Through British Guiana to the summit of Roraima

Saturday, 15th January, 1916, was the day on which at last we climbed to the summit of Mount Roraima. We were most fortunate in having a cool, grey morning; and after sundry delays, at which Indians are adepts, we started off from Kamaiwâwong at 7.38 a.m. Our party consisted of Schoolmaster and twelve other Arekunas, some to act as baggage-carriers and some to cut open a trail where the ascent was through forest. Mr. Menzies and Haywood also accompanied us, but none of our Makusi droghers. We had asked Joseph and Daniel whether they would like to come; but they said “No,” possibly under pressure, for I don’t think the Arekunas particularly wished the secret of their mountain to be disclosed to Makusis. However, Joseph and Daniel subsequently changed their mind, hurried after us, and overtook us just as we were reaching the cliff-top.

Roraima stood in clear-cut outline before us, untouched by clouds. There was heavy dew on the grass, and it was delightful walking up the savannah slopes. The hill-track led us off to the right over ground which was in places very stony but for the most part good going, if steep. Schoolmaster pointed to the top of the mountain, and said, “To-morrow”; but we firmly answered, “No, to-day,” whereupon all the Arekunas smiled and shook their heads, and Schoolmaster shut his eyes, beat his breast, and gasped, to show how exhausted we should soon be. I retorted by running past him, laughing my contempt, and pointing up to the sky, while I told him, “Paranakiri [i.e., overseas] mountain so!” He opened his mouth, pointed down his throat, and said, “Brandina!” which I fear throws a lurid light on the proceedings of former travellers. It was really quite an amusing dumb-crambo argument; but our steady pace soon convinced him that we meant business. The path wound unremittingly uphill over long grass, with big boulders, doubtless once part of Roraima’s mighty cliffs, lying on all sides, much as they do on Dartmoor tors, whilst the depressions are boggy and filled with marsh-plants. The ever-widening semicircle of panorama behind us was very beautiful and interesting.

From Kamaiwâwong to the forest fringe was a hard three hours’ walk, with no halt save an occasional pause for breath. At 10.24 a.m. we reached the highest point of the savannah hills, 6,510 feet above sea-level. Then we dropped down some fifty feet to the edge of the forest, and made our first halt, from 10.35 a.m. to 12.17 p.m., in thick jungle by the side of a delightful gurgling brook, which dashes down icy cold from Roraima’s bleak heights. The ascent to this point can hardly be less than five miles by the trail in all its windings. Schoolmaster introduced the spot to us as “English pappa banaboo”; and we believe he meant to indicate it as the site of Sir Everard im Thurn’s camp, when he was searching for a path to the top of Roraima. As far as is known, Sir Everard was the first human being to find a way up the precipice and to set foot on Roraima’s summit. He did so on the 18th December, 1884, after spending about a month in camp at the edge of the forest-belt, whilst his Indians cut a trail to the toe of the ledge, whereby alone the cliff-face can be surmounted; and our midday halt must have been near the place where he persevered with such patience. We had a thorough rest and made a good meal. Our limes having given out, we took a bottle of lime-juice with us; and I made Schoolmaster drink a spoonful of it, lest the appearance of a bottle should make him believe that his “brandina” prophecy was being fulfilled. Close by, there were growing some delicious-looking blackberries; but, just as we were about to eat some, the Arekunas cried “No, no!” and made so much fuss that we desisted.

Restarting, we addressed ourselves to the ascent through the forest-belt; and this, to my mind, is really the only disagreeable part of the whole climb. The ground here is a pell-mell of huge boulders, pieces of disintegrated mountain that have broken away from the overhanging cliffs above during long ages past; for Roraima and Kukenaam are but the “fragments of an earlier world.” Over these rocks grows a dense mass of small trees, and magnificent tree-ferns root upon the débris of earlier decaying jungle, which is covered with a carpet of slimy green moss and has a horrid corpse-like smell. The whole place is dank and cold, and the thick matting of moss makes it impossible to know whether one is stepping on a secure foothold, or on a rotten tree-branch, or on nothing but a layer of moss and twigs concealing a chasm between two great rocks. It was a thoroughly nasty scramble, and feet and hands had to be used almost equally. Our rate of progress was necessarily slow, with many short pauses, while the trail was being cut open ahead of us, and it was 2.15 p.m. before we reached the base of the cliff at the point where the diagonal ascent by the jungle-covered rock-ledge begins. During these two hours I must confess that I was very unhappy, and I reflected much on the superior wisdom of all the other women in the world who had refrained from placing themselves in this predicament. I expected to sprain knee or ankle at every step, and the struggle was dreadfully exhausting—in places more like tree-climbing than mountaineering. Schoolmaster with two Arekunas kept ahead of us to chop open a track.

