End of expedition, the team contemplate the Atlantic

Cut short and denied access to Brazil the team became retrospective; what were we truly aiming for?   

 To travel the Amazon source to Sea certainly yes, but our motives have always been so much more than a qualification, a quantity of miles. What we have gained is more than we dreamed possible, and we’re big dreamers. To be challenged, to experience hardship and difficulty and come through a better, stronger person is a bi-product of an expedition but the aim of an adventure. We are first and foremost adventurers. That is; primarily on a personal journey and secondly on an aim-driven exploit. The experiences we’ve shared, the real-life adventure we have lived was, and always will be, the driving force behind our leaving home shores for the remote and wild extremes of the world.     

“Triumph and disaster” are two imposters we wished to court and when seeking one it seems probable you’d find the other. To treat them the same is one thing, we’re still trying to understand the first. Why, despite failing in our aim, do we feel we’ve met with a success unimagined by us, a sense of accomplishment and pride that has little to do with mileage? Hopefully it’s that we’ve grown and matured as men and know more about the wider world and our path through it. Well that’s what we hope; told recently that our tanned and rugged selves looked professional and serious, scary and intimidating even, brought the biggest boyish grins to some very smug faces that it seems you’ll find much of what flew out of Heathrow, almost half a year ago, on our return.   

And yes, our return is imminent (for some of us). Since writing about Columbia a whirlwind of travel at speeds we are now quite unaccustomed to has taken place. I am currently sitting on a freshwater beach staring out at an Ocean, the jungle at my back and no longer surrounding me. It is the Atlantic, that sea of our dreams and for so long our aim. Sat here staring east towards home we’ve been contemplating the last 6 months and how fast the past month in particular has gone. Once the relevant hard decisions were made we applied ourselves to the tasks at hand with all the energy and enthusiasm we brought to this continent and a blur of activity ensued; a very sick monkey that needed nursing was top of the list. He gets far more love and attention than we four combined from you all on the blog so we’d probably not be so welcome home if we let anything happen to the little guy! Besides he’s been such a wonderful accomplice for nearly two months that we were generally upset when he ate something he shouldn’t have and went comatose for nearly two days. Rushed to the vet by Patch and fed medicine through a syringe he’s now absolutely fine I assure you. We left him in the capable hands of our good Swiss friend Herve who has now taken him to a monkey sanctuary to be rehabilitated in to the wild professionally, our own efforts having run out of time.   

Monkey A & E over, secondly was a frantic auction off the back of the boat, we seemed to have acquired an outstanding quantity of kit and a huge crowd of locals took the opportunity to grab a bargain or just be plain nosey. After much haggling we managed to shift everything from our dodgy generator to the chicks; Chicken and Chips. Jason could sell snow to an Eskimo. Next finding a ferry to Manaus and hectically trying to get ALL the team and equipment on it was emotional while attempting to cancel import documents for the boat. Customs are as slow and evil here as anywhere else it would appear.   

With our hammocks hanging sandwiched in between a thousand others we waved goodbye to the tri-border for the deep Amazon basin city of Manaus. A four-day nonstop journey that would try the good will and morale of the hardiest backpacker but one we thought was rather luxurious; dry, WITH running water, what more could you possibly want? Long forgotten social skills are painfully brought back to life as we engage with English speakers other than ourselves and try to participate in actual intelligent conversation (our own having run out a long time ago).   

Manaus came and went, our time spent there ponderous and strange with no odd tasks to fulfill, no tool shops visited, no supplies needing stockpiling, not even the customary tar to be bought and poured on new leaks. We try our hand at tourism and fail miserably. So on to Belem with another six-day boat journey and a new friend for the book of faces. This one though with quite a story to tell and one that we in particular were very interested in. His name is Logan, from America, he was also travelling the Amazon with another friend. Starting near Iquitos they were paddling in a local canoe to the coast 2000 miles away when serious misfortune struck close to Manaus: accosted by armed drug runners, roughed up and chained to their boat the situation started to turn really nasty when, frustrated by the difficulties of communication, Logan was threatened with a shotgun and the imminent loss of a foot if he didn’t start understanding. Well total robbery is easy to understand as that was what was taking place as the drug runners took everything. Understandably shaken Logan’s partner departed for home from Manaus which leaves yet another young man on the Amazon seeking the ocean by alternative means. Read into this encounter what you will, the implications of providence and a close avoidance of a similar, possibly worse, fate for ourselves is clearly there.   

So we arrived at the long-awaited Belem, a much bigger and more built up city than expected. Arrived and quickly departed as we’ve quickly travelled on to the island of Marajo (an island the size of Switzerland!) that plugs the mouth of the Amazon and closer to our goal of the Atlantic (which conveniently has wonderful beaches…) Currently living in a bar for free on the beach, our hammocks literally swinging 20m from the sea Rest and Relaxation is definitely the name of the game currently. Right to the very end we remain stunned by the unexpected generosity and friendship of complete strangers on our journey, be it vegetables from a poor Peruvian farmer high in the Andes to the hospitality of a family run bar on the coast that comes with free breakfast and a mountain of our kit in their kitchen.   

 In thigh deep snow and thin air we climbed to 5600 meters on Nevado Mismi. Walked over 300kms through the wild and untamed high Andes with our homes on our back. Rafted 140kms through intense white water. Cycled up and over the last bastion of mountains on the final road before coming up against a wall of jungle. Then to have paddled over 1500km on small twisting tributaries. Fought with whirlpools and narrowly escaped minus one canoe leaving us stranded. Literally ghosted past pirates and been held at arrow point to the accusation of harvesting organs. Made a boat. Nearly sunk said boat. Adopted a baby monkey and then rowed it all another 1500km to Brazil. A further 3000km on and we are stood staring out of the mouth of the greatest river on Earth, a river for which we climbed to a still, icy pool to witness being born just over  6000km away. Well, we feel rather grateful to have survived it all, grateful for all the love and support from so many who have followed us and grateful to have shared it. If you’ve enjoyed reading about it, I assure you, we have thoroughly enjoyed living it. Ladies and Gents, it’s been a pleasure.   

