Angel Falls is the highest waterfall in the world at 975m, but it's not easy to reach. The nearest city is Ciudad Bolivar and outside the airport sits the recovered plane of Jimmy Angel after whom the falls are named. Jimmy crashed attempting to land atop the falls believing he'd seen gold there: He hadn't.
Flying is one way to reach them, the other is subject to the height of the river. This being dry season (now we're back on the northern hemisphere) the river was too low to allow boat passage but 4 days of rain is thought to have raised it enough for the most uncomfortable dug out canoes to pass. Only dugouts are permitted in the national park, authentic traditional craft that carry upto 12 + luggage, hacked by hand from a massive tree trunk. Fitted to the back is a hefty Yamaha outboard which altogether weigh 2000kg.
First mission is to reach Canima, a very small village inside the park with a very small airport. We'll be going by canoe 75km up river to an overnight hammock stop, the next day we'll climb to the mirador - only accessible in dry season - to see the falls. You need to be there before 9am else the top is lost in the clouds so it'll be a 4am start to begin the hike.
A small Cessna bumps us through the clouds for an hour from Cuidad Bolivar where we quickly change and lighten our backpacks for the canoe ride. Swim wear is advised but it's not totally clear as to why.
All around is jungle and Tepui stand old and wise above the green. The river is very dark, rust coloured from the tannins, it looks shallow and the drag on a dugout is minimal, no keel. We're allocated to craft to keep the boats balanced, I'm in a smaller canoe to Alexa, it carries 6 but on closer inspection only two of the crew are very mobile.... I didn't realise the significance and impact of this until later in the journey.
The canoe is burnt out on the inside as part of its construction, removing the last moisture from the wood and sealing it. It's meant to be stronger and ride higher in the water, we're lighter than the bigger log boats and find we.'really much quicker. The first sprint is about 20mins where we hit rapids and have to walk around them.
Reboarding the canoe once the 3man crew has manoeuvred it through the rushing water, I hadn't realised how long they are until I later see them from the air.
The surroundings are stunning and I know that Venezuela will need a longer visit at sone point. Back on board and we continue, there is burnt patch of forest to my left where a careless campfire took down this primary jungle, that was 10 years ago and it still hasn't grown back fully. Anyone who tells you the rain forest quickly recovers from deforestation is deluded and has been listening to oil and mining company propaganda. Without the constant fall of leaves and dying vegetation the thin layer of soil quickly loses it's fertility. It's a very slow cycle to build it back up enough to support a forest, it takes decades.
The river winds on and then hairpins back on itself, we're all captivated by this scenery until the body of the canoe grinds on the bottom bringing us to a virtual standstill until the current starts to move the boat sideways across the flow where it will capsize. Lee and I are ordered out to catch it and pull it through the rapids. The water was thought to be knee deep but the river bed is uneven I'm moving quickly between chest deep water and then ankle deep. It's not cold but the current is strong and heaving the 2000kg boat back inline and then upriver against it is very hard work. The engine is max'd but sitting in such shallows it's all but useless. Eventually we 're through, it's taken 20 mins to move 30 yards and we both climb up and drop into the boat out of breath and a bit shocked at the effort that was needed from us... The boat continues up stream and hits the bottom again, again we're out and hauling, suntan cream and deet now washed off we're starting to burn as the sun climbs higher. This is hard graft.
The pattern continues, both of us stumbling on the slippery invisible stones, ankles twisted, knees bruised, totally soaked, climbing back in is a chin up as the water suddenly deepens the propeller finds traction and the boat soars off with our legs dragging in the water, too slow and you're on your own. Over and over again we hear the grinds of the stony bottom, the boat is filling with water and the less able are bailing as the driver does his best to find deeper channels and crashes through rapids where he can. It's all too shallow, we have to haul again. A brief rest for the other boats to catch up
7hours later and we still haven't reached the overnight stop, night falls quickly but we barely notice the dark, conditioned to our task. I think I'm being bitten by the fearless and omnipresent mosquitoes, my fingers are swelling up and stinging. I realise later they're actually blisters from pushing the canoe which is bereft of useful handholds. In the dark we see fireflys along the banks, they flash like cats eyes at night and bring an eery silence to the boat, we feel we're being watched but no outline can be made out in the darkness of the jungle. We don't have torches and the navigation is suffering, needing more from myself and Lee. We're absolutely shot, jumping into the water, heaving the boat back in line, feel it lift up off the bottom move 10 yards find again it's quite deep enough. Over and over we do this, more 90 times. We're both at a point to quit but that's really not an option; no-one else is here, there is no lifeboat crew, no SOS, no mobile coverage, we have to get there.
Finally a burning flame in the distance suggests we're close, the last 100m is all across gravel, we're just about too tired for the last few feet to the stone beach. I've never been so knackered or soaked "I'm can't do anymore, I'm absolutely fucking shagged" says Lee, we both are.
