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For three days in August, we joined a group of cruisers
for a tour of Canaima Falls and Angel Falls. This log is rather
long with lots of pictures, so I've divided it into three
pages. Be sure to click the link at the bottom of each page
to read the rest of the story.
Background
The tallest waterfalls in the world are named for Jimmie
Angel, a bush pilot from Missouri. Angel discovered the falls
in 1933 when he flew over the tepuis (flat top mountains)
of southeast Venezuela in search of legendary gold. He returned
in 1937 with his wife and two companions. Angel landed his
monoplane in the marsh on top of Auyan tepui, where the plane
was hopelessly stuck and remained for 33 years. Angel and
his companions managed to descend the tepui and return to
civilization after an 11-day trek through the jungle. The
restored plane is now on display at the Cuidad Bolivar airport.
After his death, Jimmie Angel's ashes were cast upon the top
of Auyan tepui.
From the top of Auyan tepui, Salto Angel, as the falls are
called in Spanish, cascades 2,421 feet to the river below.
With a total descent of 2,937 feet, Angel Falls is 15 times
taller than Niagara Falls.
Friday
At 3:30 A.M. on a rainy August morning, 12 adventurous cruisers
from Bahia Redonda marina load their gear into a van and begin
what they hope will be a memorable trip to one of the world's
great wonders. Our early departure is timed to catch a 9:00
A.M. flight departing Cuidad Bolivar for the camp at Canaima
Falls. Since we have a large group, our tour company has reserved
a plane that can accommodate all of us, instead of splitting
us among the usual 5-passenger planes.
Here's the schedule. Upon arriving in Canaima, we'll have
a nice lunch and spend the afternoon touring Canaima Falls
and Sopo Falls. We'll spend our first night in a posada (inn).
On Saturday morning, we'll travel by dugout canoes powered
with outboard motors to the Angel Falls camp. We'll hike to
Angel Falls and then return to camp for a dinner of fire-roasted
chicken. That night, we'll sleep in hammocks under an outdoor
pavilion. On Sunday, we'll retrace our travels back to Puerto
La Cruz. That's the plan, but we'll soon learn a lesson about
third-world travel.
As we pull out of the marina, the rain continues to fall
onto flooded streets. There's a surprising amount of traffic
on the two-lane highway at this hour, and it's all going fast.
We observe that Venezuelans use an imaginary middle lane for
passing. Whenever the smallest gap appears in traffic, cars
from both directions pull into this middle lane to pass slower
vehicles. I find it best to close my eyes and not watch these
near-misses. Sleep, however, is not possible. Periodic potholes
bounce the van violently and rudely awaken anyone who has
just managed to doze off.
Around 6:00 A.M. we stop for pastries and hot cups of cafe
marron (strong coffee topped with steamed milk). We cross
the famous Orinoco River and arrive at the Cuidad Bolivar
airport at 8:30 A.M., in plenty of time to catch our flight.
We're greeted by Natasha, the local tour company representative,
who explains that rain has caused delays with the planes.
And so we wait, and we wait, and we wait...
Finally at 12:30, we board the twin-engine plane. We later
learn that this plane serves passengers on a first-come first-serve
basis, so we never actually had a reservation. Our captain
enters the plane and gives us the safety speech: "Hello,
I am your captain. The door you just came in is your emergency
exit. This door at the front is my exit, so if there's an
emergency, you guys go out the other way. The weather today
is eh... so-so. The flight time is 45 minutes. I'm going to
take a nap, so please try to be quiet." This guy is obviously
bucking for a job at Southwest Airlines.
Despite a sleeping captain and so-so weather, we land at
the Canaima Falls camp without incident. We're met at the
small airfield by Carlos, an indigenous Pemon Indian who will
be our guide for the remainder of the trip. He advises us
to apply sunscreen and bug spray, which seems overkill for
a six-minute hike to the camp. The camp includes a posada
with guest rooms and a restaurant. We file into the restaurant
and plop down our bags. Another tour group is already seated
at a long table awaiting their lunch. We're all famished and
exhausted. We wonder what's for lunch. And then the hammer
falls.
