‘All we have to do is to keep the front of the raft pointed straight ahead,’ he said. ‘We’ll let the current carry us along. We should make the bank Karl was talking about sometime today.’
We were rapidly coming upon the first difficult pass. I could see jagged rocks jutting out of white-water rapids.
‘To the right, Yossi! Pull hard!’
We ran into a rock, and the raft climbed partway up, the logs shuddering under our feet. Then we were back in the current and about to ram another rock. I made no attempt at rowing but held on to the leather straps for dear life. Kevin was doing the same in the bow. The raft, tossed from to rock to rock, descended churning falls, most of the time tilted to one side.
‘Hold on tight, Yossi! Don’t let go!’
My eyes were squeezed shut.
Just as suddenly we found ourselves drifting once again on a placid river. Looking behind me, I could see the white waters that we had just come through.
‘Hey, we made it!’ I shouted joyously.
Kevin smiled back at me and gave me a thumbs-up. Now we both realised how dangerous this journey was. We had discovered how little we could control the raft. While we were being carried along by the powerful current, we hadn’t even been able to keep the front of the raft pointed straight ahead. No, my grandmother wouldn’t have come along on this trip. Now that there was no one else along with us snivelling, I no longer felt the need to act the tough guy.
We spent the next two hours drifting easily, convinced that we would reach our destination. The scenery was breathtaking. Evergreen-covered mountains towered over reddish cliffs along the shore. Occasionally we passed a narrow waterfall, cascading from the heights to the river. From time to time a family of monkeys accompanied us downstream, jumping from tree to tree. Kevin considered taking the camera out but decided it would be too risky and gave up on the idea.
Around noon we ran into trouble. A large rock jutted out from the shore, and the water pounding against it formed a treacherous whirlpool. The current carried us into its centre. We tried for two hours to get out of it without success. Finally seeing no other way, Kevin swam to shore, climbed onto the rock, and tried to use the rope that was tied to the front of the raft to pull it out of the whirlpool. Twice he slipped, fell into the water, and was swept away by the current, but quickly recovered. On his third try the rope broke off in his hands, and he fell once again into the water, but this time he didn’t return so quickly. I was left whirling with the raft, fear churning in my stomach. What if Kevin had drowned? What would become of me? I sat on the raft, craning my neck, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of him. When I saw his straw hat carried downstream, I froze.
Kevin returned about fifteen minutes later, bleeding from a deep wound on his knee.
‘The undertow here is incredible,’ he said. ‘I thought I was drowning. My air was gone, but just in time the current threw me to the surface, and I made it to shore.’
‘What about your leg?’
‘Oh, I didn’t even notice. I guess I must have hit it against a rock. Shit, I lost my straw hat.’
Instead of attempting to navigate out of the whirlpool, we moored the raft to the riverbank. It was a great relief to have solid ground under my feet.
The next time we tried something else. We pulled the raft upriver, jumped aboard, and rowing with all our strength, tried to get past the whirlpool and back into the middle of the river. We succeeded on the third try. After our cries of joy had died down, Kevin remarked thoughtfully, ‘Maybe we should have just stayed back there. It wouldn’t have been such a bad place to camp.’
‘But we’ve still got a while before dark,’ I said. ‘Anyway, it’s better that we should get all the way to the mouth of the cajón and camp on the bank that Karl showed us on the map. It would be nice to know that we start walking tomorrow.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Kevin agreed.
The reddish cliffs encroached upon the riverbank. It was as if suddenly the river had no banks at all.
‘This must be it,’ Kevin declared. ‘Get ready. We should sight the island any minute now. When we do, you start rowing to the left as hard as you can. If we run into any serious trouble, jump overboard and swim for shore. This is starting to look like it must be the canyon.’
We were both on edge, alert. The current grew stronger. Where in hell was the island?
There was a large rock near the right-hand bank. We were swiftly being drawn toward it. To its left the riverbed dropped sharply, though it was impossible to see just how far. Nevertheless the water cascaded over the edge with a mighty roar. Maybe we could pass to the right of the rock, between it and the riverbank.
‘To the right, to the right! Harder, faster!’
I was rowing desperately with all my strength. I closed my eyes, and we rammed into the rock with tremendous force.
