Walking the Amazon: 860 Days. The Impossible Task. The Incredible Journey

by Stafford, Ed

  At just before 2 p.m. we sighted the wrecked wooden bridge and scaled the high, unramped buttress end to walk across into the land of generation 4 iPhones and two-finger scrolling.

  The sprawling metropolis that is Belém loomed ahead, an unavoidably urban finish to our uncivilised journey. Cho and I were not complaining, however – we had had our share of rainforest for now – and the temptations of civilisation were most welcome.

  The Tocantins River had to be crossed from Cametá and the paddle took us the entire day. We arrived on the Belém side in the dark at 7 p.m. We found a cheap hotel and looked at the map and the distances involved. We were now looking at 55 kilometres a day (a mere eleven or twelve hours’ walking each day) to get us to the ocean in the remaining week.

  Our excited energy was damped down by sheer exhaustion. Making the video after the day’s crossing had me up until about two in the morning and we were up again at 5.30 to get more kilometres under our belts.

  It became a bit like watching a clock for days on end. The road walking was punctuated by ticking signs that told us how many kilometres there were to go. One moment we are eighty-six from Belém. Twelve and a half minutes later – tick – eighty-five.

  Parched by the equatorial sun, our lips were cracking and our T-shirts fading. We already missed the cool air conditioning of the rainforest shade.

  In this state, Cho and I would normally have taken a break to recover but the time pressure meant that the daily mileage was unrelenting.

  Keith Ducatel, the photographer who had come out in Peru, arrived to capture the end of the trip. Cho and I were both happy to have him back and, even though he had just slipped two discs and had been in hospital for a month, he was determined to get some great images. His complete involvement in the photography almost cost him his life. He had been lying in the middle of the road, taking photographs from the asphalt, when we heard a truck coming and moved to the side of the road. The truck was heading from north to south and Keith wanted to continue taking photos when it had passed. As soon as the truck passed him, he stepped back into the road, not looking to the south, and a motorbike had to swerve violently, missing him by less than an inch. He stood shocked at the near-death experience, laughed and put it down to a lesson well learned.

  At 11.32 on 4 August, with just five days and 260 kilometres to go, I wrote my daily blog and set the alarm for 2 a.m. to start walking again. The final march was becoming gruelling as we wore our bodies out in the day and then didn’t get enough sleep to recover at night. The previous night I’d not even managed to get into bed, let alone sleep, having picked Keith up from the airport at two in the morning.

  The problem was that, unlike the jungle, the road was all urbanised and privately owned and we couldn’t just camp in people’s gardens. I’d made the decision to base ourselves out of Belém in order to solve this problem and hire a car that would take us in and out to do the walking each day. I’d not reckoned on the length of the car journeys, though, and the combination of twelve-to fourteen-hour walking days, four-hour round journeys and interviews, blogs and videos to edit meant that sleep was invariably the luxury that was skipped. If I did it again I think I’d have hired a camper van with a driver for a week and just collapsed in the back at the end of each day.

  The next day was the same: up at four, started walking at seven, finished walking at Porto do Arapari at ten, with emails and admin finally got to bed at 1.27 a.m.

  From Porto do Arapari there was a stretch of water that we had to cross to arrive in Belém before walking onwards to the Atlantic coast. The long detouring road was too far out of the way to be a viable alternative so out came the pack rafts one last time.

  ‘The tides are dangerous around Belém,’ we’d been warned. ‘The water level fluctuates greatly and the currents can be very strong.’

  Cho and I acknowledged and ignored the advice simultaneously. We’d listened to so much melodramatic negativity over the last two years together that our response was weary and somewhat dismissive.

  The other reason we ignored it was because we had no option if we were to make our deadline of 9 August, so at dawn the next day we embarked on the final river crossing of the expedition.

  It was 6 August and the new sun was half hidden by the horizon, casting a softening warmth over the water. ‘See – it’s easy,’ smiled Cho as we moved slowly away from the south bank. But as we stopped paddling for two minutes to apply factor 30, the GPS interrupted our peace to inform us that we were going backwards – fast.