At the base of the ledge we were 7,680 feet above sea-level; and here it was that Mr. J. J. Quelch camped in 1894, when he and his party climbed Roraima. It is awe-inspiring to stand at the very toe of that mighty precipice, with its blue and red stains, and, looking vertically up, to see the overhang of great masses of rock, ready, it would seem, one day to topple over and grind to pieces the ledge and all that is on it. But until the day of that impending catastrophe the climb up the ledge will present no great difficulty, although there are some bad places in it. I put my ear against the cliff, and could hear the drip of water percolating inside.

During the forest climb we had no view at all, but the vegetation on the ledge, being stunted and less dense, permits not infrequent glimpses of the glorious landscape below, spread out like a great green sea. Lovely flowers abounded at our feet, and the cool air was like a tonic after the damp oppression in the forest. We reached the first obstacle in the ledge at 3.45 p.m., when it became necessary to use a rope to assist the droghers in hoisting their loads up an almost vertical rock-face some twenty feet high. An active man, unloaded, can, however, scramble up without such assistance. A troublesome point about the ledge is that it has three V-shaped dips, and its general nature can best be shown diagrammatically thus:

These three dips are very steep, and we had fairly to slide down them, clinging on to every root, bush, or stone we could catch hold of, while getting up again on the other side was, of course, an even more severe struggle.

At the third dip we met the only other considerable obstacle presented by the ledge. We reached this point at 4.20 p.m., and found a diminutive waterfall trickling down the face of the precipice and falling in a shower of icy-cold spray upon the ledge, which the action of the water has swept clean of all bush and scrub. A sharp V-shaped depression has here been cut in the ledge, which ascends under the waterfall in rock steps, covered with moss and very slippery. Care is necessary, but in dry weather, such as prevailed at the time of our ascent, there is little or no danger. After heavy rain, however, it might be impossible to pass beneath the waterfall, although I doubt whether, except in the case of continuous rainfall lasting many days, a traveller would be held up long by this obstacle, as water appears to drain away very rapidly from the reservoirs on the rocky summit of Mount Roraima. For example, from our camp at Weiwötö, after a rain-storm had passed over Roraima, we counted no less than six waterfalls on its south-eastern face; but next day, after some hours of fine weather, none of these could be seen with the naked eye. They may possibly have continued as small trickles, but were quite inconspicuous, as, indeed, was the waterfall under which we now passed, for it could not be seen from Kamaiwâwong.

Save at this waterfall, the ledge is everywhere many feet wide, and there is no danger whatsoever of falling off it. From the waterfall another forty minutes’ direct ascent over rock-boulders brought us to the top of the escarpment, 8,625 feet above sea-level. We reached this point at 5 p.m. The whole climb had, therefore, taken us three hours over savannah, two hours through forest, and two and three-quarter hours up the ledge. For purposes of comparison, I may here say that the descent of the ledge occupied one and three-quarter hours, the descent through forest one hour and fifty minutes, and across the savannah two and a half hours. Roraima was kindly disposed to us, for we had splendid weather for the climb—a grey, cool morning, followed by a sunny, windless afternoon.

The scene when one has at last scaled the cliff-face of Roraima is fantastic and almost grotesque. Little meets the eye save rock, which the weather has blackened and worn into many weird shapes—a dragon, a frog, and a couple of umbrellas, all of rock, were conspicuous objects at the spot where we camped for the night; but there is in general a monotonous lack of differentiation in the rock-shapes, making this rugged plateau a maze where one would soon be lost, especially if mist settled down on the mountain. Here and there are stunted trees (Bonnetia Roraimæ): but all wood on this bleak summit is so sodden with moisture that it is difficult to kindle a respectable fire for cooking purposes, and quite impossible to make such a blaze as would keep out the cold. Water is abundant, clear as crystal, and icy cold. We found no really satisfactory camping-ground; but Schoolmaster took us to the spot where, it would appear, all those who before us had spent the night on the top of Roraima took shelter. It was in the middle of a big amphitheatre of crags, encircled by what one might almost call waves of stone, about five minutes’ walk from the edge of the precipice. Here two large rocks converge at an angle which gives protection from the prevailing winds; and by spreading a tarpaulin over the gap between them we made ourselves a rock-sided tent, commodious enough to contain our two camp-beds. Unfortunately, the floor was not dry rock, but spongy, wet moss.

