RAFTING THE AMAZON FROM SOURCE TO SEA


September 13th 1999.  Three men, each of them newcomers to South America, begin
a trek inland from the coast of southern Peru.  They are Colin Angus, 27, of Canada,
Scott Borthwick, 23, of South Africa, and Ben Kozel, 26, of Australia.  And though never
having attempted anything remotely like it before, they share the aim of tracing the full
length of the Amazon River under their own power and without support.  Armed with a
4 metre rubber raft, a collection of well worn camping equipment, a couple thousand
bucks each, and plenty of blind optimism, they embark on a journey that has been
completed by only three others.
Still suffering the lingering effects of dehydration, the trekkers push deeper into the
barren valleys of the notoriously dry South American coastal desert.  Survival depends
on tracking down slime-ridden oases.  And only narrowly do they escape failing in this.
The Andes steepen.  Desert gives
way to the relatively productive Colca
Canyon, where the Quechua people -
the decendents of the Inca - live lives
partially forgotten by time.  Donkeys
help the trekkers reach a high Pampa
plateau, from where they will make a
charge on Mt Mismi.  But altitude
sickness plays its hand, and the final
climb degenerates into a race against
fatigue, the elements, and the fall of
darkness.
For a week and a half they track the Amazon's uppermost tributaries.  From Pilpinto, a
village on the Upper Apurimac some 200 kilometres downstream of the source, the
water is consistently deep enough to allow the inflatable raft to be launched.  And so,
despite boasting a pitifully small compliment of experience in rafting big rapids, the
trio proceed to tackle one of the most treacherous stretches of white water on earth.
For the better part of a
month, Colin, Scott
and Ben are at the
mercy of a white water
river whose violent
moods and subtle
dangers they struggle
to read and
understand.  Flips,
falls overboard, and
near drownings
escalate in frequency
as the river swells and
with it the power of the
rapids.  At the base of
the world's second
deepest canyon, the
stage on which the
drama unfolds is
nothing short of
breath-taking.  
Though this in itself means limited opportunity for re-supplying, and virtually no hope of
rescue in the event of a serious accident.
Progress is slow.  An average of less than 10 km per day are covered.  Yet somehow,
they hold it together.  Paddling skills sharpen, teamwork gets better, and cunning
displays of improvisation become the order of the day.  Eventually, the walls of the
gorge lean back, the mountains soften, and the rapids diminish.
Celebrations are short
lived, however.  As the
maturing waterway
descends through the
dense cloudforest of
the Andes eastern
foothills, a more
insidious danger is
poised to strike.  
Anti-government
guerrillas, members of
an extreme leftist
movement known as
the 'Shining Path', hide
out in the cloudforest.  
The madness finally comes to
an end, and attention can switch
to more palatable Amazon
dangers such as anacondas
and tropical disease.   Attention
also turns toward the task of
propelling the little red inflatable
raft the remaining 5800 km to
the Atlantic Ocean.  A rowing
frame is fashioned from balsa
logs and securely fastened to
the pontoons.  And lengths of
bamboo transform the paddles
into oars.     
Having entered the jungle proper, the Amazon of popular impression now extends
before them.  Men spear fish from dugout canoes.  The region's wildlife takes to the
stage, featuring crocodiles, pink dolphins and howler monkeys.  Hoards of malaria
infected mosquitos inspire the adoption of a round-the-clock rowing regime.  But with
night travel comes the threat of collision with vessels heading upriver.
A week before
Christmas, the Brazillian
border is crossed.  Life
onboard the raft
assumes a routine
dominated by rowing,
satisfying their
enormous appetites,
rowing, mid river visits
by curious locals, more
rowing, and battening
down the hatches in the
face of wild tropical
squalls.  The occasional
jungle city, while
uniquely Amazonian,
contrasts profoundly
with the long stretches
of wilderness.
Negotiating a route through the vast Amazon delta is especially difficult and
exhausting.  It takes three weeks to travel the last 400 kilometres.  Strong tides,
howling equatorial winds, sea like swells, and the threat of pirates conspire to make
conditions miserable.  Lacking adequately detailed maps, it is struggle enough to
avoid becoming lost within a confusing maze of channels.

On February 9th 2000, nearly five months after bidding farewell to the Pacific Ocean,
they reach Point Taipu - the southern lip of the Amazon mouth.  The opposite bank of
the channel lies over the horizon, more than twenty kilometres away.  

                                                             
Back to 'Journeys'
Their immediate goal is to reach
the summit of 5650 metre high Mt
Mismi, a modest sized Andean
peak acknowledged as being the
Amazon's ultimate source.  

Four days in they get dysentery.  
And for several days their journey
is put on hold as each man flits
between feverish sleep and
answering the call of chronic
diarrhoea.  
And unfortunately, the rafter's passage through the region coincides with a resurgence
in their bloody activity.  The bullets start flying, first during an encounter with a band of
angry rebels, and again later when overzealous military personnel mistake the terrified
men for drug smugglers.  Beyond the zone of worst hostilities, paranoid indigenous
militias, often brandishing bows and arrows, effectively sustain the tension.