‘Are you all right, Yossi?’
Like me, Kevin was in the river, hanging on to the ropes of the raft. The water rushed past us on both sides, but the raft wasn’t moving. It was protruding from the river at a sixty-degree angle, stuck on a sandbar, riding up against the rock. The pressure of the water slammed us up against the rock and held us fast.
We climbed back onto the raft. Kevin instructed me to tie the oar down so that it wouldn’t be swept into the river. I looked over at the waterfall to our left. The river cascaded downward ten or twelve feet. God, why hadn’t I turned back with Karl and Marcus?
My legs quivered. If we could manoeuvre to the right, we would make it through. We tried to get the raft off the rock but were helpless against the current. We tried everything we could think of – pushing, pulling, rowing, prying the raft off with the poles – but the raft didn’t budge.
Kevin quickly sized up the situation.
‘I don’t see much chance of the current getting us out of here. It’s only six or seven yards to the right bank, while the waterfall is here on our left, and after that it’s probably twenty yards to the left bank. The river is narrow, and the current is terrifically strong. You see what it means? The canyon must start here. We must be really close to the island. If we can just make it ashore, we can go on from here by foot and easily bypass the canyon overland to Curiplaya.’
Kevin paused for a moment and looked around before he made up his mind.
‘We don’t have any choice. I’m going in. I’ll try to reach the right bank. When I do, you throw me the machete. I’ll climb up into the jungle and cut a vine. I’ll throw the vine to you, and you’ll pass the packs over to me on it. Then you tie yourself to the vine, and I’ll pull you ashore.’
‘Don’t go in, Kevin. It’s much too dangerous. Wait a while,’ I called to him, but Kevin didn’t hesitate. He took off his shoes and socks.
‘I’ll make it, Yossi,’ he shouted, and jumped into the river.
The current’s tremendous force pulled him along. He disappeared for a moment but then bobbed up again. He was washed up against a rock about twenty-five yards downstream, grabbed onto it, and from there made it to the riverbank. I sighed with relief but then caught my breath. I felt the raft moving under me, slowly breaking free of the rock.
‘Kevin! Kevin! The raft is moving, Kevin!’
It was slowly slipping away. Kevin ran swiftly toward me.
‘Throw me my shoes, fast!’
I obeyed him automatically and threw his shoes as hard in his direction as I could. They landed on the rocky bank. The raft was almost free. It was headed toward the waterfall. I was trembling all over, looking at Kevin in terror, pleading. He was already hurriedly putting his shoes on.
‘The machete! Throw me the machete!’ he shouted.
The large blade whistled through the air and thudded to the ground. The raft had begun moving.
‘You’re leaving me, Kevin!’ I shouted.
‘Hang on as tight as you can, Yossi! Don’t let go of the leather straps, no matter what! Don’t let go! You’re heading for the waterfall. You’re going to go over it!
Hang on tight!’
‘Kevin, you’re leaving me!’
‘I’ll catch up with you. Just hang on! Hang on!’
The raft came off the rock and edged vertically toward the waterfall. I could feel the surge of the river beneath me and held on to the leather straps for dear life. I was thrown into the air, raging water swallowing my screams; amidst the water I felt as helpless as a fallen leaf. The moment of terror lingered, then abruptly ended with a crash. The raft was pulled under the surface of the river, taking me with it. Darkness enveloped me. My lungs were bursting. I had no air.
Don’t, don’t let go of the raft! I told myself as the undertow dragged the raft along rapidly below the surface. The pressure on my lungs grew unbearable.
God, help me please.
I thought this was the end. Then I found myself above water, the raft floating again. I jerked my head around and saw Kevin, a hundred yards or more behind me, running in my direction. Relief washed over me.
‘I’ll wait for you wherever I manage to make shore!’ I shouted, and waved at him.
Kevin couldn’t hear me, but he waved back and kept running.
