Boiling River
Page 8
Development is coming—but it does not have to mean destruction. Done responsibly and consciously, development can protect the area rather than raze it. At my side are my empty sample bottles, and the notebook that will be filled with the week’s fieldwork. Documenting the details of what makes this incredible geothermal system so unique is the key to ensuring its future. With each new data point, I am working to show the world why this place is such a marvel, why it deserves to be protected—and to ensure that whoever controls this area understands the Boiling River’s significance. Fortunately I am not alone in this endeavor. Mayantuyacu’s “tribe” extends far beyond this jungle, and includes countless foreigners from all over the world who have visited this incredible place, and who care for it as much as I do. The river has brought us all together. A Canadian group is working with the locals to help Mayantuyacu minimize its environmental footprint. Italians are also collaborating with Mayantuyacu to identify the healing properties of the plant medicines as Americans collaborate to study the anthropological significance of the place. I am continuing my studies and am bringing together Peruvians from the jungle and the cities in order to obtain legal protection for the Boiling River.
Geochemical water sampling at La Bomba. This bubbling, churning part of the river boasts temperatures around 97°C (207°F). Though steamer’s gloves temporarily protect my hands from the intense temperatures, I stay low to the ground, both to avoid the scalding steam and to stabilize myself against falling.
I keep working until the generator goes silent and the lights slowly flicker off.
Full of conviction and excited to start my fieldwork tomorrow, I walk back to my hut in the darkness. As my eyes adjust to the starlit night, I am amazed at this world that moments before had appeared only as a black void beyond the electric lights.
The week passes quickly. Each day, I collect samples of water, rock, and minerals. I plan to analyze them back in the lab, hoping to better understand the relationship between the waters and the rock formations they flow through. This year, for the first time, I am also studying the extremophile life-forms—algae, bacteria, and other microorganisms—that live in and around the Boiling River at temperatures that would kill most life-forms.
On the eve of my departure from Mayantuyacu, I walk out of my hut into the cool evening air. It is time to say good-bye.
Maestro lies comfortably in his hammock while Luis, our old jungle guide, sits on a floor cushion and puffs away at a mapacho. Mauro, Maestro’s new apprentice, sits on a low plastic stool. “Buenas noches,” I call.
“The young doctor!” Maestro smiles, his eyes glimmering through the smoke.
“We have barely seen you this past week,” says Mauro.
“I’ve been working,” I respond.
“It’s true,” Luis says. “I saw him many times, always alone with the river.” Then, turning to me: “You move through the jungle differently now.”
I am surprised. “When did you see me? I thought I was alone the entire time!” Luis smiles mischievously.
“It’s true—he moves differently now,” Maestro says. “How are your studies going?” he asks me.
I fill him in on my research. He listens attentively, eager to understand how the Great Civilization shows significance through measurements. I relay how identifying the processes and mechanisms that create the river will identify the sensitive areas—both above- and underground—that will require the most protection, and reassure him that together we, Amazonians and non-Amazonians, will find a way to respect the spirits and protect the jungle.
“Maestro,” I say. “Since my first visit I’ve been impressed with how well-known Mayantuyacu is among foreigners, while being virtually unknown in Peru—how did this happen?”
He smiles through curling eddies of smoke from his mapacho. “At first I wanted this place only for Amazonians—to preserve our culture and our jungle. But people have been seduced by the Great Civilization. Our young only want to be in Lima, and our old have forgotten how to treat the jungle. I didn’t know what to do, so I asked the plants, and I had a vision.”
He pauses and looks hard at me. “Remember when you came the second time, you had a sinus problem and I gave you a medicine?”
“Of course—Ishpingo. It worked great.”
“Ishpingo is a large tree, with a very powerful spirit. In my vision I was sitting under a great Ishpingo when the Ishpingo Spirit appeared to me in the form of a tall, thin white man, dressed in all white, with a long, white beard. Everything about the man shone bright white. When I asked the spirit why it had taken that form, it replied that the salvation of this jungle would come with foreigners. The next day, I took my first foreign patient and now I have foreign apprentices. The Ishpingo Spirit was right: the world has changed, and we need to learn from each other—the ancient ways, and the ways of the Great Civilization.”
This jungle is a place of legends and visions, I think.
All at once, another detail from my grandfather’s legend surfaces—a detail I’d wanted to ask Maestro about for years. The time had just never seemed right, or perhaps I’d always feared seeming foolish. But now, sitting beside him, having discovered that legends can be true, I finally summon the nerve.
“Maestro,” I say, “does Paititi, the city of gold, actually exist?”
Maestro raises his brows in surprise. “You mean you’ve missed it?”
I look at him, confused.
Maestro laughs, then gestures to the jungle all around us.
Suddenly I understand. When the conquistadors had asked about Paititi, the Inca did not lie. For the Inca, gold was a symbol of life itself. A city of gold is therefore, a city of life—and where is there more life than in the Amazon? Inca vengeance came with a play on words, the significance of which the conquistadors could never understand.
