Amazonas

Exactly a year ago,  myself,  my paddling mate Erik and another friend  Manny  did 

a canoe trip down the Rio Branco to the Rio Negro,  in the northern part of Brazil's
Amazon jungle. It was a great trip,  completely off the grid,  paddling in a local hardwood
canoe from the town of Boa Vista to the mouth of the Negro.  Along the way, we went
through rapids,  stayed with local villagers,  caught and ate many different fish,  slept on
sandbars (crocs lurking at the water's edge),  got pummelled by intense thunder storms,
saw monkeys,parrots, tapir, dolphins, hundreds of birds, got bite by a thousand mosquitos,
we ate turtle and wild boars hunted by locals,  drank cachaça (Brazilian rum) by the nightly
campfire...  In total it was over 500km of paddling,  4 weeks on the river,  one week getting
ready in Boa Vista and one week winding down in Manaus.  Our canoe was made by a local
boat builder.   While we waited,  I took out my watercolours and painted the local fish,
most of which we ended up catching and eating,  day after day after day down the river.

Carlos the boat builder.  It took about five days to build our 
canoe. All hardwood planks. 6.5 metres. Very solid but heavy.

We got to know several locals during our preparatory week, they 

gave us T-shirts and hats and I was interviewed by local tv and 

newspaper journalists the morning we paddled off. 

Marina. a riverside restaurant owner in Boa Vista,  took us 

under her wing while we waited for our canoe to be built.  We 

named our canoe after her.  

A family we stayed with a couple of days at the head of the rapids. We slung 

our hammocks under a tin roof and learned from them how to catch fish, 

Amazon style. 

 

  

It was the dry season so there were hundreds of island sand bars. 
Thats where we slept every night, either under the stars or in our tent 
during thunderstorm downpours.

Raimundo and Ronne;  two local fishermen that had one canoe, one paddle, 

one fish net, one large styrofoam ice cooler (full of ice and filling up with fish 

they caught) one bag of rice, one tin can (for cooking the rice) and one blue tarp, 

they either slept on, or under if it rained.  That's it.  In comparison,  we had so 
much stuff!  We met them as they were roasting turtles over a campfire (they gave 

us some, tasted good) and we paddled with them for a couple of days, 

until a crocodile destroyed their net at night.  That was the end of their 
week long fishing trip for family food.  

We did purchase a net in one of the towns along the way,  just to
make sure we never ran out of fish, our main diet.  Most of the time
however we fished with a hand line and bait. Occasionally we used
our rods that we brought with us from Canada.  Here, an aruana.

A tasty "tucunaré" (or peacock bass), that Erik caught
using a Canadian buzz bomb lure.

Lots of blue tarps.  One was essential as a canopy to protect from the sun. 
We were also able to untie and roll down the sides when it rained. We rigged up
 a sail as well,  which worked great.  Unfortunately,  only used it once as there 
was barely any wind.

Piranha.  We caught a lot of these suckers but usually threw them back 
or cut up them up for bait as we preferred the various catfish.  They 
were tough to scale and to cut their belly open to get the guts out.  Plus 
you had to be careful so they wouldn't sever your toes off with 
their razor sharp teeth whilst flopping in the bottom 
of the boat!

Although we were paddling with the current,  it was not very fast  
and our canoe weighed a ton.  So lots of paddling,  an average of about 
7 hours a day...  along what we called "the green hell,"  the jungle just above 
the ridge of the waterline.   Every time we set up camp before sunset though 
the variety and beauty of the forest,  the sky and the river were stunning. 
 There was a stretch of about 8 days where there were no villages,  no canoes 
or people...  just pure jungle. 

When we did come across villages or other fishermen, like this man 
named Manuel, they were so friendly and genuinely interested in our trip. 
Manuel let us sling our hammocks on his old house boat and gave us fresh
 fish the next morning, that he cleaned and salted so it would  
last a few days. 

After almost a month on the Rio Branco,  we arrived at the fork where 

it joins the  mighty Rio Negro.  It's called the Negro because of the tea 

colour of the water.  What a relief! After weeks of getting bit by mosquitos

along the Branco,  there were none whatsoever on the banks of the Rio 

Negro.  Mosquitos do not like the tannin in the water. 

