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In Berrydale, Portland, when the river rises, everything grinds to a halt. No bridge. No road. No simple way out. For the people here, the Rio Grande is both lifeline and barrier. They ferry groceries, schoolchildren, and even the dead across its churning waters on bamboo rafts. When it rains - even miles away up the valley - they're stuck.

The Rio Grande isn't just a scenic rafting spot for tourists. It stretches some 34 kilometres through the lush hills of Portland before meeting the sea at St Margaret's Bay. Long before it became famous for bamboo rafting, banana farmers relied on it to move their produce. Today, on calm days, residents might cautiously drive or walk across the shallow sections. But once the rain falls, even far inland, the river transforms into a raging force that cuts Berrydale off completely.

"When the water low, we can walk cross," said 24-year-old Arlanado 'Baba' Bryan, who has spent his entire life in the riverside community. "But if it high, we affi raft cross. And when it real bad, we haffi wait it out. It nuh safe."

But emergencies don't wait for fair weather. Pregnant women in labour, the sick, even the deceased must be rafted across. "Even the dogs know how fi cross," Baba said with a grin. "And mi remember, not even a year ago, wi neighbour pass, and we haffi raft di casket over fi bury him on di family land."

Berrydale once had a footbridge - a humble structure made from two light poles covered with concrete and lined with railings. But it collapsed three years ago when one of the poles gave way. "It used to wobble bad when you walk pan it," Baba recalled. "Then one day it lean too far and drop."

Now, the only option besides rafting is to walk an hour-long detour through Cooper's Hill, a rugged, scarcely maintained trail that few residents use. "It nuh really suitable fi walk, so most people just wait pan the raft," he said.

Baba has built about 40 rafts in his lifetime, a trade he inherited from his father. "You have to pick the straighter bamboo because it float better and can carry more weight," he explained. A single raft can carry everything from groceries to 50 concrete blocks, depending on its size and strength.

He built his latest raft just two months ago. They typically last six to seven months before the bamboo begins to rot or soak in too much water.

"The most technical part is shaping the seat and measuring everything right," he said. "But the hardest part is getting the bamboo outa the bush and trimming them. It take a lot of energy."

During construction projects, everything comes to a halt if the river swells. "You can't get the materials cross until the water go back dung," Baba said. "Sometimes that take days."

Still, life here has a quiet beauty. "It's really that peaceful," Baba said. "You can leave your door open." But many residents have packed up and left over the years, tired of the constant struggle to cross.

For Baba, though, the river is home, hardship and all. "Even though it rough sometimes, mi cyaah imagine mi life anywhere else," he admitted.

Yet peace doesn't erase the struggle. On rainy days, the community watches the river nervously.

"Sometimes we sleep and wake up just fi see how far the water will rise," Baba said, gesturing to a light post up on the hill, a marker of past flood levels.

Even on sunny days, the water can surge. "It nuh haffi rain here. If it rain far up inna the valley, the river come dung without warning," he explained.

To avoid losing their rafts, they anchor them with ropes. "We tie the raft head and tether the bamboo, so even if the water come up, it stay where we left it," Baba said.

School attendance suffers during the rainy season. There is no school on Baba's side of the river, so children must cross the Rio Grande each day just to get to class.

"A lot of time, mi see children miss school because them can't cross, and mi only imagine how that set them back," Baba said.