When we left off last month,
Photojournalist Chris Collard had floated off at midnight with several shady characters in a curiara (dugout canoe) in search of crocodiles, while I tried out sleeping in a hammock under the roof of a churuata (wall-less sleeping hut) to the sound of scurrying scorpions. To know what the heck we’re doing here, you really gotta read last month’s Part I. Meanwhile, here in Part II, our trip to Angel Falls, the world’s highest waterfall, continues...
(PART 2) Flat Tires, Fat 4x4s, Renegade Miners and Expensive Airplanes
Sleep does not come easily while bent in half, but the locals seemed to snore just fine. Chris returned around 2 am in one piece and reported there were no crocs to be found. At sunrise we were up, and soon the rigs were back on the ferry and we were headed for distant shores. Photographer Chris scored a ride in Walter and Kristine’s Robertson R44 helicopter for some aerial shots of our armada. For a while, the water looked like we were on a large lake, but then clumps of grass and trees began appearing through its surface. The ferry workers produced 20 foot poles and began poking around feeling the bottom. When the sticks only sank about four feet into the water they cut the engines and proclaimed conditions were good for departing the boat. Without hesitation, Felipe fired up the YJ and drove off the boat — into hooddeep water! The “shoreline” was about 50 yards away and with little fanfare, the Jeep burbled like a Chris-Craft to terra-firma.
The terra-firma didn’t last long though. We were now in dense jungle and within 10 minutes we had a big problem. The “road “we were following was originally constructed by the Venezuelan government in the 1960s. They gave up on it, probably due to the endless pantano (mud), and since then it has been “maintained” only by renegade gold miners who work illegally deep in the jungle. The miner’s vehicle of choice is the Toyota Land Cruiser FJ75 pickup, equipped with 9.00X16 military NDT tires which are skinny and about 35 inches tall. These Toyotas are the only vehicles that use this track, which is literally two deep ruts through the mud. The ruts are exactly the width of the FJ75’s track width and exactly as deep and wide as the NDTs can dig as they drag the truck’s axles through the mud. Everything works great for these renegade rigs, but some city boys come along in their fancy 4x4s with U.S. journalists wielding cameras, and the parameters change.
Back on the ferry and looking for the bottom. At this point we had crossed the open water and were nearing our “diving” off point. Note the grass appearing though the water indicating that it was getting shallow.
Into the foliage... most of the 22 kms we tried to cover looked like this. The jungle was so thick that most of the time you could not open the doors and get out. Huge biting ants were our only annoying predators despite pre-trip warnings of mosquitoes, snakes, poison spiders and tigers!
This shot graphically illustrates our whole problem. Our trucks were just too wide for the tracks made by the miners’ FJ75s. The ruts shown here are shallow compared to some. When they got deeper, pressure put on the tires’ outer sidewalls, combined with the spinning needed to maintain forward momentum, was too much for the beads. Despite 50 psi of inside pressure, the mud worked into the beads and leaks began.
Within 10 minutes we had our first flat. Once rolling again we went five minutes before the next one! By then we figured out the problem. Both our rigs’ track widths were about 4 to 5 inches wider than the miners’ FJ75s. As our Mickey Thompson Claws (Jeep) and Interco Swamper TSLs (Toyota) churned in the mud, their sidewalls pressed heavily against the vertical outer walls of the ruts. The spinning and grinding worked the mud right into the bead where rubber meets wheel. The beads would start leaking and, if not detected, the tire would air down enough to come off the rim — filling the tire carcass with slimy goo. To make matters worse, we had little water to clean the beads and only one air compressor — an original style ARB pump (the one that was discontinued years ago because it didn’t have much of a duty cycle!) We aired all eight of our tires up to 50 psi (which took a while) and pressed on. It helped for a while but the mud was relentless. More flats occurred as the heat of the day rose. Adding to the frustration was the fact that at times the foliage was so thick we couldn’t open the doors to climb out and fix the flats!
Leaks lead to popped beads. We spent a good portion of the day cleaning and reseating the tires in an attempt to continue. We lost count of the flats after the first few hours.
Our original plan called for one day to cover 65km of jungle ‘wheeling to reach the village of Las Bonitas. There the road ended and we would begin the hiking portion of our adventure. However, after 10 hours of fighting flats we had covered just 22 km! Fortunately as the sun went down we reached the small Indian encampment of El Tigre. These people knew Felipe and opened their home to us that evening. They even made us homemade popcorn! Their swimming/washing pond, situated in a running creek, was most welcome as we were covered from head to toe with mud from tire wrestling. Walter and Kristine decided to hang out for another night and managed to put the helicopter down in a nearby clearing, the only one we had seen all day.
