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KELSEY Timmerman
Travelin' Light
kelsey@travelin-light.com
Travelin' Light
kelsey@travelin-light.com
Midnight in the Jungle of Good and Evil
(Please click on cartoon to see it in high resolution)
The fer-de-lance is the most
feared creature in the jungles of
Honduras. One bite has enough
venom to kill three to five men.
There are five of us in the
canoe. Six, counting the snake,
which is less than an arm’s
length from my pale face.
feared creature in the jungles of
Honduras. One bite has enough
venom to kill three to five men.
There are five of us in the
canoe. Six, counting the snake,
which is less than an arm’s
length from my pale face.
The shallow canoe lists from side to side as I
scurry backwards. I don’t stop until I feel
Kyle’s knees in my back. Still not far enough
away, I climb onto his lap. Kyle has taken a
similar position and is sitting on our guide.
The guide, despite his holding 350lbs of
brothers, doesn’t move. He is as scared as we
are. We dare not breathe or blink - three grown
men occupying two-feet of a 20-foot canoe.
Carl ties the snake to a stick with his boot
laces. His face is flush with excitement and his
gleeful grin hints at pride in a job well done.
The snake is secure.
Back at the village we look on as Carl injects
formaldehyde into the snake’s heart. It twists
and writhes as it slowly dies, what Carl
assures us to be, a very painful death. Once
dead, I feel sorry for it. But only then.
Is seeking adventures in distant lands worth
the risks? Sure, I now know what it is like to
walk through a jungle at midnight and to glide
along in a dugout canoe, but for a few moments
I was actually staring down the business end,
fangs and all, of a deadly poisonous snake. I
believe I prefer my adventure travel with a
little less adventure.
I didn’t enjoy contemplating my death, and
later Kyle informed me he didn’t much enjoy
contemplating my death either, probably
because he would have had to tell Mom. We
agree on three things back at camp:
scurry backwards. I don’t stop until I feel
Kyle’s knees in my back. Still not far enough
away, I climb onto his lap. Kyle has taken a
similar position and is sitting on our guide.
The guide, despite his holding 350lbs of
brothers, doesn’t move. He is as scared as we
are. We dare not breathe or blink - three grown
men occupying two-feet of a 20-foot canoe.
Carl ties the snake to a stick with his boot
laces. His face is flush with excitement and his
gleeful grin hints at pride in a job well done.
The snake is secure.
Back at the village we look on as Carl injects
formaldehyde into the snake’s heart. It twists
and writhes as it slowly dies, what Carl
assures us to be, a very painful death. Once
dead, I feel sorry for it. But only then.
Is seeking adventures in distant lands worth
the risks? Sure, I now know what it is like to
walk through a jungle at midnight and to glide
along in a dugout canoe, but for a few moments
I was actually staring down the business end,
fangs and all, of a deadly poisonous snake. I
believe I prefer my adventure travel with a
little less adventure.
I didn’t enjoy contemplating my death, and
later Kyle informed me he didn’t much enjoy
contemplating my death either, probably
because he would have had to tell Mom. We
agree on three things back at camp:
- We would never go traipsing through
any dark jungles again. - Carl is a loon.
- We can’t wait to tell our grandkids in
40 years.
| “What am I doing here?” La Mosquitia, or the Mosquito Coast, is made up of Caribbean coastline, lagoons, flat savanna, and the largest virgin jungle in Central America. A trip into the jungle was an opportunity for my brother, Kyle, and me to live like the explorers we pretended to be as children. We were to accompany Carl, a well-traveled biologist and the former proprietor of Carl’s Creepy Crawlies in Austin, Texas, who would be collecting specimens for his museum. Surely, a professional biologist, working a day’s trip via canoe, foot, and plane from anything that resembled a semi-modern hospital, would carry anti-venom. Right? “Nope, sure don’t. If one of us gets bit, might as well start digging a grave.” Unlucky victims of the fer-de-lance experience complete kidney failure and severe bleeding from the eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. Along with Carl and two indigenous guides from the nearby village of Mocoron, Kyle and I helped glide the canoe into the water and aim its nose towards the unmapped jungle. Once over the “I-can’t-believe-I-am-in-the-jungle- phase,” I started to appreciate the serenity of it all: the guides, one balancing on the bow and the other on the stern, in unison dipping the ends of their ten-foot poles into the water - a silent splash; the hum of insects and belching of frogs. |
Cartoon by Geoff Hassing
It was around midnight when the canoe bottomed-
out and we started to walk. The water,
sometimes ankle-high and sometimes belly-high,
was black and each step a mystery. Noisily, we
splashed up stream, either scaring off predators
or attracting them.
“Keep shining your lights on the banks. Look for
reflecting eyes, yellow ones are frogs, green ones
are mammals, and the red ones - crocodiles.”
Returning to the canoe after hours of hiking, Kyle
and I were relieved to be sitting. Both of us were
hanging our heads half asleep, when suddenly
Carl began to shout, “Kill it! Kill it!”
The guide on the bow smacked the water with
two huge arcing strokes of his pole and up floated
five-feet of white belly.
“All right guys, we are going to be very careful
with this one.” Carl reached down with his long
critter grabbers and picked up the snake. He
then turned to place the snake in the middle of the
boat, bringing us back to my current situation…
I am in the middle of the boat!
There is no fight or flight in me. I freeze. The fer-
de-lance thrashes for its life. Kyle, sitting behind
me, manages to squeak out three simple words
that save my life, “Kels! Scoot back!”
out and we started to walk. The water,
sometimes ankle-high and sometimes belly-high,
was black and each step a mystery. Noisily, we
splashed up stream, either scaring off predators
or attracting them.
“Keep shining your lights on the banks. Look for
reflecting eyes, yellow ones are frogs, green ones
are mammals, and the red ones - crocodiles.”
Returning to the canoe after hours of hiking, Kyle
and I were relieved to be sitting. Both of us were
hanging our heads half asleep, when suddenly
Carl began to shout, “Kill it! Kill it!”
The guide on the bow smacked the water with
two huge arcing strokes of his pole and up floated
five-feet of white belly.
“All right guys, we are going to be very careful
with this one.” Carl reached down with his long
critter grabbers and picked up the snake. He
then turned to place the snake in the middle of the
boat, bringing us back to my current situation…
I am in the middle of the boat!
There is no fight or flight in me. I freeze. The fer-
de-lance thrashes for its life. Kyle, sitting behind
me, manages to squeak out three simple words
that save my life, “Kels! Scoot back!”