Chapter 50: A Visit to the Achuar people near the Ecuador Border
AS TOLD BY JOHN AGERSTEN
The journey begins - May 1974.
Quite a bit of time had passed since we last visited the villages on the Morona River, but at long last, the day arrived when we could make that trip again. This time, we would travel as a family in Alli Shungo, the houseboat. Sonya Wilhelm was also coming with us so that she and Maino could continue their schooling on the boat. Maino and Sonya were in the third grade, while Lewi had yet to start school. The houseboat allowed the entire family to journey together, at least for some of the many trips to the villages in this vast roadless region. Romulo, one of the youths from the congregation, joined us to help with navigation and other tasks during the many hours we would spend driving up the Morona toward the Ecuadorian border and back again. He also helped with the preparations as there was a lot to load on board. The diesel tanks had been filled, and jungle knives, fishing gear, and various necessary tools and equipment were all in place. Boxes of medicine, Bibles, and scripture portions had been carried on board, along with provisions and other essentials we would need for the three weeks we anticipated being away.
We bid farewell to the Wilhelm family early in the morning on May 19, 1974. They would have their hands full in our absence. However, we were all accustomed to managing the work at Tigre Playa when on our own. The prior evening, the church had prayed for us and the places we were to visit. These trips were not without danger and challenges, and it was comforting to know we were surrounded by prayers from both friends at home and in Peru.
That morning, the engine started without a hitch, and soon we rounded the first bend of the river and Tigre Playa faded from view. Our next stop, as was customary, would be the village of Puerto America, just within the mouth of the Morona River.
Quite a bit of time had passed since we last visited the villages on the Morona River, but at long last, the day arrived when we could make that trip again. This time, we would travel as a family in Alli Shungo, the houseboat. Sonya Wilhelm was also coming with us so that she and Maino could continue their schooling on the boat. Maino and Sonya were in the third grade, while Lewi had yet to start school. The houseboat allowed the entire family to journey together, at least for some of the many trips to the villages in this vast roadless region. Romulo, one of the youths from the congregation, joined us to help with navigation and other tasks during the many hours we would spend driving up the Morona toward the Ecuadorian border and back again. He also helped with the preparations as there was a lot to load on board. The diesel tanks had been filled, and jungle knives, fishing gear, and various necessary tools and equipment were all in place. Boxes of medicine, Bibles, and scripture portions had been carried on board, along with provisions and other essentials we would need for the three weeks we anticipated being away.
We bid farewell to the Wilhelm family early in the morning on May 19, 1974. They would have their hands full in our absence. However, we were all accustomed to managing the work at Tigre Playa when on our own. The prior evening, the church had prayed for us and the places we were to visit. These trips were not without danger and challenges, and it was comforting to know we were surrounded by prayers from both friends at home and in Peru.
That morning, the engine started without a hitch, and soon we rounded the first bend of the river and Tigre Playa faded from view. Our next stop, as was customary, would be the village of Puerto America, just within the mouth of the Morona River.
Evangelism, Teaching, and Health Work.
As always, the purpose of the journey was to share the Gospel simply and understandably with the indigenous people and mestizos of this part of the jungle. In many villages, several had embraced faith in Jesus since we traveled up the Morona in our first boat, "El Sembrador," in the autumn of 1969. Some had been baptized, and they needed encouragement and instruction in God's Word. In most places, there were at least one or more individuals who could read. In a few villages in lower Morona, schools had been established where most children learned to read and write, along with basic math skills. Therefore, we were delighted to see many purchasing Bibles, pocket versions of the New Testament, and scripture portions that we offered at below cost. In places where there were believers, we encouraged them to gather on Sundays to read the Bible, pray, and worship. The children quickly learned new hymns and simple songs.
During our initial explorations in the region, we identified a critical need for healthcare services. This became a large part of our ministry at Tigre Playa and throughout our travels. Consequently, we consistently carried medications and first-aid supplies with us. This journey was no exception; at each stop, we encountered individuals seeking treatment for common jungle ailments, as well as care for wounds and boils. Over the years, we have accumulated significant experience and knowledge about tropical diseases, including their diagnosis and treatment. At times, we needed to perform minor procedures such as incision of boils, wound disinfection, and administering stitches. Additionally, we frequently encountered cases, particularly among children, of intestinal parasites that required medicinal treatment.
