Amazon Jungle, 18 August, 6am.
As I rock in my hammock, cocooned by the mosquito net, the empty page calls me to conjure a description upon her blank face. I can hear the soothing patter of dawn rain on the fabric which stretches above me, it’s milimetre-thickness enough protection from an equatorial down pour.
In this remote place on the Yanoyaquillo – a tributary of a tributary of the Marion, which runs into the Amazon some 400km west of Brazil, we set camp above a rapidly falling water level- a village of personal spaces littered far beneath the jungle canopy. Here I feel a sense of adventure, purpose, and peace – our isolation is complete. This unique feeling has been achieved by spending three weeks living together and overcoming the challenges the jungle has presented us. Having learn’t some of the jungle’s ways, we are now able to survive here and operate to a daily routine.
After weeks of trials and tribulations; moving on foot through dense undergrowth, setting camps in primary forest, and surviving on slim rations we have adapted into a form of super-embryo who are sympathetic to one another’s needs and always act in favour of the group over the individual. This naturally invokes a sense of peace so that finally we can feel the diversity of flora and fauna which live and breathe all around us. WE see the jungle with fresh eyes, as if a cloak has been lifted and we explore our environment harmoniously utilising the most apt vessel for this purpose – the canoe.
Our party use two dugouts -each fashioned from a single twenty-year old tree trunk – to carry the bulk of our equipment – food and camp supplies, personal effects, and four persons a piece. These are hardy craft and are poetic in their form and function. We also have two aluminium canoes manufactured in the Canadian style which are sufficient to transport two persons and their luggage. When paddled swiftly our party can move at a steady pace up river as the slow flow allows at this time of year. The river has fallen by about two meters in so many weeks. Today it was necessary to cut fresh steps into the near vertical mud of the river bank for us to reach the canoes moored beneath camp. In a few more days it will no longer be possible to travel up the Yanoyaquillo. The low water has begun to expose fallen tree trunks which will soon block the passage of any sizable craft.
The dynamics of the Electric Eels Fire are so tightly entwined that morale is positive and strong. This is ideal given the nature of the adventure, as if a quip was given air to negative encouragement splinters would form and, like wedges would drive the group apart. I am thankful and at times humbled by their positive spirit which they maintain from dusk til dawn. My role as Fire Leader places me in a position of pastoral support and guidance for the group who age from 16-20. In effect I can advise them based on my own mistakes and exist zen-like as a facilitator. I respect the character and methods of Stevie, our Canoe leader. He has a supportive approach coupled with a bubbling northern wit, and at times a quiet demeanour after being in country for some time. The group have all taken a shine to him.
We also travel with a Cocama bushman named Antonio. As I write now he is kindling a fire with two of the young explorers. His methods are exacting and effective, even after a night of steady rainfall. The fire is built upon a base of sticks which help to ventilate it as well as keeping it off the damp jungle floor. Using a machete, dry shavings are scraped from inside of a wet piece of wood, upon which a spark is sent using a flint and striking stone. In minutes Antonio has the fire blazing, a task which may have taken us some time.
