Spiders, Snakes & Pink Dolphins: Four Days In The Amazon Jungle

Jim is telling us to be minimalistic in terms of what we take with us tonight, yet at the same time he’s giving us our strict instructions on the essentials which must form part of the minimalist pack: waterproof jacket, mosquito repellent, long trousers, decent walking shoes, sun lotion, waterproof cases for cameras and phones, and drinking water. And then there’s mosquito repellent and, if we still have room, some more mosquito repellent. This promises to be an interesting night.

Once we’d made the decision to spend time in the Amazon jungle – which, to be honest, was one of our red lines when we had to redesign this Brazil trip – we knew we wanted it to be a full on, rustic style adventure rather than a half measure with a luxury cruise or glamping or similar. So here we are at Anaconda Lodge or, to be specific, just leaving Anaconda Lodge for a night in the wild. We have opted for a 4-day/3-night stay, with two nights at the Lodge and one, just for the hell of it, camping in the jungle.

Anaconda Lodge is not exactly the height of luxury, being a small set of simple buildings on a tiny island which disappears completely when the river is at its highest at the back end of the rainy season. The only other two guests at the Lodge are leaving on the boat we have just arrived on – we’re the only two here now, and even we are not going to be here tonight. Two is also the total number of staff at the Lodge: the whole Lodge team is just two local guys who share all the duties between them. A pair of large lethargic dogs complete the scene.

A heavy storm briefly threatens tonight’s jungle experience but clears in time for us to head off on the motor boat with Jim, from British Guyana and our guide for the four days, and Matheus from a local village, who hails from an indigenous tribe and is well skilled in jungle survival. From leaving the small boat and hiding the can of spare gasoline where thieving pirate hands won’t find it, we trudge for nearly an hour through dense jungle to our designated sleeping place.

Matheus, or Speedy as Jim insists on calling him, draws a tarpaulin sheet over the wooden poles, strings up four hammocks with attendant mosquito nets, and sets about making the fire for cooking. The last of these is not a straightforward task – dry wood is not an easy find in a rainforest and for a while he struggles to achieve sufficient heat to cook the chicken and rice, but of course in the end he succeeds, and we enjoy our campfire meal in the cloying darkness which has in the meantime descended. 

Speedy has not a word of English and converses with Jim in what the older man describes as tribal dialect Portuguese. Jim tells us that Speedy is only sixteen years old and, as well as being capable enough to teach jungle survival, already has two children, the older of which is three. This is clearly a different world in more ways than one.

With our head torches the only pinpricks of light in the pitch dark, there is nothing to do now other than climb into our hammocks before 8pm and listen to the sounds of the jungle. Mosquitoes whine but can’t penetrate the tight mesh of the protective nets; cicadas grate their rasping calls, birds cry odd sounds which echo through the trees – and occasionally the crack of a twig hints at the footfall of an unknown and unseen mammal passing by somewhere out there in the darkness.

Michaela, Jim and Speedy are all soon asleep. My ears tune in to the multiple unfamiliar sounds around me, stimulated by mystery, excited by new experience. I can’t sleep yet.

The calls of the birds steadily wind down as night envelopes the jungle, and even the cicadas eventually go quiet. A deep cushioned thud breaks the silence somewhere just before midnight, maybe a fruit has fallen from a tree, and the strange multi-tone croaking of hundreds of frogs creates a haunting, discordant chorus. While the other three draw the heavy breaths of sleep, I do not get on well with the hammock and still struggle to join them in their slumbers.

Morning is a long time coming when sleep is elusive and the pitch darkness lasts a full twelve hours: for most of the night I long for a sustained spell of sleep, but it never does come. At one point I have a real desire to leave the camp and wander into the darkness, but there are dangerous things out there and my warnings from Jim have been stark. Eventually first light penetrates the trees shortly before 6am and the others start to stir – Speedy again wins his battle with damp timber and prepares a breakfast of boiled eggs and coffee, though the bread rolls which have hung in a carrier bag from a branch all night now taste of the damp, humid air of the forest. It tastes how I imagine moss would taste.

We have survived our night in the jungle. Michaela has slept soundly, I seriously haven’t. It’s been brilliant being surrounded by the sounds of the night jungle, a truly stimulating adventure, but personally I won’t be in a hurry to sleep in a hammock again. Not all night, anyway. Having opted to stay in the Amazon rainforest when the rainy season is three months in can only have one consequence – we know that it’s a matter of how often and how badly we’ll get soaked, not a matter of whether we will, but the night has, remarkably, stayed dry, and we return to the Lodge still waiting for our first soaking.

Will and Anthony arrive at lunchtime on Day 2: the four of us are to be the only guests at Anaconda Lodge for the rest of our time here, four English wanderers deep in the Amazon jungle. The modest, rudimentary Lodge sits on an island in the Rio Negro, the deep black waters which give the river its name owing their colour to the different kinds of underwater vegetation which can thrive in fresh water of a higher temperature. And believe us, this river is warm.

