Eight hours and twenty minutes after
we had begun paddling on this day,
we finally finished this leg of the race.
The next morning everyone arose early,
filled with anticipation about the finish
of the race. This morning’s start was to
be staggered. The slower rafts would
leave first, and the faster rafts (i.e.,
the Peruvians) would be leaving an
hour later. This is staged to provide a
dramatic ending to the race, with most
of the rafts finishing within a few hours
of each other.
The green flag came down at 7:15,
and we were off. We reckoned that we
were safely in 3rd place in our division,
and as long as we did not screw up too
badly, we felt confident that we could
maintain our position.
Again, most of the day turned
into a dull blur. The sun was intense.
I only remember paddle, paddle…
soak yourself with water… and paddle
some more. There was very little
conversation, as no one had the energy
for it.
Masochist:
One who would
make the last 1.5 kilometers of a
180-kilometer raft race upstream,
against the current of a tributary river
(the Nany) of the Amazon.
Everyone knew this was coming,
and everyone knew this would be the
hardest part of the entire race.
We rounded a bend in the river and
there in the distance, on the left bank,
was our “Emerald City”: Iquitos.
A support launch came by and
told us, “After the next corner, take a
left”. We rounded a small cove, saw the
entrance to a river, and began paddling
like mad. We counted aloud to keep
everyone paddling in unison. Success
demanded a Herculean effort: bracing
your feet, and pulling with everything
you had… your back… your arms…
your legs... your muscles screaming.
Ever so slowly, we strained our way up
stream.
Fifteen minutes later a support
boat came by, and told us we were
going up the wrong river! You could
have walked to the Atlantic on all the
profanities thrown out by our crew!
We made a U-turn and paddled back to
the Amazon, reaching it just in front of
another raft.
It was another 2 kilometers to the
entrance to the Nany River. We still
had to grunt our way 1.5 kilometers
up the Nany, to the finish line at the
fishing club. We were exhausted by our
‘practice run’ up the wrong river. The
other raft was just a few feet behind,
but we would be damned if we were
going to let them pass us.
We rounded a corner, and entered
the Nany, hugging the left bank. We
struggled and pulled. With all of us
working together in unison, we would
make about 1 foot of progress for each
stroke. If we stopped paddling, we
would go backwards in the current. It
felt like an eternity… but slowly, ever
so slowly, ever so painfully slowly, we
made progress.
Forty-five minutes later, we finally
crossed the finish line. The other raft
was still behind us.
Our race was over.
Michael asked me if I would like
to say a few words at the reception. I
declined at the time, but now I wish
that I hadn’t. Here is what I would like
to have said:
This raft race is much like life
itself. It’s not the destination that
matters (though I hope the last few
kilometers are not up stream). Have a
goal in mind, and then paddle like hell.
It is not the destination that’s
important, but the journey. Enjoy the
journey. Paddle like hell, but don’t
forget to enjoy the journey.
Now, let us discuss a definition of
the word ‘insane’.
Insane:
The state of mind of one
who just might do this again.
27
