After the craziness of the festival, I feel the need for a short break. I've returned to this remarkable fishing hole for some relaxation. Since I didn't get the chance to fish the Lago Cashiboya, I've paddled my little craft up the short stream connecting it to the river. The stream was small enough that the trees overhead closed completely over it. The air was a bit heavy with moisture, which made the paddling more uncomfortable, but since the current was even lazier than I, the paddling didn't have to be strenuous. In fact, my movement through the air made it more comfortable to the degree that it was almost worth the effort of paddling.

I've come to a floating tree which has almost crossed the entire stream. It's branches have woven themselves into the branches of some bushes on the south side of the river, leaving its trunk to reach out, unsuccessfully for the opposite shore. Since I'm in no hurry, I obey my shoulders and stomach, which are urging me to do something other than rowing. I listen to the pleas of my fingers to touch something other than my paddle. The bark of the fallen tree is of a compelling texture. My fingers reach out and explore, only to find out that, as I expected, it was indeed wet. It pulls away easily from the trunk in small patches and crumbles between my fingers. If the tree had only been in the water for a few days, it wouldn't pull off so easily. If it had been in for a few weeks, the trunk would be stripped of the bark and as bald as the top of my head. Luckily, this tree had been here just long enough to give my fingers this cool, quiet, slow taste of nature so badly needed after such a hectic festival. I dip my hand into the river and swish it slowly to cleanse the crumbs of bark from it. I then choose not to paddle, but to pull my boat along the log... just because it's something different to do. As I go around the first root and under the one reaching over me, I'm facing the very center of the bottom of the trunk. The sight strikes me as one of a lady caught with no clothes on. This was the part of the tree that nobody had seen since the seed had sprouted. The part it had seemingly protected till the end. Rather than feeling as though the roots would strike me for being there, I felt protected. With roots over me, before me, and behind me, I felt as though I was still in a place the tree wanted to protect. Mother Tree.

As with most children, I soon feel the need to strike out, away from the protective clutches of mother, so I dip my paddle back in the water and project myself back out into the open. I paddle out around the furthest root and head back into the current. I find suddenly that the tree was right at the edge of Lago (Lake) Cashiboya, where it first feeds into the stream. Since the open lake is the first sunlight I have seen for a few hours, I strike out towards the middle. Beautiful...... I feel it beating down on my back. Odd, the tightly packed trees and vines I had just come out from felt safe and protected, but at the same time, imprisoning. Now on the open lake, I feel so free that my spirit may just take flight across the waters and leave me behind. Just as the stream felt protective and imprisoning at the same time, the lake feels liberating, and yet when I see the land so far away, I realize that I don't live on the water. I begin to long for the land. I guess man just cannot be satisfied.

I explore the shoreline for a few hours - the same spirit that makes man settle new lands or add a new woman to his harem. I rig my line for bottom fishing, knowing that some of the most prized fish in South America are catfish. I put a big chunk of smelly cheese on the line and drop it into the water. I then lay down in the boat and begin to contemplate the clouds. They are a story which begins at dawn and ends at dusk. The story is simple enough for any man to enjoy, yet complex enough to be beyond the grasp of the wisest of men. A simple man will be happy enough just to enjoy the story, the wise man will insist on understanding all its nuances. I will be a wise man back in Babylon. For now, I want only to enjoy its telling.

I begin to switch from the story of the clouds to the more bizarre (and typically more human) stories of the dream state. A strong tug on my line interrupts the dream just as it was starting, then a concentrated pull on it lifts up my eyelids. AHA! I have a fish. The dang thing pulls like my line is attached to a battering ram. Yeesh! Is its life so much more precious than for all the fish I've caught in other lands? With both of us having a tug-of-war at opposite ends of this fishing line, I eventually outlast him and pull him up onto the boat. A bizarre looking thing that looks like some giant stepped on his head. It is flattened like the paddle I used to get here. One of those Doncellas (Tiger Shovelnose Catfish) the guides had told me about. This one was about 36 inches, but fought like he was much bigger. Having secured the fish within the boat, I set my fishing line back to work, while I lay myself back down in the bottom of the dugout. I hardly got laid back down when my line was being pulled again. Another Doncella, but since it was only 20 Lbs, it didn't put up as much fight. Luckily, these are an excellent eating fish. If I have too many, it will be easy to find one of the locals who would love to cook it. I decide to fish for something closer to the surface of the water, and net some little fish to use for bait. About 15 feet out from the head of the little stream by Mother Tree, I get another strike. This one steals my bait. In fact, I lost three more bait-fishes before I actually hooked the blasted fish. It was an Arahuana and it played me just as well as I played it. It leapt free of the water time and again, as though it was a brother to the duck. When I finally got it up close to the boat, it slapped its head near the surface of the water and my hook and half of a bait-fish came flying back at me from the water. I swear I could hear it laughing through the hull of my dugout. Well, you win some and you lose some.

Since my boat was about to be swallowed by the little stream, I decided to let it, and just drift back down to the Ucayali River. The view up through the treetops was dizzying. Not that I was dizzy, but since I was laying in the bottom of the boat and couldn't see much except the treetops, they spun as the boat turned. Not fast of course - the stream was too slow for that, but just that they would slowly circle one way, stop and turn back the other way, then spin back the first way again. Something just perfect to concentrate on while trying my darnedest to avoid concentrating on anything at all.

Sooner than I wanted, I felt the boat turn hard to the left and pick up speed a bit. There were also no more bumps in the ride. Knowing this meant I was back in the Rio Ucayali, I sat back up and netted some more bait-fishes to start fishing again. I threw one of the little guys over on a hook and waited to see what kind of weird monstrosity I was likely to land. This river was sort of like a bizarre bank. I was depositing an innocent looking little tetra on my hook, and after a suitable amount of interest had accrued while I waited in my boat, I pulled out a huge strange looking thing. True to form, that's just what happened. Half an hour after I began feeding bait-fishes to this river, something big fastened itself to the other end of my line. I fought it for half an hour, trying desperately to keep it from wrapping the line around the occasional underwater tree branch. Finally, I had it conquered. Or so I thought. This was a Chambira (Picture on this page), and they have the scariest looking teeth this side of the last lion I looked at. The dang thing was as long as that first catfish, but unlike the catfish, this thing seemed to think it won the tug-of-war with the fishing line. It seemed to think of me as something to whack on the head at the end of its fishing line. Luckily, I was faster on the draw. I whacked it several times with my paddle, and it was soon laying alongside my Doncella.

Self preservation kept me from fishing for any more of them, so I went back to fishing for catfish.....but I used a small hook with a little bit of cheese. Drifting along, I saw a small village approaching, its huts atop posts, most likely to keep them above floodwaters. Just then, I got a good bite on my piece of cheese. I pulled up an 8 inch Novia Cunchi (Picture on this page). As fast as I could bait my line and toss it back in the water, I pulled up another, and another. I stopped after 4 of them, but I had heard they have excellent pink flesh. And while the Chambira has typical white flesh, the Doncella has yellow flesh. I was envisioning a sushi tossed salad as I started heading toward the village. Then I decided that, since I know nothing about the local parasites and less than nothing about how to fix sushi, I'd better let the locals cook and share in the feast of these fish. The next morning, I would have to head back to the busy life of Ancient Worlds. *Sigh*