The Rio Negro is itself a mighty waterway in its own right yet is overshadowed on the statistical front by its even more mighty neighbour, the Amazon. At its widest point the Negro is an incredible 30 kilometres wide, yet even this amazing fact doesn’t compare with the Amazon which weighs in at an astonishing FIFTY kilometres. That’s a 31 mile wide river – mind bending! More about this stuff in our next post. 

Over the next few days out here we are to see some remarkable sights. The Amazon basin is one of only two homes to a species of pink dolphin – the other is the Orinoco. These strange looking creatures with pink bodies and orange/pink fins, sport pig-like snouts and faces which are odd enough to detract somewhat from their cute colouring. We do more than see these strange creatures in action; we are able to join them in the water.

Like other dolphins they are inquisitive things, and quickly move towards us as soon as we enter the river. It’s a strange sensation as they move beneath us, barging into our bodies and suddenly thrusting their heads above the surface, expelling through the blow holes and occasionally making eye contact for a brief moment. Swimming alongside these pink beasts is a thoroughly enjoyable, if slightly offbeat, experience.

Separated by 24 hours we make two attempts to fish for piranha, summarily failing to catch a single fish between all four of us on each occasion. Piranhas 4 England 0. Overnight in between, the rain is intense to the point of violent, thrashing on to the roofs of the huts and flowing down the banks to the river. By morning the level of the river has risen visibly, the inexorable progress of the rainy season is unfolding before our eyes.

Friday morning and the rain goes on: we take a boat trip to the nearest village, Cachoeira do Castanho, where houses on stilts sit both up on the banks and beyond the edge above the lapping water. Soon, every house in the village will be surrounded by the water which will swirl below and flood their lands for the next three months or so. We can only ponder what will happen to the chickens, dogs and pigs. The rain turns from heavy to ridiculous and at last we get our first proper drenching – we expected it much more often, and earlier, than this. We’ve got lucky.

Fruit is so plentiful here. Jim explains that many of the villagers are completely self sufficient on the food front: as indigenous people they retain the right to harvest in the forest, fish in the rivers and hunt non-protected species, as well as growing their own fruit and veg and rearing chickens. Like Speedy’s ability to survive in the wild, customs and skills have been handed down through generations.

A tarantula walks into a bar and says…… no, this isn’t the first line of a joke, it’s what happens at Anaconda Lodge one evening as Michaela and I sit ensconced in travel research, iPads in front of us, cupuaçu juice on the go and brains in gear. A shout goes up from one of the guys and they call us over, to see the giant, furry monster perched on a pillar, eyeing up its next kill. Just stay out of our hut, please, that’s all we ask.

The deep blackness of the waters of the Rio Negro makes for wonderful reflections of the beautiful surrounding scenery. This is a slow moving river, meaning that its surface is often amazingly flat, the perfect canvas for painting those fabulous scenes – until, that is, the next storm begins to threaten and the precursor winds turn that crystal clear mirror into a turbulent, fragmented mass. We don’t know it yet, but that silky smooth surface will later on provide something spectacular.

As darkness falls on Friday evening, we set out with the intention of spotting an alligator or two, which turns out to be a lot easier than catching piranhas. Our boatman – Speedy’s brother, as it happens – shows just how adept these local Amazon people are, and catches a young alligator by hand simply by leaning over the boat and taking the thing by surprise. We all take a turn in cradling the creature, but in truth it never looks settled and retains a malevolent look in its eye. “One false move, sucker”, it seems to be saying.

But the alligator trip brings another, different, absolute joy – as marvellous for its surprise as it is for its stunning beauty. The evening sky, full of character and style, is impeccably reflected in the flat calm river, creating quite possibly the most exquisite reflections in water we’ve ever seen. Truly, truly beautiful. Romantic, too.

And so to our last morning here and, after an hour’s hike through deep jungle where Jim and Speedy’s brother teach us which plants would help us survive in the wild, we return to the Lodge to find the two staff guys excitedly waving, calling us to hurry up the sloping path. There has been a discovery. Anaconda Lodge has lived up to its name, and the guys have found, in the kitchen storage cupboard, a young snake sleeping in a dark corner.

The specimen, we are told, is around two years old and not yet anywhere near its eventual length, but, as we touch it and feel its body draped around our neck, the power of its flexing muscles is palpable. The last act of our time in the jungle is both fitting and ironic: fitting that we’ve added an anaconda to our spotting list, ironic because after all our expeditions in the wild, the iconic anaconda has turned up on our doorstep.

Our four days are done, and the journey back to Manaus begins. We say our farewells to the two Lodge guys and head off across choppy waters. The rain, which has been so kind to us given where we have been, drops from the heavy sky in bucketfuls as if to remind us of our luck but also to let us know who is really in charge here.

Swimming with dolphins, fabulous reflections, alligators, tarantulas and an anaconda; watching just how amazingly knowledgeable and capable a 16-year-old brought up in the jungle can be; catching a glimpse of the oh so different world occupied by these inhabitants of a place which is flooded for nearly half the year. And a night deep in the jungle. It’s certainly been an experience.

It’s mid afternoon as we check in to the hotel back in Manaus, pull our damp, humidity-sodden clothes from our backpacks, and dive gleefully into a hot shower. It feels like heaven.