|
|
Cornugaya Directory 07
Page 06
It was cold, especially at night. Nearly all my instruments had been
badly damaged in our many accidents in Brazil, and I was unable to
replace them either in Para or Manaos. Owing, therefore, to the lack of
self-registering thermometers, I could not keep an accurate daily record
of the maximum and minimum temperatures. After leaving Camp 93, we went
over a really fearful trail, my mules being all the time chest-deep in
mud. It was extremely hard work for the animals to get along. As is well
known to any traveller, all animals of a caravan when on a narrow path
step in the footprints of their predecessors, so that on that trail they
had sunk a long series of deep holes in the soft clay, which were
constantly being filled by water sliding from the mountain-side. In that
particular part the mud had highly caustic qualities, which burnt the
skin and caused irritation each time you were splashed. The muleteers who
were walking had their feet badly burnt by it, one man suffering agony
from his blistered feet.
On January 21st we made a long and tedious march, rising all the time
among slippery rocks along precipices, or sinking in swampy mud on the
narrow trail. Picturesque waterfalls of great height were visible in
volcanic vents, some square, others crescent-shaped, on the face of the
mountain. The torrents, swollen by the heavy rains, were difficult to
cross, my mules on several occasions being nearly swept away by the
foaming current. We sank in deep red slush and in deep holes filled with
water, but continued all the time to ascend a gentle but continuous
incline. We travelled that day from six o'clock in the morning until six
o'clock in the evening, rain pouring down upon us all the time. We were
simply smothered in mud from head to foot.
|
