Water Margin – Chong Qing to Yichang Yangtze River, China

Water Margin
Chong Qing to Yichang Yangtze River, China

Reduced to Rubble

Three gorges meet, looming like three dank faces peering solemn stares at their wet feet, soon to become wet knees. It was now the second day of the boat trip from Chong Qing to Yichang, yet only night had been distinguishable from the lucid flow between morning, afternoon, evening and dusk, shrouded as they were in a relentless grey mist and brooding pretence of rain. Managing even to humble, de-splendour the three great gorges of 20 quai fame.

Amongst this innocent ambience of timeless climatic whims, one or rather many things stood out. Stark in contrast to the dull monotone green and greys along the banks of the river. At consistent intervals and height, big red signs had been painted, marking the ominous predicted rise in the water level. Dripping the red paint of destruction on everything below. After an excursion the previous day to obtain goods at one of the riverside towns, an American woman observed to me when back on the prow, “Amongst the scatter, debris of grey soaked stone, a child’s doll half crushed yet holding true, wearing a red doll’s dress.”

The riverside town had been much bigger than the one we visited and had stretched further down the side of the bank, a large part of it below the dreaded water markers. And all that now remained, as we trudged through the scree of buildings, was flattened, demolished into rubble. A couple of what must have been multi-storied buildings dared hold out against the giant swing of mechanised bulldozers, in their death throws, losing the fight.

Me on the Chinese Only Barge

At other points along the river whole farming communities were being displaced from the arable Yangtze riverside that had kept them for centuries. Small villages, trading towns pushed upwards away from the inevitable growth in the water level.

The morning after seeing (barely) the great three gorges, the inhabitants of the ship all boarded smaller motorised barges and we set of like a brigade into the “lesser gorges” which fed into the great river. By some ridiculous, partly self inflicted, partly schemed, at first annoying, eventually hilarious fortune I ended up on a barge of purely Chinese tourists. The reasons why, I won’t divulge or the cacophony of mad events that preceded as I could go on forever and it would alleviate the ambiance I am trying to get across.

The “Lesser Gorges”

Anyhow the gorges were a splendour of fresh green jungle and rock closely surrounding us at all times. Packs of monkeys howled about the canopies, ancient looking, perilous, rope bridges scaled the river connecting the peaked roofs of hidden temples. On sand banks local traders sold wears and food to the greedy tourists from a menagerie of tents that seemed quite implausible that every night they would have to be packed away and sailed away. The sides of these gorges were significantly lower than those along the main body of the river and here there were no red scar signs lining the banks. Half way through the day it dawned on me that these splendid scenic valleys had to be affected when the flood gates were finally closed.

It would be not only the local communities that suffered but also the miles of ancient ecosystems lost forever below the water margin.