GUATEMALA  Jungle Treck

Near Livingstone, Guatemala, January 18

The sun burns the back of my neck and my shirt is soaked in sweat. I stumble along the trail, at the back of the line, thinking boy you sure made a big mistake this time.

Just two days ago I was shoveling snow in Ontario. Today it feels like the Guatemalan jungle is a hot vise squeezing the breath out of my lungs.

The trek seemed like a good idea last night as I sat on the veranda of my hotel, drinking beer with some German travelers. They'd hired a local naturalist and trek leader to take them into the jungle and they asked if I wanted to come.

The sun rises slowly out of the sea the next morning, as we walk along the beach with Martin our guide. We leave the ocean breeze and follow a trail into the jungle.

The canopy closes in over my head, shading me from the merciless sun; but the steaming jungle heat turns my body limp and wet. Martin and the Germans have some sort of competition thing going. A bit too much bragging last night I suspect. They set a murderous pace and after a few miles my pack begins to chafe my shoulders and my body feels like every drop of moisture is draining out through my pores.

I am barely aware of the butterflies that flit through the trees, or the giant fern leaves that reach out and touch my legs as we pass. No, what I notice most is a vulture circling high over the forest.

Normally I'm in pretty fair shape. I walk and bike a lot. But the rapid change from winter to hell is a tough transition. We stop every two hours for a 15 minute rest. By 11am all my water is gone, and I watch the guy in front whenever he lifts his canteen to his lips.

By noon I figure I've had it. Another mile and I'm toast. As I'm thinking this we break into a clearing with a spring bubbling out of the limestone rock. I let the cool water run over my face and neck and run into my mouth.

After a brief rest we set off again. My leg muscles start to cramp, and my head feels dizzy. Late afternoon and the sun is low in the west, breaking through the canopy like a spotlight in a darkened sound stage. I tell myself to let go of all the tension in my body and focus on breathing.

Just when I think I've had it, we stumble into a clearing.  Martin throws his pack on the ground in front of a hut and announces with a smile that we have arrived at camp.

We go for a swim in the river where a waterfall cascades down into a pool of clear, cool water. I open my eyes, under water, as tiny silver fish rush to investigate the intruders from the air world. They nip gently at my legs. Love bites from nature.

Darkness falls as we sit around the fire, eating supper. Brilliant green fireflies dance out at the edge of the clearing. Bat wings softly beat through the night air above our heads. Venus peaks through a hole in the thick canopy.

We stay there for a week exploring the jungle before returning to Livingstone. The first night back in town I lay in my hotel bed listening. Through the sound of traffic outside my window I imagine I hear night frogs calling to each other, and once very late I wake to the sound of something soft and furry skittering across the bedroom floor.