  We paddled strongly to break through the area of backwards current. Some three kilometres of fierce paddling before the going grew easier once more, our speed picked up and we relaxed into the remainder of the 10-kilometre crossing.

  But as the last part of the crossing lay ahead, the satellite navigation’s estimated time of arrival started to climb. 1 p.m. … 2 p.m. … 3 p.m. … The current seemed to have shifted again. We were heading out to sea, fast.

  Without thinking, I changed our course and made for the closest far bank rather than our desired port. Cho followed and we were treated to an impressive demonstration of the power of nature versus the fragility of man. Belém whizzed from left to right in front of us while we hurtled out to sea like two little corks in a flooded gutter.

  With Herculean effort, we dug our way closer to the far bank. The city was disappearing to the right and the beaches and rocks running towards us from the left. With chests and arms burning, we broke through into a patch of relative calm and managed to land in a silty mudflat covered in litter. We panted hard and looked at each other in silent relief.

  ‘I told you. Easy,’ smiled Cho.

  The final obstacle of any substance was now behind us but we had to keep walking that day and make as many kilometres out of the city as we could. We packed up the rafts for the final time and headed north through the vibrant city streets that were still decorated in gold and green left over from the World Cup.

  On Saturday 7 August the plan had been to push on all night to give us some rest in Maruda on Sunday night – just short of the final beach arrival on Monday morning.

  At 3 a.m. on Sunday we still had 85 kilometres to walk. I started to fall asleep while walking – similar to the sort of terrifying sensation you sometimes experience when driving a car feeling utterly shattered. I figured that if we stopped and lay down at the side of the road for twenty minutes I would recover.

  While lying down I started to itch furiously. I began scratching frantically but the itching became maddening. I came out in a total body rash and was unable to walk or lie still.

  It was a surreal, dream-like experience and for about an hour I lay by the side of the road asking for help to be called. I was too tired to think about the remaining miles ahead and as time went on I passed out in a state of utter exhaustion with my head on the road.

  When I passed out, Keith was called to come and pick us up in the hire car. After just a few minutes of sleep the symptoms had all but gone and I was left drained but clear-headed again.

  It was decided that three hours’ proper sleep was needed and so we headed for the hotel in Maruda where I woke up from the enforced rest feeling like a new man. I wrote the daily blog, then we made our way back to the point of collapse in the hire car.

  Cho and I started walking again at midday and there was now no option but to walk all afternoon and night to complete the remaining 85 kilometres – arriving at the beach, we hoped, for sunrise. We’d never gone that far in a day before, let alone with those time pressures or in that physical state. A car of Brazilian journalists was following us.

  I felt slightly humbled that my system had just decided to shut down so close to the finish. That day – the last day – would be the longest of the whole expedition.

  The night was indeed long and although we started at a great five kilometres per hour we slowed as the early hours wore on. Before dawn I got a call from Clive, our Irish friend from Manaus, who had come to see the finish, say
ing that he had news teams that wanted to come and film me but that he was holding them back as he didn’t want them to slow us down.

  Associated Press and Reuters were there, two of the biggest press organisations in the world, as well as several Brazilian channels.

  As the sun started to rise, Cho and I were numb and our legs were so taut that at any point I felt as if I might tear my calf muscles. Then Clive released the news teams.

  They swarmed in like commando units in the pale morning light. Halogen top lights blinded us as we walked and paparazzi-style flash photography disorientated us further. Nobody said a word. The crews had been briefed not to interview us until we turned the corner to Maruda beach, which would be at about 8 a.m.

  The presence of the press and the fact that people were now watching us lifted us and we almost floated down the road. As it got properly light the crews took turns to walk with us and interview us. It was incredible to experience and it didn’t feel real, but the rush of all these people being so interested in what Cho and I had done gave us a big sense of pride.

  For about four kilometres we were joined by a few friends who were all as excited as we were, and we walked in a group of about ten until we had around 500 metres to go, when they left Cho and me to complete the last part on our own.

