15 Jul Moments of Insanity
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“Moments of Insanity: Part 1″ was written by Ithaka, and published in Water magazine for his column “Fishdaddy Chronicles”.
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Woke up this early morning (Tuesday)
to check the surf as usual.
There were no waves.
It’s summer in Rio de Janeiro,
not totally surprising.
But there was also no sun,
the sky dark with cloud cover
and only about seventy degrees outside
(a huge drop from
yesterday’s blistering Ninety-Five).
I’d actually been waiting
for a day like this since moving
here from California
about four weeks ago.
I walked up the street
to Sendas supermarket
and bought three big
bottles of water,
went home,
put a package
of sesame-seed crackers
and some of ripe pears
into a couple of zip-lock bags,
tossed them into an old backpack,
got my surfboard
and walked the three
blocks back to the beach.
I counted seventeen
women along the way
(two were beautiful).
I began to paddle
from Lifeguard Tower 11 in Leblon
all the way out to the first of the Cagarras,
a cluster of uninhabited islands,
located several miles out in front of Rio.
One of the reasons,
this excursion had to happen
midweek was because
on summer weekends
several cruise boats a day
passed through this
exact body of water
between the islands
and the beaches
of Ipanema and Leblon.
I doubted very seriously
in my ability to outrun one
or even get out of the way
of one if I had to.
Once in a rare while,
I’d see one pass by during the week too,
but those were odds I could live with.
I’d already predicted it
to be a long-ass haul
and had expected it to be
a lot farther than it looked,
but it ended up being
infinitely farther than even that.
Took two-and-half hours
of straight, open-ocean paddling
just to get out there.
Like I said, there wasn’t much
swell activity today,
but the southern flowing current
was significant enough
that I kept having to readjust my aim
to avoid missing the islands altogether
and drifting out to sea
(The next dry land mass
being the Africa Continent,
thirty-eight hundred miles away).
At about the halfway point
I passed an area that was
literally a minefield
of grapefruit size
(and colored) jellyfish.
The water looked almost black,
reflecting off
the darkly overcast sky and
the orange invertebrates
seemed electrically illuminated.
As gingerly as I maneuvered
through them,
I still ended up brushing up
against three or four,
but for whatever reason I wasn’t stung.
Sporadically,
yard-long barracudas
(being chased by who knows what?)
would rocket out of the water
and fly five or six feet
before noisily splashing down,
adding further to
the illusionary frontline ambient.
There was also an abundance
of freshwater plants
floating around that had been
flushed out to sea
from recent violent rains
providing even further tactical difficulties.
After making it through the war zone,
the sea current started
pulling much stronger
but was now going northward
in the opposite direction.
I had to change my general overview
several more times just to stay on course.
In the end,
I was really grateful
I had waited for a day
without much undulation
to attempt this voyage
for the first time.
Ten big, sinister-looking, black,
skin-headed vultures
started flying circles
about thirty-feet above me.
Was I really that out of shape
that I was already
looking like dinner to these bastards ?
I started paddling faster
and screaming at them in defiance
when my right hand
slammed into MEAT !!!
Big and heavy
it was either a dead dolphin..
or HUMAN
(too smooth-skinned for be a shark).
I was too freaked out
to stop and investigate,
I got the hell out of there!
And was thankful to discover
that the vultures
were definitely
more interested in it,
whatever it was,
than me.
Every several minutes,
I’d look back shoreward.
Where I’d see commercial airliners
appearing and disappearing behind
Bored Jesus Mountain
on their way to and from
Galeao Airport in Zone North.
And police helicopters
constantly transiting back and forth
from between the city center
and the general area
the Rocinha and Vidigal ghettos.
High-caliber,
leftover New Year’s Eve fireworks
were periodically being detonated
from different parts of the city,
billowing plumes of
contrasting white smoke
silhouetted by charcoal gray
cloud cover,
their audibility
gradually fading away
into the distance along with the
visibility of city details.
Getting closer to my destination,
I began to realize that,
in terms of average height
and circumference,
the size of palm trees
on the opposite sides of the island
did not match up,
although they appeared
to be of the same species.
All these weeks
I had thought that
the closest island in the group
was mostly long and flat
with a single high peak on one side
covered by significant vegetation.
But what I’d actually been observing
was two different islands,
a long and flat one
being visually montaged (by distance)
behind the smaller, but taller more lush one.
The other five islands,
were separated by greater distances
and were obviously independent
of each other.
I realigned my aim
for the hundredth time that day
to guarantee arrival on
my now smaller target.
About two-hundred yards out
I passed through an area
of much clearer, colder water.
FIFTEEN degrees colder!
FULLSUIT COLD.
Summer in Brazil?….weird.
Finally,
with my head pounding out
a little melody
(trace brain damage from
my-first-New-Year’s-Eve-
in-Rio-de-Janeiro-hangover
a full two days earlier)
and my arms burning
with new found soreness,
I arrived to my own private paradise.
I later learned
that all seven of these islands
had individual names,
but had actually been told
the exact opposite by one local resident
a few days earlier.
This island, MY ISLAND, was called PALMAS.
