Mud or blood?

The tropical humidity hung heavy as the rain dripped off the leaves overhead. Four days of swinging a machete through the Amazon jungle had drained Roger’s energy reserves. But he had to dig deeper as he led the World Nature Exploration party through the soggy undergrowth in search of the famous Bootah River canyon. One of the last untouched wildernesses on the planet. Late afternoon shadows replaced the rays of sun filtering down through the forest; their pace quickened as they had to find somewhere to camp before nightfall. One last push through the entangled vines brought them to a cleared rocky area where they stumbled across an old abandoned campsite. A couple of rusty poles held up the last threads of what used to be a tent. Personal effects littered the ground all around. Inside the footprint of the tent, Roger found a partly rotten canvas shoulder bag. Why would the owner leave all this here?

Reaching Inside the bag, he pulled out a leather-bound journal discoloured from mildew and hand prints of what looked like mud or old blood. It smelt of fungus and forest floor. Carefully peeling open the book, trying to not tear the damp pages. He was drawn to the date, 1978, eleven years ago. “Wow, another explorer's journal,” with renewed energy he pulled up a seat on a nearby rock ledge as the rest of the team set up camp. 

‘Journal of Edward Topping, Party Leader of the Bootah River Canyon exhibition.

06 April 1978 - day 1

We have arrived at the port and we are packing the boats to head off at first light tomorrow. The two boats are heavy-duty wood with flat bottoms like a barge to make it easier to go over sandbars. Once loaded there isn’t a lot of distance from the gunwale to the water. The large motors on the back counterbalance the stores at the front.

An old local fisherman warned us of the many waterfalls along the Bootah River. And of the Spirit Walkers who live in the mountains, they are to be feared the most. Anyone who travels into their territory never returns. I’m not one for ghost stories, this guy is a gaunt soul of flesh and bone, I don’t think he eats his catch, or if he was capable of catching anything. How can I take what he says as true or is it just the ramblings of an old man trying to scare the tourists away?

The Amazon flow is low at this time of year, which is good. We have to be back at the port before the monsoon floods come in July. If we have not reached the canyon by the beginning of May we will turn back. Our exploration party consists of ten members including myself. Four locals have agreed to travel with us on the boats as far as the first waterfall. We will be on foot alone after that.

07 April 1978 – day 2

After a four-hour ride up the main river, we turned left into Bootah River. We were sticking to the centre of the waterway to avoid the numerous crocodiles fighting on the river's edge. We had to duck in places as the dense forest hung low over the waterline; there was nowhere to go ashore. With the currents, the boat was bouncing a fair bit. We didn’t want to fall overboard as the water was as dark as hot chocolate and we would not see what was attacking us. It’s not just the crocodiles, there are some savage fish species in this river.

It may be the dry season but the afternoon thunderstorms slowed our speed on the river. The dark clouds arrived over the forest followed by white-out conditions as the rain pelted down. Our boat didn’t have a cabin so we huddled under the canvas in a vain attempt to stay dry. With the limited visibility, the pilot had to drop speed to navigate the river safely. There is still a day to go before the drop-off point so we will be camping in the boat on the river tonight. I don’t think we will get a lot of sleep with the crocodiles chirping and the endless barrage of mosquitoes.

08 April 1978 – day 3

Yesterday’s storm put us behind schedule, so the pilot set off at first light, he was working the motors more than usual to catch up on time. I questioned if the motors could take it and the pilot claimed that they did it all the time to fight the current.

It’s about two hours till sunset and the river had changed; worn rocks and pebbles lined the river bed and banks. I sometimes think I could hear the waterfall over the motor. With the light fading, the boat crew dumped our supplies on the shore and took off back down the river. We scrambled to set up some form of a camp for the night, while the night guards were preparing for an evening of defending the camp from anything unwanted.

09 April 1978 – day 4

A rough night with little sleep. The river curves back around a hill to the waterfall where we will set up base camp. To save time we will cut through the jungle, there is jungle either way so we are going to take the shorter direct route.

