Latest update April 23rd, 2024 12:59 AM
Dec 07, 2014 Countryman, Features / Columnists
COUNTRYMAN – Stories about life, in and out of Guyana, from a Guyanese perspective
– PART 2
By Dennis A. Nichols
The night wears on. Apart from the flickering fire, nothing pierces the darkness in this
little piece of the North West jungle. Lew and I have eaten our ‘bush’ dinner, and I have listened to his supernatural tales. But I am too thrilled, too awed by the nocturnal ambience of forest and creek to be fearful. Sleep is even more distant than usual. Our intrusion into this relatively unknown world (to me) perfectly complements my spiritual quest. I drift mentally, and imagine I’m dreaming.
Shortly after midnight, Lew shook me out of my reverie. It was time to go out into the creek and check our spring hook lines. He took up his shotgun, and with torchlight in hand, led the way to the corial tethered nearby. I would be guiding the boat again through the dark, unrippled water. The air about us rang with an unbroken silence, and it seemed as if all nature was asleep, except for us. Although the night was black, the surface of the creek had a dim, starlit glow that prevented disorientation, as I began to navigate upstream, maneuvering my paddle underwater to eliminate unnecessary sound.
As we moved away from our ‘camp’ Lew started to shine his flashlight around. In a few seconds I became aware of two close-set points of red light, maybe 50 feet away. It took about half a minute for me to realize what they were. Alligator eyes, unmoving, reflecting off the flashlight. Then we saw another pair, and another, and that’s when I remembered that Lew had told me of the reptiles’ fondness for fish, especially when they are helplessly suspended two feet above the water. Almost simultaneously we began to see at intervals, several fish dangling from bent saplings along the edge of the creek.
That was even more surreal than the unearthly stillness of dusk I’d felt earlier. It was maybe one o’clock – a cold, silent, starlit night; the corial gliding with a ghostly smoothness, the beam of the torchlight knifing the darkness and playing eerily on the dangling fish, as those unmoving eyes watched, and waited. I held my nerve, rightly figuring the reptiles were more interested in the fish than in us.
A few seconds later I watched in fascination as a dark reptilian shape propelled itself straight up from the creek, grabbed at a fish, missed, and fell back heavily into the water. Another followed shortly after on the other side of the creek, but I couldn’t see if that alligator made a hit or not. This went on sporadically for about ten minutes, then became less frequent as the reptiles no doubt became aware of our presence. By then Lew had begun freeing the fish from the hooks and dropping them into the boat. From their size and shape I surmised that they were either Houri or Yarrow.
We spent maybe an hour traversing roughly a quarter mile of creek, in both directions, in the process of which we landed about a dozen fish. Most of them still seemed to be alive, and Lew had to whack each on the head to ensure that they could not escape by flopping about and jumping back into the water. And even in the darkness Lew could detect that a couple of them been bitten by alligators. How many may have been wholly devoured we would never know. Thankfully, they kept away from us.
Lew said he had to leave the checking of the seine until morning light, and we returned to our lodging. It was still only about three a.m. He placed the fish in a large covered basket, kindled the almost dead fire, and after a short chat, we ‘retired’ until morning. However I can’t recall if I got any sleep, although I’m sure my partner did. And why not? The expedition was almost routine for him. For me, it was the most adventurous thing I’d ever done, and I couldn’t let the moment slip away so easily. My eyelids were heavy but I still didn’t feel tired. And even if I did sleep, it must have been a very fitful interlude.
Morning came quickly and Lew was up before me. I heard the sound of chopping and raised up on my haunches to see him setting up what he called a ‘barbecut’ or something close to that. It consisted of two forked twigs jammed into the earth with a straight piece connecting them about three feet above ground on which several fish were skewered. A fire leaped beneath them, their fat dripping with a sizzling sound into the flames. The woodsy aroma of roasted fish tantalized my nostrils.
A cool, dewy morning! Breakfast at seven – fresh ‘barbecued’ fish and cassava bread with strong creek-water coffee. Then it was out in the waterway again to make the final sweep. This time, there were no alligators or water dogs to be seen, but there were several more dangling fish, in addition to the ones we retrieved from the seines. It wasn’t a large haul by conventional standards, and included several fish called lucka-lucka which Lew said not everyone ate. But there were more than enough for our families, and for sharing with friends – the way of the river.
We returned to the camp, smothered the fire, packed up our stuff and prepared to leave. As was customary, the makeshift camp was left for any other intrepid fisherman or hunter to use if he/she so desired. We left at about nine o’clock with the sun already steaming and the humid jungle coming alive. The aura of mystique I sensed the day and night before had all but gone, and the reality of the long haul back to ‘civilization’ sank in. But there was nothing that could steal my adventure from me.
As we threaded our way out of the Hanaida, we were again confronted with a few aggressive water dogs snarling near the boat. But they disappeared with amazing dexterity as soon as Lew picked up the shotgun. We also saw several more cavorting along the banks of the creek, some of them sliding playfully along muddy slopes, looking anything but vicious. As we neared the creek mouth we encountered the only other human we’d met since our journey started. Lew stopped to chat with him for a few minutes and gave him some fish. It was the most natural thing to do.
Out of the creek and back on the open river, Lew met a few more friends and more fish were shared. We pulled into his water-pa’ shortly after midday and unburdened the corial. His wife and children immediately set to work cleaning and preparing the fish that hadn’t been roasted. I got my share. I stayed a couple of hours with them (practically my own family) ate some food, joked around a bit, then left.
Happily tired, I set out for my home in my own small corial. Along the way I stopped by some other family friends, the Alams. I gave them three fish; they gave me a bunch of plantains and some yams. It was maybe an unequal exchange, but even if I had gone there empty-handed, it would have made no difference; it was simply the way things were done on the river. And I knew then, that my overnight fishing exploit had just fit perfectly into this pristine picture of an unforgettable hinterland experience.
LISTEN HOW JAGDEO WILL MAKE ALL GUYANESE RICH!!!
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