A lost world above the clouds
In August 1835, a young German cartographer named Robert Schomburgk arrived in Georgetown, the capital of British Guiana, to begin an epic journey on behalf of the Royal Geographical Society. His aim was to create the first detailed maps of Britain’s only colony in mainland South America.
After travelling for three years, Schomburgk reached the country’s remote southwestern frontier, and there he beheld a colossal plateau towering on the distant horizon – an immense flat-topped mountain encircled on all sides by sheer cliffs up to 450 metres high. Schomburgk learned that this gigantic tableland – known to the local Pemón Amerindians as Roraima, and one of approximately 100 so-called tepuis scattered across the surrounding region – was revered and respected by the local people as the realm of the gods and spirits, a world that supposedly could never be reached by humans.
After spending several days determining the coordinates and altitude of Mount Roraima, Schomburgk concluded that ‘without wings, the intrepid explorer… would not be able to reach its summit’, and without attempting an ascent, he headed southwest towards Brazil to continue his survey.
A land forever out of reach
Roraima’s full importance only became apparent during the decades after Schomburgk returned from British Guiana. As the highest point in the region, the great plateau attracted significant interest as the frontiers of Brazil, British Guiana and Venezuela were formally defined and fixed. As the natural watershed, Mount Roraima was chosen as the convergence point of the boundaries of these three countries, and during the mid-19th century, a wave of expeditions were sent forth to reach and further document it.
Many of the awe-struck explorers produced spectacular paintings or sketches of the great tableland that amazed audiences in Europe and beyond. The existence of a remote, isolated plateau towering above the rainforests in the heart of South America led Victorian scientists to speculate earnestly that its summit might have been completely cut off for millions of years and might therefore harbour prehistoric life or even isolated, ancient human civilisations. Such speculation would go on to inspire Arthur Conan Doyle to write his adventure classic The Lost World.
During the four decades after Schomburgk’s travels, at least 12 European explorers succeeded in reaching Roraima’s base. Each party proclaimed the splendour of the mountain and speculated as to what the lofty summit might hold, but none succeeded in ascending its towering vertical cliffs. A variety of elaborate proposals were put forward, from transporting a hot air balloon to the mountain’s base to constructing an immense scaffold, but it was clear that each would be defeated by Roraima’s remoteness.
So, the summit of this mysterious tableland remained unvisited, and fascination and intrigue continued to grow. In 1877, British newspaper the Spectator published an article heralding Roraima as ‘the greatest marvel and mystery of the Earth’ and lamented that this great wonder lay ‘on the outskirt of one of our colonies, and [yet] we leave the mystery unsolved, the marvel uncared for’. Further expeditions were dispatched, but each returned defeated.
Hope rekindles
By the early 1880s, hope of reaching the summit had begun to fade. However, in 1884, the Royal Geographical Society published a report documenting the travels of Henry Whitely, an English ornithologist who visited Roraima to collect specimens of a little-known species of bird. Whitely was well aware of the difficulties presented in ascending Roraima, and on first seeing the legendary tableland, he agreed with his predecessors and pronounced the summit to be completely inaccessible.
However, as Whitely explored the mountain’s southern slopes, he noticed from afar that part of one of the cliff faces had collapsed, leaving what appeared to be a slanting incline running diagonally up the side of the cliff. From his distant vantage point, it appeared as though the slanting ledge led all the way to the summit, and he concluded that it might be possible to use it to reach the top of the plateau.
Whitely began an all-out effort to cut a path through the tangled forest of the lower slopes to the base of the ledge. Progress was difficult and slow, but eventually, he reached the mountain’s base. Unfortunately, the path hadn’t been cut in quite the right direction, and a swathe of dense, impassable forest separated Whitely from the bottom of the ledge. Running low on food and other supplies, he was forced to abandon his pursuit and returned to London, where he sportingly published his findings in the Proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society.
Whitely’s discovery came to the attention of Sir Joseph Hooker, previously a director of the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew. Hooker immediately realised the importance of the ledge and resolved to dispatch an expedition to make one further attempt on the summit. Everard Im Thurn, an eminent young naturalist and curator at the Guiana Museum in Georgetown, agreed to lead the expedition and was soon joined by Harry Perkins, an assistant crown surveyor.
The pair left Georgetown on 10 October 1884, guided by 17 Guianese Amerindians. For the first four weeks, the team travelled by dugout canoe. When the waterways were reduced to rocky streams and the canoes could go no further, the group travelled on foot through the dense, uncharted rainforest.
Two weeks later, after laboriously trudging through the jungle for more than 100 kilometres, Im Thurn and Perkins reached open savannah, and there, from a hilltop, they received their first glimpse of their goal. Looming on the distant horizon, Roraima dominated the landscape, glowing intense red in the warm light of the setting sun.
