Extracts from the diaries covering the crossing of the DARIEN GAP

Sunday, 14th January 2001. 06 degrees 17 minutes north, 75 degrees 37 minutes west.

I woke at about 08:00 on just another sunny Medellin day, but it certainly didn't feel like a normal day. Usually I'm keen to get under way but lying here, warm and safe with Catty, the world that waited was unwelcome. After talking for a while we got up to find that Gloria, Catty's mother, had breakfast ready. It was the breakfast everyone in Colombia seems to start the day with. 'Arapea', a kind of pancake made from corn and scrambled eggs. We ate without speaking then drove to Willy's house where my kit was patiently waiting for me. I buggered around for a while adding some finishing touches to the packing, or maybe subconsciously delaying the start, but all too soon I was ready to go. Catty didn't have to say a word, it was written all over her face, but I don't know which one of us was the saddest. She had given me a loan of $50 US as my money was still tied up in the Western Union office. She could pick the money up later. We all trooped outside to have photos taken, photo's, thanks, well wishes, hugs and kisses from Catty... and I made off on the haul out of Medellin. I was feeling a little nervous, but also mightily sad as I left the street. Never, never at any point in South America had I felt so alone or that I'd lost so much.

This Sunday the streets were filled with people and I was wondering whether I would draw the usual attention. People had a habit of staring straight into my eyes, which was something I'd had to get used to in Latin America. Now I noticed that people would not look me in the eye, as you don't with the type of person I was trying to be. After leaving the outskirts of town I hit a steep climb and that was it for the rest of the day, an uphill haul, which almost wiped me out. I had a sneaking suspicion I hadn't seen the last of my friends and sure enough I found Willy, Catty, Jackie, Sandra and the kids waiting on the road ahead. They had come out to buy me lunch and also to bring my shamag which I'd left behind and they'd found behind the bed where it must have fallen days before. I was already having problems with my disguise, the sacks that covered my equipment were coming apart so Catty once more ran off and came back with hands full of hemp rope, knowing it would do the job. Bless her, she never stopped helping right up to the last. Once again we went through the goodbye process and then it was off again, past the Penthouse Motel where Catty and I had spent our first night together. Beyond this the road just continued to wind its way uphill.

I kept climbing until just before 16:00 when I came across a spot to camp in that was just too good to miss. I also had a lot of admin to sort out as it was clear it was going to be a real effort to keep this disguise up. My hammock and I were not the best of friends. In fact I find it a complete pain in the arse and rigging this one up takes a damn sight longer than my tent. It was at grimly depressing night. Way below me but still pretty close, lay the city and I sat just staring at it for a couple of hours, I was missing Catty big time. The night itself was long and slow

Monday, 15th January 2001. 35 kilometres.

I was off to an early start but then stopped to take in some food. I was finding life damned hard work with all the weight I was carrying. By midday I was on my way down the other side of the hills into the valley of Rio Couca. By now my feet were blistered. I was wearing an old pair of my walking boots. When I reached Medellin I had picked up a new pair from England and put this old pair to one side. As part of my disguise I had cut them down to look like shoes and 'distressed' them. For the rest of the two months in Medellin I had been wearing my new boots and now that I came to put this old pair back on I found that the heels were worn to such an extent that I was walking at an odd angle. As the heels had worn away slowly when I was using the boots I suppose I just adjusted to them every day, but now putting them on after wearing new boots with the full heel, it made walking difficult. I stopped and cut rubber away from the other side of the heel to level it off.

By the afternoon I was in shit state. My two months off had softened me up, and my feet were in rag order. My back felt as if it was on the point of snapping and my shoulders like I'd been hung by my arms for a week! At the end of the day I was only fit to drop. I'd spotted a small store, about a kilometre below, on the sharp winding roads, but now I found myself brought to a halt with cramps in both shins. Christ! I yelled through gritted teeth, as I was forced to sit and writhe about. It felt like my shins would snap. The pain eventually subsided and I was back on the move again, yet had only gone a hundred yards and then it was my calves that were cramping as well. I eventually came crawling up to the little store feeling like I'd been run down, and aching badly all over.

