J. Dillon
03-16-2004, 01:37 PM
Part 2
See Part one over in People & places
The Napo river and the Jungles
The tarmac radiated the heat of the hot equatorial sun as we approached the terminal to claim our baggage. This was our second landing today. There was a previous stop to take on more passengers. We noticed Golda had gotten off there thinking this was our departure for the Amazon interior. Johanna alerted Marcello who dashed off the jet and retrieved Golda from the waiting lounge and put her back on the plane.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid107/pa331a8ac4b3e733dc6ab6257d752eb51/f961f383.jpg
Coca bus to take us to the Napo river
Our bus to the river landing was an ancient affair requiring considerable agility to gain access.. Sides were completely open with a boarding step 3 feet off the rocky dusty road. Our baggage ascended to the roof easily propelled by the powerful hurling of experienced strong men. "I can't get up" cried Golda. A shoving hand on her butt solved that. By contrast Cathy and Manuel managed the step without complaint but with some pulling and shoving. Our short ride on spring- less wooden seats over a dusty bumpy road revealed a stark contrast to Quito. Squalor and poverty prevailed here in Coca. Ragged wide eyed children lined the streets held or dragged by women bent on a task or destination of some kind. Men seemed to be outside saloons engaged in hand games.
As we approached the river, deep road ruts caused the bus to sway and rock alarmingly. I glanced at Jim and noticed he already had his wrist band on in nervous anticipation of his boat ride on the muddy Napo river. The ramp down to the boat dock was quite steep. From the road and waiting shed you could see across the 12' lower Napo river.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid107/pf8a496311e30b2ec0bbfc06a5e6d6356/f9530d6c.jpg
Napo river 12 ft below normal
Numerous sand banks in the middle of the river dominated the scene. Lack of normal rain fall during this winter also exposed sunken trees and cast off debris. Boats on the bank were high and dry. Our motorized canoe was barely afloat at the dock waiting for the fifteen passengers that would sink her even deeper. The river was dropping more each day as it was not supplied by melting snow and rain back in the Andes mountains. From this vantage point I judged the current to be 3 kts. Marcello our guide, halted all of us before we made the decent to the boat dock 25 feet down the steep ramp. The voyage was about 2 ½ hrs. with no stopping, so take advantage of the facilities. A few including myself relieved ourselves. Fluids emptied directly into the river. Solids? Emerging I noticed Cathy and Manuel already seated and donning the mandatory life jackets. Somehow they navigated the incline and boarded. Now Golda needed assistance which was readily available. OAT didn't want any casualties so strong hands grabbed when needed.. The skipper pressed the starting button and twin 25 HP Yanmars roared through thick blue smoke. A few mighty pushes from knee deep waders, a pole man aboard, a twist of throttle and gear shift and we were bound for the Napo River Wild Life Center 30 miles away. A bit of maneuvering and we were out in the river where the skipper opened her up. With a narrow beam a long waterline this baby moved . The bow wave was over the gunnels but never came aboard. A bit of wind tossed spray occasionally hit us. I recalled the "facilities" and wiped my face. The canopy over our heads seemed superfluous as the sun lay hidden behind cloud cover. It rippled here and there. The jungle was on each side of us lining both banks with trees of every description. Macello named a few amidst the din of the full throttled outboards. A thatched hut came in view now and then as we came close to a bank.
Women were doing the washing and I could see someone chopping wood while children played in the muddy water.
Our skipper navigated by heart. He knew this unmarked river and just where to pass around the many newly exposed sand banks. Trees jutted up from the bottom piercing the churning river, some floated by not yet grounded.. Occasionally he'd slow down to sail boat speeds allowing the pole man to take soundings. I heard a gravelly sound as we did touch the unseen bottom now and then. We did a lot of tacking as we proceeded to both sides of the river. At one point our expedition had a look at some oil exploration rigs, some fairly modern, but others towed by motorized canoes stemming the now 4 kt. current. It was busy around their facilities. Marcello explained some American companies were looking into new regions. On we powered. I looked back at Jim, he was enjoying it all. Golda had a frown. The rest of our group took in the scenery. Heart of Darkness came to mind but Kirk moved slowly at chugging pace.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid107/p6d324092eb2661efd9edc46711a0e067/f961d423.jpg
A lone canoe takes it easy.