Haywood had ready-made Bovril in his kettle, and soon supplied us with a hot drink, after which we made our arrangements for the night. Directly the sun had disappeared, it felt desperately cold, and we longed in vain for fires to warm ourselves. At 6.15 p.m. the thermometer was 51° F.—not very low, of course, but when you are used to a tropical climate it feels like freezing. A fire can only be maintained by an Indian squatting beside it and tending it all the time. Even then it gives but little warmth. Mr. Menzies arranged his tarpaulin in a place somewhat similar to the one where we were camped; but when the wind rose in the night he discovered to his cost that the entrance to his cave-dwelling was to windward. He sheltered (if “shelter” is the word) Haywood, Joseph, and Daniel with him. We gave our spare tarpaulin to the Arekunas, and as many as could got behind it; but several preferred the lee-side of our rock, where the poor things chattered, shivered, and blew up fires all night long. The night was clear, and Roraima looked wonderful by moonlight, the fantastic shapes around us being even stranger than by day. We slept a little, not much; and I think that my husband and I were the only ones of our party who slept at all.

Next day was gloriously fine. We rose at dawn to find gusts of icy wind and wisps of cloud blowing all over the place. Our naked Indians looked numb with cold; and, as the few of them who could boast of a shirt or trousers were not much better off, my husband and I reluctantly decided that it would be impossible for us to spend another night on the mountain-top. It would have been inhuman to expose all our company in this shelterless place. Any party that may come hereafter, really to examine Roraima’s summit, would have to organize matters so as to let their Indians spend the night in the forest below, and occupy the days in bringing up firewood for them.

We had, however, a few hours to spare, and we spent them in exploring the vicinity of our camp. From the edge of the cliff the panoramic view to the south-west is vast and superb, the landscape resembling a map in green plasticine with the rivers shown in blue. All the hills we had toiled over looked the merest little crinkles; but the effect of that glorious stretch of open country is wonderfully impressive; and as the sun, gaining power, dispelled all mist, we revelled in the great sweep of air and space in front of us. Our old friend Chakbang was the only hill that looked more than an earth-wrinkle, save for some huge cliff-faced mountains miles away in Venezuela, which must be as high, if not higher, than Roraima. Roraima itself concealed Mount Weitipu from our sight, and we could see hardly anything of the line by which we had approached. The call of the mountain was clearly to go on, on to the Orinoco, but we could not obey. We had reached the end of our tether, and from this point the return journey began.

To explore the summit of Roraima itself would be a difficult task, and not without danger. It would be unsafe to go any distance without white paint, or some other means of marking one’s way; for one would very soon be lost in the labyrinth of extraordinary rock-forms, and, when mist or cloud was on the mountain, it would be impossible to see more than a very short distance ahead. We clambered up to a point from which there was a good view of the summit of Kukenaam. It appeared to be the same fantastic jumble of black weather-worn rock that surrounded us where we stood, arranged in the same curious amphitheatres. Then we set off in an endeavour to reach the edge of the cliff between Roraima and Kukenaam; but it is slow going where every step is a climb either up or down. I soon gave up and made my way leisurely back to camp, while my husband pressed on. But he found a great chasm across his path and had to turn back also. We next visited the mark erected by Mr. C. W. Anderson on his boundary survey, and walked to the source of the Kamaiwa creek, which lay in the trough of the rock-wave wherein our camp was situated. There is a sort of fascination I cannot describe in these silent waterholes, where the eternal moisture of the “Father of Streams” gathers on beds of white sand and shining crystals. The stillness and the deadness of everything was extraordinary, and yet somehow wonderfully refreshing. There was not a trace of animal life. In an eastern land Roraima would have its “patient, sleepless eremite,” seeking revelation in meditation amid its great silent peace, “in height and cold, the splendour of the hills.”