After resting for a few days, the pair led their team of Amerindians into the shadow of the towering tableland, and there, they began the difficult task of cutting a path to the base of the breakaway in the cliffs. From the lowlands, Im Thurn had had a clear view of the ledge and, learning from Whitely’s mistake, carefully directed his workers in precisely the right direction.
Eventually, on 18 December, the party reached the base of the broken ledge and began climbing up the ramparts of the towering plateau. The climb up the incline proved relatively simple, and Im Thurn and Perkins soon reached a point whereby one step further would bring their eyes to the level of the plateau top, to behold a land never before seen by human eyes.
Some strange country of nightmares
The step was taken, and the pair stood on Roraima’s summit. What they discovered startled and amazed them: an unearthly world of naked stone, dominated by twisted, blackened rock formations sculpted by wind and rain; a landscape of countless towering stone pinnacles and valleys carpeted with great drifts of sparkling white and pink quartz crystals. Im Thurn described the view atop the plateau as ‘some strange country of nightmares’ and recorded tranquil gallery forests of stunted, gnarled bonsai-like trees, ‘grotesque’ carnivorous pitcher plants, strange black warty toads, pools of golden water, and rocky vales studded with crystals.
Even though Roraima didn’t harbour the prehistoric life that Victorian naturalists had once supposed, in the single day that they spent on the summit, Im Thurn and Perkins discovered and collected 350 specimens of plant and animal, around half of which represented species that were new to science. In 1885, the RGS published a detailed account of the ascent, in which Im Thurn wrote that ‘probably no district of equally small size has yielded greater botanical results as has Roraima’. Indeed, it’s now clear that Roraima has one of the world’s highest rates of endemism, with about a third of all life found on the summit occurring nowhere else in the world.
In the years since this first ascent, Roraima has hosted increasing numbers of visitors, but it still hasn’t lost its mystique. Each year, new species of plant and animal, as well as entire new cave systems, are discovered on remote parts of the summit, and on the 100 or so neighbouring tablelands across the Guiana Highlands.
At the beginning of the 21st century, the region remains one of the few places to exist in a state virtually unaffected by the activities of humanity, a benchmark whereby we may judge our impact in other parts of the world. And long may it remain so.
Lost Worlds of the Guiana Highlands by Stewart McPherson (Redfern Natural History Productions, £29.99) is out now (reviewed on page 81 of this issue). To order a copy, visit www.redfernnaturalhistory.com
November 2008
After travelling for three years, Schomburgk reached the country’s remote southwestern frontier, and there he beheld a colossal plateau towering on the distant horizon – an immense flat-topped mountain encircled on all sides by sheer cliffs up to 450 metres high. Schomburgk learned that this gigantic tableland – known to the local Pemón Amerindians as Roraima, and one of approximately 100 so-called tepuis scattered across the surrounding region – was revered and respected by the local people as the realm of the gods and spirits, a world that supposedly could never be reached by humans.
After spending several days determining the coordinates and altitude of Mount Roraima, Schomburgk concluded that ‘without wings, the intrepid explorer… would not be able to reach its summit’, and without attempting an ascent, he headed southwest towards Brazil to continue his survey.
A land forever out of reach
Roraima’s full importance only became apparent during the decades after Schomburgk returned from British Guiana. As the highest point in the region, the great plateau attracted significant interest as the frontiers of Brazil, British Guiana and Venezuela were formally defined and fixed. As the natural watershed, Mount Roraima was chosen as the convergence point of the boundaries of these three countries, and during the mid-19th century, a wave of expeditions were sent forth to reach and further document it.
Many of the awe-struck explorers produced spectacular paintings or sketches of the great tableland that amazed audiences in Europe and beyond. The existence of a remote, isolated plateau towering above the rainforests in the heart of South America led Victorian scientists to speculate earnestly that its summit might have been completely cut off for millions of years and might therefore harbour prehistoric life or even isolated, ancient human civilisations. Such speculation would go on to inspire Arthur Conan Doyle to write his adventure classic The Lost World.
During the four decades after Schomburgk’s travels, at least 12 European explorers succeeded in reaching Roraima’s base. Each party proclaimed the splendour of the mountain and speculated as to what the lofty summit might hold, but none succeeded in ascending its towering vertical cliffs. A variety of elaborate proposals were put forward, from transporting a hot air balloon to the mountain’s base to constructing an immense scaffold, but it was clear that each would be defeated by Roraima’s remoteness.
So, the summit of this mysterious tableland remained unvisited, and fascination and intrigue continued to grow. In 1877, British newspaper the Spectator published an article heralding Roraima as ‘the greatest marvel and mystery of the Earth’ and lamented that this great wonder lay ‘on the outskirt of one of our colonies, and [yet] we leave the mystery unsolved, the marvel uncared for’. Further expeditions were dispatched, but each returned defeated.