The longer and flatter one,
a half mile behind it
(that I’d mistaken as part of this one)
is ILHA COMPRIDA
or in Gringo language, Long Island.
Palmas is about a ¾-of-a-mile-around
seemingly solid granite oval dome
capped with lush tropical jungle,
hosting about a thousand Royal Palms.
How long it took for enough dirt to collect
on top of a smooth protruding surface
for even a single insignificant plant to take root
and kick off the whole soil making process
.who the hell knows?
I once read that
something like a trillion pounds
of dust a year
gets kicked up into the stratosphere
by windstorms in the Sahara
and eventually transmigrate
over the Atlantic and get peppered
down onto Amazonia
courtesy of daily rainfall.
We are at least two-thousand miles
south of those wind patterns
but maybe a couple of dozen ounces
managed to make their way
down here over the course
of say 65,000 years
and began compacting
on the top PALMAS
and its six immediate island neighbors;
COMPRIDA, ROTUNDA,
MATIAS, PRACA ONZE, CAGARRA
and FILHOTE DE CAGARRA.
Guess that’s as good as explanation
as I have to dwell on
for the short -term.
The shore was really steep
And in my delirious state,
I had a difficult enough time
just getting myself out of the water.
But making things
even more pleasurable,
I nicked my knee on a pincushion
of submerged sea urchin spines.
After three or four attempts
I finally managed to crawl up over
the thousands of dormant dry barnacles
and stand up straight.
With my arms victoriously raised
high above my head
I let out a hideously loud
master-of-the-universe Tarzan yell
that was probably heard
as far away as Copacabana.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Then silence.
I chugged
a liter-and-a-half bottle of water,
chomped down two pears
and swallowed some crackers,
but my famine still hadn’t been extinguished.
I’d seen sea urchins
on the menus of several
sushi bars but had never indulged.
Why not now ? I thought,
they’re abundant here.
I grabbed a purple,
baseball-sized urchin
from just under the surface
of the crystalline water
and SMASHED it down on the rocks.
There wasn’t a whole lot of flesh in there,
but there was some eggy-looking orange stuff
that at least looked kind of edible.
I picked out the pieces
of broken shell and spine
and ate a small quantity
(swallowing it without really chewing).
IIIICCCCKKKKK !!!!!!!
Obviously my culinary skills
weren’t up to Shinjuku standards.
Even with my high-tolerance for grossness,
this was the single nastiest substance
I’d ever tasted,
I barely avoided vomiting.
Next time I’ll bring
wasabe and soy sauce.
I left the board and backpack
near the water
and began exploring.
It was extremely difficult to get around,
not only because of the incline
but because the rock face
itself was not that smooth.
Up close it was finitely sharp
and jagged
(and like an idiot,
I hadn’t even thought about bringing shoes).
I tried to climb straight over
the highest area of the island
(about two-hundred feet at it’s tallest),
but once I got past the granite slab
and the wall started leveling off on top
giving way to vegetation,
the jungle itself was guarded
by a twenty-foot deep barrier
of ground-crawling cactus shafts.
Impossible to attempt without
at least pair of army boots and a machete.
There were a couple
of random seagulls
hanging around chasing crabs
back into crevices on the rocks
and some prehistoric looking insects,
but the island’s most prevalent,
visible animal life
were the black-headed
vampiresque vultures.
They were everywhere;
flying around,
walking on the rocks,
taking shits
and standing on limbs
of shrubs and trees.
Not even moving
when I’d get close to them
(no fear whatsoever).
A mini Komodo Dragon
came out of the cactus patch
and laid right in front of me
for about fifteen minutes,
not at all annoyed by my presence.
It’s very possible that in his young life
he’d never even seen a human personally
and had yet to learn from his parents
that they are all enemies of the natural world.
Me, of course,
being no exception to the rule whatsoever.
Don’t know what he was exactly,
some sturdy, exotic-looking,
triangle-headed,
black and yellow iguana
about three-feet long.
If I’d been stranded on Palmas for real,
he’d have been made into
several excellent protein-rich meals.
Being as naïve as he was,
he didn’t look too difficult to hunt.
One rock on the head
would’ve probably been sufficient.
I descended the incline
and began crawl-climbing
the granite face
clockwise around the island
Maintaining my altitude
At only about forty feet
above the water.
I found six-to eight inch
horizontal step-grooves
inbetween sedimentary
layers of granite
randomly glittered with quartz.
On these little ledges, I kept my feet
as flat as possible while constantly
palming the stone wall with a hands
on either side of my body.
But some parts were nearly totally vertical.
I’m no free climber.
And the potentiality of falling thirty feet
And getting my head split open on a rock ledge
only to be gluttonously devoured by a bunch
of greedy, arrogant vultures
was probably not as amusing as it sounded.
I opted to come down to shore,
dive into the water
and swim around the cliffs
until I could climb up again..
On these brief immersions
I saw one sea turtle
and some beautiful,
fluorescent blue and yellow fish.
Wish I’d brought a mask,
a spear gun, a machete
shoes, waterproof camera
and MORE FOOD.
Next time…..(if there is one).
It took about an hour and a half
to negotiate my all the way around the island.
