About Time

It had started to rain.

That in itself was nothing new- hell, it would have been odder at this point to have a day in which we didn't get drenched by torrential rain. No. What was new was that we experienced that day's rainforest downpour from the hard wooden seats of a bulky, ungainly, motor-propelled boat which was crawling up the Nanay (or down it, depending on your point of view), taking us to our next field site. We had embarked almost two hours ago to bright sun and humid weather but our poor, straining, diesel engine couldn't outrun the looming clouds. The rain arrived with the dusk.

The storm hits the Nanay.

We had taken a 'shortcut'- a channel cut into the forest that would skirt an otherwise long river bend when the storm hit. Our motorista, to his credit, had the eyes of a harpy eagle and did an insane job navigating against the current in the downpour, dodging floating debris and the larger logs even though he was perched way in the back by the motor and had to contend with the limited visibility of storm and gringo heads. Even so, there were several times where we bumped up against the banks and had to be poled off again, or scraped against a protesting tangle of branches. More than once, we had to scramble out and give the old boat a shove free as its motor whined and strained in its attempts to get free.

All of the 20 some person crew was in this one boat and she was riding low to the water. Most of us sat with our backpacks in our lap and our rubber boots on as the bottom of the craft, not completely leak proof, oozed slow pulses of river water around our feet. The motorista seemed nonplussed at least as far as his boat was concerned. He was less sure about the second boat, the gear boat, which had been loaded with all of our food, our banding supplies, our day packs, and Judit whom we had last seen perched precariously on the giant mound of stuff.

Look at the boat. Look at the waterline. Look at my bag, sitting there like a condemned sailor. Look at the crate of papayas about to fall in even at a standstill. And take a wild guess what happens next. 

Only Todd, good old cynical Todd who could always find something to worry about, had any worries about the situation. The rest of us had just been happy to finally be on board and on our way (we had gotten lost trying to find the docks and what was only supposed to be a half hour van ride had taken closer to 2). Here. Have some pre-disaster pics!

The crew, hopping off the vans and organizing gear for the river trip.

Jonno and amazing his bottle of white wine which would be put to good use later that night.

                                     

As we disembark, storm clouds start gathering over the Nanay.

Finally on our way.

Best seat in the boat! Watchband from an Iquitos street vendor (7 soles watch repair), Chernz bracelet from Mr. ShankJim, and a grupo chevre bracelet from Gerson. <3

The last rays of sun poke through the storm clouds.

After another hour and a half of navigating the Nanay through the rain, we finally arrived at our next field site- the *relatively* developed San Martin community complete with a schoolhouse (our campground), a corner store (more warm cokes and cookies!), and a satellite. We hopped off the boat with our small backpacks, trudged up the hill to the community, (the more hardcore birders of us noting the massive colony of caciques that were watching us from a nearby tree), and then stood in a semi-circle wondering what to do next. 

It was still raining when we arrived. Daniela carries the last of our gear up the banks as our motorista tends to his boat.

                                

Judit hadn't given us specific instructions or directions or even told us the name of the hombre in charge. Kids gathered in droves to stare at us. A few missionaries wandered through in the background curiously unconcerned with the whole affair. And then, thankfully before things got really awkward, a group of men and women came up to us with an official welcome and asked us to make ourselves at home inside the school building. When they asked where Judit was, all we could do was shrug and say 'coming' (we hope.) 

The next several hours dragged by. We didn't have tents to set up. Gear to sort. We didn't have food. No one really knew what to do. Chris, Adam, and Todd began scouting out the cacique tree. Veronica and Alvaro took it upon themselves to communicate with our hosts and for lack of anything better to do, Daniela and I went with them. Night was falling. We sat on the 'porch' of a house, surrounded by the skulls of alligators, piranhas, and javelinas and talked to several men of the community- the nicest of which, I'm ashamed to admit, I can't remember his name. The conversation turned from Judit and the boat to the community, to the benefits of Ayahuasca- a drug our host claimed granted tranquility and inner sight. He was just about to smoke some, he admitted, like he always did around this time of night. Travelers came from as far as Australia to experience the sensation...would we like to join in? Alvaro and Veronica considered the proposition with more enthusiasm than I did. With night on us and still no sign of Judit, I had the sinking feeling that the gear boat had, well, sank. 

Daniela agreed with me. As we walked to the corner store to buy a Coke for a sol, leaving the Spaniards to the Ayahuasca, she added glumly, "And if the boat did sink, I don't think they will be able to retrieve everyone's bags. They're so heavy, they'll sink like stones." 

"I bet mine's gone," I answered. 

I was only partly kidding. I was suddenly sure, in an indescribable grim way, that my bag would be one of the 'unrecovered' ones, lost at the bottom of the Nanay, surveyed by curious piranha and the occasional river dolphin. Don't ask me why. I guess I know that I just have that kind of shit awful luck.

The sun set on us.

Our faithful boat 'at anchor.'

A calm sunset after the storm.

8 pm. Word came from the river, from a boat man that didn't even stop, that a boat had sank upriver. No one was really surprised.

 9 pm came and went. Our hosts provided us with rice which we cooked up and served in a meager dinner. 10 pm, Daniela and I walked down and got a second coke. We drank it on the steps of the school house and eyed the river in silence. And so it was that we were in a good position to see the sudden flare of lights on the Nanay and to watch as an unfamiliar vessel, sitting low in the water, drifted into our view. We weren't the only ones-a minute later and the crew had all stopped what they were doing and converged on the shore to watch in silence as a decimated looking Judit docked at San Martin.