They had little to eat at the store and I ended up buying four small cakes for tonight's meal. I also picked up some water, then just sat for a while. It was getting late and it had been a long day. Far below me was San Geronimo. I was now forced to push on to find somewhere to sleep but then I noticed a spot near to the store. There was a small re-entrant I reckoned I could get up, with some trees fairly well hidden and out of the way. I didn't have long before sundown, so I had to use it. I moaned and groaned as I heaved my aching bones up the side of the cliff that ran along the right hand side of the road. By the time I'd reached the spot I was wrecked and sat there gasping, but unfortunately had no time to rest and set about erecting my hammock. I was basically on the side of a hill and this made getting my hammock up a real pain. Because of the angle I was constantly losing my footing, falling and taking the skin off my hands. I was so tired I could hardly be bothered but had to force myself on as the light was fading fast. I got to a stage where I was required to grip the nylon cord of one of my hammock ties with my teeth as I climbed around a wide tree. I fell... and was whipped off downhill in a flurry of loose scree and mud. I slammed ribcage first into a tree with a 'Crunch!!' coming to a juddering halt. I lay still, stunned and totally winded. There was a pool of blood in my mouth and I coughed and spluttered trying to get my breath. A tooth had been ripped clean out by the nylon cord, well not completely it was still hanging by a thread of skin or something. I pushed the tooth back into the hole, hoping that maybe there was a chance it might stay. I first thought it was a tooth that had been loosened in the fight in Quito but was horrified to find it was in fact the next tooth along... bollocks! I didn't even have time to notice the pain and dragged my battered corpse back up the hill to continue erecting the hammock. A small stream ran between the trees and under the hammock. I had it in place just as darkness fell and then found that in my tired state the open end was facing downhill and I couldn't get in. I flew into a rage at myself for being so stupid. Now I had to drag some of the huge rocks that were strewn about down to the hammock so I could stand on them to get in. Eventually after some gymnastics I was in. I lay there, feeling like I'd just taken a good kicking.

" Oh Christ!" I thought, " This is only day one."

Literally moments later, I heard a rustling in the bushes and at first thought it was possibly an animal. It got closer and I lay still, listening intently. Then torchlight began to flicker in the darkness. Oh! for Pete's sake, now what! Someone must have seen me coming up here. The beam fell on the hammock and as they came closer, I shouted, " Who is it? and again," Who is it?

The worrying thing is there was no reply. Damn it! I scrambled out of the hammock in my stocking feet, straight into the stream before getting behind the large tree for some cover. I tried to avoid looking into the torch beam and losing my night vision. At last I heard an old campesino chuntering away in Spanish, not that I could understand a damn thing, but soon I realised he was demanding I take everything down and push off. I tried to cool the situation down and reason with him, asking what would be the problem if I stayed here for the night and moved on first thing in the morning. No! It was his land and I was to push off now. Diplomacy over I told him where he could shove his land. He was now going on about the police. Yeah! we're out here in the dead of night, and you're going to find a policeman, and I bet you have a phone in your hut... that would be a first. Still the word Police was not what one needed to here, in fact it was the last one I needed. The old man, was adamant I moved and move now. I resigned myself to packing up. He was obviously determined to pre-empt my packing and pulled his machete. I was so pissed off by now I was seriously thinking about throwing him down the hill. He implied that he was going to cut the hammock down if I didn't move. I jumped between him and the hammock, pointing at the machete and saying "Put it away right now!" in a somewhat forthright tone. It was about this point that my neck pin was removed and I started to lose my Spanish. He began slashing at me, with the machete, shouting not to come any closer. "F*** it, I'm going!" I said " Just put that away!"

He then goes into a long bag by his side and pulls out a shotgun. It’s 'broken' at that point but as I grab the end of the barrel he closes it. I don't think there's a cartridge in there but I'm holding the wrong end to find out. The old man's face was a picture of pure panic and fear. Halfway up a cliff face, in the dark, in this situation it was only a matter of time before there was an accident. I had to make a radical move.

