📸 Photo

It was still raining, hadn't let up at all since yesterday. The stones were damp and slick, but I kept climbing. My pants caught on a jagged edge and ripped. My knees were scratched, my fingers bloody. The strain on my legs was tremendous, terribly painful. I could tell that the rash was spreading over my wet feet again. When I was about ten feet above the ground, I turned and slid down the rock face on my rear end. My back was scraped, but I landed safely on the riverbank. I started searching, skipping over rocks until I reached the raft.

It was hard to believe, but the raft was still in one piece. All seven logs were still bound together. Yes, Don Jorge knew his business. Why hadn't we listened to his wife and stayed back there?

Before I began my search for the pack, I secured the raft well, just in case I met up with Kevin and the two of us might make use of it. I looked around among the rocks and crevices, and there, about ten yards away, in the cleft of a small rock, sat the precious pack, soaking wet but still afloat.

Thank you, God.

Words could not describe my happiness. I lay down on the rock and fished the pack out of the river and hurriedly opened it. I was saved! The contents were only slightly damp. The rubber bag had protected them well. There was everything: rice and beans, the flashlight and matches, the lighter, map, mosquito netting, red poncho,