Cânion Índios Coroados
The next day, I aired down the suspension in preparation for several more days on these back roads. The greasing of the front suspension appeared to have made no difference to the incredibly loud squeaking, but at least we knew we weren’t damaging our suspension bars. I had another look, and it seemed like the shock bush was wearing out. Nothing too dramatic, but we weren’t really in a position to find one of those right now. Our plan was to wind our way via the back roads to Parque Nacional da Serra Geral. This area has all sorts of lovely hikes and canyons to explore, and we thought it’d make a great stop-off on our way.
I was enjoying the slow driving — even if it was rough and the suspension was squeaky. I always feel like this is what Ruby is made for. She’s not there to cruise at high speed down a motorway; she’s there for the slow routes, the backcountry, and the hidden gems. We bounced along in the sunshine, enjoying the views. The weather was pleasant. At this slight altitude, it was a bit cooler, making the nights fresh. The drop in ambient temperature was easier on the engine, too, which made driving more enjoyable. We decided we’d do a big drive today, putting us within striking distance of the park tomorrow. It was under 200 km, but would probably take us the best part of five hours. On the way, we decided we’d stop off at "The Unevenness of Rivers" — not a hugely popular tourist attraction, but we always like to go and see something new.
Access to this place is down a private drive to a farm. The road got rougher and, in one section, incredibly steep — but as it had been dry, we made it up. We slowly made our way on a narrow, single-track road through a forest of monkey puzzle trees until we came out into a valley. A few farms were dotted around, and we followed the signs until we pulled up in someone's yard. A guy came out and greeted us, asking if we were here to see the river. He said he’d explain the way.
He showed us inside an old room, telling us a bit of the history of the place. They also have guests stay here sometimes — it’s not just a private house. We walked through the stables and across the yard. He gave us directions to reach the river and then waved us on. We had thought we’d have to pay, but he didn’t mention any money and left us to go and explore.
We walked out of the farmyard and down a grassy path that went through a thicket of trees. On the other side, we came out at a small pond and kept going back into the trees beyond. In here, the first river flowed. It was up to our knees and the water was cold. The riverbed was nearly a single piece of solid rock, and with the addition of a rope that had been tied across between the trees, it was easy enough to take our shoes off and wade through.
On the other side, we walked up a little hill to come out onto a rocky outcrop. The view was indeed a little odd. In front of us, the rocks fell away into another river below; behind us, the river we had just crossed continued. The two rivers ran only a matter of metres away from each other in width, but at two completely different levels — hence its name, "The Unevenness of Rivers".
We climbed the hill behind to get a better look at the landscape. It was a beautiful day and a welcome break from driving, too. We sat on top of the hill, discussing how this could be the perfect spot to live: the water, the forest, the rolling hills — it was all rather lovely.
After daydreaming, it was time to go and let the cats out of a hot car and grab a spot of lunch. One of the things we were enjoying about our new fridge was the fact that we could access it easily while driving. We have always liked the theoretical idea of breaking up the day by stopping off for lunch — you pull over at a nice spot, sit in the view with your sandwiches, possibly swap drivers, and continue on. Often, the times we end up driving span that part of the day. The reality, however, is less idyllic: you stop for lunch, but you can’t get to anything. You have to unpack half the van to get to the food cupboards, then you make lunch with the roof down hunched over, with stuff everywhere. Next you have to wash up in a similar manner, repack the van, and keep going — it’s too much hassle. Even if you pre-make your food, getting to the fridge requires moving a lot of stuff, so we never do it. Now, though, there’s an easy-access fridge! So we sat in the car park in the shade of a tree while the girls lay under the van in the shade. We ate our leftover pasta from the night before with a nice cold bottle of water. It might not sound exciting to you, but to us, it was quite something.
The chance to eat three meals a day if we wanted to — the option to easily have that routine. Sometimes the absolute lack of structure is a hard thing, so we enjoyed this little detail.
Ready for the next section, we headed back out the way we had come to the "main road". In the next town, we stocked up on fuel and enjoyed driving nearly an entire kilometre on tarmac before, once more, we diverted off into nowhere. We were heading to another picturesque river spot. The tracks here were still in pretty good condition. It was clearly part of a forestry project, with large swathes of the surrounding pine forest felled. We passed some trucks with their loads of logs as we continued on. It turns out we continued on a bit too far. We went round a rather lumpy, steep bend and headed up the hill. As we drove up, it seemed the river was getting further away in the valley below. Then we saw Google had done its famous trick: when it can’t locate the access road, it takes you to the nearest point on the nearest road and tells you to walk. Of course, a lot of the time, this is in totally the wrong place. For us, the access road had been all the way back at that gnarly bend. So we turned around and bumped slowly back down before turning off onto a far muddier track that went into the trees again.
It was only a short drive down here over the soft track, lined by years of pine needles. We powered through the odd boggy bit and came out at the river. There was one other car parked on the other side, so we chose to stay near where we had come in. We pulled up under the trees, right on the riverbank. It was a beautiful spot, and its only downside was that there was little space out from under the trees. This meant no internet and no sun. As such, it was a spot to be enjoyed for a day — and as it stood, we didn’t have any longer anyway.
