"Anna M" Monthly Report - August 2003
'Anna M' is anchored at last in a quiet stretch of water some 70 kilometers from the sea, among the many thousands of kilometers of water-ways threading intricately through tropical rain-forest that comprise the Orinoco Delta of Venezuela. It is the rainy season, and as I begin this story, the heat of the day has exploded into thunder and lashing rain. It is a strange story, how I have come to be here, instead of back in Ireland after the Spring's expedition following whales to the Cape Verde Islands. The story begins on the 25th May, a Sunday afternoon when we were taking some r & r at Foxy's Wooden Boat Regatta, starting a light-hearted race at Jost Van Dyke Island in the British Virgin Islands.

The damage, though considerable, was not of a serious structural nature. Rob and Roxanne of the 'Windolee' were full of apologies, and urged us to come back with them to Benner Bay on St Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Isles, where they would make good the damage as quickly as possible at the Independent Boat Yard. So I was introduced to the Lagoonies, a little tribe of yachties who have found work in those parts, live aboard their boats about the lagoon there, with a strong social life centering on a couple of dock-side bars. This was grand, but the work dock in the heart of the lagoon where the mosquitoes thrive by night and the sun beats down by day is not the most pleasant of spots, and the arrangement of bits of wood into the beautiful form of a boat takes time. Myself and the crew went home to Ireland.

They had summer jobs lined up. I was back after 3 weeks when most of the work was done, though a week's footering remained. It was June 30th when 'Anna M' was finally ready again. Now the received wisdom is that one should undertake the sometimes stormy passage from the Caribbean to the Azores in May or June, so as to arrive in Horta before the beginning of the hurricane season and the month of July. Besides which, there had been some other developments while I was at home, the most remarkable being that I had made contact through the internet with a certain Anthony who runs eco-tours in the Orinoco Delta. You may see more for yourself at <www.orinocodelta.com>. Considering my options, I thought that there might be an opening to work with him, bringing adventurous types from Trinidad to connect with his expeditions. Anthony had responded enthusiastically.

At this stage my funds were very low, so the only option was to head south as quickly as possible. Scouting for a crew among the Lagoonies, the only person who was interested in being my ship-mate was a girl called Andrea, who had been aboard the 'Windolee' when she hit us, and had rather fallen for the 'Anna M', whatever about her skipper. Anyway she understood my project and liked it, and we set sail together on the wind-ward slog to Antigua, through strong winds from a 'tropical disturbance' that delayed us for 2 days in Guadaloupe while it decided whether or not to develop into a hurricane, and then on by easier stages to Trinidad. Escorted by bottlenose dolphins in the light of a full moon, we raised the dramatic northern entrance to the Gulf of Paria, and after 2 nights in Chaguaramas were on our way across it to the Orinoco Delta.

Sailing those last 45 miles, one crosses also a very much bigger gulf. In Chaguaramas, one has an excellent dock with every facility of the modern world, to the highest of standards. The same modern world is still with you, in the form of some massive flaring oil wells, when you reach Pedernales; but humanly one is in an utterly different world. This is where Columbus finally, on his third voyage, hit the South American continent, concluding he had done so by the huge amount of fresh water emptying into the sea; too much, he realized, to be coming from yet another island. That was a black day for this continent, in the opinion of my new friend Anthony, who now boarded the 'Anna M' from a fiberglass skiff powered by two big out-boards.

Everything moves by outboard around Pedernales; there is no road to the place except the rivers. Not a car to be seen, only an out-board engine workshop on the wooden quay-side. So Anthony began to tell me of the Orinoco and its people, the Warao, which means the 'Canoe People', for they live constantly plying the waters of the Delta in their dug-out canoes. It is they who gave the name to the mighty river that sustains them, which means 'Father of our Country'.

Here there are thousands of kilometers of waterways, threading through dense tropical rain forest. This northern part of the Delta has been somewhat tamed, by a massive dam which controls the flow of the river here. This had the advantage for the Warao that their homes did not have to built on high stilts any more, as they still do in the southern part of the Delta; they do not have the same floods to contend with. It has the advantage for cattle ranchers that large areas of forest could be cleared and the land drained. But who considered that the salt water would invade much more of the fresh water delta, and it is this upon which the Warao primarily depend, so that the changing of the habitat drove the Warao up-river, while there the cattle ranchers were impinging? Or who considered that without the floods to clear the channels, many of them would become choked with water hyacinth?