On the Way to the Achuar Territories.
During one of our early expeditions in Morona, a captain at the military outpost near the Ecuadorian border approached us with a request. He asked if we could visit the Achuar villages along the tributary rivers, both upstream and downstream from the outpost. 'There is ongoing conflict and violence in their villages,' he remarked. 'Teach them the principles of the Bible so they might become like the Chapra and Wampis people, who have achieved peace within their own community and with others.' We were unable to fulfill his request during that trip or our subsequent travels.
Accessing these villages presented a significant challenge. The Achuar people lived in small settlements or family groups deep within the jungle, straddling the border of Ecuador between the Morona and Pastaza rivers. As the captain had noted years earlier, they were often regarded as warlike and unwelcoming towards outsiders. However, in recent years, some of them had established contact with local traders, loggers, and residents of Morona.
Before embarking on our journey, we resolved to attempt to reach one of their villages via the Anaso tributary, which flows into the Morona River just below the military outpost. Our ability to succeed depended largely on the water level in the river, which would determine whether our houseboat, 'Alli Shungo', could navigate the waters. We were optimistic, as the rainy season typically provided sufficient water levels in the Marañon and its tributaries. We also had a small wooden boat with an outboard motor with us, primarily for navigating the tributaries where the Chapra people resided further down the Morona.
Upon reaching the mouth of the Anaso, we found the water flowing abundantly, which encouraged us to proceed with the houseboat. Given our uncertainty about the distance to the village, we decided it was best to travel together in the houseboat. In a nearby village just downstream from Anaso, they explained how to reach the village we wanted to visit. The journey up the Anaso and its tributaries went relatively smoothly. Gro spent the morning washing clothes, which we had hung out on the boat’s roof. As we rounded a bend where low branches extended over the narrow river, some of the laundry slipped off the lines and washed downstream; fortunately, most of it remained intact! We hoped that those garments would eventually find a new purpose. Continuing further up the Anaso tributary, we arrived at the village of Mashumbara in the early afternoon.
As always, the purpose of the journey was to share the Gospel simply and understandably with the indigenous people and mestizos of this part of the jungle. In many villages, several had embraced faith in Jesus since we traveled up the Morona in our first boat, "El Sembrador," in the autumn of 1969. Some had been baptized, and they needed encouragement and instruction in God's Word. In most places, there were at least one or more individuals who could read. In a few villages in lower Morona, schools had been established where most children learned to read and write, along with basic math skills. Therefore, we were delighted to see many purchasing Bibles, pocket versions of the New Testament, and scripture portions that we offered at below cost. In places where there were believers, we encouraged them to gather on Sundays to read the Bible, pray, and worship. The children quickly learned new hymns and simple songs.
During our initial explorations in the region, we identified a critical need for healthcare services. This became a large part of our ministry at Tigre Playa and throughout our travels. Consequently, we consistently carried medications and first-aid supplies with us. This journey was no exception; at each stop, we encountered individuals seeking treatment for common jungle ailments, as well as care for wounds and boils. Over the years, we have accumulated significant experience and knowledge about tropical diseases, including their diagnosis and treatment. At times, we needed to perform minor procedures such as incision of boils, wound disinfection, and administering stitches. Additionally, we frequently encountered cases, particularly among children, of intestinal parasites that required medicinal treatment.
On the Way to the Achuar Territories.
During one of our early expeditions in Morona, a captain at the military outpost near the Ecuadorian border approached us with a request. He asked if we could visit the Achuar villages along the tributary rivers, both upstream and downstream from the outpost. 'There is ongoing conflict and violence in their villages,' he remarked. 'Teach them the principles of the Bible so they might become like the Chapra and Wampis people, who have achieved peace within their own community and with others.' We were unable to fulfill his request during that trip or our subsequent travels.
Accessing these villages presented a significant challenge. The Achuar people lived in small settlements or family groups deep within the jungle, straddling the border of Ecuador between the Morona and Pastaza rivers. As the captain had noted years earlier, they were often regarded as warlike and unwelcoming towards outsiders. However, in recent years, some of them had established contact with local traders, loggers, and residents of Morona.