  We could tell we were close because we could smell the salt in the air and then we could hear the waves crashing in the distance and then we rounded a corner and could see our friends and the crews all waiting for us at the top of the beach and behind them, through some tourist parasols, was the Atlantic Ocean.

  As we reached the parasols the owner of the hotel we were staying at tried to introduce me to someone but I had to make my excuses. With just 50 metres of sand to go, Cho and I dumped our rucksacks and started running. With grins as wide as they had ever been, we tore down the beach and, somewhat bizarrely, ran into the sea holding hands until the waves tripped us and we plunged into the salt water.

  We hugged each other, somewhat unsure what to do next. I was so happy and the look on Cho’s face was one of pure happiness too. Born in central Peru, he had never seen the sea before. What a way to experience it for the first time.

  Keith took us deeper into the sea to take some pictures and told us to dive into the waves and mess around. In my stunned, emotional state, I was delighted to be told what to do.

  I took my video camera off on my own to record my last video diary of the expedition and away from everyone, confiding in my digital friend for the last time. I was almost overcome with emotion.

  Cho and I did a photoshoot with the huge expedition sponsors’ flag on the beach and then Clive gave us a bottle of champagne each. Then, after I’d given Cho a quick lesson on opening, we shook the bottles like Formula One racing drivers and poured the contents all over each other with cameras snapping all around us.

  It was over. Nine million-odd steps; over 200,000 mosquito and ant bites each; over 8,000 kilometres walked over 860 days, 733 of them with Cho, about 600 wasp stings; a dozen scorpion stings; 10 HD video cameras; six pairs of boots; three GPSs and one Guinness World Record. My chest swelled with pride and satisfaction. It was a day I will never forget for the rest of my life. No one would ever take that away from us.

  Epilogue

  BY 9 AUGUST, more than 900 articles had been written worldwide about our achievement. I came back to London to a hero’s welcome and bounced around various TV and radio stations for the first fortnight. I was invited to speak at the Royal Geographical Society and made a fellow of the Society as well as a trustee of Sir Ranulph Fiennes’s Transglobe Expedition Trust.

  On reflection, I am proud of what was achieved. The total amount raised for charity was only £27,000 but the link to schools around the world worked better than I could have imagined, and that is largely thanks to the Prince’s Rainforest Project site for which I did a fortnightly children’s blog. Linking with schools is something I hope to develop in future expeditions. In January 2011 I did a schools tour of the UK and could see the excitement in the faces of the children about the Amazon and their keenness to tell me all they now know about this mysterious, faraway jungle.

  This book was completed in February 2011, six months after the end of the expedition. At the time of writing, Cho’s visa application has been granted and he should be arriving in England in six days’ time. His plans are to live with my mum up in Leicestershire, learn English and play rugby for my local team, Stoneygate. His new adventure is about to start.

  I am living in London and, having now written my first book, I am planning future ventures. I currently make a living by doing motivational speaking internationally.

  The whole experience has changed me in a way I didn’t think was possible. I’d been in the military, worked with the UN in Afghanistan and led expeditions to various parts of the world. Surely one expedition wasn’t going to have much of an impact on my character in that context? In reality, although the sum of my experience before I started the expedition helped me achieve my mad dream, it paled into insignificance in comparison to the experiences and events contained in this book. I now find myself in the pleasant position of being calmer and happier with the world about me. My confidence now comes from within rather than from the opinions of others. I now know who I am and what I am capable of. I have faced my many and various weaknesses time and time again and, on the whole, have learned to manage them so that they don’t drag me down.

  The Amazon is still being cut down and the authorities are still not enforcing logging restrictions as well as they might. In two years and four months I never saw a single authority actively policing logging restrictions in the Amazon. Not one.

  I am optimistic, however, that things are changing. The expression ‘lungs of the planet’ was quoted at me by children across Peru, Colombia and Brazil and the educated among the population are proud of their forest and passionate about preserving it. As this popular voice rises, and attains positions of power, I am hopeful that these good values will prevail. Globally, I believe we are beginning to care enough to ensure that happens.