Suddenly I understood where I was: I had entered the canyon and was being swept swiftly toward the treacherous Mal Paso San Pedro. The raft bounced from wall to wall. It crashed into the rocks, tilted on its sides, was tossed over falls, and swept through foaming rapids. I held on desperately, closing my eyes and praying, God, God. Then the raft dove under again, taking me with it. I rammed into rocks so violently that I was twice thrown into the air, landing in the water, vulnerable to the torments of the river, sucked down to its depths. If I hit another rock, I would be smashed to pieces. I was running out of air. When I resurfaced, I saw the bound logs of the raft nearby. I managed to grab hold of them and climb aboard again.
The horrible dance of death went endlessly on. The current was incredibly swift. The raft was swept along like lightning. There was another small bend in the river, and then, still far away, I saw it: a mountain of rock in the middle of the river, almost blocking its entire breadth. The water pounded against it with a terrible roar. White foam sprayed in all directions, the white-capped maelstrom swirling at the foot of the terrifying crag, and I knew that I would never make it past.
I lay down on the raft facing the stern, not wanting to watch as death approached. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and clutched at the straps for all I was worth. There was a crash. I felt nothing. I was simply flying through the air, then landing back in the water, my eyes still squeezed shut. I was sucked under the black waters for what seemed an eternity. I could feel the pressure in my ears, my nose, the sockets of my eyes. My chest was bursting. Then once more an invisible hand plucked me out of the current and, just in time, drew me to the surface. I lifted my head, gasped for air – a lot of air – before I would be pulled back under. Far behind me I could see the mountain of rock receding. I couldn’t believe it. I had passed it. But how? I didn’t feel any pain. No, I was uninjured. It was a miracle.
The raft was in front of me not far away. The logs had become loosened from one another. I managed to climb up onto what was left of it. The leather straps were torn, and I had nothing to cling to. I knew that I had to get to the life raft. I mustn’t lose the life pack, I couldn’t survive without it.
I jumped into the water, and two strokes brought me to the life raft. Again I crashed into the stone walls of the canyon; only now I no longer had a wide, solid raft to protect me. The life raft was small and narrow. Every blow lifted it half out of the water. Once again I rammed into a rock, injuring my knee, but much worse than that, the precious life pack came loose and fell into the water. I grabbed hold of it just as it was about to float away, but it was heavy, and I was afraid that it would drown me. I tied the waist belt to one of the logs and hoped that it would hold. But I was wrong. One more knock, one more dive over a fall, and the precious pack was bobbing behind me, out of my reach. I couldn’t take my eyes off it.
I mustn’t lose sight of it, I told myself. I mustn’t lose it, no matter what.
I was fairly certain that I was already through the pass but still in a canyon. Steep stone walls rose on both sides, but the river was getting wider, the current milder, and I could have swum to the bank, but I couldn’t abandon the pack. As long as I could see it bobbing behind me followed by the large raft, I didn’t swim ashore.
The river turned a bend, and I waited in vain for the pack to make the bend behind me. It must have gotten caught on something. Nor did the raft appear. So, as the life raft neared the right bank, I took the chance to leap ashore, having no other choice but to abandon the big pack and raft.
I landed in the water close to the bank and, wonder of wonders, felt sand beneath my feet. I could actually stand up. I staggered out of the river, unbelieving. I had landed on a rocky strip of shore. Solid ground. I was alive!
It was a few moments before my breathing became regular. Then my thoughts returned to my present situation. The life pack was lost, nowhere to be seen, but maybe it would turn up. Couldn’t the current knock it free?
And what about Kevin? Surely he would find me. I had seen him running in my direction. He would certainly make it this far today – or tomorrow at the latest. Yes, everything would be all right. I was sure. He would find me, and together we would walk to Curiplaya. How far could we be from each other? I didn’t know. How long had I spent on the river? I didn’t know. Maybe twenty minutes. The thought of the river made me shudder.
A steady rain had been falling and now grew stronger. There was no more point in waiting. It would be better to climb up into the jungle to find shelter for the night. I clawed my way up the stone wall. When I reached a height of about fifteen feet, I looked down and was overcome with joy. I could see the big raft. It was trapped between some rocks near the shore, bobbing and banging softly, maybe three hundred yards upstream. Now that I could see it, I could hear the sound that it made as it hit against the rocks. What luck! I thought that the pack was probably stuck there too.
