Walking on water, Piranhas in the Amazon Basin

 Mud oozed through my toes as I cautiously picked my way down the steep bank of the Ayucayacu River to reach the riverbed below. With little rain during the preceding months, the level of the water had dropped, exposing roots, tree trunks, spiky palm fronds, and thick, gooey mire. Between the rainy and dry seasons, the level of the water in this section of the Amazon basin fluctuated as much as twenty meters. In the tropical rain forest, the river system is the lifeline, supporting myriad vital functions of life in this challenging environment. In just half a day, the Ucayali River provided transportation, water for tea, fish for lunch, and now, another aspect of its aquatic generosity: a cool and refreshing respite from the oppressive heat and humidity of the jungle.

My son knew this area of the river and easily found solid footing. He held my hand and guided me down the slippery slope. Once at the water’s edge, he took a few steps into the brown, opaque liquid and quickly dove toward the middle of the river. He emerged about ten feet away and stood up in the swift current, the water circling his ankles. How could he be standing on the water near the center of the channel where it should be deeper? He continued to walk, even though he was in an area that flowed swiftly and smoothly.

“How are you walking on water?” I asked.

He laughed and answered, “You have to know where the submerged trees are located.”

I inched my way into the current and felt a wave of fear catch my breath. I could not see into the murky liquid. Tannins from the trees upstream stained the water, turning the pristine, life-giving fluid coffee-brown, which obscured all creatures and submerged objects. I remembered stories I had heard of vicious piranha, shocking electric eels, and poisonous snakes.

“Are you sure this is safe?” I queried. “I thought there were piranha in the Amazon basin. Aren’t they dangerous?”

“Not if there isn’t any blood in the water,” he calmly responded.

A few steps further and the chilly current swirled around my knees. I had expected the river to be warm or at least tepid. I was not prepared for the cold temperature. I took a deep breath to bolster my courage and quickly lunged forward. My fingers found the tree trunk, and I clung to it as the flow tugged at my feet. My son held my arm and pulled me onto the rough bark. We sat on the trunk, bracing ourselves against the force, and enjoyed the moving water as it cleansed our skin and revitalized our tired bodies. Any endeavor in the steamy jungle drained energy. A dip into the refreshing water removed fatigue and restored enthusiasm and strength. I felt the heat and lethargy of my body and the fear of the creatures lurking beneath float away as my core temperature dropped. After several minutes, goose bumps appeared on my skin, and I felt chilled. I had never imagined that I would be cold in the Amazon jungle. So many of my expectations of this area were being washed away, replaced by observation and experience.

After we carefully picked our path up the steep incline and merged with the trail to the house, I remarked that we had not seen any snakes. My son explained that we would see them if we were in the river at dusk. The snakes usually go to the water at sunset when the jungle temperatures are lower. Everyone avoids the river at that time. Apparently, it is even too hot in the jungle for a snake to move very far during the day.

“We may see one tomorrow,” he said. “The workers have seen a large boa in the lagoon. The children are afraid to fish there. They have asked the shaman to talk to the snake.”