Journey into the Amazon Part 3: A Battle of Wills

The adventure reaches an action-packed finale as the tour guide and Will McGuire each press their claim as the true King of the Jungle! 

Returning to Rurrenabaque from the Pampas del Yacuma, we farewelled Sabine, who was fleeing for malaria treatment, and also Angry Panda, who was especially angry when we didn’t tip. He’s having a laugh, right?  

While the pampas tour into the Amazon is the most popular, there is another trip, known as the Jungle Tour, that takes you into Madidi National Park. In the dense forest, away from the mosquitoes and mangroves, is a new host of creatures waiting to be discovered, such as tarantulas and the mighty jaguar. 

At the San Miguel office we waited for our Jungle Tour guide. A square-jawed local with a cream vest walked in and shook our hands. His grip was firm and I was almost intimidated by his penetrating gaze. 

‘My name Willmong,’ he told us with a straight face. I snorted. Will-mong! That undermined any chance of being scary. 

We boarded a boat that chugged us up a river so wide it was effectively open water. Battling against the powerful current, progress was laboured. Willmong had plenty of time to describe his community, who live in the forest off the spoils of the land. ‘For example, in my community it is possible...’ he started every sentence, like a verbal tic. The motor burnt out and we started to drift backwards. The sun was setting and I worried we would get caught struggling up river in the dark. 

The boat pulled over to the bank where a small clearing revealed a footpath. We ascended into the jungle as the last gasp of sunlight disappeared. Reaching the eco-lodge, we were impressed by the vast improvement over our last digs; maintained mosquito-netted windows and an en-suite bathroom – pure luxury! But there was an unexpected roommate, a frog that Jen found in the toilet croaking up at her. She flushed it away.   

As the only guests, we sat in the cavernous dinner hall among a load of empty tables. While waiting for our food, we watched a bat going crazy. That hadn't changed from the pampas. 

Willmong stumbled out drunk to join us after our meal. His leery grin twisted into a frown as he demanded to know how many tourists we saw in the pampas. The recent political upheaval in La Paz had scared off all his business.  

‘Look around here. There no problem. Maybe Evo Morales, maybe someone else. It make no difference. Still same here. So why they no come?’ 

I didn’t have those answers, but as the conversation relaxed, Willmong turned to explaining his life here in Madidi. ‘For example, in my community, there are so many mango - we just give to the pigs.’ 

‘I’m a pig!’ I cheered. ‘Give it to us! That’s our favourite fruit!’  

Buoyed by our enthusiasm, Willmong proved his credentials as an Amazon-man by showing off his battle scars. Across his finger was a wound from a fishing line when he reeled in a huge trout; on his hand a piranha bite. He even lifted the hem of his trouser to show the stingray slash across his ankle. 

‘Well, I don’t like to brag,’ I stated for the record, before lifting my shirt ‘But I have stretch marks on my back from a growth spurt in ‘06.’ 

When the subject turned to the wildlife, Willmong assured us that there were plenty of dangerous animals for us to encounter such as poisonous frogs, snakes and spiders. ‘But the most dangerous in the jungle is the jaguar. For example, in my community it is possible to hear the jaguar. You know is close when you hear the twig break on the ground. Then the panting – hah hah hah - heavy panting!’ 

Back in the lodge we wrapped the mosquito nets over our bed and enjoyed the sounds of the jungle. But then, close by, was the distinct snap of twigs. Jaguar!  

‘Is the door locked?’ I asked. 

‘I don’t think so! You’re scaring me! Is it-?’ 

‘-Shhh!’ 

We listened for the heaving panting. But it was silent and we soon fell asleep.

                                      *** 

‘Where’s the mango?’ Jen asked me in the dining hall. 

The breakfast spread of pancakes, papaya and banana all looked great, but we were wringing our hands with anticipation all morning at the prospect of bathing in mango.  

‘Don’t tell me they gave it all to the pigs!’  

We also had only a tiny pot of coffee that divided into a quarter of a cup each.  

‘Go ask him for more,’ Jen hissed. 

‘No - you.’ 

‘You’re closer!’ 

Grumbling, I grabbed the pot and poked my head into the kitchen where Willmong sat with the old female cook, eating their breakfast. I noticed they had mango and a full brew of coffee each. Had he been so drunk he forgot our conversations?

Like Oliver Twist, I asked ‘Any chance I could get more coffee?’ 

‘More?’ Willmong looked over to the cook, who took a sip from her cup and shook her head. Willmong turned back to me. ‘No.’  

‘No?’ Jen seethed.  

‘That’s what he said.’ 

‘Well go back in there and ask again!’ 

Needless to say, I didn’t, and the caffeine starved-morning didn’t set us up well for a long day ahead.  

We followed Willmong along a jungle path from the eco-lodge to his village, San Miguel. At his house we stopped for a breather. He gave us a slice of pineapple, and different fruits from the trees outside his house. Everything but mango!  