James   

We paid close attention to the traffic on the blog and to date there have been just under forty thousand views. I don’t know how that rates in internet terms but it feels pretty good. Every single one of those ‘hits’ spurred us on and brought a smile to our faces in some trying times – that is a hell of a lot of smiles! So this is a thank you to all those people that have read about our exploits, to those who have posted messages on the blog, emailed us and stayed in satellite phone contact. You have made it possible for this journey to be bigger than just us and added an unforeseen dimension of enjoyment.

There are so very many people to thank for making this all possible and we could never do it justice with a list of names. The Amazon source to sea team extends far beyond the four of us in South America, unfortunately you have read the vast majority of our stories but we all look forward to sharing them first hand and perhaps there are a few tales that didn’t quite make the blog we could weave for you over a drink. You know who you are and we will not quickly forget. Thank you.

If you find that you have developed an addiction to following adventures  there are many and someone in particular who has been a huge inspiration to us is Ed Stafford – have a look at his exploits as he closes in on his goal of the Atlantic.

Jason and the team

Six years ago I was a spotty teenager studying for my GCSE’s, the war in Iraq was in its infancy and Athens was miraculously ready to host the Olympics. Feel like a while ago? Well a young man named Hervé Neukomm got on a bike in Switzerland and started cycling.  Six years, 46,000 km later and on the other side of the world this now bearded crazy Swiss is still going. The bike (the very same!) now sits in a custom-made ‘bici-boat’ in which the bike powers water paddles. Despite a continent of flooded jungle without a road in sight he just keeps on going.

To say this man is ‘well travelled’ and world savvy is a gross understatement. His warm company and friendship through this difficult stage for us has been a God send. Ever ready with wise counsel, he’s been a constant companion for nearly three weeks and combined our boats made the oddest spectacle on the entire Amazon!

We were fortunate really that we met Hervé, for an unbalanced team we would have been as our long time guide and good friend Christian has left us and departed for a home which now stands over a thousand miles away. This remarkable man was a pleasure to travel with and learn from. For one so young his knowledge of the jungle and river was a wonder to behold. His company will be sorely missed and his friendship not quickly forgotten.

Leticia, Colombia is a fine little town, our chosen abode among the three countries here, but we are impatient to be active, faced with the insurmountable difficulties presented by the Brazilian authorities we proceeded to do what comes naturally; scrap the diplomacy and head into the wild. The Colombian jungle is as untouched as it is fabled to be unruled. Passing hugely powerful and heavily armed Naval patrol boats speaks of the countries bloody and ongoing fight to rid itself of its drug ridden world image. Happily we stumbled upon no jungle cocaine labs as we motored up and into the dense interior of this corner of the Amazon.

Told repeatedly that our aim of reaching a network of seven lakes was unfeasible due to low water and dense jungle we carried on regardless. We long ago began to take local advice with a pinch of salt as it is always negative. They love to be the bearers of bad news and get positively excited when there’s danger to report! This river though did indeed get very small and we only just managed to scrape under a local bridge, towing ‘Pura Vida’ or ‘Pure Life’ the bici-boat behind us. It was close to here that I saw Hervé dive off the back of his boat. Monkey was at this point resident on Pura Vida for the journey and had actually fallen off the back! Having scooped him up our terrified baby primate was now perched on Hervé’s head as he swam after the boats. Rapid response was quickly established and like Thunderbird 4 Andrew was dispatched on our tractor tire life boat (Now called H.M.S Shit has hit the Fan) to the rescue of the man and monkey overboard. Crisis averted and a biscuit for our foolish sodden monkey we arrived at the gateway to the first lake where the tributary reached its most narrow point. The team strained as machetes flew through the air chopping up the thick mesh of vegetation that tried so hard to deny us access, one final big push and the boat cleared the entrance with Pura Vida gracefully following.

Off the main river the water systems of the mighty Amazon are an amazingly different world. Teeming with fish and wildlife they are a paradise of nature that defy belief. We’d come to this remote place for a purpose other than sightseeing though. It was high time Nyo Nyo left us for the wild, the mighty Brazilian Amazonas being no place for a baby monkey. Though a much cherished pet we couldn’t pass up this chance to rehabilitate monkey to such a fitting environment, not when only a month remains to us on this continent. It was also a place where we could really appreciate our boat and come to terms with the fact that we would have to part with it soon.

When ‘straying off the beaten track’ you are bound to make contact with a more secluded peoples. Often scared, always wary and sometimes aggressive, understanding the psyche of such people takes a natural. Hervé is such a person. Speaking seven languages and Spanish like a native he seamlessly smoothed our arrival into these remote areas where we were quickly accosted by native representatives. He seems truly to understand people, be them Namibian, Syrian or Colombian and could write the definitive book on how to be accepted the world over. Watching him engage and control situations, swap jokes and ultimately command the respect of the locals is a far from common sight among tourists in far-flung lands, but then this man is definitively not a tourist, his home, after all is these far-flung corners of the world.

So free to venture forth having imparted some gifts to the local chief we set off to explore the system of lakes. No longer full of muddy silt, the water is a clear dark color – the fabled black water of the Amazon. So full of fish were the lakes that it didn’t take long for the team to sustain a number of Piranha bites as we swam in this idyllic place! We wreak our own revenge come dinner time though as fishing becomes childs play. Andrew is nowhere to be seen as he has disappeared into the forest, machete in hand, in pursuit of the perfect wood to carve. We are the proud owners of an exquisitely carved backgammon board minus the pieces so far.

