We slide the cumbersome inflatable boats down the bank into the muddy Río Masparro.
Ahead lie the central grassy plains of Venezuela with its maze of tributaries feeding into the mighty Orinoco, the third largest river in South America.
Roads are few. The rivers are navigable by motorized dugout canoes used by local Indians who live in grass huts along the riverbanks.
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Our rubber boats on the Rio Masparro
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Our little group of six pile into a Swedish patrol boat and a smaller rubber canoe.
Two of us sit each side with a paddle and we drift sedately downstream. This is no passive float. To get any distance we have to paddle, often furiously, to follow the deep channel and avoid snags, sand banks and overhanging branches.
The sun glares down. We strip off to shorts and hat. Occasionally we slip over the side to bathe and wash off the sweat. The central "esky" is our saviour. Besides perishable food, it contains our ice supply and rum and Coke, the national drink of Venezuela.
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Catfish caught in the Rio Masparro
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Indians in motorized canoes whizz by, waving in astonishment at our ponderous craft. Fishermen pull alongside in hope of selling us a fish - huge catfish and small piranhas.
Their method of fishing is very efficient. They strike the sides of their canoe with a stout stick to scare the fish into a backwater, then the man standing in the bow throws a net and drags them in. Sometimes in the shallows, they harpoon a sting ray up to a metre across. Sting rays they consider to be more dangerous than the piranha. They tell us always to bang the water before swimming to scare them away.
Towards dusk we arrive at our jungle camp, a palm-thatched roof under which we string up hammocks complete with mosquito nets. We have spit roast chicken for dinner.
After dark our guide takes us on the river again to see the caimans. These small crocodiles, about a metre long, lie on the mud banks with beady eyes glowing in the torch beam. Next day we find dozens of baby ones playing in the shallows.
Los Llanos (the plains) are noted for their abundance of wildlife. Drifting silently down stream we come across innumerable bird species, iguanas, howler monkeys and an enormous anaconda wrapped around a branch.
I kept some chicken to use as bait for fishing with a hand line from the boat. A wire trace is necessary to catch piranha, which obligingly take the bait. But how to safely unhook them? My enthusiasm for swimming diminishes somewhat.
Mid-afternoon we glide into the broad expanse of the Río Apure to be greeted by a family of freshwater dolphins. They circle our boat and scrape its bottom, and leap out of the water in front of us showing their sleek, steely grey bodies and whitish pink bellies. The fishermen regard the dolphins as having the spirit of the river thereby being a sacred fish not to be molested.
Our next camp on the bank of the Apure is an abandoned fisherman's shack. I try getting more fish for dinner.
There is great excitement when I land a small catfish, mainly because it has two piranha attached to it - three fish on one hook. My catfish had become live bait on being hauled in!
We grilled our catch over the camp fire. Catfish is excellent eating, but the piranha is nearly all bone, you need a really big one to get a worthwhile fillet.
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Roadside stall selling dried and salted catfish at Barinas
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Swinging gently in my hammock I listen to the stillness of the night and think of tomorrow, our last day on the river. We have a fair way to go to reach the road bridge by noon and meet our transport back to Mérida. I fall asleep, confident that we will make it.
Questions?
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