The Private Eye has written about our experiences canoeing in the white and black water of an Amazonian tributary, and I don’t think I can say any more. But there were a few things that surprised me.
- The climate: simply put, it wasn’t that hot on the river. Ubud was hotter. When the sun was out, sure, it was warm, but since the river water is from the mountains, it was reasonably cool. This was only true on the river; when we ventured onto land, sweat poured in buckets due to the 100% humidity. The knees of my pants were soaked, and I wondered if I had stepped in slightly too deep water for my boots. I hadn’t; it was the sweat coursing down my legs and then hitting fabric right above the boot.
- The fish: there were so many fish, the sound of a splash as one nabbed an insect from the surface was frequent. Drop some food scraps in the river, and 20 or so would congregate to feast. Most nets we stopped at had numerous fish in them. Our guide, when fishing with a pole, gave up after 3 minutes, because if he hadn’t caught something by then, it was too long.
- The water: there were times when there was no land for hours. It wasn’t just a river: it was an enormous flood plain. My guess is that the water was 6-8 feet above its low point. Because we were so close to the mountains, there were no real industrial uses of the river upstream of us. This meant that locals could drink the water freely, and later in the trip our water was boiled river water.
- Fire: cooking was over an open fire, with either some bricks or a few pieces of rebar to hold pots up. We started fires with matches and… large pieces of clear plastic cups. They burn easily, hot, and for a while. Wood for the fire was chopped from logs left in the cabana, and once our guide chopped down a small tree to then chop a few logs.
- Safety: I think the only really dangerous situations would be a traumatic injury, because of distance from a radio, or both of our guides falling unconscious when we were deep in the reserve, because we might get lost trying to make our way back upriver. Both of those were exceedingly unlikely; this is their day-to-day life. Having local guides, who knew everyone else we met on the river, meant there was no danger from people. It’s a very small community. In Yurimaguas people tried to aggressively sell themselves as guides until we said we were with Jefe; then smiled, said OK, offered to help us with our bags. I would not have felt safe if we were just ourselves.
- The fauna density: partially because of the amount of time we spent on the river, and partially its undisturbed state, we saw many, many animals. Often we wouldn’t stop, later in the trip. Of course, we didn’t see them; our guide did, and pointed them out to us, at which point they became apparent. The jungle in Laos was silent in comparison, even when gazing oveer the canopy at sunset and sunrise. I wonder if this is true in California redwood forests as well, which at times seem so desolate. I had once read that soil in the Amazon is very nutrient poor; I had incorrectly assumed this meant there was sparse life. Instead, it’s because the forest so quickly takes up the nutrients, otherwise the rain will leach them away.
— The Professor
The Professor and the Private Eye: Adventures Abroad 