A laden cargo canoe passed to port, heaped with palm leaves destined for some hut out of sight. Its lone paddler stroked lazily, the current was with him too. I noticed the clouds thickening a bit. Cathy slathered on more sun block.
There was little hint we were approaching our "bank fall". Our skipper pointed the bow to a small break in the trees and a steep muddy bank. The throttle slowed as our laden canoe slid to a stop in thick mud. Maybe this was a " wet landing" the descriptive brochure mentioned? The skipper and pole man were over the side followed by several men men who were lurking under trees watching our approach. Together, they muscled the boat further shoreward. Golda and the rest of us would have dry feet..... this time .Only a step off the bow gained the land. Our boat handlers also doubled as porters, and quickly scampered up the bank carrying our luggage and disappeared into the jungle . The skipper and crew remained in the boat now floating once again bound up river hardly taking a rest. He had other contractual obligations. We did give them what ever was left over of the box lunches Marcello so conveniently provided at the onset of this passage. Reaching the summit of the bank proved a bit formidable for Cathy and Manuel. A line was tossed down and secured to a tree. Our overweight adventurers grabbed it, exerted some flabby muscles and combined with a few shoves directed at convenient "hand holds" achieved the summit. The rest of us gained it without too much difficulty prompted by a bit of desperation for some of our ladies. All had mud stains on our clothes. Dressed casually, Monica, our Napo Wildlife guide appeared.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid107/p35ee7ddd4a7a6e6a98954a4a2ab9db51/f961d41f.jpg
Mariano & Monica our guides
A shapely beauty she spoke perfect English, and explained that the facilities were behind whatever tree seemed convenient. It was just in time for some of our ladies and a few bare behinds couldn't wait for deeper cover.
The sun was well past the zenith as we started the trek into the lushness of the Amazon wilds. Monica at the lead and Marcello urging on the stragglers. She explained that this was not the usual landing. The unseasonal drop of the Napo river made the closer lodge landing unnavigable by canoe up a creek. OAT had mentioned we might face unforseen problems featuring the "adventure" of it all. At first she kept up a lively pace but seeing she had fewer followers paused more frequently so that they might catch up .This gave the opportunity to explain the flora and fauna. Though a university graduate, she omitted the Latin names. Her associate Mariano spoke no English and had no formal training. However one could easily see he was a skilled woodsman who could spot wild life and point it out before it moved. A machete hung at his side. His back pack was filled with water bottles which he passed out to our reassembling group. They didn't want us to get dehydrated.. Golda chimed up, "I'm afraid of snakes!" Monica assured her we would never see one. They can feel us coming and slither off never wanting an encounter. A blue Morpho butterfly fluttered by. Commotion in trees revealed some monkeys. We observed a huge, ugly termite nest that looked like a tumor on a tree, and caterpillars at work. Mariano pointed to leaf cutter ants journeying across our path and deeper into the adjoining brush. At a small clearing a much lower sun poked through now thinning clouds. Shadows were longer. "Is it much further?" wailed Golda. Monica never replied. By now Cathy and Manuel had found their pace and ambled along in the rear with much less urging. Marcello's running dialogue kept their mind off the flat winding terrain. It was a bit muddy which Monica explained was the result of short afternoon thunder showers. A few forks in the trail journeyed off in some other direction. Generally we bore Northerly. I noticed Monica setting a brisker pace with less frequent educational briefings. Urgency was in the air. I wondered why. Our group was scattered. Mariano dropped behind to prevent stragglers from taking the wrong fork. It got boggier, wetter and more roots were exposed. We must be coming to a swamp or body of water I concluded. So it turned out. We were in the fringes of what once was part of the lake we were to canoe across. It was shrinking because of lack of rain. Presently I could see the trees tops diminishing in the distance. We were almost there.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid107/p50eb70cf7367661fbcc8fafdac0a4599/f95d6a02.jpg
