You are currently viewing Day 18: The Devil’s Blood

Day 18: The Devil’s Blood

Red mist plumes above the frothing cauldron as gallons of blood spew over the cliffs. The churning morass at the base of the cascade is littered with jagged rocks, each glistening in shades of crimson. Like a predator’s teeth. Like the diabolical playground of Satan himself.

With a growl of the engine, our boat’s bow comes about, and, like an arrow striking at Hell’s heart, we shoot into the blood-drenched abyss.

CARIMARA,

VENEZUELA

Okay, okay, we’ll skip the usual stuff about sleepless nights and what we had for breakfast and jump right into the fun stuff.

Today, we headed to ‘Cascada de Sangre del diablo’ or, roughly translated – Devil’s Blood Falls. Hence the flamboyant opening paragraph.

I admit, following our experience the last time Sid and I were on a boat, namely that it sank in the middle of a crocodile-infested river, I was a bit apprehensive about getting back on board the same vessel that had come to rescue us. Nevertheless, around 8 am, after rushing to one of the numerous tourist offices to book a place, Sid and I, along with the rest of us who have been relegated to the final trip to Sarisariñama tomorrow. In truth, there’s not really anything else to do in Carimara.

Back aboard the Duck, though thankfully without Raine driving it this time, we headed further upriver, passing Willy’s airfield again, though this time on the other side. Then we left Carimara far behind and sped against the current for nearly two hours.

I was starting to think, ‘what the hell have we done this for? We’ve already spent three days, three whole days, sat cramped in little canoes to get to Carimara.’ But then, the reason for putting ourselves through the discomfort again became apparent.

It started as a distant roar, not unlike thunder. Only, this thunder did not end but got louder and louder. Then Rodrigo, our same guide from yesterday, pointed excitedly over the pilot’s shoulder as the Duck came around a bend in the river.

“Behold the Devil’s Blood!” he exclaimed in English with a dramatic flourish.

Sure enough, before us, tumbling in a tumultuous cascade of thundering water, was the Devil’s Blood Falls. And, just as the name suggested, the churning, frothing cauldron was a swirling, sickening shade of red.

We have been travelling along the Rio de Sangre or Blood River since its course intersected with the larger Rio Paragua, a tributary of the Orinoco. And, sure enough, the water has sometimes seemed reddish in colour. Most of the time, though, you’d be hard pushed to recognise the slight tint without someone highlighting it to you.

Now, though, there was no mistaking the reason for the river’s name. What would typically be white mist and spray sparkled crimson in the sunlight. The colouration results from iron-rich minerals in the surrounding soils, churned up by the confluence of five smaller rivers plunging down the cliff face.

Rodrigo had another explanation, though.

He had already told us the Ye’kuana horror story about the Evil Spirit of Sarisariñama during our trip to the Blue Cave yesterday. But according to him, the Rio de Sangre’s source is located on the cursed mountain itself.

The Ye’kuana believe the river is the flow of blood from the Evil Spirit’s victims and is therefore tainted by evil. Anything they do on or gather from the river is shrouded in ritual to purge said evil. This includes any river voyage, any food collected, and even water used for drinking or cooking.

Satisfied that he had unnerved us enough, Rodrigo ordered the Duck’s pilot to take us into the waterfall.

The old amphibious vehicle ploughed ahead with a throaty growl, bringing us to the base of the thunderous falls. The roar of the water drowned out our exhilarated laughter as we went into the pluming wall of spray and then twisted back around. But the pilot wasn’t finished yet. He raced back into the open water, sluiced the Duck around, gunned the engines, and shot back into the spray again.

By now, we were all soaked, but it didn’t matter. We are generally wet all the time anyway due to the humidity – at least this was cooling and felt clean. Cleaner than the motel showers back at Carimara anyway.

Even if we were literally bathing in the blood of the Evil Spirit’s victims . . . suppose we adhere to the Ye’kuana view.

Finally finishing our adrenaline-fuelled forays into the waterfall, we headed across the river to an artificial mud ramp cut into the bank. The Duck powered up, out of the river. Its wheels spun on the boggy ground, threatening to slide us back into the water. With a series of quick gear changes, the pilot heaved us up the incline onto a level trail. Wheel tracks suggested this was a regular route taken by the Duck. Sure enough, we rumbled up a series of switchbacks, climbing alongside the plunging falls.

We stopped several times to see the falls from different angles and heights before reaching the top. After another photo op, we followed the river bank until we were a safe distance from the top of the falls before reentering the river. A mile further on, we sailed over a confluence but took the left-hand fork. The river was much narrower here, younger perhaps.

Indeed, after a while, we slowed as we came upon another much smaller waterfall.

Rodrigo explained that beyond this waterfall was a single, direct channel of the river to Sarisariñama. But it is a relatively new course, altered by an illegal gold mine that came into operation about a decade ago.

The enormous chunks of earth cut out for the mine altered the river’s original course, diverting it here to the Cascada de Sangre del diablo. Until then, it had been possible to sail even large ships from the mouth of the Orinoco, along the Rio Paragua and then the Rio de Sangre, all the way to Sarisariñama itself.

Now, the Devil’s Blood Falls cuts off that route, isolating the land beyond from pretty much any mode of transport beyond helicopters.

Even the gold mine itself effectively shot itself in the foot. To keep the illicit operation secret, they hadn’t built any roads, instead relying on the river for transport. When their activities messed up the river, they abandoned the mine, which at least allows the rainforest to fight back against the damage they’ve done.

After that sobering revelation, we began the return trip to Carimara, arriving back late in the afternoon. After showering and eating, we went to the bar for one last beer (well, a few, in fairness) before shipping out to the mountain tomorrow. Raine was there again, hogging the limelight and thrusting himself into the centre of everyone’s attention. I was disappointed that there was no sign of Maria tonight. I had hoped to discuss with her some of the legends Rodrigo has told us over the last couple of days.

We returned to what remains of the campsite by the river’s edge. Most of the tents and their occupants have already gone to Sarisariñama, leaving just twelve of us, plus Juan and another militiaman, behind.

I think some of the other guys are a little unnerved about Rodrigo’s stories about Evil Spirits and rivers of blood, but I find the Ye’kuana myths fascinating. Initially disappointed at being relegated to the last group to ship out to the mountain, I’m surprised by how much I’ve enjoyed my time in Carimara. It has given me an introductory insight into the belief system of people who have lived around here for . . . well, I’m not sure how long. I wonder if those insights, even if not the far-fetched legends themselves, will have any bearing on my time on Sarisariñama.

I guess, tomorrow, I’ll find out. 

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

Leave a Reply