Posts Tagged ‘Cachoeira’
Upper Paraguaçu
Monday, December 12th, 2011
Wednesday, 7 December 2011
Just before half tide yesterday I set off to attempt the channel through the sand banks that start just off São Francisco. I had chosen to leave the sun awning up as the plan was to use the engine to negotiate the narrow and shallow track. I was thankful for the shade. Scores of fishermen were setting nets from their dugouts as I passed north of Ilha dos Franceses. Piled up, snowy cumulus clouds reflected brilliantly in the smooth water. A wide expanse opened out ahead. Most of it too shallow to be navigated by anything other than the canoas.
After passing the ruins at São Francisco, I turned towards the start of the marked channel. I was following a set of waypoints and they corresponded very nicely with the markers. By now the depth was averaging about 2m. Speedwell has a draught of 1.5m so it was easy enough. The bottom seemed smooth with no unexpected shallower bumps. I passed behind Ilha das Garças and started thinking about finding a place to anchor as the tide would soon be turning. I mistakenly wandered out of the channel a bit too soon and felt an awful sickening sensation as the boat lurched to a halt in the mud. Luckily we had been moving very slowly. I tried unsuccessfully to reverse off but we were stuck. Nothing for it but to relax and wait for the water to rise a bit more. After about 20 minutes I felt some gentle movement and soon we were on our way again. I backtracked very gently to the marked channel and this time stayed in it right to the end which is very close to a small floating jetty near to a restored church. Here the water was a comfortable 3m. The tidal range is about 2m so I moved a bit further on and found 4m to anchor in. It was tempting to press on but I felt I needed a rest.
Sitting in the cockpit with a mug of coffee I marvelled at the beautiful surroundings. In the distance a fleet of saveiros was approaching on the downwind home run to Coqueiros. A magnificent sight. I grabbed my camera and snapped away. Some came almost close enough to touch. A few contrary souls were tacking against the current in the opposite direction. Still making good headway. When most of them had passed I went below to check on the results of my picture-taking. To my great disappointment I discovered that my camera was on the blink. All I had were a few lines and blotches. What an unfortunate time for this to happen.
While waiting for the tide to turn this morning I rowed a short way downriver to a small floating dock which looked like a good place to get ashore. It was low tide and two women were collecting oysters off the rocks. Prising them loose with their machetes. They opened one and offered it it me. I wasn’t sure if they expected me to slurp it off the shell, but there was no lemon juice around and it looked rather muddy. I politely declined.
There was a big notice announcing that this was private property, etc. But there was no real fence or proper gate so I took a quick walk up to the prettily restored church at the top of the hill. There was a wonderful view looking down on the river with Speedwell anchored nearby. I cursed the broken camera. The facade of the church had been covered in a glittering mosaic of broken glass and fragments of azulejos. It sparkled in the sunlight. At night a light comes on in a little turret on top of the cupola and shines through coloured glass. It looks very welcoming.
Back at the boat it was time to set off. I left the dinghy in the water thinking it might be handy in case I should need to set out a kedge anchor after going aground.
For a short while we were in comfortably deep water and I started to relax. Too soon! Suddenly the water shallowed alarmingly and we ground to a muddy halt. That was when I realised that the saveiro which looked as if it was floating was actually hard aground and stern-to the current. Not a good sign. I tried reversing off but gave up and waited for the tide which was running in strongly. The saveiro started to swing and line up properly with the current. And soon we were also on our way again. I resolved to pay closer attention to the waypoints and not rely on my erratic personal judgement.
I had had to wait for half tide to have any chance of getting through the shallow areas and the current was pushing me along a bit too fast for my liking. With the engine barely ticking over to give me steerage way we were charging along at nearly 4 knots which is not a good speed to suddenly bang up against an unexpected sand bank. We passed Coqueiros to port. I had planned to stop there and visit the old lady who has spent her life making clay pots. I could see the fire for the kiln being stoked up but decided to carry on as I wanted to take some photos and hoped to pick up a new camera in Cachoeira. The visit would have to wait for the return trip.
About half a mile further on I had to make a very sharp turn to avoid a submerged sandbank that runs almost all the way across the river. I made the turn successfully but then turned too soon to recross on the other side and wasted a precious half hour getting afloat again. A bit further up I found some blissfully deep 4m and decided to stop there for the night. Another shallow patch was approaching and I had no desire to be left high and dry at the top of the tide. We were in a quiet spot with only the occasional fisherman paddling by.
The saveiros stop at Coqueiros so I wouldn’t be seeing any more of them for a while. The wind had picked up and was funnelling down the river valley kicking up quite a chop against the now strongly ebbing tide. Speedwell didn’t know where to turn. Even with the tiller lashed to one side we were wandering about around the anchor. At one point I re-anchored as we had swung over to a shallow patch and I didn’t want to be there at low water. As soon as the wind dropped which it usually seems to do round about sunset, things calmed down. I watched the flocks of white herons flying home to roost. I cursed my camera yet again.
Thursday, 8 December 2011
Waiting for the tide. Many fishermen setting out nets. Four canoas moored to stakes some way off the opposite bank while about 10 men stand waist deep in the water shovelling sand off the bottom and onto the dugouts to be taken ashore for some construction project. I rowed across to them and asked where the deepest water was to be found. They pointed out the general direction which seems to agree with my waypoints. Maybe I’m getting a bit paranoid. Maybe not. When the tide bottomed out I could see scores of people and canoas on an enormous sandbank about half a mile further up. They were paddling about less than knee deep. A few patches of sand were actually visible. I rowed up to them and found where the deeper water lay. It was a good move to stop where I did yesterday.
By midday I was getting impatient with all this waiting and decided to start feeling my way along. The water was still rather low and we touched the bottom a few times at the start but managed to keep moving. I was very grateful for some extra waypoints that had been given to me by Jaqueline and Christiane who I met in Maragojipe soon after they had returned from a successful trip up to Cachoeira. Their boat, Maris Stella, has a lifting keel which leaves them with only 1m draught but their waypoints helped tremendously in a number of tricky stretches. There is no proper chart so it’s a little bit hit and miss.
The banks of the river are mostly lined with thick mangroves with lush rainforest behind. Here and there a small clearing with clay-tiled dwelling, donkeys and cows. The water was busy with fishermen setting nets or crab traps. I would have liked to be able to spend more time admiring the truly beautiful surroundings with enchanting new vistas opening up round every turn in the river, but I had to keep a very careful eye on the fishfinder and try to avoid being inadvertently swept along by the strong current onto the odd passing sandbank. Sinbad was reclining in the forepeak. The engine was grumbling along in very low revs. It prefers to purr at slighty higher revs but my nerves weren’t up to 5 knots. So we rumbled along at a cautious 3 to 4.
We slipped along in the narrow channel beside a small island and then under some very high power lines. Now the town was in sight with it’s ornate old buildings. A striped blue and white beacon marked a big rock midstream. I wasn’t sure on which side to pass it, but kept my distance from the rock and left the beacon to port. Now I could see the railway bridge that crosses the river making any further progress impossible. Not to mention the enormous dam a little further up.
Soon we were anchored not too far from a convenient, small floating dock. Loud music was thumping its way across the water from the bars on either side. Time to crack open a warm beer!