You can just see the dugouts
Snugged into a root infested bog was a genuine wooden dug- out canoe. I guess about 30' long with a 3' beam. A pair of paddles graced its bottom.. Now I understood Monica's brisker pace. We needed plenty of light, still filtering down through the jungle canopy, to navigate the foot tripping muddy boggy journey to the 2 canoes awaiting us. A third canoe barely afloat was just beyond the bend, its sole paddler beckoning. He grabbed a tree limb and pulled himself up out of the canoe and introduced himself as Pedro, director of the Wildlife Lodge. Golda pondered at the "path" she now had to negotiate with its numerous leg catching traps. Cathy and Manuel appeared out of the brush and grimaced. . Spying the canoe, Jim smiled; he knew that motion sickness was conquered. The boggy roots were nothing for a sure footed Maine man. Well, somehow all boarded the three canoes with narry a fall or upset. Falls were to come in the future. Monica, Mariano, Marcello and Pedro artfully assisted the less sure footed.. We were afloat again ...barely. I was in the same canoe with Mariano who polled the canoe to where the paddles could bite. Needing a bit of arm exercise I grabbed the other paddle and matched his strokes. In the fast fading light I could make out the compound ahead. Its thatched roofs poked into the darkening sky. No details could be defined. The other canoes followed. Wooden poles driven into the mud with a few boards across served as a dock It stood alone with hardly a puddle near it. Mariano steered for the mud alongside the straggly poles.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid107/pa6427d465a7ad09f59f15aa0bbe1b647/f95323d6.jpg
Disembarking at the Napo river wild life center
Up the hill I could see the welcoming committee emerge from one large hut on the summit. In the gathering dusk birds sang and quarreled in a large tree near by.. .I took a glass off the platter held by a smiling greeter. That drink sure tasted good . Pedro directed us to the dining hut and gave out hut assignments. Dinner would be in one hour. By luck we got what I judged the best hut. It had a commanding view of the lake and that tree with the singing birds was right outside. Inside we had real plumbing with hot water, a queen size bed draped with mosquito netting. Wall switches sent 110V ready to illuminate or turn the fan mounted on cross beams. A hammock swayed on the porch. There were no locks on the door. This is roughing it? About to settle in, a knock on the door broke the spell. I said to Johanna, "Probably our two bags". I opened the door, it was Golda. "I'm afraid of the dark" she moaned . "It's too far to the dining hut," she added. "Could you swap huts with me ?" Johanna and I looked at each other. # 5 wasn't too bad. A bit more remote. It also overlooked the lake with a less grand view. Inside it was the same.
Dawn broke over a misty lake. The air moist and heavy, windless. We already had breakfast and just getting gear together for the hike to the parrot lick. There were to be only four of us. Plus Monica and Mariano as guides. This venture entailed a paddle across the lake, a walk back through the jungle to a motorized canoe ride further down the Napo river. Then another short hike into the Parrot lick. Now just what is that ? Well birds like parrots and smaller parakeets need clay to aid in digestion of unripe seeds and fruits, their main source of food. Timing is important as they visit the lick arriving and leaving early. Manuel and Cathy declined to come and Golda not feeling well elected to stay at the lodge recalling the walk in before.
I noticed before that the dugout canoe seemed a bit tippy especially with the occupants seated high on a moveable padded ( for tender tourist butts) bench. I couldn't determine just what kind of wood it was made of. Monica said, "a tropical cedar", when asked. It paddled well but I found myself twitching to maintain balance. The builders I assume left behind lots of dead wood in the bottom to take the wear and tear and provide a little built in ballast. However I got used to it and hardly gave it a thought.
