Porto Velho
Post date: Jan 9, 2011 8:16:24 PM
Suspecting someone would try to trick me out of some money again to unload my bike, I moved all but $6 to a pocket. Good thing I did, because sure enough, once my bike and stuff was CARRIED up a 100 foot tall hill, I ended up giving the guy all I had in my dirty, tattered money pouch. He wasn’t pleased. Neither was I. I had already waited 2 hours to unload. A boat was already tied to the dock, so everything and everyone had to pass through the boat to reach shore. I was told I must wait 18 hours for the boat to leave, but I opted for the quicker, uglier route. I instructed them to spread the gap between the boats to create sufficient space, put the motorcycle on its side, and hand carry it through. 400 pounds of motorcycle. It was a chore.
I visited a family that offered to take me in, but for some reason the mother changed her mind. She said there were too many people in the house at that time, but I didn’t fully believe that. No problem. One of their family led me to an area where I could find cheap hotels. I signed at a $10/room hotel that would be a perfect place to film a sequel to Hostel or SAW. Without A/C, the fan was necessary, and it doubled as an insect repellant. Wind, I’ve found, is the best mosquito repellant. There were many in my room.
The next day I visited another friend I’d made on the boat to see if she wanted to visit Cachoeira Teotonio with me, but it wasn’t possible. I ended up chatting with her very friendly family, and I got a breakfast of crackers and a traditional Brazilian lunch. The mother of the family gave me some cookies, crackers, cheese, espresso, and a seran wrap hand roller I’d shown interest in. I said I’d return before heading off to Cuiaba, hopefully with donations of fish.
At the Teotonio Falls, I was oozing at the beauty and power of the rushing water. The river at this point is as wide as the Ohio, and stretching the entire width are massive rapids, which are surely a sight during low water. Two dozen people were lined up on the shore to fish the racing current, it didn’t matter if you had a rod and reel or just a spool of line with a hook- catfish were being pulled in one after another, ranging from 1-3 pounds. I was appalled though at the waste. Dams aren’t the prettiest in the United States either. People litter. But here I found a whole catfish left drying and rotting in the sun. Stroller and retired electronics were heaped on the hill. Such an eyesore in contrast to the majestic Rio Madeira.
Down the way I found some real fishermen. They were cleaning some big catfish- surubim, pirarara, and another catfish I don’t know the name of yet. They had 4 fish in the 40-50 pound range. A good sign, I’d say, and they’d caught them in the middle of the day. The sun pounded sweat from my pores just standing there and watching. I asked around the town to see where I could camp and who had boats to rent. I spoke with the fishermen, and I don’t know how it happens, but we’re able to communicate. Some people clearly have a talent for interpreting Gary Gone Wild’s language. I’m not exactly known for being a clear communicator in English, so it’s a real surprise that someone can understand a thing I say down here.
How DO I get by? There’s a pretty simple format to language that takes you far. First, question or statement? Second, positive or negative? Third, here or there? Fourth, now or later? The majority of communication is visual. Does he shake his head, pucker his lips, and furrow his brow? Does her eyes widen and does she shrug her shoulders a smidge as she nods? Where do they point? Sometimes it gets to the points of the game Charades. I laugh to ease the stress they surely experience at my ignorance. But without some key words of their language, things would be much more difficult. I carry a pocket dictionary, but I actually don’t use it, usually. The important words are the question words, “where, when, why, how, who.” You must know how to say, “I want,” “I don’t understand,” “I don’t know,” “Where is (the road…),” “What does …. mean?,” “May I…,” “Is it open?,” “Could you repeat that, please?,” “Thank you,” various greetings, and the days of the week, time, money. Learn these words, have patience, be persistent, and it’s possible. Note: possible does not mean easy. I also usually ask more than one person the same thing.
Speaking with one of the real fishermen, I was able to arrange an outing with him. For a price higher than I’d expected *but I negotiated* I have a two day agreement to pursue giant catfish in his boat. He says he’ll take me all over the river and guarantees big fish, but not necessarily the 100 pounder I’m looking for. He gave me a list of bait to buy in town. We agreed to begin tomorrow since I was feeling sick.
