SHEFISHS AND THE RASTA

After a 45 min ride, straddle a gas drum; I landed at Gunns airstrip. There standing along the strip is a motley group, which includes what has to be half of the village, Dwayne and his crew. The crews that I will spend the next 6 weeks on the river with consist of Dwayne’s 2 sons and 3 Amerindians. Jerry who is Macushi, A young Adonis, Nicki, who is Wapishana, Assof, who for all the world looks like the late Jay Silverheels who played the faithful Indian companion of the Lone Ranger, Clayton Moore. Assof is promptly dubbed Tonto. Last but certainly not the least is Andy. An East Indian Rasta, Bedecked with beads below both knees, around both arms, an assortment around his neck, and of course the dreadlocks. Showing a big smile he is the first to offer to take my bags. He promptly secures my yellow dry 40+lb. bag atop the 60lb gas cylinder already in his oversized warashi, my red gear bag atop his head, and we head out on an hour walk through the bush to the village. With my fly rod tube in hand I follow this fellow at a brisk walk, wondering what in the world a Rasta knows about river trips. I was soon to learn that this crew was part of a well-oiled machine. Andy would prove to be in my mind at least one of the main cogs. Two days after arrival, guest in tow we load the boats and head up the Essequibo. I am assigned the boat with young Dwayne at the motor, Jerry as bowman, and I’m seated in the middle with Rasta Andy. I was soon to learn he is an avid bird watcher who was quick to point out and tell me about different birds, plants and orchids, that I would have otherwise missed.

The first night in camp Andy was assigned kitchen duty, which included not only building tables for the stove and work bench, but also ensuring that we did no have to carry the 5 gallon buckets of water from the river. After the meal he did the dishes, even cleared the ground under where my hammock would hang. Over the course of the first week I learned quiet a lot about the Rasta Farian belief, the fact that it is a way of life, living within the world peacefully and respecting your fellow man as well as Gods nature. I was surprised at the quiet peaceful attitude, which he seemed to think was enhanced by smoking nature’s herb. (No I did not partake.)

It wasn’t until the first set of guest left, as well as young Dwayne, who had come down with Malaria, that Andy really began to shine. He took over the Captain’s position in our boat and proved to be much better than his predecessor. Stopping when we had time to fish, he using an old spinning rod with about 10” broken off the top and the guide acting as the tiptop. On the few occasions I had the opportunity to bring out my fly rod he was quick too ask questions about the mechanics and seemed totally engrossed with the idea that a person could actually catch fish that way. By the time we had finished with the second group of guest Andy and I were best of friends, and he was determined to learn to fly fish. His first attempt with the rod was at Lukunani Pond on the Kuduwini River. This was an exercise in the teacher dodging the bullet or fly I this case. I have never seen anyone who put more effort into trying to learn, work any harder to make a total mess of the whole process. After 45 minutes I had to make him stop for my own protection. The next day after breakfast while the clients were out, we started again. This time he starts to show some improvement and is able to get the line out 20 or so feet. From that day on every time we were able to stop for a little while Andy was to first to ask to use my Rod. Determination was the key word; his first Luke was about 4lb. And that was his down fall. “I have to get a fly rod, will you sell yours, and will you teach me to tie flies”? To his credit as we started back home he was quick to stop and point out fishing spots, and positioning for me the boat and when I gave him his turn, his casting and catching improved with each stop.

But lest you think all this young fellow can do is watch birds, and learn to fly fish he proved that despite being a vegetarian he could also hunt??

Heading back home via Kuduwini which was very low.

After dragging the boat over what seemed miles of sand, pimpler bush, and driving rain, we finally reach water deep enough to allow all three of us back into the boat. All at once Jerry in the bow grabs for his bow and arrows, yelling “LABBA”. There sitting hunched up on a steep mud bank of the river is one wet Labba (paca-aguti), which Jerry proceeds to put an arrow into. Labba jumps into the air, then into the water, Jerry off the bow of the boat after him, Andy yelling, “shoot’m again, shoot’m again.” Ignoring his coach Jerry grabs the Labba and tries to hold him under the water, and is promptly bitten. By this time the arrow is dislodged and the Labba makes a dash for the bank. Now he has a hole in his side, Jerry hot on his heels with bow drawn ready for another shot, Andy in front him, cutlass in one hand and boat paddle in the other ready to cut him off at the pass. Labba stops dead still, accesses the situation, figures if he plays his cards right they will kill each other and he’s home free. WRONG! Arrow flies and misses, paddle swats the ground barely missing; Labba jumps back into the water with both his pursuers on his heels. This time Jerry manages to grab a hind leg, Andy slashing with his cutlass, finally manages to scare the poor animal to death.

Score: 1 Labba for dinner, one bitten hand, one chipped paddle, and one Shefishs in the troughs of hysterics.

Several new friends, one of which is a Fly Fishing Rasta, a lot of writing material still waiting to be put down.

Shefishs