Journey into the Amazon Part 1: Welcome to the Jungle

Deep in the heart of the Bolivian Amazon, the Pampas del Yacuma lowlands are teeming with remarkable wildlife. Will McGuire sets out on the river to explore beyond where civilization ends and the wilderness begins! 

Lush, dark-green trees sprawled into the horizon, bisected by a snaking brown river; my first view of the Amazon as I peered down from the plane window. Bigger than all other rainforests combined, the Amazon is home to more wildlife and plant species than anywhere else in the world; the true cradle of life on the planet.  

Amaszonas, the world’s worst airline, flies the route between La Paz and Rurrenabaque. The small planes are so old that they can’t land in anything but perfect conditions. Low light, fog, rain or wind and you will be grounded, stuck for days waiting for conditions to clear. Alternatively, you can risk taking a bus along what has been declared the world’s most dangerous road. Either way, reaching Rurrenabaque is a frightening proposition. 

As our plane picked up speed along the runway the engine noise inside the cabin was deafening. The cabinets shuddered and clanged, and I gripped the seat of the chair expecting the plane wings themselves to rip off. Moments after pulling up, the noise suddenly cut as if the engine had stalled, and we limped up into the sky. This may have been the mechanical fault that had kept the plane grounded for the last three days. 

We landed on a runway surrounded by forest. Where was the airport building? I wondered. On the tarmac was a huddling crowd that rushed to get on once we disembarked. A van drove us along a jungle track to Rurrenabaque Airport. It was just a shed.
  

Instead of a baggage collection belt, there was a string tied across the room to keep us back, as a man chucked our bags through a hole in the wall. 

The flight was less than an hour but we came from the highest capital in the world, bitterly cold even in summer, to equatorial lowlands. We were both stifling hot and sticky in the 35-degree humidity. Rurrenabaque is the last frontier town of the Amazon basin and the final glimmer of civilization before launching into the wilderness.  

Our tour left early the next morning. We squeezed into the back of a 7-seater with two Australians and a French girl, Sabine. The drive to the Yacuma de Pampas National Park normally takes three hours. But with the rain that fell overnight turning the dirt road into sludge, it took even longer. The 7-seater was punished. 

Entering the military-controlled park, we saw the river for the first time up close. Hemmed in by dense bush was the brown and still water; a perfect breeding ground for mosquitoes. They attacked us in swarms the moment we exited the vehicle, delirious at the taste of foreign flavours. In a panic we sprayed on repellent, but it made little difference. These Amazon mosquitoes were hardy. I became obsessed with slapping myself, determined to get every single one. It was now kill or be killed. 

Our tour guide, Victor, looked like an angry panda. He had a round, full face and acted like a put-upon babysitter. ‘Now I say have you got everything, you phone, you camera, yes? I not be going back, ok?’ He pointed to his heavy equipment and had us load it onto the canoe for him.  

The large canoe was motor-powered and carried the six of us, our bags and all the gear. The Angry Panda used a paddle to push the boat free from the river bank and we began our descent into the Amazon wild. The relevance of modern life trailed off with our wake. Towering high rises were now sprawling mangroves, droning cars now squawking birds and screaming black-howler monkeys. This was the jungle. Surviving would require a new set of rules. 

Birds, turtles and monkeys were all drawn to the river. Huge dragonflies swooped down from above. A dorsal fin passed by the boat. Caimans, Amazon crocodiles, bathed on the riverbank in the thousands, jaws agape as if grinning. 

The Angry Panda pulled around to take us closer to a large caiman, hitting a hidden branch. The splash lifted a fish onto the boat. While I scrambled to take a photo, Jen reacted instinctively to throw it back into the water. ‘I just picked up a fish,’ she thrilled. 

Drifting under the warm sun made us all drowsy. Sat in front of me was Sabine, fast asleep. Motionless and unaware, she became an irresistible target for mosquitoes. They landed all over her arms and back like marauding bandits. I watched, fascinated, as their bodies swelled with blood. It was an all-you-can-eat French food buffet free-for-all. I could have brushed them off but figured that if they were eating her, then they weren’t eating me. In the jungle it’s every tourist for himself.  

