Like many countries of South and Central America Panama shows a metropolitan face, the city itself is large and modern with many high rise apartment blocks, modern roads, restaurants and shopping malls.
The wild Darien and Choco coast where the jungle meets the Pacific ocean for hundreds of kilometers, interrupted only by small sporadic villages. photo wildxplor
Then there is the Canal itself the great shipping route, dividing the isthmus and the Caribbean sea from the Pacific Ocean. The countryside is dotted with small and pleasant towns, linked by good roads and infrastructure. What though is not often seen by the average visitor is the wild interior, a good portion of the landmass is made up of indigenous reserves, the Guayami, Gnabe, the Bugle, the Guna Yala of the San Blas, The Embera-Wounaan, Talamanca and Teribe. For the most part these people speak different languages than that of Spanish and have lived on the lands for thousands of years, to travel into their territories is to visit another world. Then there are the mountainous regions which get few visitors such as the Darien on the Frontier with Colombia, also the Palo Seco National Park which is shared with Costa Rica. The rivers of the country are little visited unless you can get there by road, most people seeing only the swimming holes close to bridges. Traveling on foot into the interior or making a descent of some of the wild rivers has shown me another world which is not so easy to experience but has been rewarding in many ways.
Taking a break on this Long easy going river through the lowlands. Photo wildxplor.
here is a great whitewater and exploration film made in the uplands of panama. Exploring the upper Rio Chiriqui and the Rio Los Valles. Kayaking at its best.
A trip to London can be a life changing experience, as I was to find out recently, your senses can reach sensory overload when they are bombarded with the constant excitement of the wild attractions of the place.
I am never my best at four thirty in the morning, but I could not see how it could be avoided with all the necessary details this little expedition would require.
I had readied most of the equipment the night before, so loading the car was easy enough, I did some aerobic exercise to warm up and then ate quickly before heading for the door.
Watching the sun come up over the sierras is always something which will never lose its luster for me and this morning was no exception, a lightning storm was playing over the summits which meant it was raining heavily on the Atlantic slope of changuinola, the sky was washed out, the pressure low, here this could mean literally anything to be honest.
I made the small town of Gualaca quickly and started up the Changuinola Road which leads to Bocas de Toro, heading for the 800 meter mark, which would signal the turn off for the pueblo of Londres ( London). The view opened up as the car climbed up the slopes, the richly vegetated ridges and valleys dropped away to the pacific coast behind me.
Pushing downhill to avoid snakes. Photo wildxplor
I turned down the dirt road heading east and was soon in four wheel drive, the clay base had been mixed with stones for traction and apart from the land slipped sections it was not too bad, climbing and dropping steadily to the bulldozer contoured terrain.
The traffic to London was light enough at this hour, as with all hours here, though I had to wait for some cattle to be herded by local vaqueros (cattlemen) into a corral. After some four kilometres or so I arrived at a gate at the top of a ridge, the view was stunning, the whole mountainside was laid out before me, the Cerro Chorcha to the North east, its summit shrouded in cloud, the headwaters of the the Rio Gualaca my destination.
I unloaded the kayak from the roof and packed the equipment I would need into it, the all important overnight bag, in case the river rose or I would not be able to get out today. Like most people I have to be at work Monday morning which makes me a weekend warrior and so I try and plan accordingly. Food a machete ( absolutely essential hereabouts), a rope, a couple of tee shirts, windproof jacket, cameras a neoprene shirt, along with the rest of the kayaking equipment. I have everything ready and note the altitude on the watch 750 meters, Its about two kilometres to the put in and although there is a track, its impassable to all but a battle tank.
I start off by carrying the kayak but luckily there is a field alongside the dirt track and as it is dropping away steeply I can slide the kayak down ahead of me on the wet grasses easily enough,( to avoid snakes) the cattle are not impressed.
Road into the Gualaca River. Photo wildxplor
I had found this spot using google Earth and maps, it is not on the tourist guides, so the locals are not used to seeing people from outside, much less with a kayak, (whatever that is) so when a campesino (farmer) with horse approached a curt “hola” was said and the look of stony disbelief passed his face, and he quickly moved on.
The plan was to put in at the quebrada at Londres the second branch of three creeks (quebrada means creek in Spanish) of which two unified lower down some 750 meters from the crossing point, and the third at a little over a kilometre.
I got to the first quebrada and there was a healthy flow, it had rained the night before, I had gauged this as too steep although the flow is greater than the second and is kayak-able at grade five.
Realizing that using the rope suspension bridge to get the boat across was pushing my luck, I was able too ford with a little difficulty, at this point unfortunately I had to carry the boat another 500 meters to the second creek, the Quebrada Londres, a little lower down at 430 meters altitude.
