Must end in a vale; but still,
Who climbs with toil, wheresoe’er,
Shall find wings waiting there.
H. C. Beeching.
Many farewells and the bringing up of piles of cassava for the support of our caravan delayed our start from Kamaiwâwong on the return journey to Mataruka. We had asked Schoolmaster to send two men with us to bring back from Puwa the salt and the cloth which was to be the recompense of those Arekunas who had assisted us; but instead of sending two men, Schoolmaster himself and the entire party who had climbed Roraima with us gaily accompanied our march back. It was a delightful morning, with alternate showers and sunshine and gloriously cool winds. We retraced our steps until we were close to the spot where we breakfasted on the 13th January, and here we halted again for our midday meal at a delicious spot under a big tree, sitting amidst fragrant bracken and pretending to be in England. The walk had unstiffened our muscles, cramped by the long descent of the day before, and we felt quite fit and fresh.
Schoolmaster, who now acted as guide, applied for permission to lead us back by a line different from that which we had traversed on the outward journey. We agreed; and in the end Schoolmaster brought us to Mataruka by a trail which interlaced with Joseph’s so as roughly to form the figure 8. Our first divergence was to the left in the direction of Weitipu; and plainly any trail which avoided the long sweep to the west round by the head-waters of the Chitu was likely to be a short-cut. Then, after wheeling to the left, we descended somewhat abruptly to a little plateau on which stands Maurekmutta banaboo, the home of a solitary Arekuna family. Here Schoolmaster showed us another line running almost straight towards Kamaiwâwong. It would probably have been preferable to the one we had walked, and might have saved some climbing. Why they had not led us that way we could not make out; but, of course, to an Indian time is of no importance, unless he is hungry, and the tramp of half a dozen extra miles is a mere trifle. No one was at home in this banaboo.
We next descended yet farther, until, after one and a quarter hours’ march beyond the point of divergence from Joseph’s trail, we reached and forded the Arabupu (3,780 feet above sea-level). Here we were met by quite a heavy shower of cold rain. Twenty minutes later we crossed the Gunguila, a confluent of the Arabupu; and another ten minutes’ march brought us to the brow of a hill, 4,060 feet above sea-level, where it became evident that we were making straight for the southern spur of Mount Weitipu across the folds and rifts of a plateau. We could, in fact, see our trail running ahead past the very toe of Weitipu; but as, on descending, the path followed a valley in the diametrically opposite direction, we were reminded—and not for the first time either—that Indian trails are like the paths in the garden of the talking flowers in Alice through the Looking-Glass, and that to get anywhere you must turn and walk in the opposite direction. We crossed two more small streams, and then, after a further fifty-six minutes’ march, we halted for the night on the right bank of the Erkoy River, in a little copse, evidently the recognized Indian camping-ground, and much preferable to the bleak camp at Weiwötö on Joseph’s trail. The Erkoy is another confluent of the Arabupu, and from a little clump of trees on a level terrace where we camped the ground dropped away abruptly to the river. A steep grass hill on the left bank protected us nicely on the windward side, whilst the lee-side was open to the savannah. In the watery rays of the evening sun Roraima and Kukenaam stood clear for the first time that day. We could no longer see the south-western wall up which we had climbed, but we had a splendid view of the south-eastern escarpment. The clear, swift-running Erkoy almost tempted us to bathe, but it was too cold to venture. We had a fine night, though once or twice, as the rush of the wind shook the tree-tops, we woke up sufficiently to rejoice that we were not on the exposed tableland. The Makusis camped all round us, while the Arekunas slung their hammocks in a clump of trees a little way downstream.
Next morning (18th January) was gloriously fine, and we saw Roraima and Kukenaam for the last time at close quarters, shining red in the dawn. We forded the Erkoy, which flows swiftly and came icy cold well over our knees; and then, ascending the steep bank on the other side, we found ourselves once more on a rolling plateau with the trail we had seen passing over the toe of Weitipu, now just ahead. I loved the walk over the fresh grass of this shining tableland, amidst the indescribable peace of its mighty silence. The trail was almost level, save for little descents into the channels of the many streams that come racing down Weitipu’s steep flanks; and in the keen, fresh morning air mere movement was a joy—different indeed to one’s feelings on the low, hot coast-lands! In succession we crossed the Kamaoura-wong, two small swamps, the Tongkoy, and the Sappi, all streams which tumble in picturesque cascades from Weitipu; and after an hour’s march we crossed the southern spur of Weitipu himself. He is a very attractive mountain, majestic, but without the bleak austerity of Roraima and Kukenaam. His southern summit would afford a splendid camping-ground, and several of his terraces would make beautiful house-sites. In China such a mountain would have been studded with temples and monasteries, but I have never heard of anyone climbing to the top of Weitipu. It would not be difficult to do this, though rather strenuous, and I should love to go back one day and make the ascent. On the spur of Weitipu, where we stood (4,100 feet above sea-level), Schoolmaster showed us yet another trail—the most direct of all—branching off to Kamaiwâwong!
We then crossed two more streams—a small one called the Apa, and a larger one called the Perumak. The latter is fringed by forest, and is probably identical with the river Maipa, crossed by Joseph’s trail. A glorious grassy savannah spreads out on both sides of this narrow strip of woodland; and in it, just beyond the Perumak ford, an hour’s march from the spur of Weitipu, stands a solitary banaboo, near which the trail to Tumong, by which Dr. Crampton travelled in 1911, branches off to the left. We kept to the right, and eighteen minutes later reached the crest of a ridge, which appears to form the divide between the watershed of the Orinoco and of the Amazon. At this point, therefore, we presumably returned from Venezuela to Brazil. The divide here is 3,860 feet above sea-level.