In Unknown British
Guiana -Part 4
By A. Hyatt
Verrill
From The Wide World Magazine, December
1918, Vol. XLII, No. 248?, American
Edition. Digitized by Doug Frizzle, April 2014.
Illustrated
from photographs
It is no
exaggeration to say that British Guiana , a
vast stretch of territory on the shoulders of the South American Continent, is
one of the least-known portions of the globe. Here are great primeval forests,
mighty rivers, huge waterfalls, extensive plateaus, and great mountain ranges,
where dwell strange Indian tribes and quaint animal life of which virtually
nothing is known. The Author, who has made it his business to penetrate into
the unknown interior of this land, has specially written for "The Wide
World Magazine" an account of his journeys and adventures, which will be
found of absorbing interest. He discovered large rivers and mountains whose
existence was unknown, and stumbled across primitive races who had never seen a
white man before. His striking photographs give an added value to a fascinating
narrative.
HIDDEN in the
heart of British Guiana—almost unknown to the outside world and yet within
comparatively easy reach of Georgetown, the busy, attractive, up-to-date
capital of the colony—is Kaietuerk, the cataract incomparable, a stupendous waterfall
five times the size of Niagara and in a tropic setting whose beauty cannot be
excelled in all the world.
To visit
Kaietuerk is by no means difficult, and the round trip may be made from Georgetown in less than
ten days and at a total expense of less than two hundred dollars, or forty
pounds sterling. It seems incredible that in these days of progress a country
should possess such a world wonder as Kaietuerk Falls Georgetown ,
and yet one must travel for five days by steamer, railway, and small boat in
order to reach the cataract. For a comparatively small outlay the falls could
be brought within two days' travel of the capital, but in a way it is fortunate
that it is unexploited, for the very wildness of its surroundings, its
untouched, unspoiled beauty, its solitude, and its freedom from crowds of
visitors are among its greatest attractions. Here, in the presence of
Kaietuerk, with civilization left miles behind, with only Indian guides as
one's companions, and with the vast interminable forest stretching to the very
heart of South America , one feels as if he
were the first human being to gaze upon the marvellous sight.
There are two
ways of reaching Kaietuerk: the first by steamer and rail to Rockstone, the other
by boat up the Essequibo from Bartica and
through the rapids to Rockstone.
If one be in
hurry, or desire comfort and ease, by all means take the first route; but if
you would really see the "bush” with its wealth of wild life and its
vegetable wonders, and would taste the thrill of adventure, the spell of the
wilderness, and the excitement of a journey through the jungle, then travel up
the Essequibo.
Although the
falls and rapids which stretch between Bartica and Rockstone are considered
among the most dangerous in the colony, yet in the dry season, and with a good
crew of six men, a captain, and a bowman, there is no danger, for the greatest
peril is in running down the rapids; there is nothing to worry over when going
up, although there is plenty of excitement and thrills. Bartica is a tiny
frontier settlement at the head of steamer navigation on the Essequibo ,
and here one may always secure a boat and crew. The prime necessity is a
competent captain and bowman, and with these engaged all other details may be
left in their hands.
Propelled by
the powerful strokes of the eight paddlers, the craft sweeps swiftly up the tranquil
river and soon leaves the last outlying houses of Bartica astern. Low in the
east the sun is painting the sky in gorgeous crimson and gold; above the
league-wide river hangs a curtain of gossamer mist; parrots wing screaming
overhead, macaws screech and toucans clatter and yelp from the tree-tops, and
from the forest depths issue the countless songs, notes, and cries of awakening
life. Then the clearings and lime orchards of Agatash are passed, and nought
but the untamed wilderness stretches ahead for forty miles along the river's
banks. Close to the shore the boat skirts the rank green jungle with its dark,
mysterious shadows and giant trees, while strange birds and great sky-blue
butterflies flit amid the labyrinth of roots, vines, palms, and foliage—an
impenetrable barrier, a living wall, through which one cannot move a yard
without hewing a way.
