Travel, Photography, Life.
Porkknocking
Hanging out with the gold miners (porkknockers) in a remote part of Guyana.
A Long Ride to Madia
Dec 18th
December 6, 2006
Day 376
Shortly before dawn, Craig got out of the tent and tried to figure out when the truck we had heard about last night would be leaving. Suddenly, I heard him running toward me yelling “Let’s go!” I quickly packed everything up and jumped into the Bedford just before it pulled away. A new adventure had begun.
The truck dropped us off at Mabura, from where we had been waiting to get to Madia a week ago. Everyone there remembered us, and we told them all about the porkknocking jaunt. We hung out at the police station all day again waiting for any vehicle on its way to Madia. About the only exciting thing that happened was a guy showed up with a turtle, chopped it apart in front of us, and prepared it for dinner. While we were waiting, an Argentine named Diego passed by on his way to Georgetown. He was the first tourist I had met in Guyana, and he seemed really keen on walking to Kaiteur falls with us. We told him to meet us in Madia tomorrow night if he wants to go. It will be a long journey for him, but still possible.
It was really frustrating waiting for a ride because every minibus that passed us was already full and the drivers weren’t interested in talking to us. It seems that nobody can say “no” here. They’d rather just ignore you entire entirely, presumably to avoid losing face. Finally, a minibus with a little bit of room showed up and we took off. Only half a seat was available for me, but at least we got there.
It was pouring rain and almost dark by the time we got to Madia. Music was blasting everywhere, and it soon became obvious how lawless the town was. The town’s composition was roughly 90% rowdy, drunken miners and 10% prostitutes. I thought I’d see some tourists on package trips out of Georgetown, but there were none. Tonight I opted to stay at the hotel, get clean, and get some rest on a bed for a change.
Seeing the Mine
Dec 18th
December 5, 2006
Day 375
The main order of business for today was seeing the mine in operation. Craig and I made the short ten-minute walk from the camp to the mine, which once again went through the jungle. Along the way, we noticed that white mud seemed to be taking over the vegetation on the ground. The mine consisted of a large pit that had been dug out in search of gold. Nearby was a break area, where we sat for awhile to observe the action. Water was pumped from the main river into the hole, where the dirt was dredged up and blasted back out into the river. At the end of the process, the dense gold was sifted away from the dirt. A small operation like the one we saw could expect to dredge up about ten ounces of gold per week, which the government will buy for about $5000. Rudy, the friendly GM, came over and happily showed us the entire process.
Later, we sat back down and started talking to one of the miners. Suddenly, a few of the employees decided that a large tree was in danger of falling and killing someone. Out came the chainsaw, and a few minutes later, the tree was down. As more and more of the pit is relieved of its gold, the miners will continue to cut down all vegetation in the way and dredge up more ground in search of deposits. This operation is small with only around ten people actively working at any given time, but with an estimate of 60,000 miners in the country, a lot more damage is being done. The good news is that the government wants to get its revenue so badly, a prospective miner can buy a claim of land (big enough for the entire operation that I visited) for only $5 per year.
When we were finished looking at the mine, Craig and I walked back to camp and learned that another operation’s boat would be going back down the river in the afternoon. Considering how long it had taken to reach the back dam, we had intended to stay another day or two, but we didn’t know when our next opportunity to leave would be, so we hastily packed up our stuff and prepared our exit. The bike guy happened to be going back to the river, and since he wasn’t carrying anything but a bunch of empty fuel jugs, he let us ride along. We opted to walk across the bridges, but the trailer managed to stay intact this time.
Soon after we reached the river, the mining crew that would take us back arrived. It was good timing because in reality, we only knew that the boat would be leaving sometime today. People going back down the river are carrying gold, so they don’t establish any sort of pattern for transporting the goods in order to avoid bandits. It’s real Wild West stuff.
