The treacherous crossing … The Denham Suspension Bridge

By: Abdool A. Aziz

IT was my maiden trip to Issano, located 112 miles from my headquarters in Bartica.  The journey is by road (almost trail). I must cross the longest suspension bridge over the Potaro gorge. It is the Denham cable bridge built by British cables as thick as 12 inches in diameter. This dangling bridge is the only connection to Issano by surface.The trail was narrow, there is bush on either side, and our small vehicle must pull way into the bushes to give way to the ‘Bush Master’ – Henry Aruy trucks you hear them roaring ahead and they blew their loud horns.

It was terrifying, but the worst fear was the crossing of the bridge. Just as we approached it, a bush – master approached from the other side. We had to go deep into the side of the road. I watched in fear as that Henry monster crawled across, the bridge buckled. It began to sway, swaying under that weight! What will happen to our land rover? I shuddered to think of the risk, I thought it would be safer to walk over, but pedestrian traffic was disallowed. It was too dangerous due to the wild winds, you could easily blow overboard.

As soon as the truck hit our side it sped off, now my driver stepped on the accelerator slowly and our vehicle was on its way in space.  I heard a creaking noise, “Smith,” I barked “What’s that?” “Don’t worry sir, just a plank. You’re in good hands,” he replied.My rifleman touched my shoulder “Relax old soldier, everything will be fine,” he said.

Assuring words, but I still shuddered in fear.Treacherous CrossingThe vehicle inched forward and there were more crackling sounds. Fear gripped me. A wild wind blew and the bridge began to flop and sway. I held on to my seat. The wheels slowed; there we were hundreds of feet from the ground, suspended in midair. I happened to look down, I felt dizzy. I saw the carcasses of vehicles that plunged to their deaths. I was petrified, would we cross safely? Another truck pulled up to cross, it sounded its horns to get us moving. The driver drove at snail’s pace. The miners began to hurl insults.

Smithy ignored their curses, he knew his stuff. I began to pray. Another gust of wind. The bridge swung 180 degrees, Smithy stopped. He needed to anchor the weight of the vehicle and wait for the wind to die down. Then a downpour came and visibility grew dim. The men waiting to cross tossed sand at us then, with his fist depressing the accelerator, the vehicle sped to safety.   We were on land again, it felt great, but crossing back was more dangerous.  Our vehicle broke down half way. Smithy tried his best to get it to start, but to no avail. I couldn’t sit in that vehicle, suspended.

Despite the warning, I got out and in a risky manoeuvre, hobbled across holding on for dear life on the massive cables with my body trembling. My rifle man came to my aid. The driver from the other side backed his truck and tethered it to our crippled vehicle. He towed us across and later a mechanic came to our rescue. Crossing the Denham Suspension Bridge will forever be etched in my memory. As I write now at 74, I still relive those scary moments.

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