We only spent a couple of days on the Negro. We had run out of 
time and had just enough money to get back to Manaus on a large river boat.  
We were told about a floating petrol store and marina close to the junction 
of the two rivers and paddled there on our last  morning.  The boat to Manaus 
was leaving that night at 2 am.  I struck a deal with the owner by saying   
'give us food and beer and let us stay here until the boat comes and you can 
have this canoe,  propane burner and all the gear we weren't bringing with us'. 
 I also swapped one of our Canadian paddles for the typical tear drop 
shaped hard wood paddles they use.   He left shortly after with his three 
sons and came back after a few hours in the jungle with about 5 wild boars, 
 that they proceeded to butcher and clean.  That was our meal for diner. 

Mondo Condo

“SUCH PLACES DO EXIST” is the sub-heading for “LIVING SHANGRI-LA” soon to be Vancouver’s tallest sky-scraper hotel / condo (or rather estates as they prefer calling them now). Full page advertisements in the newspaper: “Residences starting from 1.5 million to 12 million.” Like as if anyone who is reading the local paper while having their morning coffee will all of sudden think "Hey, that sounds like a bargain. I think I’ll give that Rennie Marketing Systems a call."

It has been a few years now, coinciding with the on-going boom in condo development here in Vancouver as well as in Toronto and Asia, that I have noticed and taken photographs of many large billboards, at various construction sites. They all announce the limitless possibilities of luxury living. Most of them have glossy photos of beautiful, modern women. They all have similar slogans revolving around key words such as exclusive, urban oasis, luxurious, lifestyle, green, vistas.

One of the more interesting ones was the famous Woodwards building on Hastings Street, in the heart of the skid-row that is Vancouver’s downtown east-side. The former department store had been boarded up for years and it stood as an icon of a neighbourhood gone seriously downhill. Developers eventually purchased it with a percentage required by the city for low cost housing as well as part university campus. A larger percentage however will be for a condo tower next to a small corner of the original building that is being kept and restored. The gentrification of Hastings Street has begun. The entire complex is called W, like the famous neon sign that was on top of the Woodwards building. The slogan was “BE BOLD OR MOVE TO THE SUBURBS”. Indeed, I can just imagine the boldness of the urban professional, sipping his latte as he sidesteps a passed out junkie on the sidewalk in front of his building.

This is one of the craziest billboards I have ever seen. It was for an enormous development in the hyper construction city of Beijing that stretched over three long city blocks. Another historic ‘hutong’ quarter was simply bulldozed down, its citizens re-located to the periphery, to make way for the nouveau riche and their dreams of modern living. The profound happiness of living in such luxury enables one to jump up high in the air and scream out in joy.

“The beautiful eye-catching scenery to be found in this area is intimately linked to local history and provides a hearty welcome to the visitor. The true face of our town and community is easily visible and is the shining beacon to a brilliant future.” Leave it to the Japanese to have cool advertising accompanied with their weird, dreamy English. This from a condo complex in Umeda, downtown Osaka.

Toronto's Queen Street West is another gentrifying part of town that is rapidly moving from second hand furniture shops and shawarma joints to upscale art galleries, Starbucks and re-vamped boutique hotels. The arrival of the pretentiously named "Bohemian Embassy" is yet another reason burgeoning artists and locals are lamenting the rapid death of an original and hip neighbourhood.

Kayaking: Johnstone Straight & Esperanza Inlet

I returned recently from an amazing 12 day, two-part, kayak trip to Vancouver island. The first part consisted of driving up to Oyster River, just south of Campbell River (east side the island) to meet up with my friends Erik and Max who were already a couple of weeks into their own little paddling odyssey up the coast. There, we did a bit of a car shuttle to transport their boats, which included Max's newly acquired behemoth of a cedar strip kayak, as well as a rental for another friend, Steve, up to the town of Sayward. Next day, the current was just right to head south down Johnston Straight toward West Pender island. On the way, we saw three orcas swimming in big circles, feeding. The water was crystal clear and calm like a mirror. We glided side by side to watch the show when one of the killer whales decided to investigate, his long dorsal fin heading straight for us. He surfaced about a car length away to the left of our bows, then we saw him swimming almost directly underneath, his high pitch vocabulary audible from under the surface. Wow!

We continued onward across the Straight through a very fast current, a few ripe tides and massive calm patches of rising water, as if navigating through an enormous vat of gentle boiling water. We camped on a small rocky beach and Erik caught a tasty Ling cod for dinner.  The next morning the skies were dramatic, low clouds twisting around the mountain peaks. On the opposite shore, a large, tight pod of about twenty killer whales were headed north at cruising speed. As we set out further south along West Pender island, at least five giant floating hotels were also cruising in the same direction, returning to Vancouver from Alaska. Another camp, this one on a long sandy beach, this time it was I who caught the Ling cod for dinner.

