Walking the Amazon: 860 Days. The Impossible Task. The Incredible Journey

by Stafford, Ed

  Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Maps

  Foreword by Sir Ranulph Fiennes

  Prologue

  PART 1: PERU AND THE SOURCE OF THE AMAZON

  1. Conception to Birth

  2. The Search for the Source of the Amazon

  3. Descending the Deepest Canyon in the World

  PART 2: THE RED ZONE

  4. The Red Zone

  5. The Ashaninkas

  6. Gadiel ‘Cho’ Sanchez Rivera

  PART 3: THE DARK MARCH TO COLOMBIA

  7. ‘Look after your gringo or we’ll cut his head off’

  8. Depression

  9. Recovery in Iquitos

  10. The Drugs Trafficking Trail to Colombia

  PART 4: BRAZIL

  11. Entering Brazil

  12. Starvation

  13. ‘Cuando hay – hay. Cuando no hay – no hay’

  14. Dedication

  15. ‘He doesn’t talk much, the gringo’

  16. The Sprint Finish

  Epilogue

  Kit List for Walking the Amazon

  Picture Section

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  About the Book

  In April 2008, Ed Stafford began his attempt to become the first man ever to walk the entire length of the River Amazon. Nearly two and a half years later, he had crossed the whole of South America from the Pacific coast of Peru to reach the mouth of the world’s most colossal river.

  With danger a constant companion – outwitting crocodiles and killer bees, avoiding jaguars and pit vipers, not to mention overcoming the hurdles of injuries and relentless tropical storms – Ed’s journey demanded extreme physical and mental strength. Often warned by the Peruvian natives that he would die, Ed even found himself pursued by machete-wielding tribesman and detained for murder.

  However, Ed’s journey was an adventure with a purpose: to help raise people’s awareness of environmental issues. Ed has unprecedented access to indigenous communities and witnessed first-hand the devastating effects of deforestation. His story of disappearing tribes and loss of natural habitats concerns us all.

  Ultimately though, Amazon is an account of a world-first expedition that takes readers on the most daring journey along the world’s greatest river and through the most bio-diverse habitat on earth.

  About the Author

  Ed Stafford started running expeditions after retiring from the British Army as a captain in 2002 and has led expeditions all over the world. When not leading trips, Ed worked alongside the United Nations in Afghanistan assisting with the running of the first-ever presidential elections. Prior to this journey Ed was in production with the BBC on their conservation series Lost Land of the Jaguar. In August 2010, Ed became the first man to walk the length of the River Amazon, accompanied by forestry worker Gadiel ‘Cho’ Sanchez Rivera for all but four months of the 28-month journey.

  Walking the

  Amazon

  860 Days. The Impossible Task.

  The Incredible Journey

  Ed Stafford

  For my dad, Jeremy Stafford, for moral courage, mental strength and unquestioning love.

  Foreword

  WHEN THE TRUSTEES of the Transglobe Expedition Trust (TET) first heard of Ed Stafford’s planned attempt to walk the length of the Amazon, we asked some notable authorities on the region for their opinion. The reply came back – ‘impossible’. TET likes to support projects that are so challenging that they risk failure. We like to share the risks in the hope that, against the odds, the expedition will succeed and make a significant impact in the evolution of human achievement. Our Patron, HRH The Prince of Wales, in describing the 1979 Transglobe Expedition, referred to it as ‘mad’ (as an almost impossible goal) but ‘marvellous’ (in its achievement). Ed Stafford’s plans were clearly mad and, if he succeeded against the advice of the pundits, it would also be marvellous.

  When Ed set out, he was accompanied by a colleague, Luke Collyer. For various reasons, Luke had had enough after three months and returned to the UK. Undeterred, Ed carried on. One of the most impressive aspects of his performance throughout this expedition is Ed’s absolute determination to succeed. On an almost daily basis, he must have faced obstacles that would put most people off. His is a truly magnificent demonstration of the stubborn grit that you need to succeed in such difficult and dangerous terrain. Five months into the expedition, Ed met Gadiel ‘Cho’ Sanchez, a local who agreed to walk for five days with Ed. Two years later Ed and Cho were still marching.

