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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