Not forgetting our main purpose we constantly bank up against the jungle to encourage Nyo nyo to explore. Initially very scared the first ventures were en-masse to boost his confidence and also involved us actually climbing the trees with the little wimp. Having had a play, eaten everything he can get his little hands on, he’d come scurrying back for dinner time or if we all suddenly left him for the boat. This is clearly going to take some time! His diet now consists of purely fruit and water. No more tea and spaghetti! Hunting bugs on the boat with Nyo nyo is also a pleasant past time, he needs the help and we want them gone!

So monkeys’ confidence grows, as do our climbing skills, but his rehabilitation into his natural environment goes on. One wonders, as I watch four tanned, semi-naked, barefoot men jumping about the jungle canopy with a baby monkey, how long our own re-hab will last?

James

It turns out that this clerk is backed by a rather efficient Brazilian navy who controls the Amazon waterways, a navy keen to avert bad international press, who take a dim view to young adventurers and an even dimmer one to self-made boats. So averse are they to our passage that a meeting between the tri border countries took place (the obliging Peruvian navy showed us the documentation after assuring us that they had fought our corner bless them) in which the Brazilians stated that our expedition was denied access to Brazil and that Colombia and Peru were requested to deny us any help!

On the verge of slinking through we had to pause for thought, so ready to take the plunge we’d been unaware that we’d even registered on the Brazilian radar let alone caused such a fuss. What was one day a slight risk of a slap on the wrist had turned to three Marine check points all looking out for us, a possible confiscated boat, $5000 fine (each), 15 days in jail, deportation and a twenty year ban from Brazil! Wow, when did things suddenly get so serious?

We’re not averse to a bit of risk, thrive on it even, but we draw the line at a $20,000 donation that has become more a certainty than a gamble. No dear friends, it’s the end of the line for dear old Persevere Without Fear. We’ve explored many ideas and received so much good advice from many of you for which we are extremely grateful. What has finally defeated us though is the old enemy Time. With educations, careers and lives to pursue we’ve had to make our hardest “plan” yet, to proceed by alternative means to our ultimate destination; the Atlantic. Unable to play the bureaucratic game any longer it is time we acted before all hope of reaching our goal is completely lost.

We’ll still gaze out at the Atlantic having travelled from its source to the sea, all 4000 miles of it. Over 2000 of it having been walked, rafted, cycled and rowed. It’s not the number we set our hearts on and bent our bodies to but then our hearts are young and bodies strong and we find we are capable of bearing failure, besides we wouldn’t be doing this if it was easy. We’ve got a lot to learn but we like to think we do learn. We consider time spent pursuing our dreams time well spent despite the outcome and we hope you agree.

So the means have changed but the expedition lives on. More than this though our spirits remain unbowed and we hope you continue to read, enjoy and share our experiences as we plough on in pursuit of our old-fashioned adventure in this rapidly changing world.

And in that vein I’d like to leave you with a little bit of hope for the future, while waiting at the border we’ve not been idle. I said the door was closing on the strange and untamed, that the wild was being pruned and boxed in. Well it’s not shut yet, the world is still an amazing place and while there’s still passion to pursue adventure we do honestly believe it’s there to be sought. For us that meant turning our boat 180 degrees from Brazil, towards a less, well, lawful country, and with an obscure Colombian tributary to explore and a wimp of a monkey to rehabilitate into the wild we set off in search of that flighty temptress…

James

Something else we left Iquitos with is a motor. This piece of equipment needs to be explained in fair detail as it runs hard against the grain of our original ethos and though it gives us the capability we require to make the Atlantic in time each one of us after his fashion resents its presence on the boat.

Iquitos was a milestone for the team, at some of the earlier stages of the trip it felt so impossibly far away. I remember thinking how hard the acclimatization climb was, picking up my backpack on the first leg of the walk after climbing to the summit, hitting the first set of rapids, I remember all too well the mountain we had to get over on bicycles to get into the start of the jungle, the blistered hands as we paddled down the Urubamba, the sweat and frustration that went into the boat in Pucallpa, and the fear that we might lose said boat as the waves smashed us about in storms, all of this bar the pongo and the escape from Pucallpa done under our own steam.

We did a new time appreciation in Iquitos based on the speeds we had managed out of Pucallpa and we realized that it would be nigh on impossible to reach the Atlantic by the end of July which is our deadline. We sat quietly for some time, each with his thoughts, each grasping for a solution. We could get as far as the time frame allowed before heading for the airports? We could extend our time frame by a month and in doing so extend the limbo that our lives are in by missing a year of university, putting off Sandhurst further and limiting the window of work experience an architect requires? Or we could mix human power with horse power to make up a daily quota that is sufficient to get us to the Atlantic in time?

We began the adventure with such high hopes of joining the ranks of explorers that we have admired our whole lives, from Shackleton, Scott, Mallory and Hillary to their modern living breathing counterparts: Mark Kalch who completed the expedition before us under human power and has recently committed to navigating the greatest rivers on each continent under human power alone! Ed Stafford who has walked and walked – for over two years this man has walked through the jungle fighting financial pressure, time constraints, the jungle itself. The man is unstoppable and yet so down to earth that he donated some equipment to our own expedition! It felt to us like we were letting all of our credibility as professional explorers slide as we walked into a shop to buy the motor. Perhaps we take ourselves too seriously? I hope dear readers that you understand. As it stands we have not yet had cause to use the motor apart from orientating the front of the boat to break the waves as we have talked about in previous blogs, we are still toiling our way across the continent but we will have to supplement this with motorized moves if we are to arrive in time.

Onto problem and decision number two; Brazilian bureaucracy! We are a young team and we are the first to acknowledge that many of the people who attempt such things bring a lot more experience to the table but we believe in our goal and our standard response to any hiccups has been; “we will make a plan”. My word the plans we have made! From arranging the white water rafting to three of us breaking our personal altitude achievements, from the near drowning of half the team on the Urubamba to carrying everything we needed to survive and to share the experience half way across a continent on a boat we built with our bare hands. We are finally in Tabatinga – the bustling tri border between Brazil, Peru and Colombia.

