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the poncho kept my wet body warm, and my fantasies kept my mind occupied, but I wanted to get up and start marching. I had to get out of the jungle, no matter what. Kneeling, I packed my things, slung the pack on my back, snatched up my walking stick, and dashed outside.

Good Lord! Rain flooded down. I turned to start in the direction of the river and stood rooted to the ground. The wadi was flooded. The entire riverbed was brimming with water, as deep as ten feet, I guessed. Incredible. A shallow stream, a wadi that had been almost dry, had overnight become a wide river, almost over-flowing its banks. The Tuichi, which flowed by about fifty yards from where I stood, looked threatening. Its waters were black, and the current so swift it seemed that someone had filmed the river and was showing it at double speed. So many enormous trees floated downstream that the water itself was barely visible. The river had washed over its shores, gathering up all that booty. I assumed that the signposts that I had so laboriously erected, indicating my presence and the direction in which I was going, had also been washed away. I cursed the day.

How was I going to make it across the river? I started away from the Tuichi following the course of the unknown river upstream, but I didn't get far. There was no path nor hope of finding a place to cross. I had to go back to my shelter.

I was furious with myself. If I were to stay put,