The lake, like a fine silvered mirror, reflected the trees on the opposite bank. In the jungle ahead we heard distant howler monkeys, bird calls, unidentified sounds. We nosed in through the bogs once more, grounded, climbed out and started for the parrot lick. Maybe 5 miles by how the crow flies. Some of it back on the Napo. This jungle jaunt was also to include a native Shaman, a healing, and a look into a typical native life style. We couldn't figure who was a better guide: Monica or Mariano. A skilled woodsman Mariano needed no words . He demonstrated the method of harvesting tree branches and processing them into useable thatch roof material, how to make a blow gun, weave a carrying basket, and spot jungle inhabitants in the dense foliage. Both guides also showed us edible plants or roots and most important, to look at what tree branch you grab. Some had vicious barbs large and small that could easily tear your hand wide open. On we walked while Monica gave us a running dialogue concerning the plant and animals seen and not seen. Soon the river once more came into view . A brief canoe trip and a landing to walk in to the Parrot lick. Although a half mile away you could hear the chatter. Parrots are noisy feeders. It was a bit more organized then I had anticipated. A long boardwalk ended on a roofed observation deck stuffed with other birders. Some left and we melted into the viewing station. Monica pointed out four species in the noisy busy din. All were various shades of green or blue. The birds chipped away at a clay cliff accelerating the erosion. Many preened themselves on the surrounding trees, or pecked at each other establishing parrot hierarchy. A few made "romantic" gestures. A 10 power spotting scope thoughtfully brought along by Mariano gave close up viewing. Both the viewers and viewed started filtering away. Time for other ventures. On the river the sun was up higher and showed promise of showers later. We had lunch on the bank. Mariano also carried that in. A few local natives lingered, by now not too curious as they were long accustomed to visitors. The lodge packed generous sandwiches of cheese, oranges, water and soda, enough to share with our boat skipper, crew and the locals lingering nearby. As we walked, a clearing ahead revealed some cultivated land, and a thatched hut high on six foot stilts . The Shaman lived here.
Sounds of laughter emanated from the darkened interior. A smiling face on a young woman beckoned us in, Monica led the way .and, introduced us to the entire family representing three generations. Rita, our greeter, was dressed plainly. She obviously was in charge of the house. A child of about 5 years clutched her leg and looked up with a curious but apprehensive expression.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid107/p3d7e02553662b6db05308f0177a957d8/f9607151.jpg
The Shamans hut
The Shaman sat in the corner nodding and pulling hard on a pipe. Just inside a pot was boiling away on a cooking stove. A potion ? No just some broth for us to try. We all had tried sipping just a little not trusting the water source. (Drinking anything but bottled water in a third world country is inviting "inconvenience") Monica explained that the Shaman had to prepare for a healing by taking and chewing on coco leaves. His pipe contained a dried leaf that helped induce enlightenment. Monica looked around. Who wants to be his subject? From the corner of my eye I could see no volunteers.. I took off my hat and was gestured to sit on the plain wooden floor. I complied. The Shaman had none of the of the imagined accouterments. Bare feet and head. His spare frame was covered by a loose blue shirt barely tucked into baggy pants. He sat behind me. A leafed twig in his hand. From this point I couldn't see just what he did but I could hear some mumbling and the feel of hot breath in my hair. He blew through a bamboo tube. I could feel and hear the leaves rustling near my ear. This continued for about 3 minutes. Then it sounded like he was about to throw up on me. That was the healing, all bad sprits driven away. It was over.
A soaking rainfall muddied the trail back to the lodge. Back in our room, the numerous large cockroaches that had dominated bathroom walls seemed to have gone away. I remembered what Pedro the director said about the insect life here "We were on their pad and they tolerated us, so we should do the same". On the previous night Cathy and Manuel had forcibly removed a male Tarantula spider out of their hut It slowly moved off their porch and to the path right in front of Golda. She wasn't bothered a bit. But snakes, Oy Vey! Strangely, we were never noticeably bitten by mosquitoes. But some of the ladies including Johanna complained of bites all over their bodies After the farewell banquet that evening, our last at the wildlife center, we had the opportunity to go out in the dark on the lake, and see caimans. Monica cautioned all to remain silent as we boarded. Mariano pushed off into the jet black lake and soundlessly paddled to more remote backwaters. I couldn't see a thing and it was remarkable how quiet eight people could be. Hardly a breath. On we glided with nary a ripple. Occasionally Monica flashed her light to stab into the darkness. The beam illuminated busy insects circling aimlessly. Again our paddler stroked; we moved . Sounds came from the blackness, a howler monkey challenging something, some splashes, one soft and another louder in a different direction. We glided on. Then a red running light off in the distance hove in sight. Here on this lake ? We drifted nearer, a collision course, I thought. Who has right of way ? Drawing closer I could see the scaled head and some of the body moving slowly away. It was an 8' caiman. Monica explained our searching light reflected red off the cayman's retina..
Later, I strained to see the night sky, but the tall surrounding trees allowed only the stars directly overhead to be seen.
