Black Water & Breakfast and the Drizzle (Pre Chapers to: "The Green Sea of the Amazon") 4-2009

Pre Chapter to
“The Green Sea of the Amazon”

Black Water


At noon we were in the air, leaving the Lima, Airport for Iquitos, a Peruvian city along the shores of the Amazon. When we landed, we were quickly picked up and brought to the pier. There were a few other planes in back of us coming in. It had looked like it had just rained, as nearly as I could figure, because everything was watery, and the dock area muddy. Once on the pier, we met several of the Company’s representatives, the driver of the boat that was to take us down river and a few guests, all in all we had worked through a network of people, getting our gear ready to go on an Amazon Jungle safari of sorts (or expedition).
Now, the long Expedition boat, was loading foods and other items on board, along with twelve passengers, not all would be going as far down and deep into the jungle as we, there were a few resort type areas for tourists along the way, not many, and the farther down river you went and into the jungle, the more scarce they became.
Once in motion, heading to our destination, our propeller under the boat was spinning nosily, I could hear it, it sounded like my old 1950 Ford, as if the motor was loose on its understructure; the thing to do now was simply rest and enjoy the ride, the scenery, I told myself.
The Captain’s name of the boat was Marcelo, he was up front, doing the steering of the boat, Jose and Manuel, his assistant workers were sitting with us, one or the other would go check the back, where the gasoline was being stored, along with other items, and then he’d re check us to make sure we kept our life jackets on secure, and smiled. There was a third employee; he would be dropped off about fifty miles down river, a kitchen worker at one of the smaller lodges. The whole trip would be 125-miles down river.
For a long time it seemed no one among us said a word, I think we were in a daze and trying to normalize ourselves, if not acquaint our bodies with the new environment, physically, and mentally, and sensory, all in all, to get acclimated.
“Come on,” I said to Rosa, “say something, it is too boring, I mean the scenery is beautiful, right?”
“We have to hold on tight when we get to the two rivers emerging, two currents hit one another and that causes friction.” Said a voice, it sounded like the captain’s, it came from in front of us, so everyone grabbed onto the railings.
“Dear,” said Rosa, “don’t turn about to quickly you can fall backwards, and fall through these upper railings into the river itself.” And then she started hanging on to me, as if she was going to save me. And it is usually the other way around.
“Let me go, and hang onto the railing, like the man said,” I told her. I put her hand around the metal railing, and she griped it. Once in the Gran Sabana, under a waterfalls, I had to hang onto her, she was on a rope, and had let go to hang onto me as if I was going to slide down into the falls and be gone forever, and I had to grab her, and the rope; and once in the ocean (along side, Copacabana Beech, in Rio Janeiro) she came out to save me from a big wave, and I had to grab her, because the wave swept her up, and was about to sweep her away, I know how she can get when she panics, she’s like a pistol against a man’s head, you got to move her physically or it will be the death of both you. She means well, but becomes dangerous in the process.

Bump! Splash! Bump! Splash! We were like on a roller coaster for a moment, and then it all settled back to normality, if there is such a word in the Amazon.
Then after two long hours (of the six-hour trip), the Captain drove alongside a dock area, dropping the cook’s helper off and two guests, now there were ten of us, plus the captain, and the two assistants. He put the engine in reverse, drove it out, it got stuck in some weeds and roots, and the propeller spun, and then got snagged.
“Well,” said the Captain, “which one of you wants to go in and straighten up everything under the boat?” No one answered, and I wasn’t sure why, it looked like an easy task. But I was glad I did not volunteer, after I found out what I found out.
“Can’t we row to shore and do it there?” asked Jose.
“I don’t think so,” said the Captain, “it will take all day.”
Then the captain went back to the backside of the boat, looked down into the water, “It’s no good, a big something on there!” he shouted back.
“What do you say,” said Jose.
“We got to cut the roots off the propeller, that’s what I said.”
The clouds were shifting above us it looked like rain. The captain turned the engine back on, the rotor spun a foot, but it only tightened the roots around the propeller more so.
“It’s—dead,” said Jose, meaning the propeller. And had they tried any more, the engine would have burnt up.
“Better jump in,” said the captain.
“What about…” Jose didn’t finish his sentence, when the Captain said, “It’s your turn, let’s get to it!”
“What’s the big reason no one wants to go to work on the blade?”
“Senor,” said the captain, we are in a tributary of the Amazon, it is black water, which comes from the roots of the trees, we don’t know what is in the black water, and often there are piranhas all about. They come in hordes, and, well you know what they can do, they rip at your skin, take hunks of meat out of you, in a matter of seconds. Sometimes they nibble by you, give you a running start, and sometimes they don’t.”
“Oh,” I said, and then I heard a splash, and Jose cutting the roots like a madman off the propeller, I could hear his heavy breathing.
“Captain, I got a nibble on my leg,” Jose said, “come over here and move a stick about to frighten whatever is down there away!”
I looked at Jose, through the back opening of the boat, he looked afraid, and I would too I told myself. No money could get me in there, but I would later on swim in the Amazon, although not in black water. Along each side of the boat was a canvas top, one in the middle also, that was now open, the others coverings were over our heads to protect us against the light rain that was now starting to fall.
I watched the captain move his stick about, as Manuel was—I think, saying his prayers he’d not be asked to jump in and help Jose.
“They feel braver in a bunch,” said Manuel, “they take your whole leg off in a matter of minutes.” He commented.
I saw the Captain move back now, and Jose about to leap up, and then, suddenly, he yells, “I think so, one got the bottom of my foot, I think so, I think so…oo!” and the captain swung his long stick in the water, making splashes, hit the fish across the side of its face, no bigger than a sunfish, and it ripped a piece of skin off Jose’s heel, and then he was on board, bleeding.
“Let’s take a look;” said the captain, “I don’t think the fish got all that much.”
“Did you kill it,” asked Jose.
“If not he’ll not…never mind, how do you feel?”
“Do I get a day off with pay for this?” He asked the Captain, seriously.
And the Captain laughed, saying, “Jose, no, it’s not that bad, you don’t get a day off, lucky he was not with his clan, but I bet they are nearby. Put some iodine on it Manuel for him, then write it up as an accident incase I will have to report it, you know,” said the Captain to Manuel and Jose “he’ll be all right, just a sore foot, with a little meat gone. You’ve had worse.”