"We're going to Angel Falls today," Carlos informs
us. This will be a 4-5 hour trip by boat and it's already
after 1:00 P.M. The angry reply from the bedraggled gringos:
"No way! That's not what we were told. We're starving
and tired and we're staying here!" Carlos patiently explains
that the posada is full and we can arrive at Angel Falls before
dark if we leave now. In the American tradition, we demand
to speak to his manager. The manager arrives, but he doesn't
speak English. So Carlos tries again to convince us to go
to Angel Falls today.
"What about lunch? We haven't eaten since 6:00 A.M,"
we demand. Carlos says we'll have a picnic on the boat. "And
when will that be?" He estimates lunch service will occur
two hours from now. About this time, waiters weave through
our group, carrying aromatic plates of smothered steak and
rice to the other tour group seated at the table. The hungry
gringos are ready to devour their tour guide. In the end after
all the fussing, we obediently pull on our rain gear and prepare
for departure.
The rain has resumed and a covered mini-truck arrives to
transport us to the river front where our canoe awaits. We
pass around the life jackets, only 10 for 12 of us. Our luggage
is loaded in the back of the canoe and covered with a plastic
tarp; the gringos sit two-by-two in the front of the boat.
There is a pilot in the back to drive the boat, a bow man
with an oar to watch for debris and guide the boat around
rocks, and our guide Carlos.
About 30 minutes into the trip, the canoe is landed and we
all disembark for a 30-minute hike overland. The rapids in
this area are too dangerous, so we must walk around while
our pilot takes the boat by water. Once back on board, our
picnic lunch is distributed. Each lunch box contains two sandwiches,
each with one slice of cheese and one slice of ham between
a hot dog bun, a small package of plain cookies, and a mint.
We later learn that only 10 boxes were passed out so some
folks had to share. Bottles of water are also provided. It's
obvious that there won't be a potty stop during the 4 1/2
hour trip, so I take just a few sips.
As we make our way deeper into the jungle, the 48-hp Yamaha
outboard engine repeatedly chokes and sputters. At one point,
the rear of the boat fills with water. We stop and the gringos
use their Dixie cups to bail out the sinking canoe. As we
wind our way through the mountains, we wonder what will happen
if the coughing engine fails. The shoreline is a thick jungle,
and there isn't any place to pull over and make a camp. As
dusk approaches, it starts raining again and the wet gringos
are getting cold. The river has narrowed and the rapids are
rougher. Large boulders jut out of the water making the navigation
more treacherous.
At 5:30, Carlos says we're getting close. Soon after, we
round a bend and there it is straight ahead: a magnificent
site to take your breath away. Angel Falls looms above us,
torrents of water cascading from the flat mountain top into
a misty cloud. With rain pelting my face, I gaze up at this
natural wonder and say a silent prayer of thanks for the opportunity
to see one of God's grandest creations.
The last hour of the trip is the most difficult: cold, wet,
and nerve-wracking. As we buck our way against the rapids
of the Churun River, the pilot revs up our gasping engine
while the bow man guides us within inches of large boulders.
We all know that if the engine dies now, the gringos will
be in the water, scattered, and carried rapidly downstream
with night approaching. The Yamaha prevails though, and just
before dark the pilot beaches us on the rocky shore below
our camp.
The camp is an open pavilion over a sandy floor, with hammocks
hanging from the rafters. There are men's and women's bathrooms,
each with two toilets, non-functioning showers, and a sink.
A generator powers light bulbs strung under the roof and supplies
water pressure in the bathrooms. Everyone changes into dry
clothes and passes around the rum. Spirits are improving.
Our long-awaited dinner is served at 8:30 and it's delicious:
chicken roasted over a barbecue pit, rice, and tomato/onion
salad.
With full bellies and the lights off, we all collapse into
our hammocks. A gentle rain patters on the metal roof, while
the churning river provides a soothing lullaby. And then the
snoring starts. Note to self: pack earplugs next time.
For the Day 2 log, scroll down and click the link at the
bottom of this page.
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We travel by car, plane, and boat to reach
"Salto Angel" in the
Gran Sabana region of southeastern Venezuela.
We depart the marina in Puerto La Cruz at
3:30 A.M.
The airport is in Cuidad Bolivar.
Jimmie Angel's Flamingo monoplane, Rio Caroni,
is now on display at
the Cuidad Bolivar airport.
There's time for a group picture (with Natasha,
the tour agent)
during
our four-hour wait.
The "big" plane finally arrives!
Canaima Falls
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