weight, but powerful Model 335 XPT saw with a 14 inch bar. It proved ideal for the task – even cutting through logs submerged more than 10 inches under water. Cutting through them produced a heavy spray like a fire hose, soaking both the saw and its operator, but the little “Huski” kept on cutting and never faltered. Tropical woods are invariably hard so that a powerful, lightweight saw was a very important item of equipment for this phase of the journey.
While traveling on the river we settled into a semi-routine. Arise at 6AM, cook a big pot of oatmeal for all, eat breakfast, pack our hammocks, tarps, food, gear etc. into the dugouts and start cutting our way up the river until about 4 PM. Then find a suitable camp site – preferably above some moderate high water elevation – construct the tarp shelters, bathe in the river, cook super, wash dishes, filter-purify several gallons of river water for the next day, chat around a camp fire or update our journals and go to our hammocks for the remainder of the long tropical night. The daily bathing in the river was not only for aesthetic purposes. It was an important element of parasite control as ticks, chiggars and bot fly larvae eggs can be washed off with some degree of effectiveness before they burrow into the skin. Many tropical excursions are plagued by bots which grow into large grubs that raise a painful, walnut sized welt as they grow and writhe under the skin. We even had wagers going with the first person showing a bot welt to win a thousand Guyana dollars! No one won. We did collect quite a few itching chiggar bites, however. Although bathing in the river is desirable and somewhat necessary, the Wai Wai watchword is “never turn your back to the river”. During the days now, we were constantly wet from wading in the river, being rained upon, and sweating profusely. The humidity doesn’t allow for much drying so that the only dry time was in the evenings at camp when we changed into a set of dry clothes. The next morning we simply put our old wet clothes back on. Even though we washed them daily they soon began to mold and took on a musty odor. Eventually, every thing organic in the rainforest becomes humus. Our clothes were just following that natural order.
Making camp with the Wai Wai is something to behold. Upon reaching shore, they disperse out into the forest. Soon the sound of steel ringing against hard tropical wood is heard from various directions. Fifty foot tall trees begin to crash down and are dragged to the camp site where a rectangular framed structure is soon erected. Two large poles 24′ by 6″- 8 ” in diameter are set about 6 feet off the ground in parallel fashion. Four hammocks will be suspended across these. A ridge pole about 12 feet off of the ground is set whereupon a 24′ by 18′ sized plastic tarp is strung and fastened over all. With eight people, we constructed two such shelters each night to allow enough overhang to avoid blowing rains from soaking the windward persons in their hammocks. The whole process takes only an hour – probably 3 hours without the Wai Wai. By northern standards this definitely cannot be classified as low impact camping, although in 2 or 3 years it will be hard to discern that we were there except for the rotting poles of the shelter frame. Because it was expected to be our last camp where open canopy existed, I made a call back home on the Iridium Satellite phone we were carrying to relay our position and that all was going well. It was pretty amazing to be talking live and direct with family back in Maryland from the middle of the South American jungle.
March 10 was our fifth and last day in the dugouts. We passed by Kamoa Mountain Junction and took the left fork toward the Canyon. We were now in terra incognita, since no one had been recorded to have gone further this way (David Clarke of the Smithsonian Institute took the right fork in 1999). It took an entire day of hard cutting, clearing and manhauling on the heavily laden dugouts to progress only seven miles, but we made it to within 0.7 miles of Valley Branch and the beginning of the overland phase of the journey. Since it drains a large, 48 square mile lowland area between the Kamoa and Wassari Mountains we named this last major tributary Valley Branch. The Canyon Branch that we would now follow overland drained only 28 square miles – not enough water for the dugouts considering the worsening logs and other obstructions in such small channels. At this juncture, it was critical that we verify our location and the exact direction of the overland route. Since we could not get a good GPS reading, Sayra climbed a 100 foot plus tall tree for a reconnaissance. It was truly amazing to see him wrap his ankles with a circle of vines and shinny, barefooted, up into the dizzying heights above the general canopy. From there he relayed down, in Wai Wai, what he saw. Accompanied with directional arm pointing, Wachanna translated all this into English. Sayra could see the Kamoa Mountains and a bare granite peak to the east, parts of the courses of Valley Branch and Canyon Branch and the Gateway between the two Twin Peaks – key to our passage into the canyon and through the Wassarais mountain range. The next day, Keith Bowers, our navigator was able to get a good GPS reading at the confluence of the two branches, thus we could proceed with confidence. He soon became expert at getting locations and distances etc. from the GPS unit he carried. He only needed a modest opening in the canopy to do so. Once, when we really needed to know our position, Keith seemed to be stumped by too small of a canopy opening. In short order Sayra chopped down a tall tree about a foot in stem diameter. This modest additional opening was just enough to allow him to get a good fix on our location. Since, while trekking through the forest, one cannot normally see any land marks, accurately following a compass bearing combined with occasional location determinations is the best that one can hope for regarding navigation. Because the dense undergrowth often limits the distance we could see, topographic maps alone, although very helpful, were not sufficient. Ultimately, it boils down to an act of faith – then, finally, the sought for destination magically appears.