The engine started and we were back on track, back on our way down river.
“It is a fine lodge you folks are going to but we got to make one more stop along the way, drop six passengers off, and the rest of you will go to the lodge deeper into the jungle,” said Jose, meaning the one we were going to.
Ahead the river got wider and wider, at one point it was six-miles wide, it was like a giant highway, that didn’t cease. We talked some more among ourselves and the boat was going fast against time.

We made our second stop, and it looked a little less elegant than the previous resort, I figured ours would be, even less. I kind of thought: what am I doing here, but it was an adventure I had somewhat dreamed about, I mean who hasn’t thought about going down the longest and most dangerous river in the world, with all its wildlife and unknown secrets awaiting for ones arrival.
The sky was clouding up again, and it was raining slightly, and after ten minutes of rain, it somehow disappeared, we drove out of it. Then we turned down another tributary, and deeper into the Amazon green. The shores looked muddy and across the wet embankments we passed were scattered individuals fishing, kids swimming, dogs running, monkey’s playing, a few long looking black cats racing in the wild, three or four feet long. A few pink dolphins popping their heads up in the river; then we came to a dock area.

“Come one at a time,” said the captain on the dock, his hand extended for us.

It was like a little bridge out into the tributary, that lead up to the lodge, and along side the main lodge, were little huts, and wooden walkways, all leading into one another, and to the main lodge, where there was the cafeteria, lounge and small souvenir shop. The Captain introduced us to the general staff throughout the place.

Breakfast and the Drizzle


In the morning everything was wet, it had rained throughout the night. The mist of the rain was just lifting I noticed outside my window of our hut, I could see the tops of the trees, the inlet that stretched out to the mouth of the Amazon was vaguely visible. The air was fresh but soggy, heavy with water. There were giant bugs on my net that covered the net around me and my bed, bugs with thick long wings, and fat bodies, drooping bellies, long legged bugs, and small beetle like bugs, and bugs with big eyes like headlights, a few as big as sparrows. A few spiders, hairy legs, and bloody-eyed creatures, about the size of a half dollar; I hit the net, and most fell off or flew off or jumped off, I got up, then I walked out beyond the hooch. Everything was wet, the wooden sidewalks that acted as bridges throughout the compound were soaked. There was still a light drizzle, a steady drizzle, everyone was rushing to the main lodge with things covering their heads, umbrellas, newspapers, hats, and so forth.
The cafeteria seemed crowded compared to when we arrived yesterday, a few hours before dusk. In the far corner of the cafeteria, the corner that looked out towards the boats, were three natives, one playing a drum, one playing a flute, the other a guitar, all three harmonizing some song. I sat at one of the tables with Rosa, and I suppose everyone saw my tight- wound, still somewhat muscularly, pure white legs, and said: I bet he’s from the Arctic. A few older women came in, shaking water off from their umbrellas, spreading them out to dry out.
“Breakfast will be ready shortly,” said the cook.
“Jose, how’s your foot?” I yelled as he finished his breakfast with the captain of the boat, at another table.
“Fine,” he said.
“No work to-day?”
“I wish,” he said.
“Where is Manuel?” I asked.
“He’s cleaning the boat.”
“Look,” he said, “Have you met Avelino yet?”
“No.”
“He’ll be your personal guide. He picked you out himself.”
“Why is that?” I asked.
“He heard you like things your way, and being with a group my present some problems, plus he likes big tips, and he thinks you got money!”
“Yes, I see, thanks for the update.”
“Avelino, come here and meet your clients!” said Jose.
“Sit down and join us,” I said to our new guide.
“I can’t now, I’m doing some paperwork, but I’ll see you after breakfast.”
I finished eating, washed up in cold water, from an outdoor fascist.
“Look,” said Rosa, “the manager gave me this note, a message from Avelino, says: ‘Meet you at 10:30 a.m., in back of he last hut, by the opening of the jungle, we’re going to a native village.” Singed: Avelino.
“Well,” I said, “if we can’t find the spot, he’ll simply have to find us.” And Rosa and I had a chuckle.