At 10.30 a.m. we “breakfasted”; at 11.7 a.m. we commenced the descent; and we reached Kamaiwâwong without misadventure by 5.30 p.m. The steepness of the descent made it almost as slow a business as scrambling up had been. I did a good deal of it by sitting down and then lowering myself with the help of my hands. Mercifully the forest trail was much improved by the fact that all the droghers had climbed it after us, so that the slippery moss had to a great extent been trodden away, and we could see where to put our feet. How the Arekunas managed to negotiate that climb with loads on their backs without breaking their legs is beyond our comprehension. They were a good deal cut and scratched, it is true; but their prehensile toes saved them from more serious injury. Indians catch hold by their toes in truly monkey fashion; and, if a man drops anything on the line of march, he picks it up with his toes and puts it into his hand to avoid stooping. Our feet seemed stupid, clumsy things by comparison. By the time I reached the savannah slopes I was so very stiff that I could only move slowly. These lovely savannahs had all been set on fire by our men, and were charred and grievous to see.

At Kamaiwâwong we were received with great acclamation. The village had, during our absence, been repeopled. Evidently everyone from far and near had come to see us, and there was much excitement and, unfortunately, a great desire to shake hands. The Arekunas would seem to have thought that our arrival broke the evil spell which the death of Jeremiah had cast upon the place. They pulled away the earth-sods that blocked the doorway of their late chief’s banaboo, reoccupied both it and all the other banaboos, and held evensong in the village church, singing the same hymn and intoning the same prayers which we had heard at Mataruka. There was much cassiri-drinking and general rejoicing; and as soon as it was dark the men trooped out and set fire to the grass in a circle round the village, to drive away all evil spirits, we supposed. They danced round the fires they had lit like madmen, in order to “send kenaima far.” Next day a feast was held in honour of the reopening of the village. Tekwonno, we gathered, had never been really abandoned. Indeed, it is more than likely that its inhabitants, having news of our approach, with a large following of Makusis, considered it prudent to evacuate Tekwonno until, by observing us from the neighbouring hills, they were satisfied of our peaceful intentions.

Roraima wore a cloud-cap during the evening, so we congratulated ourselves on having decided to come down; and during the night we saw the wonderful effect of a brilliant moon lighting up the gleaming clouds that rested on the black precipices of the twin giants—our last view of them from Kamaiwâwong, for next morning they were quite invisible. We had an excellent night’s rest, which I think we well deserved; and, having blocked in with a tarpaulin a good deal more of the sides of our banaboo, we were quite warm by comparison with our experience of the previous night.

THE RETURN JOURNEY

CHAPTER XI
THE RETURN JOURNEY

Many farewells and the bringing up of piles of cassava for the support of our caravan delayed our start from Kamaiwâwong on the return journey to Mataruka. We had asked Schoolmaster to send two men with us to bring back from Puwa the salt and the cloth which was to be the recompense of those Arekunas who had assisted us; but instead of sending two men, Schoolmaster himself and the entire party who had climbed Roraima with us gaily accompanied our march back. It was a delightful morning, with alternate showers and sunshine and gloriously cool winds. We retraced our steps until we were close to the spot where we breakfasted on the 13th January, and here we halted again for our midday meal at a delicious spot under a big tree, sitting amidst fragrant bracken and pretending to be in England. The walk had unstiffened our muscles, cramped by the long descent of the day before, and we felt quite fit and fresh.

Schoolmaster, who now acted as guide, applied for permission to lead us back by a line different from that which we had traversed on the outward journey. We agreed; and in the end Schoolmaster brought us to Mataruka by a trail which interlaced with Joseph’s so as roughly to form the figure 8. Our first divergence was to the left in the direction of Weitipu; and plainly any trail which avoided the long sweep to the west round by the head-waters of the Chitu was likely to be a short-cut. Then, after wheeling to the left, we descended somewhat abruptly to a little plateau on which stands Maurekmutta banaboo, the home of a solitary Arekuna family. Here Schoolmaster showed us another line running almost straight towards Kamaiwâwong. It would probably have been preferable to the one we had walked, and might have saved some climbing. Why they had not led us that way we could not make out; but, of course, to an Indian time is of no importance, unless he is hungry, and the tramp of half a dozen extra miles is a mere trifle. No one was at home in this banaboo.

