Quick... to the Bandwagon!
Curare fearlessly leaps onto the swiftly moving device with the ferocious grace of a jungle cat. He might never get the last word, but he always gets at least one. Ferociously
Here’s a little side trip back in time. Back to the beginning. More origin stuff to follow, although I will be sure to jump in on the Visible thing again when I’m more up for it.
Tales of a Shaman’s Apprentice
Part 1: The Great Speaker
Darkness. Cold. Pressure. A silent roar assaulted his senses as he was pulled down and into a violent spin. His thoughts burst through the numbness as he fought against it. He could unclip the harness belt and kick away. Toward the promise of light and life. Or he could surrender to an inevitable fate, letting the creeping cold take over his body and suck his life away. Either way, he would be giving up. This was not an option.
He doubled over and gripped one side of the kayak, wrenching it aside to slow the spin. With his other hand he thrust the paddle out until he felt it strike rock. He was swept past, but managed a hard thrust against it. His lungs afire, he was buoyed up toward the surface. He broke the surface for an instant, his head and shoulders exposed along with the tip of the bow. The current swept around a massive boulder and into a whirlpool, where he sank once more. Jamming a paddle into the rocks below, he pulled the kayak in a complete circle and free of the spinning trap. Then suddenly he was up and free, the kayak bursting free with a massive spray.
The Apurimac is one of the most fascinating and mysterious stretches of the Amazon River. Long before the Amazon becomes the “river sea,” it courses through narrow canyons and deep gorges in southern Peru, forming some of the most impressive rapids in the world. This nearly inaccessible region of the river has long held spiritual significance for groups like the Incas, who named it the “Great Speaker (Apu Rimac).” They built massive rope bridges spanning the canyon walls, since there was no way to cross the roaring torrent thousands of feet below. Few people have tried to navigate this river, in particular the section called the Acobamba Abyss, and the majority of these people have died.
He was running the Apurimac solo, rejoicing in life amidst perils. There had been a group expedition planned, but the guide and the others turned back when he refused to portage around the worst rapids. And now he was entering the Abyss, quite possibly the most dangerous stretch in the entirety of the greatest river in the world. A wild grin spread across his face as the current picked up and the banks closed in around him. The canyon walls were only eight feet wide at this point, and the whole raging force of the river was forced into a tight chute. A solitary boulder stood in the center of the current and the river split in two with arching chutes curving away from the towering rock. He leaned away from the rock as he passed narrowly to the right. The chute tossed the boat into the air and it tilted further to the right. He ducked down and pulled the boat into a full barrel roll before splashing back down upright. Just ahead the river dropped down twenty feet into a deep whirlpool. He could only see the edge, and instinctively he thrust ahead with the dual paddle as hard as he could. The kayak sailed off the lip of the fall and barely cleared the maelstrom, landing between two rocks with a great splash. He sank below the surface, and the current of the whirlpool tried to suck him backwards. He held the paddle across his body and lodged it between the two rocks, arresting the backwards drag. Gripping the handle and the slippery rock face beside him, he pulled up and away to the surface, gasping for breath. He narrowly missed slamming his head on the next protruding edge, only to see the torrent ahead seem to disappear under a monolithic boulder. It looked like a strainer. Certain rocks are known as strainers because the spaces below them allow water to pass through, but not larger objects. If someone were sucked under the rock, they would not pass through. Death was certain. There was no way of knowing how large the passages were underneath this boulder, and he looked around frantically as he tried to buy time by paddling backwards. The boulder stretched across the span of the river and the current was far too strong for him to fight. Within moments the rock loomed over him and he was being pulled down. He shoved his paddle down to the left as hard as he could and leaned in, turning the kayak as the rock rushed to meet him. His shoulder slammed hard into the rock face and he grimaced in pain. He would not have much time before the current would suck him and the boat down and under the rock. He loosened the spray belt and slid up and out, standing for a second in the sinking kayak. He heaved the paddle up over the boulder, where it lodged in a crevice through blind luck. He slipped one ankle through the nylon cord loop at the kayak’s stern and somehow found fingerholds in the rock face. Slowly, he climbed with the kayak dragging below. His muscles strained and ached as he reached the top. The paddle was two feet away, and he felt a wave of relief. Then the nylon cord snapped. He turned to see the kayak slice through the surface of the water end-on and vanish below the rock. There was no way to know whether the boat would surface on the other side, but it was the only source of hope. He heaved himself onto the narrow top of the rock, snatched the paddle from its resting place, and dove off the other side of the rock. He passed through the roiling surface and into a deep pool. The kayak slipped past at that moment and he grabbed the rim of the cockpit with his free hand. The boat dragged him for a few moments before he could bring the paddle around in front and pull himself onto the boat. He broke the surface straddling the kayak, paddling until he found a quiet eddy. He climbed back inside, took a few deep breaths, and pushed into the current once more. It would be another day before he found any stretches of calm water.