Armed with a compass, cutlasses, some water and farine, Romeo, Wachanna, Charakula and Syra struck out from Camp # 6 on the bearing we had given them (190° magnetic) toward the Gateway the next morning. Everyone seemed to have a special skill they excelled at and Romeo’s was an uncanny ability to stick to a bearing overland. This is not so simple when, in actuality, one can rarely travel in a straight line due to impassable swamps, spine armored thickets and steep rocky bluffs. All of the Amerindians excelled in wielding the cutlass. From years of experience, they knew exactly what angle and swing power was necessary to cut through each branch or vine, according to size and species, in their path. They were so efficient at this that they could move along at about one mile per hour all day – several times as fast as we Marylanders could cut. The rest of us busied ourselves with repacking for the overland phase and surveying the channel cross sections of Valley Branch and Canyon Branch.
For the overland phase, that took 12 physically punishing days to travel about 15 straight line miles, the following strategy seemed to fall in place. From a new camp three of the Amerindians would set out on a bearing cutting a trail or “line” about 3 feet wide – enough to allow a person with a pack load to pass. They would cut from 2 to 3 miles, locate a suitable campsite with good drainage along a stream and then return by dark. Meanwhile, the rest of us would load the pack frames with 55 to 70 pounds each and haul a load to the next campsite and return. The following day, we would break camp and all eight of us would haul a final load to the new camp site and set up there. In this way we transported about 825 pounds of food, fuel for the stoves, and gear through the Wassarais to the put-in on the Kamoa River. Due to constantly wet boots and feet while carrying the loads through swamps, up slippery steep clay slopes and across streams on precarious logs our feet began to blister badly. We Marylanders resorted to wrapping our feet with layers of duct tape each morning and downing a couple of Ibuprofen pain killers to be able to keep going. I seriously question if we could have made it without duct tape – an item with a thousand uses. The two pressure cookers allowed us to cook the many pounds of rice and dried beans we carried in a fraction of the time that it otherwise would have taken. This resulted in much greater fuel economy so that we needed to carry a lot less fuel and weight for the stoves. By default, Christel Cothran became the master chef with the pressure pots. She was the only one who could keep track of which barrel or bucket what ingredients were in. With the pressure cookers the cookery could sometimes become problematic, but she soon tamed them, producing many a hearty meal and feeding eight hungry people in the process. For our group, a typical meal was 2 ½ cups each of dry rice and red beans, each cooked separately in the pressure cookers. The two were usually mixed upon serving with liberal amounts of hot sauce dumped on top. Some other meals consisted of Kraft macaroni & cheese (8 boxes) or noodles and haimara – one of Christel’s specialties. Steve Witt, our medicine man and photogapher was her most ardent customer.
Except for the occasional downpours of rain, the humidity and temperature varied little during our days under the protective canopy. During a typical predominately clear day, temperatures rose into the 78° to 83° F. range. At night temperatures normally dropped into the 73° to 75° range making a sheet or light blanket desirable to sleep. On the Kassikaityu, water temperatures hung around 74° to 78° F. We were situated mostly between 800′ and 1200′ in elevation and in the dry season – the normal rainy season runs from May to September.