We next descended yet farther, until, after one and a quarter hours’ march beyond the point of divergence from Joseph’s trail, we reached and forded the Arabupu (3,780 feet above sea-level). Here we were met by quite a heavy shower of cold rain. Twenty minutes later we crossed the Gunguila, a confluent of the Arabupu; and another ten minutes’ march brought us to the brow of a hill, 4,060 feet above sea-level, where it became evident that we were making straight for the southern spur of Mount Weitipu across the folds and rifts of a plateau. We could, in fact, see our trail running ahead past the very toe of Weitipu; but as, on descending, the path followed a valley in the diametrically opposite direction, we were reminded—and not for the first time either—that Indian trails are like the paths in the garden of the talking flowers in Alice through the Looking-Glass, and that to get anywhere you must turn and walk in the opposite direction. We crossed two more small streams, and then, after a further fifty-six minutes’ march, we halted for the night on the right bank of the Erkoy River, in a little copse, evidently the recognized Indian camping-ground, and much preferable to the bleak camp at Weiwötö on Joseph’s trail. The Erkoy is another confluent of the Arabupu, and from a little clump of trees on a level terrace where we camped the ground dropped away abruptly to the river. A steep grass hill on the left bank protected us nicely on the windward side, whilst the lee-side was open to the savannah. In the watery rays of the evening sun Roraima and Kukenaam stood clear for the first time that day. We could no longer see the south-western wall up which we had climbed, but we had a splendid view of the south-eastern escarpment. The clear, swift-running Erkoy almost tempted us to bathe, but it was too cold to venture. We had a fine night, though once or twice, as the rush of the wind shook the tree-tops, we woke up sufficiently to rejoice that we were not on the exposed tableland. The Makusis camped all round us, while the Arekunas slung their hammocks in a clump of trees a little way downstream.

Next morning (18th January) was gloriously fine, and we saw Roraima and Kukenaam for the last time at close quarters, shining red in the dawn. We forded the Erkoy, which flows swiftly and came icy cold well over our knees; and then, ascending the steep bank on the other side, we found ourselves once more on a rolling plateau with the trail we had seen passing over the toe of Weitipu, now just ahead. I loved the walk over the fresh grass of this shining tableland, amidst the indescribable peace of its mighty silence. The trail was almost level, save for little descents into the channels of the many streams that come racing down Weitipu’s steep flanks; and in the keen, fresh morning air mere movement was a joy—different indeed to one’s feelings on the low, hot coast-lands! In succession we crossed the Kamaoura-wong, two small swamps, the Tongkoy, and the Sappi, all streams which tumble in picturesque cascades from Weitipu; and after an hour’s march we crossed the southern spur of Weitipu himself. He is a very attractive mountain, majestic, but without the bleak austerity of Roraima and Kukenaam. His southern summit would afford a splendid camping-ground, and several of his terraces would make beautiful house-sites. In China such a mountain would have been studded with temples and monasteries, but I have never heard of anyone climbing to the top of Weitipu. It would not be difficult to do this, though rather strenuous, and I should love to go back one day and make the ascent. On the spur of Weitipu, where we stood (4,100 feet above sea-level), Schoolmaster showed us yet another trail—the most direct of all—branching off to Kamaiwâwong!

We then crossed two more streams—a small one called the Apa, and a larger one called the Perumak. The latter is fringed by forest, and is probably identical with the river Maipa, crossed by Joseph’s trail. A glorious grassy savannah spreads out on both sides of this narrow strip of woodland; and in it, just beyond the Perumak ford, an hour’s march from the spur of Weitipu, stands a solitary banaboo, near which the trail to Tumong, by which Dr. Crampton travelled in 1911, branches off to the left. We kept to the right, and eighteen minutes later reached the crest of a ridge, which appears to form the divide between the watershed of the Orinoco and of the Amazon. At this point, therefore, we presumably returned from Venezuela to Brazil. The divide here is 3,860 feet above sea-level.

We now descended into a charming valley, and, after forty minutes’ march, halted for our midday meal beside the Muruïna, a pretty little tributary of the Kotinga. Once more we recognized the jasper formation, and we established ourselves on a tree-shaded ledge above a deep, clear pool. This place is a recognized Arekuna camping-ground. The creek is forded just above a waterfall, where its two branches meet. Within the fork is a copse, and at the season of our visit there ran along the side of the stream a dry rock-ledge which would form a roomy and level tent-floor. I remember that, whilst we waited for Haywood’s preparations, we regaled ourselves on the last of the delicious pineapples, carried with us from Kamaiwâwong. It tasted most especially nice after our three hours’ walk.