We got onto the river right away, but the engine kept cutting out. The driver methodically added more and more oil to the fuel mixture, and eventually we got going, but we easily lost an hour trying to get the engine started. Going over the rapids was much easier on the way downstream. The miners all got out and waded over the rocks while Craig and I stayed put inside the boat. It took us three days to get to the camp, but only one to get back. Still, it was dark by the time we were back at the Chinese camp, so we had to camp there for the night. We were told that a Bedford would be on its way out in the morning.
A Bad Day for My Gear
Dec 18th
December 4, 2006
Day 374
This morning a 4-wheeler came to the river from the “back dam,” which is Guyanese for “middle of nowhere,” and started loading up fuel to take back to camp. After the driver loaded 18 jugs of fuel, he offered to load up our backpacks as well, and Craig and I happily obliged. I removed my passport, camera, computer, and all other electronic equipment, and loaded it all into my day bag, which I carried myself. The walk through the jungle was beautiful, and most of it appeared to be untouched by humans. There were a few diabolical looking bridges along the way which crossed the muddy streams that had been contaminated by the mining operations. It took two hours to reach the mining camp.
My first impression of the camp was a lot better than I had expected. A large area had been cleared of debris, and the white dirt was even neatly raked. I later realized that the camp was built on top of a former mine on which nothing could grow anymore. At any rate, there were huge tarps set up for protection from the elements. Under one tarp were the hammocks, and the other one was used for eating and socializing. Everyone was out mining except the cook and a guy with malaria. It seems that every miner here gets malaria a few times annually.
We saw the bike driver at another mining camp, which was next to our camp. He seemed a little worried and casually mentioned that the bike’s trailer tipped on its side and got a little wet. I didn’t have anything fragile in my backpack, so I didn’t think it would be a big deal. I walked over to Chris’ camp and noticed that our backpacks were both dripping wet. As I began pulling stuff out of mine, I noticed that everything was completely drenched. I later found out that the trailer had fallen off one of the makeshift bridges and was submerged in the water for half an hour before the driver could pull it out. Luckily it was a sunny day, but it took all afternoon to get everything thoroughly dried. I was most worried about my down sleeping bag, but it appears to be salvageable. The incident turned out to be a close call because I had all of my electronic equipment in my day pack.
When everyone came back from the day’s work, we met Rudy, the general manager of the operation. He was an older man who treated us like kings. He said that we were welcome to stay as long as we wanted, we could set up our tents under the tarp, and we could eat with the miners. He even gave us doormats for our tents!
With all the scary stories of people contracting malaria here, I retired to my tent early. I was getting my freshly dried gear put in order and I started reviewing my pictures on my camera. I hadn’t used my laptop in a few days, so I turned it on just to make sure it was still working. Right away, I noticed a big crack in the screen. It looks like I can still somewhat use the computer, but I don’t know for how long. I’ll have to wait until I get into a city to find out if it will be feasible to replace the LCD screen but keep the same computer.
Almost to the Back Dam
Dec 18th
December 3, 2006
Day 373
Today started out with the long process of portaging everything over the rapids via a path on the side of the river. The big wooden boot couldn’t make it up the rapids, so we carried a smaller aluminum boat over and had to make separate trips up the river. I went first with a prospector named Derrik, Rocco, who helps run the operation, and a bunch of fuel. It took an hour to get to the unloading point, which was still eight miles away from the main camp. I decided to stick around until Craig showed up. Meanwhile, Rocco started on the long walk to camp, and two porters showed up and each loaded two fuel jugs in their wicker backpacks. They would have to make the trek through the jungle for two hours carrying over 100 pounds each.
Smokey was brought up on the next trip, so I had to wait another two hours for the boat to go back down the river and return with Craig. By the time we were all there, it was getting late, so we decided to camp on the river for the night. We fished for dinner and set up camp in the flattest area that was somewhat free of fumes we could find.
