Tyler Sharp
Surviving the Swine Flu
At 4 am, we were awakened by the mechanical roar of the generator being coaxed to life, oil and tainted fuel running through its ragged and chapped veins. It was a deafening clamor compared to the peaceful sounds of the jungle. Luckily the lights are delayed in their incandescent intrusion by the length of wire it had to travel, giving us time to shield our eyes from the unnatural illumination. At this hour, this deep in the jungle, it is as black as night can be, with only starlight to illuminate the limestone cliffs. After a light breakfast of fresh fruit, we headed up river in our dugout canoes.
Somewhere along the forested banks, which hung heavy and purple in the inky darkness, a howler monkey bellowed its’ demonic roar. This modestly sized monkey has an evil resonance that sounds like a dinosaur mixed with a demon. Coupled with the black morning and the eerie mist from the river, it was sound enough to send shivers down any spine.
We arrived at our destination, beached the boats, and unloaded the necessary gear for the day’s mission. There were various goals of the day, almost all of them sustenance inspired, so we split into our prospective groups. My group was hunting for a small forest deer, called a red brocket deer, who is notoriously secretive and evasive. But we had hound dogs to help compensate, as our guides assured us.
As we set out into the jungle, dogs in the lead, the sun lazily began to slink upwards into its’ daily grind, which caused the light in the forest to radically shift, thickening the fog, and dispersing dew everywhere. When we reached a clearing, the villagers told us in rapid Spanish to wait there, as their dogs were to try and chase the deer towards us, where the hunter would try to get a running shot off with a shotgun. It sounded like a brilliant plan, but hardly worked out the way they had so convincingly laid forth.
Waiting in a Clearing in Vain
We weren’t going back to camp for another 8 hours or so, which meant we had a long morning of waiting ahead of us. Being that we were so tired, we made ourselves makeshift jungle beds from fallen leaves and ferns, and fell into a light sleep. Faint barks would drift in and out of earshot, and mosquitoes would buzz by my ears, but what woke me up was the all out attack that a colony of jungle fire ants launched on my legs and ankles. The damage was extensive, and their offensive successful, as my legs were riddled with venom filled wounds and craters that burned and itched. I was completely ravaged.
But my misery was silenced by the sudden and frantic howling of the pack of dogs. We all jumped to our feet, and listened as the dogs got closer. The guides all began shouting “el rio! el rio!,” so we all ran in the direction that we thought was towards the river. What followed could only be described as a wild goose chase, or in this case a wild deer chase. We ran back and forth through the village, and from the river back to the forest, chasing distant yelps of dogs in pursuit, and hungry shouts of villagers ready to have a barbeque. But the deer was never seen, only moving bushes, and the whole of our group was given the slip. According to some witnessed school children, who were the only ones who actually saw the tiny deer, it ran down the bank towards the river, followed closely by the dogs, then disappeared.
Not the men with the boats, the dogs with keen scent, the kids with sticks, or the hunters with guns could spot this small and shadowy deer.
The hunt being spoiled, we packed up and floated home to make another plan. Along the way, the guides spotted some Crested Gwan and Curasaw in the jungle canopy, which are large and exotic jungle birds. They are not accustomed to human presence, and squawked loudly as a few of the villagers approached. Much to their demise, they continued to squawk and taunt us, which gave Corey time to pick a few of them off with the shotgun, providing lunch and a beautiful trophy simultaneously. Cooked up with fresh habañero peppers and re-fried black beans, I believe we might have been the only people in the world eating fresh Curasaw tacos at that moment. Topped with freshly picked avocado and handmade salsa, these tacos were a delicacy that I shall never forget, nor likely ever surpass. Thank you Lord for tacos…
Corey’s Curasaw
We spent the next two days in pursuit of our clever and elusive friend the red brocket deer, but to no avail. All we had to show for our pursuits was sun burns, mosquito bitten arms, and frantic footage of mexicans, americans, and dogs alike running too and fro after a seemingly invisible animal. As the heat was too intense for the dogs after 1 or 2 pm, we would head back to camp early before an evening hunt.
This free time on the banks of the Uxpanapa River allowed me to polish my rock climbing maneuvers on the limestone cliffs across from camp. An added bonus and rarity in rock climbing is the ability to flip off of the summit into an emerald river below, as was the case with this magical hidden jungle oasis. Rock climbing and cliff diving is a wonderful combination, especially when you have the whole of the terrain to yourself.
Climbing & Diving Oasis
Our time of stay having expired, we packed up our gear and loaded into the canoes for one last ride upriver to our awaiting transport. Along the way, Corey entertained our two boat paddlers by singing songs in boisterous Spanish, much like a futbol announcer, and claiming that he was one of the most famous singers in all of America. Eduardo, a local boy of only about 14, would clap wildly and call for another song every time. Eduardo also gained a healthy curiosity for my futbol career, and wish to know stories of glorious goals that I had scored. I have a few, though probably not as glorious to others as to me, but my mediocre Spanish kept me from relaying the sheer brilliance and legendary reputation of my goal scoring abilities. I am a legend in my recreational Dallas Men’s League, if Eduardo only knew…
Il Cantante Corey
Eduardo Rows
After a rather bumpy and uneventful van ride to Minititlan, and a few cervezas along the way, we boarded a plane to connect in Mexico City. During our brief layover there, we were perplexed to see half of the airport wearing surgical masks. Not going beyond casually asking ourselves a few times why people were wearing masks, Corey and I ate a few last hand made tacos, and boarded our plane. Upon arriving home, we were promptly informed by the sensationalization of our so called “news” that there had been an outbreak of what authorities had dubbed the swine flu. The masks in the airport finally made sense, and we even learned that they believed the virus to have originated from the Vera Cruz state, precisely where we had just been. Preparing for the worst at customs, we were relieved not to be quarantined at the airport, and we were allowed to go on our way.
We had narrowly missed the window of fear and panic that newspapers and television were to create only days later, allowing us to easily pass through what would have been a nightmare customs situation. But my iron-clad immune system had saved me once again, and I bear no symptoms as of yet. But I will keep you all updated on whether or not I do indeed have the swine flu, and whether or not we will make it through this Earth shattering epidemic that is threatening our life and liberty like so many flesh eating zombies. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, and if I die, whatever you do, please don’t let it be the swine flu. Amen, until then.