" OK!" I said, taking a step back and throwing my arms in the air," Let's just calm down, I think" The old man's voice was breaking as he yelled all sorts at me. I took a deep breath and tried in Spanish, the shot gun only a few inches from the end of my nose. I began stripping out my kit while he kept the torch on me throughout. I then set off the way I had come up, falling and sliding most of the way on my back, dragging my kit behind me. I used my torch to help find a way down and also stop myself before I went over the edge. At this point I needed to climb very carefully but managed to reach the road without further incident. About 100 metres back down the road was the small store, which was now lit up with three campesinos sitting on the porch. I dragged myself over, into the circle of light and threw my kit down. I was in real bad order, ripped to bits and would need some sorting out. The campesinos just stared at me in silence. I sat down near to them, getting my breath back. Simple looking folk, one of them then grinned at me and the word 'Psycho' flashed into my mind, I smiled back. He got up and moved to another school, probably thinking, ' That freak grins like a psycho'. It wasn't long before I began to think they were all a little odd but then I realised all three were dumb, and the other two started trying to explain what they were doing with gestures, not that I could get much of it. After a while they threw sacks of food over their backs and set off into the dark, leaving me alone in this small island of light on an ocean of black.

I spent an hour or more stitching my gear back together and was then left wondering what to do next. Where was I to sleep. I had no chance of finding anywhere off the road, as far as I had seen it was a steep drop off to the left and steep climb to the right. It was a bad road too and if I tried walking in the darkness there's going to be an accident, so moving some wooden stools (just tree stumps) out of the way I lay down in the shadows. It was a hot night, I found my tooth hurt surprisingly little but the tear in the gum was going to be a problem. Being right next to the road now as each truck past I'd get coated in dust. Where was the bed, where was Catty?

Friday, 19th January 2001. 06 degrees 46 minutes north, 76 degrees 02 minutes west.

On the move early as I couldn't wait to get moving. Still having lots of problems with my disguise / camouflage, and it's getting very hard to keep this up as everyone still to treats me the same and refers to me as 'mono' or 'gringo'. I'm beginning to wonder if it's seriously worth it. Today things are looking up, I move well and make more distance, and on top of that I eat well. However my feet are bad and getting worse. It comes to the point where I lose my temper with my ill-fitting, cut down old boots and change them for the new ones, throwing the old pair over the side into the valley.... then wonder whether I've just done the right thing.

I reached Canasgordas, this town being the start of what I've referred to as a 'hot spot'. From this place up the road to Mutata is basically the front line of conflict. I managed to avoid the centre by taking a road that looped around it, but unfortunately on the northern end of the town, the roads joined again to cross a bridge over the River Sucio. On the northern bank were just half a dozen more buildings before the end of the town itself. As I crossed the bridge I saw a group of men rise from their seats outside one of the buildings obviously taking an interest in me. They gave the appearance that they were ready to intercept me on the road and I began to feel very uneasy. Making a snap decision I left the road and headed into a small store / cafe where I ordered a Coke from the barman then sat down. They weren't going to go away, but at least this gave me a few more seconds to think. I saw the barman glancing at me and then the street, then back at me. Something was going to happen and it wasn't good. Sure enough shortly after the men I had seen appeared in the doorway. The first two in were a touch on a fat side but large with it and mean as hell looking, one of them with a badly scarred face. They both walked over to my table and stood staring at me without saying a word. Behind them another five came in, these being in their late teens. The younger ones then went round and pulled down the metal shutters in the store.... I was trapped. This was looking very ugly, and I began thinking I was about to get it big style. My mind was racing, there was nothing I could do. I sat back in my chair and smiled. These guys are one of three options :-

1. FARC.
2. AUC.
3. Bandits.

I really thought I was about to lose everything I have.

" Give me your papers." Said one of the big guys.

"Yeah, sure, but why do you want to see my passport?" I smiled as I gave them what they wanted. I asked straight out :-

" Who are you?" You've got to play it cool, you can't show your fear, these people will feed on this. Forget any idea about getting upset and shouting about your rights or how you're going to contact the police, don't even say ‘no’. These two hard men are intent on maintaining their gangster style image and want respect and fear. Keep it friendly, cool, but do as they say.