Before embarking on our journey, we resolved to attempt to reach one of their villages via the Anaso tributary, which flows into the Morona River just below the military outpost. Our ability to succeed depended largely on the water level in the river, which would determine whether our houseboat, 'Alli Shungo', could navigate the waters. We were optimistic, as the rainy season typically provided sufficient water levels in the Marañon and its tributaries. We also had a small wooden boat with an outboard motor with us, primarily for navigating the tributaries where the Chapra people resided further down the Morona.
Upon reaching the mouth of the Anaso, we found the water flowing abundantly, which encouraged us to proceed with the houseboat. Given our uncertainty about the distance to the village, we decided it was best to travel together in the houseboat. In a nearby village just downstream from Anaso, they explained how to reach the village we wanted to visit. The journey up the Anaso and its tributaries went relatively smoothly. Gro spent the morning washing clothes, which we had hung out on the boat’s roof. As we rounded a bend where low branches extended over the narrow river, some of the laundry slipped off the lines and washed downstream; fortunately, most of it remained intact! We hoped that those garments would eventually find a new purpose. Continuing further up the Anaso tributary, we arrived at the village of Mashumbara in the early afternoon.
Our First Visit to the Achuar people.
There was only one house by the narrow river, but we noticed several houses grouped around an open area a little further inland. Gro and the children stayed by the boat while Romulo and I walked toward the clearing. A couple of men emerged from one of the houses and gestured for us to come closer. One of the men turned out to be a logger from Morona who had taken a woman from the village as his wife. He was the only one who spoke Spanish, although he also understood the Achuar language. In most indigenous villages, there are usually a few younger individuals who can speak some Spanish, but here it seemed there was no one besides the logger. They did not have a school either. We were extremely grateful to have a friendly interpreter who was also a member of the village. He introduced us to the chief, who was relatively tall and robust. He had three long braids and wore the traditional wrap skirt seen among older men, including those from other tribes in Morona. The chief was in the process of crafting a "pucona," a two-meter-long blowgun used for hunting with poisoned darts. The large house had several fire pits. It seemed that the chief had multiple wives. We were welcomed to hold a gathering in his house that very evening.
Some of the villagers accompanied us down to the river. They watched 'Alli Shungo' and us with curiosity. It was likely that none of them had seen white people or such light hair before. Our children, with their fair but sun-kissed skin and white hair, particularly drew their attention. The women chatted and laughed while pointing at us, clearly finding us quite unusual. As we boarded the boat to eat and prepare for the service, our onlookers began to make their way back home. It was time for dinner before darkness enveloped the jungle.
There was only one house by the narrow river, but we noticed several houses grouped around an open area a little further inland. Gro and the children stayed by the boat while Romulo and I walked toward the clearing. A couple of men emerged from one of the houses and gestured for us to come closer. One of the men turned out to be a logger from Morona who had taken a woman from the village as his wife. He was the only one who spoke Spanish, although he also understood the Achuar language. In most indigenous villages, there are usually a few younger individuals who can speak some Spanish, but here it seemed there was no one besides the logger. They did not have a school either. We were extremely grateful to have a friendly interpreter who was also a member of the village. He introduced us to the chief, who was relatively tall and robust. He had three long braids and wore the traditional wrap skirt seen among older men, including those from other tribes in Morona. The chief was in the process of crafting a "pucona," a two-meter-long blowgun used for hunting with poisoned darts. The large house had several fire pits. It seemed that the chief had multiple wives. We were welcomed to hold a gathering in his house that very evening.
Some of the villagers accompanied us down to the river. They watched 'Alli Shungo' and us with curiosity. It was likely that none of them had seen white people or such light hair before. Our children, with their fair but sun-kissed skin and white hair, particularly drew their attention. The women chatted and laughed while pointing at us, clearly finding us quite unusual. As we boarded the boat to eat and prepare for the service, our onlookers began to make their way back home. It was time for dinner before darkness enveloped the jungle.
