By Alva Solomon

THE trip was unplanned and the boat owner did not provide much information on the type of boat he was using on the day before the trip. It was not until the time of boarding neared that this information was available.

The 15hp engine was cranked, its pistons resonating through the Aruka River, a tributary of the Barima River. It was a long trip to Shell Beach, a 90-mile stretch of sandy shoreline outside the Waini Coastline. Mr Chacon’s 33-foot canoe was the feature presentation of all “speed boats” that morning.

Mr Chacon, a man known for his religious groundings, seemed very nonchalant about the trip, and initially the destination was discussed as Morawhanna, a riverside community near the Barima River and one of several ports of entry on this side of the map.

The journey began in a small man-made creek near the Aruka River and at the bottom of the community of Hosororo Hill, where the Roman Catholic Church in that community operates a boathouse. Mr Chacon is affiliated with the church, but since it was a private assignment, their high-powered 75hp engines were not an option that Friday morning.

Shortly after 9 am, Mr Chacon hauled the 15hp engine up, fixed a few parts, and soon the boat was headed for the Aruka River. The river was calm that morning, a light rain blessed the boat, and a few canoes passed us by. Fuel was important that day since, by calculation, the journey to Shell Beach, which usually lasts an hour with the larger engines, was a few hours ahead.

Less than 10 minutes into the journey, a dog, hunger evident in his eyes, was observed swimming across the Aruka River, and Mr Chacon carefully steered clear of his path. Soon the boat was headed into a small creek near the business community of Kumaka, and

Mr Chacon pulled out his 5-gallon gas container as he signalled the lady who stood on a step with her baby on her hips. Within minutes, she was out to meet the boat.

“Mixed gas!” shouted Mr Chacon, and the woman perused several bottles which lined the river banks in front her home. She pulled a bottle and suggested it was the correct bottle. Mr Chacon then poured a few drops onto his hands to verify whether the gasoline contained engine oil.
After transacting business with the gas vendor, he replaced the bottle he was using minus the cork, and corked our new bottle of mixed gas. We then headed for the beach.

But something was wrong. Less than 5 minutes into the ride from the gas stop, the gas vendor’s husband called: “The gas ain’t have oil!” After the call had ended, Mr Chacon employed a greater degree of confidence, which suggested he wouldn’t cause the engine to incur damage.

The boat then crawled along the river. The nearest oil vendor was at least five miles ahead, past the mouth of the Aruka River.
As the canoe crawled, numerous boats zoomed by, travelling in the same and in opposite directions. “We have rules here, just like the road”, said Mr Chacon. He noted that the boats are “supposed” to be driven on the right side of the river.

As the journey continued, this supposition was tested, as some boats zoomed on either side of us.
The next stop was at the oil vendor’s home, a neat, well painted home located in a swamp on the bank of the Barima River. One may wonder how or why a house was built here, since the swamp provided no hope of a foundation.

The vendor’s wife emerged with the bottle of oil, for she was already informed via Digicel that Mr Chacon needed oil. After mixing the oil and carrying out additional checks on the engine, the canoe was now fully-powered to roar towards the beach.

As the river current grew rough, the canoe’s engine revved along the river, past Morawhanna and into the Mora Passage, a connecting waterway called a “tidal creek” which connects the Barima River and the Waini River, where the latter meets the Atlantic. It is considered a shortcut that was dredged by the Dutch when they ruled this part of the world.

Soon enough, the vessel was rolling along the waterway, and the few turns ahead seemed characteristically different about this aspect of the journey. It was now 11:30 am, and Mr Chacon’s estimate seemed correct. He pointed ahead to Dutchman’s Bay, which on the map says “Dutchman’s Point”. He said the bay consists of a tunnel-like river bed which may have been caused by the strong currents of the river. The tunnel‘s evidence, according to him, can be seen by a difference in the flow of the water. Whereas the water seemed rough on one side of the river, it appeared calm near the location of the “tunnel”, and mosquitoes are usually aplenty at that point, Mr Chacon informed.

The boat chugged along, and as the Atlantic Ocean drew closer, so did Shell Beach and the Waini Point, the latter being close to the mouth of the Waini River, which runs inland from the vicinity of the beach. A few Venezuelan registered vessels lay idle at the river corner at this point, and according to locals, while they provide the appearance of being fishing vessels, they were in fact fuel boats awaiting sales from customers.

They lined the river corner at this point, and as Mr Chacon steered the canoe towards Shell Beach, larger vessels appeared. These also included Guyanese fishing trawlers. And as the canoe passed one, a man called out to Mr Chacon. It was his brother and nephews. The men had hit a snag, as their trawler was experiencing an alternator problem. At this point, Mr Chacon explained his years of experience as a fisherman, having worked on the river and the high seas with his siblings and nephews.

The canoe was hauled up alongside the larger vessel, and the men offered us a snack as they had cooked lunch. The snack was as expected: mildewed bread with coffee served in bowls, and in one case a bucket. A crew member was chopping pieces of fish for the pot, and the men were sitting around chatting on everyday life.

It was the opportune time to capture the beach which was within sight, at least a dog and a few children were clearly visible.
After a few minutes of chatting, the canoe was hauled down and Mr Chacon zoomed across to the beach.

It is referred to as the “first beach” or the “Waini Beach”. There are two other popular sections of the beach which are referred to as the “Tiger Beach” and the “Kamwatta Beach”.

Something seemed peculiar about the environment. A number of high-profile crimes occurred here or in the vicinity in the past. The infamous Iron Punt, a haven for criminal activity, could be seen in the distance. The environment was busy, boats moved to and fro, Guyanese passenger boats carrying passengers from the region to the capital city via the Pomeroon, as well as fishing boats and, of course, the Venezuelan fuel boats.

On the beach, life seemed normal for the fishermen, the shop owner and the little boys and girls who played along the seas shore.

In the distance was Punta Playa, a feature at the very tip of the map of Guyana, with heaps of precipitation, or rain, decoratively lining the atmosphere. The breeze seemed gentle, as two dogs ate pieces of fish served by their owners.

A man chopped fish as vendors stood around his fish stand. He had varieties on sale, including the expensive gilbakka ($400 per lb), trout, cat-fish and cuirass.

Mr Chacon mentioned a name for the last variety, but it seemed trivial to recall. A few sharks, which carried a heavy price, also lay next to the fishes.

As the clock ticked closer to 1 pm, Mr Chacon signalled to the boat, and soon the canoe was headed for the trawler, where the initial stop was made. “Food should be ready”, he exclaimed as a fisherman who is his nephew hauled up the canoe. The fisherman pointed to the stern of the trawler where the kitchen smelled of curry; cat-fish curry. The kitchen was as expected: Used coffee bottles lined a small shelf, filled with seasonings, sugar, salt and even chopped onions. The rice pot was sitting on the floor to economize on space, and the curry was thrown into a bowl to also save pot space. Nearby were three bunk beds, and the fishermen’s belongings were hung around.

Soon lunch was the highlight of that moment: Cat-fish curry, with numerous pieces of fish in the pot. The dish was eaten with much care, however, as Mr Chacon noted, it actually outdid a few city restaurants’ menu with its red peppers, tasty curry and well-cooked rice.

Minutes later, the canoe was hauled down and it was time to head inland to the point of departure. And like many occurrences, the return trip seemed too quick, blessed by continuous rain and silence. Two hours later, the canoe was headed to shore near Kumaka, the area’s business hub. And her 15 hp engine won the first prize that day — for the most dependable outboard engine.