Our camp was at least two hours journey down-river. Halfway along the Aussies switched into a different canoe. Plane cancellations had meant they were only staying one night and would need alternative digs. 

Our secluded lodge, a tattered wooden hut with a banana-leaf roof, was on the edge of the bank. Jen and I had a private room. Aside from the cook, there was no one else here. The loos were in a separate hut at the end of the deck. Mosquitoes swarmed around the water in the toilets, relentless in their attacks. The Angry Panda called us back to the canoe to carry off all the heavy equipment. 

‘My phone isn’t charging,’ I told him. 

‘No, we not turn on the generator. Too expense. At seven we give one hour to charge you phone. No more.’ 

Our trip was an ‘all inclusive.’ So when the Angry Panda mentioned hot drinks and snacks I perked up, but he quickly changed his mind, 'Now we go to the shop.' What shop? I didn’t remember seeing a Tesco’s Express. We boarded the canoe but had only a brief journey before we were back off. The shop was a hut with hammocks and limited supplies. The product range included only edge-of-the-world essentials like Pringles, chocolate biscuits and whiskey.  

Shortly after cocooning myself inside a hammock, a boom of thunder was followed by torrential rain. The field outside flooded as frogs hopped up and down searching for higher ground. The Angry Panda decided that we couldn’t leave until the rain stopped. This announcement was followed by even harder rain. We were trapped.
I wondered what snacks I was missing out on at the lodge. The Angry Panda encouraged us to make some purchases. But I was determined to hold out. There’s nothing worse than having to pay for food after you book all-inclusive. 

The sun had gone down by the time the rain eased. But a howling gust now raged. The Angry Panda went with a flashlight to the boat first and then shone it back to indicate he was ready for us to follow. The route was flooded ankle deep. To spare my shoes I zipped them inside my jacket and ran across barefoot, shouting at Jen to use the flashlight for the benefit of us both. But my words were lost in the wind. ‘What? What?’ She called back. 

The Angry Panda hadn’t bailed out the rainwater so the boat was almost half full when we got in. I worried we would sink. Something slithered between our feet. I grabbed the flashlight to spot it but there was too much commotion. Jen shrieked as it brushed against her. 

Retreating to the relative safety of the dining hall, I got stuck into the coffee and biscuit snacks that had been promised to me hours earlier. Jen got stuck into the cook’s cat, giving him plenty of fuss. With the generator running, the lightbulbs came on. A bat, confused by the light, thrashed against each end of the ceiling. Buzzing mosquitoes attacked the window netting, sticking their stingers through with the mindless determination of a zombie horde. I ignored these distractions to eat dinner which was a simple affair of fish, egg, rice and salad. But it wasn’t for everyone. Sabine excused herself to dash to the bathroom. No doubt while she was stuck to the toilet, the mosquitoes helped themselves to seconds. 

Jen forgot that she was allergic to cats and soon her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. ‘Take a look, please!’ She begged, pushing her pink-eye into my face. ‘It feels like I’ve got sand in it. I need to rinse it out!’  

The storm worsened. We dashed to the bathroom hut as rain, swept up by the wind, came crashing in sideways. I switched on the bulb and terrifying jumbo-mosquitoes and wasp-creatures, as if escaped from hell, attacked the light. Mercifully blinded from the sight of them was Jen, rinsing her eyes and whimpering in pain. And we were not the only ones taking refuge. A green parrot, displaced by the storm, sheltered under the beams of the roof.  

Not even our bedroom was safe. A second crazed bat slammed against one end of the room to the other. Before it could give us rabies we wrapped a mosquito net over the bed and tucked it under the corners. We lay awake praying the net would hold, as the bat crashed into it all night. 

At first a majestic wonderland, the rainforest was now our cruel captor. We cuddled close as lightning struck, the storm raged and nature itself closed in around us.

The story continues in Part 2...