Words by London Baker
History has a funny way of turning people into legends, a funny way of taking people and carving their legacy out of one or two of their accomplishments. That’s if they’re even remembered in the first place. History can be pernicious. It paints people and events as black and white, tearing down the tapestry of nuance and leaving it strewn to decay in the dirt. History forgets just how multifaceted people can be.
A man once lived who overcame his childhood asthma by sheer willpower. His doctor told him to avoid all athletic activity, to not push or strain himself. He went on to be an avid boxer and explorer. The same man once got shot in the chest and then proceeded to give a ninety minute speech directly afterwards, living out the rest of his days with the bullet lodged inside his body. He was known as a voracious reader, said to have read at least one book a day, in addition to writing almost fifty of his own. The same man was the first American to win a Nobel Peace Prize. Oh yeah, he was also President of the United States.
This larger-than-life figure was none other than Theodore Roosevelt, twenty-sixth President of the United States. The phrase “they don’t make ‘em like they used to” can most pertinently be applied to the flamboyant twenty-sixth President.
One of Roosevelt’s lesser known ventures is his exploration and subsequent mapping of South American jungles and rivers—famously the River of Doubt. After an unsuccessful third bid for the presidency, Roosevelt set his eyes on Brazil. The expedition began in December of 1913 and lasted five months. Under the leadership of Roosevelt and Brazilian Army colonel Cândido Mariano da Silva Rondon, more than one hundred men risked life and limb trekking through the treacherous landscape.
Prior to the expedition, Roosevelt’s friends warned him of the dangers, imploring that he stay back. He was appalled at the idea, stating, “I have already lived and enjoyed as much of life as any nine other men I know. I have had my full share, and if it is necessary for me to leave my bones in South America, I am quite ready to do so.” This attitude was not uncommon for the former president. He was a go-getter, a powerful man through-and-through.
And so he plunged into the jungles, ready to face whatever awaited him.
The group’s main goal was exploring the River of Doubt—around one thousand miles of unmapped territory. There was nothing known about the river. Not its length, not how to navigate it, not what danger lurked around it. Nothing.
It took a journey of more than four hundred miles to reach the River of Doubt—Rio da Dúvida—and by the time the crew reached it, they realized just how out of their depths they were. After much deliberation, they split up. A handful of men would set out towards the Rio Aripuanã while the rest would continue on the previously-determined course. Roosevelt and Rondon decided they would go along with the group to the River of Doubt.
Supplies were dwindling, but it was far too late to turn back. The path was dangerous, bringing hardship and death. One member of the team was even swept down river after a perilous mistake led him over the edge of a thirty foot waterfall. He was never seen again.
After a brush with a cannibalistic tribe of natives, Roosevelt and Rondon took stock of their supplies. One-third of their provisions were gone after only ninety miles. Time was not on their side, and neither was the river. Two canoes were sucked down the rapids, leaving the team desperate. The canoes carrying supplies had to be guarded at all cost.
The River of Doubt had other plans. Two more canoes were sucked down the rapids, getting jammed up in between jagged rocks in a section of whitewater. Roosevelt himself jumped in after them, attempting to save them from being dashed to pieces. While making his cross, he slipped. A large gash formed on his leg and began to bleed.
In the United States this would have posed no problem. He would have been able to be treated, stitched up, and sent back to work. In the Amazon, though, that luxury was not available to him. In the heart of the jungle, exposed flesh could be deadly. In the balmy heat of the rainforest, bacteria and parasites lurk deep in the water, hide among the trees and bury deep in the ground. They wait and they watch for the perfect opportunity to invade.
Though the expedition doctor was able to immediately see to Roosevelt, the team was in a state of great fear. While they rested for the night, an infection took hold, slapping the former President with a case of malarial fever. He couldn’t even walk.
Over the next few days, they watched Roosevelt’s condition worsen. His fever reached an insane highs of 105 degrees. Consciousness eluded him. In a moment of clarity, Roosevelt pulled his son Kermit aside and demanded that he be sent home, but that the expedition should continue on without him. Kermit refused and so Roosevelt pressed forward.
No healing was in sight and Roosevelt was left to lie prone in a dugout canoe, hardly able to move. Roosevelt realized the end was in sight and that something had to be done. He allowed the expedition doctor to operate on him—something he had refused to allow up until this point.
No painkillers were found among the rudimentary medical supplies so the former President watched and felt every slight movement of the knife. It is said he did not even wince.
The operation was a success and, slowly but surely, the jungle began to fade. After a few more days, they made it to where the Rio Aripuanã and the River of Doubt met. They had journeyed an incredible nine hundred and fifty miles. Rondon, since he was the Brazilian leader of the exploration, was charged with renaming the river. He decided upon the Roosevelt River—Rio Theodoro.
Theodore Roosevelt never fully recovered. The journey had aged him, costing his body sixty pounds and rapidly deteriorating his physical condition. Though he continued to give speaking tours and lived for a few more years, many believe that this journey cost the former President his life.
Nature is unforgiving. Theodore Roosevelt was better than most of us, stronger and more masculine than we could ever be in modernity. He was a true polymath, an example of what people could be if they put in hard work. Yet nature bested him.
We can’t control Mother Nature. We never could, and we likely never will. She is untamable, a kingdom of power ruled by savagery. Stare out at the mountains, see the way they pierce the sky. Gaze into the broiling depths of the sea, wonder at what mysteries she holds. Look up at the stars and try to comprehend their vastness. You will never beat nature, so you might as well learn how to thrive in it. Drink some good coffee, read some good books and go outside. Be grateful that you aren’t the most powerful thing out there.
“Only those are fit to live who do not fear to die.”
-Theodore Roosevelt