Here however “we will make a plan” might not quite cut it. After three days of back and forth the Peruvian marines finally gave us the documentation we needed to get into Brazil with our boat. We thought the Peruvian documentation had been a challenge but we were met by the likes of Brazilian Customs, their Federal Police and  Marines, each with their own requirements, their hoops to jump through, their disbelief in our youth, the fact that we have built our own boat and their unwillingness to a give a green light lest we should fall prey to the same things the Peruvians have spent five months warning us about. We have persevered via different routes for ten days, even seeking the advice of a lawyer but they refuse point-blank to give us permission to navigate the waters of the Amazon in Brazil.

You have followed us for months; you know who we are and where our spirit comes from. We are happy to contend with mud, illness, stingrays, piranhas, near drowning, sinking, delays, and even the ever constant threat of pirates; We can deal with physical hardships and we can manage our fears, we are however finding it very difficult to rationalize a potential end to this expedition due to paperwork.

This was not part of the plan. “Persevere without fear” has defined this portion of our lives and believe us we will push harder. We simply decided that should things not go in our favor it would be best that all the people who have played a part in this adventure by supporting us are in the loop and it doesn’t come as a shock if the expedition no longer becomes viable.

Their main points are that because we built the boat it does not meet safety standards, because we are foreign we do not understand the dangers of the Amazonas and that we are not qualified to pilot the boat through such a shipping lane. I am not sure if they realize how we got here. In the most humble way possible we are an exceptionally competent team, we approached this professionally and it is frustrating that they don’t care. I have been driving boats since I was five years old and I have gone through licensing bodies to give this more weight but it means nothing to the Brazilian authorities and we are running out of ideas.

And so this is both a warning order and an appeal for help and advice, we have emailed embassies, tour operators, expedition management companies, visited the lawyer and discussed possible ways forward. There is a poll here and I ask that you leave your ideas should you have any on how we might get round this particular hiccup.

Jason and the team

Cast your vote on the situation below!

For the next couple of days progress went well. The weather was good, we were maintaining a steady pace as Iquitos drew closer and closer. Eventually river traffic would slowly pick up, as we attracted more gaping stares and curious glances from passing boats. All no doubt on their way towards Iquitos as well. Some pretty crucial navigation was also needed around this point, as a wrong turn now would lead us straight past Iquitos taking us literally days and days out of our chosen path. And we certainly needed this port of call. The boat needed a lot of additional work after our near sinking episode and we were in dire need of a new pump.

It was about now that everything started to untangle! A storm blows in rapidly from the jungle to our right, emerging as if by magic out of the dense Amazonian jungle. We are swept over to the left bank by the now blowing winds and the mounting waves. We are getting déjà vu!

The Rain is now lashing down in torrents. Using the rudder soon becomes pointless as the wind is too strong. Before long Patch, the right oarsman is out of action due to our proximity to the bank, Next moment we have hit the side and we aren’t going anywhere. My oar is now useless too.

Now stuck we are in a tricky position to be in because the boat is taking hits by the waves from the side and is unable to roll with them due to it being pinned to the bank, Sin Miedo starts taking on water rapidly. Pump is still out of action. We’ve learnt our lesson, this time we were going to move fast.  As Jase, myself and Christian try desperately to push the boat around and lever off from the bank so that our prow is facing the oncoming waves, James and Patch rapidly open up Sins hold and start bailing fast. Likewise is done with Perseverance afterwards. To no avail however have we been able to turn the boat around to tackle the storm in the way it was designed to. Face on. We could not weather the storm out like this. Continuously pinned and continuously taking on water.

We had to separate ourselves from the land, make it twenty or so meters back in to the river and claw along the bank trying to find a suitable inlet to weather this storm out in. With Supreme effort we all together managed to desperately coax our boat away from the unforgiving bank. And with every man jack at an oar or a paddle we began tediously to fight our way along down the river. Visibility was low. The storm was pretty thick around us and we had no idea whether we would come across an inlet or a calm eddy soon or not. Again the boat began to list slightly as Sin starts taking on more water.

Then quite suddenly; Calm. Beautiful, tranquil calm. With a powerful gust of wind she had passed us by. Relatively unscathed too! The weather can change so abruptly out here that it never fails to leave you feeling rather humbled and awed. By our calculations Iquitos was now no further than nine kilometers away. The time was about four o’clock. So we hoped to make it before nightfall. We couldn’t believe that we were so close to Iquitos. We had talked about this city forever. It is just over the half way mark of our entire journey and we could almost taste that fried chicken! However she wasn’t going to let us off easy. Behind us in the distance we could see yet another almighty hell brewing up! And it was coming right towards us. The real race towards Iquitos had begun.

Patch and I began rowing for all we worth, ever with our eyes on the rapidly approaching storm.  It was about now that we also realized that we were in fact rowing furiously towards another completely new ‘tormenta’ or storm. The things must be attracted to us. I looked over at Christian at this point as he excitedly exclaimed that we were going to be stuck in the meeting of them. I think he was enjoying this.

As the kilometers closed in so did the storms. We were going to get pinned. And what’s more in one of the busiest water ways on this continent. (Iquitos completely relies upon its waterways. It is in fact the biggest city in the world without a road running to it).

Abruptly our boat ground to a halt, we had grounded. I turned around expecting trouble to instead behold for the first time a city long-awaited.  Iquitos was sitting there. On the opposite bank, right where the river turned a sharp almost 90 degree corner on an enormous T-junction to finally reveal our goal. 

Our problems didn’t end there of course. If we tried to cross this enormous inlet over to Iquitos in our sluggish vessel we would undoubtedly get swept down and towards the major shipping docks. We had to get motor towed across.