Just before
sundown the boat is run upon the sandy beach of a wooded island and the men
bustle about preparing camp. While some "catch" a fire, others are busy
clearing a small opening in the brush, and others again are cutting poles and
stakes, and in a wonderfully short time the big tarpaulin, which forms a part
of every outfit in the bush, is stretched across a pole between two trees and
in its shelter the hammocks are slung. As the velvet-black night descends upon
river and forest a wonderful picture is presented, a scene beyond the power of
brush to paint or pen to describe. Against the background of the giant trees
glow the camp-fires, touching the great trunks with ruddy lights, filling the
air with the pungent odour of smoke, and transforming the old tarpaulin to a
canopy of gold. Squatting on their haunches, leaning against the trees, or
lolling in their hammocks are the men, their brawny limbs and half-savage
features gleaming like polished bronze in the fitful light, while all about the
giant lantern-flies twinkle and flash like animated incandescent lights. Borne
down the river on the cool night wind comes the distant roar of the falls; from
afar in the forest echoes the weird scream of a jaguar; a soft-winged
goatsucker cries querulously, complainingly, as it flits by, and from every
side issue the countless croaks, trills, whistles, and booming notes of
innumerable frogs. Then a sudden shower rattles like hail upon the canvas roof
and quenches the glowing embers of the fire, the forest voices are hushed, and
silence falls like a curtain over the wilderness.
Long ere the
sun has risen, everything is again stowed in the boat and is covered with
tightly-lashed tarpaulin, and once more the flashing paddles are urging the
boat upstream.
Within half a
mile of camp are the river falls, in reality a rapid with the brown water
churned to amber foam where it swirls and eddies over hidden rocks and between
jutting fangs of granite. At the foot of the falls the boat is paddled
alongside a mass of rocks and the passenger steps ashore, while the men uncoil
long bow and stern lines and prepare to haul the craft through the boiling
waters.
Waist-deep in
the rushing flood, they struggle up against the current, securing precarious
footholds on slippery submerged rocks, and bending their backs to the strain of
the rope. Others, holding the stern line, brace themselves for the supreme
effort; the captain, huge paddle in hand, stands erect in the stern, directing,
encouraging, and guiding, while the gigantic bowman, submerged save for head
and shoulders, exerts the mighty strength of his back against the bow—a human
buffer between the boat and the jagged rocks. Slowly the boat forges ahead to
the irresistible drag of six pairs of knotted muscular arms; the water dashes
and roars high above the bow; the stern is swung deftly by line and paddle, and
a minute later the heavy craft emerges from the turmoil and floats quietly on a
smooth backwater above the falls.
Within ten
minutes after re-embarking above the first rapids you are compelled to
disembark again as another series of rapids is reached, and throughout the day
the traveller does little else than clamber in and out of the boat as one rapid
follows another. But even if one loses interest in watching the men, there is
still much to occupy one's attention. On every side are thousands of rocks and
ledges surrounded by water rushing and roaring like a mill-race, and every rock
and boulder bears its own crown of vegetation and its quota of life. Everywhere
the rocks appear as if covered with a stubbly beard, and a closer examination
reveals the fact that this is a curious, sedge-like plant with delicate pink
blooms which somehow finds roothold and sustenance on the smooth, bare surface
of these water-washed rocks.
But blasé indeed must be he whose attention
is not riveted on the toiling men, or whose pulses do not quicken at their
constant perils, escaped by almost superhuman efforts. In places the raging
waters tear between rocky barriers scarce wide enough to permit the passage of
the boat; in other places the waters above the falls run black, deep, and
ominous, and the men are forced to swim ahead with towlines grasped in their
teeth in order to reach a foothold from which to haul their craft upstream. Now
and again the water roars in cataracts over dam-like dykes where the boat
cannot float, and by herculean efforts the sweating, toiling men actually lift
their craft and drag her to deeper water by main strength.
But they never
hesitate, never grumble, never shirk. Their lives and yours are at stake, and
though the waters are infested with the dreaded Perai fish, though the cry of
"Cayman!" often causes the crew to glance apprehensively about, and
though ever and again some man loses his footing and is swept from the line,
they take it all in the light of a frolic and laugh heartily at one another's
mishaps.
It is
thrilling enough as one watches their progress from the safe, dry vantage-point
of the rocks, but the real excitement comes when, in certain spots, the
traveller remains in the boat while the rapids are conquered.
Perchance,
when paddling furiously to stem a series of small rapids, the boat may be
caught by an unseen cross-current, and, despite the frantic efforts of the men,
it is dashed full upon a submerged rock.
With a blow
that all but throws you from your seat, the heavy craft crashes against the
reef, rides half its length over it, swings as on a pivot, and tips perilously.
