Back in South America, starting in Crackers…I mean Caracas. Even if I had been feeling up to going out and exploring on the one afternoon I had in the city, the five keys on my hostel room key ring to get past all the secure doors led me to believe I was better off staying out, enjoying the included free beer, wifi, dinner, breakfast, tv, giant fluffy dog and local mobile phone. The following morning before my transfer I had a precious phone call for over two hours which was also favorable above braving a chaotic city two weeks from an election after Hugo Chavez died. I’ll admit I was not at my intrepid best.
My transfer with the affable Luis heralded the start of my excursion to Canaima national park and Angel Falls. Canaima means bad spirit, so said my cab driver, Roy. I remarked that seemed at odds with falls named “Angel”. They’re simply named after some American bloke who crashed into them – yes, I’m drastically paraphrasing – and the name stuck.
Canaima is a little indigenous village of about 3700 people, fed by a hydroelectric set up off one of the nearby waterfalls and I’d say most of that population would have to include the temporary residents staying in any one of the 12 or so tourist camps. Accessible only by plane, if you’re lucky, it could even be something a little more substantial than a Cessna. They charge you 150 VEB to get off the airstrip and you climb into a safari truck to go to your camp. I stayed with Excursions Kavak and my go-to guide was Caico.
The trip was supposed to include a boat trip up river, overnight in hammocks and then hike to the base of the falls. The water level is too low being the height of dry season as I found out once I’d arrived. I had to buy a flight for 800VEB for the final morning, hoping the weather was clear as my only option. I have learned to do some research about best times to go and also to question travel agents on their advice about such things as I had no inkling this might be the case.
The first afternoon was filled with hiking, walking, motorised canoeing and photographing in the local area around Lago Canaima which is fed by Rio Carrao pouring into it over squat and picturesque saltos, or waterfalls. It’s an unusual landscape – white sand trails as if you’re at a beach, grasslands of a savannah, deep green jungle with the occasional bright pink blooming tree, water the colour of kill rust due to the minerals and tannins, yet full of fish and bugs that bite.
Our farthest destination was Salto Sapo, the highest set of falls at the end of the group, which due to dry season was reduced to Ducha Sapo – Shower Sapo. The size of the face was impressive and to fill it to full roaring force would take the next wet season. It was cool to see it dry and walk behind the tiny trickling remnant which from the side looked like a crying monkey. Another perk of dry season meant we climbed up the side and walked along the top of the falls back to the lake.
Salto Hacho was our final sight and after a short bushwalk we stripped to bathers and waterproof cameras to walk behind the falls, slipping and sliding over moss and slick, smooth rock. We were rewarded at the end with a refreshing shower under the falls lit by the setting sun.
After breakfast, the following day was spent deep in the jungle near Auyan Tepui on Isla Orchideas. This was reached by canoe, bushwalking, more canoeing, more bushwalking, even more canoeing and finally coming to rest on the white sand beach of the Isla. Swimming in the brown tinted water was refreshing and if you could handle the ticklish nibbling of the fish, mildly therapeutic. I spent some time relaxing, swimming and as it turns out, sunburning, in the idyllic surroundings, only mildly wishing I was back home on Marcoola bech. There’s nothing quite like an abstract form of something familiar to make you nostalgic for the real thing.
Back in the canoe to get to the lunch spot we shared with a shell of modern bathrooms now home to the biggest wasps I’ve ever seen and a trio of skittish bats. I stayed low while I changed into my clothes. We fed the chicken scraps to a stray dog who knew the drill and continued home. Via some rapids. In a rigid, wooden canoe with an outboard. And I was in front. And got saturated. And got it on camera. I was nearly dry too. It was refreshing and as much a surprise to my seat buddy, Karina from Maracaibo, as it was to me. Later that night she asked if I wanted to go to a club with her and Caico. In hindsight I fear I passed on a cool chance to see local life, I just wasn’t at my best. A long day, a tumble on the gravel road walking home had left me with an impressive set of wounds on my leg to match the other one injured in Santa Catalina. I rather thought my raw skinned shin would cramp their style.
The following morning I took a Cessna with Karina and Cameron from Japan, plus a couple of girls who had just arrived and flew out to the falls. THE falls. The falls so high that the water turns to mist before it gets to the base, even when it is in full flow. The three-Eiffel-Towers-high falls. The falls that float down from the top of a tepui that rises up like an immense fortress from the verdant green of the jungle, standing high above the plains, creating its own weather systems.
It was thrilling enough to dip and sway in the Cessna as it was buffeted by the winds pushing through the canyons between the tepui, to glide closely past the rock walls struggling to comprehend the enormity of scale was mesmorising. Coming upon the falls seemed accidental, in their reduced flow state, they could have been easy to dismiss to the unknowing. I spread the widest smile I’ve got all the way back, like a kid on Christmas day.
Returning to Caracas required a Cessna and a jet…three flights, three take-offs and more importantly, three landings, in one day. Hello, personal best. 🙂
I have a lot of things on my bucket list and the highest falls in the world is there. Now it has a tick next to it.
