A close encounter with the Amazon River Dolphin

It's dawn, and my sister and I are huddled at the back of a long canoe gliding along the Rio Negro, the Amazon's 'Black River'. The glassy water lives up to its namesake, with barely half a meter of visibility despite the growing intensity of the early morning sun. We're en route to swim with the rare pink Amazon river dolphin, or the 'Boto'. With us is our mum, a delightfully cheeky Danish family, and our guide, a stout Pakistani fellow named Mike.

Dawn on the Rio Negro

We disembark the canoe at a small river station where minutes later, donned in our swimmers and dashing fluro life jackets - we absurdly enter the inky water of our own volition. I am terrified. Perhaps it's my love of B-grade monster films that lets my imagination run wild, but there are real predators in these waters. Mike assures me that there is no danger. 

"The dolphins eat all the fish that other predators like," he says. "They don't come here because there is no food left. The dolphins chase them away from their territory". I was not reassured. He had tried to calm us the day before with absurd flattery, saying "pretty girls don't die in these situations". We clearly aren't watching the same movies.

Swimming with Botos (Source: TripAdvisor)

The father of our Danish diving companions said something to his family that clearly ended with "Anaconda". I scold him for mentioning the word. "I didn't realise you spoke Danish", he laughs. 

The trainer wades in with us and, as we bob nervously. He holds out a small fish to lure in our swim mates for the morning. We don't feel the water move, yet a long pink snout with little pointed teeth begins to slowly emerge from the darkness, reaching up for its treat. We watch in awe at its strange, almost polite approach to the snack, and its total invisibility until that point, realising that there are likely more nearby.

Soon enough, we are surrounded by four or five dolphins, swirling around us, nudging us playfully, even dallying with an inflatable ball, emerging for a moment to snatch it, only to release it back to the surface with a 'pop' in surprise new locations. 


One swims just beneath me and stays there as if to provide a foot stool, and another sneaks up beside me, its snout appearing between my arm and my side as if to tease me. I only scream a little. Eventually, we paddle away from our new aquatic friends, my lips tightly sealed as I recall Mike's earlier warning that if swallowed, the water could make an Olympic sprinter out of you - to the toilet. 

Source: National Wildlife Federation

I entered the river a terrified novice and re-emerged enlightened, a bit grubby, with not one limb missing. The dolphins approached us, aliens to their world, with absolute trust. I later learn of the dolphin's protected status, with fewer numbers in circulation due to hunting, fishing casualties or destroyed habitats. And they are certainly not the only animal to suffer endangerment from humanity, yet I was the one that approached in fear.  

As we sunned ourselves on the return journey, I silently marvel at the majesty of animals, and the importance of facing my fears sometimes, lest I ever miss an experience as magnificent as this. There's a whole world buzzing beneath that inky black surface - an ongoing secret from humanity - and perhaps it is just as well.