  We in the TET are delighted and hugely impressed by Ed and Cho’s success, not only in the physical achievement but also in Ed’s dedication to relaying on his website the environmental and humanitarian stories, which were followed by both schoolchildren and adults around the world. Such stories draw much-needed attention to the very real problems that exist in the Amazon basin and beyond.

  I am delighted to have been involved as a supporter and look forward to hearing what Ed will be attempting next. You can be sure it will be every bit as mad and, hopefully, equally marvellous.

  Sir Ranulph Fiennes

  Prologue

  AFTER RECEIVING A very direct warning over the HF radio that we would be killed if we decided to continue our journey, we reach the downriver end of the shingle island in the middle of the Amazon. I drop my inflated pack raft into the shallow brown waters and roll my heavy backpack off my stiff, grimy back and into the rubber boat.

  ‘Mira, Ed, atrás. Look, Ed, behind you,’ says Cho calmly. As I turn I see five dugout canoes coming towards us fast, full of indigenous Indians. Many of the Indians are standing up in the narrow boats; bows drawn, arrows trained on us. Those who are seated are thrusting hard with big wooden paddles.

  Fuck. My T-shirt clings to my body and sweat pours down my temples. My body is still but my heart is quickening, adrenaline pours into my brain allowing me to process the imminent danger rapidly. My perception of time slows down. The carved boats cut through the choppy river fluently. The dangerous scene in the middle distance is framed by a green wall of overhanging jungle beyond. The brown faces of the Asheninka men and women are warlike and fierce, highlighted by lines of bright red face paint. I notice the women are all clutching machetes.

  As the boats beach, the tribe leap out and run directly towards us. The men’s faces are now taut with anger, eyes wide and white, and the women look possessed. Cho and I are unarmed, with nowhere to run, trapped at the tip of the island like animals. Every sense is now alert and our minds ignore all that is not relevant to immediate survival.

  PART 1: PERU AND THE SOURCE

  OF THE AMAZON

  Chapter One

  Conception to Birth

  A FURIOUS CAGE of heavy tropical rain enclosed the wall-less bar. The extraordinary force of water drowned out the persistent Creole drums from across the muddy street. A cool evening freshness accompanied the rain, cutting through the usual humidity. I sat, beer in hand, with a fellow expedition leader, Luke Collyer, and breathed in the cleansing power of nature. As we reclined in low wooden chairs, a ball of excited apprehension sat conspicuously in both of our stomachs. We’d just come to a decision that could change our lives for ever and we had shaken on it. We had agreed to attempt to walk the entire length of the Amazon River together. My eyes gleamed and I grinned at Luke. ‘Fucking hell, mate – this is going to be mental.’

  It was January 2007 and we were
in the former British colony of Belize, Central America, running conservation expeditions for a British organisation called Trekforce. I’d just relocated our field base from the capital of Belize City to the smaller, more Latin town of San Ignacio near the Guatemalan border. Most people here were ‘mestizos’, a mix of indigenous Mayan and colonial Spanish, but there was a handful of Creole settlers who were relatively new to the town.

  The following morning we stumbled round the field base in our boxer shorts eating egg banjos (fried-egg sandwiches) and drinking imported Earl Grey tea. Surprisingly, when the subject of the Amazon walk came up again neither of us backed down from the gentlemen’s agreement. It would have been fairly excusable to blame the bravado on alcohol but, as we scratched our stubble and our balls waiting for the shower, we were both even more animated about the idea than we had been the previous evening.

