“How far do you want to go?” Jeffrey asks.       The east-flowing Sepik is the longest river on the island of New Guinea. It meets the sea about a thousand kilometres from Green River.       “All the way,” I reply.       The two Papuans nod thoughtfully and stroke their beards. I wipe sweat from my eyebrows with my palm. The fan seems more to stir the air than send a refreshing breeze. If it is this hot on the coast, what is it like in the interior?       “Is that possible, do you think?” Nadya asks Jeffrey. Good question. Papua New Guinea is just emerging from the rainy season. Is the water level too high at this time of year?       Jeffrey looks at us carefully for several moments. “It is possible, but, without a motor, it will take a long time. A month, maybe two.”       “And,” John says, leaning forward, “it will be dangerous. There are pukpuk in the river, and sometimes raskol raid other boat. West Sepik is peaceful. We know the tribes there. But the ones after that, well.”       “Yes,” says Jeffrey. “You should not go alone.”       I nod. We had suspected as much. Yet I still cling to the notion we can simply get a canoe and paddle into an idyll, fishing for our meals, trading with villagers along the way, and riding up on the riverbank each night to pitch our tent. Who would wish to drop everything and go with us as a guide? We know nobody here. Besides, we aren’t ready to leave for the jungle. We have almost no kina, only the little we got at the border in exchange for our remaining Indonesian rupiah, and we have no food (there are no stores in Green River, Jeffrey says, indeed none along the Upper Sepik). We should do the sensible thing. Bide our time on the coast, find out more about the Sepik, and prepare ourselves properly.       “Do you have room in the back of your truck for two Canadians?” I ask.