With the expedition finished, film edited, and tour dates on the horizon, I have begun to reminisce. Over the 6 weeks spent in Central America last summer we paddled a total of 15 sections – including 5 first descents and several highest descents – however, due to time constraints or lack of footage, several rivers, shenanigans and fond memories remain undocumented in the long film. Despite the prioritisation of video editing due to the workload of my final year at university, I feel that these highlights deserve more than to be omitted; what follows is a series of short extracts from my battered expedition diary, which I will spread out over the coming weeks in a vaguely chronological order:
“After Chinese and late-night packing, Osian and I were up for 2am with the car loaded. It looked rather ludicrous crammed full of gear with our ReactR’s on top. Getting to Heathrow was surprisingly easy, but parking the car was another matter. I’d booked a parking space in a nearby council estate, but with it being 3am and pitch black it took forever to find. After catching a bus back and locating Osian in the airport maze, we rushed to the check-in desk only to find it closed until 5am. Typical.
The size of our boats led to some complications with trolley-usage, not to mention checking in oversize baggage. Air Canada had recently updated this process – the desk manager had to supervise an assistant rummaging through our bags, and this all had to be supervised by someone else… us waiting in the glass holding box of the staff security section. Despite the faff, our boats made it through, thanks in part to Osian’s quick thinking when asked how much the boats weighed – “less than they’re allowed to”.
The first flight to Toronto was 8 hours – a bit of a slog, but there were movies – followed by 5 hours to El Salvador International (there were no boat-compatible flights to Guatemala), where we were met by the rest of the team who had arrived earlier. Luckily all the boats and bags made it, and neither my gas soldering iron or Osian’s machete had got us arrested.
Upon exiting the airport you could taste the heat, Oli had not been enjoying himself and I could see why – breathing in was like drinking water. After loading the boats and kit into the pickup I was left wondering how we would fit all of us in… but following the lead of other road-users we ‘bro-loaded’ in the back.
I wasn’t expecting such instant culture shock, but the lack of road laws and optional speed limits (even in the city) were quite the opposite of where we’d been a scant few hours before. Driving south towards La Libertad we passed other bro-loaded trucks, all manner of motorcycles (usually decorated with neon lights), and packs of stray dogs. Buildings were mostly corrugated metal, music filled the streets of the small towns we passed, and roadside fires lent smoky undertones to the neon haze.
Sitting in the back you could feel every bump in the road (as demonstrated by the image above), but with the whole team assembled, wind in my hair, flying past palm trees, the whole thing felt like a fever dream. We couldn’t chat much what with the traffic and rush of air, so it was time to lie back and absorb the chaos…”
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Patrick Kyak 