  Two years earlier I had been employed by a British company to set up a scientific research expedition in Argentine Patagonia. I had recently started going out with a girl called Chloë and, both having an itch for travel, we decided to apply for the job together of leading and managing this cold-weather expedition. Chloë was younger than me, with a coarse laugh, a curvaceous body and an endearing passion for doing good and preserving the vulnerable. We were much in love and the scope to do what we wanted and to make our lives in this unknown country was huge. The Argentine Patagonian people had a lovely confidence and humility that we both quickly fell in love with, too. We found Argentine biologists to work alongside and assist and Chloë and I both worked very hard to make the volunteer expedition work.

  The expedition was largely a success but at the back of my mind I had a yearning to return to the tropics. Part of me feared the cold, the amount of equipment we were dependent on, and the amount of experience you needed to be safe in the mountains. I started to dream about the simplicity of an environment that I knew a lot better – the jungle. With long, eight-hour Land Rover journeys commonplace, I allowed my mind to wander and dream – what would be the ultimate expedition I could ever conceive of doing?

  I had never been to the Amazon, my jungle experience had mostly come from Central America with some short trips to Borneo, but the Amazon undoubtedly had a mystique all of its own. Surely the trees would be much bigger, the wildlife had to be much richer and more diverse and the people would be that bit wilder and cut off from the outside world. It gave me butterflies to think of spending time in the Amazon. Not knowing the geography of the area in any detail, my dreams were restricted to what I did know. There was a ruddy great river that virtually crossed the whole continent from west to east, and … that was about it. I had heard of expeditions that had kayaked the entire river from source to sea – phenomenal endurance feats taking five-plus months – the problem was I was a rubbish kayaker. Sure, I’d done a bit on the canals in England as a Cub Scout but that cold, depressing experience had been enough to put me off for life. What a dull, miserable sport, instructed by overenthusiastic dickheads in stupid helmets.

  What I was experienced at, however, were expeditions on foot. After one long Land Rover journey I burst into the Patagonia field base alive with excitement; I was sure deep down that I’d stumbled upon a world first. ‘Amazon walk’ I typed in; ‘source to sea Amazon’; ‘Amazon expedition’. The minutes flew by.

  I kept searching and searching and began to smile. Unless a trip to the Royal Geographical Society could prove otherwise, no one, in the history of mankind, had ever walked the length of the Amazon. This could just be a true remaining world first. I was hooked.

  Back in Belize two years on, Luke’s arrival in country and his announcement that he was having ideas about kayaking the same river had brought things to a head. I’d never put a timescale on my dream but I’d recently split up with Chloë and was, for the first time in a while, able to think independently without having to worry about, or compromise with, anyone else. I quickly pointed out to Luke that kayaking the Amazon had been done five times before and that a fat Slovenian bloke was currently swimming the low-altitude part of the river. I put forward my idea, a world first, all carried out on foot. Luke thought about it for five seconds. ‘I’m in,’ he grinned. ‘Let’s do it.’

  We had no idea how long this would take us but we wanted it to be a year. That was manageable in our heads and so we divided 4,345 miles (the length of the river according to Washington’s National Geographic Society) by 365 days and came up with the very plausible figure of eleven miles a day. Having spent most of our jungle time on paths and trails, Luke and I naively rejoiced in the fact that we’d be home in just twelve months. How neat and tidy.

  Luke was thirty-five; I was thirty-one. Despite being very different characters we shared a slightly reckless desire to ‘do something amazing’ that ran deep in us. We both wanted to achieve something that we could look back on in future years and be proud of.

  I could see that Luke was genuine in his desire to prove himself. He’d never joined the army – something I believed he slightly regretted – but he had led several expeditions since I’d known him and he was generally very well liked. Finding each other in a similar state, with such comparable expedition dreams, was surely some sort of sign. The coincidence was suggesting an exciting course to us and we each allowed ourselves to be easily swept up by the other’s enthusiasm.