Another ascent and descent brought us, twenty minutes after restarting, to the Tunâpun creek. We crossed it, and thirty-eight minutes later we had climbed to the top of the hill-ridge (3,670 feet above sea-level), overlooking the full width of the Kotinga valley right across to “Landmark Peak.” This was the same hill-ridge that we had climbed, much farther to the west, on the 12th January; but the fierce midday sun had sucked up all colour from the landscape, and it no longer looked the fairyland which it had seemed on that early morning. Now came an abrupt descent, very warm work and lasting just an hour, to the point where the Töpa creek is forded close by a solitary banaboo. Suddenly our procession halted. The magic word waikin was passed along, and we all squatted down on the ground, while Schoolmaster and Joseph stalked two big deer not far away. Schoolmaster crept to within point-blank range of one animal and fired. Alas! his stock of powder and shot was practically exhausted, so he had given his old fowling-piece a most insufficient charge; and the deer, though hit, bounded away uphill with its companion. Behold Joseph and Schoolmaster racing after them up the steep slope like a pair of dogs! They rejoined us later very crestfallen; and Schoolmaster gesticulated to me as graphic an account of the whole business as ever disappointed sportsman poured into the ear of sympathizing lady.

For the rest of the day’s march the trail lay over spacious undulating pasture-lands, crossing three small streams, fringed by eta-palms; and, after two and a quarter hours’ march from the Töpa crossing, we reached and forded the Kotinga at the same point as on our outward journey, thus completing one loop of the figure 8. We then made our way over rocks up a little ravine on the left bank and camped in bush upon a small level terrace at the edge of a brook. It was a nasty, stuffy place, full of ants; but we cared little for that, as we were practically free from the kabouru. My husband unfortunately caught his foot in some bush rope lying on the rocks and fell heavily, breaking the little finger of his left hand, which caused him great pain. The Kotinga valley, it seems, was destined to be disagreeable to us.

When, next morning, we emerged from our ravine on to the brow of a bluff above the Kotinga, we were delighted to see a most interesting and novel aspect of Roraima, which was really rather astonishing, for there had been no hint of such a view either the evening before or on our outward journey. The morning was gloriously clear, and on the left, behind Weitipu, the south-eastern face of Roraima projected clear and red, and beyond that again Kukenaam’s southern end; whilst on the right of Weitipu we saw plainly, not only the other end of Roraima’s south-eastern wall, but also a small and foreshortened portion of the eastern escarpment. This view enabled us in a small degree to grasp the enormous area of Roraima. It is impossible to do so when opposite one great wall only; for Roraima is an immense, irregular quadrilateral, of which the south-eastern side, ten miles in length, is the longest, and the area of the summit, flanked all round by precipices, cannot be less than fifty square miles.

From the Kotinga ford to the pass at “Landmark Peak” Schoolmaster’s trail coincided with Joseph’s, but from “Landmark Peak” to the Rera valley we traversed a new line of country. This time we swung off to the right, and we hoped to be led along the ridge of the mountain amphitheatre which encircles the Warukma and Karakanang plateau. But an Indian trail is nothing if not surprising. For the first half-hour we did indeed continue on the high tableland at the same altitude as the pass (3,150 feet above sea-level), crossing two streams; but then we wheeled sharply to the right, and, passing between two low knolls, left the tableland by a narrow path skirting round the contours of a hill and affording a view over a sea of jagged peaks tumbled together without apparent rhyme or reason. It was a most astonishingly tangled-looking country, with valleys running at angles to each other and hills flung about pell-mell in the midst of them, as though the powers engaged in making this place had got tired of their work and flung it all down anyhow and left it. The colouring, too, was curious, vivid red, black, and green; for many fires had evidently seared the countryside, the most recent leaving black patches, which contrasted oddly with the bright green of new grass springing up where the land had peace, and with the red soil on the hillsides, whence heavy rain had washed away the black ash, but where as yet forgiving Nature had not reasserted herself. For half an hour our path clung to the hill-side, but it then gave that up as a bad job and dropped abruptly into one of the narrow valleys beneath. The prospect was certainly not an inviting one. We consoled ourselves, however, with the reflection that the divergence to the right must have put us in a direct line for Mount Mataruka. A short but heavy shower of rain now drenched us to the skin; but it was welcome, as relieving an unwonted sultriness of the atmosphere. Round the base of the hill we curved, climbed over a knoll in the valley, and so, after three-quarters of an hour’s march, we came to the left bank of a creek called the Walamwötö, presumably a tributary of the Kotinga. Here we pitched camp in a small winding valley (2,450 feet above sea-level) by the side of a charming pool. As we were establishing ourselves under our tarpaulin, a storm of wind and rain almost blew it away from its moorings, and six Makusis had to hold it up on the weather side until the fierceness of the gusts abated. We caused the ridge-pole to be lowered considerably so as to afford less target for the wind, and I was somewhat anxious about the night. But after dark the weather became beautifully still and clear, a full moon making diamonds everywhere of the lingering rain-drops. This was the only rain-storm of any moment which we encountered from the day we left the Kowatipu forest until the day of our return to it. During the whole of the rest of our savannah journey we enjoyed superb weather, sunny, breezy, cool, and rainless, save for occasional Scotch mist upon the hill-tops.