The Galapagos is next smile.gif
JD
See Part one over in People & places
The Napo river and the Jungles
The tarmac radiated the heat of the hot equatorial sun as we approached the terminal to claim our baggage. This was our second landing today. There was a previous stop to take on more passengers. We noticed Golda had gotten off there thinking this was our departure for the Amazon interior. Johanna alerted Marcello who dashed off the jet and retrieved Golda from the waiting lounge and put her back on the plane.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid107/pa331a8ac4b3e733dc6ab6257d752eb51/f961f383.jpg
Coca bus to take us to the Napo river
Our bus to the river landing was an ancient affair requiring considerable agility to gain access.. Sides were completely open with a boarding step 3 feet off the rocky dusty road. Our baggage ascended to the roof easily propelled by the powerful hurling of experienced strong men. "I can't get up" cried Golda. A shoving hand on her butt solved that. By contrast Cathy and Manuel managed the step without complaint but with some pulling and shoving. Our short ride on spring- less wooden seats over a dusty bumpy road revealed a stark contrast to Quito. Squalor and poverty prevailed here in Coca. Ragged wide eyed children lined the streets held or dragged by women bent on a task or destination of some kind. Men seemed to be outside saloons engaged in hand games.
As we approached the river, deep road ruts caused the bus to sway and rock alarmingly. I glanced at Jim and noticed he already had his wrist band on in nervous anticipation of his boat ride on the muddy Napo river. The ramp down to the boat dock was quite steep. From the road and waiting shed you could see across the 12' lower Napo river.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid107/pf8a496311e30b2ec0bbfc06a5e6d6356/f9530d6c.jpg
Napo river 12 ft below normal
Numerous sand banks in the middle of the river dominated the scene. Lack of normal rain fall during this winter also exposed sunken trees and cast off debris. Boats on the bank were high and dry. Our motorized canoe was barely afloat at the dock waiting for the fifteen passengers that would sink her even deeper. The river was dropping more each day as it was not supplied by melting snow and rain back in the Andes mountains. From this vantage point I judged the current to be 3 kts. Marcello our guide, halted all of us before we made the decent to the boat dock 25 feet down the steep ramp. The voyage was about 2 ½ hrs. with no stopping, so take advantage of the facilities. A few including myself relieved ourselves. Fluids emptied directly into the river. Solids? Emerging I noticed Cathy and Manuel already seated and donning the mandatory life jackets. Somehow they navigated the incline and boarded. Now Golda needed assistance which was readily available. OAT didn't want any casualties so strong hands grabbed when needed.. The skipper pressed the starting button and twin 25 HP Yanmars roared through thick blue smoke. A few mighty pushes from knee deep waders, a pole man aboard, a twist of throttle and gear shift and we were bound for the Napo River Wild Life Center 30 miles away. A bit of maneuvering and we were out in the river where the skipper opened her up. With a narrow beam a long waterline this baby moved . The bow wave was over the gunnels but never came aboard. A bit of wind tossed spray occasionally hit us. I recalled the "facilities" and wiped my face. The canopy over our heads seemed superfluous as the sun lay hidden behind cloud cover. It rippled here and there. The jungle was on each side of us lining both banks with trees of every description. Macello named a few amidst the din of the full throttled outboards. A thatched hut came in view now and then as we came close to a bank.
Women were doing the washing and I could see someone chopping wood while children played in the muddy water.
Our skipper navigated by heart. He knew this unmarked river and just where to pass around the many newly exposed sand banks. Trees jutted up from the bottom piercing the churning river, some floated by not yet grounded.. Occasionally he'd slow down to sail boat speeds allowing the pole man to take soundings. I heard a gravelly sound as we did touch the unseen bottom now and then. We did a lot of tacking as we proceeded to both sides of the river. At one point our expedition had a look at some oil exploration rigs, some fairly modern, but others towed by motorized canoes stemming the now 4 kt. current. It was busy around their facilities. Marcello explained some American companies were looking into new regions. On we powered. I looked back at Jim, he was enjoying it all. Golda had a frown. The rest of our group took in the scenery. Heart of Darkness came to mind but Kirk moved slowly at chugging pace.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid107/p6d324092eb2661efd9edc46711a0e067/f961d423.jpg
A lone canoe takes it easy.
