We have to get an early start this morning, it's barely past 5:00 a.m. Erik, a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer in Suriname, assures me there is a 'can't be missed' fishing spot about an hour down river where we can camp and catch large piranhas until our hearts are content by Kenny Carano.
Fighting Rapids and Piranhas In The Suriname Rain Forest
A crowing cock interrupts the morning stillness that has gone unbroken since last night's drumming ended. He seems to be near my head. The initial outburst spurs an explosion. It's a chain reaction as, one by one, roosters begin crowing in a clockwise motion around the village until inevitably the sound is right next to my head again. They are our alarm clock. It is time to roll out of our hammocks. We have to get an early start this morning, it's barely past 5:00 a.m. Erik, a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer in Suriname, assures me there is a 'can't be missed' fishing spot about an hour down river where we can camp and catch large piranhas until our hearts are content.
After drinking some coffee, we gather our fishing gear and walk the beaten dirt path to the river. Along the way we encounter a few Ndjuka women carrying large plastic buckets filled with clothes on their heads. These women are from one of the tribes of the Maroon people who are descendants of the runaway African slaves. Today they inhabit Suriname's interior rain forest. The Maroons still hold onto many of their traditional customs and beliefs. If you didn't know better you could easily believe you have been transferred back in time to old Africa.
We exchange the appropriate morning greeting, "Ma-e-weki" (good morning greeting to an adult female). "Ya-e-weki-e-Da. Fa yu weki?" (good morning response to adult male and asking me how I woke.) they respond
"Mi weki moi," (I woke well) I respond.
Although, truth be told, it's far too early in the morning for me to be feeling good yet.
The scene in front of us looks like something out of an Indiana Jones movie. Fog blankets the river and surrounding bush. Tall walls of pristine jungle flora guard either side of the river. Local women, wearing only wrap-around skirts reaching to their knees (called pangi), wash clothes and dishes on rocks at the river's edge. This is part of the interior rainforest of Suriname. This small country is located on the northeastern shoulder of South America. It is part of and adjacent to the largest remaining expanse of uninhabited, undisturbed rainforest on earth. Approximately only 450,000 people live in Suriname and yet it is a true melting pot. About a third of Surinamese are East Indians, a third are Creole and the remaining third includes Indonesians, Chinese, Europeans, Jewish, Amerindians, and Maroons. The former Dutch colony has been independent since 1975 and although Dutch is still the official language, more than twenty languages can be heard throughout Suriname.
We pack the gear into our dugout canoe. Erik and I begin paddling down river with Erik's dog, Scrappy, standing at the bow of the boat watching for rocks. The vast green forest decorates the banks of the river, its large branches dangling over the water's edge. As the sun begins to heat up, the fog starts to rise above the jungle. Occasionally, as we paddle, we will pass small, thatched roof, open-air canopies built along the side of the river. These are small camps built by local Maroons and used as shelter. Nearby they will have plots of land where they will do their farming. Birds sing hidden safely in the deep forest while butterflies glide atop the surface of the water.
As the ride takes us along winding waters, I search for the majestic six to eight foot long giant river otters that call the Lawa river home. We pass through some small rapids that churn where the current folds under and onto itself. Scrappy falls from the boat and I help her back in. After paddling for an hour we come upon another set of rapids. Navigating our way through the white water suddenly, without warning, we are faced by a three-foot waterfall surrounded by rocks. There is nothing to do but go over it. In a moment of exhilaration we are over the chute and free falling. Thankfully, our boat lands upright below with us still securely in it.
About a hundred meters away is the small island covered in bush, which will be our fishing site. Rapids are to the left and the right, but there is about a four hundred meter perimeter of calm water to fish in. This area is free of humans except for the few boats that go to and from Albina, a seven-hour motorboat ride away. The morning is spent fishing from shore and setting up fishnets farther off shore. Erik sets the nets as I steer the boat backwards, fighting the current.
My fishing rod sits quietly on a rock, leaning against a limb until just before noon when it begins to bend! My first reaction is, "I think I have a bite!" As the ensuing tug of war begins I reel in my very first piranha! A few minutes later my pole is pulled off its support and dragged into the water. I have a big one! I do battle with another piranha. He is fighting so fiercely that I am sure the pole is going to break in two. Eventually, I win the battle and pull in an eight to ten-pound piranha, twice the size of the previous one!
Early in the afternoon, when the fish have quit biting, we start making our camp. With our machetes we clear a small area to hang hammocks then take an afternoon siesta. In the late afternoon we pull one in of the nets. Erik takes our fish and prepares our meal over a wood fire as I go to a nearby sandbar for some more fishing. After dinner we spend the remainder of our waking hours fishing from the shoreline. "I think I have a snag," I say. But then it moves! Another battle ensues. This one I appear to be unable to win. Again my rod looks as if it is going to snap in two like a twig. It seems like fifteen minutes, but probably no more than thirty seconds. Finally, out of the water, I pull a twenty-pound freshwater stingray that was evidently sitting in the sand of the shallow water! They are said to be more dangerous than their salt-water cousins and can leave you immobile for an extended period of time. We get the hook out and toss him back in the water. So much for bathing tonight! The nearest doctor is at least a day away.
Not only was the fishing great today, the scenic beauty was mesmerizing. In front of us a full moon rises from behind the mountains and a swarm of stars lights up the sky. It is a romantic scene that cries out for my wife to be with me. Unfortunately, I am stuck with a big burly, bald-headed guy. Don't get me wrong; Erik is a great guy, a real man's man, but not the one to have beside me with a portrait of that magnitude playing itself out in the heavens above. Sleep comes early in the blackness of the jungle night. My body feels as light as a feather as I sleep in my hammock with a mosquito net wrapped around me like a cocoon. The night is tranquil with a slight breeze. The infrequent ghostly screams of the red howler monkeys that engulf the jungle airways are the only sounds I hear this night.
We arise from our hammocks around 7:00 a.m. I drink some cold coffee and try some more fishing. An hour and a half later we break camp, pack up the boat and head back to the village. The first few minutes are spent paddling upriver. Soon we are forced out of the boat due to the low water of the rapids; the boat will have to be pulled across. Erik pulls the boat as I walk on some rocks to the side. As we approach the three-foot waterfall Scrappy tries, unsuccessfully, to swim through the rapids and over the falls. The fast flowing water pushes her down river about fifty meters before she struggles to back to the nearby rocks. Seeing that she will not be able to swim through the rapids, I decide to save the day. I get in the water, pick her up and carry her as I swim through the rapids. After all, I am an athletic guy. I mean it's only water, right?
I have underestimated the fury of these rushing waters. I also forget that I'm wearing eyeglasses. Approaching the waterfall with Scrappy in my arms, the powerful force of the water knocks me back and has me stumbling and slipping on the pebbles and rocks below me. The water is level with my chin and the strength of the rapids swipe the eyeglasses off my face and carry them down river into parts unknown. Everything is a blur as I swim back to the rocks on the side and yell to Erik ahead. By now he is in calm water. Now it 's every dog and man for himself. I stumble my way through the remainder of the rapids unable to see, sporadically slipping and scraping myself on the submerged rocks until I reach the boat on the other side where Erik and Scrappy sit safely awaiting my arrival.
A little over an hour later we arrive safely back in the village. I have found an extra pair of contacts to regain my eyesight. I relax in a hammock nursing my wounds and relishing the surrounding calm. Despite going momentarily blind, the trip has been a breathtaking experience. Pristine jungle, forgotten cultures, exotic animals, and notorious aquatic life have made my Suriname fishing expedition an adventure I will not forget.
By Kenny Carano