Even if we had persuaded ourselves to take an extra day, we would have changed our minds in the morning. That evening, we sat outside and cooked dinner over the first campfire we’ve had in a very long time. It was beautifully silent, especially for a Friday night — nothing but the river noises, the crackle of twigs on an open fire, and the occasional sound of racing paws as the cats enjoyed a late bedtime.
The next day, cars started arriving early. One, two... then more. They pulled up away from us at first, but as more and more arrived, the group expanded towards us. They left a large space in the middle and began wrestling a giant blue tarpaulin up between the trees. Somewhere nearby several tressle tables were being unloaded from the back of a beaten up pick up. Tonight was definitely not going to be the same, and anyway, it was time to be going. We just about made it back out of the space before they boxed us in completely, and we set off back up the lumpy road.
Access to the spot had been rough, but the road to leave was far worse. Hard, jagged rocks and, in places, lumpy, loose sections kept us from getting out of second gear. There was nothing worrying about the road — no section that we couldn’t do — but it was slow going. There is always a nagging thought in the back of my mind that we will spend hours driving all this only to find we can’t get out the other side and have to come all the way back. We have been burnt before. Happily, this wasn’t one of those times, and eventually the track grew wider and more frequently used until it deposited us back on the main road. This was still unpaved and slow, but it was now not far to the next town of Cambará do Sul.
After passing through this town, we turned to the east again, heading once more back towards the edge of the mountain range and the coast. We wouldn’t be going back down, but the national park we were aiming for sat right here at the edge. All through the town were posters for hiking tours, hot air balloon trips, and waterfall visits. Many ran tours from here down to there, and with this in mind, you might think the road would have been better. It was not, however. After leaving the town, we were once again back on rough dirt tracks as we slowly made our way to the edge.
As we approached the canyons, we fell back into the clouds. While the road here is bad, if you continue further and start to head back down the mountain, it becomes a nice tarmac surface. They clearly hadn’t got as far as joining this up with the town yet. What it meant for us is that a lot of the little side camping spots had disappeared when they re-did the road. We opted for a spot near the abandoned ranger's station. We could have parked right next to the building, but it was also possible to drive along a small, flooded track further on, which meant we could park on the edge of the cliffs and have a spot to ourselves.
The arrival of the thick clouds had changed our plans. When we left Cambará, we thought we wanted to go for a hike down the canyons. It was a hot day, though, and we couldn’t leave the cats in the car. As it was a national park, we also couldn’t let them out of the car. If we could have parked in the shade, it would have been fine, but the car park was in full sun. We decided instead that we’d try the free short walk nearby. This was another reason to park here, as the walk started from the ranger's station, so we could leave the cats behind at the van and go. It wasn’t the big hike we’d have liked, but sometimes you have to compromise. At the moment with the weather, there was no point in doing anything anyway.
We hoped that the cloud would clear up in the morning. Apparently, it’s common for the clouds to cover the area by mid-morning, and right now we couldn’t see a thing past the edge. The weather itself wasn’t unpleasant, though, and we took the opportunity to sit outside with some maps we had recently bought and do a bit of route planning. We still hadn’t quite wrapped our heads around how we were going to do the central part of the country once we left Brazil. After lots of sticky arrows, we had a bit more of a plan — no doubt we wouldn’t stick to it, but you’ve got to have something to work from, after all.
We had planned to try and get up a bit earlier in the morning so we could walk down before things got cloudy. We hadn’t planned on already being awake at sunrise because of the weather however. That night, a storm came and with it a wind that had that same raw ferocity as the winds from Patagonia. It was so bad that we got out of bed and dropped the roof. While it’s possible to sleep in bed with the roof dropped at the front end, it’s nearly impossible to do it the other way round, and the wind was coming from behind us. We came up with a rather awkward arrangement where I lay on half the bed upstairs in the foetal position while Lee tried to drape himself across the sofa. Needless to say, neither of us slept much after that. By the time the storm blew itself out, the red light of dawn was coming up over the sea, now visible in the distance.
While I had definitely not planned to be awake at this time, now that I was anyway, it seemed logical to make the most of it. We threw on some extra clothes in the cold of dawn and walked over to the ranger's station. The sun was rising quickly and for now, the view was clear.
The walk is technically closed: a big sign declaring "DANGER" stands by what used to be a gate. Now, a couple of strands of barbed wire hang slackly between the posts. It’s clearly not much of a deterrent, as a worn, clear footpath continues beyond. I was mainly in my pyjamas and, for some reason, my flip-flops. The path here goes through a very wet, peaty bog, and I gave up on my shoes and squelched barefoot onwards. It’s not a long path; after a few hundred metres, you cross a small stream and then you are at the edge. Some other overly keen people were there — they had breakfast, some unpleasant music, and their mate cup was already going. As much as I begrudged their overly cheerful presence after my horrible night, I couldn't help admiring the view. It was spectacular.
Directly in front of us across the canyon, a huge waterfall plummeted into the abyss. The mountains completely fell away here. At the bottom to the east, we saw hot air balloons taking off in the red dawn mist, and behind them, over the sea, the sun crept up from the horizon. It was worth it.
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