THE RETURN JOURNEY
Alas, that the longest hill
Must end in a vale; but still,
Who climbs with toil, wheresoe’er,
Shall find wings waiting there.
H. C. BEECHING.
Many farewells and the bringing up of piles of cassava for the support
of our caravan delayed our start from Kamaiwâwong on the return journey
to Mataruka. We had asked Schoolmaster to send two men with us to bring
back from Puwa the salt and the cloth which was to be the recompense
of those Arekunas who had assisted us; but instead of sending two men,
Schoolmaster himself and the entire party who had climbed Roraima with
us gaily accompanied our march back. It was a delightful morning, with
alternate showers and sunshine and gloriously cool winds. We retraced our
steps until we were close to the spot where we breakfasted on the 13th
January, and here we halted again for our midday meal at a delicious spot
under a big tree, sitting amidst fragrant bracken and pretending to be
in England. The walk had unstiffened our muscles, cramped by the long
descent of the day before, and we felt quite fit and fresh.
Schoolmaster, who now acted as guide, applied for permission to lead us
back by a line different from that which we had traversed on the outward
journey. We agreed; and in the end Schoolmaster brought us to Mataruka by
a trail which interlaced with Joseph’s so as roughly to form the figure
8. Our first divergence was to the left in the direction of Weitipu;
and plainly any trail which avoided the long sweep to the west round by
the head-waters of the Chitu was likely to be a short-cut. Then, after
wheeling to the left, we descended somewhat abruptly to a little plateau
on which stands Maurekmutta banaboo, the home of a solitary Arekuna
family. Here Schoolmaster showed us another line running almost straight
towards Kamaiwâwong. It would probably have been preferable to the one we
had walked, and might have saved some climbing. Why they had not led us
that way we could not make out; but, of course, to an Indian time is of
no importance, unless he is hungry, and the tramp of half a dozen extra
miles is a mere trifle. No one was at home in this banaboo.
We next descended yet farther, until, after one and a quarter hours’
march beyond the point of divergence from Joseph’s trail, we reached
and forded the Arabupu (3,780 feet above sea-level). Here we were met
by quite a heavy shower of cold rain. Twenty minutes later we crossed
the Gunguila, a confluent of the Arabupu; and another ten minutes’ march
brought us to the brow of a hill, 4,060 feet above sea-level, where it
became evident that we were making straight for the southern spur of
Mount Weitipu across the folds and rifts of a plateau. We could, in
fact, see our trail running ahead past the very toe of Weitipu; but as,
on descending, the path followed a valley in the diametrically opposite
direction, we were reminded—and not for the first time either—that Indian
trails are like the paths in the garden of the talking flowers in _Alice
through the Looking-Glass_, and that to get anywhere you must turn and
walk in the opposite direction. We crossed two more small streams, and
then, after a further fifty-six minutes’ march, we halted for the night
on the right bank of the Erkoy River, in a little copse, evidently the
recognized Indian camping-ground, and much preferable to the bleak camp
at Weiwötö on Joseph’s trail. The Erkoy is another confluent of the
Arabupu, and from a little clump of trees on a level terrace where we
camped the ground dropped away abruptly to the river. A steep grass hill
on the left bank protected us nicely on the windward side, whilst the
lee-side was open to the savannah. In the watery rays of the evening sun
Roraima and Kukenaam stood clear for the first time that day. We could no
longer see the south-western wall up which we had climbed, but we had a
splendid view of the south-eastern escarpment. The clear, swift-running
Erkoy almost tempted us to bathe, but it was too cold to venture. We had
a fine night, though once or twice, as the rush of the wind shook the
tree-tops, we woke up sufficiently to rejoice that we were not on the
exposed tableland. The Makusis camped all round us, while the Arekunas
slung their hammocks in a clump of trees a little way downstream.
Next morning (18th January) was gloriously fine, and we saw Roraima and
Kukenaam for the last time at close quarters, shining red in the dawn.
We forded the Erkoy, which flows swiftly and came icy cold well over
our knees; and then, ascending the steep bank on the other side, we
found ourselves once more on a rolling plateau with the trail we had
seen passing over the toe of Weitipu, now just ahead. I loved the walk
over the fresh grass of this shining tableland, amidst the indescribable
peace of its mighty silence. The trail was almost level, save for little
descents into the channels of the many streams that come racing down
Weitipu’s steep flanks; and in the keen, fresh morning air mere movement
was a joy—different indeed to one’s feelings on the low, hot coast-lands!
