Lost in the Jungle (20 page)

Was anyone up there looking down on me, aware of the fix I was in? One man, alone in the jungle, no other human beings around, at the mercy of heartless Mother Nature?

Please help me. At least make it stop raining. Let me be able to keep walking on my own two feet.

I couldn’t tell exactly when darkness would fall. At times the sun would pass behind a cloud, and I would think that I had to hurry and set up camp. Then it would emerge, and I would go on marching, not wanting to waste the remaining hours of walking time. Finally, after a small bend in the river, I came upon a fabulous beach. Pure white sand, crystal-clear water, and a large bush laden with little red fruit. In the past two days I had eaten only a few cloves of garlic and a pinch of salt, and I pounced hungrily upon the sweet berries.

At first I picked the berries one by one and put them into my mouth, but I was soon gathering up handfuls and gulping them down. The sweetness was enthralling; the juices filled my howling belly. I didn’t budge from the bush for at least twenty minutes, when my hands were red-stained with berry juice and I felt my hunger satisfied.

I lay down on my belly, thirstily lapping up water from the river and washing off my sweaty face. The river was quite wide at that point, wide as the Ipurama. It had to be the other river marked on the map, the Turliamos – there was no doubt about it – and Curiplaya was supposed to be only half a mile farther, on the bank of the Tuichi. Fantastic. I would be there by tomorrow. Tomorrow I would go on walking. Tomorrow, but now I was too exhausted and decided to set up my campsite there on the beach. At least I could count on a good breakfast.

I looked for some kind of shelter from the rain. I walked a little way downriver and spotted deer tracks on the sandy shore. The deer must have come down to drink. Probably jaguars would come as well. Still, I would be better off on the shore than in the dark, frightening jungle. A long, thick tree lay on the beach. It was enormous. The gnarls of the trunk left a space between it and the ground. The ground underneath was dry; the rain hadn’t reached it. This is where I would spend the night.

I crawled under the tree trunk. I couldn’t sit up; could only crouch on my elbows. I got the mosquito nets and poncho out and started getting ready for the night. Before I lay down, though, I went out to the berry bush to gorge myself once more. Afterward I lay under the tree, slowly chewing a garlic clove, and covered myself up. The sun went down, the moon came up, and it was an unbelievably beautiful sight. But a scenic view didn’t do much to calm my fears. I counted the hours and minutes until morning would come.

At dawn I saw a doe and her fawn come down to drink from the river. They drew near the water, frisky and light-footed, and there the mother came upon my footprint. She paused for an instant and then fled, her fawn racing after her. If they had stayed to get a drink, and if I managed to injure the fawn, I certainly could have caught it. Its flesh would have been tender and delicious. As it was, I had to settle for a breakfast of berries, not venison. But I no longer relished them. I ate mechanically, forcing down a large quantity. I considered taking some along with me in the tin can, but it was rusty and reeked of garlic, and then I noticed that there were barely any edible berries left on the bush.

No matter,
I thought
. Somebody’s looking out for me, I’ll find something to eat today.

I started walking, toting my gear on my back. It was still raining. I waded along the river, trying to progress both rapidly and cautiously, pinning all my hopes on finding my way back to the Tuichi. The rain started coming down harder. My wet hair straggled into my eyes, and my ten-day-old moustache dripped water straight into my mouth. I was so cold and miserable that I didn’t even notice that the roar of the river had increased in volume. Suddenly I fell. The river bottom had been swept from under my feet, and I found myself being carried downriver by the current. Now I was well aware of the river’s roar. It was the familiar sound of water breaking over rocks. God, I was being swept over a waterfall!

