You can be too agreeable as a traveler, especially when you and your guide have nearly zero words in common, like when you are on a boat in a Venezuelan river, and your guide sees a crocodile.
Francisco (his Amazonian Indian tribal name was almost unpronounceable) operated our power boat. He could repair the boat's 40 hp engines, and so could be expected, in an emergency, to negotiate the 9 hour high speed trip from the camp down the tributary to the Orinoco and on to the nearest hospital. He also knew the rivers of Venezuela's Amazonia Basin better than we know our own kitchens.
He saw when river otters would emerge, when porpoise would break the surface, when crocodiles were swimming, when cormorants would be around the bend, where piranha were schooling. He knew everything.
This one day he had left the 200 yard wide main stream to enter a beautiful side one. Pausing near a bank; he touched my shoulder.
When I turned, he made a waggle motion with his index finger, like clicking a camera, and said, "Gator." Then he pointed down.
I nodded (the mistake) and looked over the gunwale. There was an 8 ft. crocodile resting on the bottom. (Everybody there says "gator," although they are crocodiles).
I started to adjust the camera when the boat went straight up a good foot. As it settled back, and Muriel stopped screaming, I saw the croc swimming to the far bank. Francisco had rammed his boat pole onto the croc's back, which it didn't like at all. At last I was justified beyond doubt in always, always keeping the camera strapped to me. I might have had to fight the croc for it.
Francisco motioned a question which meant had I gotten a picture? No, and I was tempted to toss him after the croc.
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| Venezuelan Cayman |
I did eventually get some wonderful shots of a couple of 16 footers; but then I was on a hill, and the beasts were some 40 feet away.
¡Más bueno!
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