Onwards up the Gambia

Now the tide is with us as we motor on up-river in search of hippos and baboons. Maman is on board and so far we have not had to put a reef in.
Day 4
It was only a matter of time I suppose. The day after I wrote this we stormed up river beating into choppy water with, you've guessed it, a reef in. But only one - two reefs Ruddle had not quite done the business. The trend in the lower Gambia river seems to be no wind before 10 then lots of wind (on the nose if you're heading up) then no wind come 4 o'clock. The tide tables we have appear to be 6 hours out (not the best characteristic for tide tables) so we spent day one confused and frustrated, motoring into both wind and tide. At times the current was in excess of 3 knots. Not suprisingly we anchored up at that point and amused ourselves by swimming behind the stationary boat into our very own wave machine. At dusk we just made it in through the maze of fish pens to the shallow Sami Creek where we barbequed ladyfish (the only ladyfish in the village) and almost set fire to our mosquito net. In anticipation of the attack by flying insects when we reach fresh water upriver we have made what I think must be the biggest marine mosquito net in the world which covers the entire cockpit from stantion to stantion. So far no mozis but plenty of reassuringly named African Killer Bees (which, I am told are harmless - ?).
Day two allowed us more sail, less engine and a favourable tide. We arrived at the tranquil Mandori Creek on the North bank of the river in good time to enjoy the lovely surroundings: tall mangroves interrupted by saltwater rice paddies, shocking green the colour of limes. We were totally alone but for a tremendous number of birds who, once they realised we were harmless, carried about their business unperturbed. A black and white kingfisher was busy catching supper. A black kite circled above us, interested. A fish eagle, with its white underbelly, flew once over us clasping a slippery morsel in its talons. There were herons, egrets and other birds I am too ignorant to name.
Day three was a brilliant sailing day - actually what am I saying, it was just a morning. Having covered close to 60 miles in the first two days of our river trip, on the third we only managed an embarassing 5 and a half. This was because we called an unexpected stop at the village of Tendaba on the South bank on the offchance they might have fresh water and fuel for us. After going aground under full sail (oops) we wrestled Melvin ashore, Mum perched on the bow jostling for space between a clutch of empty jerricans, leaving Casper onboard making a cheese sandwhich and pretending to be afloat.
What a sweet place Tendaba is! We were greeted by a swarm of children who took turns holding our hands as we wove our way down the dusty red 'street' between goats, chickens and lazy dogs Next to the tidy village, complete with suprisingly long pier and cutesey mosque, is a rustic tourist camp which gave us the warmest welcome and helped us fulfill our needs (bread, petrol, water, cold beer and a swim). Heaven. Chores over (Casper lugging jerrycan after heavy jerrycan back to the boat) we spent the rest of the afternoon and evening ashore, lapping up the relative luxury of the camp. The sun set in a hazy sky just after a pod of river dolphins made a brief appearance.
At 8.30 Casper, concerned about a possible lack of water, made a call to get back to Impulse. Timely this was for now we saw why that pier is so damn long - a huge mudflat lay between the camp and our boat. Halfway between the end of the pier and Impy the oars were coming out of the water thick with mud and Melvin's progress felt everso laboured. Another half an hour at the bar and we would have been thigh deep in mud wading home. I'm not sure Mum would have seen the funny side.
This morning we awoke to morning prayer to find that we were again barely afloat. With the depthsounder at zero we tramlined our way off the mudflat to deeper water. Within 10 metres we had 5 metres under us. We've now motored across to the north bank, and are anchored at the mouth of a small creek waiting for the tide to flood. A jumble of bird song resonates from behind the tall mangrove and a white heron is carefully picking its way across the mudflat. Time for breakfast.
Still Day 4 - we anchored off the Southern tip of Elephant island. The mosquitos are starting to become a nuisance as soon as the light fades - thank goodness for the cockpit net!