I met some locals with horses and I explained what I was doing, it was not difficult to read their minds, their conclusion simple enough, he is mad and probably not going to survive the day ( a fairly logical train of events considering ). Their description of the river was, “hay Un gran cantidad de rocas grandes y muy poco Agua“. There are a lot of large rocks and not much water, (not true, there was lots of water and lots of large rocks as I was to find out).
I was covered in sweat by the time I Finally reached the put in.
A second more robust suspension bridge of steel cable had been erected here, the materials for a steel decked bridge lay abandoned all around a common sight here in the mountains.
The creek dropped steeply, the flow was not yet that great, just kayak-able in fact, kitting up in the morning cool, I reflected on the many manifestations of madness and what drives us too do this sort of thing when I could be in a warm and welcome bed with a fuzzy head from having passed a fun night for example.
I did more warm up exercises, no one was around and for that I was grateful, the water was welcomingly cool and restored a little vitality.
There is always that moment for me when the theory ends and reality is staring one in the face, The moment of decision, that defining moment before any undertaking of any worth, a journey of a thousand miles, a worn but absolutely solid Zen proverb. If you bend and go back you will not suffer for it, but you will not know what life can be.
If you jump off it may not go well, there are no guarantees, or you may be able to reach out and grab a small piece of something special and which can never be taken away, like true gold you never know where you are going to find it.
The month is October chosen because it’s the wettest month of the year and a Google maps dry season photo shows the river to be pretty bony, the altitude is now reading 440 meters on my watch.
I start off by running to the right, shortly I am pinned above a meter and a half waterfall, it’s a ridiculous start, a great deal of energy is expended to overbalance the kayak to my favour and after that it all figuratively goes downhill, the kayak slides down a 6 meter rock slide and I come to a stop in the pool below.
Quebrada Londres Photo: wildxplor
I spend a lot of time scouting the steep sections ahead one at a time, clambering down over the slippery worn boulders keeping an eye out for snakes, they are not commonly seen, but it’s a case of if you make the mistake, so it pays to be watchful. Each section is run in matters of seconds and minutes, the creek is dropping at 70 meters per kilometer and all the moves are must make, solid grade 5.
I watch the altitude unwinding on my watch at an impressive rate.
At one point right above a difficult super steep crux section I get the paddle caught in an overhead vine and it takes some contortions to brace out of that one.
The place is delightful, the intertwining forest overhangs the creek, although London is cattle country, it is of rustic fields recently cut, mixed with jungle, just a little higher up the cloud Forest takes over and very little habitation remains, it’s the domain of the Jaguar, Jaguarundi, and Puma, birds abound.
I reach the first union with the western creek branch and the volume more than doubles as it heads into a steep sustained grade 5 section, it is possible to porter some 300 meters through a field to the left and I decide to take the soft option, I feel a little ashamed but the weather is clouding up above and I know it will take a long time to safely get myself through this stretch.
It is turning into a River Photo: wildxplor
Originally I had noted on the map that the whole trip from London down to a second bridge river crossing was some seven kilometres and the river dropped 240 meters, excellent some 35 meters per kilometer, no problem, the reality was the first kilometer drops close to 70 meters and the second more than 50 meters. This tended to spice things up a bit.
I drag the kayak down the field and get back to the river just above where the third quebrada (creek) joins. Taking a break to eat a little guayaba a thick sugary fruit bar that is common here, it gives me instant energy.
A boof over a four foot waterfall and I instantly feel the power of the third quebrada, I catch an eddy left and get out to scout the next section.
From here its solid grade 4+ with little respite, very quick and brutish kayaking, aggressive and forceful with plenty of must make moves, big stoppers and holes abound, each section run is 200 to 300 meters and one rapid is leading directly into the next with hardly a break, fun and terrible at the same time.
I pull out on the right bank above a steep powerful section which curves off around a bend lower down, as there are no eddies I must scout this.
The Forrest is dense but there is a small fishing trail which I follow, the weather is thickening up and its 11am, here one needs to be ready to be off the rivers as early as 1pm as the afternoon rains come quickly and with force.
The section proves run-able though grade 4+ with this volume, its long and powerful with no exit.
I choose a line mostly to the right crossing left for a powerful hydraulic on the right hand side, I get caught in a big hole in the middle of the river. I surf and surf, it’s not letting me out that easily, so I surf brace and catch a forward stroke repeating the procedure moving forward to the edge of the hole, I overbalance upriver and come out laying flat on the surface and managing to sweep upright in time to charge down the next section, finally managing to eddy out on the right hand side.
