THE POTARO GORGE
He lured her away so far,
Past so many a wood and valley and hill,
That now, would you know where they are?
In a bark on a silver stream,
As fair as you see in a dream.
A. O’SHAUGHNESSY: _Zuleika_.
Once the stores are all safely packed in the tent-boat, the paddlers
established on their thwarts, and after the last wild rush up the bank
to secure some precious, almost forgotten article, such as kettle or
saucepan, how delightful it is to feel that at length one is off into
the very heart of the wilderness! The soothing splash of the paddles is
inexpressibly welcome after the din of launch travel, and we surrender
ourselves to the enjoyment of the big restful silence and unchanging
peace of the dreamy forest-wrapped river, and to delightful anticipation
of wonders to come.
On the journey to Roraima, we left Kangaruma in the afternoon of 22nd
December, 1915. Our party consisted, besides Mr. Menzies and ourselves,
of Haywood, our black cook, a most excellent and capable fellow, and of
fourteen aborigines. Scanning the expressionless bronze figures of these
Indians as they paddled steadily upstream, I speculated on what manner
of men they might be, these dwellers amid trees and waters, whose home
lies in the very bosom of Nature, and who look to her alone to supply all
their needs. Nine of them came from the Demerara River, and the remaining
five were Makusis from the highlands whither we were bound. Two of these
five—Johnny and Thomas by name—were headmen of Puwa, a village near the
Ireng River and close to the Brazilian frontier. The Makusis were good
fellows and did yeomen service; but the natives of the Demerara River,
as we discovered to our cost, were an idle and worthless set. They had
already suffered the contaminating effects of civilization, and great
were the delays and annoyance we had to endure from them, until we
were able to exchange them for the willing and athletic Makusis of the
highlands.
Above Kangaruma stretch some seventeen miles of smooth water to Amatuk,
where once more the roar and rush of a cataract break on the river’s
repose. Amatuk is a delightfully pretty place. The Potaro here is
joined by the Amuk creek, and then rushes in two cataracts round a
rocky tree-crowned island, swirling out, all foam-beflecked, into a bay
below. In the centre of the right-hand cataract, down which the great
bulk of the water flows, there is a sheer drop of some thirty feet, and
a fountain of white foam leaps upward. On a low knoll, looking over
the bay and immediately above the left-hand cataract, stands another
wooden rest-house. This knoll has been cleared of the dense bush, which
dominates all else, and delicious English bracken grows freely on its
sandy slopes.
We arrived by starlight; and, whilst the baggage was being carried up to
the rest-house and supper made ready, I lay in my hammock watching an
exquisite moon rising from out the million tree-tops of the forest, with
a foreground of dimly shining river. The music of falling water filled
the air, and the stars gleamed like great lamps hung athwart the night.
Wherever we may in future travel, a hammock shall always accompany me. It
enables one to be made as comfortable as possible in two minutes, though
for sleeping at nights we must confess to being luxurious enough to
require camp-beds. To our delight, we each of us needed a warm blanket
that night; and, when you have scarcely used the lightest blanket for two
years, it is a real luxury to enjoy a good heavy one again. Rain fell all
night long, and at dawn heavy mist-wreaths lay about the hills.
[Illustration: MOUNT SAKWAI ON POTARO RIVER NEAR TUKEIT.]
[Illustration: WATERSMEET OF POTARO AND AMUK RIVERS AT AMATUK, SHOWING
MOUNT KENAIMA ON RIGHT AND MOUNT KUKUI IN CENTRE ABOVE RIVER-MIST.
To face page 62]
Amatuk is the gateway to the beautiful Kaietuk Gorge. Looking upstream
from the bay below the fall, we saw towering on one side the peak of
Kenaima Mountain, and on the other side the vertical cliff-face of Mount
Kukui. Just above Amatuk the Potaro emerges from between these mountains,
and is at once joined from the right by the Amuk creek, which also flows
in a narrow gorge, so blocked by huge boulders and so difficult of access
that it has never yet been explored. Streams, which are almost better
spoken of as cascades, spring down the faces of the cliffs, gleaming like
white threads against the red sandstone. Another hint is thus given of
the Roraima _leit-motif_ which rules the land. We had, indeed, throughout
our wanderings the impression of a mighty symphony. The wondrous Kaietuk
Fall was the first movement whose introduction began with Amatuk.
Thereafter we realized that several days of river and forest journey
were but the transition passages to a movement of shining tablelands,
whose jasper-bedded rivers repeat everywhere the same _leit-motif_,
though with a myriad tiny variations, for all the streams of the highland
savannahs tumble in cascades down vertical faces into a succession of
pools, while long-sought-for and much-dreamt-of Roraima, with his cliffs
over a thousand feet in height rising out of primeval forest, standing on
his pedestal of rolling savannah uplands, with waterfalls leaping from
his mysterious flat-topped summit, forms a magnificent résumé and finale
of the whole.
