Save at this waterfall, the ledge is everywhere many feet wide, and there is no danger whatsoever of falling off it. From the waterfall another forty minutes’ direct ascent over rock-boulders brought us to the top of the escarpment, 8,625 feet above sea-level. We reached this point at 5 p.m. The whole climb had, therefore, taken us three hours over savannah, two hours through forest, and two and three-quarter hours up the ledge. For purposes of comparison, I may here say that the descent of the ledge occupied one and three-quarter hours, the descent through forest one hour and fifty minutes, and across the savannah two and a half hours. Roraima was kindly disposed to us, for we had splendid weather for the climb—a grey, cool morning, followed by a sunny, windless afternoon.
The scene when one has at last scaled the cliff-face of Roraima is fantastic and almost grotesque. Little meets the eye save rock, which the weather has blackened and worn into many weird shapes—a dragon, a frog, and a couple of umbrellas, all of rock, were conspicuous objects at the spot where we camped for the night; but there is in general a monotonous lack of differentiation in the rock-shapes, making this rugged plateau a maze where one would soon be lost, especially if mist settled down on the mountain. Here and there are stunted trees (Bonnetia Roraimæ): but all wood on this bleak summit is so sodden with moisture that it is difficult to kindle a respectable fire for cooking purposes, and quite impossible to make such a blaze as would keep out the cold. Water is abundant, clear as crystal, and icy cold. We found no really satisfactory camping-ground; but Schoolmaster took us to the spot where, it would appear, all those who before us had spent the night on the top of Roraima took shelter. It was in the middle of a big amphitheatre of crags, encircled by what one might almost call waves of stone, about five minutes’ walk from the edge of the precipice. Here two large rocks converge at an angle which gives protection from the prevailing winds; and by spreading a tarpaulin over the gap between them we made ourselves a rock-sided tent, commodious enough to contain our two camp-beds. Unfortunately, the floor was not dry rock, but spongy, wet moss.
Camp on Mount Roraima.
Haywood had ready-made Bovril in his kettle, and soon supplied us with a hot drink, after which we made our arrangements for the night. Directly the sun had disappeared, it felt desperately cold, and we longed in vain for fires to warm ourselves. At 6.15 p.m. the thermometer was 51° F.—not very low, of course, but when you are used to a tropical climate it feels like freezing. A fire can only be maintained by an Indian squatting beside it and tending it all the time. Even then it gives but little warmth. Mr. Menzies arranged his tarpaulin in a place somewhat similar to the one where we were camped; but when the wind rose in the night he discovered to his cost that the entrance to his cave-dwelling was to windward. He sheltered (if “shelter” is the word) Haywood, Joseph, and Daniel with him. We gave our spare tarpaulin to the Arekunas, and as many as could got behind it; but several preferred the lee-side of our rock, where the poor things chattered, shivered, and blew up fires all night long. The night was clear, and Roraima looked wonderful by moonlight, the fantastic shapes around us being even stranger than by day. We slept a little, not much; and I think that my husband and I were the only ones of our party who slept at all.
Next day was gloriously fine. We rose at dawn to find gusts of icy wind and wisps of cloud blowing all over the place. Our naked Indians looked numb with cold; and, as the few of them who could boast of a shirt or trousers were not much better off, my husband and I reluctantly decided that it would be impossible for us to spend another night on the mountain-top. It would have been inhuman to expose all our company in this shelterless place. Any party that may come hereafter, really to examine Roraima’s summit, would have to organize matters so as to let their Indians spend the night in the forest below, and occupy the days in bringing up firewood for them.
We had, however, a few hours to spare, and we spent them in exploring the vicinity of our camp. From the edge of the cliff the panoramic view to the south-west is vast and superb, the landscape resembling a map in green plasticine with the rivers shown in blue. All the hills we had toiled over looked the merest little crinkles; but the effect of that glorious stretch of open country is wonderfully impressive; and as the sun, gaining power, dispelled all mist, we revelled in the great sweep of air and space in front of us. Our old friend Chakbang was the only hill that looked more than an earth-wrinkle, save for some huge cliff-faced mountains miles away in Venezuela, which must be as high, if not higher, than Roraima. Roraima itself concealed Mount Weitipu from our sight, and we could see hardly anything of the line by which we had approached. The call of the mountain was clearly to go on, on to the Orinoco, but we could not obey. We had reached the end of our tether, and from this point the return journey began.
To explore the summit of Roraima itself would be a difficult task, and not without danger. It would be unsafe to go any distance without white paint, or some other means of marking one’s way; for one would very soon be lost in the labyrinth of extraordinary rock-forms, and, when mist or cloud was on the mountain, it would be impossible to see more than a very short distance ahead. We clambered up to a point from which there was a good view of the summit of Kukenaam. It appeared to be the same fantastic jumble of black weather-worn rock that surrounded us where we stood, arranged in the same curious amphitheatres. Then we set off in an endeavour to reach the edge of the cliff between Roraima and Kukenaam; but it is slow going where every step is a climb either up or down. I soon gave up and made my way leisurely back to camp, while my husband pressed on. But he found a great chasm across his path and had to turn back also. We next visited the mark erected by Mr. C. W. Anderson on his boundary survey, and walked to the source of the Kamaiwa creek, which lay in the trough of the rock-wave wherein our camp was situated. There is a sort of fascination I cannot describe in these silent waterholes, where the eternal moisture of the “Father of Streams” gathers on beds of white sand and shining crystals. The stillness and the deadness of everything was extraordinary, and yet somehow wonderfully refreshing. There was not a trace of animal life. In an eastern land Roraima would have its “patient, sleepless eremite,” seeking revelation in meditation amid its great silent peace, “in height and cold, the splendour of the hills.”
At 10.30 a.m. we “breakfasted”; at 11.7 a.m. we commenced the descent; and we reached Kamaiwâwong without misadventure by 5.30 p.m. The steepness of the descent made it almost as slow a business as scrambling up had been. I did a good deal of it by sitting down and then lowering myself with the help of my hands. Mercifully the forest trail was much improved by the fact that all the droghers had climbed it after us, so that the slippery moss had to a great extent been trodden away, and we could see where to put our feet. How the Arekunas managed to negotiate that climb with loads on their backs without breaking their legs is beyond our comprehension. They were a good deal cut and scratched, it is true; but their prehensile toes saved them from more serious injury. Indians catch hold by their toes in truly monkey fashion; and, if a man drops anything on the line of march, he picks it up with his toes and puts it into his hand to avoid stooping. Our feet seemed stupid, clumsy things by comparison. By the time I reached the savannah slopes I was so very stiff that I could only move slowly. These lovely savannahs had all been set on fire by our men, and were charred and grievous to see.