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| Craig and I cleaning piranhas for dinner. I ended up cutting my hand, which made the teenagers laugh at how inept I was with a knife. |
Now, there are some popular myths around piranhas that aren't exactly true. Every now and then, when the rainy season dries out, sections of the river get cut off from the main flow. Schools of piranha get trapped in these oxbows, and the lack of food turns them into the bloodthirsty monsters of lore. The vast majority of the time though, they are perfectly harmless, like a bluegill with dinosaur teeth. If you knew how many of them we ate with socialist rice and tobasco sauce, you'd see it was a one-sided affair.
Still though, doing a hundred meter freestyle to the middle of a river in the Amazon is a daunting task; maybe it was fifty..it was a long swim. Plus I had to beat the native kid, because even though I was just under a year out of the Army, I still felt like Uncle Sam was always judging me. Fear must have been propelling me forward, giving me the edge I needed to beat Manuel. I also might have grabbed his ankle just before the turn, that part's fuzzy. I emerged victorious though, hoisting my shampoo bottle over my head like it was the Grail. I do whatever it takes to win, sue me.
Building schools and churches in Venezuela was hard work..hot, sweaty, spidery, rash in the, spend a day on the dirt floor of the latrine kind of work. Steve and I had spent the day digging a trench down a hillside. We laid PVC pipe in the trench and connected a rainwater cistern to the school teacher's house. The family was delighted with the dribble that finally emerged from the tiny hand valve, it was going to save them a half-mile slog to the community well with five-gallon buckets. We were proud of our work, and we'd finished with a couple hours of daylight left.
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| The school |
Fishing was absolutely on my mind every time I saw the beautiful landscapes of the Amazon River system, but I was in Venezuela to work, not fish. Plus, the thirty-pound weight limit on the rickety prop plane prevented any extra equipment. I will never forget that landing on the dirt runway, the pilot in his tank top and bare feet, and my dad next to him with a headset; two pilots from different worlds. It was a great adventure. You have to understand this about me, I'll work my butt off for a chance to cast a line out in a new location, but I would have to suppress the urge, or so I thought.
Bob Holloway, the missionary who organized the project, was given a transportation stipend from the Church. He was supposed to buy a car, which isn't so useful in the Amazon. Instead, he bought a flat-bottom johnboat with twin Mercury outboard motors called La Provacadora, which needed no translation. Ed Anders, the retired builder who supervised us, had brought in rods and reels by boat with the construction equipment. They were practical philanthropists, I guess; if you're going to dedicate your life to improving living conditions in South America, you should at least have a fast boat and fishing tackle. They also both knew that I was a lunatic about fishing.
So with daylight fading, and these crazy low storm clouds rolling in, Bob decided to take us on a monster hunt.
In Michigan, a sudden rain squall usually sends people running for cover. In the Amazon, it's like a warm shower that you're always ready for, and badly in need of. Still though, when raindrops the size of your pinky nail are coming in sideways because you're full throttle down the middle of the Orinoco River, it stings quite a bit. I was keeping low, huddled over one of the tackle boxes. I was a couple thousand miles from home, fishing on a completely foreign River, with someone else's gear. A little more time to prepare and strategize would have been great. I had my eye on a seven-foot rod with one of those Penn spinning reels that looked like it came off a Detroit assembly line in the 70's. I gave a tug on the line, and the well-oiled spool began to feed me line at just the right tension. Ed took care of his equipment...game on. I tied on a five-inch balsa wood minnow, black on top with gold sides. It would mimic a wounded baitfish anywhere on earth. Bob eased off the throttle as La rovacadora's flat belly slid to a stop on a gigantic smooth boulder in the middle of the river.
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| The Colombian military used these little things to patrol the river La Provacadora .was bigger and faster, so they often "borrowed" her to chase smugglers and guerillas. |
We were on the largest of a series of boulders stretched from one side of the river. The water rushed between them, forming a series of rapids with plunge pools behind each boulder. Those pools were my target. I fired a cast upstream of the closest boulder, allowing the minnow to tumble through the rapids. As it reached the edge of a pool, I started my retrieve, each sweep of my rod tip sending the wooden minnow on a frantic surge towards the bottom.
I felt weight on the end of the line. It was not the pulse of something living, but the steady, unrelenting resistance that means you've snagged an obstruction. I was hopelessly hung up on the bottom, and I didn't have a lot of time to mess around, so I pulled out my knife To cut the line. A quick slap on my wrist let me know Manuel wasn't pleased with my decision. Back home, a five dollar lure can be easily replaced, not quite so in the Amazon. So, for the second time in one day, Manuel jumped into the Orinoco to retrieve something of mine. He swam out into the current with his legs and one free arm, holding my line with the other hand to guide him to the snag. He disappeared beneath the surface until I felt the lure pop free. After hoisting Manuel back onto the boulder, I handed him the pocket knife I'd carried since the Army. He'd obviously earned today's trophy...almost.
I shot a cast upstream of the furthest boulder and snapped my wrist to send the minnow darting side to side like a wounded baitfish. Once...twice...WHAM! The swirling water let me know he'd struck just beneath the surface. I set the hook hard and felt the head shake before he made for the deep water of the main river channel, stripping line off the reel as he ran. After tiring from the run, he Turned to come straight back at me. I struggled to take in the slack and dropped the rod tip just in time for his first jump. He spent the next five minutes in a series of runs and rushes, dives and aerial acrobatics. He was a worthy opponent, everything I expected from a place this wild and raw.
He finally ran out of steam, and I took a knee to land him as he rolled onto his silvery side and slid over the edge of the boulder. He looked to me like the love child of a salmon and a catfish, and he had the spirit of both. I reached down to grab him behind the gill plate, but Manuel slapped my wrist, shaking his head. He was standing over me with half of a broomstick...a club. I guess you don't catch and release in a place where food is scarce, I felt silly. He gave it a quick, sharp blow to the head, and it's mouth opened to reveal two giant two-inch fangs protruding from the lower jaw. Manuel had saved me that time, the day was his.....but not before I got the shot. I pulled out my digital camera and tossed it to my friend Craig. "Make sure it's a good one, please..."
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| 8lb 2oz Payara, myself, and La Provacadora. Even in this grainy pic you can see those teeth! Turns out this one was dinky, they get four times his size! |
