We headed off at around 9am
for the hour-long drive in the Toyota Troop Carrier to the small Pemón township
of Paraitepui, located along a narrow,
potted and rutted dirt road winding up and down hills, higher into the
mountains. In the distance Mt Roraima and its sister Mt Kukenan loomed high
above the surrounding landscape, the clouds typically hanging on to the summits
and creating artistic masterpieces. 
This is the dry season but it can rain
every day on the mountain tops so we are prepared for all weather. The road is
dusty but the deep ruts and gouged sides are testament to the deluges that
frequent here during the wet season, making these roads difficult to impossible
to pass.
Paraitepui is a small Pemón village with small mud and
stick huts and families going about their business. Women washing clothes, men
walking with hand tools or working small patches of land. Many other men had
woven, straight-sided cane backpacks that were loaded with food, camping and
cooking gear for the numerous concurrent treks into the mountains. These are
the porters and they carry 15kg of your gear for 1800 Bolivares. They are
short, strong men and women who walk these paths several times a month to
provide much needed cash for their families. They are strong, tough and agile,
making the struggling tourists look weak and tired in comparison. One porter
reportedly was carrying 50kgs on his pack. Most of us were struggling with
10-15kgs.
I was fortunate to have some good gear so my pack was about 8kg plus
water, but my only boots were my motorcycle boots, not exactly suited to
trekking, more for a half-day walk, so I started in sandals and carried the
boots. We had been told to expect cold weather on the top so I also decided to
take my warm sleeping bag at a tad over 2kg and my inflatable mattress, which
is compact and a little more than half a kilo.
We signed in with our passport numbers and prepared
for day one, a 12km walk through the savanna grasses.
The paths were dry and
hard with periodic loose rocks followed by paths of larger rocks before
becoming parched clay again; passing down across a couple of rivers flowing
from the mountains in the distance, before rising again to the hilltops. It was
an undulating narrow path, each hill taking us a little higher in total
elevation and each peak bringing Roraima and Kukenan
larger into our field of view.
They didn’t seem so far away but as the
kilometres rolled on they didn’t seem to be getting closer very quickly. The
sun was hot when not hiding behind the clouds and this walk sorted out the
balance in the backpacks and muscles needed for the remainder of the trek. A
number of hours later the now spread-out group reached the first camp where we
offloaded our packs and refreshed in the mountain-chilled water nearby.
Our group of porters and guides immediately set
about cooking our lunch of rice and chicken and setting up the camp.
We had
lots of time to relax and take photos, passing a few hours before our dinner of
spaghetti bolognaise and way too strong coffee for that time of night. My
strategy of bringing my beloved Exped mattress paid dividends from day one with
everyone finding the thin inflatable or dense foam mattresses hard on the tough
ground, while I amused the porters and guides with my snozzle-bag inflation
device and 7cm thickness of my insulated mat. It was a jovial night with a few
rums and beers to wash down the dust and soothe sore feet, muscles and insect
bites. So-called Puri-Puri flies bite and leave a red blood spot on the top and
several days of intense itchiness. I first encountered them in Socopó where I
removed the blood clot on the top to my detriment; this action causes many days
of discomfort from my thirty or so bites. Being a new insect to me I have no
immunity to them but as time goes on they are less intense and I no longer
remove the blood clot, and have become more vigilant about applying insect
repellent.
In this land you get tired when the sun goes
down and wake at first light. If you look at a watch it is 8.30 to bed and 5am
to rise but it’s difficult to judge the actual time.
After breakfast we were
briefed about the day ahead. Nine kilometres to the second camp where we will
have lunch then set up camp and prepare for the ascent to the mountaintop. It
was hard to imagine being on top of the still distant monolith. Day two
started with a descent to the river and a crossing over rocks with the flowing
white-water splashing around each step. We all made it across without mishap
which everyone was pleased about.
Quickly the path became steeper, narrower and
more rocky. The dried clay-pan changed to football-sized rocks, sand and
ever-increasing inclines. As the sun came out we were baked with every step and
this became a much harder day. These were foothills but each appeared like a
small mountain as each kilogram of extra weight started to take it’s toll on
shoulders, hips, lower backs ad thighs. Kilometre after kilometre became more
difficult as the hills became steeper and rockier. Some of the slopes became
slippery with small scree-type rocks and the path seemed to go on and on.
A few
people walking back the other way would say it was only half an hour more, but
they were working with gravity, not against it. Each hilltop promised to be the
last, only to be replaced by another higher and steeper path. The sheer 400m
walls of Roraima were getting closer with the impossible detail of our ascent
become clearer and scarier.
Finally it was the last hilltop and a small
inclined rocky path took us to the second camp by a stream, with the horizon
completely consumed by the overbearing mountain that was to be day three.
Not
the time to think of that now. Today was a hard day and the sore bodies from
yesterday were now screaming with burning calf muscles and thighs, chaffed
shoulders, sunburnt faces and necks and for some, the dehydration apparent from
too little water during the day. My supply of electrolyte sachets found their
first victims, including a precautionary one for myself. As if to laugh at us,
the first track up from the river was a vertical muddy scar clearly visible
amidst the jungle, a vertical smile telling us that if we thought today was
hard, tomorrow will be ten times worse. Further up the side of the imposing
rock wall was a steep jungled green ‘ramp’ that was the only possible pathway
to the summit. The reality would prove to be even more intense than the
imagination could conjure. But for now it was time for food, rest, water and comparing
aches, as the ever-tough porters cooked and set up camp for us.
The evening was filled with discussion about
what lay ahead, what challenged us today and what we would expect to find at
the top. Rum was becoming an evening companion as everyone exposed their stash
of the brown spirit. A few shots, not too much, just enough to wash away the
muscle pain and bring laughter to the journey. Spirits were high but bodies
were tired as our dinner was served just after dark, and soon after the chorus
of brushing teeth followed by rhythmic breathing became the only sounds to punctuate
the dark starry night at the base of Mt Roraima. This was a remote place,
accessible only by foot or helicopter, amidst the geologically oldest rock
structures on the planet, believed to be in this form for over two billion
years. The indigenous Pemón have their stories of Roraima – Rora (blue) i Ma
(green) – the stump of a mighty tree that once held all the
fruits and tuberous vegetables in the world. Felled by Makunaima, their
mythical trickster, the tree crashed to the ground, unleashing a terrible
flood. The ancient energy of this unchanged place surrounded us with silence
and grandeur as we waited in slumber for first light.
First light revealed the vision that I’m sure was in
all our groups’ dreams, the sheer vertical walls of Roraima, the jungle slope
leading to the ramp, and ‘that path’ of red clay rising vertically out of the
jungle.
‘Only four kilometres today’, was the word from Roman
as he briefed the group over breakfast. It will be difficult and we need to be
careful on the slippery rocky areas. There was a feeling of apprehension but
excitement in the group and I tried to lighten the mood more by reiterating
that it was only four kilometres today. Michael from New York was particularly
finding it difficult. He was my ‘tent-mate’ for the trip and yesterday had
really taken its toll on him physically and mentally. Today was going to be
tougher. I decided to stick around and help push him along mentally, knowing
that would also be good for me. The young Venezuelan girls were doing well, the
Venezuelan guys also, both young and fit, doing what they could to make it
easier for their girls.
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