In the morning Walter and Felipe flew back to La Paragua and picked up a bunch of supplies for the Indians, I think maybe as payment for their hospitality. We then attempted to push on toward La Bonitas, but after two hours and four more flats we came to our senses and realized that going forward was silly. We had destroyed our only two spare tires, we were three days behind schedule and had only covered a third of the distance we needed to ‘wheel before the hiking began. It was agreed that we should retreat back to La Paragua and charter a Cessna to take us to Las Bonitas. The ‘wheeler inside us was bummed by this decision, but time was running out on our visas and we really wanted to see Angel Falls.
Chris entertains our host and his sons with digital images of themselves.
Walter and Felipe made a supply run to La Paragua for our hosts in thanks for their hospitality.
Mud was not our only foe. Several fallen trees had to be maneuvered around or sawed out of the way. This is about where we turned around.
Smoke and Mirrors take two. Our smoke signal didn’t raise the captain, but at least it cleaned up all the trash in a 1/2 mile radius. Enzo’s cell phone saved the day.
An even harder used engine. No need for a pressurized cooling system when the radiator is always plugged with mud. Note the air cleaner was just submerged in mud getting onto the ferry. The battery is disconnected because various shorts drain it quickly if the engine isn’t running. The starter featured a manually operated, screwdriver solenoid. GM power steering pump is an owner modified replacement.
A well used undercarriage. Venezuelan FJ75s have Dana 60 rear axles. Note the NDT military tires and the piece of wood supporting the broken spring shackle.
Of course on the trip back out we didn’t get a single flat! It seems all the grinding going in had widened the track. The next problem we faced though was the ferryboat captain didn’t expect us for another five days! We couldn’t signal him from this direction with the mirror like we attempted on the trip in, (see Part I) but Felipe, undaunted, announced that we would build a smoke signal fire! A convenient five gallon drum lay near the shore, along with other assorted trash left by the miners. We shoved every piece of wood, plastic, extra gear and motor oil and the remains of a fiberglass outboard motor cover into the drum, added a little gas, a match and voilà, instant communications! We spent the next two hours stoking this bio-hazard with green leaves from the surrounding forest. It made a wonderful plume but we had no way of knowing if it was working. Meanwhile, Enzo was running all around playing with his cell phone. Since we couldn’t have been more in the middle of nowhere, this looked to be about the most ridiculous energy we had expended so far... until the damned thing worked!
With the boat on its way we sat around our “fire,” had a beer and toasted technology.
Nino goes after another flat TSL from Enzo’s Cruiser.
The little compressor that could. When was the last time you saw one of these? These pumps were replaced years ago by the newer style (which claims a much longer duty cycle.) But this particular original style ARB air pump could give any pump a run for its money. The poor little chuffer ran all day non-stop. If it wasn’t supplying the Air Lockers in the YJ’s Dana 44 and Dana 60 axles, it was reseating and airing up the endless flats. It never faltered.
The next day, just after we loaded our rigs onto the ferry, this miner’s FJ75 showed up needing a ride too. Nice timing for him and a chance for us to check out one of these unstoppable jungle prowlers.
Known the world over. Polished with mud, not Meguiar’s.
Unfortunately our satellite savior had helped us too late in the day for the captain to navigate his unlit barge to our location. He arrived in the dark with just a small curiara to take us back to the island for yet another night under his churuatas. (Translation: More $ for him). We had an uneventful night and morning ride back to the rigs on the ferry barge. On the return trip our trucks shared deck space with one of the miner’s FJ75s, so we got to have a good look at what kind of vehicle conquers this terrain on a regular basis. The pictures might shock you.
We arrived back in La Paragua after the noon hour and headed to the airport. Much haggling in Spanish ensued on the tarmac between Felipe and several guys that somehow were associated with the few airplanes parked nearby. Finally we were told our 1/2 hour charter flight to La Bonitas was to cost $800! Not bad work if you’re a bush pilot. We had come too far to let money get in the way, so we all chipped in, and soon we were airborne in a 206 over the same terrain we had just groveled through for two days. A half hour later we were standing in the rain, on a grass airstrip, with only our backpacks, watching our now rich pilot fly off into the sunset. It was about 4 pm and Felipe set off at a brisk pace into the hills along a goat track. We half-ran after him, attempting to fire off a few photos in the waning light, while psychologically adjusting to our new surroundings and the fact that our 4x4 mother ships were long gone. Everything we had to rely on was now on our backs.