I laugh, and shake my head in wonder. This jungle, this river, is more than just a place to be protected. It’s proof that the world is still so full of mystery, and that for all our knowledge, nature will always be a few steps ahead of us.
The light from my headlamp cuts through the darkness as I walk back to my hut. Passing the Came Renaco’s stump, I stop and turn to the stone steps leading down to the river. I descend to the rocky shore below, engulfed by vapor. Slowly, carefully, I find my way onto a large rock in the middle of the churning waters.
All around, the jungle pulses with the sounds of life: croaking frogs, chirping insects, rustling canopies, the intergalactic sounds of passing bats. At the center is the booming, surging river. Eddies of rising vapor dance through the cool night air to join the innumerable stars of the Milky Way.
I wonder how long we have before the lights of civilization invade this part of the Amazon. Will my work bring them here faster? What are my responsibilities to science? To the people who live here? To the sacred river? Maestro once said, “we conceal to protect”—but now we are doing the opposite. I think of explorers whose discoveries threatened to destroy the things they discovered. Here in Peru, when Hiram Bingham first saw Machu Picchu, did he imagine the impact he would have on the country’s culture, its economy, its place in the world’s imagination? Did he ever spend a night sitting alone among the ruins, wondering, How can we preserve this place if we reveal it to the world? My instincts tell me that the path to preservation lies in showing the world that they need to protect this stunning natural phenomenon. But what if I’m wrong?
Standing on the rock, I realize that studying the river has taught me far more about myself than about geology, geothermal features, or native cultures. As Maestro said, “the river shows us what we need to see.” A friend once asked why I keep coming back to this place. I realize now that it’s because here you are forced to be intentional, to face your own limits and work within them. Every step must be measured. Mistakes have painful consequences. You can’t afford distractions.
My headlamp concentrates my focus on the small area it illuminates and makes the darkness beyond seem impenetrable.
I contemplate the marvels that must be out there, shrouded in darkness or hidden in the everyday. That is the lesson of the darkness: it is our perspective that draws the line between the known and the unknown, the sacred and the trivial, the things we take for granted and the things we have yet to discover.
I had missed the darkness.
EPILOGUE
Sometimes I’ll pick up the “heart of the jungle” fossil on my bookshelf, or pull out my field notebooks from my desk drawer, warped by Amazonian rains and the river’s steam, the scent of the jungle still on their pages. I do this to remind myself that fiction does not have a monopoly on the unbelievable. If it wasn’t for the data, photos, videos, and other evidence I’ve collected over the past few years, I sometimes feel that I might mistake my entire experience with the river for a dream.
It is July 2015, and the river is not yet legally protected. It does not appear as a significant site on any map. If we are successful, all this will change, and Peru will have a “new” wonder.
I could have begun publishing about the river in 2011, in scientific journals or in the mainstream media. Instead, I have kept the overwhelming majority of my work in the dark. I am working closely with Maestro and Sandra as well as with Peruvian and international conservation groups to introduce the river to the world responsibly.
Our goal is responsible development that empowers and benefits those who live in the area. Unveiling the river without preparing the locals would have risked uncontrolled development and irresponsible tourism. It could have done more harm than good.
I am working with Mayantuyacu and Santuario Huishtín (another Amazonian healing center on the Boiling River run by a former apprentice of Maestro), presenting them with information that enables them to determine the best future for their communities. Mayantuyacu is working to expand its ecotourism operations, to minimize its environmental impact on the jungle, and to create an educational center for Asháninka culture and traditional medicine. Maestro’s vision of the Ishpingo appears to be coming true: Mayantuyacu’s “tribe” has grown to include people from all over the world who are working to protect it.
Next month I’ll be back in the jungle, collecting the final samples and ending my five-year study of the Boiling River. Though the work is not finished, the preliminary results reveal that the world is, in fact, more amazing than I had ever imagined. Working with Dr. Jonathan Eisen, a microbiologist from UC Davis, and Dr. Spencer Wells, a geneticist from the National Geographic Society, among others, our team has identified previously undocumented species of extremophile microorganisms living in and around the Boiling River at temperatures that would kill us. Understanding how these microorganisms thrive in such extreme conditions, and seeing how they compare to other extremophiles in geothermal systems across the globe, could ideally help shed light on the mystery of where life on our planet came from.
I’ve also found other thermal rivers in the Peruvian Amazon—though none remotely comparable in size and volume to the Boiling River. The scientific and conservation efforts surrounding this complex system are too detailed to summarize here, so to learn more, or to directly support the scientific and conservation work, please visit boilingriver.org (with a Spanish version at riohirviente.org), where the scientific data and other information are fully available for those interested in learning more about this great natural wonder. There is so much hidden in our world, occulted in the everyday—both in the unknown and in what we think we understand. Be curious. There is significance in the landscapes we pass by, in the pixels of Google Earth’s satellite imagery, and in the smallest details in stories. Within the next year, this first phase of my research will be complete. The river will be put on the map, and I will finally step outside my lab and pour the water samples I’ve collected onto the ground, so that the waters, as Maestro once said, can find their way back home.
