CROSSGRAIN

An epic adventure of clashing cultures, corruption and third world politics while trying to set up a billion dollar industry in the forestry sector in Guyana South America.

PROLOGUE.

It was a typical balmy and humid afternoon in Guyana when we devised a plan to go on an unscheduled detour. The seasonal midday torrential showers had already passed before setting off on our quest to explore this wholly new world to us. We skillfully navigated our small canoes upstream, every stroke of our oars knifing purposefully into the gently flowing headwaters of a remote tributary of the Demerara River in Guyana, South America. Emboldened by a thirst to explore this wild tropical jungle environment, we remained naïve in anticipation on what we might encounter. Admittedly, there was an edge of trepidation as we ventured ever deeper into the reaches of the unfamiliar territory, we had wittingly trespassed, but that did not stop us.

Caimans lurked in the shadows, evidenced by the several we had witnessed as we coursed along the many miles of the winding tributary now far behind us. They receded into cover with a thundering splash as their tails flicked menacingly, rustling into the safety of the long shoreline grasses to seek refuge from our intrusion. Thinking to myself they might be lying in wait for an opportune inadvertent mistake that we interlopers might make. I certainly could not imagine myself as their tasty snack!

Should we be worried? It certainly seemed we were the ones who should be careful in the circumstance. Would we be safe? We had no clue, just a burning desire to keep pressing forward. Such is the nature of the inquisitive and adventurous spirit when opportunity presents itself. This was a novel environment for the both of us, as most of our previous life experiences had gravitated around places where people and culture were the epicenter. Over the years sharing many adventures together and forging an implicit trust in each other’s abilities. However, on this excursion Don and I were alone, and there were no lifelines to civilization, just an eagerness to see what might be around the next bend of this remote river, deep in the Guyanese wild.

Ahead we could hear the chatter of a troupe of howling monkeys moving through the trees, alerted by our clumsy entry into their private domain. I stopped paddling and listened to the sounds, so unfamiliar, yet hauntingly familiar in a confusing confluence of emotions. Every sense was on edge, heightened by the knowledge we were vulnerable and on our own. The tributary was only about fifteen feet wide now and the white sandy bottom only a few feet under our hulls. The tea-colored water was stained by tannins yet sparkled like champagne diamonds as light dappled off its surface, disturbed only by our intrusion. The ripples we created as our bows cut a path danced in rhythmic waves like musical form until softly touching the banks with a quiet soothing resolve. There was a magic about this place I had never encountered before, and I soaked in its novelty. The jungles of remote Guyana were a wholly new experience, and we embraced this challenge with our typical naïve confidence.

“Hey Don, you want to pull over and see if we can get a glimpse of those monkeys?” I asked.

“Sure, we’re pretty close to them now… They sure make a lot of bloody racket!” he replied, now focusing on a landing spot nearby, then pointing as I acknowledged with a nod.

“Let’s pull them up here,” as I heard the crunch of sand when the bow softly scraped the bottom. I stepped out, careful not to capsize my vessel, with Don right behind me. After nesting our crafts in the shoreline grasses, we ventured further into the jungle by foot, following the din of the monkeys as they moved high overhead in the canopy above us.

“There’s one,” I said pointing up.

“Where…I don’t see it,” he said looking entirely in the wrong direction. I redirected his gaze, and his eyes followed seeking the elusive animal.

“Yeah…I see it now. Christ they’re big,” he followed thoughtfully, eyes fixated on its movement. The monkey moved efficiently and effortlessly through the trees above, swinging from branch to branch as we closed in on the loud chatter. Then, there they were high above, at least a dozen, all agitated by our intrusive presence. The noise deafening as we watched mesmerized by their actions. The troupe was clearly not happy about our uninvited entry into their domain to the point of our feeling, maybe, just maybe…this had not been a good idea. Then they started throwing some of the fruit they were feeding on from aloft. We looked at each other nervously as they seemed to be getting more aggressive and disconcertingly closer.

“Hey Don, let’s get the fuck out of here,” I said eyes keenly aware of the escalation of their upset state.

“You don’t need to say that twice,” he replied nervously as we backed away with guarded stealth. Some followed with challenging lunges until finally they felt we were far enough away to not be a threat to their family, then retreating into the depths of the jungle. We listened to them for minutes, hearts pounding as they sunk into the unknown, their howls finally fading into the wind with only the occasional distant howl. Then quiet, only broken when Don quipped, “Maybe not such a good idea. Holy crap they could have taken us out easily. Did you see the baby ones?” he gushed in excitement.

“Yeah, they were amazing to see, but a little too close for comfort mate,” I replied.

“But…how cool was that to experience. Right in the center of a wild troupe of howling monkeys in the middle of a jungle,” he said as we looked at each other and broke into smiles. That was just the way Don and I liked to experience an adventure, on the edge but not over it.

“You want to go any further?” Don inquired.

