The Cuiabá & Paraguay river is the next leg of our journey. Short and sweet. We’ll board a cattle barge & slowly motor downstream from Porto Jofre to Corumbá. A 40 hour cruise over 100+ km of snaking, water that will slowly take us back to civilization.

Crack of Dawn

3 & 4 November. The alarm goes off at 4am, on with kettle & we’re out the door in 20mins. It’s a lovely temperature, but the mosquitoes are so savage so I have to fully cover up.  Jaxon moves from his bed in the roof top tent to ours as Tim preps the truck for driving.

At 4:30 a.m. the sky was just light enough to see. Tim carefully manoeuvred Bruce the around some trees and down to the river bank where he had to turn the truck and reverse onto two wooden planks, up and onto the barge. The angle was steeper than I had expected. Am pretty sure my heart skipped a few beats through this whole process. The crew guided from the front, side and back. Making sure the wheels were lined up squarely, it was an intense moment, but Tim made it look easy.

Once Manuel had loaded his bike the crew pulled in the planks, 3 men on each, they were so heavy.  Within fifteen minutes we’d pushed off and were on our way downstream toward Corumbá, Brazil’s most western city.

Cruising pantanal style

The boat itself is small, underpowered, and overworked — a patched and fixed vessel long denied retirement and pushed to the limit daily. First we are introduced to the crew and get the tour. There isn’t really a deck, but a narrow walkway to the stern. Ladies bathroom is downstairs off the bunk room, where a few bunks with well used mattresses I wouldn’t step on with shoes, let alone sleep on. 

The engine is below decks and incredibly loud, I couldn’t help but notice the 10″ of water surrounding the engine.  Crew quarters are a cluster of hammocks strung beneath a mosquito net at the back of the boat — the noisiest spot on board.  Below deck, there are a few bunks with mattresses I wouldn’t step on with shoes, let alone lay my head on.

Safety? What Safety?

There’s no safety briefing, no laminated evacuation plan stuck to the wall. Of course not — this is South America, where common sense is the only protocol.  In the unlikely event of an emergency, the procedure is simple: abandon ship and swim for shore. If the piranhas and caiman don’t get you first, you’ll just need to avoid  annoying any jaguars. And even if you manage all that, the mosquitoes will finish the job anyway. In short, it’s every man — every person — for themselves.

The galley is a small, the cook gives us a warm toothless smile. He works away happily cooking up meals for everyone — variations of rice, beans, meat or chicken, with fresh salad.  Meals are included and are really good.

The skipper is in his early 30’s and bought the boat & barge just two years ago.  I imagine most of his profits go directly back into keeping her afloat.  He tells me of other travellers & vehicles he has transported, pointing to their stickers on the walls, he’s happy to have us aboard.

National Geographic… live

Making ourselves comfortable we set up the camp chairs & hammock claiming our positions at the very front, kick back and watch our own ‘National Geographic’ live show. It’s a beautiful morning as the jungle wakes, birds take flight, herons fishing in the shallows, wood storks climbing thermals high overhead. A gentle breeze as we motor forward keeps us cool most of the morning. Bliss. Sadly no Jaguars…

Cargo Chaos, and a Couple of Pigs

The river barge is the lifeline for locals — ferrying livestock, machinery, people & supplies from farm to farm and city to farm. Our first stop is for a farmer who wants to transport a tractor and trailer back upriver.  The work crew we pick up are likely still drunk from the night before, and are on a two day bender, which makes watching them attempt to load the tractor entertaining. Straight away we know it’s not going to fit, but still they try.

Eventually they work it out and split the load into two trips.  The barge lists heavily to one side, which is a little unnerving.  The second part is a heavy brush clearer, with steel wheels and two large rotating blades that would tear anything in its path.  They use a second tractor to load it from behind, but the blades keep hitting the deck. 

The captain asked Tim if he could use the truck to pull it on board.  Of course we help, but forgot that we had plugged the truck in for electricity and accidentally ripped the cable out.  Severing the connection at the plug.  Oh gawd, that sinking feeling.  Our lifeline for when the sun doesn’t shine or non driving days.  That is most definitely not found in South America. Pooh! 

The crew work hard & fast in their flip-flops, loading and unloading heavy cargo efficiently by hand.  By midday we’d finally off-loaded our drunken passengers and their stubborn cargo, and picked up a new set of travellers and what appeared to be all their worldly belongings.  Including two particularly stinky pigs that were tucked under the truck for shade. Their owner drenched them with a bucket of water — a no-nonsense cooling.

The sun turns brutal, the captain gave us the thumbs up to string up a sunshade and tuck beneath it. The rest of the early afternoon drifts by in tranquillity — slow water, slow miles. Manuel sends up his drone and captures some brilliant shots of the barge snaking through the green.

Mosquito Swarm

We were excited to sit out at the front for dinner with a cold beer & keep watching the sunset.  Toasting our day and enjoying our food when we notice a hundreds of swallows swooping low across the river, feasting as they darted and twisted — an unrecognized clue of whats coming. When a moment later we sailed straight into a thick cloud of mosquitoes or biting gnats, millions of them. Unbearable, we abandoned the table with plate in hand and fled into the camper and Manuel dove for his tent. That was it for me for the night.

Engine Failure

Excited Tim and I are out the door at 6am with our favourite mugs of steaming hot tea & coffee.  Again it’s a nice temp, but again cover up because of the savage mosquitoes.  Sitting at the bow we watch the morning unfold, part two of our nat geo live episode.    

By mid morning we were heading straight for the gathering dark rain clouds. It was the storm Tim had ordered, and it hit with fury, huddled beneath umbrellas we sat out the brief but drenching squall that soaked everything for an hour.  

About 20 km from Corumbá, the engine stopped.  The crew hopped in the aluminium tender and pushed us along until the last 3 km, when comically that too gave up.  From there, we surrendered to the river’s will, drifting gently in the current.  We weren’t in a hurry.

Offloading went smoothly, the water was low, so the ramp was steep, but those sturdy hardwood planks held firm.  Bruce rolled onto dry land and our river adventure was over.