Next morning, whilst the stores and baggage were being portaged from
the bay below Amatuk to another boat moored above the falls, we had
leisure to study the beauty of the cataract. The river was low, so we
made our way to the edge of the water over rocks generally covered by
the rushing stream as it changes from the normal dark—almost black—flow
of its peaceful progress to the amber swirl and creamy spray of coming
excitement. These diabase rocks are all flat-topped and deeply fissured,
and they contain here and there curious “jigs,” made by pebbles swept
round and round in some tiny whirlpool, till, as the long ages pass,
they dig for themselves deep circular holes. These “jigs” are eagerly
explored by the diamond prospectors, as sometimes they contain precious
stones. I baled out one such deep, dark hole with the help of a Makusi,
and obtained a plateful of extremely pretty pebbles, all tiny and
agleam with many different colours, rose-red, turquoise-blue, pieces of
malachite-green, and many a shining speck of quartz to raise my hopes. I
felt that to be the actual winner of a real diamond, however small, would
be a delightful experience; but my pebbles, although pronounced by the
authority of Mr. Menzies and Haywood to be “good diamond indication,” did
not, in spite of their intrinsic beauty, harbour any stray speck of real
value. Nevertheless, I feel that diamonds will always have an added charm
for me when I think of them as gifts from that lovely land of unknown
streams and as the ornaments of Nature herself.
We spent a delightful three hours paddling upstream to the next portage
at Waratuk, surrounded by the wonderful scenery of the gorge. Rain fell
in little misty veils of shower; and exquisite forest fragrance, wafted
to us from the banks, was strong enough to overpower even the smell of
salt beef and pork which emanated from our provisions. Potaro here flows
between flat-topped cliffs towering on both sides about a thousand feet
above their own reflections, mirrored in the black water. The hidden
bases of the hills are clothed in forest, while their sides are grim
precipices, revealing overhangs of castellated rock and toppling crags
with great fissures and clefts, wild and wondrous to behold.
At about noon we reached Waratuk, where another portage is necessary.
This is a much smaller cataract than Amatuk. In fact, at high river,
boats going downstream can run it, whereas no one would dream of running
Amatuk, in the centre of which is a vertical drop. On the right bank at
Waratuk stands a little shelter with corrugated iron roof, supported by
wallaba posts. Under its cover we lunched, or rather took “breakfast,” as
the midday meal is invariably called in this Colony; and at 2 p.m., when
all our stores had been portaged, we set off again in another smaller
craft known as the “parson’s boat,” used by the Church of England for the
missionaries who at one time travelled up the Potaro to mission-stations,
now abandoned.
From Waratuk to Tukeit was two hours’ paddling. The shining lazy river,
lying half asleep between its sentinel hills, seemed already to have
forgotten the wild leap over Kaietuk. But from our boat we caught several
glimpses of the Kaietuk cliff, which bars the end of the gorge, and we
could just see that corner of the fall itself which is nearest the left
bank.
The river is studded by rocky islets, and the stunted trees growing
thereon are often literally laden with long bags of woven sticks which
are the mocking-birds’ nests. At high river I once counted seventeen on
one small tree, which appeared to rise straight out of the water, its
rock pedestal being entirely submerged.
Above Tukeit the river is a series of racing cataracts, curiously broken
by deep, still pools, where the main current would appear to flow beneath
the surface. It is, of course, an entirely unnavigable piece of water,
and to pursue the valley on foot to the base of the mighty Kaietuk
precipice is an enterprise of extreme difficulty, not to say danger.
Masses of giant boulders make progress all but impossible; and, save at
very low river, the attempt could not be made. The Potaro has therefore
to be abandoned until some miles above Kaietuk, and no full view of the
waterfall from below is obtainable along the present line of ascent.
Sprostons have made a little clearing at Tukeit, and have put up a wooden
rest-house on the left bank of the river, about a hundred yards from the
water. The forest closes in densely all round, so that the place has no
view, and besides being very stuffy, it is full of big biting cow-flies.
It is not a pleasant spot to spend a night in; but nevertheless, when
encumbered by baggage, one cannot with the existing means of transport
get up from Amatuk on to the Kaietuk plateau in one day. On the opposite
side of the river, however, there is an excellent camping-ground on
a beach of shining silver sand, and a rocky dell at the forest edge,
watered by the clear, cold Tukeit stream dropping from the cliff-tops a
thousand feet above, offers delightful refuge in the heat of the day. So,
if time were no object, a camp on Tukeit sands for fishing would be an
agreeable interlude in a “bush” journey. The very deep, still pools of
the river near by are a favourite haunt of _haimara_, which are excellent
eating. These fish sometimes grow very large, and Indians wading in the
pools are on occasion savagely bitten by them. The aborigines usually
obtain fish by shooting them with bow and arrow. This they do with much
skill and dexterity.
But who would delay at Tukeit when Kaietuk calls? We must be up and on!
KAIETUK, MOTHER OF MISTS