We rose very early next day (20th January), and broke our fast by lamplight. But the sun soon rose clear and very hot, and I realized that the strenuous exertions of the five preceding days without a rest were beginning to tell on me. So the start did not find me very fresh. An hour’s march in narrow winding ravines, followed by a short climb over a long black-bouldered slope, brought us to James’s banaboo (2,720 feet above sea-level), perched upon a hill-top. The inhabitants came out in a string to greet us, and the second man in the line, as he shook my hand (the ceremony none of them will forego), ejaculated questioningly “Mamma?” and all his companions echoed the cry. It must be seldom, if ever, that a white woman is seen by these people. The view from this lonely banaboo was certainly enchanting; but, alas! no tableland such as we had hoped to see lay unrolled before us, only a fresh tangle of hills and valleys; and, though the country looked most interesting, it also looked very arduous. Moreover, there ensued an argument between Joseph and Schoolmaster as to the right road onwards, and we wondered whether they really knew the way, or were merely proceeding by trial and error. The long ridge of tableland, over the crest of which we had hoped to travel when we turned aside from Joseph’s line at “Landmark Peak,” looked most provoking away to the left. At length our guides reconciled their difference, whatever it may have been, and led us three hundred feet downwards over a broad hill-shoulder across a small stream. Then, after a long, gradual ascent over another broad hill-shoulder, we came to the top of a commanding hill, 2,960 feet above sea-level. Here indeed we were comforted, for we saw again Mount Mataruka, and realized that we were making for it by a much more direct line than if we had returned through Enamung. Besides, a nice undulating ridge lay before us, and the view was grand. We could see a magnificent expanse of country on all sides. Far, far behind lay Weitipu, with Roraima and Kukenaam at his back, bidding us a last good-bye. We saw them no more after this. I wonder if we ever shall again! On the right we had an excellent view of our former line of journey, the plateau of the Karakanang and the grassy peaks of Enamung, as well as of a big waterfall shining white in the distance, whither our outward journey had unfortunately not led us. Our guides said that it was a fall on the Wairann; and at close quarters it must be a fine sight, for even at a distance of about seven miles it was a striking feature in the landscape. At this point we were one hour and six minutes’ march from James’s banaboo.

We continued for another forty minutes along the crest of the hill-ridge, enjoying intensely the glorious scenery, and finally reaching a point (2,810 feet above sea-level) whence, beyond a cleft in the hills, cut athwart our line of march by the Karakanang River, we could see the long, straight line of the Paiwa valley, down which lay our forward path. Fifty minutes’ sharp descent, largely through forest, then brought us to a ford of jasper slabs over the Karakanang (1,960 feet above sea-level). Here we made our midday meal, and thereafter we ascended the valley of a brook, which falls into the Karakanang at the ford; and, climbing over some hillocks shut in between high hill-ranges on both sides, we came, after an hour and a half, to the Paiwa River (2,210 feet above sea-level), down which our trail then ran for three and a half hours’ actual march. It was most fascinating scenery. The turquoise-blue Paiwa in its rose-pink bed (for the blood-red jasper weathers on the surface to pink) flowed clear as crystal through opal-green pools and in rippling white cascades, whilst shade trees, dotted here and there, relieved the glare of the brilliant light. Beneath one such tree, seated on pink sand close to the edge of the stream, we enjoyed our usual tea halt. The sides of the valley are seamed with confluent brooks, many of which had water even at this height of the dry season. In wet weather the smiling stream must be a very torrent.