It was on the second such stretch that the bullets flew across his bow and sliced into the water. Figures on both banks came rushing to the edge, with old rifles and several pistols raised. He slowly and calmly paddled to the near shore and raised his hands. They beckoned for him to get out of the boat, and he obeyed, saying nothing. Most of the men had red armbands and bandanas.
“Quien eres? A donde vas?!” Who are you? Where are you going?
“Era un extranjero, pero ahora no mas. Voy con el rio.” I was a stranger, but no longer. I go with the river.
“Eres un pendejo rico, verdad? Vas a Cuzco y Machu Picchu. El Sendero Luminoso no se gustan los tipos ricos.” You’re a rich bastard, right? You’re going to Cuzco and Machu Picchu. The Shining Path doesn’t like you rich types.
“Voy a Vilcabamba, Senderadores. No tengo dinero. Quiero ver las fortalezas finales de la Rebelion Inca y la tumba de Tupac Amaru. Quiero aprender mas sobre un hombre de este tipo.” I am going to Vilcabamba, Pathwalkers. I have no money. I want to see the final stronghold of the Incan Rebellion and the tomb of Tupac Amaru. I wish to learn more about such a man.
The members of the Shining Path were silent for a moment, and then whispered among themselves. They had not expected this. Finally, a broad-shouldered man with a brilliant red bandana stepped forward and stared fiercely into the stranger’s face. The gaze was returned, but without malice. It was an intense, vital stare, and the man was startled. With a gesture from him, the gathered men lowered their weapons. He gave a slight nod to the stranger.
“Andale, amigo. Vaya bien.”
“Gracias y pura vida.”
Saludos de Ecuador.
Here’s a little side trip back in time. Back to the beginning. More origin stuff to follow, although I will be sure to jump in on the Visible thing again when I’m more up for it.
Tales of a Shaman’s Apprentice
Part 1: The Great Speaker
Darkness. Cold. Pressure. A silent roar assaulted his senses as he was pulled down and into a violent spin. His thoughts burst through the numbness as he fought against it. He could unclip the harness belt and kick away. Toward the promise of light and life. Or he could surrender to an inevitable fate, letting the creeping cold take over his body and suck his life away. Either way, he would be giving up. This was not an option.
He doubled over and gripped one side of the kayak, wrenching it aside to slow the spin. With his other hand he thrust the paddle out until he felt it strike rock. He was swept past, but managed a hard thrust against it. His lungs afire, he was buoyed up toward the surface. He broke the surface for an instant, his head and shoulders exposed along with the tip of the bow. The current swept around a massive boulder and into a whirlpool, where he sank once more. Jamming a paddle into the rocks below, he pulled the kayak in a complete circle and free of the spinning trap. Then suddenly he was up and free, the kayak bursting free with a massive spray.
The Apurimac is one of the most fascinating and mysterious stretches of the Amazon River. Long before the Amazon becomes the “river sea,” it courses through narrow canyons and deep gorges in southern Peru, forming some of the most impressive rapids in the world. This nearly inaccessible region of the river has long held spiritual significance for groups like the Incas, who named it the “Great Speaker (Apu Rimac).” They built massive rope bridges spanning the canyon walls, since there was no way to cross the roaring torrent thousands of feet below. Few people have tried to navigate this river, in particular the section called the Acobamba Abyss, and the majority of these people have died.
