Backpacking in Fiji, Chapter 11

Going on a Canyon Safari

After losing the track and wandering through the bamboo and long grass for so long, the logging trail was a wonderful and very welcome sight. According to the map, the logging road went north-east for a while before turning north-west and eventually reaching our desired location, a little town outside Lautoka directly north of us. There was another option. The streambed we'd been following had been, up to that point, wide with ample walking room on the banks. Following the stream would lead us directly north in a rather straight line, therefore being the shortest distance from point A to point B. The stream was also flat, while the logging road went up and over a series of small mountains. Our minds were made up and we walked north, following the slow-running water.

At first, the going was easy; we were able to simply walk along the streambed, following the creek. Soon, however, the walls of the valley closed in, slowly creating a narrow canyon. We went from walking on a streambed to walking on rocks to climbing over rocks. The canyon walls rose up in the form of sheer cliffs, about two hundred and fifty feet high, on either side of us. The boulders were both our obstacles and stepping stones; at times they were so large we had to find ways to climb over or between them while at the same time they were the only things keeping us from swimming up the creek, which had slowly gotten both wider and deeper.

As difficult as this portion of the trip was, I couldn't help but admire the beauty of the canyon. The grey-black cliffs boxing us in went straight up, hundreds of feet, reflecting the changing colors of the sun as it slowly made its way toward the horizon. The boulders added their own touch to the scene, scattered in all shapes and sizes like clouds on a summer day, the kind where you lay in the grass and pick out which ones look like a truck, or a big rock.

We passed each boulder until there were no more to climb over or under, but we found our course no easier. The boulders had been our stepping stones, and we had run out of places to put our feet. Kyle and I stood at the base of the last rock and turned as we heard someone going around the rock, through the water. To our amazement, Phil got out of the water and stood next to us, hands on his hips, wearing nothing but his tight boxer-briefs and a safari hat. He looked like a nearly-naked Theodore Roosevelt on safari in Africa. Going along with this theme, Jone emerged from around the boulder carrying Phil's backpack over his head like a porter.

After having a good laugh, Kyle and I turned to the problem at hand: how we were to go the fifty feet between where we stood and the bank on the other side of the deep, cliff to cliff section of creek before us. We had two options. First option: take off our clothes and carry all our stuff over our heads through the creek. Second option: The left side of the cliff looked climbable and Jone offered to toss our bags and sandals on the far streambank. Ever the adventurers, Kyle and I chose option two.

I set out first, searching for handholds and footholds, looking for the best way to traverse--or climb horizontally-- to the cliff to the streambed. At times it was difficult and I had to either reach far or climb up a bit, but I was making good progress. Suddenly, from behind me, I heard a quick burst of profanity, followed quickly by a splash. One of Kyle's handholds broke off and he was forced to swim to the other side. Shortly after Kyle's splash I found myself nice and dry on the stream bank. Proud of my mini-accomplishment, I put my sandals back on and joined the rest of the party, continuing ever northward.