Collins continued his tour: “These tepuis are so old and so isolated that they have their own unique species of flora and fauna that don’t exist anywhere else.”
“That’s why we’re here,” said Brodie. “To find a rare bird.”
Collins made a tight one-hundred-eighty-degree turn in the canyon, then exited and rounded the eastern side of the massive tabletop mountain. To the south they could see a break in the jungle where miles of grassland fanned out from the tepui’s southern base.
Collins asked, “Ready to land?”
Brodie called out, “No—but fly around Kavak before we go on.”
“Okay… Any reason for that?”
“My wife wants to take pictures.”
“Okay.”
“Mind if I borrow your binocs?”
“Not at all.” Collins retrieved his binoculars from his flight bag, which he’d returned to the co-pilot seat, and handed them back to Brodie.
Brodie looked out his side window and adjusted the binoculars as Collins rounded the south side of the tepui and began his descent toward Kavak.
After a few minutes of flying over the expansive savanna, Collins said, “Kavak coming up on your side, Mr. Bowman. One o’clock.”
Brodie looked out at the grassland and spotted a small, winding river, then to its east a group of about twenty thatched-roof huts—a mixture of round, square, and oval—about half a mile away. On the south side of the village was the airstrip, which was actually just a swath of cut grass with a wind sock and some markers, about six hundred yards long.
Collins said, “Kavak is not really an indigenous village. It’s more like a tourist place. Seven or eight guesthouses, a storage hut for stuff that people order and have flown in, and a few transient huts for the Pemón natives who are either guides or caretakers for the guesthouses, boat landing, and airstrip.”
Brodie asked, “What’s the best bar and restaurant in town?”
“There’s one communal dining hall.”
“How’s the food?”
“Fresh. There’s no refrigeration. No electricity.” He added, “There’s rum and beer for sale. Sometimes other stuff.” Collins began a right bank over the village.
“Get a little lower over the airstrip so my wife can take some pictures. Mind if I come forward?”
“Okay.”
Brodie squeezed into the cockpit, moved Collins’ flight bag behind the seat, and sat in the right-hand seat while Collins began a corkscrew descent over the airstrip. Brodie peered through the binoculars out his side window, focusing on the tall grass around the airstrip, then on the scattering of huts, which appeared to be painted yellow, as per Carmen. There didn’t seem to be any unusual activity down there. In fact, no activity except a few people down by the river, fishing. He spotted a mudflat, on which sat about ten small watercraft. “Can I rent a boat?”
Collins leveled the Cessna at about five hundred feet and continued his banking turn over the airstrip and village. “Yeah. The Pemón guides will take you up- or downriver. Buck an hour.”
“I just want the boat.”
“I don’t know… you can ask.”
Taylor was kneeling now between the two cockpit seats, and she asked Brodie, “See anything interesting?”
“Looks green,” he replied, using the radio code word for a safe LZ. Yellow meant caution, and red was hot, but you usually didn’t know that until you were on the ground.
Taylor said, “I would call yellow. Too quiet.”
“Maybe.”
Collins did a few glances at his passengers. “Folks?”
Brodie explained, “I think the huts are green. My wife says a quiet yellow.” He peered down at the airstrip. “I see the wind sock. Wind coming from the east, Captain.”
Collins glanced out his windshield. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He remarked, “I don’t see any birds.”
“They’re probably in the jungle, Mr. Bowman.”
“Right. They hang out there.” He asked, “Anything down there that can eat you?”
“Yeah. Cougars and jaguars.”
“Sorry I asked.”
“Also piranhas in the river. Maybe some crocs.”
Brodie said to Taylor, “There goes our midnight skinny-dip.”
Collins agreed, “I wouldn’t go in that river.”
“Good advice.” He thought they’d circled enough—maybe too much if anyone was watching—and he said, “Okay, let’s continue our sightseeing.”
Collins glanced at his fuel range. “Yeah, we can fly maybe another hour and still have plenty of fuel to get to TDH.” He put the Cessna into a climb. “What do you want to see?”
Taylor replied, “We’d like to see an area along that river, maybe six or seven miles southeast from Kavak.” She added, “That’s where we’re going later to see birds.”
“Okay.” He banked left and took a new heading.
Taylor said, “Lower, and slower please.”
Brodie recalled that Carmen had mentioned seeing another tepui from Mercer’s camp, so