Day 5 - the river has narrowed considerably, say 250m across. The mangrove are quite different now - very tall and not so dense, interspersed with something that looks like pampuss grass and could be an edible cereal of some sort. Stopped in Kau-Ur when the tide turned against us. Mum and I walked the 15 minutes into the village past cows with huge horns, goats and donkey carts. It was easy to find the market as it was the main event. We stocked up on veggies and wallowed back as the day reached its heat peak. Back at the river bank, the women were still washing clothes. We bought two parrot fish from a man who'd just hauled up his pirogue for the day and met Maram, the boss lady of the local groundnut factory. After a guided tour and two huge bagfulls of nuts, the tide turn so we lifted the anchor and proceeded upriver. We anchored at the mouth of a small creek. Lots of that pampuss grass, rustling in the wind. The heat is becoming intense now, and persists into the night. You'd think the wind would be a relief but when the harmattan blows it feels like you have your face in front of an open oven door.
On day 6 we motored over a net. A languid looking man sat in a dug out pirogue mid river. We thought nothing of it. As we came abeam of him we saw the tiny polystyrene floats that soon became hooked round the keels. Luckily we lifted the propellors fast enough to avoid any further entanglement. Nothing that a small pair of scissors and a swim couldn’t sort out. The fisherman looked incredibly melancholic and, though we were partly annoyed that he’d made no attempt to indicate the presence of his net to us, gave him something to cover his costs. By the look on his face the 200d we offered him (approx 5 pounds) represented a small fortune, probably enough to finance his retirement and an annual holiday on the Costa del Sol. Onwards. By now the vegetation flanking the river is quite different to that further down river: palms, rice, enormous mahogany trees alongside the usual leafless baobabs. The water is fresh here and I can almost here those atlantic barnacles popping off our hulls in disgust.
At Baboon Islands the heat is suffocating and the tsetse flies a real nuisance. The visual feast however is worth the discomfort as we are surrounded by primitive African jungle which is perfectly mirrored by the glassy river. The trees are alive with life : baboons, vervet and colobus monkeys, chimps and parrots, green and yellow. At low tide we watch a group of hippos bathing. One stands guard, teletubby ears and eyes just visible above the surface of the river. The rest take turns flinging their vast heads back, spraying water everywhere, revealing a huge pink expanse of mouth and emitting an incredibly loud sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. It is really quite magic. Everynow and then, rather disconcertingly, the centurion disappears leaving a massive ripple behind him and a nervous look on our faces. We are careful to maintain a respectful distance but how can we be sure what a hippo considers to be respectful? We must have got it right because all is well. The light is fading so we move on and anchor off the Western end of the islands, just behond a giany mahogany tree in which a cheeky group of chimps are attempting to hide. We spend the sweltering evening listening to the hippos cracking jokes with eachother. Arf arf arf.
There are three reasons we decided not to continue upriver after Baboon Islands. Firstly, the heat was excruciating and the idea of spending any more time in it especially in a dusty place like Georgetown was decidedly unappealing. Secondly, we were coming under pressure given that Mum had to be on a plane from Banjul in a week’s time. Thirdly, our main purpose of coming up the Gambia was to see the hippos and this desire had been satisfied. So, early on day 7 we turned back with the outgoing tide and motored to the busy village of Kuntaur. From here we walked to the ancient buriel stones at Wassu. Such sites are found across the Gambia and Northern Senegal and date back to about 400 ad. In Kuntaur we bought a few more provisions including "beef" which is actually halal chicken luncheon meat. The ex vegan in me could not allow myself to touch the stuff and when I asked Val how it tasted she said "pink". I’m not sure it had ever seen a real chicken.
The next few days is a blur of happy times sailing down river, anchoring as the hazy sun merged with the treetops and not so happily waking up to discover we were aground again. We stopped once more at Tendaba to fill up with water and luxuriate in the tiny pool. We were treated to a visit of the nursery school (I am sure those little ones will eventually grow into those giant desks) where the children, in their scappy pink and blue uniforms danced and sang for us. I can’t believe that in such a poor country parents have to pay for their childrens’ education.
Our last anchorage on the Gambia was perhaps the most beautiful. Tabiere Creek is an isolated spot with just a few fishermen about. The shallows to the West extend a long way attracting a large number of pelicans and flamingos. How beautiful these salmon pink birds are, with their curved beaks and impossibly long legs. They took turns preening themselves and flapping their wings, revealing a bright red and black underside that contrasted brilliantly the soft colour of the rest of their body. After our flamingo safari in Melvin we feasted on a Captain fish brought to us by a croacky fisherman who looked as if he were at least a hundred.