14 April 1978 – day 9

I haven’t journaled for the last few days as we have just been slogging through the forest. Climbing the hill was treacherous as the mud and leaf litter made the ground greasy underfoot. It has also been slow going as Tony cut his ankle as he slid over some rocks yesterday. We had to stop to bandage it.

PM - We have arrived at the head of the waterfall near the canyon.  Lee and James are scouting around to find an easier track down into the canyon. Tony has come down with a fever and is resting in his tent. The other six team members are collecting water from the river and setting up camp for the next few days. 

A side creek branching off the river wanders down to a cliff overlooking the canyon. The current is strong and the water drops many hundreds of metres into the canyon below. I can’t see the bottom of the canyon as the dense forest fills the whole valley. I can’t wait to see this virgin wilderness. No one has ever successfully explored this part of the world before.

15 April 1978 – day 10

Lee found a narrow animal track down into the valley. It took us three hours to climb down over the tree roots and rocks. The day was spent searching along the river. The area is abundant in bird life, insects and new plant species. We stopped regularly to map the river for future exhibitions.

PM – we are back at camp, the last few hours of the climb out of the canyon were in the dark. We are exhausted from the hours of climbing. Tony has not improved.’

“Roger, are you coming to bed?” Glancing up from the journal the fire was getting low. Yeah, it’s getting late I will finish reading this tomorrow.

Everyone was up early thanks to the birds squawking at dawn. The campfire smoke wafted through the camp as Roger took a sip of his coffee. Leaning back against a log, he opened the journal to fill in time as the crew cooked breakfast. The plan was to set off for the waterfall near the canyon after we had eaten.

‘16 April 1978 – day 11

I’m excited, we have found a cave with ancient symbols caved on the rock walls. We haven’t seen anything like this before. They were not pictures but more writing or symbols. The cave can be found to the left of the waterfall near a cliff with white orchids growing on its face.

(Hand drawings of the symbols filled the following pages).’

Roger straightened up excited by the cave find as he studied the symbols intensely.

‘PM – Dave the assistant assigned to look after base camp and Tony ran into the canyon calling out our names. Tony had disappeared, he was barely conscious from his infected foot and fever. I suspect it may have become gangrene. He wouldn’t have run away. The crew decided to withdraw to the camp and search for him. Making our way back to the exit trail James saw a set of bare human footprints in the river mud. They were smaller than an adult male, more the size of a teenager. We are not alone. Are these the Spirit people the fisherman warned us of?

We have been searching for hours and have found nothing. Everyone is on edge. We only have a few pistols for protection. The group decided to leave at first light tomorrow to find more searchers downstream.’

Roger’s pulse quickened, reading the afternoon passage again. He scanned the surrounding treeline as a lump developed in his throat.

‘17 April

The camp was raided last night. The lack of moonlight made it completely dark, I didn’t see who attacked us. They snuck into camp and started clubbing those who were sleeping. The tents were set on fire. I heard the screams; I grabbed my kit and took off into the forest hiding in a hollow log. I went back this morning and couldn't find anyone. I am alone. I collected an unburnt tent cover and the items I could carry. There was a trail of blood heading back into the canyon. I was not game to follow it. I am making my way back down the river for rescue.’

Roger couldn’t believe his eyes as he read the last entry. The handwriting was scribbled and all over the place, it was hardly legible. Roger turned the page, it was stained with forest leaves and water but no writing. He held the page up to the light to see if the ink had mostly washed away.  Flicking through the following pages, all were blank. What happened to this guy? Did he flee into the forest and leave everything behind or did he join the souls of his team?

A crew member all kitted up stood over Roger, “Are you ready to move on?”

Roger nervously scanned the area, the camp was packed up, and the team was ready for the next trek. The last strips of the ghostly tent in the corner fluttered in the breeze. A warning from another age. His blood ran cold as the hairs on his neck rose.

“No, we are getting out of here now,” he said as he pulled his satellite phone out of his bag and tucked the journal away.

The End