DAY 39. THE FATEFUL NIGHT

Around 3am I woke up to the impact of a wave. Before I could realise what was happening and get out of my cabin, I was hit by another wave. All I could do was to grab the bulwark so that I would not be thrown out of the boat. The wave hit the stern with a roar, and a cold stream rolled across the roof, flowing down straight at me. My thoughts cleared, and I lunged for the oar to try to turn the boat so that its bow would face the new wave. It was a late and vain attempt.

Hardly had I lifted the mosquito net when, by the light of the moon, I saw the brownish-yellow sheen of the last wave coming. It came over the side and hit me right in the face. The rest was a blur.

My canoe is filled to the brim with water, and my mouth is full of Amazonian sand that crunches on my teeth. I spit it out, recover, and see that my boat and me are slammed against the bank. The waves are gone, the immediate danger is over. My surviving gear is floating haphazardly around. I can see my crocs, my bucket, the planks that used to be my bed a minute ago. I am laughing. I am soaked to the skin. Hordes of mosquitoes are so triumphant at the sight of a shipwreck survivor, but I am happy. I am alive!

I try to scoop out the water, but my effort has no effect. The boat immediately takes more water again. I take an inventory – I pull ashore everything that the river has not had time to take away from me. I spot a snake in the bushes and I silently ask it to stay out of my way, because I am in the middle of evacuation. This vessel is not admitting any passengers yet.

Free of its heavy load, the boat was finally able to rise above the water level. My white bucket, given to me by a kind man in Pucallpa harbour, has floated away or sank to the bottom, so I scoop out the water with my laundry bucket. 22 buckets of water – that is what it takes for my canoe to sink.

After I pulled all the gear to the high bank, I found out that not many things were missing – my multiple jars and containers helped, and the mosquito net mostly kept my belongings inside the cabin. My white bucket, my cooking pot and my fishing rod are not accounted for. I was so lucky that I had chosen this place for the night, as there is a sandy shoal all around. Not even fifteen minutes later I found my fishing rod on the bottom. That is great.

My smartphone was a little less lucky. I had been reading before I fell asleep, so it fell to the bottom of my sleeping bag. This saved it from complete death, but it still got wet enough to lose the function of shooting videos. Normally, I keep my phone in a waterproof case, but not today. I only managed to film a few minutes right after the crash. There, still mildly shocked, I laughed and jokingly stated, ‘This is the kind of event that makes travelling worthwhile! Travel, my friends!’ Is it crazy? Well, it was a sincere feeling. Life is always a spectrum.

I set off at first light. Reflecting on the pros and cons of the night’s incident, I noticed that now there were no free-riding passengers on the boat. No ants, no spiders. That is an unusual situation! I also remembered the tiny lizard that had been living with me for the last couple of days. It was eating cockroaches and became quite tame – it brought me a lot of joy. I hope the lizard made it safely to the bank. I will miss it.

All day long I have been thinking about what happened. Another person in my position would probably be depressed, but I feel elated. It is like my boring daily routine has finally seen some variety; some real adventure. Just imagine that – if you travel down the Amazon alone for over a month, it becomes your routine. That is the way our brains are wired; we humans can get used to anything. My attitude to hardships plays a big role, of course, because in any situation I focus on the invaluable experience that I can share with others on the pages of my books and diaries.

The weather has been unstable all day. It is sunny for a short time and then it is suddenly raining on and off, so I cannot fully dry my sleeping bag. It looks like today I will have to dry it with the warmth of my body. On a happy note, I saw some blind rain with sun and rainbow for the first time on the river. It is a truly magical sight! Usually, it is either cloudless sunshine or a stormy downpour.

I cannot remember if I wrote about this already, but the medicine which I bought in the local community two days ago and hydrogen peroxide are helping. The swelling in my ear is receding, and I am getting better. Maybe the nightly exercise has contributed to that effect as well. It was quite a tonic, huh.