But ere it can capsize or fill, the men leap overboard, some breast deep,
others buried in the torrent to their mouths, and others swimming, and by dint
of sheer strength they lift the boat and push it into deep water. Then, with
the agility of monkeys, they clamber over the gunwales, grasp paddies once
more, and drive the boat through the rapids to safety. It is a marvellous
exhibition of skill, pluck, and concerted instantaneous action. If they
hesitate, if one fails at the critical moment, nothing can prevent a capsize or
a washout with loss of provisions and possible loss of life.
Sometimes,
too, there are huge treacherous whirlpools to be passed, great swirling oval
spaces below or above the falls. With every ounce of their strength the eight
men ply their paddles, the boat hangs motionless for one instant, the bow
quivers and vibrates to the drag of the water, and then the craft darts
forward. High above the gunwales boils the maelstrom as the centre of the pool
is reached; the boat seems actually to rear on end; it slides up a hill of
racing water, and ere you have time to realize it is accomplished, the boat is
beyond the danger-point and is safe in a narrow, swift-flowing channel. It is
no place for the timid, no trip for the nervous; but exhilarating, exciting,
stirring beyond compare for those who love a spice of danger and a novel
experience.
But while
falls and rapids innumerable are passed through, the river is by no means all
broken water. Between the various falls the stream stretches for miles, broad,
unbroken, tranquil, placid as an inland lake, and walled by primeval bush which
is reflected in the oillike water as on a polished mirror. No sign of man or of
his handicraft is visible; one can scarce believe that fellow-men have ever passed
this way, and the traveller feels as if he were in the very heart of the
wilderness, in a land untamed, untouched, and all but unknown.
On every hand
rises the vast forest, the enormous trees towering for near two hundred feet
above the river banks, and so bound together with lianas, so densely foliaged,
so overgrown and covered with vines and creepers that the forest appears like a
stupendous curtain of green velvet draped in graceful folds above the quiet
river.
Overhead
toucans, parrots, macaws, and many smaller birds wing their noisy way from
shore to shore; crested eagles and great white-headed hawks soar majestically
in vast circles; great-billed terns and pied skimmers preen their plumage on
golden sand-bars, and thousands of steel-blue dainty swallows rise in vast
clouds from their resting-places on the ledges. And as the boat skirts the
forest's edge, hosts of vicious little vampire bats flutter from the
tree-trunks and, winging an erratic course for a few yards, again flatten
themselves against the bark of other trees, where instantly they become
invisible. From before the boat, shoals of fresh-water flying-fish spring from
the glassy surface of the stream and skitter off like skipping-stones, or a
clumsy tapir or startled capybara crashes into the forest in headlong flight.
And now the
last rapids have been passed, the boat speeds swiftly up the smooth river, it
sweeps around a wooded bend, and ahead are the broad cleared lands and the
scattered buildings of Rockstone.
This town is
of no importance, save as the terminus of the railway from Wismar ,
on the Demerara River ,
which was built to obviate the necessity of travelling up the line from Bartica
in order to reach the Upper Essequibo and the
hinterland. At Rockstone the boat and its Bartica crew may be dismissed, for
noisy, ill-smelling, kerosene-burning river-boats ply up and down the river
between the town and Tumatumari.
The trip up
the Essequibo above Rockstone seems tame indeed by comparison with the journey
from Bartica, but once or twice glimpses of distant mountains may be seen, and
at the mouth of the Potaro a brief stop is made before continuing the voyage up
the Potaro River
Tumatumari is
a very beautiful spot, with its four foaming cataracts roaring between their
wooded islands just below the rest-house windows, and there are few places in
the tropics which could be transformed into more desirable resorts in which to
spend one's time. There is an abundance of game in the forests; the river teems
with fish; there are extensive gold placers four miles back in the bush, and
close to the settlement are several good-sized Indian villages, while the air
is delightfully cool and invigorating and the scenery is magnificent.
As the falls
are practically impassable, it is necessary to walk for half a mile over a good
road to the head of the cataracts, and from here a launch continues the journey
to Potaro Landing, about a dozen miles up the river. This landing is at the
head of launch navigation, and it is also the terminus of the road leading into
the Minnehaha and other goldmines. From this spot the traveller must tramp
about seven miles to Kangaruma, but as much of the distance is through the
dense forest it is cool and shady. This detour is made necessary because of Pakutuerk Falls Pakutuerk
Falls
At Kangaruma
one embarks once more in a batteau and is paddled swiftly up the ever-narrowing
river towards Amaktuerk.