  Luke lost his parents in his early twenties – both mother and father dying in rapid succession – so had needed to become pretty independent. He had ‘found himself’ when he saved enough money to travel to Australia but while he was away one of his two brothers also died. While in Australia he learned to juggle – everything from machetes to fire – and worked as a street entertainer. On return to the UK he had obtained several outdoor instructor qualifications and had become a keen climber. He had worked for several years in outdoor education for low pay but enjoyed his job. Using his skills he became an expedition leader in 2004, and by 2007 had led four three-month jungle expeditions – all to Belize – the last three to Davis Falls National Park. Luke had a serious girlfriend, Katie, and her family had become his family.

  My life had been different. I was born to a sixteen-year-old single mother in the East Midlands and been adopted as a baby by Jeremy and Barbara Stafford. Apart from the fact that my dad had sporadic bad health, I would say we were as happy as any other family. The bits of my family upbringing that shaped me into an expedition leader are, first, that we lived in a small village so I grew up in the country; second, that my parents would encourage me and my sister to make our own decisions from an early age; and third, that my dad influenced us all by his firm conviction that if you say you are going to do something you have to try to do it, and you should not abandon it until you know you have given it your best shot. Dad pushed me into rugby and the Scouts and both had a big part in moulding my character. Their love for me was always evident and being adopted was never an issue or a problem.

  My confidence grew when I realised I had a talent for playing rugby. I was six foot one at the age of thirteen and found that I could take the ball from the opposition and run through everyone. What a great sport, I thought, and this confidence spread to other aspects of my life. I left Stoneygate, my prep school, as a prefect and a very proud captain of rugby.

  I also thrived in the world of Cubs and Scouts where I was introduced to camping, walking and the outdoors. They were based in a nearby town called Fleckney. My mum and dad both valued education highly and they managed to put my sister and me through private schools. The immersion into Cubs and Scouts was not only a great grounding; it was also a juxtaposition to my private education. Like rugby, outdoor life was something that I could just do. I loved learning the skills needed to live next to nature and become comfortable and competent outdoors. Although Fleckney was in some ways a bit rough, it wasn’t geeky – we didn’t sit round in a circle saying ‘Dib, dib, dib!’ and practising our knots. We played murderball, we built things and we made fire.

  Boarding school
at Uppingham was an experience that undoubtedly shaped my life, too. The school, still officially in mourning for Queen Victoria – boys dressed entirely in black – failed to look at what made many boys tick – and that included me. I soon became disenchanted and rebellious.

  Teachers had no background in child psychology and apart from a very few notable exceptions were visibly bored with their secondary role of parenting the children as well as educating them. Each term was about twelve weeks long and I rarely saw my parents while I was there. The elder boys ran the house and ‘educated’ the younger ones in whatever eccentric manner they deemed right at the wise old age of seventeen. We were lucky enough not to be too physically bullied (that era had pretty much ended) but the environment was not conducive to a healthy, balanced upbringing. For a large part of the first year I, and many boys, lived in fear and confusion.

  After nearly four years and predicted to do badly in my A levels, I was eventually expelled for a number of reasons, not least acts of minor vandalism. I have always thrived on danger and adrenaline and sneaking out of my boarding house armed with a wire saw and industrial bolt cutters to cause havoc seemed to be my main outlet at the time. It was completely misguided, of course, but perhaps understandable in an all-boys’ boarding house that had a ten o’clock curfew and that failed to address the real needs of many of its students.

  I believe strongly that the school mismanaged me and other boys like me. I still feel today that they had a responsibility, in loco parentis, to get to the bottom of my behaviour and harness my adventurous spirit rather than simply to label me as ‘bad’.

  After getting A grades at A level from Brooke House Sixth Form College in nearby Market Harborough, I went to Newcastle University and scraped an honours degree in geography despite living in a thick haze of marijuana for the first two of the three years. Repulsed by the cliquey university rugby team, where to have gone to the right school guaranteed you a place in the first XV, I joined Rockcliffe RFC, a local Geordie men’s team in Whitley Bay and savoured the weekly dose of non-student life.