The following morning, Erik and I returned to Sayward, leaving Max and Steve behind. What took two days and about 7 hours of paddling south, we did in 3 hours coming back north, thanks to a 5 knot current. We flew along the edge of large eddies, deceiving because the current was going in the opposite direction along the shoreline. However, looking at the rocks and trees of the actual shore  showed us how fast we were going. It was amusing if not idiotic, to see some enormous yachts (most likely American tourists) going in the center of the Straight at full throttle against the fast current. Why they did not take a cue from the local fishing boats that were much closer to shore and going with the current of the eddies is anyone's guess.

Back at the car, with the yaks up on the racks, we drove across to the west coast of Vancouver island to the town of Zebellos. ‘You are now entering a tsunami zone’, the sign on the logging road at the entrance of town announced. We spent the night at Nick’s, a widower from Bulgaria, who rented us a room. An interesting character with an interesting accent. “I go out boat, catch it fish, no worry son-a-bitch current.” Nice to take a shower. Next morning after cooking up eggs in Nick’s ramshackle kitchen, we drove off toward little Espinosa inlet, a 20 minute drive north west from town. There, we put in after a bridge that crosses a river which flows into the inlet. Some old timers were picking up oysters at low tide from the shore and said it would be no problem for us to help ourselves. We filled a bag with about 3 dozen or more. Paddling out of the long inlet, we finally arrived to Esperanza inlet, the swells breathing on the reefs, the wide open ocean on the horizon.

The names on Vancouver island are a toss up of British and Spanish, since they were the first Europeans that were charting these waters at roughly the same period. Into the mix are the various Native name places as well, many of the nations opting for a newer versions of spelled names using the alphabet but with many numbers and apostrophes.

We paddled up to Catala island and found that the beaches on the south and west sides, though long and wide, had a steep incline and the waves were crashing quite hard. It looked a little tricky, surf landings not being a skill that either one of us really possess. We found a spot tucked away behind some large rocks though and landed. Made camp in the forest, a beautiful moss covered area, protected by the wind. Catala island is a marine park therefore frequently used, obvious by the sort of makeshift lean-to's and fire pits and well used camp spots. There was no one around though while we were there. It was a gorgeous calm evening and we started shucking oysters, eating a few raw with lime, and opening most of them by throwing them on the fire to be then mixed in a tomato sauce with pasta and red wine. Fruits of the sea.

Being on the west coast of Vancouver island, it is essential to have a VHF radio. Listening to the marine forecast throughout the day is part of the routine. Sure enough, the forecast for gale force winds and small craft warnings came on cue for the following day. The south-westerlies were pounding the long pebble beach just around the point where we had settled our camp. I love the power of the wind. (I am, after all, a prairie boy). It was fun just hiking along the rocks and beach-combing. So much flotsam and jetsam, particularly from the fishing industry. Heaps of floats and plastic bottles from Japan, styrofoam, local “Lucky” beer cans.

A few times, deer came strolling by our tent, almost tame. A fawn walked by so close, the mother not too worried, not far behind. Two days later, with a more favourable forecast, we decided to leave the island for a bay on the on the northern part of the inlet. The after effects of the gale were still there though in the form of large swells and confused seas. We paddled through some rocks and reefs with 6-7 foot swells and rebound action, boomers a boomin’ to the left and right. On the lee side of Catala, finally in calmer waters, it was fishing time. Erik caught some sort of sardine and I caught a mackerel, both types of fish were jumping at the surface.

The beach we landed on was long, perhaps 4 km of dark gold, almost black sand. An enormous clear cut block scarred most of the mountain side adjacent to the bay. We hiked over to another cove and beach to the north, so many huge driftwood logs thrown way up from countless mighty Pacific Northwest winter storms. Back on our beach, at a distance we saw a mother black bear and two older cubs foraging in the sea weed. We promptly found a tree to hang the food after dinner.

