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Saturday, March 8, 2025

Back in Times

The Caroni River

'Ca­roni riv­er bank the equiv­a­lent of the Ganges'

by

20131116

Ca­roni is Amerindi­an in ori­gin (there is an­oth­er riv­er bear­ing the same name in Venezuela) and the great stream though di­min­ished in sta­tus to a flood­ing haz­ard, was once the very im­por­tant life­line which helped to build Trinidad.

In 1592 the Span­ish con­quis­ta­dor Domin­go De Ve­ra rowed up­riv­er to where a small­er stream formed a con­flu­ence. On this trib­u­tary he con­tin­ued to the lands of the cacique Goag­onare at the head of a cool, fer­tile val­ley where he es­tab­lished a set­tle­ment.

This vil­lage which was the first per­ma­nent Eu­ro­pean one in the is­land was chris­tened San Jose de Oruna (St Joseph). At the mouth of the trib­u­tary of the Ca­roni a small bat­tery was erect­ed with two small pieces of can­non. Giv­en the os­ten­ta­tious name of Puer­to Grande, it was al­so a land­ing place for peo­ple trav­el­ling to San Jose.

Around 1690 a Camino Re­al or Roy­al Road was laid out par­al­lel to the riv­er but the lat­ter con­tin­ued to be the main high­way to the sea. In 1783 the Cedu­la de Pobla­cion was pro­claimed which in­vit­ed Catholic planters and their slaves to set­tle and open up the hin­ter­lands and thus the sug­ar econ­o­my was born.

The Ca­roni be­came a ma­jor thor­ough­fare since the Camino Re­al was lit­tle bet­ter than a track. The trib­u­taries of the riv­er which were nav­i­ga­ble al­so found use. There was a sand­bar at the mouth of the riv­er which im­ped­ed traf­fic. Dur­ing his life­time, un­til his death in the 1890s, Pao­lo An­drea Guisep­pi of Val­sayn Es­tate em­ployed his labour­ers in keep­ing a chan­nel open through the sand­bar.

In the pre-Eman­ci­pa­tion days, slaves were used for this pur­pose. Co­ri­als or dugout ca­noes had been float­ed on the Ca­roni since pre-Columbian times. The de­sign was orig­i­nat­ed by the Amerindi­ans who made co­ri­als by burn­ing, then hol­low­ing the log of a felled tree. These trans­port­ed the bulk of the hogsheads of rum, sug­ar and mo­lasses down to the sea. A large ca­noe could take as many as six bar­rels while a mule cart along the Roy­al Road could on­ly han­dle three or four.

When go­ing up­riv­er, poles were used to push the ca­noes while head­ing down­riv­er meant easy sail­ing since the cur­rent did the work. By 1900 the Ca­roni Riv­er was no longer a high­way to the sea. In 1876 the Trinidad Gov­ern­ment Rail­way was in­au­gu­rat­ed and con­nect­ed Port-of-Spain and Ari­ma. Large sug­ar es­tates, par­tic­u­lar­ly those be­long­ing to the Or­ange Grove con­glom­er­ate, used a se­ries of pri­vate rail­way lines con­nect­ed to the gov­ern­ment sys­tem and the riv­er ceased to be a sug­ar road.

In­deed when the fol­low­ing ac­count was writ­ten in 1914, there was al­most no pos­si­bil­i­ty of get­ting a boat to see the riv­er: "Af­ter spend­ing about a week be­tween the town and its sub­urbs, I de­ter­mined to com­mence my ac­quain­tance with the coun­try by ex­plor­ing the banks of the prin­ci­pal riv­er in Trinidad, the Ca­roni, which dis­charges it­self in­to the Gulf of Paria on­ly two miles to the south of the cap­i­tal.

Near its en­trance in­to the sea it opens out in­to a broad ex­panse sur­round­ed by man­grove scrub, which any­one ac­quaint­ed with the trop­ics knows must be prac­ti­cal­ly im­pass­able on foot, as the man­grove al­ways takes its root in shal­low salt wa­ter.

I tried, there­fore, to arrange with a boat­man for a pas­sage a few miles up the riv­er. The man, tak­ing me prob­a­bly for a rich tourist, asked the ex­or­bi­tant price of ten dol­lars (more than two pounds), as­sert­ing it would re­quire four men, al­though I was told af­ter­wards that two would have been suf­fi­cient.

There were cer­tain­ly two miles to be tra­versed by sea be­fore en­ter­ing the mouth of the riv­er, but the wa­ters of the Gulf of Paria are gen­er­al­ly calm and the jour­ney would have been well paid at half the price.

Find­ing that an­oth­er boat­man was al­most as un­rea­son­able, I put in­to prac­tice my plan of tak­ing the train as far as the cross­ing of the Ca­roni, 11 miles from town, trust­ing to be able to re­turn part of the way in the ca­noe of some peas­ant or fish­er­man." Af­ter Hin­du cre­ma­tions were le­galised in 1936, the banks of the riv­er be­came the equiv­a­lent of the Ganges as the ash­es of the dead were placed in the wa­ters. The Ca­roni Riv­er sup­plies wa­ter to many cit­i­zens through the Pi­ar­co pump­ing sta­tion which is to­day its main util­i­ty, whilst the man­groves at the es­tu­ary are home to the Scar­let Ibis and a thriv­ing eco-tourism in­dus­try. Al­though not as im­por­tant com­mer­cial­ly as it once was, the Ca­roni Riv­er re­mains an in­deli­ble part of na­tion­al his­to­ry.


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