With only minutes to spare before the almighty clash of the tormentas our savior appeared in the form of an old rickety boat and a grinning little toothless man. Who cared as long as it had an engine. She towed us to safety in the nick of time. As we moored up and gratefully paid our rescuer, nothing was at the forefront of our minds more than the very strong desire to get of our boat and into a hostel for the night. Dark had set in by this point and the storm was raging. In the ensuing madness of packing up our home (literally nothing can be left behind, even the string that we use to lash down the plastic tarp in foul weather would get stolen) Somehow, someone accidentally packed Nyo-nyo our pet spider monkey.  We didn’t know this for sure of course, and we searched high and low for the poor little fella to no avail. We could only assume he had copped it during the first storm, blown overboard perhaps?

I won’t go into the details, but basically the rain was torrential, and we had landed ourselves in the logging district of Iquitos which means no roads, only boggy tracks continuously being churned up by the constant dragging of huge logs. This meant no motor taxis. So with our no small amount of kit we marched it the mile or so to the closest road. Eventually arriving at our hostel as five very pathetic, over burdened and dripping, filthy individuals. We had been on the go night and day for 15 days and we were all physically and mentally shattered.  What we didn’t want to find now was an asphyxiated dead monkey stuffed somewhere into a backpack!  As I searched again through the mounds of mud caked baggage I came eventually to the boot bag! Low and behold a very startled and rather disgruntled monkey dropped out of a boot on to the floor. It seems that like us, he had survived again to fight another day.

Andrew

Morning is a hazy affair, with no real bed time the five man crew having worked three-hour shifts through the night the only really rested crew member is Nyo-nyo, our spider monkey, who will curl into the nearest armpit he can find for sleep.

Mosquito nets go up and the kettle goes on. If we’re recently out of a town there are eggs for breakfast and if we’re really lucky we’ll have that tea that Andrew guards like a pot of gold. Toilet training for monkey goes on as we hopelessly try to cajole what is actually a baby not to poo on the Med Kits.

Locals stare, as you would at five men rowing a cross between a Chinese Junk and house boat. We used to ask where El Dorado is but this produced  even stonier stares, we now just ask to buy some fish. This simple everyday transaction puts them enormously at ease and often results in some prime catch. We do our own fishing as well, stopping on sandy islands mid river to throw our tarrafa net which weighs 15 kilos and involves everything from your teeth down. Eight limbs would hardly be enough to launch this net of death effectively but with a simple 37 point preparation Christian hauls them in. Needless to say we’re still learning. The catch can involve anything from electric eels to fish with teeth and barbs that make Piranhas look quaint and cuddly.

Rowing, once such a new, awkward and painful affair for most of the team, is now second nature though still painful on the bum. All new sports with such repetition take time for the body to adjust. We have that time. Two hour shifts pass by in a breeze with the help of such conversations as how best to dunk your biscuit and then the usual standard insults for more brews.

While not rowing and avoiding making brews ‘down time’ is spent in a mix of leisure and work. The hatches need to be opened and bailed (yes we still leak despite all that diligent rubber and tar) food prepared, machetes sharpened, generator tinkered with, tools cleaned, mozzi nets repaired and constantly, constantly, kit dried. Nothing stays dry in this place. Kit seems to get wet from within side their dry bags out, regardless of rain. One could watch rust grow if at a loss for five minutes and mold pops up where even we hardened students find it hard to believe. The “permanently” stashed away winter kit has seen more light of day in the Jungle than in the snow-capped mountains. Ice axes and wooly hats only help to thicken the mystery surrounding our passing by, I suppose.

There is time for indulgence, wood work and carving is popular especially when working the tiller; it’s been carved all over by sloppy helmsman making hard work for the rowers as they zig-zag on an already windy river. This is ok though as they can’t see where they’re going as in good English rowing fashion they’re facing the wrong way. Reading in a hammock and writing ones diary are also pleasant pastimes offered on this luxury cruise.

“La Selva” slides on by, a continuous and unbroken jungle of such varied fauna and flora it’s hard to comprehend the magnitude of living organisms in this part of the world. Not just greenery but a wall of noise greets us as well. Such strange animal calls that you can only wonder what on God’s green earth is making such strangled, screeching war cries. Sometimes the river gets so wide the green wall recedes to a small skirting on the magnificence that is the tropical sky which never fails to delight. Every day, sunset or sunrise, is better than a Turner painting. That or a complete Iron grey blanket that bodes ill for yours truly. Dolphins accompany us often and their close by blowing is a welcome sound as they play about the boat up to five meters’ away. Two types live on the Amazon, a scaled down version of the Flipper we all know and love, and the famous Pink Dolphin which is rather mutant like (and honestly Pink!) and fabled locally to come alive as  men at night to woo the local pretty girls.

Pockets are now kept uniformly empty. One never knows when a dearly held friend and team-mate will victoriously and unceremoniously creep up and shove you overboard, cackling evilly as they scurry to safety. This normally hails bath time (and more clothes drying) and despite the water being more reminiscent of moving mud than H2O we come out feeling rather clean and pleased with ourselves.

Occasionally a quick tropical storm passes over (this normally coincides when we’ve almost finished drying the winter kit.) It’s pre-cursed with the usual mal-predictions; “it’s going in the opposite direction, no wait it’ll pass us bye, it’s only a little one and DEFFINATELY moving away….. Oh crap its huge and heading right for us”. These things always take us by surprise and are greeted with us scurrying all over the boat dropping our waterproof sheets as it slams home. String, despite being everywhere normally, can never be found at these critical moments of lashing down. I think monkey hides it. Rain inevitably seeps into every corner and down every finger of those thermal winter gloves.

