Risks and Rewards – The Orinoco Delta Lodge

Sometimes the greatest rewards come with greater risks. The recent trip to Venezuela was in many ways similar to this whole boat trip with regard to risk. We could have stayed safely home in our four-bedroom colonial in Connecticut and been quite comfortable. But we would have missed Emily playing with Dolphins in Lucaya, swimming through Thunderball Cave in Staniel Cay and watching fireworks on the bow of our boat in the Virgin Islands with my Mother.

We left Trinidad with a handful of waypoints towards a muddy river that is essentially uncharted on both my electronic and paper charts. The charts for this area were created by Christopher Columbus. We braved all this and passed several areas of 6 foot deep water (at 5 feet, we are aground!) as we moved 65 miles up this river. What we found was a magical spot called the Orinoco Delta Lodge. This lodge mostly caters to wilderness type travelers who come in for 2 or 3 nights to see the howler moneys and fish for piranha. The staff doesn’t see too many cruising boats and even fewer trawlers.

The owner, Anthony, and his wife run this place and two other lodges in Venezuela and could not have been more welcoming. We initially anchored around the corner from the lodge, but were quickly asked to anchor right off the main lodge for our convenience. Within a few minutes of re-anchoring, they called to me across the water asking if I could give an intra-muscular injection. I told them no, but that my Admiral could if need be. They sent a Panga over and Kim was soon giving an injection to one of the workers that had been stung by a scorpion. Apparently, he was being a hero and did not tell anyone about the sting at first. By the time Kim got to him, he was vomiting as the venom was working through his system. After the injection (we suspect was benadryl or a pain killer), he was on a Panga at high speed headed 25 miles to the nearest town and some antivenin.

We ate several wonderful dinners in their restaurant and spent several warm afternoons sitting in comfortable chairs in the shade of the thatched roof lodge. We strolled the grounds and saw woodpeckers, butterflies and even a parade of leaf-cutter ants. They had WiFi internet which was useful for checking e-mails, but not even the Captain wanted to waste much time here thinking about the outside world.

We were befriended by James who tended the bar and had done most of the landscaping around the lodge. There were flowering bushes, banana, mango and guava trees and tons of orchids throughout the grounds. James searched in a plant near the dining room and soon had a tarantula crawling up his arm. He explained that they don’t usually bite things bigger than they are unless they are spooked. Soon it was crawling on Emily much to her delight. Having spent some of his working years in the US, he had full command of English, Spanish and Warao.

They had a caged Puma and a wild parrot named Rumba. Rumba was raised there from a chick and was free to fly off into the jungle and would come and go at will. Rumba quickly bonded with Emily and would sit on her shoulder for hours while we walked around the lodge or sat and talked. Once on her shoulder, Rumba would protect Emily. Even the lodge owners could not approach Emily for fear of being nipped. Since these birds can crush nuts like butter, this is not a threat to be taken lightly. When we would come in to the Lodge from the boat, Emily would only get two steps off the dingy and Rumba would swoop down from the rafters or from a palm tree and land directly on her shoulder. It was WAY COOL.

James taught us how to fish for piranha with cane poles, and how to clean and fix them for dinner. We ate several and we were thankful that the piranhas were not eating us! We took the dingy on several long excursions up the narrow canos and saw howler monkeys, flying parrots and toucans and beautiful blue butterflies as big as my hand and we did some more piranha fishing.

I approached Anthony about getting some of that cheap Venezuelan diesel fuel and he explained that they travel about 25 miles further up river to get it in Boca De Uracoa. We changed some US greenbacks for Bolivar Fuertes and headed further up the river with no dependable charts and no waypoints…more risk. We managed to find the station and we docked our 50 foot boat in 12 feet of water to a rickety 8 foot wide dock. Since no English was spoken at this place, it took some Spanish babbling to explain that we were looking for about 1600 liters of diesel fuel. At first it was not possible, but further discussions produced a long leaky hose that could reach 3 of my 4 fuel tanks. We managed to pump almost 600 gallons of fuel through my filter funnel into the boat and into my only spare diesel jerry can. I exchanged my Bolivar Fuertes and asked for a receipt like this was an everyday thing for me…no big deal.

Once free from the rickety dock and safely backed up the narrow side river we were on, I took out my calculator. A silly smile came to my lips as I realized that I had just filled my boat with diesel at just under 4 cents US per gallon. All that fuel had cost me under $20.00 US! Thank you Chavez!

All along the rivers were Warao homes and villages and waves and smiles were freely passed. These people were as interested in us as we were with them and were very respectful. Some had baskets or hammocks to trade but most wanted just to say Hola and see the big blue boat and the friendly little white girl. Sometimes while anchored, groups of young girls would paddle near but not come within about 30 feet unless we waved them closer. Most could understand the captain’s rusty Spanish and many giggles and smiles were exchanged. It was refreshing to see these peaceful, simple people living much the way they have for hundreds of years.

We stayed near the lodge for almost a week. We gave tours of our floating home to some of the staff and several were ready to sign on as crew. On our final day, James walked us around the grounds and through his herb garden picking stalks of bananas, fresh sweet and hot peppers, cilantro, callalou and fresh oregano for us to take with us. Emily bit into a fresh guava with Rumba riding on her shoulder and tears were shed by all when we had to say farewell.

This experience reinforced that the greater risk would have been not to come. To have stayed home, to have stayed in Trinidad, would have been tragic mistakes. The memories of these people and this place will warm us long after we have moved on.

Tom