" We're United Self Defence." (AUC)

I quickly flicked my eyes around the group trying to read each face in turn. Was this a bluff, were these people FARC testing my reaction. There was nothing in their eyes that led me to believe they were anybody but who they said they were, no anticipation of my possible answer on the faces of the teenagers. Given the area we were in they probably were AUC and I had to go with that.

" Well thank God for that fella's, for a moment I though you may have been the FARC and I really don't want to meet them. But you fella's... that's cool with me. Rather you than them. The guerrillas are a big problem for you, and the big problem for me... in fact for everyone, and if you are here, then they are not! So I'm pleased to meet you." "My name's Karl" I continued, offering him my hand. They still refrained from smiling but took my hand and shook it, (there you go, now we're getting somewhere). There was then a series of questions. From where? And why? Also why am I dressed like that? I gave it to them as it is and was quick to show them the newspaper cuttings to back up the claim. One of them sat down with me to look over the papers and the teenagers gathered around. The other mobster was keen to show his revolver tucked between his belt and the rolls of fat, (Bet I could get to you before you got that out!). The atmosphere changed, it was working. They were impressed and the conversation changed from an interrogation to aspects of the expedition. However I thought I was still about to lose when they insisted on seeing what money I had. I dragged out all I had from my pockets with a great flourish, and place it on the table. Naturally the majority was hidden elsewhere.

" That all you have?"

" Yep! Why else would I need more. All I need is enough for food for...(I glanced down at what I had on the table)...ohhh, say four days more and after that I'll be in the jungle, you see I have food for that in my rucksack. Once in Panama I'll be able pick up some more money."

" Only four days?"

"Yeah sure, look it's taken me only four days from Medellin to get to here, four more and I'll be off the road at this point." It looked right on the map and these country bumpkins bought it. The young apprentices were very interested in the newspaper clippings. Smiles and a few more jokes and the two big men began to drop their gangster act, beginning to smile and nod their heads in agreement. They opened up the shutters (Christ, that felt good,) and I was allowed to keep everything. We talked briefly about the town's ahead and who runs what. It was at that point the owner brought my Coke over, he obviously didn't see any point in opening the bottle before this. They didn't seem to want to answer too many questions so I let it be. I drunk up, wished them well with the fight, ' keep up the good work!' and set off out of the store. Almost forgetting to pay for the Coke I turned.

" No! No problem, it's on us."

"Awww, you guys!"... (Pigeons!)

I set off at a fair pace as I had to find somewhere to sleep pretty quickly as it was getting late. Well, I guess that last incident confirms I'm inside the hot spot. Just outside the town I found a number of good places to stay, but the area was quite well populated and a lot of places were fenced off, so I simply asked a local if I could stay in his field...and also pushing my luck, if I could borrow a blanket. No sooner had I set up than it became dark and a huge thunderstorm let rip. It bucketed down, and my hammock despite having a flimsy cover, is far less than rainproof. I'd cut the bottom out of my tent to use as a groundsheet should I need it and this now became a cover over the hammock, but it didn't quite fit. Despite feeling a little nervous and getting a bit damp, I still managed to get some sleep at last, but being on edge I would awake at any sound. Having two bloody horses in the same field was a real pain.

Monday, 22nd January 2001. 07 degrees 06 minutes north, 76 degrees 24 minutes west.

The day begins and I'm still in a deep gorge as the road winds alongside the Rio Sucio, the valley walls thick with tropical forest. The traffic died out long ago, after Antoquia, and now the road is very quiet and still, kind of creepy really. Strange sounds echo down the gorge from the forest on either side of me and I'm feeling like a very lonely cowboy deep in Indian country. It's all so still and quiet. Out there somewhere in the jungle is where the guerrillas are hiding.

A little way on I meet a group of campesinos in the road who seem friendly enough. As I pass they beckon me over. There were three men and a boy, all carrying crates of tinned beer and soft drink! After asking me where I'm going, the eldest then asks for my papers in a way I'm kind of getting used to, but I'm somewhat surprised to hear it from this rather motley crew. Normally it's backed up with a little more confidence, and probably a gun.

