Writings By Phil

Thoughts On This And That

And Solitaire’s The Only Game In Town. . .

March 19, 1978

Back when I was in language school, songs of the Carpenters were often played in the men’s dorm. Many times, I heard Karen sing,

“And keeping to himself he plays the game

Without her love it always ends the same

While life goes on around him everywhere

He’s playing solitaire. . .”

I lost a love back then, but not through indifference like the song says. The words resonated down the sad corridors of my heart for months afterwards, even years! Sometimes, even out here in the jungle I could still hear the echo of Solitaire! I was an expert at playing Heart Solitaire, but I had never learned to play the kind that used plastic coatred playing cards.

One of my coworkers taught me how to play the game yesterday. Now I’m hooked! I spent an hour playing it this morning. I played my harmonica quite a bit today, also. I missed my piano, but those were hard to carry around!

We had pizza and crazy cake with pudding for supper. Guess it was party time!

March 25

I took pictures of Alan Foster’s tortoise this afternoon.  It was a big one he found in the jungle two weeks ago. He carried it back to camp and tied it to a tree, hoping to gift it to the Indians if we made contact with them. With its powerful claws, it dug a deep trench all the way around the tree, 360 degrees, but not one offered it a way to escape! I untied it and set it in an open area for my photo session.

I got as close as I could with my camera lens, but Mr. Turtle would not come out of its shell. Camera shy, I guessed! The reptile could take the hot sun beating down on him better than I could, and I gave up before it obliged and let me take its picture. I submerged it in a mud puddle, and it came out of its shell almost immediately. However, I wanted a picture of it in its natural environment, and mud and wet shell and skin were not part of that, so I washed the dirt off and put it in a more natural setting.

The sun hid behind a cloud. When it reappeared, it didn’t seem as hot as before, so I laid down on the dirt, camera in hand, to wait, letting the mosquitos have a free, three-course dinner because of my resolve not to move.  In about five minutes the tortoise cautiously stuck its head out and I got my first picture. The click of the shutter scared it, and the head quickly retreated inside its shell. I had to lay still and feed the mosquitos for every photo I snapped of the shy reptile.

When I finished with my photos, I tied it to another tree so it could plow some new ground and went to pursue other tasks. In the meantime, its powerful, four-wheel drive claws pulled my knot loose, and it escaped into the jungle.  It could not have been gone ten minutes before I discovered it missing.  I searched for over an hour, but to no avail. Tortoises walk slow, so it could not have gone far, but I could not find it.  I felt sick knowing that Alan would be disappointed that I let his turtle escape. I was sure this one had wings hidden inside that shell that enabled it to fly far way to freedom.

During my search, I killed twenty-five of those big ugly spiders. Those arachnids with their sticky yellow webs always gave me the creeps!

March 21

I decided to brave the mosquitos tonight and sat at the table instead of inside my net to write, read and do whatever else caught my fancy in the evening hours before bed.  It was sprinkling and a slight breeze was blowing. The combination of wind and rain dampened the insect’s lust for blood and the bugs were not bad, at all.

Tomorrow, our mission pilot, Brian Porterfield, will airdrop the swamp tractor part we need, so Matt Castagna and I requested that our mail be dropped with it. I knew chances were slim, but I was hoping for a letter from CJ. Wishful thinking, yes, but not impossible. However, it was not something I was going to hold my breath over, either!

March 22

Bad weather in Cochabamba today, so buggy part and our mail did not come. It was a disappointment for sure, but deferred anticipation was stretched out one more day and we again had something to look forward on the morrow!

I changed into clean jeans this morning, putting on a pair I had hanging over a pole to dry.  An inner voice, Something/Someone, told me to shake them out before I pushed my feet and legs through the holes. I don’t usually do that, at least not with violent agitation, but this morning I gave them a few vigorous flips making them crack like a bull whip.  I only saw a small cockroach fall out of them. I was glad that my effort had flushed out one varmint. Gross, yes, but not something of which I was afraid!  I finished dressing and took a short walk.

