Chapter 1: Macauba

The sun was already well up and burning through the haze of moisture-laden air as we approached the edge of the clay bluff above the Araguiaia River.

Fifteen feet below us two dugouts lay in the murky brown water, moored to a gnarled limb at the shoreline. Twenty feet farther out the power of the river current could be seen bearing an endless array of limbs, logs, and tree trunks on its way. Never the carcass of a drowned animal or bird, however. What little the alligators might leave would within minutes be snapped up by the piranha that cruised in schools and could reputedly smell blood in the churning river at distances up to half a mile.

We had bathed in the river the evening before, wading out slowly from the bank, sliding our feet through the muck instead of lifting them, to avoid stepping on a river ray fish which had a tail with a venom-laden barb capable of inflicting serios paralyzing wounds on the unwary. Though usually not enough to kill a human it could cause considerable pain and take weeks to heal. One had to wade in slowly, bar of soap in one hand, the other hand cupped over the groin. At first minnow-sized fish would be attracted to the body, taking little nips from the skin where we had sores from mosquitoes and biting gnats. We had soon learned, however, that as the minutes passed ever larger fish would be attracted to the feast.

We had discovered that all of them were biters and all were attracted by blood and running sores. We had bathed as quickly and quietly as possible and avoided splashing at all costs so as not to alert the piranha which were always attracted by thrashin in the water as it usually meant something to eat.

The embankment was muddy and slippery and we dug our heels in hard to keep from losing our balance on the way down with the equipment, and sliding into the river. A few more minutes and we were loaded, a light line being run through the straps and then lashed to the hull somewhere in case of capsizing which we wanted to avoid at all costs. I clambered over the leather cases and took my position close to the bow, my paddle crosswise before me.

"Are you ready?" my father muttered.

"Yeah, let's go."

To continue reading, click here...