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Day 11: Marooned!

RIO de SANGRE ECOLODGE,

VENEZUELA

The jungle’s claustrophobic humidity did not relent overnight, but I am grateful for our stay in the tent. At breakfast, the guys in the dorms all complained about the twenty sweaty bodies per room adding to the sweltering heat . . . I can only imagine the stench!

They also missed out on the craziest alarm clock ever – a particular woolly monkey named Mona. She bounded onto the roof of our tent just as the sun was rising, flattening it.

Shocked awake and taking a panicked moment to work out where we were and what was going on, Sid and I then proceeded to laugh as Mona retreated. This allowed the tent to ping back to its standard shape so that she could attack it again. This went on for at least five minutes. The playful primate was determined to ensure we didn’t drift back to sleep. Eventually, we opened the door. Like a petulant toddler, Mona scampered inside with us, jumping and clambering over us, spinning in rolly-pollies from one side of the tent to the other.

Eventually, once we dressed, Mona ‘escorted’ us across the compound, hitching a ride on my shoulders, back to the main lodge in time for breakfast.

Just as Sid and I settled down with a bowl of cereal from the spread Tom’s team had set out for us, McKinney appeared, face screwed into a tighter scowl than usual.

Rather than departing the lodge in the boats in an hour, as planned, she announced that we were stranded.

Tom explained in more detail that there hadn’t been much rainfall in almost three months. The river’s level was shockingly low (which also explained why the bank down to it yesterday was so steep). He’d got wind overnight that a canoe had run aground on a stretch of river about ten miles upstream, so he had set off at dawn with Mckinney and del Vega to check it out.

Sure enough, the river had dropped so low that it had become impassable by boat for at least another ten miles beyond that point. There are no roads from the lodge to Carimara; even if there were, we have no vehicles.

So, for the moment, we are stuck here.

For the rest of breakfast and an hour or so after, the mood amongst the team plummeted.

Iosjef, an Israeli archaeologist I had chatted to last night, said what we were all thinking.

“It’s beginning to feel like something is trying to keep us away from that mountain [Sarisariñama].”

To keep us occupied while McKinney and Co plot our next move, Tom organised some of the activities he usually arranges for his ecotourists.

 A short while later, we split into four smaller groups. Our group donned some very fashionable Wellington boots and then set off in a canoe. With eleven of us on board, the boat sat low in the water, the hull sometimes grounding against the riverbed as though proving Tom’s point about the water level.  

The boat continued, rushing past trickling waterfalls and the snaking roots of giant trees, punching out of the parched river bank as though desperately searching for water. Children ran from isolated villages, waving and shouting at us. We tumbled down a small, gentle series of rapids, clutching onto the boat as it twisted and threatened to capsize. But, eventually, we idled up to the shore and clambered up a slope to a short flight of steps cut into the bank (presumably from the river’s usual level).

We had arrived at the Rio de Sangre Animal Rescue Sanctuary. Our guide was a young Australian chap with spiked piercings through his lower lips. He led us around various metal cages housing monkeys, parrots and toucans. A rescued anaconda lay curled up behind the dirty glass of a large, concrete-walled tank, while a murky green pond housed turtles and caimans. Further on, we peered through a rusted metal fence but saw no sign of the puma supposedly housed within.

Compared to the standards of most British zoos and animal sanctuaries, the place was run down and archaic. However, the fact that they rescued all the animals from human activity makes their efforts admirable, though I wouldn’t go adding a visit to your bucket list.

We left the sanctuary in the canoe. It raced away, twisting along a branch off the main river for about ten minutes before hitting a swirl of water. In a heart-stopping moment, the boat lifted and arched to the left, water sloshing over the side, threatening to capsize us. We all shifted to the far side, and, with a sigh of relief, we crashed back down.

We continued, winding our way down snaking channels until, after some time, a crunching sound came from beneath the hull, and we slowed to a stop.

We were caught in the middle of a wide channel; the water was too shallow to pass. We all clambered out of the boat, the water only coming halfway up our wellies. Unladen of our weight, the canoe floated above the gravel riverbed, allowing us to push it along. Despite its lack of depth, the river’s current was strong, especially as we pushed against it, stumbling on the uneven ground beneath the water.

We eventually reached deeper water which sloshed up over the tops of our wellingtons. We quickly scrambled on board and continued on our way but had to repeat this procedure two more times before we finally arrived back at the lodge in time for a late lunch.

I spent most of the afternoon relaxing in one of the hammocks, reading my book and playing with Mona. Before Tom served the evening meal, McKinney updated us on what is going on.

There are signs of a low-pressure front moving in later tomorrow, which we hope will bring enough rain to swell the river enough to get the boats past the low point Tom mentioned earlier. If so, he reckons the route from there to the expedition’s forward staging area at Carimara will be traversable, even if low.

If the rain doesn’t come, however, or isn’t enough, then we have no choice but to reverse course. We’ll have to head back to Ciudad Bolivar and try to organise flights to Carimara. McKinney explained that the expedition only has two support helicopters (going down to one once we’re all at Sarisariñama). Based on the distance we need to travel and the refuelling logistics, even if we get permission to use part of Ciudad Bolivar’s airport, taking us all to Carimara in small groups will take days. It will also eat into the choppers’ time getting resources and equipment to the mountain (I guess that’s why we didn’t just fly there in the first place).

Already two days behind schedule, the news dropped a sombre spirit over the rest of the evening, and most of us turned in early.

Benjamin King

My name is Dr Benjamin King, and I am an archaeologist working on the UNESCO Sarisariñama Expedition. Join me on my epic journey to one of the most remote places on the planet – a tabletop mountain towering above the Venezuelan rainforest. This will be my home for six months as my colleagues and I attempt to unravel the mystery of the ancient ruins that lie buried within an enormous sinkhole. Not only do I blog updates about the project, but also the trials and tribulations of life in the jungle. Something tells me that the danger of the jungle’s predators is nothing compared to the perils of being trapped with the same group of people for the next six months! Don’t miss out on a single moment of this extraordinary adventure - follow me on social media @benking1209 Benjamin King is also the fictional hero of the action-packed adventure series ‘The Xibalba Saga’ by James Richardson. Read it now https://amzn.to/3dD9wZW Stay up to date on new releases and exclusive free content at www.moonmask.net and @worldofmoonmask

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