range airport terminal building. It was also termite country
with seemingly every second electricity pole and fence post supporting
a bulbous colony. Well to do farmers could be spotted a mile off as their
perimeter fencing sported steel posts in defiance of the termites.
Just when things were looking up a government
official pulled us over to test the veracity of our written permission
to enter the reservation. As we bided our time in a roadside restaurant
Reiss and partner Wellington were left to sort out the paperwork while
we entertained thoughts of the Brazilian SAS dropping in on us. Thankfully,
negotiations extending over several hours proved fruitful and we |
|
were finally allowed to proceed - but it meant another
day had been lost. Instead of making it to our first camp on the river,
we pitched tents at an abandoned farmhouse (the owners were known to the
operators) about eight kilometres from the Rio Travessao.
Despite losing two days we were all in pretty
high spirits. At least we were finally about to be on the water -
or so we thought. Overnight rain had turned the unsealed road to mush and
Wellington made a mess of one particularly bad section, sliding the vehicle
off the high ground and into gigantic bog holes. After our initial attempts
to extricate the vehicle were unsuccessful we sent Russell Jensen |
|
off on a two kilometre walk to the river to get some Indian
manpower. In the meantime we shoved palm leaves under the wheels, dug out
part of the road that was hitting the engine pan - all to no avail until
Russell re-appeared out of the bush like Dr Livingstone with ten Indians
who duly man-handled the vehicle out of the bog. What else could
possibly go wrong we thought?
Finally on the water with our guide we motored
down-stream through a labyrinth of rock-bars and rapids casting lures at
likely hot spots. Guide is perhaps too strong a term. Reiss quite
properly described them as boat drivers - not guides. They knew the country
well but |
|
couldn't tie a fishing knot; their form of fishing expertise
was with spear or bow and arrow. We were re-assured that our boat drivers
knew every inch of the waterway. The plan was to work our way downstream
to a duly appointed camp site at a large rock-bar.
Half an hour into fishing and with the boat
on the plane we hit a submerged rock with a sickening thud. I knew right
away that the bottom end was cactus. It wasn't the guides fault as in the
murky conditions the rock could not be seen; nor was there any tell tale
current swirls to give it away - yet Reiss's words "the guides knew every
inch of the waterway" was ringing in my ears. Seconds later another dingy
rounded |
