Our quest to reach Venezuela’s Angel Falls, the highest waterfall in the world, continues. In Part II we had to turn our Jeep YJ and Toyota FJ80 back due to mud, flat tires and being too wide for the track. We’d left the rigs at an airstrip in the frontier town of La Paragua and chartered a Cessna 206 to fly us to a remote grass strip in the middle of nowhere. The plane flew off leaving us in the rain with our only belongings on our backs. Nothing to do now but start hiking...
We spent 40 minutes getting our hiking legs warmed up while humping over a small pass and down to the Rio Caroni, the second largest river in Venezuela. Here we caught our first real curiara for a ride upriver. The big river curiaras are a trip unto themselves. Made from 30 to 40 foot long hollowed out logs, propelled by 50 to 60 hp outboards and piloted by speed crazed local Indians, these hopped-up Hardwoods are the missing link where third world tech meets the piston engine.
We got out of our custom canoe onto a sandbar on the opposite side of the river an hour later. In was almost pitch black by now, yet Felipe’s seemingly built in night-vision had no problem finding the single track leading into the dense jungle. For the next two hours some childhood tale about being told never-go-wandering-in-a-dark-forestat- night kept flickering in the back of my cranium as we trampled over two mountain ridges and through a lush valley. We finally broke out onto a moonless plain where we saw the few lights of Canaima, still five miles distant. Another 1 1/2 hours of stumbling brought us into the village where we found rooms and had yet another 11pm dinner.
The following morning we hooked up with a local eco-tour outfitter who would take us under their wing for the remainder of our quest to get to the falls. By 8 am we had hiked around Laguna deCanaima with its spectacular seven waterfalls, and climbed aboard an 11 passenger curiara for a 47 km ride, first up the Rio Carrao and later the swifter Rio Churón, to the area of Auyan-tepui and the base of Angel Falls.
The ride up the rivers was nothing short of incredible. The jungle on either side seemed impenetrable, yet occasionally, we’d see small clearings where a Pemón Indian family or miners had made headway into the interior. The color of the river water looked like Coca-Cola. Its caramel color and foam comes from tannins leached from the jungle’s trees and plants, mostly the Bonnetia Tree. A couple of hours up river we saw our first tepuis. The further we went, the taller and more spectacular they became. Waterfalls fell everywhere and rushing streams broke through the foliage and poured into the river at every turn. Just before the confluence of the two rivers our guides pulled the boat ashore on a sandbar. While we ate lunch, they busily changed the prop on the 60 hp Yamaha in preparation for the swifter Rio Churón. The final hour up the Churón was something akin to an Eticket amusement park thriller. Large rocks dotted the rapidly flowing river, forming large witch holes and eddies. Our wild Indian guides enjoyed showing off their prowess at maneuvering their 40 foot log through 30 foot turns, all at WFO throttle to maintain forward motion against the raging “cola” water.
Finally we were there! Rounding a bend, Angel Falls came into view for the first time. As spectacular as all the surroundings were, this waterfall stood out. One can see why ol’ Jimmy Angel must have waxed prolific about it to his drinking buddies.
As soon as we pulled ashore it was off up the steep trail to the fall’s base. A well worn path leads first over ground that is nothing but an amazing tangle of tree roots. Then it’s up for about 40 minutes to the base of the falls and its welcoming, refreshing swimming holes. It’s hard to explain what its like to swim under a cascade of water that has fallen from a 1/2 mile above you! As it was late in the day and the falls face east, the lighting wasn’t the best for photos, but the sky was clear with no clouds obscuring the top of the tepui. We splashed in the water for over an hour, joined by other eco-tourists from other boats and other companies. Most were young Europeans traveling on paid expeditions booked back home. One particular French couple caught Chris’ lens (and everyone’s eye) with their hormonal- infused embraces which only added to the romance of the place. Her topless bathing attire didn’t hurt the ambiance either!
Near dusk we headed back down to the river’s edge where our company’s campamento (campground) awaited us. Other campamentos dotted the riverbanks belonging to other tour companies. Our guides cooked us a delicious meal of fresh chicken grilled on spits over an open flame. Chris and I planned to hike back up to the falls at first light for some sunrise shots, but around 10 pm the rain started. It turned into one of the hardest rains I’ve ever seen, hammering on the tin roof of the churuata all night. It was the first night I couldn’t blame lack of sleep on a hammock or snoring! Unfortunately, the rain continued into the morning and the falls and the tepui were completely shrouded in heavy clouds. We had been very lucky to see everything the day before.
The boat ride back to Canaima was just as exhilarating as the ride up, but in a different way. This time it was three times faster since we were going with the current — 30 mph in a floating tree is a rush! The speed of our return continued as we caught a flight out of Canaima’s airport around noon, putting us back in our 4x4s by mid-afternoon. (late morning for Felipe!) Once rolling down the pavement it became apparent that something would have to be done about the mud inside our tires. A 700 km ride to Caracas with gallons of goo in each tire would have shaken the rigs to death. We stopped at a couple of “tire shops” to get them cleaned out.
The drive back was pretty uneventful — if you can consider the same driving conditions and antics we went through to get there uneventful. The good news was there were no “events.” The trip took a day and a half and we arrived back in Caracas around noon. Chris and I were scheduled to fly home early the next morning, so it was decided that Nino would take us over the mountain road that afternoon and we would stay in a hotel near the airport. We said our goodbyes to our new friends Felipe and Enzo and were off on our final ride.
On our way out of the city we were subjected to the first and only harassment directed at us during our two weeks in this country — a place that so many had told us we were crazy to visit in the first place. We’d been warned to look out for bandits, murderers and general American haters, but in the end it was the local police that gave us trouble. While passing through an intersection, Nino was flagged down by two cops standing on the corner with their AK-47s. For the next 20 minutes they proceeded to do a pretty complete cavity search of both us and the Land Cruiser. They spoke no English so we never knew what they were looking for. One seemed particularly hung up on the fact that there wasn’t an exit stamp in my passport. Nino kept explaining to the fool that he was taking us to the airport and that one doesn’t get an exit stamp until they leave the country. This guy just didn’t seem to get it, but eventually they let us go. Nino said they were probably looking for drugs or money — probably for their personal gain. They exemplified a stereotype I’ve seen all over the world: Nobodies put into uniform and given a gun. Suddenly they’re big shots with power to push others around. On the other hand, the regular guy on the street or in the field is just another person trying to get along in this world and he doesn’t have anything against his fellow man. He opens his home and his life to you and makes you feel welcome.
Fortunately, I came away from Venezuela feeling very much like I’d had that experience, met some wonderful people, saw some beautiful scenery and experienced a fantastic adventure. I hope I can reciprocate someday soon.