Boating up Rapids for a Change
Dec 18th
December 2, 2006
Day 372
I woke up to a lot of commotion today. Chris was putting the new wooden boat into the water and filling it with the fuel that had been transferred in his Bedford. However, last night’s rain had caused such a muddy situation that the Bedford got stuck in the mud of the boat launch. The miners had some fun trying to dig the truck out, but eventually a bulldozer showed up and rescued us.
With all of the fuel loaded into the boat, we took off with three of the other miners, who are locally known as “porkknockers.” Back in the early twentieth century, silver miners were predominately Afro-Guyanese. The only food they would take with them on mining expeditions were large barrels of pork, which they would knock to let others know that it was time to eat. This tradition seems to be gone, but the nickname has stuck, and today “porkknocking” is the biggest industry in the interior of Guyana.
It was a long day of driving the boat upstream. After about an hour, we encountered a set of rapids. We all got out of the boat and walked next to it in the shallow water. The locals have feet made of leather, but mine are a lot more sensitive, so I spent most of my time trying to keep the pain level to a minimum. In the process, I broke off the rest of my toenail, which had been slowly withering away.
The next set of rapids were bigger than the first so we had to unload everything from the boat and walk it to the top. The boat driver tried to power upstream, but the little engine just wasn’t strong enough to make it. We ended up having to pull the boat by hand to the top. It took all five of us, but eventually it made it.
Several hours later we were at the last set of rapids. I thought we were going to get all the way to the mining camp today, but our late start forced us to stop early. An area had been cleared next to the rapids, and a few minutes later, the porkknockers had a big tarp set up for everyone to sleep under. One of the miners named Smokey took off with the boat, and a little while later, returned with a big fish for us all to eat. Actually, he claimed that the one he caught was only small and the big one got away.
We went to bed in the tent under the protection of the tarp so the rain didn’t affect us this time. Everyone has been extremely nice to us so far, but I can already see the destruction the mining has caused. The majority of the trip was through beautiful, untouched jungle, but whenever we passed a former mining camp, the entire area was cleared, and nothing was growing. Sitting on and carrying jugs of fuel all day has made me feel filthy, and I’m sure it’s not good for the environment when the diesel slowly seeps into the ground. It seems that nature’s best defense against mining so far has been the rapids. Having to pass through them took a lot of effort, and most of the potential bigger mining operations won’t bother going this far up the river.
The photo album for this entry is here.
Hitching Through Guyana
Dec 18th
December 1, 2006
Day 371
The house had its generator running all night, so it was was tough to sleep over the noise. On top of that, the thought of waking up in the middle of the night in the middle of nowhere in hopes that a bus would magically emerge from the darkness kept me in a half-awake state all night.
Not one car passed us while we were camped in the yard, so we figured the risk of getting hit by a car would be minimal. The mosquitoes were still out, and we were in a malaria-infested area, so at 2:30 we decided to pack up everything possible and sit in the tent in the road until the bus came. At 4:00, just when I thought the bus would never come, I saw its headlights rounding the corner. I think I have the world’s fastest tent to put up and take down, and that proved quite helpful in this situation. Two minutes later, the tent was rolled up and we were boarding the bus. Transportation is quite unreliable in this country, so anytime you find yourself in a vehicle moving in the correct direction, you should feel thankful.
We rode the bus until shortly after dawn, when we reached the Essequibo River, where the Iwokrama Nature Reserve is located. We jumped off the bus and rode on a small boat with the reserve’s cooks up the river a bit to the reserve. The area was beautiful, but it immediately became apparent that we wouldn’t be staying for long.
