World Wildlife Fund

© Zig Koch

Today is my final day with the expedition. Reaching the Cuc River, a site occupied by Wayana Indians through the 1960's, I and several others leave the main group behind to travel some 150 kilometers upriver to the airstrip at Molokopote. Piling my gear into the Comaru, our fastest boat, I say goodbye to my companions and newfound friends and wish them well. They will spend another week exploring before reversing course and making the long trip home.
 
We are unable to reach our destination and, with a powerful storm approaching in the distance, we decide to make camp early. The storm bursts through our campsite after dark, washing Marcelo and me out of the apparently not so waterproof jungle hammocks and knocking down one of the supporting trees. Wet and weary, we break camp at dawn and begin the final stretch to Molokopote, a small airstrip cleared from the forest several decades ago for the mining survey and which now provides vital air support to the expedition.
 
There has been relatively little rain throughout the expedition as we are now in the driest time of year, when the rivers are running high but beginning to subside after the heavy rainy season. The chill and dampness of the morning sets in as we follow the meandering river. Several tapirs crossing are surprised by our 30 foot aluminum craft bearing down, and demonstrate their diving prowess, submerging and popping up about 50 meters away.
 
Lifting off later that morning and flying high over the Jari, retracing the expedition route, I am half-convinced that I spy the Laura and the Flavia through a break in the clouds. Like arrows, they are pointed upstream and move silently through a vast forest that extends beyond the horizon.
 
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