"Who are you to ask me that?"

And sure enough he shows me a rather old revolver tucked in his trouser belt.

"We're FARC." he grins.

For a moment I suddenly feel a little uneasy, not knowing how this might go, but it remains friendly and we keep the conversation on the expedition. I've found that conversations can be steered if I don't like the question. I can use my 'lack of Spanish' to pretend I can't understand them and this normally works well, therefore keeping the conversation on track. That's how it goes in this case. These people are very simple in their way and if you make out you're impressed with who they say they are, and show some respect, (plus lots of bullshit!) it normally has the right effect. "Hey! That gun looks good on you."...." You can tell you're the boss, being so smart". Subtly slipped in at the right point, it worked a treat. By the time we part they give me three soft drinks to be going on with. Just around the bend are a group of huts, FARC slogans painted in red, stating unit names and numbers. 'BCG 26th Inf FARC.'

Just grotty little sheds really, but inside I see a group of young men. As I pass they come out and call me back. I stop where I am in the road so they come out to me, and again it's the same questions. These people are from the same group as those of my previous encounter and as I'm telling them that I've just spoken with their friends, that group comes around the corner.

" Hey! Let him go, he has to walk 30 k's today."

They let me be and I move on. Whether they are FARC or not I don't know. Maybe they are just a group of locals that have been given guns and told to watch the road for the FARC,... do this and you keep your chickens! They seemed too slack to be participants in a vicious war.

It was very quiet for the rest of the day. The road undulated quite a bit but gradually dropped into the lower hills, the forest becoming more and more like jungle. It's very humid and extremely wet. 90% of my water comes from the small outlets of water running down the cliff faces. It runs through huge blankets of moss which, acting like basic filters, leave it relatively clear. Food however is not so easily found. Beyond Dabeiba there's nothing until Mutata. The small villages marked on the map look like a squadron of B-52's has given them a working over, in that there's not a lot left of them. I make the 30 k's and find a place on top of a small hill, which is an absolute bitch to reach. After cutting a clearing between two trees, I get the hammock in place, although this requires a lot of buggering about, taking me several goes to get it right. With the light fading I climb in and lay back to relax. Peace at last... oh, my aching feet! Without warning one of the trees that I've tied the hammock to uproots, and nearly crushes me as it collapses inwards. I rig up a quick alternative option as I'm enveloped by darkness. Not only that, but it begins to throw it down with rain, it's going to be another miserable night. Once again it's not long before I get wet through, and the hammock is at such an angle that I keep sliding to the bottom against the mossie net where I get eaten alive in patches. I don't get anything like real sleep, and I'm getting totally pissed off with his hammock.

Sunday, 28th January 2001. 07 degrees 21 minutes north, 76 degrees 54 minutes west.

It's fair to say I had the best sleep I've had in a long time last night. I woke early, packed my kit away, and sat on the porch of the house watching the sun rise. The world had taken a turn for the surreal and felt very strange. An odd calm had come over me or maybe I just didn't know how to react to a day like this. The troops gave me a canteen of warm chocolate and a flat fried Arapea. Not really a meal but a damn sight better than nothing. The Lieutenant appeared with his First Sergeant and the pair attempted to change my mind about the journey. However, once they saw I was steadfast in my resolve there was little more they could do. The Lieutenant took a 'dictaphone' from his pocket saying they would have to get my decision recorded so that they wouldn't suffer any comebacks when I was eventually found dead. The Sergeant now set out the dangers I faced on the track in a clear loud voice. He gave a brief run-down on the political situation here in Colombia. Because of 'Plan Colombia', a major US backing and funding for the Colombian government, I would now be regarded as an enemy by the FARC.

" You understand all I've just said?"

" Yes. "

" It's very clear?"

" Yes."

" We have given you all the information we can and it is your choice?"

" Yep! I understand completely!"

" OK."