She didn't say anything to us. Just hopped over the side and stood in water up to her knees, conversing in a raw voice with the boat man. We edged closer, hoping to hear. The boat man's motorista had already begun the task of unloading the craft and that galvanized us into motion. We saw that he was lugging a day pack to the shore with difficulty disproportionate to its size but quickly realized when we sprang to help, that that was because the day pack was soaked. It was drenched. Permeated. What had once weighted 50 lbs now weighed closer to 90. And they were all like that. Everyone's gear had very obviously gone into the river.

The crew dragged backpacks up the shore one by one. Everyone helped-- but everyone, I know, was keeping a lookout for their own, and their relief was evident when they found it. Daniela, struggling with her massive pack, asked me in passing if I had seen mine. 

I hadn't.

As the pile in the boat dwindled it became evident that 1) our food was completely gone and 2) my pack was nowhere to be found. When Judit finally turned her red-rimmed eyes on the crew who stood, breathing hard over the wreckage of out supplies, and asked who didn't have their stuff, Katie beat me to it. "I don't either," I told her. Judit looked about to cry. She didn't say anything.

The crew started to disperse, dragging their gear back up to the hill to take stock of the damage. Katie and I followed them in a kind of sleepwalk. I tried to take inventory of the things I'd lost as I walked. My tent, my brand new, first ever field tent--gone. My sleeping bag--gone. My pack itself--adorning the river bottom. My favorite field shirts--fish food. And then I thought about the things I had the foresight to take with me like my camera and my notebook and  my ipods and my favorite knife and I realized things could've been much worse. Katie and I watched as the crew lugged their field packs into the school house and began to inventory the damage. Tents and bundles of wet clothes were pulled and hung on makeshift lines indoors. Sam's Kindle was ruined. Field guides, utterly soaked, were lined up next to the data laptops in the vain hope that they would dry. What had once been a vacant school house now looked like a refuge camp.

Judit still hadn't said a word to us.

It was only when the majority of the team, their stuff hung to dry, finally decided to try and get some sleep, that my emotions teeter-tottered back into despair. No one had clean, dry clothing. I was still wearing my contacts and didn't have their case or solution. I had no blankets, no towel, no sheets, no mosquito repellent. No shoes except my teevas. I looked bleakly around at my tired crew mates, stretched out on the floor in rows and almost as if sensing my despair, Jonno appeared out of nowhere with a bulky brown bag under his arm. He caught my eye and gestured to the door. I knew what was in that bag. Katie was already waiting.

And well fuck it, I thought as I heaved myself up off the bench and followed him (headlight less) into the Amazonian night, I could use some wine.

Alvaro, Veronica, Cesar, and Blaine joined us as we sat on a convenient log on the banks of the Nanay, making a considerable and effortless dent in the bottle. Boats cruised lethargically up and down the river, sometimes lit, often not. Vero lit a joint. Passed it around. Insect song filled the night. The stars were out.

"Well shit," Jonno said at length. "What now?"

"No idea. Go home, I guess," I said.

"Seriously?'

"I don't have a tent." I could buy replacement field clothes. I could buy replacement headlights and boots and foot powder. But a tent, a real working, I-can-survive-Amazonian-downpour tent, was going to be a challenge. I didn't mention the host of other issues we had discussed about the experience. They went without saying.

"I don't blame you," he replied at length.

"What will you do?"

"Stick it out," he said, and then washed down that statement with another gulp of wine. "At least for another site. And then...I don't know. Go traveling around Peru for a bit, I guess."

"Machu Picchu?"

"For sure."

We were quiet for a time. Finished the wine.

And then, out of nowhere- splashing- movement- something large cutting through the river in front of us. Ghostly shapes in the water through the beam of their headlights. We pointed, voices raised.

"Did you see? Did you see?"

The shapes moved on with muted splashes. 

Afterimages of dolphins.

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The next day, mid-morning, the park service boats came to take Katie and me back to Iquitos. It was a rushed departure. We barely said goodbye. We stopped at the sink site on the way- found a boat already there, scavenging- saw a tell-tale bottle of yogurt on its stern.

 From the port Katie and I took a moto taxi all the way to Iquitos, jouncing along the road, re-entering that city of dust and noise feeling like we had been gone for weeks and not just a single day. Back to La Pascana. 

Phone calls. 

Emails.

I started them all the same way- This is the story of the Amazonian Titanic.

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In the end, I went home. In the end, I believe that was the smartest thing to do. Katie met up with Judit in Iquitos and tried to tough it out for at least another field stint but the last I heard, her parents were demanding she come home ASAP. When Judit did arrive back in Iquitos, she brought Sara and Daniela with her- the two had decided a boat sinking was the last metaphorical straw and were opting to go home. Daniela and I flew out on the same day and caught the same plane out of Iquitos. We sat together, not saying much, watching as the jungle vanished below us.

Lima crawled into view.

At the airport, we clambered down from the tiny Iquitos plane and boarded a shuttle to the main terminals. It was cold and gray outside. I waited with Daniela for her bag at baggage claim. When it didn't show up right away, we joked that it had survived the Nanay only to be lost in the airport but almost as soon as we had made the joke, it appeared on the carousel. From baggage claim it was a short walk to the main floor of the airport.  Daniela made me promise to stay in touch. I told her I was extremely grateful for all her company and advice these few short weeks. We hugged. And then she turned and walked outside to catch her bus and just like that, it was over.

I watched her go.

And then I turned my back on the airport doors and went to check in for my 8 hour layover.