It is evening. No wonder that today I was choosing the place for the night especially meticulously. I mentally apologised to all the locals who had warned me about some ship that caused particularly dangerous waves. I remember that I kept telling them that I would be fine, that I had been sleeping on the water for a long time, that I had got used to it. Look at me now. I could have ended up at the bottom of the river this morning. No, getting used to something and relaxing here is dangerous.

I found some insects on the bank which I was planning to use as bait. The orange scolopendra, which I initially deemed to be quite dangerous, indeed killed all the mole crickets in the jar.

I could not find a flat bank to dock, so I had to stop where I could. It is depressing. I tied my boat to a secure tree, cast my fishing rod and waited. The waiting was interrupted by some familiar noise – a three-deck yacht was travelling at high speed along the opposite bank. That was the noise I heard last night! This was the cause of my shipwreck! Although it was no less than 1.5 kilometres far, I could clearly see a water column of at least one and a half metres stretching behind the yacht. When the wave reached the opposite bank, it was at least 2 metres high, literally washing away everything in its path. It is horrible! In the Peruvian countryside I have not seen such boats; apparently people there are poorer, and here the yacht is owned either by Colombians or Brazilians. I am very grateful that it did not choose my side of the river to travel.

The yacht seemed to travel far enough away that I should not have to worry. I continued fishing, but after a few more minutes, the boat started to rock on the small waves. Is that an echo of those waves from the fancy yacht? Well, I guessed it would not be that bad if I were on the other bank. Oh my, how wrong I was. That was a big mistake!

Not a minute later, the waves appear out of the blue. My canoe is thrown onto the bank like a splint and immediately pulled back to the river. I watch in horror as I find myself 20-30 centimetres below the bank level. Another wave throws me back onto dry land. I try to untie my boat, but to no avail. It is again torn off the bank, and I grab my oar and press myself into the boat with all my body, watching with horror as it dives almost half a metre below the bank level.

The next wave throws the bow of the boat onto the bank, and I manage to cling to a tree so that my boat and I do not get pulled back. I look back and see a metre-wide chasm with the stern of my canoe hanging over it! With the strongest wave incoming, the side of my boat is being swept ashore. The events accelerate with every second, and for me time seems to stand still. For dear life, I hold on to the shrubbery hoping to stay on dry land. The wave recedes violently from the bank, and the side of the boat is pulled straight into the gurgling void. I look down and see that I am on the edge of a cliff now. The water is over a metre below. My hands are digging into the bush to the point of numbness, and I am thinking, ‘Please don’t let me down.’ The river crashes into the bank again. The waves recede. It seems as if it had never happened. Only fragments of branches and leaves and some bubbles on the water – in a circular pattern – remind about what happened. What if that boat had been speeding near this bank? I do not know. I do not want to test it, so I leave this place.

It is just twenty minutes before sunset, and I am travelling downstream, hoping to find some stream or lake to escape the night horrors. I am scared. It is no reason for jokes anymore.

I went up one of the channels upstream – almost a kilometre deep into the land. Big ships should not enter this waterway, as they usually take the shortcut. They usually do. They should not be here. Pushing through the thick brush, I managed to pull the boat ashore. I checked the depth. The bottom is flat. I do not wish to replay yesterday’s events again.

My left arm shakes a little. It is the hand that I work the paddle hardest with because I am left-handed. It is also the hand I used to steady the boat when it was rocking from side to side. I am tired, and yet I cannot sleep. At the sound of any big ship, I freeze and wait for the waves to come. I remember writing not too long ago that there are no more free-riding passengers on the boat. Do you remember that? I was wrong. Now, my new passenger is fear. It has taken up residence in the canoe with me, and it refuses to leave. I guess it is my faithful travelling companion on the river now. Maybe it is for the best.

As soon as I was able to fall asleep, it began to rain. I could not get up right away, I was too exhausted. The cold drops falling on my face certainly gave me some incentive. I stretched out the tent and reunited with my pillow as soon as I could.

Through the noise of falling drops I heard a drum. Is it an illusion? Or is someone conjuring the rain to stop? I do not know. I do not think so. It would be nice if the dry season finally arrived and the water level started to drop, but unlike sleep, that is out of my control. Good night.

23 May, ~73 (1482) kilometres covered.