which you only discover after youâve given them your foot for breakfast.
I had also found various clever ways of avoiding our assistantâs request to help trap the very large and deadly fer-de-lance snakes. Her brother, in particular, had a fascination with these animals and wanted us to help stuff them into a box for closer observation. Luckily, they were only able to find one on their own. I never let on that I seemed to trip on these fearsome snakes at every bend.
The snakes and tarantulas were a small price to pay for the beauty of Guyanaâs interior. Nothing describes a wonder like Kaieteur Falls. This waterfall is about five times higher than the more well-known and relatively wimpy Niagara Falls and about twice the height of Zimbabweâs Victoria Falls. Its distinction lies in the unique combination of height and volume, making it one of the most powerful waterfalls in the world. It is no less than a four-hour vertical climb from the base at around 280 feet to the summit at just under 1,900 feet. One point on the hike is now officially called the Oh My God, as thatâs what people say when they realize what they have to climb. I was grateful to be as fit as a professional cheerleader.
Perhaps more impressive than its size is the fact that the waterfall sits in a nearly pristine rain forest atop an ancient plateau known as the Guyana Shield. This geological phenomenon is said to be the oldest layer of rock on Earth, at 2.99billion years. On the edge of the plateau I got to see some rare wildlife, such as the golden frog and the harpy eagle, and tracks of the elusive jaguar. Every winded step was made worthwhile.
Kaieteur Falls is said to be named after an Amerindian chief by the name of Kai, who canoed over the falls to his death. Apparently, he did this in order to protect his tribe from a rival Carib tribe and the disease that had affected them. The word teur is native Amerindian for âfalls.â Whether Kaiâs sacrifice worked is unrecorded, but I have to wonder how plunging to your death over a waterfall would act as a vaccination, however good the intention. There are still no safety rails at Kaieteur Falls, and approaching its edge is risky. But looking over its rim, I could feel the power. Before I knew it, my arms lifted, and I felt I could take to the air and soar. Perhaps the great Amerindian chief had felt a similar compulsion.
The Guyana expedition was soon over, and I returned safely to the joys of hot showers, electricity, and a comfy bed, but I was a different person. Comfort could not keep me around for long. I had been bitten by the bug, quite literally. I switched majors and applied to the top-rated anthropology graduate department in the country, at Stony Brook University, where I would go on to pursue a Ph.D.
I would return to Guyana the next year, just long enough to almost die. As earlier recounted, that return trip ended a few weeks short, with my hands becoming increasingly more swollen and red. By the end, they looked as if I had dipped them in a pot of scalding water they were so blistered and distorted. They got so bad I had to cover them with a blanket in town to avoid the stares.
I never did find out what caused my hands to reach the size of basketballs. Apparently, the red streaks on my legs signaled that I had a blood infection traveling toward the heart, spelling doom. To this day, I do not discuss the details with my mom. But I canât help wondering if I should have stayed away from the Kool-Aid.
During the course of two expeditions, I had evolved from naive cheerleader to daring explorer. Or perhaps I was a daring cheerleader and naive explorer. Either way, as I lay in a hospital bed for almost two weeks, hooked up to antibiotics and steroids, I never stopped dreaming of my next adventure. After a full recovery I applied for another grant. I had found my calling. Guyana would not be the last place where I contributed my spit to a village
I had also found various clever ways of avoiding our assistantâs request to help trap the very large and deadly fer-de-lance snakes. Her brother, in particular, had a fascination with these animals and wanted us to help stuff them into a box for closer observation. Luckily, they were only able to find one on their own. I never let on that I seemed to trip on these fearsome snakes at every bend.
The snakes and tarantulas were a small price to pay for the beauty of Guyanaâs interior. Nothing describes a wonder like Kaieteur Falls. This waterfall is about five times higher than the more well-known and relatively wimpy Niagara Falls and about twice the height of Zimbabweâs Victoria Falls. Its distinction lies in the unique combination of height and volume, making it one of the most powerful waterfalls in the world. It is no less than a four-hour vertical climb from the base at around 280 feet to the summit at just under 1,900 feet. One point on the hike is now officially called the Oh My God, as thatâs what people say when they realize what they have to climb. I was grateful to be as fit as a professional cheerleader.
Perhaps more impressive than its size is the fact that the waterfall sits in a nearly pristine rain forest atop an ancient plateau known as the Guyana Shield. This geological phenomenon is said to be the oldest layer of rock on Earth, at 2.99billion years. On the edge of the plateau I got to see some rare wildlife, such as the golden frog and the harpy eagle, and tracks of the elusive jaguar. Every winded step was made worthwhile.
Kaieteur Falls is said to be named after an Amerindian chief by the name of Kai, who canoed over the falls to his death. Apparently, he did this in order to protect his tribe from a rival Carib tribe and the disease that had affected them. The word teur is native Amerindian for âfalls.â Whether Kaiâs sacrifice worked is unrecorded, but I have to wonder how plunging to your death over a waterfall would act as a vaccination, however good the intention. There are still no safety rails at Kaieteur Falls, and approaching its edge is risky. But looking over its rim, I could feel the power. Before I knew it, my arms lifted, and I felt I could take to the air and soar. Perhaps the great Amerindian chief had felt a similar compulsion.
The Guyana expedition was soon over, and I returned safely to the joys of hot showers, electricity, and a comfy bed, but I was a different person. Comfort could not keep me around for long. I had been bitten by the bug, quite literally. I switched majors and applied to the top-rated anthropology graduate department in the country, at Stony Brook University, where I would go on to pursue a Ph.D.
I would return to Guyana the next year, just long enough to almost die. As earlier recounted, that return trip ended a few weeks short, with my hands becoming increasingly more swollen and red. By the end, they looked as if I had dipped them in a pot of scalding water they were so blistered and distorted. They got so bad I had to cover them with a blanket in town to avoid the stares.
I never did find out what caused my hands to reach the size of basketballs. Apparently, the red streaks on my legs signaled that I had a blood infection traveling toward the heart, spelling doom. To this day, I do not discuss the details with my mom. But I canât help wondering if I should have stayed away from the Kool-Aid.
During the course of two expeditions, I had evolved from naive cheerleader to daring explorer. Or perhaps I was a daring cheerleader and naive explorer. Either way, as I lay in a hospital bed for almost two weeks, hooked up to antibiotics and steroids, I never stopped dreaming of my next adventure. After a full recovery I applied for another grant. I had found my calling. Guyana would not be the last place where I contributed my spit to a village
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