Wilder and
more luxuriant becomes the forest; ever more beautiful becomes the winding
river, the charming islets, and the vistas of mirror-like stream. Far away
above the endless bush loom the blue Pakaraima
Mountains Amaktuerk Falls
are by far the most attractive on the Potaro
and their setting is perfection itself. Here, above the falls, and directly
across the river from the towering Amaktuerk Mountain, is a tiny rest-house,
and it would be hard to find a more charming spot in which to spend the night.
Portaging the luggage around Amaktuerk, another boat is taken above the falls,
and from here, on, the traveller is in the heart of Guiana 's
scenic wonderland. On every hand the great isolated mountains rear their bare
precipitous faces and forest-clad slopes for thousands of feet above the sea of
forest, while fleecy clouds drift lazily across their frowning ramparts.
Mirrored in the river, they appear twice their height and seem to overhang the
passing boat; but, in reality, miles of impenetrable forest stretch from the
river bank to their feet. Of them all, perhaps Kukuieng, or Hawk's Nest, is the
most impressive and the most conspicuous, for it rises abruptly from the
forest, its turret-like form and rocky battlements startlingly resembling some
titanic castle, and for mile after mile it is ever within sight. But no matter
where one looks, mountain after mountain may be seen, and with each mile they
increase in numbers and in size as they merge into the stupendous gorge which
forms a fitting approach, a worthy gateway, to the world's highest waterfall.
By noon the falls of Waraktuerk
And then, at
last, the boat is run ashore at Tukuit, the journey by river is at an end, and
preparations are made for the climb over the mountains to the falls on the
following morning.
Tukuit is a
beautiful spot surrounded by great wooded mountains with the silvery river at
their feet, while directly across from the rest-house a lovely cataract issues
from the verdure and plunges down for hundreds of feet to lose itself in masses
of trees above the clouds. In many lands this fall in itself would considered a
wonderful sight and worthy of the pilgrimage, but in this gorge of stupendous
proportions, in the presence of titanic Kaietuerk, and amid such an excess of
sublime scenery, this cataract and a dozen or more like it pass unnoticed.
Although
several women have made the climb to Kaietuerk, yet it is a fearful trail and
no easy walk even for an able-bodied man. Formerly there was an easier, zigzag
trail, but this is now, or was until very recently, impassable with fallen
trees, and one must clamber, or rather claw, a way straight up the mountain
side in the dry bed of a water-course. It cannot by any stretch of the
imagination be called a path, for it is filled with loose boulders of every
size, deep holes and crevices, slippery mud, and gnarled, moss-grown roots. It
is a good two hours' climb up a slope of about sixty degrees to the summit of
the first ridge, which is marked by a large tree on whose bark is deeply carved
the word "Amen."
Beyond here
the way is comparatively easy, for it leads across a narrow, hog-backed ridge
between two deep gorges and is fairly level. Here, if one proceeds quietly, may
be seen the gorgeous cock of the rock, whose orange plumage glows like fire
amid the leaves, for about Kaietuerk these rare birds are fairly common, and in
the breeding season they may be seen performing their remarkable
"dances" on the little open spaces among the rocks, which the birds
clear for the purpose. Three hours after leaving Tukuit, the Kaietuerk Plateau
is reached, a weird, strange place, so different from the forest that the
traveller feels as if he had entered another land, and it is hard to believe
that one is still in British Guiana .
Everywhere are the strange giant lily-like bromelias peculiar to the region;
here and there among the rocks are clumps of remarkable, grotesquely-flowered
orchids; pretty sundews carpet the ground in spots, and grey lichens lend a
northern aspect to the place, while clumps of bracken and nodding blue
harebells seem out of place here in the tropics. Even the birds and butterflies
are different from those of the lower levels, for the Kaietuerk Plateau has a
flora and a fauna of its own. But, on the whole, it is a dreary and barren
scene; a waste of smooth, water-worn rock and stagnant pools of rain-water, across
which the visitor hurries towards the brink of the falls.
Throughout my
life I have prided myself on never feeling nervous or dizzy at great heights. I
have stood on lofty mountain peaks; I have climbed to the trucks of ships'
masts rolling in a seaway, and I have gazed down at teeming city streets from
the narrow steel beams of half-finished skyscrapers, and never have I felt ill
at ease. But when, for the first time, I stepped boldly to the brink of
Kaietuerk Gorge, I beat a precipitate retreat and sat down among the bushes a
dozen yards from the edge.