The Lieutenant then wrote out an official note, stating time, date, place, unit and people involved. It gave official sanction to the tape-recording we'd just made and also stated that the decision to continue was mine, absolving them of responsibility. The Lieutenant signed it, the Sergeant added his signature as a witness, and then I signed it. Meanwhile a soldier had been dispatched to get a photocopy of my passport. By now I was feeling almost sick with fear. Can you imagine going through a process like this, it was like an official execution. What if this was the last day of my life? I'd written a short letter to be sent to Catty, explaining my situation on this date, time and location, so that she could pass it on. I gave it to the Lieutenant explaining that this could be my last letter home and could he post it when possible." Of course" and a carbon copy of the official document would be sent with it.

The young soldiers stood and watched, dumbstruck. After lots of handshaking and 'best wishes' I set off. A radio message was sent to the troops in Riosucio explaining that I was on route. As I passed through the last defensive positions I tried to convince myself that this was not as bad as it would seem, just move and keep moving. I was frightened, yet I could do nothing now but hope and walk,... keep the faith... keep the faith. Fortune favours the brave, my father had written in his last e-mail to me in Medellin, ending it with 'Who dares wins'. Nice quotes, but a bullet-proof vest or something a little more physical would be nice right now. Somewhere out there was 'The Dragon', would it find me?

The dusty track led west for 10-15 k's, along which were dotted some sparse farms on either side. These began to peter out, then it became an area of empty houses which were being overrun by the jungle. The day was a hot and hard. Water very quickly became a problem and I was shedding it in sweat faster than I could find it to drink. There were small ponds of stagnant stinking swamp water, but unless I got very desperate I'd be leaving those well alone. Coconuts became the answer, there were coconut trees around on the deserted farms, you didn't have to look for them. They are a fantastic source of clean liquid, so if I wasn't walking I was dropping and cutting coconuts, filling my plastic bottles with coconut milk. Life was now prolific around me, strange birds, reptiles, huge insects and inconceivable amounts of ants everywhere. Leaf cutters, army ants and all kinds of vicious nasty little bastards. Before it got dark I made sure I was ready and in my hammock before the major onslaught of mosquitoes began. Believe me you don't want to be outside when they come. I'd seen nothing like it, I thought some parts of Canada were bad. The locals call this particular breed of mossie the 'Zancudo'. They are suicidally voracious and at times like last light overwhelming. Unlike the normal mosquito that will buzz around taking care in finding a spot to feed, and will avoid a swipe, Zancudo's just hit you like bullets and as soon as they make contact they drill and suck. Through your clothes, it doesn't matter to them. You wipe them like raindrops from your face and find yourself smeared in blood and dead insects. After a number of bites your skin, feels as though it's burning. I have so many bites now, and some are looking quite dodgy and turning septic. The people living out here will sit out at night in T-shirts and shorts just slapping away at them. Christ knows how they do it.

I found quite a good spot only about 10 feet from the track, but was on raised ground with a nice bit of cover between myself and the track. I lay there as it slowly grew darker, watching small lizards jumping as far as a metre or more between the leaves and stems around me, chasing each other and puffing up red throat sacks like displaying frogs. Just before the last hints of light faded and it went pitch black I heard movement. This is obviously nothing new in the jungle, it's full of sounds, but you attune yourself to sounds of a certain nature... those most likely to be a threat. Wide-eyed with heart thumping I lay perfectly still. Without doubt someone was on their way down the track, maybe on horseback, it was still very faint. Time suddenly went into slow motion, with all my senses at one hundred per cent. Then suddenly the top half of figures appeared, walking in file down the track and silhouetted against the skyline, ... men with equipment, I could hear it very clearly now... a very distinctive sound, and also metal... guns! The dragon! I could just make out heads and shoulders as the group snaked their way down the track. I almost daren't breathe. This file continued, more than twenty. No one spoke, but on this track at night it was noisy work. My heart sank when I realised they were heading west, the same direction as me. Would they stop nearby so that I would walk into them tomorrow morning? Dread filled me when I realised just how real the threat was. I'd slowly built up a theory that I would not find them as they were always hiding and not openly displaying themselves until they struck ... guerrillas work that way, and right now they're under pressure within this area. If seen it could lead to a search and destroy mission by the military. I knew that these were not military, as they simply didn't come out here so I'd been told.

