Fear is a Nine-Foot Anaconda
What I Learned in the Amazon Basin about Mastering My Fears.
On our trip around South America, My Dear Husband and I ventured into the Bolivian Amazon where I hoped to come face to face with one of my biggest fears: a giant Anaconda. I figured if I stared down the scariest thing I could imagine maybe I’d overcome some less tangible, but equally paralyzing fears that prevented me from getting what I wanted out of life.
Our arrival in the Amazon River basin’s Madidi National Park coincided with the rainy season. Water was everywhere, covering the pampas grass and rising to nearly the same height as the trees. David, our guide, introduced himself and motioned for our group of six Indiana Jones wannabes to climb into a motorized dugout canoe.
Madidi National Park is one of the most ecologically diverse areas in the world with pink dolphins, caiman, spider monkeys, jaguars, and thousands of bird species. As we snaked our way through a watery maze, David pointed out the exotic-looking Hoatzin “Happy Bird.” Sitting in his nest, which because of the high water was at eye level with our canoe, he sported the spiky headdress of a punk rocker balanced by an even longer tail and a short, fat beak. A look that would not be out of place at the Met Gala. An elegant white and sapphire-blue heron stood regally at attention, and a Scarlet Macaw flashed its bright blue, yellow, and red feathers as it flew overhead.
Our boat motored lazily along the Yacuma River as sweat from the thick jungle air formed its own river down my neck and onto my arms. I let my hand drift alongside the boat.
“You don’t want to do that,” David said casually. “Caiman.”
I quickly withdrew my hand. Sometimes fear is a good thing.
Finally, we arrived at our lodge. Three wooden buildings painted a faded green and topped with thatched roofs of pampas grass floated on the water connected by dock walkways. We wouldn’t touch dry land for three days. At dinner, I gazed out the mesh dining room window designed to keep out the most dangerous wildlife: mosquitos. A Caiman swam lazily from one end of the dock to the other. His eyes and swishing tail were the only things visible in the muddy brown water.
“I guess we won’t be swimming,” I said to My Dear Husband who loves nothing better than jumping into a lake or ocean.
“Yes. Careful not to fall into the water when you walk to the bathroom this evening,” David added only half joking.
Before dawn the next morning I’m awakened by a large group of old men whose ear-splitting belches echo through the jungle. The noise was so loud that I fumbled in the dark for my clothes and went in search of a cup of coffee.
David was already in the dining hall. “Howler monkeys,” he explained.
Well, yes, I thought, We are in the jungle. I’d mistaken remote for quiet.
“I hope we see an Anaconda today,” I said, grabbing a cup of coffee.
It was a strange request considering I was literally petrified of snakes. A harmless Garter snake slithering across my path paralyzed me, forcing my companions to grab my arm and lead me to safety. I had nightmares of snakes stretching their heads out of hotel toilet bowls or falling from trees. I lived in fear of finding one curled up inside of my sleeping bag.
I couldn’t easily explain why I so desperately wanted to see an Anaconda – a snake known for curling itself around its prey and crushing it to death – except to say that I wanted to get comfortable with being uncomfortable. All too often fear and anxiety had stopped me in my tracks like a snake crossing my path, causing me to back away from experiencing all that life offered. When I was brave enough to throw myself at it wholeheartedly.
Fear is a nine-foot Anaconda. Courage is the snake charmer who seductively lures the reptile out of the woven basket. When courage plays the tune then life is rich and full. If I faced my tangible fears then maybe the intangible ones like my fear of getting old, running out of money, and living with uncertainty about the future would seem less daunting. I wanted to look fear in the eye.
My trip to the Amazon wouldn’t be complete unless I saw an Anaconda.
“I’ll do my best,” David responded. “This isn’t really the season to see Anaconda.” After breakfast, he handed us all black rubber waders. “Put these on. We’re going snake hunting.”
Our destination was a marshy wooded area with a small worn-out shed and a pile of cut lumber. Both looked like they could potentially house an Anaconda or two. David told us to walk several yards behind him while he probed the oily black muck with a long stick. One step at a time he made his way cautiously to the wood pile.
The rest of us fanned out behind him. Our movements were slow and exaggerated. The only sound – apart from the pounding of my heart – was the slurping of mud grabbing our waders as we lifted each foot out of the muck before tentatively setting it down again. Every branch poking up through the mud was the periscope head of an Anaconda.
Snakes weren’t the only danger in this swamp. Caiman lurked just below the water – invisible until it was too late. What if I put my foot down in the wrong place? And yet, I moved forward, the thrill of the hunt outweighing my fear. David banged his stick against a tree, encouraging any snakes nesting above to show themselves. I wasn’t sure I wanted this. A snake dropping down from a tree would, in fact, be my biggest nightmare.
We reached the woodpile, and our leader carefully lifted the boards, hoping – or maybe not – to see an Anaconda coiled up beneath. No such luck. Our search covered the entire marsh, but the only other being we encountered was a disgruntled Capybara.
As we climbed back into the canoe, the adrenaline of walking through the watery minefield dissipated, leaving us all drained. While our boat slowly plied the muddy water of the Yacuma River, I wondered whether the emotion I felt was disappointment at having missed out on seeing one of the most dangerous reptiles in the world or the relief of a struggling student who studied for a math test and then found out she didn’t have to take it.
“That looks like a snake,” My Dear Husband said calmly.
Lying among the leafy green branches of a low-lying tree was what looked like a snake, but perhaps was just a fallen branch. David motored closer. A large Anaconda, a line of black spots marching up its thick, golden body, lay motionless in the water. “Bitten by a pink dolphin as it crossed the river,” he explained.
One of the men in our group picked up the snake and held it like a fisherman proudly displaying his catch. The snake was as long as the man and so thick he could barely get his hands around it. Even dead, the beast looked threatening. I shuddered but moved closer, both fascinated and repelled.
“Do you want to hold it?” the man asked me. I shook my head.
It was enough to come face to face with the serpent and know that it couldn’t actually harm me.
I am reminded by a Georgia O’Keefe quote. She said she was afraid to do most things, but the fear of not experiencing them was greater so she did them anyway!
You are so much braver than me, Kaarin! Having survived some scary, if not ultimately life-threatening, experiences in my life, I am now all about minimizing my exposure to things that could cause me to die -- like seeking anacondas in the Amazon. That said, your point about facing your greatest outlandish fears to better address practical ones is well taken. I have a fear of driving over bridges, and am terrified that someday I will fall down a flight of stairs and break my neck. But I can't avoid stairs my whole life, and sometimes the only way to get to a magical place -- or simply back home -- is over a bridge. I am petrified by spiders, and when I was a kid, my mother finally had enough of my wailing that I had seen yet another spider in the house. She stood there with me until I killed it and removed the remains myself. I hate disposing of spiders to this day, but have also learned that there are so many bigger things to fear -- like a rapidly changing climate, out-of-control gun violence, and the decimation of my rights as a woman to control my own reproductive choices. I am so glad that you didn't have to deal with a live anaconda -- there are so many fears to tackle, that you shouldn't have to face them all :)