A little later, we lit our kerosene lamp and were preparing to enter the village when we heard the sound of a horn blowing. It repeated several times, and we understood that it was a signal for the people to gather for the scheduled meeting. As we approached the chief's house, we saw in the flickering light of a couple of small kerosene lamps that some people had already arrived. Several more came in after us, and soon the house was filled, mostly with men. A few women and children sat nervously in a corner. The men sat on benches or overturned canoes. Most of them held guns and had painted faces. They did not greet us but stared straight ahead, their expressions hard and unyielding. The atmosphere was far from warm and welcoming. However, I sensed that their demeanor stemmed more from fear and suspicion than outright hostility. We sang a few songs before I spoke to them about God, our Creator, and Jesus as God's Son. The logger acted as our interpreter, and the assembly sat quietly, listening. It was hard to know how accurately he interpreted my words. He was completely unfamiliar with the message of the Bible, but he seemed sincere and did his best. The indigenous people believed in a Creator. However, the concept that He cared about humanity and sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to atone for our sins was new to them. I concluded with a prayer for the village and invited them to gather again the following evening. Everyone left quietly, without a word or farewell.
Attacked by Hungry Dogs
After breakfast the next day, we visited some of the huts in the village. Our interpreter faithfully joined us. With his help, we were able to make contact and gain a small insight into how the villagers lived. There were dogs in every household. Some were tightly tied to the posts under the houses, while others roamed freely. They were all extremely thin. When I asked if they were sick, I was told that they did not feed them. If they were fed, they wouldn’t make good hunting dogs! We had seen skinny dogs in other places as well, but none quite like these.
Lewi accompanied me on the visits while Gro held school with Maino and Sonya in the boat, as she did every day during the journey. Most of the huts in the village were built on stilts. Without me noticing, Lewi went down the steps from one of the houses. In an instant, he was attacked by 5 or 6 barking dogs. The owner quickly stood up and let out a roar. Both he and I jumped into the fray and managed to drive the dogs away. Lewi was only five years old and understandably terrified. He screamed in fear. His shorts were ripped in the back, but upon closer inspection, the dogs' teeth had not penetrated beyond the fabric, although there was a small red mark on his skin. We quickly made our way back to the boat, where he changed into clean shorts after a thorough washing with soap and disinfectant. We were concerned about rabies, but he emerged from the ordeal shaken but unharmed.
Attacked by Hungry Dogs
After breakfast the next day, we visited some of the huts in the village. Our interpreter faithfully joined us. With his help, we were able to make contact and gain a small insight into how the villagers lived. There were dogs in every household. Some were tightly tied to the posts under the houses, while others roamed freely. They were all extremely thin. When I asked if they were sick, I was told that they did not feed them. If they were fed, they wouldn’t make good hunting dogs! We had seen skinny dogs in other places as well, but none quite like these.
Lewi accompanied me on the visits while Gro held school with Maino and Sonya in the boat, as she did every day during the journey. Most of the huts in the village were built on stilts. Without me noticing, Lewi went down the steps from one of the houses. In an instant, he was attacked by 5 or 6 barking dogs. The owner quickly stood up and let out a roar. Both he and I jumped into the fray and managed to drive the dogs away. Lewi was only five years old and understandably terrified. He screamed in fear. His shorts were ripped in the back, but upon closer inspection, the dogs' teeth had not penetrated beyond the fabric, although there was a small red mark on his skin. We quickly made our way back to the boat, where he changed into clean shorts after a thorough washing with soap and disinfectant. We were concerned about rabies, but he emerged from the ordeal shaken but unharmed.
A Further Visit to the Chief and Learning More About Their Lives
Later in the day, we paid another visit to the chief. He was still working on the blowgun. Another man in the house was busy making arrows for the blowgun. He took the time to show us carefully how it was done and how they applied the poison to the arrows before they were stored in a container filled with grass. The interpreter translated for us during this fascinating explanation.
While we stood there listening, I noticed a large sealed clay pot beside one of the sleeping areas in the hut. I asked our interpreter if he knew what was inside it. He explained that the pot contained the remains of the chief's eldest son, who had died about a year earlier. We listened in disbelief at his explanation. The interpreter then pointed behind the house. There, at the edge of the forest, we saw some tree trunks lying across stilts, about two meters high. It turned out they were coffins carved out of suitably sized tree trunks.The deceased was placed in this coffin, which had a hole in the bottom. Afterward, wooden plugs were used to nail a bark lid over the opening in the trunk. Once that was done, a fire was lit underneath the coffin, producing a lot of smoke. This smoke-filled fire was maintained for several weeks to thoroughly dry out the body.
