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June 4, 2001
Guanay

Extract from the diary of Capt. Jim Masters

The journey from Guanay to base camp at Quilapituni.

It's Sunday. I think.

I went to bed last night, totally done in after yesterday's journey from Quilapituni to Guanay. I slept like a dead man until about 2am when the karaoke music from next door penetrated my slumber. From then the night sounds of Guanay ground remorselessly on until dawn.

Jose, our driver, has just come in search of a toilet roll. All part of the charm of expeditions! He is a very pleasant man who has fallen on hard times. His English is a bit like that of the Spanish waiter in Fawlty Towers.

There is little for the boys to do here now - the engines have been run up and the boats are about ready to go. The river levels are still falling and that will cause some problems on launch day but there is not much we can do about it.

Last night we went to the local bar before dinner. I drank a large, litre-sized bottle of coke with hardly a pause. Between then and going to bed I drank another three litres of water. Dehydration!

The road to Quilapituni - no smooth highway here!

The journey to Quilapituni is an ordeal! Five hours of jolting, bouncing, and crashing over the most unimaginable road conditions. The scenery though is stunning. In places the road follows a razor-backed ridge that falls away on either side to sheer precipices. Looking towards the horizon is an amazing sight of ridgeline on ridgeline. Some of the ridges appear to have been stamped on by a pre-historic giant. It's as if someone has walked over soft mud and left a footprint, which then sprouted jungle. You can look straight down onto the giant treetops and perhaps a further 1000ft below and see the tangle that makes up the primary rain forest. It is almost impossible to get down to the bottom of the forest.

What is down there? Certainly natural scientists would find an unspoilt piece of rain forest. Here and there you find a reddish scar, where a landslip has occurred. Another mystery for an enquiring geologist - what would those wounds in the cliff faces reveal?

The scenery is lovely - but we have to move on, further punishing the protesting body. Even the slightest distraction on the driver's part is enough to send the vehicle into yet another monster pothole, catapulting the hapless passenger into space until a crunching collision with the cab roof abruptly returns him to his seat. Over and over again!

Occasionally the vehicle drops down to a river crossing. It then goes hub deep over shingle bottoms, crunching and bounding like a demented bucking bronco. All this torture occurring against a green, cool background.


Sometimes there is a small village nearby. This is usually a colourful sight with women washing clothes and children splashing in the shallows. In some places the men are around anxiously peering into the pans as they search for the glint of gold.

Gradually the road climbs over succeeding ridges until after 5 gruelling hours we finally see our destination! The palm thatched, mud bricked walls of the few huts that make up Quilitapuni are such a welcome sight. We park on a postage stamp sized village football pitch. Our tents are a splash of colour against the greens and dark blues of the landscape.

We rest and meet up with the mule team. Until the next day. Then it's back the way we came and more punishment!