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Sep 14-Sep 24 Blue Nile Falls - Shafartak Bridge 404km
September 25-October 8 Shafartak Bridge - Bambudi 1028 km As
the gesturing locals and their donkeys crossing Shafartak Bridge disappeared
behind the tall canyon walls so did the last signs of civilization we would
see for a many a moon. Having bid farewell to the Irish safety kayakers and
replaced the pungent-smelling guards with a fresher pair, it was just 600km
of some of the remotest and wildest parts of Africa between us the Sudanese
border. The
late departure saw us floating into the night, our breathtaking passage
illuminated by the full moon. The
evening’s serenity was to be short lived with the first of countless
crocodile attacks the following morning.
The further from human habitation we paddled, the bolder the wildlife
became and this was no exception. Virtually
unannounced, the massive reptile crunched into one of the wooden oars,
thrashing and whirling in the water. Loosing
its grasp, it returned for another strike and twice again on the other side.
The ease at which the 16’ raft shook illustrated the staggering
strength of the terrifying beasts. Many
more assaults from crocs came before lunch, most just charging the boats,
with the odd chomping of the bowline and oars.
The
melancholy situation was alleviated by the 10kg catfish Adam pulled from the
river clinging to a rancid chunk of salami.
To keep it fresh, the fish was tied to the bowline for one final swim
before supper, further increasing our attractiveness to our crocodile
friends, although ironically the other raft was the only boat to be attacked
that afternoon. The
majestic canyon walls slowly subsided as we ventured west, making way for
rounded leafy hills hemmed by magnificent granite formations jutting
indiscriminately like palaces in teal, silver, pink, salmon, apricot and
white. The heavenly sound of
birds echoed through the gorge. While
the rapids had mellowed from the raging torrents of the weeks prior, the
river’s flow pushed the boats along as fast as 15km/h, with the regular
cataracts sizeable enough to swallow the rafts. 29
September saw a whopping 94km covered between camps.
The girls had opted for a ridiculous 5am rising, when the crickets
are still deafening and bugs still biting.
Strangely, the sleep deprivation and long day did little to dampen
the spirits of the team with many hours spent singing dreadful renditions of
popular tunes from the years when it was fashionable to don a moustache. The
cornfields and pastoral crops that squeezed between the densely wooded hills
suggested we might soon again have flabbergasted locals on the banks waving
excitedly. Sure enough when we
stopped for lunch, the beach was soon teeming with curious locals.
The people from the Gumu tribe were noticeably darker with more
Negroid features than the other Ethiopians we had met.
They were a colourful bunch intrigued by all things inflatable, from
the rafts to the air cushioning in our sneakers.
We were equally intrigued by their personal decorations including
facial scarring, exposed breasts, things through the nose and all types of
trinkets made with everything from chrome watch straps to bottle tops –
our empty tuna cans were gratefully received, no doubt destined to become
delightful broaches and earrings. Although
the area seemed to have a smattering of human presence, the wildlife was no
less forthright, with the baboons, monkeys and hoofed animals on the banks
more inquisitive than alarmed by the strange looking visitors paddling
downstream. On some of the
beaches there were hippo prints the size of dinner plates.
There were many other tracks from webbed feet to hoofed animals to
what looked like a big cat. Even
the littlest of animals were in abundance with mosquitoes, sand flies,
fleas, flies that bite and all sorts of creepy crawlies causing a lot of
itching. The
crocodile threat didn’t abate, in fact they had begun charging the boats
in the rapids, slyly submerging into the murky soup only to reappear close
enough to make out their devious grins and rows of teeth.
There wasn’t a lot of swimming in the river due to the myriad of
incidences with the scaly beasts with most of the intentional wetting taking
place under the crystal clear tributary waterfalls and streams along the
way. The
stench of the guards had now surpassed our previous militiamen.
The inability to ask them to bathe in their language saw us looking
for creative ways to get them to scrub themselves, Mark had even lulled them
into a round of Frisbee and had thrown the disc into the river hoping they
would fetch it, unfortunately their fear of crocs saw the Frisbee float off
downstream and no one else was overly eager to rescue it.
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Closer
to Sudan, the sun blazed noticeably hotter, the landscape transformed to
wide flat areas with mountains fading into the horizon in every direction
and the vegetation drier with palm trees and weird trees with bell bottoms
flanking the banks.
One
of the last camp sites in Ethiopia was one of the most charming, on a golden
beach cove between jagged granite rocks jutting out from the chocolate
drink, seemingly the perfect venue for one of our guards to perform home
repairs on his rusting grenade. Across
the river lay a darling straw hut village that the team was interested in
visiting. That morning they crossed over and were warmly greeted by
villagemen wearing traditional Muslim garb, and women, to the contrary, were
parading the sands with tattooed backs displaying more imagery than a New
York subway. With
a bit of sketchy Arabic and gifts of balloons, candy and gaudy plastic
jewelry the enamored villagers invited the team to the village.
Immaculate straw huts surrounded by cornfields and goats set the
scene for breakfast on a rickety bench made of twine. Kelley and Mark sampled the local cuisine with Mark getting a
bit carried away with his portion. It
was a local dish called Asseeda with a delightfully spicy salsa-type sauce.
The offer to wash it down with fresh, cool and thick muddy Nile water
was declined. Down
at the bank, one sick local insisted on pills complaining of headaches and
stomach pains. After his
request had been fulfilled he immediately pulled out a big fat reefer and
proceeded to smoke it. Once
news spread of our medical supply situation, villagers arrived from far and
wide all claiming to be sufferers of mysterious illnesses. A
day out from the border, with just Les and Mark carrying on to the sea, the
supplies were sorted and folding sea kayaks assembled for a test run.
Les’s was a slick red Canadian built, very James Bond machine and
Mark’s German-built sturdy blue double, the design unchanged for 50-years.
After
savouring one last catfish caught by Scott, Les and Mark set off in the
fully loaded kayaks, the crafts that were to be the mode of transport for
the next 4,000km to the sea. The
river took the paddlers through some notable rapids, where the flimsy kayaks
were thrown around a lot more than the sturdy rafts, but seemed to cope
well. The
raft crew and kayaks were eventually separated and ended up on alternative
sides of an island. The path of
the kayaks was hampered by a thundering rapid consisting of a big hole, wall
of wave washing into another big hole that would have been almost unrunnable
in the rafts. It would have
been a rash move to attempt the cataract potentially wrecking the rafts on
day 1 so the portaging route was taken.
Although
a suitable put in was only about 100 metres, there were 2-options to get
there; scrambling over a jagged slippery rock garden or skimming around a
bilharzias pond which Les had almost been trampled by a 1.5 metre crocodile
fleeing from the bushes while he was scouting out a suitable route.
We chose the serrated rock passage.
It
took 3 ½ hours of clambering over the rocks hauling the two boats and
luggage in the heat of the midday, exhausting Les and Mark for the final
10km of paddling. Without even realizing it, first the rafts, and then the kayaks, ended up crossing the border into Sudan – indicated by an insignificant wire across the river with no flags or welcoming banners.
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 Adam and his crochet hat rowing strong while Scott naps on deck |
Kelley busy filming breathtaking rock formations |
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World Water Monitoring Day
Water Test VI Oct 9-Oct 17 Bambudi to Omdurman Falata 1266 km >> You can subscribe to Water Colours, the Colours of the Nile email updates and receive the latest news from the expedition delivered to your inbox as it happens. Click here. |
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