And although I tried to repetitively,
I never found a user-friendly enough spot
to penetrate the jungle zone.
Nature at its wildest.
There were all kinds
of chaotic insect sounds
rhythmically cocktailing
around in there
with melodic symphony accents
supplied by different species
of unseen song birds.
Everyone had their part
and no one missed a beat.
Beautiful. I was hypnotized.
Very tribal.
But occasionally,
a random gangster-vulture
would spoil it all by shrieking jealously,
(as if protesting his own
lack of songwriting ability)
They were always out of tune
and always off rhythm.
I hated them even more now,
and apparently it was mutual.
As I made my way
around the last corner
of the island,
they started reacting
more aggressively toward me.
Flying nearer to me
and squawking harassingly.
I’d overstayed my welcome.
They could have easily killed me
if they’d wanted to gang up on me,
but the vibe was more like,
Visiting hours are over kid,
now get the #%$@ out of here!
Back at camp
I had to throw rocks
at the six vultures
bickering with each other
over what was left
of my Japanese Blue Plate Special
(the urchin)
just to get near my stuff.
Although much smaller
than a condor
or some other
bigger buzzard species,
even this variety
with their five
and six-foot wingspans,
could’ve flown off
with my surfboard single-handedly
without much effort.
I ate the rest of my rations
and drank another bottle of water,
trying to hydrate as much as possible
pre-visioning the minute possibility
of being lost at sea.
My feet were now raw
and bleeding selectively
from micro-cuts caused by barnacles
and other surface irregularities.
And unfortunately at my exit point,
below the ring of razor-sharp barnacles
that had been located
just above the waters edge
all the way around the island
the descending tide had eventually exposed
a six-foot horizontal band of
black muscles and urchins
that I had to tiptoe over just to get back to
the water…….
I was in pain, not just my feet
But also my shoulders from the paddle,
and now I had to do it all over again…..
Thankfully the cool water
numbed away most of my suffering.
And I was on my way.
The view of Rio
from this far out
was absolutely spectacular.
The city is completely surrounded
by forest-covered mountains.
They say the Tijuca Forest is the largest
urban forest in the world
and believe it or not
it was one of the world’s first
major environmental projects.
These mountains were bare in 1850
resulting from four-hundred years
of over-ambitious timber industry.
The claim is that this entire area
was replanted by only eighteen slaves
who together planted
eighty-thousand indigenous trees.
My view was south
from the Grumari reserve
all the way north to Niteroi,
forty miles at least.
There are other groups of islands
in both directions.
(I’d experienced only
one of the state of Rio’s
four-hundred-and-something islands).
Predicting the same dual currents
I’d encountered
on the way over,
I steered toward the general
direction of the Corcovado Jesus Statue
(Bored Jesus)
I knew if I aimed there
that I’d first be dragged
about a half mile even farther north
and then 2nd fase of current
would eventually carry me about
a mile and a half in the opposite direction
depositing on the far south side
of the beach in Leblon,
(hopefully not far from my street,
Bartolomeu Mitre).
I took a long LONG time to get back
and making it worse
it started raining heavily
as I was going thru thejellyfish field…
COLOSSAL bolts of lighting
shot across the sky from behind me toward
Jesus on the mountain.
A boat full of fisherman,
rushing to get back to harbor in the storm,
took a short detour to motor past me
to see if I was alright.
I gave them a thumbs up
…that I was “ok”
And they were on their way.
Curiously, two other boats
passed me a half hour later
and hadn’t even
bother to investigate…
(that’s brotherly love for ya).
Eventually I could start seeing
individual people on the beach,
tourists no
doubt
Cariocas usually don’t stay
on the beach
when it’s raining.
The weather is
Near-perfect here
4-5 days a week..
(Why would they bother?)
And before long,
I could even hear
the cars and busses on “PCH”.
The swell had increased
a little throughout the day,
which toward the end
started helping me
not hindering me,
giving me a gentle
tail-push toward shore.
When I got about
a hundred feet off the beach
a solitary two-foot glassy
left appeared behind me.
I caught it almost effortlessly
butI was so exhausted,
I barely had the energy
to stand up especially
with the extra weight
of a now water-filled backpack
burdening me.
But I managed to force myself
to my feet
and regally rode it to shore.
Like a Hawaiian king
I waved to my loyal subjects
lining the shore of Leblon
anticipating my arrival.
One thing had become
embarrassingly obvious to me
during the course of the day,
I am slowly, but most definitely
loosing my mind..
My fins hit bottom.
When I put my feet
on the warmish sand,
I could feel the new pulsating
pillow-blisters painfully
de-numbing and coming
back to life on of the
bottom of my feet.
I limped the three blocks
back to my apartment
counting eighty-two women
along the way,
thirty-seven of them beautiful
(but only the uglier
ones smiled back at me).
It was still only early evening,
but I took a shower
and slept
for the next sixteen hours.
_____________________________
Four days later
A dead body washed up
On the beach at Leblon,
a shooting victim of drug wars
at the Vidigal favela
located a mile away
Good chance it was him
that I hit on my
paddle to the Palmas.
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