The adrenaline is now coursing and I am literally shaking, must rest up a while, laying down to control the breathing. This river is giving and giving, it’s a wild thing.
This drop is the entrance to the canyon section. Photo wildxplor
The first raindrops fall and I can see its already raining further up the mountain so time to move, another steep section and I start to run on sight at grade 4 and 4+, things are happening quick enough now I stop only to adjust a camera or drink and eat something.
The kayaking is fast and furious and I am in the zone now, it is all flowing together, I feel fantastic I know I am going to make each rapid as I enter it and this is the moment to live for.
I get spun around and enter a small waterfall backwards, getting stuck in a stopper in mid rapid, close to the bank but miles from it, I see a handhold on a rock and am able to pull myself out backwards to finish the whole thing looking upstream.
The river drops to grade 3 and I see its at 230 meters altitude now, I’ve dropped more than 200 meters in less than 4 kilometers. Some large conduit piping appears on the banks to the left signaling that I have intersected a track lower down, I think it is all over though the water level has risen with the rain.
I negotiate a bend and ahead the river squeezes down through a small canyon. Pulling out to the left I see that it’s a waterfall.
Scouting this proves difficult and I climb up the bank 30 meters to the left to get a look at the base for the essential check for rocks, the rain is hammering down now, I know its over, the river is visibly rising to flood levels.
I call it quits Knowing there will be a second round to finish this fills me with joy.
Now came the slog of hauling the kayak straight up 150 or more meters to the track, getting out of the canyon uses all my strength and I decide to leave the kayak there at the tree line and return for the car. The rain is coming down hard and the river is roaring now, Taking the gear bags I slog up through a super steep field to the mud track, I am returning to earth now and start the long walk out to the changuinola road, with little chance of a lift as this is a hardly passable low ratio 4 wheel drive affair.
I start to walk trudging through red slimy mud, the cloud is low and the valley is in view up to my start point the pueblo of Londres, as always when in the mountains I am happy just to be there, the view is not tame and the volcanic mountain scenery is sculpted by the extreme forces of nature.
For me the greatest attraction of kayaking lies in the unfettered beauty of the environment, often in its wildest and most pristine state, and I tend to gravitate to the rivers with little habitation, for this reason.
Its about four kilometres or more to the changuinola road, past some cattle farms and crossing the River Gualaca via a steel cabled suspension bridge with a suspect wooden deck, the river now much swollen with the rain. The last two kilometers are steeply uphill, I am truly tired my back starting to seize up from the constant bracing. The rain is coming down hard again, there seems little point in changing into dry things and as I get to the road a small minivan bus stops obligingly for me as if on Q, They are not to phased that I’m saturated and for a couple of dollars they transported me to the London Road.
Four more kilometers trudging in the rain and I make gratefully the car, change into welcome dry clothes and get started back to pick up the kayak.
On the way out I give a lift to two teenagers, they tell me that although they live in the town of Gualaca lower down and attend school there, they often spend the weekend with family in Londres as they like the cooler air, and lifestyle in general, and that most of the locals spend their spare time during the wet season fishing in the rivers for a fish they call the Sabaleta which are common, up to three pounds in weigh and silver colour, it puts up a great fight in the white water (best bait yellow cheese, cockroaches or crickets).
I drop them off at the entrance to the second track and start an intricate four wheel drive session to retrieve the kayak, crossing the bridge with some trepidation and arriving with some difficulty above the canyon just before dark.
I slog back through the field and man handle the kayak up to the car, I am just about done in and the day is ending, after stowing the last of the gear and lashing the kayak to the roof rack, I drive back down the track in four wheel drive low ratio in the near dark, following the course of the very audible Rio Gualaca some 300 meters below.
It had been a long and memorable day visit to London, but I realised that something special had just occurred.
One spends humdrum hours of drudgery traveling and working to make a living, hours training and practicing, there are many frustrating days when things don’t go right, broken equipment, the rivers are low and don’t live up to expectations or you just cannot get away, but on this day it had all come together, it would have been hard to have been more perfect, I had struck that gold so elusive and I realised that it had made it all worthwhile.
Boulder whitwater. Photo wildxplor
The Rio Gualaca and its tributaries are one of the last intact wild rivers of the Chiriquí Province of Panama, it borders the Comarca of of the ngabe and Bugle indigenous people and as yet has not gone under the hammer of the low head dam and tunnel, it is an area of outstanding natural beauty, with its headwaters in the mountains of the Cerro Chorcha and Cerro Hornito.
The pueblo of Londres is situated between three feeder creeks of the river.