A laden cargo canoe passed to port, heaped with palm leaves destined for some hut out of sight. Its lone paddler stroked lazily, the current was with him too. I noticed the clouds thickening a bit. Cathy slathered on more sun block.
There was little hint we were approaching our "bank fall". Our skipper pointed the bow to a small break in the trees and a steep muddy bank. The throttle slowed as our laden canoe slid to a stop in thick mud. Maybe this was a " wet landing" the descriptive brochure mentioned? The skipper and pole man were over the side followed by several men men who were lurking under trees watching our approach. Together, they muscled the boat further shoreward. Golda and the rest of us would have dry feet..... this time .Only a step off the bow gained the land. Our boat handlers also doubled as porters, and quickly scampered up the bank carrying our luggage and disappeared into the jungle . The skipper and crew remained in the boat now floating once again bound up river hardly taking a rest. He had other contractual obligations. We did give them what ever was left over of the box lunches Marcello so conveniently provided at the onset of this passage. Reaching the summit of the bank proved a bit formidable for Cathy and Manuel. A line was tossed down and secured to a tree. Our overweight adventurers grabbed it, exerted some flabby muscles and combined with a few shoves directed at convenient "hand holds" achieved the summit. The rest of us gained it without too much difficulty prompted by a bit of desperation for some of our ladies. All had mud stains on our clothes. Dressed casually, Monica, our Napo Wildlife guide appeared.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid107/p35ee7ddd4a7a6e6a98954a4a2ab9db51/f961d41f.jpg
Mariano & Monica our guides
A shapely beauty she spoke perfect English, and explained that the facilities were behind whatever tree seemed convenient. It was just in time for some of our ladies and a few bare behinds couldn't wait for deeper cover.
The sun was well past the zenith as we started the trek into the lushness of the Amazon wilds. Monica at the lead and Marcello urging on the stragglers. She explained that this was not the usual landing. The unseasonal drop of the Napo river made the closer lodge landing unnavigable by canoe up a creek. OAT had mentioned we might face unforseen problems featuring the "adventure" of it all. At first she kept up a lively pace but seeing she had fewer followers paused more frequently so that they might catch up .This gave the opportunity to explain the flora and fauna. Though a university graduate, she omitted the Latin names. Her associate Mariano spoke no English and had no formal training. However one could easily see he was a skilled woodsman who could spot wild life and point it out before it moved. A machete hung at his side. His back pack was filled with water bottles which he passed out to our reassembling group. They didn't want us to get dehydrated.. Golda chimed up, "I'm afraid of snakes!" Monica assured her we would never see one. They can feel us coming and slither off never wanting an encounter. A blue Morpho butterfly fluttered by. Commotion in trees revealed some monkeys. We observed a huge, ugly termite nest that looked like a tumor on a tree, and caterpillars at work. Mariano pointed to leaf cutter ants journeying across our path and deeper into the adjoining brush. At a small clearing a much lower sun poked through now thinning clouds. Shadows were longer. "Is it much further?" wailed Golda. Monica never replied. By now Cathy and Manuel had found their pace and ambled along in the rear with much less urging. Marcello's running dialogue kept their mind off the flat winding terrain. It was a bit muddy which Monica explained was the result of short afternoon thunder showers. A few forks in the trail journeyed off in some other direction. Generally we bore Northerly. I noticed Monica setting a brisker pace with less frequent educational briefings. Urgency was in the air. I wondered why. Our group was scattered. Mariano dropped behind to prevent stragglers from taking the wrong fork. It got boggier, wetter and more roots were exposed. We must be coming to a swamp or body of water I concluded. So it turned out. We were in the fringes of what once was part of the lake we were to canoe across. It was shrinking because of lack of rain. Presently I could see the trees tops diminishing in the distance. We were almost there.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid107/p50eb70cf7367661fbcc8fafdac0a4599/f95d6a02.jpg