I tried to make it back to the shore, but the pack was too big and bulky, bogged me down, and I almost drowned. I stayed under and slipped the shoulder straps off, leaving the pack secured to me only by its belt. I lifted my head out of the water to see the waterfall looming ahead. I swam frantically and finally managed to grasp a rock near the shore. The rock was smooth and covered with slippery moss, and I was about to be carried away again. I could see the waterfall, practically under me, about twenty-five feet high, cascading into a small pool cut into the rocks below. I slithered precariously up the rock I was clinging to. The weight of the pack tied to my waist kept pulling me back into the river. I let go of the rock with one hand and tried to get hold of the strap of the pack. I leaned over and fell backward into the river. My chest was crushed against the rock; I thought I was suffocating. My legs were caught in the current, but I held fast to the rock for dear life, digging my fingernails deep into the moss. I managed to pull myself out once again to sit on the rock. I rested for a moment, seized with fear, and then fished the pack out of the water and put it back on my shoulders.

‘I won’t abandon you, no matter how much trouble you give me,’ I said to the pack.

I tightened the shoulder straps and headed for the shore.

Not long afterward I was standing on a steep hill overlooking the river. Everything was soaking wet from the river and the eternal rain. Walking in the jungle had taken its toll on my clothing. My flannel shirt was in shreds. My underwear stuck out through my torn jeans. My feet were wet, and I could feel the horrible rash as it spread. The insides of my thighs were raw from walking for so long in wet clothing.

Just let me get back to the Tuichi,
I thought, to cheer myself up,
then Curiplaya will only be a few hours away. I’ll rest up and get myself back in shape. I might even find food and equipment. And isn’t there a slim chance of finding people there too?

I started picturing my arrival in Curiplaya. Little grass huts, a banana grove, and people sitting around a campfire roasting fish. I make my entrance, catching sight of them and shouting from afar. They hear my cries and come running toward me, carrying me into their camp. I am cared for, fed, and carried by stretcher to San José.

The shoreline levelled out again, and I walked in the river. I felt tremendous pressure on my chest, where I had slammed into the rock, and my feet were tormenting me. I walked at a steady pace, however, not stopping.

‘I just have to make it to the Tuichi,’ I mumbled to myself, ‘I just have to make it to the Tuichi.’

Alone, deep in the jungle, so small and insignificant, pitted against nature, still I sensed someone watching me. Or watching over me. Someone could see me, someone was providing for me.

It began to grow dark, but I marched on determinedly. No way did I want to set up still another campsite for a night in the jungle. I had to get to the Tuichi. After only a short while I could make out its distant, constant drone, the familiar sound of the great river. Like a horse who catches wind of its stable, I forged ahead with renewed energy. One more bend – and there it was.

The river that I had been following widened, expanding into a torrent sixty or seventy feet across. The Tuichi itself was more than three hundred feet across. A broad shore stretched about me, and the whole place was reminiscent of the mouth of the Ipurama, where Kevin and I had parted from Karl and Marcus.

I was overcome with relief and joy. Now at least I knew exactly where I was. From now on I would stick with the Tuichi. I would move on along its banks.

The gathering darkness made me ill at ease, an indefinable dread. Nothing was clearly visible; I was surrounded by long shadows. Suddenly the jungle had grown silent, magnifying the occasional rustle and cry. I found no place to take shelter, no boulder, tree trunk, niche, or cranny. Only the jungle provided such lairs, but I hadn’t the slightest desire to venture back into the jungle. Where was I going to sleep?

I considered stretching out on the sandy shore. I took the pack off my back. My entire body ached, my feet burned, and my stomach growled with hunger. I spread the poncho out over the muddy ground, stretched out on it, shivering with cold, and tried to cover myself with the mosquito nets. They were soaking wet. The river and the rain had gotten into the pack and doused everything. I prayed that the food hadn’t gotten wet. It was sealed up in waterproof bags. I would check tomorrow.

The last rays of the setting sun gave off no warmth, but one flat beam of light fell on the ground beside me and to my amazement drew my attention to the mouth of a cave just at the edge of the jungle. I crawled nearer and peeked inside but couldn’t see anything. All was blackness inside.

Just don’t let this be the den of a jaguar or some other wild beast.

I took out the flashlight and shined its beam inside. It was a cavern, round and deep, about seven feet long and four feet deep. Water had washed away the soil from an enormous gnarl of tree roots and left this hollow. I hurried in before total darkness settled in.

