PROTECT WHAT YOU LOVE
“Guys, where is the raft?”
We were roughly halfway into a month-long paddling and canyoning expedition down Peru’s wild and mighty Rio Marañón when we awoke to hear this alarming question. We’d slept heavily that evening. We’d run the crux rapid of the trip the day before, a long grade IV stretch that had my palms sweating and my heart beating, but we’d come out the other side unscathed and overjoyed. In celebration, we cracked open beers that had been brought in by donkey.
Whether it was because of the drinking or because of sheer exhaustion, no-one had stirred through the night. And now, roused by that question, we gathered around, deep in this remote gorge, looking at the rope we’d used to secure the raft (along with all our helmets, PFDs and Ben’s camera). One end of the rope was still attached to the tree.
And at the other end, to our horror, was nothing more than a frayed cut.
BUT LET’S START AT THE START. It had been a long journey already when the rattling bus that was taking us to our put-in point on the Marañón came to an abrupt halt, still hours shy of our destination. We were on the main gravel road crossing the Northern Peruvian Andes, and we woke from our altitude affected half snoozes to find ourselves stopped by a flat tyre. We’d already started to descend into the valley, and after wiping the condensation off the window, I could see the sediment-rich, coffee-coloured Rio Marañón far below us. It looked small
