Jungle Run

Deep in the San Pedro Canyon of Bolivia’s Tuichi River, Sergio and I approached a thundering rapid dipping out of sight 20 yards ahead. We pulled off to the right and were tempted to get out of our kayaks and scout, but as I drew closer I saw a large turbulent eddy midway through the rapid on our left. Feeling strong and invigorated by our first few jolting rides of the day, I decided to try it. As if I were stuck in a soft drink commercial, I announced to Sergio with all the bravado I could muster, “I’m going for it!”

Having narrowed to about 50 feet in the canyon, the river was now moving with speed and fury, and I was immediately surprised by the violence of the waves. Within the first few strokes of entering the rapid I flipped for the first time on this river.

Underwater I felt like I was somewhere between the wash and rinse cycle in a load of laundry. Survival Central beamed a message that flashed in my mind: ROLL UP, YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT. Somehow in that muted, oxygenless underwater darkness I calmly positioned myself, rolled up smoothly and paddled into the eddy. Safe! As I looked downriver at the serpentine series of jagged drops, I suddenly realized on the last day of our adventure that the illusion of control had been removed and the consequences are harsh when running an unknown river in the Amazon jungle.

Realizations of this sort were a daily occurrence last summer, during our six-day attempt to be the first organized group of rafters and kayakers to successfully descend the lower section of the Tuichi, roughly between the towns of Apolo and Rurrenabaque in western Bolivia, north of La Paz. This endeavor had sparked the imaginations of our trip leaders, Bolivian adventurers Sergio Ballivian and Fernando Jordan, after they read of Yossi Ghinsberg’s travails in the 1993 book: “Back From Tuichi: The Harrowing Life-and-Death Story of Survival in the Amazon Rainforest.”

Our six-man team consisted of group leaders, Sergio and Fernando, and a diverse selection of travelers. There was Jay Kirby, a Seattle lawyer; Pachi Sanchez, an eccentric Spanish expatriate who has been living in La Paz for several years; me, an avid kayaker and climber; and Oscar Yungas, an Aymara Indian who has lived in the area for many years and claimed to have run many of the rapids in a callapo, a crude form of raft lashed together from tree trunks.

I had heard of Explore Bolivia--the only white-water tour organizer in Bolivia--from other climbers while I was ascending Bolivia’s Illimani Mountain, near La Paz. After that climb I signed up for a three-day white-water trip on the Coroico River and, as a result, was invited to join the exploratory journey down the Tuichi, to test out the trip’s feasibility. The price was right: $500 for the whole week, including food and transportation to and from La Paz. (Because this was an investigative mission, we paid only cost.)

With a collection of vague and often contradictory information, Sergio and Fernando distilled the difficulties of the river down to this: six major class III and IV rapids, one deep canyon named after St. Peter and a 30-foot waterfall, Puerto del Sol. (The classification of navigable white water ranges from class I, minor riffles with no obstacles, to class V, major vertical drops with dangerous hydraulics and obstacles requiring expert maneuvering skills.)

San Pedro canyon was rumored to be steep enough to render any notion of escape impossible. Once in the canyon there would be no choice but to continue down the river, which would eventually lead us to the potential showstopper at Puerto del Sol.

Getting to the Tuichi was an arduous affair, requiring a 19-hour, four-wheel-drive Jeep ride from La Paz to Apolo, about 160 miles north, followed by a two-day trek to the Machariapo River, a tributary of the Tuichi.

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Then there were the kayaks. Hell hath no fury like that of an unsuspecting mule about to be saddled with two, 10-foot kayaks. Amid howls of laughter from the observers perched well out of harm’s way, a series of maneuvers were attempted, each starting with a blindfolded mule and each ending in an explosive whirlwind of hooves and plastic. By late afternoon, the procedure had been perfected with all limbs--both animal and human--intact, and we began our trek.

The kayaking was fabulous on the Machariapo: lots of technical paddling, catching eddies and weaving through boulder gardens. Early afternoon on Day 5 we arrived at the Tuichi and soon confronted our first big rapid. We stopped to scout and decided to take a direct line to the left of a giant keeper hole: a recirculating low point with the nasty habit of retaining anything caught within its confines. I emptied my fear-engorged bladder before nervously squeezing myself into my kayak. I made several powerful strokes to match the force of the accelerating current and plunged down the first drop. Perfectly positioned just outside the gaping hole, I gave way to the giddy sensation of weightlessness as I was swept down the rapid. It was a straightforward run that nonetheless registered pretty high on the thrill meter.