In succession we crossed the Kamaoura-wong, two small swamps, the
Tongkoy, and the Sappi, all streams which tumble in picturesque cascades
from Weitipu; and after an hour’s march we crossed the southern spur of
Weitipu himself. He is a very attractive mountain, majestic, but without
the bleak austerity of Roraima and Kukenaam. His southern summit would
afford a splendid camping-ground, and several of his terraces would
make beautiful house-sites. In China such a mountain would have been
studded with temples and monasteries, but I have never heard of anyone
climbing to the top of Weitipu. It would not be difficult to do this,
though rather strenuous, and I should love to go back one day and make
the ascent. On the spur of Weitipu, where we stood (4,100 feet above
sea-level), Schoolmaster showed us yet another trail—the most direct of
all—branching off to Kamaiwâwong!
We then crossed two more streams—a small one called the Apa, and a
larger one called the Perumak. The latter is fringed by forest, and is
probably identical with the river Maipa, crossed by Joseph’s trail. A
glorious grassy savannah spreads out on both sides of this narrow strip
of woodland; and in it, just beyond the Perumak ford, an hour’s march
from the spur of Weitipu, stands a solitary banaboo, near which the trail
to Tumong, by which Dr. Crampton travelled in 1911, branches off to the
left. We kept to the right, and eighteen minutes later reached the crest
of a ridge, which appears to form the divide between the watershed of
the Orinoco and of the Amazon. At this point, therefore, we presumably
returned from Venezuela to Brazil. The divide here is 3,860 feet above
sea-level.
We now descended into a charming valley, and, after forty minutes’ march,
halted for our midday meal beside the Muruïna, a pretty little tributary
of the Kotinga. Once more we recognized the jasper formation, and we
established ourselves on a tree-shaded ledge above a deep, clear pool.
This place is a recognized Arekuna camping-ground. The creek is forded
just above a waterfall, where its two branches meet. Within the fork is
a copse, and at the season of our visit there ran along the side of the
stream a dry rock-ledge which would form a roomy and level tent-floor. I
remember that, whilst we waited for Haywood’s preparations, we regaled
ourselves on the last of the delicious pineapples, carried with us from
Kamaiwâwong. It tasted most especially nice after our three hours’ walk.
Another ascent and descent brought us, twenty minutes after restarting,
to the Tunâpun creek. We crossed it, and thirty-eight minutes later we
had climbed to the top of the hill-ridge (3,670 feet above sea-level),
overlooking the full width of the Kotinga valley right across to
“Landmark Peak.” This was the same hill-ridge that we had climbed, much
farther to the west, on the 12th January; but the fierce midday sun had
sucked up all colour from the landscape, and it no longer looked the
fairyland which it had seemed on that early morning. Now came an abrupt
descent, very warm work and lasting just an hour, to the point where
the Töpa creek is forded close by a solitary banaboo. Suddenly our
procession halted. The magic word _waikin_ was passed along, and we all
squatted down on the ground, while Schoolmaster and Joseph stalked two
big deer not far away. Schoolmaster crept to within point-blank range of
one animal and fired. Alas! his stock of powder and shot was practically
exhausted, so he had given his old fowling-piece a most insufficient
charge; and the deer, though hit, bounded away uphill with its companion.
Behold Joseph and Schoolmaster racing after them up the steep slope like
a pair of dogs! They rejoined us later very crestfallen; and Schoolmaster
gesticulated to me as graphic an account of the whole business as ever
disappointed sportsman poured into the ear of sympathizing lady.
For the rest of the day’s march the trail lay over spacious undulating
pasture-lands, crossing three small streams, fringed by eta-palms; and,
after two and a quarter hours’ march from the Töpa crossing, we reached
and forded the Kotinga at the same point as on our outward journey, thus
completing one loop of the figure 8. We then made our way over rocks up
a little ravine on the left bank and camped in bush upon a small level
terrace at the edge of a brook. It was a nasty, stuffy place, full of
ants; but we cared little for that, as we were practically free from
the kabouru. My husband unfortunately caught his foot in some bush rope
lying on the rocks and fell heavily, breaking the little finger of his
left hand, which caused him great pain. The Kotinga valley, it seems, was
destined to be disagreeable to us.
