Writings By Phil

Thoughts On This And That

Snake In The Grass

March 8, 1978

Not much happened today.  The tejon (South American racoon) Paul Short shot yesterday spoiled overnight and, to me, smelled quite rotten, so even after he cooked it for supper I refused to eat it.  Later, Alan Foster brought in a monkey. I’m willing to try monkey meat, but do not think it will go down as my all-time favorite.

March 9

Matt Castagna, Denny Decicio and Alan checked the gift trail today.  Paul and I stayed in camp so I got some letters written.  When he returned, Alan cooked and smoked his monkey from last night over an open fire.  I took a little nibble of the blackened meat and it tasted like smoke! Not bad! Perhaps I would try a piece that was not quite so dried out when he finished cooking it. Monkey meat would have to be better than rotten tejon!

I won our game of Shanghai today.  The card game seems to have caught on as our afternoon pastime.

Our bathing hole was so dried up this evening that I took my bath in the swamp.  I don’t like the overgrown trail that leads to the water. There are lots of hiding places for snakes and other creeping, creepy things along the path.  Also, the mosquitos are worse over that way.

March 12

Paul, Matt, and I checked the gift trail today.  I wore my tennis shoes hoping the road would be dry.  It was, but the dew on the grass was so heavy my shoes got wet anyway.  We found no signs that Indian or national had come our way.

Denny and Alan left for the sawmill as soon as we got back  They will fix the boat motor and head on down to the Hediondo tomorrow.  I sent my  broken lock blade knife with Denny to give to Bob Smith who offered to carry it back to the States and exchange it for a new one at Sears, then send it to Dun Gordy to bring it back to me. Dun planned to visit Bolivia soon.

Today, I started and finished the book written by Elenor Craig, P.S. Your’ re Not Listening.

March 13

It rained today- the first time in over a week. I’m glad! Our bathing puddle was so shallow, only muddy water was left in it, and that would probably make us dirtier than we were before if we used it to wash the daily grim from our bodies. The swamp where we got our drinking water was drying up as well and had formed a blanket of weeds and scum on top. Not very portable! We were still weeks away from the start of the dry season!

Paul shot a day jochi (paca) this afternoon.  It was a rodent that can grow to weigh 25 pounds.  Day jochis were light brown in color.  Night ones were dark brown and had white spots like a fawn.  I was told the night ones, especially, were one of the best jungle meats to eat! The one Paul shot only had three legs and a stub where the other front foot used to be. Guess I will get to try something new in the meat department.

With only three of us out there, we stayed pretty close to camp.  Boredom was taking its toll on all of us. I felt discouraged and guessed the other guys did too! We knew for certain, the nomadic Yuqui were in the area the previous rainy season. Why had they not returned this year?  They were the reason we were out there. We hung out gifts and walked the trail every couple of days to check if they had come back. I knew that part was a means to accomplish our goal, but instead of building a friendly relationship with the nomads, we played card games and read books of no importance. How much longer would we stay out there before it was time to move on to greener jungle!

I had my quiet time with God each morning and read my Bible looking for encouragement. I also prayed our spirits would be lifted from the stagnation of life in the sticks, that the wild Yuqui would move into our area, and that they would stay safe from the guns of loggers and others making inroads into Indian territory.

I started reading another book of no importance about Perry Mason solving the mystery of the buried clock.  Played two games of Shanghai today.  It was not as fun with only three players.  Wish the Indians would come out!

March 15

If world records can be broken, surely I set a new one today for the number of horseflies killed.  I did not count the kills I made, but not many of the blood suckers got away! I was elated each time I rolled a crumpled body through my fingers and tossed it into the smoldering fire. Some I only wounded, making them crash to the ground, but before they could recover, I sent my size 12 boot to trample the life out of them and grind their sorry bodies into the dirt. Killing biting insects truly was one of the simple joys of jungle living!

There were different kinds of biting flies out there, small ones, about the size of a large house fly, and big ones the size of a bumble bee, but not as fat. In between there were deer flies. Twas the season, I guessed, and all were ravenously hungry!  Those cursed flies would bite right through my shirt and raise a welt that was bursting with uncontrollable itching.  Even my thirteen-ounce denim jeans were not an impenetrable barrier for the bites of the big ones. They always tried to sneak up and bite when you least expected it.  They were fast and hard to kill, but with much practice I had finally developed the skill to even the score.

We had pizza for supper using ground jochi for the meat.  We did not have any cheese to put on top.  “Pizza without cheese is like a kiss without a squeeze,” or so I heard! To be honest, I did not know it as fact. I thought a kiss would be wonderful, even without the squeeze. Likewise, after being so long in the boondocks, pizza without cheese was a-ok! It was good.

I’ve started reading the book, Oregon Trail. At least, its pages were filled with history telling of the struggles and rewards in the settling the western United States. I thought it was a giant step up from reading a fictious novel!

March16

Later in the morning, I was writing letters at our crude table when I heard the rustle of leaves. Something was making quite a stir in the weeds in front of me. All of a sudden a little frog broke clear from the grass and started making tracks towards me.  Had it not been sprinkling on and off throughout the morning, its little legs probably would have been kicking up dust, it was hopping so fast! It was moving faster than any frog I had ever seen, and it was obvious it was running for his life. Sure enough, hot on its heels was a yellow snake.  The snake stopped just short of the clearing and reared up, peering over the weeds, to take one last look at its fleeing dinner.

I yelled, “Snake!” Matt came running, his 22 pistol in his hand, already cocked!  The frog was by then safely hidden between the barrels of food stuffs and other junk stashed under our kitchen table. The snake meanwhile realized that it was no longer the biggest bully in the playground and fled, running as fast as its lack of legs could carry him. I did not know how good a shot Matt really was, but serpents seemed to make him the best that he could be. I was thankful I was not that snake! One shot from Matt’s revolver and the reptile was minus its nose, one eye, and its slither. All it could do was wiggle, writhing uncontrollably and without direction. Was it nerves that made the snake squirm so, or was it still alive? We didn’t know but took pity on it and cut its head off with a machete. Minus its head, it was very much dead, but continued to thrash wildly for another half hour.

The snake was two feet long, yellow with black lines between its scales, and blue dots about halfway up its tail.  It was a pretty thing as far as snakes go. I did not think it was venomous, and personally would not have killed it because it was obviously not a pit viper, but in the excitement of the moment, it happened. It was done, and it was always better to be safe than sorry!

Our eating habits in the bush left a lot to be desired.  We were eating way too much sugar!  Every morning we ate something sweet and all day long we drank gallons of highly sugared refresco, like Kool-aid, but made in Brazil.  I had lost my craving for sugar so for the past two days I drank only water.  With the swamp drying up, the water tasted terrible and was full of visible and invisible life, but it was the same water we made refresco with, only without the sugar, so I hoped it to be the healthier choice.

If we all got worms, amoeba and stomach problems later, we would have no one to blame but ourselves. However, it would be a fulltime job to keep five men, who sweated profusely in the humid tropics, supplied with enough boiled drinking water to meet their needs. Boiling water would have to be done on a wood fire. We had a bottle of propane and a cookstove on which to prepare our meals, but the logistics of bringing in enough gas bottles to boil water twenty-four/seven was prohibitive.

Vegetables were rare on our menu. Meat, if not cooked over the open fire, was often fried in a skillet. Yuca, potatoes and such were deep-fried. Everything tasted better when fried, but too much grease was not good. I was so looking forward to eating fresh fruits and vegetables again but had no idea when that day would come.

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

Phil Burns

, , , ,

Leave a comment