DAY 44. AN ISLAND WITHOUT BANKS

I woke up in the middle of the night to the noise of some engine in the distance, grabbed the side of the boat, and swore on autopilot. My eyes struggled to focus and get a grip on the space to figure out where the wave should be coming from, how I can turn the bow to the channel, but I could not comprehend anything. The darkness of the moonless night swallowed everything without any hint at shapes or movement. All that remained was to wait. There was no wave to brace for. The boat passed very close to me, but it seemed to make more noise than trouble. Not this time, no.

Sleep was hard to come by, and I found myself thinking that I really craved for a soft pillow. What a funny thing to wish for, isn’t it? The packraft seat I use as a pillow is too hard, and the air in it heats up quickly, so I can only sleep comfortably way after dark, when the jungle cools down. And the hot season is ahead. Or at least that is what they say.

And this is what the diary you are reading now looks like. On its cover, I have sketched everything I encountered along the way.

The sky was overcast. As usual, as soon as I opened my eyes, I drove the boat to the river – my breakfast and morning ablutions are much more pleasant when I feel that I am carried in the direction where I need to go. But this time a headwind was blowing, and the river had overflowed so much that there was almost no current. He who does not row, does not go anywhere, I guess.

I have noticed that the river is almost free of greenery and logs today. It means that the rains had stopped in the upper reaches of the river. After a full hour of ardent paddling, I tracked down one log, which, it seems, was not hindered by the wind. Let’s go!

My joy did not last long. Not even half an hour later, the log too began to drift against the current because of the wind. That means I will spend another hour paddling. What a beautiful morning!

On one of the branches carried by the current I noticed a walking stick insect on the verge of death. Only its antennae were sticking out of the water, and the poor insect had a rather begging look about it. I took it on board and dried it. It froze for a while and, realizing that it was not threatened in any way, went to explore the boat. In order not to risk its life, I decided to put it ashore, where it would find the food that it needed. I would not want to endanger another guest.

For the second time during the whole trip, I came across bamboo trees – not several isolated stems, but a whole flooded forest. I wanted to lead my boat through it, but the paths were too narrow. I am very worried that I will miss my chance to see a live crocodile in the natural habitat, as they live in similar ponds and lakes.

The gnat bites have become completely unbearable. My face, my arms, my legs are covered in bite marks. There is hardly any intact skin left on my body. Neither ointment nor repellent helps. They bite worse than Siberian gnats I am quite used to. The same is true about local mosquitoes. I find it hard to concentrate. They are clearly testing my willpower! There are still 1385 kilometres ahead, but I am greatly warmed by the fact that I have covered more than 1800 kilometers already. Not so long ago, such distances seemed impossible to me.

Before sunset I started to look for a place to camp on the nearest huge island. I paddled 5-6 kilometres along its bank… and the bank just disappeared.

I went round it from the other side, against the current. No luck. The bank is hidden by a long stretch of fallen reeds (they form the islands that I usually follow down the river). There is no place to land. Worst of all, there is not a single tree to which I can tie the boat securely. The sun had already touched the horizon, and I am still loitering around like a homeless man.

There was nothing else to do but take my machete and cut my way through the reeds to the bank. Because of the stabilizing logs on the sides of the canoe and the keel underneath, I keep getting tangled in the reeds. I lie down on the bow of the boat and use my hands to rake my way to the bank. The gloves I had thoughtfully put on do not help much, the reeds have fine white lint that digs into my skin through the fabric. I can feel it all over my shirt, all over my gloves. It is similar to glass wool. No, I cannot get to the bank: the reeds are getting denser and denser, and when I cut one trunk, the others shift and seal the passage immediately.

I decide to spend the night right here, turning the bow to the riverbed to face the incoming waves from passing ships. I throw the rope into the reeds in front of me, subconsciously using the same technique that I train to cast the tarafa net. The rope rings around a certain area of bushes, and I tie on. I hope they will hold. Their job is to follow the general direction of the current. In that case, everything will be fine. In theory, of course.

I am itching all over, my hands especially suffered quite a lot of damage. Mosquitoes swarm towards me, and I cast my fishing rod to quench the fishing excitement (while lighting an anti-mosquito coil at the same time). I set up the tackle and decided to take a bucket shower – when suddenly some fish took the bait. It is a big badre catfish; it is bigger than the palm of my hand! It is a beautiful specimen. I quickly cleaned it and threw it in the container for salting.

I feel much better after the shower, even though that lint is still digging into my body. I pack my gear so that if disaster strikes again, none of my belongings will float away. I nail the lid of the bow compartment shut. Hopefully, I will be dry and still in the boat in the morning. This night is unlikely to be calm.

28 May, ~71 (1797) km covered.