Later in the day, we paid another visit to the chief. He was still working on the blowgun. Another man in the house was busy making arrows for the blowgun. He took the time to show us carefully how it was done and how they applied the poison to the arrows before they were stored in a container filled with grass. The interpreter translated for us during this fascinating explanation.
While we stood there listening, I noticed a large sealed clay pot beside one of the sleeping areas in the hut. I asked our interpreter if he knew what was inside it. He explained that the pot contained the remains of the chief's eldest son, who had died about a year earlier. We listened in disbelief at his explanation. The interpreter then pointed behind the house. There, at the edge of the forest, we saw some tree trunks lying across stilts, about two meters high. It turned out they were coffins carved out of suitably sized tree trunks.The deceased was placed in this coffin, which had a hole in the bottom. Afterward, wooden plugs were used to nail a bark lid over the opening in the trunk. Once that was done, a fire was lit underneath the coffin, producing a lot of smoke. This smoke-filled fire was maintained for several weeks to thoroughly dry out the body.
When the body was completely dried, the village would gather to witness the ceremony that would follow. The remains of the deceased were taken from the coffin and crushed so that the dried body could be placed in the clay pot that had been made for this purpose. Thus, it was the chief's son who was in the pot. They informed us that in a few months, the deceased would be buried in an abandoned hut where others were also buried.
We walked thoughtfully down to the boat after our conversation with the chief and our interpreter. We had not heard of these burial rituals before. Later, we learned that other tribes in the area had practiced the same, but it was becoming less common. Once aboard the boat, I prepared for the evening service in the village. Before darkness fell, I returned to the chief’s house. Gro and the children stayed behind in the boat that evening. As I approached, I heard voices coming from the house. It was not yet fully dark, so I could see that at least as many people had gathered as the day before. I quickly noticed that fewer of them were carrying guns. Some even gave a sort of greeting as I entered and found my place on a bench next to the interpreter, who had promised to translate again that evening.
We walked thoughtfully down to the boat after our conversation with the chief and our interpreter. We had not heard of these burial rituals before. Later, we learned that other tribes in the area had practiced the same, but it was becoming less common. Once aboard the boat, I prepared for the evening service in the village. Before darkness fell, I returned to the chief’s house. Gro and the children stayed behind in the boat that evening. As I approached, I heard voices coming from the house. It was not yet fully dark, so I could see that at least as many people had gathered as the day before. I quickly noticed that fewer of them were carrying guns. Some even gave a sort of greeting as I entered and found my place on a bench next to the interpreter, who had promised to translate again that evening.
As on the previous day, I began the meeting by taking out my guitar and singing a few songs before reading from the Bible and speaking while the interpreter translated. I sensed that the mood improved, creating a more open and friendly atmosphere. Once again, I concluded with a prayer for the people of the village. It felt as though something had shifted, and both the words and the prayer were well received.
We Lose the Rudder.
The next morning, it became apparent that the river had dropped more than a meter overnight. We had no choice but to head downstream to Morona before the water level decreased further. After an early breakfast, we said goodbye to the villagers who had gathered by the river. I started the engine, turned the boat around, and set course downstream. However, we had only gone a couple of meters when the boat hit a submerged log. I lost control, and the boat veered straight into the bushes in the bend ahead. It turned out that the rudder had fallen off! We secured the boat and I began to dive and search for the rudder. Without it, we were stuck. The riverbed was sandy and the water was fairly clear, but we still couldn’t see down the 2-3 meters to the bottom. Romulo paddled around in the wooden boat, constantly probing the water with a harpoon. Throughout the day, some of the villagers and our interpreter came with their canoes and harpoons and followed Romulo’s example. They extended their harpoons with a pole. They worked for several hours while I dived and swam around with my harpoon. The natives do not like to dive, and many of them cannot swim very well either.
We Lose the Rudder.