I hurried down to the bank, but the bend in the river blocked my view, and except for the spot where I was standing, the river had no bank at all. I wouldn’t be able to get any closer to the raft by foot. I waded into the river, very close to the bank, and tried to walk upriver, fighting the current. I progressed a few feet but then slipped and fell as if the bottom had been pulled out from under me. I was terror-stricken and scrambled back to shore.
Now what would I do? I was seething with anger and frustration. I desperately needed the pack. Maybe I could reach it by land, but scaling the stone walls could take hours. I choked back tears. No, don’t cry. Be strong. Don’t give up. You’re a man of action. Get on with it, do whatever must be done.
I knew I couldn’t make it to the raft that day. It was already growing dark and still raining. I had to find some kind of shelter. I started climbing again, chanting to myself in a whisper, ‘Man of action, man of action.’ I could see the raft bobbing among the rocks.
Please stay there until tomorrow. Please stay put.
Improvising a shelter was no easy task. I uprooted small bushes, broke off branches, tore off leaves, and dragged it all back to a little alcove in the stony hillside. I scattered leaves about on the floor and piled branches in the opening until they formed some kind of barrier.
I was famished. I hadn’t eaten since morning. A way down the hillside I saw a palmetto tree. I could eat the palm heart, as Karl had taught us. The tree was small, but its roots went deep into the rocky ground. I dug around them with my hands until I finally succeeded in uprooting it. The heart was at the very top. I took a large rock and smashed it against the trunk until I uncovered the soft, white heart. It was a small amount of nourishment, but I gathered every bit.
Suddenly I heard shouting.
It must be Kevin, I said to myself, and roared, ‘Kevin! Kevin! Kevin!’ but there was no reply.
It must have been my imagination. No, I could hear something. A family o
f monkeys. I trembled with fear. Karl had told us that there were always jaguars in the vicinity of bands of monkeys.
God, let Kevin get here.
I was wearing a blue T-shirt that Marcus had given me, a brown flannel shirt, rough underwear, jeans, socks, walking shoes, and a large bandanna tied around my neck. I crawled into my camouflaged little niche. The stones cut into my back, but they weren’t as bad as the cold. I was soaking wet and had no fire or anything with which to cover myself. I took the bandanna from around my neck and tied it over my face, and the warmth of my own breath gave me at least the illusion of comfort. Frightening thoughts filled my mind: wild animals, snakes. What if I didn’t find the pack? What if Kevin didn’t get here? I would either be devoured by wild beasts or die of starvation. I felt desperate, desolate, and I leapt out of the niche.
‘Kevin! Kevin! Kevin!’
‘Oha, oha,’ the cursed monkeys chattered.
I fled back to my alcove. I was choked with tears.
Don’t cry. Don’t break now. Be a man of action, I coaxed myself.
It was already dark. I replaced the bandanna over my face. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t get the frightening thoughts out of my mind.
Karl, why didn’t I listen to you? Marcus, why was I so cruel to you? Now I’m being punished.
I told myself that when morning came, I would find Kevin, and together we would make it out of this. When I found myself feeling hopeless, I whispered my mantra, ‘Man of action, man of action.’ I don’t know where I had gotten the phrase. Perhaps I had picked it up from one of Carlos Castaneda’s books. I repeated it over and over: a man of action does whatever he must, isn’t afraid, and doesn’t worry. But when I heard the rustle of branches outside, my motto wasn’t all that encouraging. I held my breath and waited for the rustling to recede into the jungle.
I felt better in the morning. I pushed the branches aside and crawled outside. I roared Kevin’s name a few times but then went back to being a man of action and sized up my situation. For starters I was absolutely certain that I was past the canyon. I remembered Karl’s description well: the waterfalls, the rapids, the gigantic rock blocking the river. Yes, I was sure that that had been the mal paso, and Curiplaya was supposed to be not far from the pass, on the right bank, the bank I was standing on. There was a chance that I could make it there. There were cabins and equipment in Curiplaya. Karl had said that there was also a banana grove. And from Curiplaya it was four days’ walk to San José de Uchupiamonas. There should even be a path cut through the jungle. I allowed myself to feel optimistic. I could do it. Not more than one day’s walk to Curiplaya and from there on a path to San José. There might even be someone left in Curiplaya.
Lost in the Jungle Page 14