The following morning was a cloudless blue sky and totally calm. We paddled back across Esperenza inlet, past Catala island to the Nuchalitz peninsula and stopped on a tiny island simply called #40 on the chart. We later named it “Flathead island”, in honour of our furry friends the sea otters. They seem to have somewhat of a flat head. At least that’s what it looks like when you see them chomping away on urchins, swimming on their backs. There is quite the colony around the shore of the island and they looked at times like they were either having fun or bored, whilst bobbing among the huge waves crashing all about the reefs.

The gales returned with a vengeance, this time the more common North-Westerlies. This made it somewhat difficult to do what we like doing best on kayak trips... fishing. The bigger fish tend to be where the drop offs are, past the reefs and rocks on the outside. That’s precisely where the water was in a fury of pounding spray and movement. However, we were still lucky to have it calm enough to go out a few mornings, before the afternoon winds picked up. I caught my first salmon as well as a black bass. The salmon, dark red filets, were fried in butter, nothing else but lime. The white meat of the rock fish was cut into cubes, battered and fried and became fish tacos. So good!

We spent 4 days on Flathead island as it was perfectly situated to explore the sheltered area of Nuchalitz. The winds were so strong and regular that it made it impossible to cross Nuchalitz Inlet and explore further south down the coast. It hardly mattered though as it was truly an awesome spot to be.

There were a few other people camping in the area. A couple with a double kayak who were on a small island across from ours, as well as four guys with an aluminum boat with motor and a black aluminum canoe, camped on our island, on a point. We trekked around the island one evening and talked to them at their camp. I had earlier labeled them as ‘yahoos’, camped at ‘Yahoo Point’ because they had a massive fire, burning not just small pieces of driftwood, but entire logs! I found out they were all from Winnipeg, one grew up three streets away from me. One now lived in Costa Rica, another in Istanbul, the other two in Vancouver. They had set aside two weeks every year, twenty years counting, to camp together at different spots along the West coast of the island. They were lamenting the fact that these areas have since become so popular, particularly with kayakers... (We were cool though because we had built our own kayaks!) I sort of saw his point, especially with places like the Broken islands which are now, at any given time in summer, full of kayakers and tour groups, no campsites or islands where you can be alone. I felt like telling him that it’s probably not unlike locals in Costa Rica who are lamenting the fact that the beaches are no longer virgin like they used to be, but now full of foreigners buying up waterfront property and building houses and restaurants. At least they were into camping though and getting away from it all and appreciated the beauty of the wilderness. We talked about fishing and of pickerel back in the Shield country of Manitoba and Ontario.

On one particularly eventful day, as we went to fill up our water bags from an almost non-existent creek, we saw a large black bear on a rocky beach. We paddled to within twenty meters from the shore where he nonchalantly looked at us and kept on going about his business of finding food within the sea weed and shells washed up on shore. We then paddled to another small island and saw a Native burial cave. We did not stumble across it but were told where it was by the couple who, it turns out, had also been coming to this part of the coast for years. We landed on a small spit and walked clockwise around the entire island looking for a cave before realizing that it was almost next to where we landed our kayaks but in the other direction. It was amazing to see almost polished white skulls, placed in a row, as well as other bones, a vertebrae... amongst broken cedar boxes, and ferns, protected from the elements by a row of alders in front of the grotto. These are ancestors of the First Nation residing on the Indian reserve just across the water and they must come here fairly regularly to pay respect.

There was a spectacular point of rocks jutting out to the sea, just around our camp spot. It was the perfect place to watch the sunset. Two evenings in a row, I saw Grey whales, a mother and a young calf, surfacing. The large one breached several times, only her head popping out of the water.

The day we returned was clear and calm. We got an early start to fish as much as possible, to bring our harvest back home, on ice. I caught a couple of rock fish a few minutes out. The gaffe I carved out of an alder branch (thanks for the idea Erik) works much better than a net for hauling in larger fish from a kayak. You just slip the hooked part under the gills. Especially effective for getting a hook out of teethy Ling cod. There were several fishing boats on the water, trolling for salmon. We hoped to catch a few as well but no luck. I caught three Ling cod, including a less common Blue Ling cod, all a few inches shy of the legal limit (24" gill to tail) to keep. Erik caught a larger one however as well as a another rock fish.

The closer we got to the inlet, the smaller the fish became. They were all thrown back. The last stretch, as usual, seemed to take much longer than when we had started a week before. A strong wind from inland also made the going slow. Back at the car, as we gutted the fish, we noticed a small octopus in the Ling cod. We were already talking about the burger, fries and shakes we would be eating once back at Zebellos as we unloaded the kayaks and packed the car.