Start the slideshow (7 pictures)
Hope rekindles
By the early 1880s, hope of reaching the summit had begun to fade. However, in 1884, the Royal Geographical Society published a report documenting the travels of Henry Whitely, an English ornithologist who visited Roraima to collect specimens of a little-known species of bird. Whitely was well aware of the difficulties presented in ascending Roraima, and on first seeing the legendary tableland, he agreed with his predecessors and pronounced the summit to be completely inaccessible.
However, as Whitely explored the mountain’s southern slopes, he noticed from afar that part of one of the cliff faces had collapsed, leaving what appeared to be a slanting incline running diagonally up the side of the cliff. From his distant vantage point, it appeared as though the slanting ledge led all the way to the summit, and he concluded that it might be possible to use it to reach the top of the plateau.
Whitely began an all-out effort to cut a path through the tangled forest of the lower slopes to the base of the ledge. Progress was difficult and slow, but eventually, he reached the mountain’s base. Unfortunately, the path hadn’t been cut in quite the right direction, and a swathe of dense, impassable forest separated Whitely from the bottom of the ledge. Running low on food and other supplies, he was forced to abandon his pursuit and returned to London, where he sportingly published his findings in the Proceedings of the Royal Geographical Society.
Whitely’s discovery came to the attention of Sir Joseph Hooker, previously a director of the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew. Hooker immediately realised the importance of the ledge and resolved to dispatch an expedition to make one further attempt on the summit. Everard Im Thurn, an eminent young naturalist and curator at the Guiana Museum in Georgetown, agreed to lead the expedition and was soon joined by Harry Perkins, an assistant crown surveyor.
The pair left Georgetown on 10 October 1884, guided by 17 Guianese Amerindians. For the first four weeks, the team travelled by dugout canoe. When the waterways were reduced to rocky streams and the canoes could go no further, the group travelled on foot through the dense, uncharted rainforest.
Two weeks later, after laboriously trudging through the jungle for more than 100 kilometres, Im Thurn and Perkins reached open savannah, and there, from a hilltop, they received their first glimpse of their goal. Looming on the distant horizon, Roraima dominated the landscape, glowing intense red in the warm light of the setting sun.
After resting for a few days, the pair led their team of Amerindians into the shadow of the towering tableland, and there, they began the difficult task of cutting a path to the base of the breakaway in the cliffs. From the lowlands, Im Thurn had had a clear view of the ledge and, learning from Whitely’s mistake, carefully directed his workers in precisely the right direction.
Eventually, on 18 December, the party reached the base of the broken ledge and began climbing up the ramparts of the towering plateau. The climb up the incline proved relatively simple, and Im Thurn and Perkins soon reached a point whereby one step further would bring their eyes to the level of the plateau top, to behold a land never before seen by human eyes.
Some strange country of nightmares
The step was taken, and the pair stood on Roraima’s summit. What they discovered startled and amazed them: an unearthly world of naked stone, dominated by twisted, blackened rock formations sculpted by wind and rain; a landscape of countless towering stone pinnacles and valleys carpeted with great drifts of sparkling white and pink quartz crystals. Im Thurn described the view atop the plateau as ‘some strange country of nightmares’ and recorded tranquil gallery forests of stunted, gnarled bonsai-like trees, ‘grotesque’ carnivorous pitcher plants, strange black warty toads, pools of golden water, and rocky vales studded with crystals.
Even though Roraima didn’t harbour the prehistoric life that Victorian naturalists had once supposed, in the single day that they spent on the summit, Im Thurn and Perkins discovered and collected 350 specimens of plant and animal, around half of which represented species that were new to science. In 1885, the RGS published a detailed account of the ascent, in which Im Thurn wrote that ‘probably no district of equally small size has yielded greater botanical results as has Roraima’. Indeed, it’s now clear that Roraima has one of the world’s highest rates of endemism, with about a third of all life found on the summit occurring nowhere else in the world.
In the years since this first ascent, Roraima has hosted increasing numbers of visitors, but it still hasn’t lost its mystique. Each year, new species of plant and animal, as well as entire new cave systems, are discovered on remote parts of the summit, and on the 100 or so neighbouring tablelands across the Guiana Highlands.
At the beginning of the 21st century, the region remains one of the few places to exist in a state virtually unaffected by the activities of humanity, a benchmark whereby we may judge our impact in other parts of the world. And long may it remain so.
Lost Worlds of the Guiana Highlands by Stewart McPherson (Redfern Natural History Productions, £29.99) is out now (reviewed on page 81 of this issue). To order a copy, visit www.redfernnaturalhistory.com
November 2008
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