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tender and delicious. We could barely stand to leave a little for the next day.

Then Karl repaired the soles of his boots with the glue he had collected from the tree. When he finished, he lay down by the fire and fell asleep. From inside the tent I stared out at him: Karl, the jungle dweller, so at home in the wilderness.

In the morning Karl decreed the oars 'ready to go,' and we carried our provisions on our backs to the place where the raft was tied.

Rafting was heavenly. The Tuichi was placid, the day was lovely and warm, and the raft was easily controlled with the oars. We could manoeuvre it any way we wanted with little difficulty. After a while Karl pointed over at the left bank.

'This was Don Matías's property, but he doesn't live here anymore,' he said.

We went on. I called Karl's attention to the fact that the panchos were very loose, and we were liable to lose the additional logs.

'We'll stop to look for another balsa tree and make some more panchos,' he agreed.

We soon came upon a wide beach where it was easy to secure the raft. Kevin and I went with Karl. Marcus stayed aboard the raft. Karl strode into the jungle, looked up at the treetops, and picked out the distinctive large, clover-shaped green and yellow leaves of a balsa tree. He cut it down with two swift chops of the machete, but