As we found out, the place catered to bird watchers willing to pay thousands of dollars to travel to Guyana for a week, not to backpackers who travel on small budgets for years at a time. We met the ranger, but he didn’t seem to be too happy to see us because we didn’t give him a specific time of our arrival. We did radio ahead, but we weren’t sure exactly when we’d arrive because we didn’t rent a Land Cruiser from them for $800 to bring us there from Georgetown like most tourists do. We were shown an area where we could hang our hammocks and were told that breakfast would be ready soon. When we asked if that was included in the price, the ranger laughed. It turned out that food there cost $25 per day, and we wouldn’t be allowed to cook for ourselves. The ranger asked us what we planned to do next, and when we told him of our plans to walk to Kaitur Falls, he laughed at us again and offered no explanation as to what was so funny.
I was already getting pretty fed up with the guy for his rudeness when he handed me a list of prices for various activities at the park. The cheapest thing was walking through the forest with a guide for $6 each. That sounded good, especially if the guide was knowledgeable of the wildlife in the area. Then we were told that we’d have to add on $15 to any of the listed activities for an administration fee, and there would be 10% extra charged to everything for some unexplained reason. Add that to the $25 for food and $10 for the hammock space, and it would cost over $60 each just to stay there one day and do the cheapest thing possible. That much money will normally last over a week in a country like Guyana. On top of that, while I was looking at the price list, the ranger and another guy were talking in broken English so I wouldn’t understand them. All I heard was “blah, blah, blah, stove [referring to the fact that we wanted to cook for ourselves], blah, blah, blah, tent [referring to the fact that we had tents], blah blah blah, Crocodile Dundee [referring to Craig].” I’m sure the nature in the area would be great to see, but the extreme rudeness of the ranger and the high prices made it an easy decision to get the hell out of there ASAP.
The boat driver took us to the other side of the river where we made breakfast. There, we met a friendly old man who told us about all the great things to see and do in Guyana, and warned us how dangerous Georgetown is (everyone always warns us about the dangers of Georgetown). We waited several hours for a vehicle to pass us and finally were able to hop on a Bedford to Mabura.
We got dropped off at the police station in Mabura and gave the officer working there our passport information. The main road continued to Georgetown, but we were interested in going down the other road that lead to Madia. All vehicles passing Mabura had to register with the police department, so it worked out well for us to wait there for someone heading to Madia.
Several hours passed with no luck. Every vehicle was either going to Lethem or Georgetown. A couple of minibuses coming from Georgetown turned down the road to Madia, but they were all completely packed. Our only hope seemed to be to wait for another Bedford, but there was so little traffic it didn’t seem likely to happen.
Finally a Bedford showed up, and out walked a middle-aged white man with a bushy beard and the low rumbling voice of a chain smoker. A wooden boat was sticking out of the back of his truck. “Nice boat,” Craig said. Before I knew it, we were being invited to come along to visit the man’s gold mine. It wasn’t quite clear how we were going to get there or how long we’d have to stay before being able to come back, but it was better than sitting around all day waiting for a ride, so we hopped on the truck and took off.
Once we got going, we were told that tonight we’d be driving to a camp on the river. Underneath us were several dozen fuel containers. Next to us was the brand new wooden boat that would transport the fuel up the river to the mine. All around us were chain smoking miners. When I showed some concern that they were smoking while sitting on top of gasoline containers which, by the way, were really just cooking oil jugs not at all fit to be transporting fuel, they just laughed and said that it was only diesel fuel, which supposedly doesn’t explode when ignited. Later, I found out that a large portion of the fuel was in fact gasoline, which definitely will explode from as little as a single spark.
We got to the “Chinese Camp” after driving a few hours on the bumpy gravel road. It was a former section of rain forest that had apparently been cleared some time ago. The entire place smelled of fuel, but that may have partially been just me because I was sitting on the stuff for several hours. I set up my tent in the least smelly location and put my fly on just in case it rained. And rain it did. The tent held up pretty well considering how heavy the downpour was, but the only problem was that the fly sits a few inches above the ground, so after awhile, water began splashing off the ground, under the fly, and into the tent. I got a little wet, but was too tired to care. It had been a long day, and I could’ve slept through a deluge big enough to make Noah proud at that point.