The next morning, it became apparent that the river had dropped more than a meter overnight. We had no choice but to head downstream to Morona before the water level decreased further. After an early breakfast, we said goodbye to the villagers who had gathered by the river. I started the engine, turned the boat around, and set course downstream. However, we had only gone a couple of meters when the boat hit a submerged log. I lost control, and the boat veered straight into the bushes in the bend ahead. It turned out that the rudder had fallen off! We secured the boat and I began to dive and search for the rudder. Without it, we were stuck. The riverbed was sandy and the water was fairly clear, but we still couldn’t see down the 2-3 meters to the bottom. Romulo paddled around in the wooden boat, constantly probing the water with a harpoon. Throughout the day, some of the villagers and our interpreter came with their canoes and harpoons and followed Romulo’s example. They extended their harpoons with a pole. They worked for several hours while I dived and swam around with my harpoon. The natives do not like to dive, and many of them cannot swim very well either.
We continued this way all day without finding the rudder. It was a large iron rudder measuring about 30 X 25 inches. After finishing teaching and cooking, Gro spent much of the afternoon praying for a solution. As the clock approached six, the time for sunset and darkness, Gro felt the Lord say that we should search in a specific spot. We had already searched the entire area she indicated, but I lowered the extended harpoon to the bottom of that particular spot. After a couple of thrusts, we heard the sound of iron clanging against iron. There lay the rudder, almost buried in the sand at about six feet deep! Romulo kept the harpoon in place while I hurriedly found a rope, dove down, and wrapped it around the rudder. There was great jubilation both in the boat and among the spectators on shore as we hoisted the rope and safely brought the rudder aboard. Soon after, the sun set, and darkness enveloped the jungle. If we hadn’t found the rudder then, it would have been completely buried in sand by the next morning, and we would never have located it! That evening, we took a moment in the boat to give thanks to our Heavenly Father.
The next day, the rudder was to be reattached. We managed to maneuver the back end of the boat up onto some logs at the water's edge to access the axle. That’s when I discovered that the cotter pin on the axle was also missing. I had to fashion a new one from a large bolt, of which I had several in my toolbox. Most of the day was spent filing the bolt and partially diving underwater to test its fit. Finally, I got it in place on the axle and was able to secure the rudder, which was also tied to the axle with a thick nylon rope. In the late afternoon, we could continue downstream. The river had sunk another three feet and was alarmingly low. We navigated down the winding, narrow river at a slow pace.
The next day, the rudder was to be reattached. We managed to maneuver the back end of the boat up onto some logs at the water's edge to access the axle. That’s when I discovered that the cotter pin on the axle was also missing. I had to fashion a new one from a large bolt, of which I had several in my toolbox. Most of the day was spent filing the bolt and partially diving underwater to test its fit. Finally, I got it in place on the axle and was able to secure the rudder, which was also tied to the axle with a thick nylon rope. In the late afternoon, we could continue downstream. The river had sunk another three feet and was alarmingly low. We navigated down the winding, narrow river at a slow pace.
A Challenging Journey Downstream.
We hadn’t gone far when we spotted a tree lying across the river ahead. It was caught in the roots of one riverbank while the top extended over to the other side. The thick trunk was bobbing in the current. There was no way to stop. So, I accelerated and drove the boat onto the log, hoping it would sink under the weight of the boat, allowing us to pass over it. Instead, the boat came to a halt on the log, and we found ourselves stuck. We wobbled for a moment, fearing that we might capsize. Fortunately, the boat had a flat bottom, so it remained quite stable. We decided to try to chop the log down enough on one side so that it would give way. Equipped with an axe and a machete, Romulo and I balanced our way to the riverbank where the log was narrowest, about two and a half feet in diameter. We took turns chopping at the log. We worked for several hours, but the log held firm. It is not easy to chop a log that is partially underwater!