When I returned, Paul Short pointed under the bench and asked if “that” had come out of my jeans.  I looked and “that” was a tarantula with its hairy legs neatly folded around his body.  I picked up a leaf and poked at the spider, trying to straighten its legs.  It appeared to be dead, but then I saw a slight movement.  If it was in my pants, the violent flip I gave my jeans before putting them on must have given the spider internal injuries before sending it flying to land under the bench. I put it in a pudding box to see if it would revive. Paul called me later and told me the spiders’ insides were oozing out, so I smashed the box with my boot, the spider still inside, and put it out of its misery.

I did laundry today.  It was a beautiful day for drying clothes.

March 23

The plane landed at Hediondo. A short time later, we received word that Brian was coming our way so we built two fires spaced out along the road so he could get his bearings and hopefully drop the package right in the road.  The plan was, when we heard the plane coming, we were supposed to pour a bottle of old oil on the fires, throw on a piece of rubber, and pile on a whole lot of green weeds to make as much smoke as possible.

I did not know where communication broke down, but our best laid plans went quickly up in smoke! All our smog making stuff was thrown on the fire prematurely. There was lots of black pollution spiraling upwards, but the plane was still too far away for the pilot to see it. We kept the fires going by throwing kerosene on them, and when we truly heard the plane’s engines, we threw greenery onto the flames. They smoked, but not like they did when we stoked them with old oil and rubber. The result was not sufficient to allow Brian to see it and make the drop. The next thing we heard over the radio was that the drop was made back at our airstrip on the Rio Hediondo. 

Consequently there were some disappointed faces around camp, including mine. Plan B was for two men from our base at Hediondo to travel upriver tomorrow by boat and bring the tractor part and our mail.

I spent the rest of the day playing Solitaire, Scrabble, my harmonica, and digging warts out of my hand with my pocketknife. An exciting day, to say the least! Ha!

March 24

I got upset today to the point of having to apologize for my attitude. It was only a game of Scrabble, but I felt the use of “y” endings was getting out of hand.  You can add “y” to almost any noun making it an adjective which probably would be understood even if sounded like baby talk. I could accept words like grassy, cloudy, buggy, muddy, and the like. They were used in writing and everyday conversation all the time, but I had to draw the line at words like treey, roachy and such. Those were just not in common everyday use! We didn’t have a scrabble dictionary with us. Even a regular dictionary would have gone far in ending the dispute, but we didn’t have one of those either!

I confessed; my problem was pride. I was wishing to spell words that used all my letters, but the luck of the draw seemed against me. I was not pulling good letters from the draw pile, and sometimes could not even play the ones I had. Upset with myself, I began to get picky. The reality was, they were winning, and I was losing, and I didn’t like that! I thought too highly of myself, and my attitude was far from being humble.

The Bible instructed us to have the mind of Christ who was willing to be a servant to others. In my case, I needed to be a humble servant that could lose gracefully in Scrabble!

Wally and Denny came walking into camp later in the afternoon. They were hot, tired, and dirty. They brought the mail, and I got several letters, but none from CJ. Along with the letters, I got my voucher from the mission. It showed that Jerry Blanchette was able to sell my car. It was a 1967 two-door Ford LTD with a 390 V-8 engine in it. Its size and power were like that of a tank, but I’m sure the ride was more comfortable for long hauls than flying first class on an airline! Of course, I wouldn’t know about that, because my flight to Bolivia was my first time to fly in an airplane! He got me $200 for it.

They informed us that the plan was to abandon the Pension. We had been there for more than six weeks. The wild Yuqui had not moved back into the area as we had hoped, and with the soon coming of dry season would come the loggers. To the jungle nomads, the noisy chainsaws, trucks, and tractors would be a great deterrent for them to enter the area again. Not only that, but there was a good chance they could meet their demise by a logger’s shotgun. It was time for us to look for greener jungle, elsewhere!

In the morning we would hike out, fix the swamp tractor, and check the gift trail one more time. If all was as before, all gifts would be taken down and we would head back to the sawmill in the afternoon and home to the Hediondo the next day.

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