EightIquitos, Peru
Owen pulled back the sliding steel door and entered the claustrophobic bridge of the Lírio do Rio. “Bom trabalho, Lino,” Owen said, patting the captain on the shoulder.
The middle-aged, dark-skinned man smiled. “O seu nada. We'll dock here for a couple days to take on supplies and fuel. So, my passengers, they are comfortable?” He added, looking over the ragged shoreline cloaked in evening shadows. He turned the large wooden steering wheel of the boat two and a quarter turns.
“Good as gold,” Owen said, looking out at the overcast sky that was darkening over the main channel. In the distance, he saw a bank of tiny yellow lights. The city of Iquitos was not far away.
Although the first 500 kilometers had been easy, Owen knew that guiding the large boat on the moody sss