We kept at it for some time even after it got dark. By then, we were very tired and gave up for the night. It seemed that the water was rising, and we lay down to sleep. Gro wanted to keep watch. She was concerned that if the water rose, we might slip off the log and crash into the forest right in front of us around the bend. On the other hand, if the water level fell, we would get stuck even more. At midnight, she woke us up.:
It was clear that the water level was continuing to drop. With the help of flashlights, we carefully balanced our way back to the spot where we had been chopping. We had already gotten quite far into the log and kept chopping. Suddenly, the log cracked, and it sank slightly. I started the engine and gave it a full throttle. We slid off the log and drove straight into the riverbank ahead of us. As expected, the rudder fell off, along with the cotter pin in the axle, as we passed over the log. But there was no turning back now. Since I had tied the rudder with a rope, we simply had to hoist it aboard and secure the boat to a tree. There was little more we could do in the dark. We managed to get a few hours of sleep, and the next day, I set to work filing a new cotter pin. Again, it took several hours of labor before I could dive under the boat, insert the cotter pin, and secure the rudder in place.
The boat gets stuck between the logs.
Following this incident, we agreed that Romulo would go ahead in the small wooden boat to check the river for any obstacles before we moved through with 'Alli Shungo.' I had barely turned the boat and passed the next bend when Romulo came toward us in the small, wooden boat, waving his arms. He informed us that just below the next bend, three large trees were clustered across the river. The water level was dropping each day. As we traveled upstream, all of these logs were submerged deep enough that we hadn’t noticed them.
We secured the boat above the fallen trees and took the canoe to investigate. After examining the log jam more closely, we found a spot where it would be easiest to get the boat through. However, this required us to chop away a significant number of branches, some quite thick. We got to work chopping. We hadn’t been at it long when a canoe with a native man paddling upstream passed by us. A few hours later, two loggers came down from the village and offered their assistance. The man who had been paddling upriver had informed them of our situation. These were people experienced in logging. With their help, we managed to clear an opening for the boat.
When we thought it was big enough, I tied one end of a long rope to a tree trunk and the other end to the boat. In this way, we gradually let the boat slip through the opening. However, it wasn’t wide enough. The boat got stuck in the middle where it was widest. After considerable effort from our friends who were skilled with an axe, the last obstruction was removed, and we were able to pass the log jam. We were very grateful for their willingness and the help they provided. While we didn’t have much to offer in return, they were pleased to receive fishing gear in the form of lines and hooks. They paddled back upstream while we continued our journey downstream, once again with the wooden boat leading the way.
Back on the Morona river at last
Further down, we encountered yet another log floating in the water, but fortunately, it yielded, and we passed by without any problems. After a few more bends, we reached Morona, which seemed large and wide compared to the tributary we had come from. There, we turned upstream to visit two or three villages near the Ecuador border. We were grateful that despite all the challenges, we were able to visit the Achuar village in Mashumbara and share a message from God's Word with them. Our interpreter there, the logger, could read. He gladly accepted the portions of the Bible that we gave him. John visited the village again with evangelist Elio the following year when they had another opportunity to share the gospel with the Achuar people. A Wycliffe Bible translator working on the Achuar language later made contact with this and other villages in upper Morona. He and his wife typically stayed in one of the Achuar villages in a tributary leading to Pastaza while they learned the language and began translating portions of the Bible and teaching materials.
Both on the trip up Morona and back down again, we visited most of the villages along the river. In the small wooden boat, Romulo and I navigated to one of the Chapra villages in the Pushaga tributary, where there was a small group of believers. We also stopped in several Wampis villages. The villagers in Tipisca invited us again to come back for a longer stay, ideally for a year! I promised them that I would return later in the year and stay for a few weeks. That promise was fulfilled when I visited Morona in September/October and spent 24 days in Tipisca. Many were saved, and some were baptized during that time. In July 1975, when Elio and I were in Morona, we helped them build a simple palm church, the first among the Wampis in Morona.
Despite the challenges and difficulties, we saw God’s faithfulness, leading, and help as His Word spread into these previously unreached areas.
We hadn’t gone far when we spotted a tree lying across the river ahead. It was caught in the roots of one riverbank while the top extended over to the other side. The thick trunk was bobbing in the current. There was no way to stop. So, I accelerated and drove the boat onto the log, hoping it would sink under the weight of the boat, allowing us to pass over it. Instead, the boat came to a halt on the log, and we found ourselves stuck. We wobbled for a moment, fearing that we might capsize. Fortunately, the boat had a flat bottom, so it remained quite stable. We decided to try to chop the log down enough on one side so that it would give way. Equipped with an axe and a machete, Romulo and I balanced our way to the riverbank where the log was narrowest, about two and a half feet in diameter. We took turns chopping at the log. We worked for several hours, but the log held firm. It is not easy to chop a log that is partially underwater!
