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SCMP Reporter

THE two orbs glowed in the beam of the flashlight like rubies, and my Amazon Indian guides inched the boat through the reeds towards our treasure.

  Ozimar leaned carefully over the side holding a metre-long pole from which dangled a noose. Suddenly there was a wild thrashing in the water and I fell backwards, dropping the torch, and we were enveloped in inky blackness.

  I felt for the torch and gratefully pressed the switch only to see the jaws of an alligator snapping at the side of the boat, the noose firmly around its neck.

  The second guide joined Ozimar and they worked deftly to tie those powerful jaws together with thick twine.

  Seconds later I was sitting with a live and dangerous two-metre alligator across my lap, fingering the protruding teeth as its slit eyes fixed on me, unblinking and menacing.

  It had been a day when the totally unexpected happened so often, that by this time I was beginning to expect it.

  There are many adventure trips on offer around the capital of the Brazilian Amazon, Manaus. But to reach unspoilt Amazon jungle, and see the river wildlife, you must be prepared to journey further afield.

   So the previous day I had left Manaus travelling for nearly four hours by private mini-coach with a Brazilian couple before we were met by a high-powered cigar-shaped boat which whisked us a further 60 kilometres up-river.

  The road was built to transport native products to Manaus and cuts a swath through the jungle, with only a few tiny settlements visible during the whole journey.

   The occasional road-side shacks double up as bar, grocery store, fast food stall and snooker hall, and the Indian kids come from miles around to watch TV there.

  Eventually the river, jungle roots reaching to the very edge of its muddy banks, opened out into a lake some 30 kilometres wide and we sped onwards, reaching a small, heavily forested island, our promised paradise, the Pousada Dos Guanavenas.

  An unassuming lodge constructed of local materials, no telephones, no TV sets in the bedroom with cable network to spoil the wilderness feeling, and outside a cacophony of insect sounds.

  I left early the next day to take a jungle survival course with Ozimar, who was born out here.

  Weren't the Brazilian guests coming? No, they would lie by the swimming pool all day with other guests who live in Manaus. They weren't interested in the jungle or wildlife.

   They had travelled for nearly six hours to lie by a pool when swimming pools are scattered all over Manaus. This, I was told, is the Brazilian way. So I left alone with Ozimar, taking a canoe up a narrow tributary into the jungle.

   ''I am not afraid of the jungle and its animals. I often sleep in the jungle at night. It is the city I am afraid of,'' said Ozimar, as we entered this world of semi-darkness.

  We left the canoe tied to a tree and he began hacking a way through the tangled undergrowth.

  Soon the sweat was pouring from me and thirsty, I remembered I had left my water in the canoe. Survival lesson number one.

  No problem. Ozimar found a vine as thick as my forearm which had grown from the forest floor, climbing away and out of sight up one of the giant trees.

  He hacked off a piece of vine half a metre long and tipped his head back. Water poured from it and he drank greedily. Then it was my turn.

  He explained that the water is pure, and is absorbed from the forest floor and transported up the vine to feed the tip.

  Ozimar cut off a piece of bark, known to Indians as Brev and lit it. It gave off a strong smell like incense. It was a cure for headaches, but also was hallucinatory if inhaled too much, he explained.

  Next Amapa. Jungle milk. He hacked at a tree and the sticky white liquid oozed out. Ever had Milk of Magnesia before? This is it in its natural state.

  ''For stomach problems,'' Ozimar advised. Next day I had stomach trouble. I never did get round to asking him if it was to cause or cure stomach aches.

  Another kind of tree, another gash with the machete, and more milk. ''You like to drink?'' Ozimar asked. ''Yes,'' I replied eagerly. ''Drink this and you die soon. This we use for poisoned arrows.''   And so it went on. I learnt how to find my way through the jungle by watching the shadows cast in the few places where the sun was able to enter.

  ''If you are lost and find a small stream, follow it. It will lead to the river,'' said Ozimar. ''If no stream, follow the trails of animals. They will lead to water. The water will then take you to the river.''   And if you can't find water or tracks, then there is always Samambaia: find a piece of wood and thump the buttress of a tree with it. The sound will carry for up to four kilometres, and help will arrive, assured Oziman.

  I learnt to find and make manyok, the staple diet of the Indians, a root crop, and where to find fresh water shrimps, scooping up dozens in a hand net.

  Amazon Indians still trap wild pigs and deer, or shoot them with bow and arrow, but some now have guns, and blow-pipes are seldom used.

   While much of their culture survives, don't expect them to be running around covered in paint and wearing head-dresses of bird feathers. Most are now fishermen.

   By late afternoon we made our way to a part of the river which had flooded, and trees were partly submerged. Good fishing grounds for piranha, the deadly Amazon fish with teeth as sharp as razors.

  It is said they could strip a man's flesh right off within three minutes.

  Ozimar tested my courage. ''They really only will attack if you bleed. You can swim in there among them quite safely. Would you like to try?''   ''Love to, Ozimar, but I'm afraid I forgot to bring my towel.''   There are 15 species of piranha, and they were all right under our boat, swimming about two metres down.

  Most fishermen will tell you silence is essential otherwise you will scare off the fish. With piranha the opposite applies.

   You thrash the water several times with your simple bamboo rod before dropping in the line. The piranha are attracted. They think there is prey in trouble nearby.

  We cut up pieces of raw meat, which they took savagely, most escaping with it. But we soon started pulling them in, and had around 10 kilos in the boat within an hour.

  I wasn't going to try taking them off the hook. This was a job for the experts. A piranha can chomp right through your finger even out of the water. Ozimar showed me the scars left by a recent close encounter.

  Later, he held up a black piranha weighing about a kilo which we had just caught and put a thick round reed in front of its mouth.

  It neatly sawed off five pieces which dropped at our feet. Later, we'd be able to get our teeth into the piranha back at the lodge.

  You can't hunt alligator in daylight. You must use a flashlight to see their eyes glowing among the reeds.

  So we lolled in the boat near a lone tree protruding from the lake, watching the magnificent sunset. But the sunset was not the main attraction. The egrets were.

  They winged gracefully, low over the water, towards the leafless tree, its branches providing a safe haven for the night.

  They kept on coming, sometimes in groups of 15-20, until there were at least 200 clinging to the branches; the tree looked like something from a Christmas card, totally white, as if covered in snow.

  And they were still coming, screeching as they fought for space, totally unconcerned about our presence.

  The alligator on my lap was around three years old, said Ozimar. There are two types in the Amazon, and some can grow to six metres. It was strangely subdued now that its mouth was clamped shut, and I had expected it to lash out with its tail, but it didn't.

  The tail had a piece missing. ''It was lucky,'' said Ozimar. ''When it was younger it must have been bitten by a piranha, but escaped. Often alligators have pieces of their tail missing. Now this one will feed on them.''   We examined its eyes. Ozimar pulled forward the transparent skin which covers them to protect them while sleeping. Many are hunted and their skins used to make handbags and shoes.

  ''They can be very dangerous in the mating season,'' said Ozimar. ''The male protects the eggs. They mate in September.'' Thank God it was May.

  I handed the alligator over to him and stepped back a little as he loosened the twine around its mouth. Its jaws immediately opened, but before they could snap shut, he had flung it into the water, and it was gone.

  We made our way back to the island, a streak of lightning showing us the way, followed by the loudest thunder-clap I have ever heard. Nature in the raw. Man must never be allowed to destroy the Amazon.

  Back at the lodge, the Brazilian tourists were still sipping beer around the swimming pool. They had had a good day.



Hooked! A live alligator