Saturday Post -- 8/8/15

No, not our canoe, but they were just lying around for the use of whoever
needed them. See 'Simplicity', below.

I can still remember the first time like it was yesterday. And boy, did I not enjoy it.

It was the very last morning of my first stint in Trinidad 15 years ago. My roommate and I had been asked a few days earlier if we there were any final items we’d hoped to tick off our checklist before heading home. Strangely, despite having lived in the Beni for almost a year, we had not yet been fishing, something of an aberration given the quality and quantity of the rivers which criss-cross the region.

Despite being July (the peak of the so-called ‘dry season’), we woke up that morning to the heaviest of downpours, which was not to abate (so much so that the afternoon saw another better-late-than-never moment, as I paid my first visit to a local dry-cleaners’ in a last-ditch attempt to get my sodden clothes in a suitable state for travel). For reasons I cannot now remember, our Bolivian companions reckoned our best chance of success was to be had by standing waist-deep in the river at which we eventually settled. Seemingly, piranhas don’t care one jot for limbs – it’s your digits they’re really after. Which explained the impassioned shrieks of “¡No! ¡No!” when I absentmindedly sought to recover some bait I’d dropped in the water.

Wet and miserable, we made it back to Trinidad, and I doubt we snared more than ten of the blighters between us (well, it sounds better than confessing that I personally caught none!). The smaller-than-expected breakfast was enjoyable enough, but by that point, I’d have been happy to leave any future fishing expeditions to the experts.

In fact, my piranha-yanking days had only just begun. For I was to return to live in Trinidad many years later, wife in tow, only to discover that most of the people we were getting friendly with were ardent fisher-folk. Indeed, indulging in the pastime is something of an inevitability here, given the general lack of recreational activities, and the aforementioned range of local rivers; quite frankly, I’m now somewhat staggered that I somehow went the whole of that first year without a fishing trip.

Nowadays, fishing is one of those things for me like washing my golf clubs or reading a copy of The Economist on a long-haul flight: I don’t tend to experience it all that much, but when I do, I seriously wonder why I don’t do it more.

Thursday's well-chosen spot.

Well, Thursday’s Bolivian independence day taking place in early August (i.e., with things still relatively arid and, in turn, the rivers at their most accessible), there was only one way I and a bunch of friends were going to spend our day off, in which the reminders of the joys of this very Beniano of pursuits came thick and fast.

The Economics

Permits? Schmermits! The local waterways give totally unrestricted access to whoever gets there first. Hook, line and sinkers can be acquired for under a tenner (rods are an unnecessary extravagance). And the bait comes – only, ever and always – in the form of beef, as plentiful in this corner of the world as the rain is in mine. 80p got me a more-than-sufficient quarter-kilo.

The Drive

With no need to go too far to find good casting here, even your fuel costs are relatively meagre. That said, there’s no harm in going that extra distance, as we did as the sun rose on Thursday. And to do so at that particular time of day – the best for fishing – is to buy a ticket to the nature show. And as there’s so little variety in the local foliage (it’s essentially a case of identifying the various shades of green), the golden hours are particularly vital for getting a different angle on plant-life here.

Not only that, but in the relatively shady conditions of those early daylight hours, the wildlife round these parts is usually making the most of things – even by the side of the road. And so, as well as the usual range of exotic birds, the capybaras and alligators out on their morning rounds became so ubiquitous that we eventually stopped pointing them out.

The Camaraderie/Tranquillity

The shared pursuit of that day’s lunch has a knack of bringing one’s companions together. Good-natured banter thus abounds by the shoreline. That said, with each member of the party necessarily making plenty of space for their neighbour, and minds concentrated on the task ahead, occasional solitude-seekers such as myself needn’t look far for occasional bouts of alone-time. It is at such moments, again, that nature takes centre stage (well, the audio version at least).

Happily, our old friend David McColl (right) was paying a flying visit
to Trinidad, before he finally leaves Bolivia next Friday.

The Glorious Simplicity Of It All!

Swing. Hurl. Plop. Bite. Yank for one’s life. OK, it doesn’t always work out that way, but if you manage to tap into a particularly rich vein round these parts, as we did on Thursday, then the blame for any failure to pull in a haul for the ages lies squarely at the feet of the angler in question (needless to say, I finished bottom of the rankings having barely made double-figures – the horror!).

Lunch

They say that, as a race, the greater the disconnect between our work and its tangible rewards has grown, the less contented we have become. I don’t know about that, but there can be few things more satisfying than shrieking, “Honey, I’m home!”, dumping the fruit of one’s labour (dare I call it that?) on the table, and savouring the day’s big meal. (As it happens, Amanda leaves the cooking to the community’s piscatorial cooking experts – typically, the morning’s participants will sample the catch as a group – but the results remain well worth the wait!)

Alan in mid-gut.

And the piranhas themselves? Keep your hands in your pockets and you’ll be just fine.

Prayer

• After a few days of readjustment to Trinidad, things are moving again on the prospective adoption. Now that we are registered, we are free to investigate any potential leads that might come up – and have been doing so already. Pray for wisdom and guidance from the LORD.
• Keep Craig in your prayers as he continues to preach this month – tomorrow it’s 1 Kings 8:1-21.
• Amanda and I have been involved in the volunteer programme this year, and Americans Haley, Brittany and Juliana, who arrived for a two-month stint in June, are coming into their last week here. Pray for a meaningful final few days.

 Praise

• For the rest afforded by Thursday’s day off.

¡Que Dios les bendiga!

Craig & Amanda