You can just see the dugouts
Snugged into a root infested bog was a genuine wooden dug- out canoe. I guess about 30' long with a 3' beam. A pair of paddles graced its bottom.. Now I understood Monica's brisker pace. We needed plenty of light, still filtering down through the jungle canopy, to navigate the foot tripping muddy boggy journey to the 2 canoes awaiting us. A third canoe barely afloat was just beyond the bend, its sole paddler beckoning. He grabbed a tree limb and pulled himself up out of the canoe and introduced himself as Pedro, director of the Wildlife Lodge. Golda pondered at the "path" she now had to negotiate with its numerous leg catching traps. Cathy and Manuel appeared out of the brush and grimaced. . Spying the canoe, Jim smiled; he knew that motion sickness was conquered. The boggy roots were nothing for a sure footed Maine man. Well, somehow all boarded the three canoes with narry a fall or upset. Falls were to come in the future. Monica, Mariano, Marcello and Pedro artfully assisted the less sure footed.. We were afloat again ...barely. I was in the same canoe with Mariano who polled the canoe to where the paddles could bite. Needing a bit of arm exercise I grabbed the other paddle and matched his strokes. In the fast fading light I could make out the compound ahead. Its thatched roofs poked into the darkening sky. No details could be defined. The other canoes followed. Wooden poles driven into the mud with a few boards across served as a dock It stood alone with hardly a puddle near it. Mariano steered for the mud alongside the straggly poles.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid107/pa6427d465a7ad09f59f15aa0bbe1b647/f95323d6.jpg
Disembarking at the Napo river wild life center
Up the hill I could see the welcoming committee emerge from one large hut on the summit. In the gathering dusk birds sang and quarreled in a large tree near by.. .I took a glass off the platter held by a smiling greeter. That drink sure tasted good . Pedro directed us to the dining hut and gave out hut assignments. Dinner would be in one hour. By luck we got what I judged the best hut. It had a commanding view of the lake and that tree with the singing birds was right outside. Inside we had real plumbing with hot water, a queen size bed draped with mosquito netting. Wall switches sent 110V ready to illuminate or turn the fan mounted on cross beams. A hammock swayed on the porch. There were no locks on the door. This is roughing it? About to settle in, a knock on the door broke the spell. I said to Johanna, "Probably our two bags". I opened the door, it was Golda. "I'm afraid of the dark" she moaned . "It's too far to the dining hut," she added. "Could you swap huts with me ?" Johanna and I looked at each other. # 5 wasn't too bad. A bit more remote. It also overlooked the lake with a less grand view. Inside it was the same.
Dawn broke over a misty lake. The air moist and heavy, windless. We already had breakfast and just getting gear together for the hike to the parrot lick. There were to be only four of us. Plus Monica and Mariano as guides. This venture entailed a paddle across the lake, a walk back through the jungle to a motorized canoe ride further down the Napo river. Then another short hike into the Parrot lick. Now just what is that ? Well birds like parrots and smaller parakeets need clay to aid in digestion of unripe seeds and fruits, their main source of food. Timing is important as they visit the lick arriving and leaving early. Manuel and Cathy declined to come and Golda not feeling well elected to stay at the lodge recalling the walk in before.
I noticed before that the dugout canoe seemed a bit tippy especially with the occupants seated high on a moveable padded ( for tender tourist butts) bench. I couldn't determine just what kind of wood it was made of. Monica said, "a tropical cedar", when asked. It paddled well but I found myself twitching to maintain balance. The builders I assume left behind lots of dead wood in the bottom to take the wear and tear and provide a little built in ballast. However I got used to it and hardly gave it a thought.
