Packed and ready to push off. Chan in his kayak was to scout out the river ahead. Tim and Francois were to paddle and I, not being a water person, was to cook and prepare camp. When on the raft, our balsa, I was to look out for eddies, whirlpools, rapids, rocks and tree trunks that may topple us.
Within a couple of pulling strokes, the current grabbed us, spun us into the rock-face bordering our camp. Francois and Tim paddled furiously to avoid the bluff. Success … relief … breathe … but not so fast. An eddy sucked us and twirled us around and around, its force enough to break up our balsa. The cliffs looked immense from the water and the crevices none too safe. Where’s Chan? Damn him, he was supposed to be surveying and reporting back to us.
Scrutinised and now acquainted with every swerve of the water, we made another attempt at getting out. On the count of three, giving all that they had, Francois paddling and Tim pushing off the rocks with a pole, we managed to clear the eddy and headed straight into a whirlpool.
‘Hell, give me a canoe any day,’ hissed Tim exasperated.
Spinning downstream, clearing yet another cliff, we were met with an unbelievable sight -an enormous steam-ship anchored on the opposite bank. How incredible for a vessel of that size to come up almost to the Pongo. What was it doing there?
‘Hey, for a beer and food tonight!’, cheered the boys.
The crew was watching us, and they looked Westernised.
Beer … beer … timed the paddling. Chan finally appeared and we urged him to hurry to get us invited aboard. As soon as he got there, a motorboat headed for us. A blessing to anchor for the night and a real bed to sleep in.
Burnside Writers Group 