Stepping onto the main dirt drag of the town I saw a lush mountain rising in the distance. Chickens pottered about and some very young children stopped to stare. Willmong toured us through the huts and the school. ‘For example, in my community it is possible to get electricity.’ This was installed last month and now the villagers were addicted to TV. Give it another twenty years and they might have Facebook. 

To reach the heart of the Madidi National Park, we boarded the boat again and slogged our way for another two hours up river against the current. We were accompanied by three other passengers; Willmong’s son, Will-son, the female cook who wouldn’t look at us, and Gums, who wouldn’t stop looking at us. Every time he did, he broke out in a huge grin, all gums and no teeth.  

At a tiny clearing Gums moored the boat to a thick root. A badly worn set of steps were carved into the soft clay. I stumbled and broke off a big chunk of step, so the others behind me had to leap from the boat.  

Our destination was an abandoned jungle camp. The palm trees rose high and thick enough to block out the sun. Gums dusted out our rooms and sprayed it through with bug repellent.  

Jen and I headed out with Willmong for a trek to discover the local wildlife. In the dense jungle this proved a hopeless task. After Jen trod on a stick that was like a spiked baseball bat, she was reduced to limping. Keeping up was then a struggle as Willmong veered off track into the thick foliage. To encourage sightings, he shook tree branches and whistled. We glimpsed something high up in the trees dart away.   

And that proved the highlight of the day’s wildlife viewing.  

To keep us entertained for the rest of the trek, Willmong pointed out how his people used the land. ‘For example, in my community it is possible to eat this mushroom.’ Willmong plucked the rubbery, skin-coloured mushroom off a tree. ‘We call it, the Monkey Ear mushroom.’ I put that name to the test. 

The most active creatures in the jungle were the ants, with a variety of species showing up today for observation. Crawling the trees were fire ants and along the ground were leaf cutters. The dangerous kind were the giant ants which bite and leave the victim in 24 hours of agony. Willmong showed us sap from the tree which cures the ant bite, and the bark from another to cure diarrhea.  

He was excited to discover tracks along a soft stretch of ground.   

‘Look!’ He waved us over. ‘These are the paw prints – of jaguar!’ 

This jaguar had been hunting close to the camp. 

‘Willmong-,’ I started. 

‘-Willman.’ He corrected. 

‘Your name is Will-MAN?’ I pulled a face at Jen. Did he think that just because he was from the Amazon he was more manly than the rest of us? I didn't care how square his jaw might be, I'd show him who the real Will-Man of the jungle was! 

As if sensing my challenge, Willmong made his move. He broke off two strips of flax and in moments weaved for Jen a sturdy and efficient fan. ‘Wow! He’s so talented!’ She beamed, wafting away the bugs from her face. 

Willmong grinned back.  

I scowled. 

Exiting the jungle onto a pebbly riverside, I clambered to the water to show off my stone-skimming prowess. Willmong sat down by the jungle edge, busy with a new project.  

 ‘Hey Jen, check out this talent!’ I slung the stone. ‘Three bounces! Yes. Can you do that Will-mong?’ 

‘Will-man,’ he insisted and presented Jen with a water bottle carrier he had weaved in the time it took my stone to sink. Jen thanked him again, delighted to sport all the latest Amazon fashions. 'Now that is impressive!'

‘What?’ I snapped. I refused to be usurped by handicrafts and trinkets! 

Will-son brought the boat around for us to catch our supper. Armed with my recent experience fishing for piranha, this was the perfect opportunity to put Willmong back in his place. 

He dragged the matted net off the boat and I grabbed another end to untangle it.  

He pulled one side over and I pulled the other, then he pulled again and I pulled harder to make my point. The net remained as tangled as ever. 

‘And how many fish you think we need?’ Willmong tightened his grip. 

 ‘Depends how big they are,’ I growled, tugging even harder. 

Willmong and his son stretched out the net across the river, wading into the fast-flowing water. I’d have helped, but I was barefoot and the stones hurt. So instead, I sat in the boat with Jen. And kept an eye on her. 

Willmong cheered as he made a catch and Will-son delivered the fish to me for approval. As I posed for a photo, the fish suddenly thrashed. It lurched out of my hands and hit the deck. Jen screamed as it slashed her ankles with its sharp scales. I picked it up, but as we wrestled it slipped down my front and fell back into the water. Oops, there went our dinner.

‘For example, in my community,’ chuckled Willmong ‘It is not possible to see someone drop fish - like you drop.’ 

‘Oh yeah?’ I muttered. ‘Well in your community it is not possible to get a full cup of coffee.’ 

Willmong banged on about it all the way to the day’s final activity, a visit to a sanctuary for scarlet macaw, the colourful and iconic parrot of South America.  

The inlet of the shore brought us to a still river-crossing with tall grass at each end and mud so sloppy and deep it was like quick sand. Willmong climbed up a tree and broke us each a large stick for balance. 

