The next few days were a hot, green blur.

We ended up on a side trip that quit at a cul-de-sac, forcing us to turn around and paddle upstream for a few hundred yards.  The sky remained mostly cloudless.  I expressed sarcastic doubt about whether we were really in a rain forest due to the noticeable absence of precipitation.

Our trip hugged the tail end of the wet season here though, and the Guapore was showing signs of a thickened waist after the indulgence of the rains.  The dark river water crept into the thick of trees, partially submerging some and making them dance for survival.  There were few dry areas to stop.

I was relishing the heat – absorbing it into every inch of my body.  When I left Goldstream Valley in mid-May, the days were lengthening, but the snow in my yard not fully melted.  We hadn’t emerged yet from winter in the North.  Sweating felt great.

Our first full day out , we stopped for a a short break at a pasture area with cows – the characteristically boney, white cattle of the Amazon.  They viewed us with boredom.   A black version of the characteristically boney white walked slowly to the river’s edge to lap some refreshment, engulfed in a swarm of yellow butterflies.

I made a few attempts at catching a little fish.  My goal was to use this little fish to catch a piranha, which seemed a reasonable goal considering the abundance of these toothy, pack-oriented fish in the Guapore.  I had a line, hook, weight, and some bread for bait.  No such luck.  I would try again periodically throughout the next week and a half, but to no avail.  I did, however, eventually acquire a sturdy – though small – stick that served nicely as a pole and made me feel like Huck Finn, if nothing else.  Still, I remained hopeful; we passed several fishermen – some with floorboards flopping and thrashing with scaly beasts.

After our first full day on the river, we pulled up to a fazenda to camp.  In my journal, I scribbled a name – Pousada Fazenda.

This might or might not be accurate.  But what is true it that the sight of this fazenda was stunning from the river – an oasis of land and palm trees after paddling in the heat from 9:30 a.m. until 4:30 p.m.  There were some people there – a couple guys and a chubby teenage kid.  He said his dad owned the property and that it was fine that we camped – as long as we went outside the fence a little ways upstream.

Brooke was craving a swim and asked if it was safe.  The guys laughed and shook their heads – electric eels were also swimming, best to keep out of their way.

The presence of these eels (with an electrical current strong enough to stop a man’s heart, according to our animal guidebook) would keep us out of the water for most of the trip, forcing us to resort to periodically shedding clothing, submerging it entirely in the river, and putting it back on to keep cool.  Sometimes, we would brace the canoes while one of us leaned over backwards and soaked the head, hair, back of the neck.

We made it much further this day than the one before.  Below is a map of our progress thus far:

This map is interesting because it shows how the river, while engulfed in green forest, is surrounded entirely by a network of farms, ranches, and roads.  It is a bit deceiving on the river. Our expedition felt far removed from development and yet there it was, swaddled around us.  I would learn too that even all this development is a bit deceiving.  The Amazon Basin has continuously fooled would-be farmers and ranchers, intent on turning the seemingly lush landscape into an economic resource.  The soil is nutrient-poor, however, and sandy.  Cattle need exceedingly large tracts of land upon which to live and farms remain viable for only a short amount of time.

Still, we felt lucky to be here, traveling by boat through this lush landscape.   We relished that we could not see beyond the green walls.  We also enjoyed meeting people along the way – fishermen, farmhands, resort workers, tourists, families.  This wide, sulky river teems with life.