The lake, like a fine silvered mirror, reflected the trees on the opposite bank. In the jungle ahead we heard distant howler monkeys, bird calls, unidentified sounds. We nosed in through the bogs once more, grounded, climbed out and started for the parrot lick. Maybe 5 miles by how the crow flies. Some of it back on the Napo. This jungle jaunt was also to include a native Shaman, a healing, and a look into a typical native life style. We couldn't figure who was a better guide: Monica or Mariano. A skilled woodsman Mariano needed no words . He demonstrated the method of harvesting tree branches and processing them into useable thatch roof material, how to make a blow gun, weave a carrying basket, and spot jungle inhabitants in the dense foliage. Both guides also showed us edible plants or roots and most important, to look at what tree branch you grab. Some had vicious barbs large and small that could easily tear your hand wide open. On we walked while Monica gave us a running dialogue concerning the plant and animals seen and not seen. Soon the river once more came into view . A brief canoe trip and a landing to walk in to the Parrot lick. Although a half mile away you could hear the chatter. Parrots are noisy feeders. It was a bit more organized then I had anticipated. A long boardwalk ended on a roofed observation deck stuffed with other birders. Some left and we melted into the viewing station. Monica pointed out four species in the noisy busy din. All were various shades of green or blue. The birds chipped away at a clay cliff accelerating the erosion. Many preened themselves on the surrounding trees, or pecked at each other establishing parrot hierarchy. A few made "romantic" gestures. A 10 power spotting scope thoughtfully brought along by Mariano gave close up viewing. Both the viewers and viewed started filtering away. Time for other ventures. On the river the sun was up higher and showed promise of showers later. We had lunch on the bank. Mariano also carried that in. A few local natives lingered, by now not too curious as they were long accustomed to visitors. The lodge packed generous sandwiches of cheese, oranges, water and soda, enough to share with our boat skipper, crew and the locals lingering nearby. As we walked, a clearing ahead revealed some cultivated land, and a thatched hut high on six foot stilts . The Shaman lived here.
Sounds of laughter emanated from the darkened interior. A smiling face on a young woman beckoned us in, Monica led the way .and, introduced us to the entire family representing three generations. Rita, our greeter, was dressed plainly. She obviously was in charge of the house. A child of about 5 years clutched her leg and looked up with a curious but apprehensive expression.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid107/p3d7e02553662b6db05308f0177a957d8/f9607151.jpg
The Shamans hut
The Shaman sat in the corner nodding and pulling hard on a pipe. Just inside a pot was boiling away on a cooking stove. A potion ? No just some broth for us to try. We all had tried sipping just a little not trusting the water source. (Drinking anything but bottled water in a third world country is inviting "inconvenience") Monica explained that the Shaman had to prepare for a healing by taking and chewing on coco leaves. His pipe contained a dried leaf that helped induce enlightenment. Monica looked around. Who wants to be his subject? From the corner of my eye I could see no volunteers.. I took off my hat and was gestured to sit on the plain wooden floor. I complied. The Shaman had none of the of the imagined accouterments. Bare feet and head. His spare frame was covered by a loose blue shirt barely tucked into baggy pants. He sat behind me. A leafed twig in his hand. From this point I couldn't see just what he did but I could hear some mumbling and the feel of hot breath in my hair. He blew through a bamboo tube. I could feel and hear the leaves rustling near my ear. This continued for about 3 minutes. Then it sounded like he was about to throw up on me. That was the healing, all bad sprits driven away. It was over.
A soaking rainfall muddied the trail back to the lodge. Back in our room, the numerous large cockroaches that had dominated bathroom walls seemed to have gone away. I remembered what Pedro the director said about the insect life here "We were on their pad and they tolerated us, so we should do the same". On the previous night Cathy and Manuel had forcibly removed a male Tarantula spider out of their hut It slowly moved off their porch and to the path right in front of Golda. She wasn't bothered a bit. But snakes, Oy Vey! Strangely, we were never noticeably bitten by mosquitoes. But some of the ladies including Johanna complained of bites all over their bodies After the farewell banquet that evening, our last at the wildlife center, we had the opportunity to go out in the dark on the lake, and see caimans. Monica cautioned all to remain silent as we boarded. Mariano pushed off into the jet black lake and soundlessly paddled to more remote backwaters. I couldn't see a thing and it was remarkable how quiet eight people could be. Hardly a breath. On we glided with nary a ripple. Occasionally Monica flashed her light to stab into the darkness. The beam illuminated busy insects circling aimlessly. Again our paddler stroked; we moved . Sounds came from the blackness, a howler monkey challenging something, some splashes, one soft and another louder in a different direction. We glided on. Then a red running light off in the distance hove in sight. Here on this lake ? We drifted nearer, a collision course, I thought. Who has right of way ? Drawing closer I could see the scaled head and some of the body moving slowly away. It was an 8' caiman. Monica explained our searching light reflected red off the cayman's retina..
Later, I strained to see the night sky, but the tall surrounding trees allowed only the stars directly overhead to be seen.
The Galapagos is next smile.gif
JD