Everyone and everything is soaked, the boat is full of water and some are shivering. In the shelter, there is a set of hammocks and a table, the fire is in the distance and the chickens I'd been diving on in the bottom if the canoe, now defrosted and a bit flatter are skewered whole and stood tee-pee style by the fire. It produces the best chicken I've ever tasted.
It's a short night, hammock sleep is intermittent and a generator starts up at 4am for us to get ready. No breakfast, you can't hike on a full stomach so early so it's just coffee. Nothing has dried overnight, it doesn't dry in the jungle so my shoes are still sodden and squelch with every step. Thankfully I have a dry pair of hiking trousers as jungle trekking should never be in shorts, too many sharp and stingy things want a taste of you. We set out but my head torch batteries are shot and I'm struggling to see the few stones that make up the crossing point over the stream. Sunrise starts at 6am, we want to be there by 7am. We move quickly into the jungle as first light starts to help guide us. There is a slim trail through the undergrowth and the animals are starting to fill the air with chirps and bleats. It's fantastic experiencing this, although I'm still yawning.
Alexa has a twisted ankle and had to turn back early on, the uneven stones that made up the river crossing causing her more twists and pains. She is back at the hammocks with Charlie who broke his toe with the nighttime canoe hauling, it's now pointing the wrong way. There are no medical facilities.
Through the jungle there is suddenly an incline which becomes steeper and steeper, the trail is fairly tough and as it heats up another t-shirt starts to get soaked with the climb. The final 20minutes is steep and then we emerge onto a few rocks and there before you is Angel Falls. No safety barriers or seating, we balance on the sloping rock as close to the edge as possible for photos.
It takes a while to take it all in, the height of it barely fits in a single camera shot, and much head nodding finally appreciates what a kilometre of falling water actually looks like, just how high that is. It's astonishing and disorientating, dizzying to look up. Magnificent.
Below, the jungle canopy sits like a pile of grass cuttings, anonymous chirps seeping from the green carpet, louder as the morning truly breaks. The falls aren't loud, it's not like Iguassu, there is just a single main stream falling down the side of the tepui, it's such a long distance the stream doesn't seem constant, like the water can't keep up with itself. Below is a small pool where it collects, very cold, colder than the river it feeds.
It's only 20% of its wet season flow but at that time the walk to the viewpoint isn't possible due to the flooding. Alexa sees it from the river where she has convinced one if the boatmen to take her within view, he is hammering the propeller back into shape for the return journey later that morning, the previous days hauling up gravel beds and over stones having damaged and buckled it.
As the morning wears on the clouds rise and the top is lost, such an effort to reach here and so short a viewing window. It's enough to leave us knowing we'll need to return someday.
A quick breakfast at the hammock base (above) we pack up, it's rained overnight and we're delighted to notice the river has risen, the boats are reloaded and pointed downstream but we haven't gone far before the delight at the prospect of a speedy return to camp is dashed, the familiar grinding of stones on the dugout is followed by an order to get out. Those muscles burned out yesterday and are still tired still it's only shallow and I'm out to free the boat. But then it's off, the fast current moving with us this time catches me off guard and suddenly the boat is off faster than I can shuffle my feet on these rocks which are now covered slimy and slippery, I can't recover my footing and being dragged along the bottom by the boat. I'm holding onto the side trying to get to my knees but they're smashing over the rocks and it's starting to hurt. I have to let go and climb ashore, fearing the boat will disappear downstream. We're reunited in the lull of the next twist in the river but the crew can see I've just about had enough of this.
Only four or five pushes are needed as the current is strong and we can just run most of the rapids using the momentum. We make it back in 5 hours instead of 8.
Next morning after several schedule changes, (there is no real schedule for flights, they just go whenever they want and hopefully you're in the right place to catch one) we finally take a flight up the river to the falls, we do a couple of passes but the top isn't visible, reclaimed by the cloud. I think about the indigenous Indians belief that these mountain tops are the tree stumps from the tree of life, which when it fell its leaves formed the forest and it's branches the rivers. They are home of their 'gods', spirits and they weren't too happy when Victorian explorers started to climb them looking for gold but hoping to find dinosaurs: Conan Doyle's The Lost World was inspired by this landscape and excited optimism.
The flight is 40 mins and frankly not as good as the hike, the views are obscured by the weather, the photos ruined by reflections and refraction through the plane glass. From here though I can see the path of the river and appreciate how far we travelled yesterday, these are the shots used above which would have been lost in a water logged camera if I tried for them on the boat. We did a couple of loops around before the pilot nudges us back to the tattered runway in the forest.
We're staying in an extra night in an Eco lodge that overlooks the lower part of the river and the (relatively small) waterfalls that drop it another level.
We clamber along behind them and over them the next day trying not to slip, it's 60feet and certain death below, there are some etchings on the top which are 5000 years old and yet to be translated.
In the evening we sit watching the sunset from the beach as kids play football on the sandbar. This is an idyllic, almost untouched place, lost from modernity but will hopefully never be a lost world.
