I was thinking about how when I was 19 years old I hiked with my brother to the edge of Venezuela's Gran Sabana and climbed Mount Roraima.
Read on if you want to hear about the wild savannah, the mysterious theft of our supplies, getting desperately ill from the local hooch and the other-worldly life on top of this remote table mountain, or tepuí.
Kukenán (left) and Roraima
Two things reminded me of this little jaunt, the first of two visits in successive years. There was a piece in the BMC magazine, Summit, which mentioned briefly a spectacular expedition from the Guyanese side to scale Roraima's overhanging Prow.
Then, recently, I watched a talk from a Venezuelan friend, one I haven't seen for a long time, about the threats from illegal mining to the forest, savannah and people of the region.
More about those threats later. I know that we were very fortunate to have visited all those decades ago. Now hundreds of people ascend the huge tepuí each month. When Patrick and I went up the first time, we were the only ones there and no one was leaving or arriving.
One reason that the numbers have increased is the roads. Back then the route up the Escalera escarpment, out of the low Orinoco basin and up to the heights of the Gran Sabana, was mostly a dirt track. You could stand beside it for a good stretch of time and nothing would go by. Yet this was the main road to Brazil. Today what you see is a tarmac highway with new settlements dotted along the way.
The Gran Sabana
The Gran Sabana is in the Southern part of Venezuela, bordering on Brazil. It is the source of a number of rivers which run north to the great Orinoco and much of it is in a national park. The landscape contains an exceptional cluster of vast tepuís, including Roraima and Auyántepuí (the setting for Angel Falls). It is an unusual upland of occasional forests, grassy areas and rocky streams. The climate is cooler, so the wildlife here is different and on the tepuís it can be downright strange.
Roraima is 2,800 meters high, around 5 degrees north of the Equator, with cliff walls rising 500 meters from the surrounding trees.
Roraima's 500m walls
In 1982 we hiked for three days from the dirt road to get to Roraima. Looking at the map now, the distance is about 40km, as a bird would fly. But we were meandering and finding our own way. At the Pemón village of Paraitepuy we looked for a guide, but the place seemed to be deserted. Eventually we found everyone in the communal house, imbibing chicha. We should have been on our guard.
Chicha, or this version of it, was made by the women, who chewed cassava then spat it out into a large wooden vat. The weird mixture, presumably with a bit of water added, was left to ferment, something which seemed to happen very quickly as the enzymes in the saliva went to work. So there was the pinky-white liquor in front of us as we arrived in the building, with all the local Pemón sat around.
Yes, of course, we were told. A guide could be found. It would be Feliciano. But first we had to share a drink with them. Little bowls were passed around. I sipped. I glugged. I suffered. Not right then: for several days afterwards, though, my tummy was a tight knot and I stained the jungle trail horribly.
We saw a giant ant-eater as we pressed on from the village. Luckily, though, we never caught sight of any of the aggressive pit vipers which lurked in the undergrowth and trees. We had high leather boots but I doubt they would have been much help. In our packs were big rounds of cassava bread, which is like hard tack. It doesn't taste of much but lasts forever.
Patrick and Feliciano in the forest skirt
I am going to quote a bit from an account I found from our second visit a year later, without Feliciano, to give you an idea...
"After walking in a chilling storm throughout the afternoon, we pitched our tent by a quiet stream in a shallow valley lined with a fringe of trees. Our miserable evening was made worthwhile when we woke to a glorious sun shining through the receding mist and a flock of dirty-faced parakeets chattering in the trees. We walked quickly, crossing the River Kukenan and ascending through Roraima's foothills to camp just before the skirt of jungle below the mountain's cliff face.
Roraima foothills
"At this height it was pleasantly cool in the sun but cold at night. The fault in the side of the mountain, the only route to the top, was clearly visible. To the left as we stood before it was the second tepuí of the range, Kukenán (the source of the river). When the sun had set beside this massive outcrop we watched a fast-approaching procession of cloud emerge from the deep gorge of jungle between the two mountains, join the mist spilling over from the tops and engulf us entirely.
"The morning was surprisingly clear. We moved slowly through the low jungle in order to hear and catch sight of the birds. Small, brightly coloured flowers lined the route. Most attractive were the spider orchids. They were pink, yellow, purple and pink, or scarlet, in clusters atop single stems two or three feet feet high. There were giant ferns in places. The young ones were glistening and like tightly clenched bass clefs. Fully grown, they spread across our path majestically.
"By noon we were climbing diagonally across the sandstone cliff. The last stage was a tricky ascent over loose, wet shale. We reached the top in the early afternoon and set off to make camp on a lonely square of turf in a cave, half an hour from the edge."
Looking back from the climb
It is a place of water and rock, and only the sort of life-forms which can manage to survive on little else besides. In the Pemón language Roraima means "Ever Fruitful Mother of Streams". It is a jumble of bizarre sandstone formations, doused in rain every day. The water runs off the sides and cascades down the sheer drops.
Eroded sandstone
There is scrubby vegetation and if you look closely you find sundews, pitcher plants, bellflowers and pointy-leaved bromeliads, many of them found in this place only. I don't remember much animal life but, apparently, a very rare toad scratches a living from the scant nutrients left by the leaching rain.
The Roraima plateau
Some of today's hi-tech clothing would have been useful. We were soaked-through for most of our time exploring the 30 or so square kilometres, walking across the middle and looking over the half-kilometre high cliffs into Guyana and Brazil. So it was something of a relief to get down again, rinse off in the streams and warm up under the sun.
Our tent is under the ledge
What we hadn't bargained for, though, the second time we made the trip, was a devastating attack on our cache of stores for the return journey. We had hidden it all in what we thought was a safe spot under some rocks. Animals, maybe rats or perhaps something more exotic, had pulled out our rice and other food. We had nothing else left, save for coffee. On the homeward trudge we managed to cadge some bananas, but that was all.
So imagine our excitement when we neared the dirt road after three days of hungry hiking and saw a makeshift shelter and a table, which must have been where the rare buses made their stop. We quickened our pace. The owner had a fridge, a small cooker and a rickety table with a couple of chairs.
Minutes later we were tucking into the best "arroz a la cubana" I can remember eating: plantain and rice, topped with a couple of oozing, fried eggs. And each of us held a frosty can of Venezuelan beer, Polar, straight out of a fridge in the middle of nowhere.
I am sorry about the low quality of the photos. This was a long time ago and my camera was even older. I couldn't afford anything else.
But the point of telling you all this is to highlight both the value of this entrancing place and the danger it is in today. The story goes that Mount Roraima, first climbed and explored in the 1880s, became the inspiration for Arthur Conan Doyle's "Lost World" with its pterodactyls and ape-men. That has often been said. What has to be said now is that the real world of Roraima and the Gran Sabana could be truly lost if it is not properly protected.
View from Roraima towards Kukenan
There are more people, which is inevitable, and everyone has to make a living. Poverty is much worse under the Maduro regime in Venezuela. The most serious threat, though, comes from mining. The government is desperate for money to replace its lost petrodollars. Across the country it has been letting the miners encroach into what were previously no-go areas.
Have a look at SOS Orinoco and this study and you will see what is happening.
Comentários