A Fading Legacy – Shennong River Trackers

Identified as ‘river trackers’, this final generation is still helping China to continue the commerce trade.

The amalgamation of Yangtze river and Shennong River takes place at tha panoramic Three Gorges which is to the east of Chonquing (South western region of China). The amalgamation is at a site where colossal sandstone measuring thousand vertical feet rise abruptly from the pallid water. A thin ridge popping from the river, flowing several miles was fabricated, intentionally given birth by breaking rocks two feet wide.

Numerous tried to cut the rocks and scarified their lives because it necessitated balancing on the edge of the crags, where a minute mistake is a blunder that takes your life with the 12-knot inundation plunging below. A time arrived when the level of the flow dropped, temporarily, many large boats wedged in the ravines and that’s when the ‘trackers’ came into role.

They noticed the helplessness, vulnerability of the ships that couldn’t move a bit away from the ravine. ‘Trackers’, with a loincloth, some naked, started forming a chain by standing and holding hands on either sides of the water flow. Pulling weighty ropes tied to the ships, they hauled the ship with their bully strength until the vessel was free again, sailing liberally on the water. One more ship stuck there, a year later, and they flaunted their power to set the ship free. It happened again, and again, till it became a profession. The work was tough, dirty and demanded power but they were proud of their work until the humans discovered engines and superseded them.

The group of people, virtually last, inhabits moved to settle at the canyon near the source of River Shennong. They don’t have ships to salvage anymore, which killed a profession. They now earn a modest amount by ferrying though the water till their respective villages. When the water is low, they get gown and pull the ferry loaded with money-paying visitors, and lug them to villages, exhibiting a minor replica of their original work. I arrived when it was pouring and virtually everything flooded.

We inquired and finally reached the Trackers at the convergence, a place where the polluted, grubby water of Yangtze merges with the jade flow of Shennong. Many of them were lingering in their brittle ferries, bobbling the agitated flows of the river, hoping to get a customer.

They were common men, a face seen all over the country, quite lean and sinewy, tanned by the brutal maul of the sweltering sun. Half of them were munching plam nuts with betelnuts. Other half weren’t, but their putrid teeth revealed their similar habit. Attire was common, some shirtless, some wearing thirsts gifted by their customers coming from other countries. Not many spoke English. However, each one of them was geared up to negotiate a better price and get you on the ferry.

We embarked on sampan, a Chinese timer ferry 11-16 feet long, and started our voyage. They also have small houses on such boats, but those are called Peapods.

Looking at the boat one could clearly figure out that the boat wasn’t made of market-wood. It was a fabrication done by numerous wooden scraps they were able to assemble. Then, given to craftsman who later pulled the pieces together with a rope, without nails. Over the cockpit, was a ragged cloth to escape from the scorching rays of the sun. However, the Trackers faced the sun; let us sit under the cloth, to control the boat.

Every ferry had six crew in it. A juvenile was seated on the bow, eyes fixed below the surface water, ready to call out the impending, perilous rocks. There was a coxswain standing in the center, describing the rhythm of the ferry in a melodious tone to the four brawny men, busy controlling the paddles. The paddlers sang along with him and towed the boat in the river, humming a sound that pleased our ears.

Intermittently, they used poles instead of paddle to push the ferry away from the crags towering right besides us. Minutes after we reached the canyon, I noticed diminutive fishes swimming in the translucent water that replaced emerald currents.

Very often, the coxswain sung in a melodious tone and pointed to the cavern high above us. I used the binoculars to grab a closer view of the wooden containers placed in the caves. Besides the boxes laid old villagers, around 100 feet above us in the caves. These trackers had no equipments to pull huge boxes at such an altitude. May be, I thought, many years ago the water level was higher. I wanted to ask them about the mystery, but I couldn’t. They didn’t know English, and I had forgotten my English-Chinese dictionary.

We sailed in quietness, no sound expect the hushed voice of water being pulled behind by the paddlers. Occasionally, we watched bright shaded birds, and broken walls in the forest, probably built centuries ago. Nothing of what I was noticing disturbed them. They were focused, busy humming melodious tunes and gradually pulling the boat. Looking at them, one could clearly spot the happiness in them. They were not rich, but they proved, like many others did before, that happiness is earned by doing a job wholeheartedly and enjoying the present.

After few miles of sailing and humming, we glanced at the massive sand bar, and rare glimpses of the native women. Part of the income is being generated by them. They spread multihued blankets on the sand that displayed articles like smothered stones and whittled timber pieces for sale. While talking to them I realized that the women here were quite friendlier than the merchants other side.

We initiated our journey with the dawn and now, the sun was viciously scorching our skin. We disembarked on the land and it was time to conclude the beautiful journey. After such an arduous journey, I was a bit exhausted but the Trackers seemed as enthusiastic as they were during the start of the voyage. I paid them while the women near the shore waved at us cheerfully.

In few months the construction of Wuhan project will be concluded and the water level here will rise over 200 feet. This essentially means no Shennong, no boatmen, no huge boxes on the cave, and no Trackers. They will have to relocate to some safer, tougher land leaving the valley. Their second profession and a 2,000-year legacy will be petered out.

I smiled, “Thank You,” and turned around. I heard the melody fading away slowly as they disappeared far in the currents.