A new phenomenon, unique to the big rivers, is the very occasional passing boat full of tourists. Sometimes dining in an air conditioned viewing cabin on a 5 star jungle experience that comes with an onboard masseuse, they gawp at us and we gawp at them as we all slowly raise our cameras. Each other the strangest thing we’ll ever see in this Rainforest.

Christian and Andrew both love to cook and fraternization between the pair often results in a silent struggle to control the course of the meal; Peruvian or English. It’s amazing what can be achieved with such simple ingredients and how varied our palettes are. Peruvians for instance LOVE salt and unless watched closely half a kilo of it would disappear into the spaghetti. English Pancakes would mysteriously evolve into savory omelettes and banana’s work their way into EVERYTHING, literally, be it a stew or fish and rice.

At five the Mosquito nets come down, those little buggers really aren’t that little anymore and come screaming out of hell bang on dusk to circle us ominously all night. Those that are trained in guerrilla warfare WILL find a way in to the gringo buffet that awaits and a mosquito eating monkey that’s sure to be dead asleep come sunset and no use at all.

If moving at night the centre of the river provides some glorious escape from these pests but movement is not always an option. In the worst areas, small boats moving at night, apparently travelling covertly without a motor, arouse a lot of suspicion and invite shotgun shells their way. When we can move (which is more often than not) a powerful light powered by a car battery is required to declare our rather slow and fragile presence on a river amongst occasional huge cargo boats that would probably not notice a small floating home disappear under their prow. These encounters so far have only resulted in some very disgruntled rowers with wet bums as huge bow waves roll over the tail of the boat.

One of the most difficult things about night navigation on this river is surprisingly orientation. When light ambiance is low it’s often impossible to figure out what direction the slow and sluggish river is moving. As the river bends constantly a thick black line surrounds us in 360 degrees, offering no depth perspective. Careful consideration is required before making the rowers work upstream for an hour: Good exercise but not great for morale. Bends are actually our biggest worry; the river is constantly shifting by gauging away at the outside edge and depositing silt on the inside. This results in the “Costa Braba” or what we know as bloody-dangerous-trees-in-the-middle-of-the-river-where-last-season-there-was-a-bank. Maintaining a centre line becomes very important.

Row port, hold the tiller, row starboard, hit a hammock. Three hours on, one hour off. Nights move slowly but then; so do we. If we’re ever to reach the Atlantic perpetual motion is the name of the game, besides, it’s not a bad life.

James

So into a grey choppy river we rowed, still confident of a day’s decent progress despite adverse conditions. Besides we were the proud owners of a generator powered water pump, what could go wrong?  Almost at the first bend we met trouble; the current is a tricky and fickle beast here in the Amazon and the corners are worse. If one is not careful the boat will be whipped round the outside edge of these mighty bends and through a minefield of half sunken trees, all positioned lovingly to spear our gallant vessel, these outside edges of the river constantly collapse on themselves from the water undercutting the banks and are commonly referred to as ‘costa brabas’ – needless to say they are to be avoided! Today was different; it became clear it wasn’t just the current that we were contending with but a rapidly growing gale. We found ourselves being pushed mercilessly towards this costa braba and with a rapidly growing head wind we were almost powerless to stop it, despite the rowers working at full-steam and the rest of the crew manning paddles for extra power.

It was at this critical stage that things really started to go wrong when an ominous crack came from Andrews oar. The shaft had split where the oar meets its supporting frame. Andrews oar, structurally ruined, its strength compromised, was now almost useless. By supporting the fracture with one hand and pulling with the other he maintained some pulling power. Not enough it turned out…

 Thus powered (or not) H.M.S Perseverar Sin Miedo plunged into the sunken debris of a flooded forest, the remnants of the old bank now torn away, with all souls aboard. All hands fended trees off with oars until Christian was ripped off the back of the boat as we scraped under another partially submerged tree.  A quick oar for reach and we were five men again though it quickly became apparent we were five men with no control over the situation; in falling Christian had tumbled over the tiller, twisting it into a useless warped piece of metal and wood.

Despite the havoc and loss of control we had managed to escape the clutches of the Costa Braba into a large straight stretch of river. Looking out at it we’d rather have gone back for round two with the bend; with no shelter the wind was whipping the usually so tranquil water into a pitching torrent of grey waves. We headed inexorably on but with no control over our orientation the boat was now sideways to the oncoming waves, our purpose-built wave breakers were of no use with the boat getting hit side on. 

Water was going everywhere, coming right over the boat. Immediate action was needed to stop the hulls from flooding. Though reasonably water tight when sitting in tranquil water she’s rather unreliable at stopping access at higher levels, especially when water is on the deck! It was obvious that water was getting in somehow; we just weren’t sure how fast? When one of the hulls started to dip it became urgent that we hit land and bail. We were 200 meters from the bank with our hull seeming to be filling with lead. Something had to be done rapido. By this point Patch was packing away loose and valuable kit to protect it from the water so Jase fired into action with our water pump.

Problem; recently purchased we had not drilled holes to feed the hoses of the pump into the rapidly flooding hulls. Solutions; we have a drill so let’s drill some (it’s never too late…)

So Jase, with his feet lapping in water, grabs the electric drill and goes for the generator. With a tug of the cord it chokes into life and drilling commences. Then at the most untimely cue, it runs out of fuel. “Bugger, get the fuel!” cried Jason, “It’s 100 meters downstream” came the answer. At this point Andrew, who’s diligently still working his station with a broken oar, points out he’s now actually sitting in water, his whole side having sunk: “I think it’s about time we started packing fellas…” It was clear we could no longer control the boat and even though it was so close we were unable to fight our way to the bank.  It’s strange, but none of us can place the moment when the situation went from bad to critical, when we stopped fighting a struggling boat to the side and instead were faced with the very real and immediate possibility that we would shortly be swimming.