I had expected
to look down for an enormous distance, but I also expected to see some tangible
connection between the brink of the plateau and the bottom of the gorge.
Instead, I found myself standing isolated on a narrow, outjutting, shelving
rock in mid-air, with nothing but space between me and the tiny thread of river
a thousand feet below.
There is
something so unexpected about this absence of a sloping, or even a precipitous,
mountain side beneath one's feet that it quite takes one's breath away, while
the motion of the falls and the rising spray gives one the sensation of
plunging forward into the abyss. The feeling soon wears off, however, and in a
short time I found I could approach the brink without trembling and could even
lie down and peer into the gorge; but I confess that I had an irresistible
desire to hold on to something whenever I drew near the brink.
There are some
things in the world which are impossible to describe, and Kaietuerk is one of
them, for words utterly fail to convey any adequate idea of the falls and the
gorge. It is something which must be seen to be realized, and even the most
perfect photographs fall far short of the reality.
Kaietuerk
cannot be properly described as beautiful, for it is far more than that. It is
awe-inspiring, sublime, overwhelming, and terrifying in its grandeur. It is the
very epitome of stupendous power and titanic strength; immeasurable,
irresistible, incomparable. In its presence one feels puny, helpless, and
insignificant. Gazing upon it the beholder is filled with quaking, unreasonable
dread, and yet is fascinated as by some gigantic savage beast of magnificent
form and perfect grace. It is a sight so sublime, so marvellous, so stupendous
that the human mind cannot grasp it all at once, and one must gaze long upon it,
must remain in its presence for hours, and must become accustomed to the
titanic scale of one's surroundings ere it is possible to appreciate Kaietuerk
in full. Only by comparison with other objects can we realize the tremendous
size, the overwhelming scale of the falls and the gorge: for the proportions
are so perfect, the distances so deceptive, and the surroundings so vast that
the cataract itself seems but a mere detail of the whole.
Far down, in
the depths below the falls, we see a soft green carpet which we take for moss
studded with pebbles. Then, with almost a shock, we discover that the apparent
moss is in reality a forest of giant trees, that the pebbles are enormous
masses of rock weighing hundreds of tons, and that the clinging vines and
fern-like growths about them are immense bush ropes and lofty palms. It is the
same with the falls themselves. At first sight they appear surprisingly small,
and we cannot realize that the gleaming mass is plunging through space for near
a thousand feet and is almost a mile distant. But little by little the scene
assumes its true proportions. A man standing beside the verge of the falls
appears a mere speck, almost invisible. We noticed that not a drop of real
water ever reaches the deep pool below; that so stupendous is the drop that the
falling masses are transformed to spray-long ere they reach the limit of their
descent and appear more like falling smoke than water, and then it dawns suddenly
upon us that there is something lacking, that there is no deafening roar, no
audible evidence of a gigantic cataract; that there is scarce more noise than
would be made by the rush of water over a good-sized mill-dam, that the only
sound is that of the torrent pouring over the brink of the falls, and that
standing at the very verge of the cataract there is no difficulty in conversing
in ordinary tones.
Could one but
reach the base of Kaietuerk a far better idea of its size could be obtained,
but the difficulties in doing this are almost insurmountable. One or two men
have gained the foot of Kaietuerk by almost superhuman efforts, arduously
climbing over immense masses of fallen rock and lowering themselves down
precipices by ropes. The vast forest conceals the true character of the
country, and it is difficult to believe that beneath the mantle of green are
stupendous precipices, black fathomless ravines, and a chaotic mass of boulders
and broken rock. The only feasible route by land is close to the river, but
with light canoes it would be a comparatively easy, although a slow journey,
the only difficulty being to carry the canoes around the several rapids and
falls between Tukuit and Kaietuerk.
Perhaps the
greatest attraction of Kaietuerk is that it is never twice the same. Every
moment it changes; with every breath of wind, with each variation of light,
with every passing cloud, it takes on a different aspect. And scarcely less
sublime, scarcely less marvellous than the cataract itself, is the stupendous gorge
stretching from the falls for miles into the dim and hazy distance. Wonderfully
beautiful is this gorge, hemmed between vast forest-covered mountains and
plateaux of a myriad shades of green, with its frowning precipices and black
ravines, purple in the shadows and golden in the sunlight, while between the
mighty ramparts flows the slender silver thread of river which, through untold
and countless centuries, has cut this titanic scarf through the heart of the
enduring rock.
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