‘Wow. He’s like Tarzan.’ Jen gushed.  

I turned down his stick and found my own.  

To check the depth, I prodded the water with my stick, stretching out as far as I could.  

‘Don’t drop it!’ Willmong howled, slapping his thighs with laughter. 

I ignored him and removed my trousers to spare them getting soaked.

Willmong and his son charged on ahead while Jen and I slowly followed. My stick gave no balance. I pulled it up and saw it had bent and gone floppy. I cast it into the water. Reaching the other side, the mud was even worse, and I sank to my knees, trapped. 

Willmong smirked. ‘You need help?’ 

‘No, I’m doing great thanks.'
Jen gratefully accepted his offer.  

The second crossing was more precarious. The current moved quickly and the water was deeper. Willmong and his son prodded the river with their sticks. After some deliberation, Willmong picked a spot to cross from.  

‘Why not over there?’ I demanded, pointing further down river, intent on being part of the decision-making process. 

‘Down there too deep – and caiman.’ 

‘Caiman? Oh shit.’ I could see them now, dotted along the muddy banks. ‘Right. Well I also agree then that we should cross here.’ 

Jen pulled anxiously at my arm. ‘You telling me there’s crocodiles?’ 

‘I'll look after you.’ No need to fret with the real Will-Man here. 

I tied my shoes by their laces and slung them over my shoulder. Willmong entered the river first, followed by his son. Jen kept close behind me. The water was cold and even putting just a foot in I could feel the current clawing at me. Each step hurt from the hard pebbles underfoot. I gritted through the pain. Willmong and his son made quick progress but Jen and I struggled.  

Jen yelped ‘Will, I’m slipping!’ 

As I turned to check on her, she barked at me ‘No keep going! When I stop it takes me!’ 

The caimans watched, jaws open ready to catch us. The river was now over my waist. I was no longer in control of the current. It pulled me sideways. My feet ached as I planted them into the pebbles to keep upright. I couldn’t take any more of it. I think we had made a big mistake, but we couldn’t turn back. Willmong and his son waved from the bank. 
'Will! Will! It's too strong!' Jen was far behind me. She had dug in her stick to hold her weight and was pinned into that spot. 

‘Will!’ She squealed, the current splashing up over her face. 

SNAAAAAP! Jen’s stick broke and she fell, instantly up to her neck in water. ‘Help me!’ She wailed, pulled well beyond my reach. As I watched her dragged towards the caimans, the current knocked me sideways and I slid over the pebbles. Pain fired up my leg. 

‘Will-MAN!’ I shouted, panic overcoming me. The two of them dived back into the water. 

‘Quickly!’ I threw my arms out ‘Help me!’ 

Sorry Jen. In the jungle, it’s every tourist for himself. 

                                       ***

‘Your son is so brave!’ Jen gasped. We were soaked and exhausted, slumped down by the river bank. ‘I thought I was gonna die.’ 

Jen was shaken but at least hadn’t suffered the ignominy that I had, of being dragged out by my underpants.  

As we hacked through the bush, she kept fawning. 

‘He was just so brave... Threw himself in the water... So strong...’  

She clapped Will-son on the back. ‘Thank you so much.’ 

He shrugged and grinned. I rolled my eyes. 

We found the information hut which had long been abandoned. Now it was little more than a wildlife shelter, with bat nests in the thatched roof and the floor piled with droppings. One corner was thick with webbing. ‘Tarantula nest.’ Willmong whispered. 

'I still can't get my breath,' Jen trembled. 'I just need a good cry and I'll be ok.' I gave her a hug.

The sanctuary was further along a broken wooden boulevard. We leaped over missing planks. The river crossing and bush hacking all seemed an elaborate entry. Had we sneaked in a back way to dodge paying park entry fees? 

Willmong grabbed me ‘Jaguar - look!’ He pointed into the bush. 

‘Get the camera!’ I hissed at Jen, spotting the jaguar stalking us from the bushes. 

Willmong erupted in laughter. ‘Only plastic.’  

I looked again at the still jaguar, now obviously fake. He got me, damnit!

At the macaw sanctuary was a tower. Willmong and his son left us to climb alone and at the top Jen started to settle. We had an excellent view of the cliff face, pocked with holes where the beautiful macaws flew in and out. I used the binoculars to track them better. A display board explained that the birds couple up and remain monogamous for life. A bit like Jen and I – spending way too much time together!  

‘I think I was also pretty brave back then.’ I pawed at Jen’s sleeve. 

She was looking through the binoculars and didn’t respond. 

‘Aye?’ Sometimes she requires prompting. 

‘Yes Will. You were also pretty brave.’ Hell yeah I was!  

I may have ceded the title of Will-Man of the Jungle somewhere in that last river, but at least I was still her Will-Man! 

Like a pair of macaws, we had flown through our Amazon adventure, stuck together for better or worse.