Bequia Easter Regatta 2008 - Caribbean Compass

APRIL 2008 CARIBBEAN COMPASS PAGE 26
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Green fingers of vegetation seem to claw their way up
the sheer cliffs, falling short of the tepuis’ lofty summits.
Formidable and mysterious, these ancient plateaus
inspired Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s classic adventure
The Lost World.
‘I open my eyes to see Angel Falls playing peek-a-boo
under the clouds’
As we make our way upriver and deeper into the forest,
the 48-horsepower Yamaha outboard engine
repeatedly chokes and sputters. At one point, the rear
of the boat fills with water. We stop and the gringos
use their Dixie cups to bail out the sinking canoe. As
dusk approaches, it starts raining again and the wet
gringos are now shivering. The river has narrowed and
the rapids are rougher. Large boulders jut out of the
water making the navigation more treacherous.
Around 5:00PM, Carlos says we’re getting close. A few
minutes later, we round a bend and straight ahead is
a magnificent sight to take your breath away. Angel
Falls looms above us, torrents of water cascading from
the flat mountaintop into a misty cloud. With rain pelt-
ing my face, I say a silent prayer of thanks for the
opportunity to witness one of nature’s truly aweinspiring
wonders.
The last hour of the trip is the most difficult: cold, wet,
and nerve-racking. As we buck our way against the rapids
of the Churun River, the pilot revs up our gasping
CHANEY
engine while the bowman guides us
within inches of large boulders. We all
know that if the engine dies now, the
gringos will be in the water, scattered,
and carried rapidly downstream with
night approaching. The Yamaha prevails
though, and with the sun’s final glimmer
lighting the way, the pilot beaches us on
the rocky shore below our camp.
The camp is an open pavilion, a sandy
floor beneath a tin roof, with colorful
hammocks slung from the rafters. There
are men’s and women’s bathrooms, each
with two toilets, non-functioning showers,
and a sink. A generator powers
lightbulbs strung under the roof and
supplies water pressure in the bathrooms.
Everyone changes into dry
clothes and passes around the rum.
Spirits are improving!
Our long-awaited dinner is served at
8:30PM and it’s delicious: chicken
roasted over a barbecue pit, rice, and
tomato/onion salad. With full bellies
and the lights off, we all collapse into
our hammocks. A gentle rain patters
on the tin roof, while the churning river provides a
soothing lullaby. And then the snoring starts. Note to
self: pack earplugs next time.
Saturday
I awaken cocooned in my hammock, snuggled in a
sheet against the morning chill. Spreading apart the
sheet and mosquito net, I open my eyes to see Angel
Falls playing peek-a-boo under the clouds. Everyone is
moving at a slow pace, taking pictures, and enjoying
the peacefulness of the morning. For some reason, the
camp guides haven’t started the generator yet. This
means no water pressure to flush the toilets. Need I
say more?
Our guides serve us a hearty breakfast of scrambled
eggs, a slice of ham and cheese, arepas (heavy corn
biscuits not easily digested), and coffee. Sufficiently
fed, we load up in the canoe for a quick trip across the
river. Then it’s an hour’s hike up a muddy and slippery
path through the jungle. We carefully pick our way
over roots, mud puddles, and logs. Carlos leads the
way, looking for snakes.
We ultimately reach Mirador Salto Angel, which provides
a view of Angel Falls near the bottom where it
joins the river. There’s no viewing platform here, nor
are there any guard rails. About 30 to 40 tourists
compete for space on a rocky precipice over a sheer
drop-off. Spray and wind from the falls make the area
quite treacherous, an OSHA inspector’s nightmare.
The view is spectacular though. Since it’s wet season,
a roaring river bursts from crevices at the top of the
tepui. The free-falling water explodes into a swirling
mist before joining the river below. In calmer conditions,
visitors are allowed to swim at the base of the
falls, but not today.
Back at camp, lunch is spaghetti with a surprising
fish/tomato sauce. By 2:00PM we’re in the canoe for
the faster downstream trip to the Canaima camp.
We’re expecting a drier trip, but quickly reach for our
jackets as waves board the boat and soak the gringos
once again.
When we arrive back at the river’s edge just above
Canaima Falls, there’s no truck to transport us so we
lug our gear about a mile down a muddy road to the
posada. Once again Carlos tells us there’s no room for
us here. Instead, we’ll be sent to a nearby posada.
We’re feeling pretty special by now.
Upon arrival at Posada Kaikuse, the innkeepers
inform us that there aren’t enough rooms for all of us,
so two couples will have to share a room with four
single beds. Ah, that special feeling keeps growing.
Nick and I get a spartan room with three single beds
next to the innkeeper’s quarters. Next door, a child is
screaming when we enter our room and is still screaming
when we leave for dinner. We do get much-needed
showers, although there isn’t any hot water. Later our
group is trucked back to the main posada for dinner:
an eggplant and vegetable sauté, rice, and bread.
When we return to our room, we’re relieved that the
child next door is silent. However, about the time we
crawl into our separate beds, the wailing starts again.
I guess we eventually tune it out and fall asleep. Our
rest is short-lived though. We’re awakened in the wee
hours by a rooster just outside our door who doesn’t
seem to get the sunrise thing. Soon barking dogs join
the crowing, a veritable symphony on our doorstep.
Lying in bed wide awake, I berate myself. Why didn’t I
pack those earplugs?
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