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Day 12: The Rain Dance

RIO de SANGRE ECOLODGE,

VENEZUELA

I’ll hand it to Tom, the Rio de Sangre lodge’s owner, for his ability to keep our expedition team’s morale, if not high, then at least simmering.

Despite yesterday’s bad news, he continued prepping the boats he had planned to take us upriver on as though there was no doubt in his mind. Meanwhile, like yesterday, he organised activities to keep us occupied as we waited and prayed for the region’s strange drought to break and the rains to come.

After breakfast, Sid and I went on a guided tour with nine other group members through the jungle. Our guide, Miguel, from La Paragua, led us on foot up and away from the lodge, over a bubbling stream and up a steep incline of sandy orange clay.

Little did we know (until he told us) that we were standing on top of a giant leafcutter ant nest. Hundreds of years old, the ants’ abode was just so that it looked simply like the mounds of earth that made up the climb from the valley floor. But, sure enough, when we looked down, warlike columns of ants marched with uniformed precision. This, Miguel claimed, is the world’s only perfect society: every individual – workers, soldiers, and queen – works and labours solely for the good of the whole.

Our guided tour of the forest led us through the secondary forest’s young plants, brush and trees. Then, like characters dragged kicking and screaming from a Conan Doyle novel, up into the Land of Giants.

The primary forest is like everything I pictured a chapter from the Lost World to be. Ancient trees tower hundreds of feet into the sky, the canopy blocking the light and entombing us all in a prehistoric gloom. Their roots are as thick as several men’s torsos, and they seem to sliver and snake across the jungle floor like mythical leviathans stalking their prey. Indeed, they conjure up memories of the anaconda we saw yesterday. Only these are much larger, like the fanciful tales brought back by early explorers of snakes that could swallow men whole. Here’s hoping we don’t encounter anything like that!

Except for the occasional flash of colour or a distant hoot, the jungle seems oddly devoid of birds, mammals and even reptiles. However, Miguel assures us all such things surround us. Instead, colossal insects seem to rule this land: humongous ants the size of an infant’s fist; beautiful, metallic blue butterflies as large as small birds; fluorescent yellow and green caterpillars, fatter than a chair leg and poisonous to the touch; palm-sized spiders lurking in heavy-duty wipes, their bite deadly. And these are just the critters we see – Miguel assures us we had brushed death on several occasions on our brief walk.

After a while, we dropped down from the jungle, scrambling unsteadily down a sludgy slope. We followed Miguel’s instructions to avoid clutching tree trunks or branches for support lest we receive a nasty, probably venomous surprise. We emerged into a beautiful valley, dominated by a stream that bubbled and gurgled over the rocks.

If I am ever to glimpse the Garden of Eden, that valley was it. It was like the land that time forgot, searingly natural, virgin, unspoilt. Sunlight glinted from water as clear as crystal, catching the droplets of moisture floating in the air, sprayed up by trickling waterfalls. The very air around us glistened in refracted shades of gold, silver and a dozen mini-rainbows, as though we were enveloped in the last pocket of magic left from when the earth was born. Just being there, our very presence, felt like a crime, as though we had defaced the beauty of nature, defiled its sanctity.

We eventually left the valley behind, climbed back up into the jungle proper, and followed Miguel back to the lodge.

After lunch, we spent the afternoon more like tourists on a cheap trip to Malaga than scientists on an expedition to the heart of the jungle. One of the lodge’s canoes took us up the river, and then we each scrambled into an inflatable tube and spent over an hour floating back down to the lodge. We played and frolicked, tipping each other out, rolling and sliding down rapids, and accidentally beaching in unexpected shallows.

When we finally reached shore, we showered and freshened up before dinner. A few beers flowed and, relaxed after a day that felt more like a holiday excursion, so did the conversation.

But there remained an elephant in the room, as the expression goes.

It still had not rained. And we all knew what that meant.

Then, just as all hope seemed lost, the conversation and laughter were cut off by a distant but distinct rumble.

It seemed as though the whole jungle held its breath with us. The distant nocturnal hoots and calls silenced. Even the perpetual background orchestra of chirping insects seemed to cease.

We all listened, staring into the night, straining to see if what we had just heard was real.

“Here it comes,” Tom practically whispered.

Sure enough, the air around us seemed to change, that tell-tale shift of Ozone that even the most out of touch with nature sense before a storm.

Then came another rumble. Louder. Closer. And, as though someone had turned on a tap, the rain came. Sudden. Intense. Powerful. It hammered against the lodge’s roof, deafening. It pounded into the vegetation surrounding us, the broad leaves of the giant trees catching it, savouring it. Below, the river became alive with the impact of millions of raindrops rippling out in concentric rings, the Rio de Sangre drinking hungrily from the storm’s life-giving teat.

And, within the lodge, 47 scientists cheered.

The rain has come … but will it be enough to save the expedition?

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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