Writings By Phil

February 26, 1978

Sunday. It was not a typical Lord’s Day, but in the jungle, there was no normal! Early in the morning, Matt Castagna and Wally Pouncy left camp to travel by boat to the Hediondo. Wally would change places with the man keeping watch on our jungle outpost there. Matt went along as a second hand to get the boat there and back should there be problems with the motor, or on the river

The rest of us were left to find our own way to occupy our time. The others did some laundry.  I sat and read my Bible, contemplating on the last of Romans 7 and chapter eight.  Later we got together and shared some from the Word.  It was a good time of fellowship, and I even participated. Sharing my heart and mind was difficult, but something I needed to do more often!  I shared some thoughts on the last verses of chapter eight.

The rest of the day was like so many others before, except Denny Decicio baked bread in his barrel oven.  I started reading the Israelis by Harry Goldem, which was not my usual reading pleasure, but some of it was interesting, even entertaining.  I put my bedding out in the sun to dry and air.  Of course, that brazen act made it rain!  I snatched it off the line and brought it back under the thatched roof, again made my bed, took a bath, killed the mosquitos in my net, and crawled into it. It was still raining. I liked the noise of rain falling softly on the thatched roof and splattering from leaf to leaf outside our abode. Perhaps it dropped the temperature a bit, too.

February 27

Two in the afternoon and raining, of course!  Last night right after I blew out my candle, we had some terrific lightning and thunder, louder than I had ever heard.  When the noise subsided, I fell asleep, the sound of rain still pattering in my ears. When I awoke later, the night was quiet and clear.  On waking in the morning, it was raining, again!

During a break in the rain, Alan Foster came running to get his movie camera.  He had found a column of army ants on the march, and wanted to shoot some footage of them. I had never seen them in formation,  so I went along with him.  Looking down from my six-foot, five-inch frame, the ant’s trail looked like a five or six lane freeway, shot from the air, with most of the cars traveling in the same direction.  I say most because some ants were wrong way drivers, rushing against traffic. This caused some confusion as ants stepped indiscriminately on their comrades, but they did not seem to care, and their pace never slackened!

The army ants were red, and I think, had longer legs than the average ant. About a third of the insects had white, enlarged heads with giant mandibles, though the rest of their body was red. I don’t know what the difference means.  I held each kind in a pair of tweezers while Alan shot close ups with his camera.

The column marched on sticks and weed stems a good part of the way, especially over the puddles.  I noticed that as they crossed a small weed stem a number of ants locked themselves together to make a guard rail, making the road wider. Six lanes of ants crossed over, three of them marching on a bed made from the bodies of their fellow ants.

As I sat at the table writing, there were times I felt I was being watched. I looked into the jungle and did a panoramic scan of my surroundings but saw no faces peering back at me. Only leaves and tree trunks filled my vision. Perhaps, the feeling came because Alan and Denny have retired into their tent or mosquito net to read or sleep. To the wild Yuqui, observing me from the cover of the jungle, I would appear to be alone, an easy target for an eight-foot arrow! The rain dripping from the trees, and the breeze blowing through the forest only heightened my sense of foreboding.  I chided myself for my moments of uneasy silliness. My premonition was unfounded because we had found no evidence that the Indians were close at hand. However, it was possible that without warning the nomads could show up at or camp before nightfall! We just didn’t know.

The radio we used for communicating with other missionaries in Bolivia to order supplies, to give prayer requests, to let everybody we are okay, acted up last night, and was not much better this morning.  We could receive messages fine, but could not send one back. Transmissions just fed back through the speaker and did not break onto the airways. With the help of other missionaries at other stations, they worked out a system. “Yes” and “No” questions would be asked, and to answer, one click of the mic switch meant “No,” and two clicks meant “Yes.”

We heard today that even with rain and a wet airstrip, Brian Porterfield was able to land at the Hediondo. Hurray! We should get mail tomorrow when Matt returns with Paul Short. 

February 28

Last night I couldn’t go to sleep. I read until midnight, then gave two more fruitless attempts at slumber. Though I must have dosed some of the time, I finished my book before dawn. Because of that, I’m would be about as shot as the batteries in my flashlight!

Sometime in the night, I was still reading by flashlight when I was startled by the mighty rushing sound of a large tree falling close by, maybe on top of us!  It was dark and I couldn’t see anything in the blackness outside.  I felt trapped by my mosquito net and helpless to run. It was terrifying! I just closed my eyes, waiting to die, expecting the roof to crash in upon me and snuff my life!  It lasted but mere seconds, I know, but it seemed an eternity before the last limbs broke and landed, shattered on the ground. The death of the tree must have inspired fear in all of creation. Even the frogs and insects stopped playing their nocturnal songs and gave a moment of silence to the slain giant. All of us were alive, and wide awake, and the adrenaline pumping through our veins probably deprived all of us from a few hours of sleep. I know it did me!

Denny, Alan and I walked the gift trails today checking to see if the nomads had taken our offerings. We carried green bananas with us and hung two or three on every other gift rack. Food was always a good incentive for the hunter/gathers to follow the trail back to our camp!

Along the way, a lot of big trees had fallen across the road.  One was a honey tree and the bee nest was broken open.  On our return, Alan and I went to look at it to see if it was worth coming back to steal some honey. The part of the nest that was still attached to the tree was covered by a solid mass of bees. I tried to look at the remnants of the nest inside the hollow of the broken limb, and tripped over another broken branch which sent a shock wave to the bees, sending many angry bees into the air to attack us. We ran for our lives!  I got stung on the cheek, the ear and my back before we got away.  Alan got away without a scratch.

Closer to home, Denny shot a duck. Jungle ducks are big! Paul pressure cooked it and served it with French-fried bananas for supper.

FIN

This story was from the category Tales From Green Hell. If you would like to read more of my experiences in the jungles of Bolivia, please click on that link below.

More Writings by Phil

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• Tales From Green Hell 1978 -1979 (60)
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• Uncategorized (1)