Monday, July 21
Location: Manaus, Amazonas,
Brazil
Today's weather: 33░C, Sunny
Woke up at 7am. I had breakfast at 7:30am, after which
I left with a group to go piranha fishing.
There were about 15 of us crowded into the small
motorised canoe – piranha fishing is one of the
standard activities that visitors to Aria· get to do.
But it was something that I had missed out on during my
previous stay in January thanks to my bad reaction to
local food. Fortunately, this time around has been much
better. Our guide for this trip was Eduard – a very
tall, skinny, and very amiable Brazilian who's worked at
Aria· for several years.
Eduard directed the boat to the first of several good
piranha fishing spots that he knew. The best spots seemed
to be in the flooded forest, where trees overhead
sheltered the water from the hot sun – keeping
things relatively cool. Here, we were instructed in the
fine art of piranha fishing. Its very simple. You just
bait your hook with a piece of raw meat, throw the line
into the water, then thrash it around a little to
simulate a small animal in distress. Hopefully the
piranha will smell the blood and detect the vibrations on
the water's surface – thinking that it has found
itself an easy meal. But after 5 minutes of trying at
this first fishing spot, no one had caught a thing. So
Eduard took us to another spot – and caught his
first piranha a couple of minutes later. Eduard walked
down along the boat to display his catch and show
everyone the piranha's fearsome teeth.
A few other people in the boat also caught piranhas,
but I didn't have any luck. Piranha fishing definitely
isn't as easy as I thought – it isn't at all like
the movies where swarms of piranha appear out of nowhere
to instantly skeletonise anything unlucky enough to get
in their way. These only happen under very special
circumstances – particularly in the dry season when
the piranha are short of food and aggressive. Right now,
it is the high water season – food is plentiful, and
the piranha are happy . . . and not fool enough to jump
onto the end of my fishing line.
Unfortunately, not all goes well. Trying to manoeuvre
the long motorised canoe through the flooded forest is
difficult – especially when the guy steering the
boat is sitting at the back by the outboard motor, so
doesn't have a very clear view in front. Another guide is
standing at the front of the boat trying to give
directions – but he is momentarily distracted by
another of the tourists. The boat plough straight into a
bunch of small trees sticking out of the water in the
middle of the channel. Normally this isn't so bad –
but there is a rotten branch in one of the trees which
breaks away and comes crashing down on the back of the
canoe where several people are sitting. There is a few
moments of concern – but Eduard calmly checks the
passengers to see that they are okay. He is very worried
and embarassed that the accident happened. Fortunately,
everyone looks okay . . . mostly just a little shaken. A
visiting couple from Argentina were hit by the main bulk
of the branch and are very sore.
After the piranha fishing, Eduard then takes us
swimming. To me, the inclusion of piranha fishing and
swimming into the same outing seems a little strange. But
the passengers don't seem to mind. The spot that Eduard
takes us to is a small beach which is supposed to be safe
for swimming. There are no overhead trees, so it may be a
little too hot for the piranhas here.
Slowly, a few of us jump out of the canoe and into the
water (the thought of the piranha is still a little too
fresh for some). The water is warm and is coloured
reddy-brown so that it is difficult to see anything under
the water. The river that we are in is a tribuary of the
Rφo Negro, which is made up of rainwater which falls in
the forest, then drains from the forest floor into small
rivers and streams before passing in to the Rφo Negro.
The water gets its strange colouring because it passes
through leaf-litter on the forest floor where it absorbs
tannin in a similar way to tea passing through
tea-leaves. The thought of swimming in tea seems quite
strange.
While swimming, we see movement in the water about 15
metres from us. Something big is splashing around. There
is a German tourist swimming far away from the beach,
close to the splashing so we yell at him to watch out. My
first thought is that the splashing might be an anaconda (I knew I
shouldn't have watched those movie trailers before I left
NZ). The splashing continues for a few minutes – and
the German tourist hasn't disappeared under the water,
screaming with a huge snake coiled around him, so I begin
to feel a little easier. I boldly swim out to the same
spot as the German and, in my rusty high-school German,
ask "Was ist?".
"Botos," replied the German. "Pink
Amazon river dolphins. There are two of them".
Thankfully realising the limits to my knowledge of
German, and replying in English.
Relieved about not coming face to face with an
anaconda, I stay in the middle of the river for a few
minutes, quietly watching the two botos diving to food.
Because the water is so dark there isn't a lot to see
– just the botos' backs and fins as they
periodically break the surface of the water. Nonetheless,
it is exciting being able to swim this close to them.
After our morning's adventure we return to Aria· for
lunch. At 2pm I jumped into a speedboat headed back to
Manaus – closer to telecommunications and an
Internet connection so that I could take part in this
week's audioconference to schools.
   
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