The cave was palatial. I was soaked from head to toe, but at least the wind wouldn’t chill me here. I wrapped myself up in the mosquito nets as usual and put the hood of the poncho over my mouth, exhaling into it and warming myself with my breath. And once again I sensed, this time harbouring not the slightest doubt, that someone had been watching over me.

It had stopped raining. The night grew bright, and through the crannies between the roots of the tree I could see brilliant stars sparkling in the night sky.

From the break of dawn I sensed that the day would be especially hot. The sun burned large and intense. I crept out of the damp cave with aching bones. By daylight the place looked even prettier. The shore was quite wide, caressed by the waters of both rivers: the Turliamos – so I had decided – and the Tuichi. A large tree stump had been washed up just where the two rivers met. I took off what was left of my flannel shirt and spread it out to dry. I noticed a pile of logs on the shore. They would soon be dry and make excellent firewood. A fire, some hot soup, a bath, laundry, and care for my sorry feet: I could to it all here. So I might as well spend the day. I liked the idea. The perfect spot for rest and recreation. After nine days alone I had earned that at least.

I scouted the area and found a berry bush on the bank of the Tuichi, but the fruit had not yet ripened; it was still green and sour. I looked around for a good place to fish. If I could only catch a dorado like the one we got in the Ipurama, it would last me for two weeks. The river rushed by rapidly, and I had doubts that I would be able to catch any fish. I clambered back over the rocks to my private beach. On the way I stepped on some kind of flat fruit, similar in shape to a carob. It was green with yellow splotches. When I peeled back the outer skin, I found black pits encased in a white, velvety pulp. I tried a bite. I thought it must be a wild variety of tamarind.

The fruit on the ground was rotten and infested with ants, I gazed up at the thick tree trunk, its towering branches laden with fruit, all out of my reach. The trunk of the tree was smooth and afforded no foothold. A machete would have saved me a lot of trouble. Machete-less, however, I decided to try knocking the fruit down by hurling rocks at it but soon concluded that this was both pointless and dangerous. I was blinded by the sun and couldn’t see where the rocks were landing. One of them almost bashed my head in. I tried inching up the tree, hugging it tightly with my knees and digging my fingernails into its bark; but I fell back down into the mud. My failure infuriated me. I couldn’t bear the thought that I might die of hunger while mountains of fruit hung over my head, out of my reach. It wasn’t fair. Who was all the fruit for? My inside churned with frustration. Then I had another idea.

I rummaged in the pack for the fishing line. I tied it tightly around a rock and heaved it up at the tree. The line wrapped around a branch and caught. I tugged at the line, shaking the branch... and it worked! Fruit rained to the ground. I threw the line again and again, until the ground about me was covered with fruit and leaves. I hungrily broke a piece apart and put the pits into my mouth. There wasn’t much flesh on each one, but I had an abundance. Now I could relax a bit.

I started gathering wood for a fire. There was no scarcity of kindling on the shore. I carefully chose the best. Karl had taught me what to look for. There are some branches that never soak up any water. Gray-coloured, they are hard and heavy and burn for great lengths of time. At first I gathered up only wood of this quality. Then I selected thick logs to set near the fire to dry out. They would later catch fire and burn for hours. In the morning, after smouldering all through the night, they would still be red, and the fire would easily rekindle.

While I was gathering wood, I felt a sudden dizziness. Black circles swam before my eyes, the world was spinning, my legs gave out from under me, and I sank to the ground. I don’t know how long I lay there unconscious, but it couldn’t have been for long because when I came to, the sun hadn’t yet changed its position. I staggered to the river, splashed water on my face, and drank thirstily. I went back to work, meticulously arranging firewood just at the mouth of my cave. The twigs ignited easily, but my lighter was about to run out of fluid. It would light once or twice more, and that was it. I owed my life to that cheap, disposable lighter. The twigs kindled the branches, which spread the blaze to the logs until I had a roaring fire going.