We kept at it for some time even after it got dark. By then, we were very tired and gave up for the night. It seemed that the water was rising, and we lay down to sleep. Gro wanted to keep watch. She was concerned that if the water rose, we might slip off the log and crash into the forest right in front of us around the bend. On the other hand, if the water level fell, we would get stuck even more. At midnight, she woke us up.:
It was clear that the water level was continuing to drop. With the help of flashlights, we carefully balanced our way back to the spot where we had been chopping. We had already gotten quite far into the log and kept chopping. Suddenly, the log cracked, and it sank slightly. I started the engine and gave it a full throttle. We slid off the log and drove straight into the riverbank ahead of us. As expected, the rudder fell off, along with the cotter pin in the axle, as we passed over the log. But there was no turning back now. Since I had tied the rudder with a rope, we simply had to hoist it aboard and secure the boat to a tree. There was little more we could do in the dark. We managed to get a few hours of sleep, and the next day, I set to work filing a new cotter pin. Again, it took several hours of labor before I could dive under the boat, insert the cotter pin, and secure the rudder in place.
The boat gets stuck between the logs.
Following this incident, we agreed that Romulo would go ahead in the small wooden boat to check the river for any obstacles before we moved through with 'Alli Shungo.' I had barely turned the boat and passed the next bend when Romulo came toward us in the small, wooden boat, waving his arms. He informed us that just below the next bend, three large trees were clustered across the river. The water level was dropping each day. As we traveled upstream, all of these logs were submerged deep enough that we hadn’t noticed them.
We secured the boat above the fallen trees and took the canoe to investigate. After examining the log jam more closely, we found a spot where it would be easiest to get the boat through. However, this required us to chop away a significant number of branches, some quite thick. We got to work chopping. We hadn’t been at it long when a canoe with a native man paddling upstream passed by us. A few hours later, two loggers came down from the village and offered their assistance. The man who had been paddling upriver had informed them of our situation. These were people experienced in logging. With their help, we managed to clear an opening for the boat.
When we thought it was big enough, I tied one end of a long rope to a tree trunk and the other end to the boat. In this way, we gradually let the boat slip through the opening. However, it wasn’t wide enough. The boat got stuck in the middle where it was widest. After considerable effort from our friends who were skilled with an axe, the last obstruction was removed, and we were able to pass the log jam. We were very grateful for their willingness and the help they provided. While we didn’t have much to offer in return, they were pleased to receive fishing gear in the form of lines and hooks. They paddled back upstream while we continued our journey downstream, once again with the wooden boat leading the way.
Back on the Morona river at last
Further down, we encountered yet another log floating in the water, but fortunately, it yielded, and we passed by without any problems. After a few more bends, we reached Morona, which seemed large and wide compared to the tributary we had come from. There, we turned upstream to visit two or three villages near the Ecuador border. We were grateful that despite all the challenges, we were able to visit the Achuar village in Mashumbara and share a message from God's Word with them. Our interpreter there, the logger, could read. He gladly accepted the portions of the Bible that we gave him. John visited the village again with evangelist Elio the following year when they had another opportunity to share the gospel with the Achuar people. A Wycliffe Bible translator working on the Achuar language later made contact with this and other villages in upper Morona. He and his wife typically stayed in one of the Achuar villages in a tributary leading to Pastaza while they learned the language and began translating portions of the Bible and teaching materials.
Both on the trip up Morona and back down again, we visited most of the villages along the river. In the small wooden boat, Romulo and I navigated to one of the Chapra villages in the Pushaga tributary, where there was a small group of believers. We also stopped in several Wampis villages. The villagers in Tipisca invited us again to come back for a longer stay, ideally for a year! I promised them that I would return later in the year and stay for a few weeks. That promise was fulfilled when I visited Morona in September/October and spent 24 days in Tipisca. Many were saved, and some were baptized during that time. In July 1975, when Elio and I were in Morona, we helped them build a simple palm church, the first among the Wampis in Morona.
Despite the challenges and difficulties, we saw God’s faithfulness, leading, and help as His Word spread into these previously unreached areas.