Heading back to Mayantuyacu after a long day of work in the jungle.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
With deepest gratitude, I want to thank those individuals and organizations whose love, support, and guidance have made this work possible.
My grandfather, Daniel Ruzo, the greatest storyteller I know. My aunt Guida and uncle Eo Gastelumendi—and their dinner parties. My parents, Andrés and Ana, my uncle Octavio, my godfather Javier, and the amazing group of people that I am blessed to call my family.
Thanks to the Boiling River, its jungle, and those who watch over it and have given me the honor of sharing your wonder with the world; in particular to Maestro Juan, Sandra, Luis, Mauro, Brunswick, and the whole Mayantuyacu community; as well as, Maestro Enrique and the Santuario Huishtín community, and Maple Gas, particularly José Carlos.
To TED—your talks have changed my life, and I’m honored to be part of your mission. Thank you to Kelly Stoetzel, Rives, Bruno Giussani, Chris Anderson, Ellyn Guttman, Alex Hofmann and the entire TED family.
Special thanks to my editor, Michelle Quint. Your hard work, patience, and dedication helped an idea become a book worth spreading. Thank you.
Thanks to the SMU community: Maria Richards, David Blackwell, Andrew Quicksall, Drew Aleto, Jumana Haj Abed, Al Waibel, Kurt Ferguson, Roy Beavers, Robert Gregory and my PhD Committee. Also to Jim and Carole Young, and Sharon and Bobby Lyle—who first introduced me to TED Talks.
Also thanks to Alfonso Callejas, Carlos Espinosa, Peter Koutsogeorgas, Basil Koutsogeorgas, Whitney Olson, José Fajri, and Devlin Gandy. Shannon K. McCall, his family, and the Telios Corporation. Google, particularly Charles Baron and Christiaan Adams. The Geothermal Resources Council. William E. Gipson and the AAPG. Jose and Felipe Koechlin, Mark Plotkin, the Sociedad Peruana de Derecho Ambiental, UC Santa Barbara, the Moran Trust, INGEMMET, PeruPetro, Donald Thomas, Jonathan Eisen, and Spencer Wells. To my colleagues at the National Geographic Society, particularly Emily Landis, Chris Thornton, and Wade Davis. As well as National Geographic Learning, the schools who use these materials and have helped fund my research, and the kids who learn from them, and inspire me to protect our amazing world.
Lastly, and most importantly, I want to thank my wife, Sofía. I could not have done this without you. You are my rock—and as a geologist you know how much that means to me.
IMAGE CREDITS
The Boiling River / Sofía Ruzo
Casting off on the Pachitea / Andrés Ruzo
The Fading Amazon / Devlin Gandy
Andrés at Mayantuyacu’s Boundary / Guida Gastelumendi
El Came Renaco / Sofía Ruzo
Fingerprinting the Water / Devlin Gandy
Racing the Night / Devlin Gandy
Boiled Alive / Andrés Ruzo
2012 Boiling River Expedition Team / Eva Steulet
The Shaman and His River / Devlin Gandy
The Sacred Waters / Devlin Gandy
Post-apocalyptic Amazonia / Andrés Ruzo
Andrés with Thermal Camera / Sofía Ruzo
Sampling 207-Degree Water Isn’t Easy / Devlin Gandy
A Long Day at the Office / Devlin Gandy
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SOFÍA RUZO
Andrés Ruzo grew up in the United States, Nicaragua, and Peru. Besides giving him a bit of a national identity crisis, his background helped him see that the world’s problems are not confined by borders, but rather share a common root in energy and resources. This realization inspired him to become a geothermal scientist: obtaining degrees in Geology and Finance at Southern Methodist University, where he is currently finishing his PhD in Geophysics. He believes that environmental responsibility and economic prosperity can go hand in hand, and uses science to unite both aims. He is a National Geographic Explorer, an avid science communicator, and a passionate developer of educational content.
Read the book and watch the talk.
Andrés Ruzo’s TED Talk, available online:
www.TED.com
Meet the authors, watch videos and more:
SimonandSchuster.com
A percentage of the proceeds from this TED B
ook will serve to fund scientific and conservation work at the Boiling River.
For more information, on the Boiling River or how you can help support the scientific and conservation work done to protect it, please visit www.boilingriver.org.
WATCH ANDRÉS RUZO’S TED TALK
Andrés Ruzo’s TED Talk, available for free at TED.com, is the companion to The Boiling River.
PHOTO: JAMES DUNCAN DAVIDSON/TED
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