“Why not, we’re here and we’re not at the end yet. I want to see how far this stream goes,” I said eager to explore more, my adventurous nature unquenched.

Don was quick to rebut, “Ok…but let’s have a little snack first, we haven’t eaten since we left camp over three hours ago!”

“Good idea I’m a little famished myself,” I answered without hesitation. Those that know me well are keenly aware I love my groceries!

Don pulled out his backpack from a storage compartment in his canoe before finding a convenient flat rock nearby that seemed purpose made for the venue. We were enjoying our lunch when I first heard the rustling, then followed by a blur of scurrying in my peripheral vision. I looked over and there were several large green lizards about two and a half feet long staring us down from a safe distance away. They did not need to speak English to let us know our lunch was what had fixated their attention. So, we threw them a few scraps that they ravenously attacked. They were curious to watch, like little prehistoric dinosaurs battling over this opportunistic meal.

After finishing our lunch we packed up, retrieved our boats and headed back on our upstream mission. Every so often a fallen tree would hinder our progress, but undeterred we would find our way forward. Sometimes shimmying over the obstacle by bouncing our canoes and bumping ourselves over it. The recourse being the tiresome exercise of getting out and pulling our canoes forward until we could gain reentry. As we continued upstream, we were surprised when we spilled into an extensive shallow still pond surrounded by deep grasses as far as our eyes could see. We stopped and just listened to nature, observing this quietly beautiful place. A snake interrupting our solitude, writhing across the surface as we watched in fascination. It was now late afternoon and finding the continuation of our stream took a little sleuthing with our trial-and-error exploration. Finally, we found the source, as the current had formed a beacon delta of white sand that put us back on our path.

As our journey progressed the stream soon became narrower and the water much deeper. There was a marked increase in the flow, and the edge of the bank was now at eye level on both sides. We continued for at least another half an hour until we made the forced decision further progress was pointless, if not impossible. We had gone as far as we could in our canoes. However, turning around now presented a wholly new set of concerns. The water was flowing rapidly, and our canoes were much longer than the five or six feet wide that the stream had narrowed to. How could we turn around? There was nowhere we could exit as the bank was above our heads now. So, we decided that our best bet was to use an old tree branch hanging over the stream. We discussed our plan at length, and only when I went to execute, did the failure of our thinking unfold. First, I rested my paddle on the edge of the bank before grabbing the log and lifting both myself and the canoe out of the water bracing my legs just under the gunwales. Next was to swing 180 degrees to repoint downstream careful to clear each end from hitting the edge of the bank. The only requisite, brute strength and some agility. It all went swimmingly well until I went to repatriate my paddle from the edge of the bank where I had rested it before executing the maneuver successfully. As I leaned to get it, the current swiped the side of the hull at such a force it capsized me in an instant. I was now upside down in a fast-running narrow stream, disconcerted and confused in a cloud of bubbles. Luckily, I had the presence of mind to wriggle out of the canoe and strike for the surface, but not before whacking my head on the hull. The canoe was now lodged diagonally between the banks almost fully submerged, and I was left holding on with purpose so I would not be swept downstream. I had no intention of swimming back to camp miles away in this inhospitable environment, and I certainly was not going to spend the night here!

Don shouted nervously, “You okay mate? What the fuck happened?”

“Fucking current caught me. I’m fine but how the fuck are we going to get the canoe righted” I shouted back wiping the water off my face before rubbing my head with one hand and holding onto a root for dear life with the other.

We quickly came up with a plan as the cold water started to take its measure of effect on me. It was surprisingly chilly. Shivering but undaunted I recovered the bowline and refastened it to the now upstream stern cleat before securing it to the overhanging tree branch. After securing the canoe I set about dislodging the craft from its stuck position. No easy task with the full force of the water against the hull. But after several attempts I was able to free the bow. Now free I had to right it, bail the cockpit out, then try to get back in again without capsizing. This all went well as I carefully executed each action as Don looked on curiously, holding onto a rock outcrop a little further upstream so as not to hinder my progress. It was at least an hour before I was headed back in the right direction with paddle in hand. Don did not make the same mistake as he now executed the maneuver with knowledgeable precision. Wet but undeterred we now needed to make our way back to camp, some seven miles or so downstream. The afternoon sun was now casting both shadows and an urgency on our new mission, to get back to camp before dark.

The trip back was a similarly memorable experience to behold as the evening sunset began to unfold in blazing fire in this jungle environment. Birds squawked as they returned to their roosts, an occasional fish jumped, and the jungle sounds surrounded us in a cacophony of otherworldly symphony. Our oars kept the pace with rhythmic urgency. Finally returning to camp well after dark.

Such are the adventures in Guyana South America for those with the spirit to embrace them. We took every opportunity to experience the diversity of this mostly uninhabited Country known as, ‘The Land of Rivers,’ but we came to understand that the jungle would not be the most unpredictable thing we would encounter here. No…this was a place where lessons would be learned through experience… hard lessons!