But that moment had come and gone, with one hull completely flooded half the boat was now fully in the water and the other half had risen to a precarious angle. Abandoning oars we hastily scrambled over to put together a pile of things needed for survival on the bank of the Jungle, namely food, dry clothes, communication equipment, boots, med kits etc. By this point a lot of our kit was starting to float off, anything on deck being washed off and floating away. The water around us full of cups, pots, fuel bottles, anything had not been lashed down!

Life jackets were now on, so certain that we were about to sink, bags hastily tied to our car inner tubes for buoyancy. We were scuttling around on a deck that sat at 35 degrees into the river, at one point it seemed likely that it was going to capsize as it moved to 45, a terrifying moment made worse with Andrew dangerously still inside the living area salvaging kit. In a scene reminiscent of Titanic, he scrambled up a near vertical deck with a hand from James as we all rushed to counter balance the near death of our boat.

None of us could believe what was happening; This boat that we had slaved away to create with our bare hands. This boat that we had hemorrhaged time and money into for a month. This boat that represents an investment from the team that would mean the end of the expedition if it were lost. This boat was sinking! The adrenaline was mixed with a primal desperation to save the vessel that had taken us a month to build, there was no time for contemplation but it felt more like a surreal dream than reality.

With all the crew and equipment acting as counterbalance we managed to restore some stability. Though this wouldn’t last long. We were only still afloat because, being a catamaran, one hull (old Perseverance) still had air in her and was holding our other sunken hull up. She, though was also filling up. We didn’t have long.

It was time to make a last effort to save our floating home; we would not lose her, so lovingly made, without a fight.  The bank was now fractionally closer, about 150m, so James dived into the water with a rope that was attached to the catamaran and furiously swam towards the bank. Soon joined by Patch, their aim was to anchor the boat to the shore so as to swing it in. Andrew, Christian and Jason paddling towards them. Unfortunately the rope was 30 meters too short resulting in the two swimmers vainly trying to shift a boat that by now probably weighed in excess of six tons.

Despite being short, with two men at the end of the rope acting like an anchor, enough turning power was created so as the boat did start to swing towards the shore in a slow arc. Hope glimmered slightly. If we could get the boat to the shore we could, possibly, save it. With the help of the three paddlers the shore was actually within reach, the swimmers approaching the sunken trees usually so dangerous to us but now our only hope. Here the trees became our point of safety as we tied the rope securely to one and swung the boat around fully. Andrew working furiously with a machete to free us from old branches clawing at the boat.

Finally H.M.S Perseverar Sin Miedo came to rest against a steep mud bank of the jungle, densely growing with bamboo. Although full of water and partly submerged part of here hull was now resting on land. She could no longer sink. Relief surged through the team. Adrenaline had been high; being on a sinking vessel does that. But we’d won that battle. Now we were faced with a different one; we still needed to salvage the boat. This wasn’t going to be an easy task with only five men, rapidly decreasing energy and fading light, we now had to restore the boat to boat like behavior; namely to float.

Two hours later; Chests in water, thighs in mud. Large levers at work, a rope pulley system rigged up and all men straining the boat was still in the water. Adrenaline gone. We were clearly not going to lose this boat anymore but we were now faced with the oncoming dark, a tide of mosquito’s and a very cold, wet and uncomfortable night. We desperately wanted to finish. With one last huge effort and a furiously bailing Jason the sunken side came up. It’s a very fine line; a boat can be completely filled with water but as long as a slight unbroken lip is showing, separating this body of water from the river, you can bail. If any part of this lip is submerged the two bodies are actually one making bailing completely useless. With huge effort we’d bodily lifted this submerged boat clear, just fractionally, of the water enabling Jase, like a man possessed, to bail madly and restore the balance.  

At last, we crawled onto the boat, an untidy heap of soaked kit everywhere, and dropped the netting. Nyo-nyo, a complete softy, had escaped and already come back. He’s a sucker for biscuits. Our seventh crew member Milo, a chicken, was not so lucky. He’d been tied to a part of the deck so submerged he’d drowned. So with Milo on the menu we set about hungrily making dinner. All our pots, pans, cutlery, everything barring one metal mug, had been washed away (our washing up drills could be better…) So with one cooker and a mug Andy cooked a whole chicken, fried chips, boiled rice and made noodles for five of us. A culinary miracle even if it did take three and a half hours.

So, exhausted, we climbed into our wet hammocks with our wet blankets amid our ruin of a wet boat and went to sleep five very happy (wet) men.

Watch the interview below for a first hand account!

The digital birth of Persevere Without Fear as James Ellis put together a CAD video – strange thing to do on an expedition yes but we had the time in Pucallpa and it was incredibly helpful to communicate ideas across language barriers and to make sure that everyone was working off the same page.

Phase 2: The Build

I think that these videos more than ever show how much fun we have on this voyage - we worked hard in Pucallpa as the end result demonstrates but we also played hard and enjoyed every second of creating the boat! It was an incredible opportunity to create something so tangible with our hands.

Part 1

Part 2

Enjoy the videos!

Jason

Having spent a month in Pucallpa toiling over our catamaran we had got to know the city very well and were on first name terms with most of the people we daily came into contact with. One day Alex (our hotel owner) informed us that being in Pucallpa so long, we had stirred some interest with a few unsavory characters. Having been in Peru for nearly 4 months now we’ve gotten used to people describing all the imaginative ways we might get killed, be it whirlpools or bandits, everyone has something to say. So we wrote it off to the usual scare mongering that tends to happen. However a few days later, when working on the boat up our tucked away tributary, Christian (our guide) spotted a dug out canoe that seemed to be going up and down without any apparent reason, they were just looking at us. This happened repeatedly, it became clear that Alex was right, we were being reconnoitered.  Although we are always at risk of being confronted with piracy on the river, we never had such blatant proof of their interest in us, therefore we decided not to tell folks home about this. It was time to make a plan of escape. Initially we thought it best to leave tactically in the dead of night, then proposing the plan to our guide he simply rejected it with “no bueno” or “not good”. As it turns out this would have been god’s gift to the asaltantes who perform the vast majority of their careers nocturnally. An alternative arrangement was made, we would lash our catamaran to a tug boat and steam our way to the next town under the protection of a huge engine and the 40 passengers onboard. Although this isn’t something that agreed with the expedition ethos, if it meant that we weren’t going to get robbed of our much needed equipment, it certainly was the wiser option!