  Kit list for Walking the Amazon

  This is what Cho and I evolved to carrying after developing the best practices over 28 months:

  Sony HVR-AIE camcorder (x 2) with spare batteries (x12), tape stock (x30), cleaning kit (x1) and charger (x1)

  Macpac Cascade 90 (x 2)

  Ortleib XL 100 litre waterproof rucksack liner (x 2)

  Ortleib dry bags (various sizes) for individually waterproofing each electrical item (multiple)

  Silica gel sachets for putting in electrical kit dry bags to extract moisture from the trapped air (multiple)

  BGAN Thrane and Thrane Explorer 500 with LAN cable for Internet, a standard UK household telephone handset, charging cable, and 2 x spare batteries.

  Basic white Macbook (x 1) with spare Macbook batteries (x 2) and power cable (x 1).

  Local cell phone and charger for areas with reception (x 2)

  4-way adapter (x 1) (so multiple items can be charged off one generator)

  Machete 18” (x 2) any decent brand, ideally wooden handle. Metal file (x 2)

  Top pocket of pack (x 2) (e.g. is Ed’s. Cho’s was similar): Garmin GPSmap 60CSx, 1st head torch (Petzl Zipka Plus), map, Leatherman Wave, small tube sun block, Deet 50% (repellent), notepad and pencil, gaffer tape, loo roll, lighter, tree resin for fire lighting, Vaseline, udder cream, paracord, Speedy Stitcher sewing awl, chlorine purification drops.

  Fishing kit (x 1): Gill net x 2, various grades of strong hooks, two reels of line, wire for making wire leaders to stop piranhas biting the hooks off the line.

  Alpacka ‘Yukon’ packraft (x 2) and inflator sack (x 2).

  AquaBound 4-piece carbon fibre paddles (x 2).

  Boat-mending kit (x 1) procured by Jason Warren: For quick repairs on the move: 3 x rolls of tear aid Type A and some Stormseal. For more permanent repairs: a large square of polyurethane coated 7 oz Nylon that could be cut up and fixed over the
largest of holes with two part marine adhesive. Bomb proof.

  Medical kit (x 1): Antibiotics (two full courses of Metronidazole, Flucloxacillin, Ciprofloxacin, and Amoxicillin) Tramadol, Ibuprofen, Paracetamol, dressings, and iodine tincture.

  Night bag (x2): (e.g. is Ed’s. Cho’s was similar) 2nd head torch (Petzl Tikka Plus), book, Rite in the Rain journal, pencil, pen, LED micro light, medicated talc in ‘foo foo’ bag (bag you can put whole foot in to avoid wastage/spillage), earplugs, ‘housewife’ (sewing kit), Superglue, 3 x AAA batteries for head torch, iPod Nano, PowerMonkey power reserve for powering and recharging iPod, laminated photo of Chloë, vitamin tub of pills including: antihistamines, multi vitamins and minerals, personal medication and doxycycline (malaria prophylaxis).

  Wash bag (x 2): (This is Ed’s. Cho’s was similar): Nivea for men small can of deodorant, toothbrush Colgate 360, Sensodyne toothpaste and Protex antibacterial soap in a small lock and lock box.

  Sleeping system (x 2): Large parachute silk double hammock, custom made mosquito net with Guyana-style ‘wizard’s sleeves’ for hammock to pass through, Hennesey Hex Fly, ultra-lightweight Macpac down sleeping bag, silk sleeping bag liner.

  Clothing day (Ed’s): peaked baseball cap, loose-fitting T-shirt with some stretch in it so that it was easy to slip on and off when soaking wet, lightweight loose-fitting trekking trousers, Bridgedale medium weight trekking socks, no underwear. Compass round neck. One spare pair socks in pack. (Cho’s variant was he always preferred long-sleeved tops)

  Clothing evening (x 2): shorts only in the end

  Clothes town (x 2): Clean, dry extra T-shirt and shorts each for arrival in town when all clothes go to get laundered.

  Footwear (x 2): Altberg jungle boots (custom made with open eyelets replacing the standard ‘valves’). Crocs for washing in, and around camp in evening, and road walking. Locally bought rubber wellies when leather boots wore out