Too sick. Last night I tossed and turned in bouts of fever, cold and then hot, with senseless dreams. You know, sick. “Ajuda, por favor?” I explained my situation to the hotel receptionist, a very kind man, and he called the fisherman, Shell, to tell him I’d not be coming to fish until tomorrow on account of my cold. No problems. I went to the internet café, updated my blog and replied to some emails, sold some stock and transferred money, filled my portable stove’s gas bottle, and visited the fishing shop at which I was instructed to buy bait. They were out of bait, and apparently no one in the city has it either. I still bought some sinkers and hooks, just in case.
I’ve detected a small rattle in the engine. Not sure what it is, but I’m suspecting a loose balancer chain again, since the noise is inconsistent and from the area it would happen in. I’ll try tightening the tensioner bolt and see if that does it. If not, it’s balls to the wall and get to Ushuaia!
Fishing report: 1-5-10. I quit after just over a day of fishing the cachoeira. What a dud. I have better luck in Indiana. That may be a sign. We fished all the spots he knew to fish. We fished a mile down from the cachoeira and the rough water just downstream of it. I fished 10 feet deep and I even tried drifting 200 feet deep. The one thing I wanted to do, which he refused to do, was fished the rough water closer to the waterfall. He didn’t understand why we didn’t find a big catfish. I’m just not sure he knew how to pursue giant catfish. We encountered lots of little ones, but all that peck-peck crap got on my nerves. He used small chunks of bait and routinely took us to areas where he could lay down and snooze in the boat. For this reason, I was a bit surprised when he complained about the money I paid him. Long story short, I paid him what he’d initially requested for one day, but he wanted more money for gas, and he seemed to think we fished two days, not one. Whatever the case, I told him all the many reasons why he didn’t deserve any more, and he finally relaxed. I can’t believe I even paid him that much. It was a relief to get away from there. I think that place simply receives too much commercial and sportfishing pressure. Trotlines crisscross every square meter of bottom. Fisherman morning and night were unloading barrels of small catfish. Now I’m beginning to understand people’s reports about the piraiba, pirarara, jau, and other catfish populations being decimated since years ago. One may need to get into much more remote tributaries to reach signigicant and quantity and quality of fish. Time and money.
But, my feverish cold broke almost instantaneously as I was fishing the dam yesterday at dusk. It was such a gorgeous scene- the sky, the water, the surrounding forest. Like a baby’s first breath, the sunrise, an air conditioned room after a stroll in a midday desert- my mind cleared almost as drastically. It was a moment that made me realize just how foggy and rundown I’d been.
I camped last night on the river. Stray dogs wouldn’t shut up down the way, and apparently the villagers have fully acclimated to the noise because for 45 minutes this one dog would not shut up. So I finally marched down the road and found him standing in the road, barking at nothing obvious. He ran off as I approached. Finally I got a bit of peace and sleep, but not much.
I got so burned, fishing. It was sickening enough just to be in that heat. It’s a nasty, hole and crease riddled road to the dam, and it’s one of the hottest areas I’ve been to. Along the road I saw the stupidest looking animal waddle onto the road, then turn around like a turtle and mosy back into the bushes as I approached by motorcycle. I pulled to a stop then ran back with a camera to snap a picture. It was an anteater! Boy those are funny looking animals. He’d already disappeared into the bushes on the other side though. That often happens; the pictures I take are usually AFTER the scene has passed. It’s like, “Oh, man, that’s nice. Where’s my camera?” Minutes later, I’m back, but the moment is passed.
After several days of endurance training, having a diminished morale due to the cold and lack of fish, and having a little extra money due to the curtailed fishing trip, I decided to get some real rest with the help of $35. I got myself a mid-grade hotel room with air conditioning and without mosquitoes. Ah, how sweet life is! I slept in a soft bed in a safe, quiet, cool room. I slept. I even did some laundry in the shower.
The next morning I was back on the road, headed for Cuiaba enroute to Rio de Janeiro and the only date on my itinerary, Sao Paolo by January 15th, 2011.