Writings By Phil

Thoughts On This And That

Home Alone

March 29, 1978

The men left for Puerto Greta this morning.  Matt Castagna went with them so I am home alone for a few days. They probably got soaked if the rain storm we got this afternoon was widespread. I spent the day rearranging the house and unpacking the rest of my things.  It would be a joy, come nightfall, to sleep on sheets for the first time in two months.  My sleeping bag stank so bad and was so dirty, it would probably leave a ring around our swimming hole when I washed it in the river!

For supper I planned to cook some dried, white beans. I dug out Matt’s brand new pressure cooker and put water and the beans into it and put it on the stove to heat. Sharon Short brought me a loaf of fresh baked bread. Leaving the beans to cook, I took a walk down the airstrip thinking about the good meal I would soon be eating. However, on returning to the house I smelled something burning.  Sadly, I didn’t put enough water in the cooker, and on opening the lid I found a mass of black carbon welded to the shiny stainless steel bottom and walls of the pot. I filled the pressure cooker with water with the hope that an overnight soaking would remove the carbon and restore the stainless steel shine, and above all, hide my crime!

I settled for a light supper of fresh bread and honey. I was not complaining as honey on buttered fresh bread was one of my favorite snacks! 

March 30

I awoke to morning rain.  By mid-morning I decided the overcast sky would clear so went ahead and did my laundry.  My jeans and dirty shirts looked like bee hives with hundreds of the insects swarming around them and landing on the material to suck up whatever bees look for in dirty, sweaty, and smelly pieces of cloth. The sight of it made me question my love of honey! Another rain shower fell towards suppertime so my clothes were still wet.

After dark, I went river hunting in the boat with Paul Short.  It was a beautiful night with a billion stars looking down on us as we slowly paddled backwards up the river.  We both sat in the bow so that our weight would lift the stern out of the water, giving us less drag and we could make better time.  Paul sat on the short front seat so he could paddle on either side of the boat as necessary. We faced the way we were going, but the boat went backwards through the water.  I held the flashlight, scanning the bank for potential fixings for our mealtimes.  Frogs croaked and insects played their tedious tunes as we glided silently upstream.  Floating on the surface of the water along the riverbank, were lots of alligators. Though we could not see their bodies, their eyes glowed red in my light’s beam. Most were small as determined by the spacing between their eyes. All sank under the water if Paul steered a course towards the shore to double check their size. There would be no gator bites on the menu for us! We returned to camp, empty handed!

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.

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Phil Burns

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