📸 Photo

extract water from the bamboo shoots that grew in abundance on the mountain. Little reserves of potable water build up between the joints on the stalks. He chopped off one of the shoots with the machete, and, sure enough, water poured out.

We needed a rest before going on. I leaned my weary back against one of the stalks, but it offered no support, and I fell over backward. Long, thick thorns stuck up among the stalks, and when I fell, my hand struck one of them, piercing my wrist more than half an inch deep.

Marcus had begun laughing at my fall, but when he saw the look on my face, he grew frightened and silent. I was in severe pain. I pulled the thorn out, and, surprisingly, there wasn't much bleeding. Marcus disinfected the wound, and Kevin bound it with a large bandanna. My hand was paralyzed from the wrist to the fingertips.

We descended the mountain rapidly, the way down as steep as the ascent had been. Karl seemed to know what he was talking about; when we reached level ground, we did find a narrow brook. We waded along in it, and its current gradually quickened. The scenery was magnificent, and Kevin couldn't stop taking pictures.

When we came around a bend in the stream, we took a lazy little sloth by surprise. It was drinking from the stream and was too slow to run away from us. Karl was the first to spot it. He ran toward it shouting happily, 'A la olla! A la olla! Into the pot with you!' He fearlessly grabbed the