Fear and Boating on the Rio Marañon (Part 3)
The Golden Serpent
Three days after setting off from Trujillo, we finally got to feel the pull of strong current against the oars. We barely fit beneath the bridge, as I had suspected, and the water came up overnight as we slept. As we began to get our bearings on the immense landscape of milk chocolate water we passed by a few towns of scattered mud brick buildings, children standing at the edge of the shore waving as we passed. We also passed a gargantuan gold mine perched on the edge of the river, orange water seeping from the cracks in its walls, and had front row seats to a series of dynamite blasts carving out a new hole in the mountainside. The truck drivers hauling tarped loads from the mine stopped in the middle of the road, at one point backing up three trucks to a halt, as their drivers waved from the cab and held up cell phones taking pictures and videos of the baffling sight of our colorful armada. We shouted to them, "Viva, El Rio Marañon."
Being the rainy season, the hills were unusually lush for this trip.
Despite these signs of the modern or slightly modern world, we still got that wonderful feeling of wilderness as for miles the only thing that filled our vision was cotton candy clouds floating across tropical blue skies, painting puffy shadows on the immense hills. Anachronistically, the lush jungle flora which can be seen next to the clear tributary creeks share an amicable border with arid desert which supports only two species of tree and a handful of cacti.
With the broad current easy to find, we did not have to work hard to keep up a typically blistering pace of around six miles an hour. Instead we absentmindedly dipped our oars in the water as we admired the blood red stone and army fatigue greens, besmirched here and there on the high, steep slopes of the upper reaches of the canyon by a patchwork of vertical farms.
It was a quiet way to begin our journey and really set us all at ease immediately. We basked in the glow of anticipation for the rapids ahead but were completely content to look out for wild herds of donkeys and flocks of screeching iridescent green parrots living in the ancient mango trees next to the water. Occasionally we would spot a gathering of silent cattle or goats in a dry wash, or a river spanning cable with a sparse wooden cart attached to it, but more than anything one was struck by the immense height of the green hills and the impressive span of the river. These two features of the landscape held our attention for hours with only the occasional riffle to contend with.
When we pulled into our first camp, Pedro mentioned that a town downstream a ways used to be home to a famous literary hero in Peru. He was a conservationist and activist and used folk tales as old as the ancestors who created them to preach his message. It was he who coined the name "The Golden Serpent" for the rio Marañon and today his house can still be found, though greatly deteriorated, with a little searching through the jungle. A bit like an Edward Abbey of his continent, I would love to hear his thoughts on the proposed 12 dams which could one day choke this river to death.
At the heart of our reason for coming to this river in the first place is the idea of these 12 dams. The government will soon be drawn to action against a resource as vast and profitable as this one and energy demand seems to rule just about everything in today's world. The thought of everything we see as we pass along the river corridor being covered in a few hundred feet of stagnant water follows us around on each day of the trip like a mangy stray dog through town. Some people are fighting, though they can only hold back their own government for so long. Though the money we paid for our trip contributes to the legal battles being waged by the residents of the valley, in places like the very highest reaches of the river, where no one lives and is there to fight it, at least one dam is already under construction - legal or not.