He was running the Apurimac solo, rejoicing in life amidst perils. There had been a group expedition planned, but the guide and the others turned back when he refused to portage around the worst rapids. And now he was entering the Abyss, quite possibly the most dangerous stretch in the entirety of the greatest river in the world. A wild grin spread across his face as the current picked up and the banks closed in around him. The canyon walls were only eight feet wide at this point, and the whole raging force of the river was forced into a tight chute. A solitary boulder stood in the center of the current and the river split in two with arching chutes curving away from the towering rock. He leaned away from the rock as he passed narrowly to the right. The chute tossed the boat into the air and it tilted further to the right. He ducked down and pulled the boat into a full barrel roll before splashing back down upright. Just ahead the river dropped down twenty feet into a deep whirlpool. He could only see the edge, and instinctively he thrust ahead with the dual paddle as hard as he could. The kayak sailed off the lip of the fall and barely cleared the maelstrom, landing between two rocks with a great splash. He sank below the surface, and the current of the whirlpool tried to suck him backwards. He held the paddle across his body and lodged it between the two rocks, arresting the backwards drag. Gripping the handle and the slippery rock face beside him, he pulled up and away to the surface, gasping for breath. He narrowly missed slamming his head on the next protruding edge, only to see the torrent ahead seem to disappear under a monolithic boulder. It looked like a strainer. Certain rocks are known as strainers because the spaces below them allow water to pass through, but not larger objects. If someone were sucked under the rock, they would not pass through. Death was certain. There was no way of knowing how large the passages were underneath this boulder, and he looked around frantically as he tried to buy time by paddling backwards. The boulder stretched across the span of the river and the current was far too strong for him to fight. Within moments the rock loomed over him and he was being pulled down. He shoved his paddle down to the left as hard as he could and leaned in, turning the kayak as the rock rushed to meet him. His shoulder slammed hard into the rock face and he grimaced in pain. He would not have much time before the current would suck him and the boat down and under the rock. He loosened the spray belt and slid up and out, standing for a second in the sinking kayak. He heaved the paddle up over the boulder, where it lodged in a crevice through blind luck. He slipped one ankle through the nylon cord loop at the kayak’s stern and somehow found fingerholds in the rock face. Slowly, he climbed with the kayak dragging below. His muscles strained and ached as he reached the top. The paddle was two feet away, and he felt a wave of relief. Then the nylon cord snapped. He turned to see the kayak slice through the surface of the water end-on and vanish below the rock. There was no way to know whether the boat would surface on the other side, but it was the only source of hope. He heaved himself onto the narrow top of the rock, snatched the paddle from its resting place, and dove off the other side of the rock. He passed through the roiling surface and into a deep pool. The kayak slipped past at that moment and he grabbed the rim of the cockpit with his free hand. The boat dragged him for a few moments before he could bring the paddle around in front and pull himself onto the boat. He broke the surface straddling the kayak, paddling until he found a quiet eddy. He climbed back inside, took a few deep breaths, and pushed into the current once more. It would be another day before he found any stretches of calm water.
It was on the second such stretch that the bullets flew across his bow and sliced into the water. Figures on both banks came rushing to the edge, with old rifles and several pistols raised. He slowly and calmly paddled to the near shore and raised his hands. They beckoned for him to get out of the boat, and he obeyed, saying nothing. Most of the men had red armbands and bandanas.
“Quien eres? A donde vas?!” Who are you? Where are you going?
“Era un extranjero, pero ahora no mas. Voy con el rio.” I was a stranger, but no longer. I go with the river.
“Eres un pendejo rico, verdad? Vas a Cuzco y Machu Picchu. El Sendero Luminoso no se gustan los tipos ricos.” You’re a rich bastard, right? You’re going to Cuzco and Machu Picchu. The Shining Path doesn’t like you rich types.
“Voy a Vilcabamba, Senderadores. No tengo dinero. Quiero ver las fortalezas finales de la Rebelion Inca y la tumba de Tupac Amaru. Quiero aprender mas sobre un hombre de este tipo.” I am going to Vilcabamba, Pathwalkers. I have no money. I want to see the final stronghold of the Incan Rebellion and the tomb of Tupac Amaru. I wish to learn more about such a man.
The members of the Shining Path were silent for a moment, and then whispered among themselves. They had not expected this. Finally, a broad-shouldered man with a brilliant red bandana stepped forward and stared fiercely into the stranger’s face. The gaze was returned, but without malice. It was an intense, vital stare, and the man was startled. With a gesture from him, the gathered men lowered their weapons. He gave a slight nod to the stranger.
“Andale, amigo. Vaya bien.”
“Gracias y pura vida.”
Saludos de Ecuador.