The subsequent week in Pucallpa we told nobody of our plans. Upon being questioned about dates and destinations all of us robotically said “no se” (I don’t know). In truth none of us even knew the date of our departure, we left when Christian frantically burst into our room one morning and said “be ready to go in ten minutes”! The packing that ensued was carnage but everything got sorted in the time given. Having hired an army of tuc tucs to take our equipment down to the port, Jason and Christian shot off to prepare our boat for the tow. Seeing all the perplexed local faces gorping at four gringo’s hastily tieing an alien looking vessel to the rusty old cargo ship was very amusing. Within two minutes the majority of passengers on Discovery (our tow boat) were standing by and watching us.

Having an engine tow us along didn’t turn out to be all that pleasant. The proceeding night consisted of us bailing the two hulls in a frenzied fashion at 3 in the morning as a tropical downpour attempted to sink our catamaran. None of us got much sleep. We pulled into Contamana shattered, cold and hungry at six in the morning. Once safely dropped off and moored up we then shot off to buy up all the stores we needed. An hour later we were all returning to the boat to find Christian with a new team member sitting on his shoulder, a baby spider monkey called Nyo-nyo (slang for fat). A present given to him by a local uncle. Morale obviously went through the roof as we all played with this creature that you could hardly believe had evolved for the harsh jungle environment. All it seemed to do was pathetically hug people for body heat and poo everywhere.

Over the next few days we were all getting to grips with the new boat. Weighing easily over a ton I wouldn’t say that she is hugely agile, when thinking of an analogy for her hydrodynamics, slow landslide springs to mind rather than sleek catamaran. Thankfully however she does bear the weight of 5 men and 160kg of kit with notable ease. After two days all our kit (right down to those forgotten winter ice axes) had a place. We had also developed a feel for rowing thanks to James who taught us the tricks of the trade acquired from his former rowing days at Manchester University. A complex rowing timetable was even developed, two hours on, two hours off. All seemed well, no near death experiences thus far on the river, everything was at last going smoothly.

Things started to unravel a little when Andrew was fishing with Christian on the bank. As usual Christian was catching a large haul of fish while Andrew watched to learn the relatively intricate technique needed to utilize the cast net. He was about 15 meters further along the beach standing close to the water’s edge, Christian turned to speak but before uttering anything he went pale. Dropping the net he shouted at Andrew to run. Confused Andrew obliged, especially when Christian started sprinting off as well. Upon asking what the problem had been, Christian in his spanglish described the water snake Andrew had obliviously been standing a meter away from and, the death he would have endured from it if he’d been bitten. It really is incredible how people bought up in the jungle have adapted to see things that we as westerners are blind to. Christian managed to spot a water snake 15 meters away that Andrew had been completely unaware of. We are rapidly realizing the advantages to having a guide far outweigh the costs, especially in such a location.

The next scare we had was at night. Having just had supper, we were amiably using our down time for reading, playing board games or talking. Then in the near vicinity a shot-gun went off. We went tactical. No light of any kind, hushed whispers and careful movements so as to reduce noise. A motor about 300 meters off choked to life and started making its way in our direction. “Asaltantes” Christian whispered while keeping his eyes fixed on the darkened water. We all kicked into life and frantically got the boat ready to be boarded. Having scoured the deck for anything valuable, satellite equipment, passports, cash etc, it was then chucked into a dry sack, whereupon Jason ran it out to the back of the boat and started nailing a rope to the bottom of the catamaran, the rope was then tied around our dry sack and brutally dumped into the water with the intention of sinking it under the muddy water of the Ucalayli. Back in the cabin we prepared ourselves for as many eventualities as possible, Jungle boots were put on, survival kits made ready, expensive items hidden, all with the background noise of Christian feverantly whispering “RAPIDO, RAPIDO!!”. All our drills were done in 2 minutes flat, after that we simply lay down to hide behind the shields we’d built. We anxiously waited so silently that mosquitoes could be heard hovering over us. The noise of the engine grew, we braved a look at the boat approaching and realized that it was behaving erratically. It past us and happily rumbled away into the distance. It was then that we remembered the nearby village was having its fiesta, perhaps they had just been drunken late night revelers going home (playing with a shotgun?!) It certainly let us breathe a sigh of relief as we then tried to get some shut eye in pirate zone.

In fact it isn’t only us who are constantly on the look out for these illustrious buccaneers. The next day at around lunch time, a speed boat came careering down the river, such a rapid pace around here is somewhat unusual, so yet again it provoked us to reanimate the piracy drills. Mid preparation, Christian, wielding his “dummy shot-gun” looked through the binoculars towards the speed boat. After half a minute he burst out laughing and informed us that out of the four people on the speed boat, two hid, one defensively held a gun while the other was watching us through binoculars while they sped on, obviously under the impression we were the assaltantes. Paranoia is rife on this stretch of water which sadly leads to most people arming themselves. Although we have had many discussions about the suitability of buying a weapon for ourselves, instead we’ve settled for our fake home made shot-gun that is displayed when needed. After all, employing our fire and maneuver drills in a 10 x 4 meter boat with one shot gun would be tough.

Having been through so much bandit malarkie over the last couple of weeks, we thought we’d had our share of excitement for the fortnight. We were sorely wrong after an “incident” happened with the boat. As this “incident” was a rather major event, I am leaving it for the next blog which will be up shortly (this time).

Patch