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believed that frogs could get that big. It must have weighed at least four pounds.

‘They taste like chicken,’ Karl said. ‘I sometimes eat them, but for now I’ll let Flaca have the pleasure.’

He skinned the frog and tossed Flaca a piece. To our amazement the dog wouldn’t have anything to do with it. Karl’s cooing and pleading did no good. Flaca just wasn’t interested.

After a few hours of arduous walking we came to a wide river.

‘Great,’ Karl said happily, ‘this is the Machariapo River. We don’t have far to go now.’

The river was deep; its waters came up to my chest. We hung our shoes around our necks. Karl cut some sturdy branches from the trees and demonstrated how to ford the stream, sticking the poles into the rocky bottom to brace ourselves against the current. Kevin went first, and Karl followed behind him, his pole in one hand and Flaca’s leash in the other. The dog treaded water weakly, trying to keep its head above the current. Marcus and I were last to cross. We tottered from side to side and almost lost our balance but finally reached the other side.

Karl suggested that we set up camp. We were tired enough to agree readily. Once again we erected a tent of bamboo poles and nylon sheeting. Karl started making dinner, and the rest of us stripped and raced back to the river.

We splashed around in the cool water, swimming