Adventure King

You can best describe canyoning as white water rafting, without the raft. As i signed my life away on the insurance indemnity form I didn’t realise quite what i was getting into.

Eight of us merrily jumped into a little van that proceeded to chug up impossibly steep dirt tracks.

the adventure travel capital of Venezuela

It was the rainy season in Merida, the adventure travel capital of Venezuela. Situated on a plateau at about 1600 metres, the city has been carved out of mountainous jungle. It’s also home to the longest and perpetually broken cable car in the world.

The previous night a sudden downpour had turned the streets of Merida into fast flowing rivers. Ankle high water coursed over pavements and threatened to wash away cars. A wiser man might have taken heed of the omens…

As our plucky van rounded a bend the three Venezuelan guides started shouting in Spanish with a mix of excitement, fear and adrenalin. I turned and saw a torrent of water gushing down an overflowing river. I needed a fresh pair of undies… Nervous glances were exchanged before the infectious excitement of the guides swept us along and dispelled our fears… for the time being.

in the middle of the jungle, about to let a raging river toss us downstream.

Apparently the river hadn’t been this strong for years. Another half hour of chugging away and we clambered out of the van into the hot Venezuelan sun. We were in the middle of the jungle, about to let a raging river toss us downstream.

The guides distributed helmets and we all eagerly tried them on for size. Life vests were donned and climbing harnesses were handed out. Most of the group looked at the harness with bemusement, unsure how a few limp straps could be used to prevent them tumbling down cliffs and waterfalls. Experts we were not.

After a bit of hopping and falling over, the harnesses were on. A bout of nervous laughter was followed by some macho posturing before the guides signalled to leave and we trekked off into the jungle in search of our river. A sense of foreboding descended upon the group.

we blindly trusted they’d do their best to keep us alive.

The safety talk largely consisted of how to float downstream with crossed arms and that we must do as the guides say at all times. The fact that we couldn’t understand them was overlooked, they seemed nice and we blindly trusted they’d do their best to keep us alive.

Initially the river was quite tame, perhaps 5 metres across, a metre deep and strewn with large rocks. We waded through the water and enjoyed the sensation of being gently buffeted by the current. Its not every afternoon you go for a walk down the river!

After about 20 minutes of floating and wading downstream the size and speed of the river increased. We’d passed a few tributaries that fed into the main river. Abruptly we came to a large waterfall. There was a deluge of water hammering over the cliff face.

Inexplicably, I was the first victim.

The most experienced guide climbed down the rocks away from the flow and then signalled for us to descend. We were to abseil down the main waterfall and inexplicably, I was the first victim.

As the rookie guide fumbled over my knot, tying, untying, looking for advice and finding none, I mused over my predicament. My prospects weren’t looking good. Tumbling thirty metres down a waterfall onto rocks below wouldn’t do my bones any favours.

Roped in, so to speak, I backed over the edge. I’d done this once before. A sponsored abseil down the holiday inn with the army hadn’t filled me with such dread. On that day, I felt re-assured, safe in the knowledge that everything was done with military precision. Today, I was anything but re-assured, the Venezuelan adrenalin junkie didn’t look like he knew too much about knots and I was about to be the guinea pig.

I was just dangling like a piece of bait for the hungry rocks below.

Twenty metres down and miraculously, the knots were holding up. I was almost at the base when the force of the water swung me into the rockface and pinned me there. As I gasped for air I tried to swing sideways but the sheer quantity of water cascading down the falls prevented me. With no footholds or purchase I was just dangling like a piece of bait for the hungry rocks below.

Unbeknown to me the first guide down had observed my predicament. To my relief he grabbed my ankle and swung me out. Released from the clutches of the water fall I hopped down the final few metres and waded across a pool of water to check I was still intact and watch the others descend.

The rest of the canyon consisted of two more waterfalls and some serious rapids. Not to mention the odd leap of faith off rocks into the unknown. Despite my initial concerns the guides proved to be masters of the canyon, respectful of the rapids and always aware of the groups confidence and energy levels.

Its one of those life affirming thrills…

After a two hour drenching at the hands of the rapids we came out of the canyon alive. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my sodden face for the rest of the week. If you’re in reasonable shape and get the chance, go canyoning. Its one of those life affirming thrills that reminds you, having not died, that its great to be alive!