In trekking through the forest, wildlife was more heard than seen. This was especially true for the birds as many were hidden in the canopy. None-the-less their calls constantly surrounded us. Everywhere was the plaintive yelping of toucans and the shrill, piercing – pip-ee-o of the greenheart bird. There were many other calls, though less omnipresent, of birds that we didn’t know. At various times we saw troops of monkeys rustling through the tree tops. They always were very curious of us, stopping to peer down from their lofty venue. On one occasion some spider monkeys threw sticks at us. Other mammals seen were a giant anteater, and a peccary. Right after rain showers was a good time to find poison arrow frogs. They seemed most active then and we saw, but didn’t touch, two iridescent blue and black ones, two black and yellow spotted ones and a black and white patterned one. At one point, Romeo saw a jaguar following us while we were packing loads on the trail. This and some stories about incidences of “hand to paw” combat with Sayra and Charakula induced us to close up our ranks on the trail. The jaguar typically attacks from behind, crushing the skull of its victim in its powerful jaws. Out here, the large feline predators have not learned to fear humans! One of the large ground oriented birds is the black curassow. It has a black plumage except for a bright yellow cere on its beak. It is about the size of a wild turkey, but not nearly so smart. On several occasions, the Amerindians shot curassows and trumpet birds and boiled them over the campfire. We thought they were pretty tough and left especially the curassows or “powis” as they call them to our more patient companions. We hoped fervently for a nice peccary, but it never happened.
The diversity of the insect world was striking. Some spiders reached the size of an open hand and could prey on small birds. Once an 8 inch long walking stick made his way along the top of the camp shelter, and once a giant dragon fly with a 6 inch wing span elegantly helicoptered around and over our bags of gear. Just below the pass in a tiny wetland area exposed to the sun existed an unusual population of dragonflies sporting striking orange bodies that contrasted with the surrounding green. Everywhere in the forest were the bright iridescent flashes of blue morpho butterflies flitting among the lower levels. Less frequent were large yellow sulfurs and the curiously shaped and scented heliconias with black wings, spotted, according to the species with white, blue or scarlet. There were countless species of ants. One in particular, called the vienti-cuatro or bullet ant, we kept a close look-out for. If stung by this black, inch long critter one is painfully put out of commission for a day – thus its name in Spanish meaning 24 hours. At one of our camps Christel bent over and picked up an earthworm. It stretched out to over 4 feet long, whereby Steve required that she pose for a few photographs. It will be interesting to see whether Christel or the earthworm is most in focus!
The flat alluvial floodplains of larger streams is comprised of a mix of tree and shrub species, all adapted to alternating dry and wet or inundated conditions seasonally. These areas are perhaps the most difficult and exhausting to traverse due to the abrupt 2 to 4 foot high hillocks making up the floor of this forest. To pass through, one has to leap from hillock to hillock or sometimes walk in drainage ways between them – if dry enough. The risk while carrying a load is breaking a leg, falling and becoming impaled on a sharp stem that has been cut off by the cutlass, or being bitten on the hand by a snake while catching ones balance alongside a hillock. Accomplishing all three at once requires no great stretch of the imagination. At one point, I walked by a sharp staub that had been cut and was startled to notice that it was coated with bright red “blood”. Upon taking a closer look, I realized it was sap exuding from a nondescript plant probably of the genus Croton. The sap of this peculiar shrub is called “dragons blood” reputed to have strong healing powers.
In contrast, the well drained uplands were a welcome relief to travel through. Except for the steep slippery clay slopes, the footing is much better. Here, are multiple stories or levels of plants vertically. These associations are the most diverse in numbers and sizes of species with no predominant ones apparent. Sometimes these areas resembled the Piedmont physiographic areas of eastern North America. In these forests, the legendary giant trees do exist although infrequently. When one encounters one it is awe striking. We passed by a solitary Kapok that towered into the heavens – its huge buttressed stem measured 28 feet across at the base! The lofty limbs were festooned with hundreds of epiphytes including orchids and bromeliads.
