Canoeing down the Kalu Ganga

The trip had been on my mind for a long time. The trick was to find a matching dullard to come along. Wild goose chasers these days are hard to come by. Ananda came from far, all the way from Melbourne, left his legal paraphernalia and pleaded guilty to join me in canoeing down the beautiful Kalu Ganga, from Ratnapura to Kalutara.

Forget the planning. There is no planning. Our lives are too full of plans. This one was pure spasmodic, take-it-as-it-comes stuff. The boat was there, the lovable SOLITAIRE. We were ready; Ana Jayasinghe and I, and the Kalu Ganga would surely flow. That’s all you need to melody moonbeams.

It would take three days, or that’s what I reckoned. In age, Ana and I added to a fair amount over hundred years. He’s never canoed before, but he runs full marathons, and knows what discipline is. That’s what you need in the river, a plodder who will hang in there when the going gets rough. The days would surely crawl from tiring to very tiring. We would stop two nights. Friends would put us up.

Then, there was Hemal, the support man, who would follow us by van. We were no Robinson Crusoes. A touch of civilisation was a must, especially considering how young we were. It was a mandatory ruling given by the family tree from every single branch.

Day one was from Ratnapura to Kiriella. I do not know what the river distance is, but it is a lot more than by road. Kalu Ganga meanders all the time. Three hours of steady rowing, from three to six in the evening, brought us to Kiriella. Out there, the river is narrow and jangles fast, makes it a bit rough, but easy paddling for old shoulder blades. Ana, the novice, tested out well. We packed the boat ashore, and went back to stay the night at Ratnapura.

The following morning we started out early. By seven we were in the river. The idea was to go as far as possible, to lighten the third day. It was beautiful. Words do fail me in my best attempt to describe. How can I punch buttons on a thinkpad and relate something I feel deep inside? I’ll try. The Kalu Ganga flows, misted in the middle, and the far banks filled with flora in all shades of green. From the beginning it is a well-laid buffet for the eyes. It is serene and silent. Only the bird calls disturb quietness. The skies put out a sheet of blue, dappled with various shapes of white clouds, dots of cirrus and dashes of stratus. The wind blows, soothing the soul. The world stands still as we row, just as nature intended.

We came from Kiriella passing Pahala Dumbara, Bodinagala, and Bulathsinhala, to the bridge across the Horana-Govinna road, three hours 50 minutes. We had breakfast on the riverbank, a feast of hoppers and bananas. Took a few breaks, and came to the bridge by noon.

 We carried the boat under the bridge. The jagged rocks there, are for Rambo types, certainly not for two ancient pelicans. From the bridge we rowed to Veherawatta, Kotapotha, Narathupana and Thebuwana. Kotapotha was the best I saw. We bathed in natural granite bath-tubs, installed on the river by the Gods themselves, where the water jacuzzied around you. Smoked a cigar and talked of life. We both agreed we couldn’t change our lots, too many responsibilities. The lawyer and the aeroplane driver would remain. Too far ingrained. But we sure were thankful for this interval.

Thebuwana was a stop for lunch. We ate two packets of rice and rested on a sand bank under a bo tree. It is the people you meet that give the varnish to the trip. A kind woman, living with her two small children in a shanty, gave us plain tea. The boatmen, the river dobbins making their meagre living, were ever so friendly. We stopped and chatted. Broke their monotony, and ours too. They wished us well, we wished back for the fish to bite, hello and good-bye. The best were the sand collectors we met, or should I say the saddest. Jayantha is 29. He dives and digs sand from the riverbed. Only job available. He works from 6 to 6 and makes 600-700 rupees. He starts the day with a gulp of moonshine and continues to warm himself from the brew all day long. “Otherwise too cold” he tells me. He ends the day with a full bottle, the ecstasy of the poor. He is not the odd one. It is the norm among the sand diggers. No solution. No way out, perpetual penance in the concert of the downtrodden. The names of the actors did alter, but never the parts.

From Thebuwana we rowed to Galpatha, a pleasant afternoon’s work. It was six again when we came ashore. Total rowing time for the day; eight hrs and 40 minutes, only three more hours to Kalutara.

The next day was the grand finale. The river gets wide after Galapatha and there is hardly a flow, hard work for worn old muscles. SOLITAIRE moved along, as graceful as ever. Our paddles dipped, and our hearts sang, as we inched our way to the destination. We came around the last bend and there loomed in all its majesty, the shining white dagaba of the Kalutara Bodhiya. It is a sight to remember, the two bridges linking the banks, the sea in the far horizon, and the temple dominating a clear blue sky.

The wild goose chase was over. “Oru Ana” packed his bags and flew off to Melbourne, to yell in courtrooms, whilst I crept back to my flight deck to drive aeroplanes. But we treasure the remembrance. We’ll surely take some moments and think of Solitaire and the Kalu Ganga, the journey, the people, the totality, all adding to the beauty and serenity of a distant world. We certainly will be thankful for the little intermission. A break from our daily drudgery, to sing our hearts on an odyssey, that others possibly may call eccentric and absurd.

At times, in life, such moonbeam melodies do make a difference.

(If you need more information about rowing in the Kalu Ganga, contact the writer.)