The Best Laid Plans

October 16 We didn't leave the La Amatista until 9 A.M. this morning, headed to the private Amazon Natural Park for a hike on terra firma, a canoe ride and lunch in the forrest. Lovely day, slightly overcast for which we're grateful. We motor down a small serene tributary of the Amazon and arrive at the preserve. We walk through a butterfly enclosure before crossing a long wooden bridge en route to a lake and our awaiting canoes. A few of the occupants do the paddling for the rest of us. We are in 2 canoes lashed together which seem very tip proof in this still water. It's beautiful as we glide along. We land and climb to terra firma (the naturalist's term for higher ground) for our hike in the jungle. There is a path so fairly easy going. Most of us don't bother with our rain gear since the canopy provides a serviceable umbrella. We enter a permanent encampment used by scientific groups and eat our hot lunch (complete with grilled meat) inside an unlit dining room. It's damn near dark - no sun, thick canopy, and no electricity. Great natural ambience however, since we're in a screen building. Now it's time to make our way down to another lake for the boat ride back. Upon arrival, there are no boats save a leaky rowboat that George, after failing to raise anyone to come get us, bails out and jumps in to paddle downstream. I am sure it never occured to George to tell Robinson, the assistant naturalist, to wait with the group until he returned with the boats. After about 10 mintues at the dock, Robinson takes a notion and starts leading the 20-person group through the jungle, not a trail to be had. Shortcut, anyone? One of the young crew from the boat takes the point to blaze a trail and to hack vines with what looks like a pen knife. Ron comes to the rescue with a better, sharper knife but God knows it's a far cry from a machete. Did I mention it's now raining rather steadily and that the soil and slopes (of which there are many) are very slippery? We are going up and down hills, it's bloddy hot, and we've all got steam rising from our bodies. We try to retain a sense of humor, but when we crest the last hill and spot our lunch building, we are deflated. We've gone in a large circle. Jack (our Canadian friend) and I spend a long time conjecturing what will befall Robinson as a result of this futile and, frankly, unsafe fiasco. Note: It was never mentioned again by anyone in authority so there you go. We now start walking back the same way we'd taken before lunch. Retracing steps does seem wise at this point. And poor George is in the wind. We do find out that the boatmen came to collect us and, seeing the dock unpopulated, made their way back from whence they'd come. We trudge on to a familiar crossroads but now what? Robinson, who'd earlier tried to console us with a frog (get that thing OUT of here!) seems to have totally lost confidence and has a bit of a hand-wring looking from one side to another. Fernando takes charge and points the way. We climb up a number of exceedingly slippery steps and spy La Amatista sitting placidly at anchor. We cheer and try to race each other to our rooms, knowing that every single one of us will be taking a shower. This could have been one of those really memorable times when a shower is absolutely the best, but our warm trickles of water didn't quite allow it to enter that category. I am serious about the trickle. Later on deck, we discuss all the animals, plants, and insects we've seen during the week. Our on board musicians perform before dinner. Tonight it's the RRRRRiver RRRRRats, rolling those r's with mucho gusto. We meet the captain and crew and when I say. "Muchas gracias, Capitan", he responds with a rapid volley of Spanish that I am sure translates into something very lovely. All the crew are very gracious and proud of their work, as they should be.