Despite the exhausting days of functioning as human pack mules, being constantly wet, walking on blistered feet often with stinging ants falling down our shirt collars from overhead branches to add to the misery, our spirits were generally high. To realize that we were the first known humans to see this incredible valley and become a transitory part of its unique ecosystem was very exciting. The clear headwaters stream was beautiful as it meandered through occasional areas of open, northern Piedmont like forest. Its gradient now steeper, the stream had gravel and cobble riffles alternating with deep pools. Some of the pools even harbored haimera that we readily caught and broiled or smoked on a babricot or rack of sticks over a campfire in the evenings. Also offsetting the drudgery of the trail, were occasional wild plum trees that had dropped their tangy, refreshing fruit on the ground. The plums were thumb sized yellow fruits with one large seed surrounded by succulent flesh that we would chew and suck on. Further along, we spat out the pits doing our part in this seed dispersal strategy – contrived by mother nature. On Day 16 we, at last, trudged up over the steep, slippery 1200′ elevation pass into the Kamoa drainage. With a sense of accomplishment we looked back for the last time at the Kassikaityu watershed and the beautiful valley of the Wassarais. It was to be all down hill from here. That night it rained by buckets full until mid morning. The streams came way up, and we felt lucky that so much rain had held off until we were through the pass.
On Day 18 we broke camp and carried the last loads to the edge of the Kamoa and our put-in. We had named this last overland camp “Mud Camp” because of the ankle deep mire we churned up in certain heavy traffic areas around our camp. Upon seeing this muck around and under our hammocks etc., Wachanna muttered something relating to a herd of peccaries must have passed through. Wai Wai humor can sometimes cut like a piranha tooth! At the put-in on the Kamoa we said good-bye to Charakura and Sayra who would now trek back to Valley Branch and the dugouts and return to the village via the Kassikaityu. They had worked very hard on the Kassikaityu and the push through the mountains. We hated to part company after going through so much together, but the logistics of the expedition were such that two had to return by that way. We agreed that whoever makes it to the village first would send a search party back for the other if that party didn’t show up by a certain date. As it turned out, Charakula and Syra had to literally swim across some extensive swamp areas that had become flooded in order to reach the dugouts. Fortunately, they were carrying very light loads as we had left food caches for them on our way in.
The three portable canoes (Pakboats) manufactured by Alv Elvestad, a Norwegian canoeist who created a company called Scansport in New Hampshire were the key to our being able to traverse the over 200 mile long water – land – water route linking two major tributaries of the Essequibo. These versatile and durable craft can be compactly and readily carried on a pack frame. They can be assembled at the riverside in less than 40 minutes each. For us they were every bit as functional as a conventional open canoe – having the same load carrying capacity, versatility, convenience and comfort. One can even stand up or walk from end to end or lie back on top of the load and rest or prepare lunch as desired. Try that with a folding kayak with which there is no comparison for expedition travel. After assembly, we loaded the three 16.5 to 17.5 long open canoes with our remaining food, equipment, and trash (we carried all non-burnables out) and launched onto the waters of the Kamoa or River of the Sun. The opening in the canopy created by the 40′ to 60′ wide Kamoa was a welcome contrast to the many days of dark confinement in the unbroken forest. So too, was relief from the drudgery of hauling heavy packs and traversing three miles for every mile of progress overland compared to having the canoes swiftly and easily carry the loads. The trade off, as mentioned earlier, was the treachery of the spiney bamboo combined with a powerful current.
At the village, everyone was glad to see us return. The next day we had a big trading event – exchanging most of our equipment for hand made crafts (baskets, blow guns, bows, arrows, necklaces, Wai Wai stools etc.) and paying wages to our Amerindian workers. We also donated the still almost new 8 hp Yamaha Outboard, our entire medical kit and some other items to the tribe. On Wednesday morning we packed our remaining items and headed across to the savanna to Gunns airstrip. The lowlands were still flooded as was the lower part of the airstrip. At one point we had to take a dugout to get across a flooded section. We were a little concerned that the plane would have enough dry runway to get off. The twin engine islander arrived on time, we loaded up and said our goodbyes. The plane needed every inch of dry runway and just skimmed over the tree tops on the way up. As we headed north and homeward we reflected on the friendships and unforgettable experiences we shared with these genteel, masters of the rainforest. A part of us wanted to stay longer as we wondered, with a tinge of sadness, if we would ever see them again and journey through the great forests and rivers of the Land of Many Waters.