[Illustration: MOUNT WEITIPU FROM THE LEFT BANK OF THE KOTINGA RIVER.
To face page 225.]
When, next morning, we emerged from our ravine on to the brow of a bluff
above the Kotinga, we were delighted to see a most interesting and novel
aspect of Roraima, which was really rather astonishing, for there had
been no hint of such a view either the evening before or on our outward
journey. The morning was gloriously clear, and on the left, behind
Weitipu, the south-eastern face of Roraima projected clear and red, and
beyond that again Kukenaam’s southern end; whilst on the right of Weitipu
we saw plainly, not only the other end of Roraima’s south-eastern wall,
but also a small and foreshortened portion of the eastern escarpment.
This view enabled us in a small degree to grasp the enormous area of
Roraima. It is impossible to do so when opposite one great wall only;
for Roraima is an immense, irregular quadrilateral, of which the
south-eastern side, ten miles in length, is the longest, and the area of
the summit, flanked all round by precipices, cannot be less than fifty
square miles.
From the Kotinga ford to the pass at “Landmark Peak” Schoolmaster’s trail
coincided with Joseph’s, but from “Landmark Peak” to the Rera valley we
traversed a new line of country. This time we swung off to the right,
and we hoped to be led along the ridge of the mountain amphitheatre
which encircles the Warukma and Karakanang plateau. But an Indian trail
is nothing if not surprising. For the first half-hour we did indeed
continue on the high tableland at the same altitude as the pass (3,150
feet above sea-level), crossing two streams; but then we wheeled sharply
to the right, and, passing between two low knolls, left the tableland
by a narrow path skirting round the contours of a hill and affording a
view over a sea of jagged peaks tumbled together without apparent rhyme
or reason. It was a most astonishingly tangled-looking country, with
valleys running at angles to each other and hills flung about pell-mell
in the midst of them, as though the powers engaged in making this place
had got tired of their work and flung it all down anyhow and left it.
The colouring, too, was curious, vivid red, black, and green; for many
fires had evidently seared the countryside, the most recent leaving
black patches, which contrasted oddly with the bright green of new grass
springing up where the land had peace, and with the red soil on the
hillsides, whence heavy rain had washed away the black ash, but where as
yet forgiving Nature had not reasserted herself. For half an hour our
path clung to the hill-side, but it then gave that up as a bad job and
dropped abruptly into one of the narrow valleys beneath. The prospect was
certainly not an inviting one. We consoled ourselves, however, with the
reflection that the divergence to the right must have put us in a direct
line for Mount Mataruka. A short but heavy shower of rain now drenched
us to the skin; but it was welcome, as relieving an unwonted sultriness
of the atmosphere. Round the base of the hill we curved, climbed over a
knoll in the valley, and so, after three-quarters of an hour’s march,
we came to the left bank of a creek called the Walamwötö, presumably a
tributary of the Kotinga. Here we pitched camp in a small winding valley
(2,450 feet above sea-level) by the side of a charming pool. As we were
establishing ourselves under our tarpaulin, a storm of wind and rain
almost blew it away from its moorings, and six Makusis had to hold it up
on the weather side until the fierceness of the gusts abated. We caused
the ridge-pole to be lowered considerably so as to afford less target for
the wind, and I was somewhat anxious about the night. But after dark the
weather became beautifully still and clear, a full moon making diamonds
everywhere of the lingering rain-drops. This was the only rain-storm of
any moment which we encountered from the day we left the Kowatipu forest
until the day of our return to it. During the whole of the rest of our
savannah journey we enjoyed superb weather, sunny, breezy, cool, and
rainless, save for occasional Scotch mist upon the hill-tops.
We rose very early next day (20th January), and broke our fast by
lamplight. But the sun soon rose clear and very hot, and I realized that
the strenuous exertions of the five preceding days without a rest were
beginning to tell on me. So the start did not find me very fresh. An
hour’s march in narrow winding ravines, followed by a short climb over
a long black-bouldered slope, brought us to James’s banaboo (2,720 feet
above sea-level), perched upon a hill-top. The inhabitants came out in
a string to greet us, and the second man in the line, as he shook my
hand (the ceremony none of them will forego), ejaculated questioningly
“Mamma?” and all his companions echoed the cry. It must be seldom, if
ever, that a white woman is seen by these people. The view from this
lonely banaboo was certainly enchanting; but, alas! no tableland such as
we had hoped to see lay unrolled before us, only a fresh tangle of hills
and valleys; and, though the country looked most interesting, it also
looked very arduous. Moreover, there ensued an argument between Joseph
and Schoolmaster as to the right road onwards, and we wondered whether
they really knew the way, or were merely proceeding by trial and error.