Those who power around the Caribbean in massive sleek speed boats, or choke every town in the developed world with large tin boxes belching fumes that are poisoning the planet, who consume and destroy everything in sight, tend to think they are more important than primitive people whose house is a roof of thatch on a structure of poles, whose principal technology is a dug-out canoe.

They're the guys who reckon to call the shots. But I am inclined to agree with Anthony that we might try reminding them, they don't even appear to be happy, like the smiling Warao children who play so gracefully in their canoes. We might just also rise to saying, that if you guys reckon to go on smashing and grabbing to have your way, you'll have to do it over our dead bodies!

But to get back to our story, I was bursting with curiosity to find out about the guy who was boarding my boat in Pedernales. He had very good English and he seemed like a North American; but as we all know, they are a very mixed bag indeed, which for me is a large part of the appeal of the place. As a Catholic, I am committed to the concept of a single human community, and cannot but regard the USA as something of a vanguard for this community, for all its and Columbus' and my own and everyone else's sins. We Catholics are after all not bad at recognizing some at least of our sins. But where on earth could this Anthony be coming from?

The answer emerged from his stories as a little boy cowering from bombs in Jerusalem and Amman. His roots are Palestinian and Muslim. Well, that's fine by me; this is a great time for all those who really respect this planet, and value all its entire human and spiritual heritage, to show solidarity together. So anyway, Anthony left us a guide and zoomed off with his two big Yamahas, while the 'Anna M' followed gently under sail, till the wind failed and Mr Perkins had to do most of the work.

Miles and miles of dense jungle slid past, humming and vibrating with the sounds of frogs and crickets, bedecked with many birds that I've never seen before, parrots and scarlet cranes and kites, with butterflies and dragon-flies. In the jungle live jaguars and pumas and monkeys, and in the river there are 2 dolphins species and also manatee besides the many fish, tarpon and cat-fish.

It was two in the afternoon, when we left Pedernales with the turn of the tide. In the dark we still went on, the river lit by frequent lightening. I heard an indignant snort from a dolphin who evidently did not appreciate our disturbance of his snoozes. Finally the way was more and more clogged with great rafts of water hyacinth, and we decided to rest for a couple of hours, till the moon would come up. On we went, till tiredness got the better of me as the tide turned and our progress became painfully slow. Another rest, a last effort in the morning, and at last we came to 'El Campamento'.

So here Anthony and his brother Hani have been entertaining us at their beautiful lodge. Like the Indian houses, it consists of a palm-thatch roof on a structure of poles, though it is on a much grander scale, the centre ridge about 40 feet (11 meters) high. Below is a huge tiled floor some 40 yards long by 20 wide. At one end is a bar, at the other a kitchen, and in between there are clusters of comfortable chairs, or long tables with hard wooden ones, and verdant plants spreading broad leaves between them. As I have sat at Anthony's lap-top to write this, a monkey has joined me to investigate, a vivid blue and yellow parrot has squawked the odd comment behind me, a few bugs have bitten me, and a cool breeze off the river has cooled me.

The house looks out on a broad wooden landing stage that runs its full length. On it a few dogs, a jaguar and a giant otter disport themselves. Beyond it is the river, and the 'Anna M' lying peacefully at anchor, and the bright tangle of trees beyond. Andrea has been dividing her time between fascinating the Indians with our little sailing dinghy and trying their canoes. We have been making our plans with Anthony and Hani. In a couple of days we shall go back down the river, and cross the Gulf again to Chaguaramas, and seriously set about looking for clients for our joint expeditions, from Chaguaramas to the Orinoco. I would like you to come, experience the beauty for yourself, and make another little statement about how you value our beautiful world.

Joe Aston,
Orinoco Lodge, 7/18/2003

Anyone interested in participating should e-mail Anthony at www.orinocodelta.com or Joe at svannam@eircom.net.
Price indication, from Chaguaramas, Trinidad, to the Orinoco Delta, Venezuela, return and all food included, is US$450.00 per person for a 5 day trip. Trips may be extended at the rate of $90.00 per day.