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Rainforest rarities

Jonathan Rockoff discovers the heat of the amazing Amazon

July 10, 2005 Edition 1

Jonathan Rockoff

Perhaps I'd seen too much James Bond or watched too many National Geographic specials, but I expected the piranhas circling our fishing boat to thrash at the bait, not nip it off the hook to avoid being reeled in.

I was fishing deep in the Amazon, being schooled by flesh-eating fish. The piranhas were hungry. For three hours, they had feasted on our bait of raw chicken. But they weren't brutish.

They had nimbly picked the meat clean off my hooks. As storm clouds gathered overhead and lightning crackled in the distance, time to catch one was running out.

When I felt a slight tug on my line, I responded with the gentlest of jerks. Hand over hand, I pulled in the line. It felt heavy, but so had that sunken tree branch I had snagged earlier.

Then the water churned. I could reel in the line, but only with resistance. A narrow head emerged, and the piranha whipped its tail and wriggled. Soon, the fish dangled from my line, out of the water and then over the boat.

Hands-on

"Do you want to hold it?" the guide asked. Our tour of the Amazon consisted of such hands-on experiences. During three days in the vast, watery jungle in December, my wife and I learned how to climb trees without branches, survive on worms that had burrowed in wild nuts and hunt alligators at night.

There are several ways to see the enormous expanse of the tropical rain forest: from the comfort of a luxury hotel to a rugged river cruise. We aimed for the ecotourism middle ground, with a lodge providing three meals a day and guided excursions into the wilderness.

The Brazilian Amazon boasts more than 40 lodges, according to the Brazilian tourism agency, and their numbers are growing. Ours, Juma Lodge, was recommended and booked by a travel agent.

Established about six years ago, Juma bills itself as the lodge deepest in the Amazon. To get there, we flew from Sao Paulo to Manaus, a city of two million residents that is the main gateway to the jungle's interior.

From our Manaus hotel the next morning, we took a boat, a bus and finally another boat - all arranged by the lodge - across the jungle's shimmering lakes, over a lush island and along its winding rivers.

The half-day trip - 100km into the forest from Manaus - offered its share of sights: alligators resting on sandy shorelines, dolphins tumbling out of dark waters and macaws, toucans and other birds soaring overhead.

Arriving at the lodge, we met another Amazon resident. As we sipped a welcoming drink of freshly-squeezed orange juice, one of Juma's domesticated monkeys introduced himself.

The monkey, Joel, walked up to the mosquito netting surrounding the open-air hospitality bungalow stretched and yawned. Sumathi never had the courage to draw near to Joel, let alone play with him, partly because he stole both sets of room keys from New Zealand tourists earlier in the week.

The lodge's thatched-roof bungalows stand amid the treetops on wooden stilts rising as much as 20m above the ground, to avoid flooding during the rainy season. Walking between the huts means traversing walkways whose wooden planks sway and shake.

Alligators inhabit the shoreline below the most scenic cabanas - the ones with river views. Guests on tours of the rain forest have chanced upon jaguars. Strong insect repellent was a must. It was hot and humid. No air conditioning.

Meals were a rotation of fresh jungle vegetables, fruits and fish, washed down by freshly squeezed juices and Brazil's traditional rum and sugar cane cocktail, the caipirinha. Among the highlights were chocolate-tasting guava showered in cream, and savoury crepes made from a finely ground root called manioc.

Our guide for the two to three tours we took each day was Joao da Silva, a squat, muscular 28-year-old born and raised in the Amazon. He was well suited for shepherding tourists through the jungle, having spent a year training Brazilian soldiers how to survive there.

Joao hopes tourism will help build international support for the rain forest's protection. All of the tours began with a ride on a narrow, wooden boat - a kind of flat-bottom canoe powered by a small outboard motor - customarily used by locals to get around.

During our introductory tour, Joao explained that the Amazon is a "floating forest". From December to April, 1 370mm of rain fell in the area, according to the World Meteorological Organisation, a UN agency. By the end of the rainy season, much of the land is submerged.

We visited at the start of the rainy season. Even islands like the one where we decamped for a hike, on our second day in the territory, were already losing ground to the rising waters.

On the hike, Joao demonstrated how to climb a tree without the help of low-lying branches. He strapped me into a harness made of rolled palm leaves. Then he talked me into hopping my way up one tree's bare trunk, using the harness and my feet for support.

When I didn't get very far, Joao generously blamed it on the poor traction afforded by my socks.

Farther on, he cracked open a large Brazil nut and plucked out a grub. The milky-white grub thrives on the fruit inside the nut. Joao said humans can survive on grubs because they are so nutritious.

"Try it," he said. "It tastes like coconut."

Coconut custard, to be precise . . .

Joao took us out in search of alligators. He stood at the prow of the boat, aiming a torch at the shoreline many metres away. He was looking for a pair of eyes, gleaming just above the ground or water's surface.

He concentrated his flashlight on two red eyes illuminated in the thicket. After taking a few steps, Joao lunged forward. There was a splash, then another. Joao twisted his arm in the froth. Quickly, he climbed back on to the boat, clutching a baby alligator, 45cm long and surprisingly motionless.

"Anyone want to hold it?" he asked. I did. Trying to clasp its neck, I fumbled, but the alligator was surprisingly limp and docile. The rain made its bumpy skin feel slick.

Then Joao dropped the alligator back into the water, and we sped away.

At the lodge, I ambled back to our cabana and settled into the hammock.

A rainy mist washed over me. Thunder thumped in the distance. Across the river, over the treetops along the horizon, bolts of white lightning streaked. It was nice to feel, listen and watch.