The long ridge of tableland, over the crest of which we had hoped to
travel when we turned aside from Joseph’s line at “Landmark Peak,” looked
most provoking away to the left. At length our guides reconciled their
difference, whatever it may have been, and led us three hundred feet
downwards over a broad hill-shoulder across a small stream. Then, after
a long, gradual ascent over another broad hill-shoulder, we came to the
top of a commanding hill, 2,960 feet above sea-level. Here indeed we were
comforted, for we saw again Mount Mataruka, and realized that we were
making for it by a much more direct line than if we had returned through
Enamung. Besides, a nice undulating ridge lay before us, and the view was
grand. We could see a magnificent expanse of country on all sides. Far,
far behind lay Weitipu, with Roraima and Kukenaam at his back, bidding
us a last good-bye. We saw them no more after this. I wonder if we ever
shall again! On the right we had an excellent view of our former line of
journey, the plateau of the Karakanang and the grassy peaks of Enamung,
as well as of a big waterfall shining white in the distance, whither our
outward journey had unfortunately not led us. Our guides said that it was
a fall on the Wairann; and at close quarters it must be a fine sight, for
even at a distance of about seven miles it was a striking feature in the
landscape. At this point we were one hour and six minutes’ march from
James’s banaboo.
We continued for another forty minutes along the crest of the hill-ridge,
enjoying intensely the glorious scenery, and finally reaching a point
(2,810 feet above sea-level) whence, beyond a cleft in the hills, cut
athwart our line of march by the Karakanang River, we could see the long,
straight line of the Paiwa valley, down which lay our forward path.
Fifty minutes’ sharp descent, largely through forest, then brought us to
a ford of jasper slabs over the Karakanang (1,960 feet above sea-level).
Here we made our midday meal, and thereafter we ascended the valley of
a brook, which falls into the Karakanang at the ford; and, climbing
over some hillocks shut in between high hill-ranges on both sides, we
came, after an hour and a half, to the Paiwa River (2,210 feet above
sea-level), down which our trail then ran for three and a half hours’
actual march. It was most fascinating scenery. The turquoise-blue Paiwa
in its rose-pink bed (for the blood-red jasper weathers on the surface to
pink) flowed clear as crystal through opal-green pools and in rippling
white cascades, whilst shade trees, dotted here and there, relieved the
glare of the brilliant light. Beneath one such tree, seated on pink sand
close to the edge of the stream, we enjoyed our usual tea halt. The sides
of the valley are seamed with confluent brooks, many of which had water
even at this height of the dry season. In wet weather the smiling stream
must be a very torrent.
At first the Paiwa had all the appearance of making for the Ireng; but
at a point a little more than halfway in that part of its course which
we followed it turned abruptly off to the south and swept past Mount
Pakara to join the Kotinga. Towards sunset we crossed to its left bank,
where was a broad level stretch of sand, evidently a favourite Indian
camping-ground, but rather a disappointing one to me, as there was a rift
in the jasper formation just here, and the stream merely gurgled over
quite ordinary stones, while the sand was a commonplace white. Moreover,
the steep hill-side across the stream had been hideously burnt, and there
were evidences of recent Indian encampment and of fish-poisoning in the
river. Indians are an admirable people in many ways, but they scarcely
deserve their goodly heritage, since all that they do for their beautiful
country is to poison the fish in its exquisite streams and to disfigure
the fair hills by continual grass-burning.
Next day we ate our porridge and drank our coffee before dawn, as the
moon sank behind the trees. Then, after following the river for a short
distance, we climbed up through a copse to where a banaboo was perched
on a bluff, the Paiwa below making a right-angled turn, so that those
who live here have an excellent vantage-ground whence they can watch
all wayfarers whether up or down stream. At the banaboo we found
Schoolmaster and his Arekunas, who had evidently spent the night there,
leaving the Makusis with us; and after a short colloquy Joseph led us
down into the Paiwa valley once more. The Arekunas remained behind, and
made for Mataruka by that line of their own which Joseph had graphically
described as “Mountain-top, mountain-top, mountain-top,” on the day of
our trek to Enamung.
