It was a four-day first descent on one of the most remote rivers we could find in Madagascar. We wanted to get lost—completely lost—in the jungle, and this river looked like the answer.
There is something incredibly seductive about losing oneself to nature, about putting down the electronics, and paddling deep into the wilderness. On expeditions like these where I can extract myself from the familiar, my senses become sharper, my thoughts more alert, and I learn the greatest lessons about the world around me.
“There is something incredibly seductive about losing oneself to nature, about putting down the electronics, and paddling deep into the wilderness.”
So after three days alone on the river, me and three of my best friends, Alex Nicks, Josh Bechtel and Rush Sturges couldn’t have been happier. We were wooed by the sounds of lemurs, surrounded by exotic birds, walking with snakes and sleeping with insects the likes of which I’ve never seen; bright neon blue and green butterflies bobbing through the air like jellyfish. Giant wasps the size of humming birds hovered near our kayaks, more curious than aggressive. It was paradise.
Then on day four everything changed. We were floating around another peaceful corner, filled with anticipation for what the river might hold. Instead, we were stunned to find the verdant jungle burnt and charred, and the bodies of the snakes and lemurs lying in the ashes, smoking.
“We were wooed by the sounds of lemurs, surrounded by exotic birds, walking with snakes and sleeping with insects the likes of which I’ve never seen.”
From then on, the river became progressively more inhabited, with fewer trees and more people. Black, burnt clearings and make-shift shelters scarred the landscape. Occasionally, one or two families watched us from the river edge. We later learned the farmers homesteading that area employed mass burning to clear the jungle and stake their claim for their Zebu (Malagasy cattle). They stood in awe as we floated by and we—our hearts filled with sadness—would force a smile and wave.
Coincidentally (or not) the river became more dangerous as we floated toward civilization. Sketchy dams and fishing apparatuses littered the river. At one point, Josh fell into a man-made sieve in the rocks and nearly drowned.
It was as if humanity was slowly creeping up the river corridor, like an infection.
I don’t blame the Malagasy farmers for their farming and I understand their need to do so, but it was heartbreaking to see human life taking over in a way that so absolutely dominates nature. It seems that no matter how hard we try to set up regulations to preserve our last swaths of wilderness, the devastation we inflict on nature grows.
“It was as if humanity was slowly creeping up the river corridor, like an infection.”
You might be wondering: as someone who wants to spend the rest of his life on isolated and remote rivers, what am I doing to keep them healthy and wild? Good question. I don’t spend a lot of time doing environmental work. What I do spend my time on is getting kids and young adults on the rivers. Hundreds of them each year. Because I want them to experience the rivers the way I do, to strike up a relationship with the wilderness, and understand its inherent beauty. It’s not a comprehensive solution, but maybe if more people knew Nature the way I do, if more people allowed themselves to get lost, they would feel a more natural urge to take better care of our wild spaces.
When I recount experiences like the one in Madagascar, it’s easy to feel hopeless—as if the battle is already lost. At times like this, I remember a quote from one of my favorite nature writers, Edward Abbey. It offers the best comfort and guidance I’ve found to face such realities:
“Do not burn yourselves out,” Abbey wrote, “Be as I am — a reluctant enthusiast… a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic… It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space.”
“You might be wondering: as someone who wants to spend the rest of his life on isolated and remote rivers, what am I doing to keep them healthy and wild?”
Yes, we do have to fight to protect the rivers. If we don’t, humans will gradually erode them away. But we also have to get out there and enjoy them. I plan to continue my self-fulfilling pursuit of peace and isolation on the remote rivers around the world—going further and deeper into the corners of the world in order to get truly lost. But all the while, I brace myself for what’s waiting beyond the next river bend.
—Brad Ludden is a professional kayaker who has bagged first river descents in some of the most remote corners of the globe. He is also the founder of FirstDescents.org, a charity committed to curing young adult of the emotional effects of cancer by empowering them to get outdoors and experience kayaking, rock climbing and other outdoor adventure sports.