Continuing downriver, the scenery grew wilder, the rolling jungle terrain was transformed into a narrow river gorge, and we entered the ominous San Pedro canyon, point of no return. As darkness approached, we were still paddling, trying to add more mileage to our long day. From the comfort of the water we saw toucans, monkeys, parrots and all kinds of fish. For camp we found a beautiful ledge in the canyon, complete with a beach, overhanging terraced walls and vines dangling to the ground.

An omen appeared that night in the form of a baseball-size rock that dislodged itself from the wall and landed inches away from my head as I lay sleeping. I was so mentally and physically exhausted, my only response was to roll over and go back to sleep. I drifted off as the rest of the crew took up a spirited discussion regarding the value of wearing their helmets to bed.

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On the river next morning, we were immediately greeted by two successive rapids that slammed us mercilessly. The first rapid surprised us with a waker-upper curling wave hidden beyond the first bend in the rapid. We were allowed a split second to brace for its impact before crashing through. I felt the strength rise in my arms and torso as the river upped the ante with a series of must-make turns and narrow passages. I was exhilarated after rocking through the last few waves and meeting all the challenges this river was throwing at us.

Then I experienced my underwater epiphany after flipping my kayak for the first time on the Tuichi and getting the washing machine ride of my life. After rolling up and finding safe harbor in the mid-rapid eddy, I watched Sergio start down and drift lamely to the right where a dangerous narrow passage of water was flowing steeply through a pinball course of large jagged rocks.

Sergio slammed the side of his kayak into the first rock and appeared to throw away his paddle. In the next instant, he flipped and dropped down the passage upside down. A second later his boat was pinned between two rocks. I was certain I was going to watch him die. I was downstream and on the opposite side of the river. All I could do was frantically reach for my safety whistle and blow like crazy to alert the raft crew. The raft, predictably enough, was several hundred feet downstream in no position for any sort of rescue.

Time seemed to stand still as I watched in disbelief. Tons of thundering white water separated me from any effective action. After what seemed like an eternity, I saw Sergio’s head pop out of the water. Luckily the current was not as swift through this section, allowing Sergio a moment to squeeze out of his cockpit before the potentially crippling forces of the rushing water could wrap his kayak into a taco shell. This was no place to take a swim. He grabbed his kayak with a death grip and was able to free it as he was being sucked back into the main current. I followed close behind as he safely swam the rest of the rapid and shakily hauled himself and his boat up on shore.

Sergio told us that upon entering the rapid his paddle had snapped in half on his first light stroke. With remarkable poise, he quickly put the two broken pieces in one hand and made an attempt to paddle canoe-style. Despite his best efforts the current swept him right into the most dangerous part of the rapid where he came into my view. We never found his broken paddle.

A few rapids later we were relieved to see a motorized dugout canoe that was part of a small logging operation--a sign of civilization. What the heck was a logging camp doing in the middle of San Pedro canyon and above the Puerto del Sol falls? We asked one of the loggers how far it was to the falls. “The falls are upstream,” he replied. Huh? Had we run the falls without even realizing it?

Three months earlier the falls had been dynamited in an attempt to make the Tuichi more navigable so that motorized dugouts could carry on their logging practices. The falls we had mentally labored over the entire trip, had passed without us even knowing.

We broke down the raft that night, set up our last camp on the beach and ate what was left of our food: rice with mustard, supplemented with sawdust-flavored gruel rehydrated from the emergency rations.

With civilization just a comforting day or three away, we savored our last evening of solitude in the jungle. What we lacked in physical sustenance, we made up for in spirit. We had done what we had set out to do, and our teamwork and perseverance had been rewarded with an incomparable white-water descent of the wild Tuichi.

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GUIDEBOOK

Navigating White Water

Getting there: American Airlines flies from LAX to La Paz, Bolivia, with one change of planes in Miami. Advance-purchase, round-trip fares start at $1,200.

Tours: Explore Bolivia, No. 224, Avenida Los Sauces, No. 2B, Calacoto, La Paz, Bolivia, will offer three 14-day white-water trips down the Tuichi River in 1998. Tours will be June 6-19, July 18-31 and Aug. 29-Sept. 11. Cost will be $1,430-$2,330 (the price will vary with the number of participants), land cost only, starting and ending in La Paz. From the United States, telephone 011-591-2-77-1321. In the United States, tel. (303) 708-8810, fax (303) 649-9017.

For more information: Bolivian Embassy, 3014 Massachusetts Ave., N.W., Washington, DC 20008; tel. (202) 483-4410.