The Paiwa, which had grown to a considerable size, now reverted again to
a jasper bed, fringed this time with eta-palms, and looking prettier than
ever. We walked along its bank most of the way; but at times the valley
would close in to a gorge and the river run in cataracts, while we would
have to climb over rocky bluffs. At last we crossed the blue waters of
this pleasant river for the last time, and finally quitted the Paiwa
watershed. Our trail now wound away to the left, choosing most cleverly
a low divide, and then equally cleverly winding in and out on the level
round the spur of our old friend Kumâraying, until we found ourselves in
the Rera plain once more. It would have been a pretty path but for the
desolation and destruction wrought by fire. Some men ahead of us actually
started two fresh fires, which were fiercely burning as we passed.
At the special request of our people we went to Joseph’s banaboo for our
midday meal. His wife provided us with abundance of delicious fresh eggs,
and I confess, without any desire to teach my grandmother, that at times
the best way of eating eggs is to suck them. A few minutes’ walk brought
us back to the trail by which we had travelled on our outward journey, so
completing the second loop in the figure 8. We now followed our former
line of march the rest of the way back to Mataruka village, where we were
warmly received by Albert and the inhabitants. The Arekunas we passed at
a brook a few minutes from the village, busily engaged in washing and
painting their faces afresh. They then made a state entry behind us,
beating a tom-tom.
The rest of our travels needs no description, for the line of our
homeward march was identical with that of our outward journey. The
distance between Mataruka and Kamaiwâwong by Joseph’s trail was a march
of thirty-two hours forty-seven minutes; and the return journey between
the same villages by Schoolmaster’s trail was a march of thirty-two hours
fifty-one minutes, of which eleven hours twenty-eight minutes were
occupied in retraversing those parts of the route where the two trails
were identical—namely, the Kukenaam valley, the ascent from the Kotinga
ford to “Landmark Peak,” and the line from Rera to Mataruka. There is,
therefore, little to choose between the two routes. Both mean five stages
of rather more than six hours’ march a day. Schoolmaster’s line was
slightly more direct, but Joseph’s was appreciably less arduous.
We reached Georgetown, after forty-six days’ absence, on the 3rd
February, 1916, resting on the way back for one day at Mataruka, one
day on the Karto tableland, and one day at Kaietuk. There was a new
and lovely note of colour on the Potaro; for the river was lit up by
a beautiful pink blossom (_Syphonia globifera_) all along the banks,
very much like peach-blossom in appearance and in its manner of growing
on a leafless tree. Also there was much more water going over Kaietuk
than when we passed upstream; and magnificent was the amber swirl that
descended, to change into gleaming spray flashing like diamonds, as it
fell into the black depths. Grey-green cascades dashed down the crags on
all sides, flashing out of the mists that lay heavy on the summits, to
mingle with the blossom-strewn river—a country for Undine indeed!
So our brief journey in the mountains ended, alas! below sea-level; nor
did we “find wings waiting there,” for the aeronautical service of the
British Guiana Government is as yet only an aspiration.
[Illustration: Route from HOLMIA IN BRITISH GUIANA TO MT. RORAIMA]
[Illustration: SECTION OF COUNTRY TRAVERSED BETWEEN KAIETTUK FALL, ON THE
POTARO RIVER, AND MT RORAIMA
Horizontal Scale 1/2,000,000. Vertical Scale exaggerated 50 times.]
FOOTNOTES
[1] _Kaieteur_ is a mistake for _Kaietuk_. See p. 75.
[2] _Vide_ his article in _Timehri_, vol. ii., 3rd series (1912), p. 18.
[3] Cf. _Timehri_, vol. iv. (1885), “The First Ascent of Roraima,” p. 23,
where Sir E. im Thurn, writing of Roraima and Kukenaam, says: “Rarely did
we see the scene quite clear, a fact which, as the Indians were never
tired of explaining to us, was owing to the habit of the mountain—_they
regard both mountains as one_—of veiling itself whenever approached by
white men.”
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