At first the Paiwa had all the appearance of making for the Ireng; but at a point a little more than halfway in that part of its course which we followed it turned abruptly off to the south and swept past Mount Pakara to join the Kotinga. Towards sunset we crossed to its left bank, where was a broad level stretch of sand, evidently a favourite Indian camping-ground, but rather a disappointing one to me, as there was a rift in the jasper formation just here, and the stream merely gurgled over quite ordinary stones, while the sand was a commonplace white. Moreover, the steep hill-side across the stream had been hideously burnt, and there were evidences of recent Indian encampment and of fish-poisoning in the river. Indians are an admirable people in many ways, but they scarcely deserve their goodly heritage, since all that they do for their beautiful country is to poison the fish in its exquisite streams and to disfigure the fair hills by continual grass-burning.

Next day we ate our porridge and drank our coffee before dawn, as the moon sank behind the trees. Then, after following the river for a short distance, we climbed up through a copse to where a banaboo was perched on a bluff, the Paiwa below making a right-angled turn, so that those who live here have an excellent vantage-ground whence they can watch all wayfarers whether up or down stream. At the banaboo we found Schoolmaster and his Arekunas, who had evidently spent the night there, leaving the Makusis with us; and after a short colloquy Joseph led us down into the Paiwa valley once more. The Arekunas remained behind, and made for Mataruka by that line of their own which Joseph had graphically described as “Mountain-top, mountain-top, mountain-top,” on the day of our trek to Enamung.

The Paiwa, which had grown to a considerable size, now reverted again to a jasper bed, fringed this time with eta-palms, and looking prettier than ever. We walked along its bank most of the way; but at times the valley would close in to a gorge and the river run in cataracts, while we would have to climb over rocky bluffs. At last we crossed the blue waters of this pleasant river for the last time, and finally quitted the Paiwa watershed. Our trail now wound away to the left, choosing most cleverly a low divide, and then equally cleverly winding in and out on the level round the spur of our old friend Kumâraying, until we found ourselves in the Rera plain once more. It would have been a pretty path but for the desolation and destruction wrought by fire. Some men ahead of us actually started two fresh fires, which were fiercely burning as we passed.

At the special request of our people we went to Joseph’s banaboo for our midday meal. His wife provided us with abundance of delicious fresh eggs, and I confess, without any desire to teach my grandmother, that at times the best way of eating eggs is to suck them. A few minutes’ walk brought us back to the trail by which we had travelled on our outward journey, so completing the second loop in the figure 8. We now followed our former line of march the rest of the way back to Mataruka village, where we were warmly received by Albert and the inhabitants. The Arekunas we passed at a brook a few minutes from the village, busily engaged in washing and painting their faces afresh. They then made a state entry behind us, beating a tom-tom.

The rest of our travels needs no description, for the line of our homeward march was identical with that of our outward journey. The distance between Mataruka and Kamaiwâwong by Joseph’s trail was a march of thirty-two hours forty-seven minutes; and the return journey between the same villages by Schoolmaster’s trail was a march of thirty-two hours fifty-one minutes, of which eleven hours twenty-eight minutes were occupied in retraversing those parts of the route where the two trails were identical—namely, the Kukenaam valley, the ascent from the Kotinga ford to “Landmark Peak,” and the line from Rera to Mataruka. There is, therefore, little to choose between the two routes. Both mean five stages of rather more than six hours’ march a day. Schoolmaster’s line was slightly more direct, but Joseph’s was appreciably less arduous.

We reached Georgetown, after forty-six days’ absence, on the 3rd February, 1916, resting on the way back for one day at Mataruka, one day on the Karto tableland, and one day at Kaietuk. There was a new and lovely note of colour on the Potaro; for the river was lit up by a beautiful pink blossom (Syphonia globifera) all along the banks, very much like peach-blossom in appearance and in its manner of growing on a leafless tree. Also there was much more water going over Kaietuk than when we passed upstream; and magnificent was the amber swirl that descended, to change into gleaming spray flashing like diamonds, as it fell into the black depths. Grey-green cascades dashed down the crags on all sides, flashing out of the mists that lay heavy on the summits, to mingle with the blossom-strewn river—a country for Undine indeed!

So our brief journey in the mountains ended, alas! below sea-level; nor did we “find wings waiting there,” for the aeronautical service of the British Guiana Government is as yet only an aspiration.

PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY
BILLING AND SONS, LIMITED,
GUILDFORD AND ESHER