Needless to say I didn't get much sleep and just lay there wide-eyed at every sound. Each creak or squeak would make my heart pound.

Thursday 1st February 2001. 07 degrees 31 minutes north, 77 degrees 05 minutes west.

I was up and already to move at first light. My intention was to pass through the village before everyone else was awake. I should have known better. 06:00 and it's like Waterloo Station on Friday evening. Everybody must know I'm on the move, although I did ask the army to keep my plans to themselves. Out past the town and down on to the riverbank. I was followed by group of people, there's just no escape. I 'cammed' up my equipment, posed for photographs and entered the river. I was on my way, albeit very slowly.

The water wasn't that cold but once I'd been in it for about 30 minutes I began to shiver. 30 minutes, and I could still see the point where I entered. Christ! It was slow! After the first hour I began to swim just to keep moving and also keep warm, a slow stately breaststroke. I was connected to my kit by a length of nylon cord. Floating down the river, I found clumps of floating mangrove plants I could blend with to improve my camouflage. And so it continued, a slow gentle drifting. The banks of the river were now thick with trees or mangroves. I could see groups of large reddish brown apes in the larger trees. I'd been hearing them for days now, howling their very eerie growl, however this was the first time I'd actually seen them. In the trees and above the river, were large numbers of birds of prey, eagles, hawks, ospreys and of course more vultures. There were masses of fish, I could see them all around me, and from time to time I'd see an eagle or osprey plunge into the river, and appear with a catch in its talons. All sorts of strange noises came from the jungle on either side of the river, well not so much a jungle as low dense mangrove swamps smattered with intermittent trees. A green belt of floating debris would be strung out along the river, moving from side to side with the current, always on the outside of the bends, as the water would flow faster there. From time to time the water would get choppy as the wind would blow southwards from the Gulf of Aruba, and the Caribbean Sea. At these times I'd find it difficult to keep my head out of the water.

I would hear boats coming long before I could see them. It was mostly dugout canoes or larger speedboats, used to ferry people to towns along the river. Once or twice a much larger boat would appear, but I found it no problem to hide as I simply closed in behind my rucksack and let them pass. With so much stuff floating down the river, no one paid any attention to me.

At about 15:30 I began to head towards the shore to find a place to sleep. This was quite a struggle, and I would have to swim hard to break free from the green belt and the rivers current. In fact it was almost an hour long fight to reach the bank, just north of where I had seen a small hut marked on the map as BAH. I had this place marked down as an exit point. It struck me now that if I had used the 'black route' it clearly wouldn't have worked. I'd found the day long, cold and oh so frustratingly boring. On the upside I had plenty of time to simply watch the wildlife for a change. An ongoing problem though was my stomach, which was now giving me real grief again. Going to the toilet and keeping clean was easy in the river, but now I was really feeling the pain again.

As I crawled to the top of the bank I found myself nose-to-nose with a large bull, who took a greater interest in me, and wasn't in the least bit frightened. I myself was very concerned to find livestock. The small hut looked abandoned to me, yet there were three bulls in the field. They kept their distance from the strange swamp beast that had risen from the depths. The bulls seemed to be on their own, this place had not seen people in a long time. A single fence had long rotted away and was now beneath dense undergrowth. Apart from my bovine mates, there was no sign of life. I made camp, and it wasn't long before the mossies showed up. Before I knew it, I was beneath a vast buzzing blanket, so thick I could hardly see out through my mosquito net. They began to flood into the net, something was wrong! I used my torch looking for a hole, but could find nothing. The light from a torch went dim as the batteries were now low and so I changed them for a fresh pair. Bloody hell! The hammock was full of mosquitoes and I was being hammered, but still couldn't find the hole. I then saw a thick concentration of mossies along a fold where the net was sown on to the shelter sheet. This fold ran the length of the net and allowed the bastards to push their way through. It was like a scene from a horror movie, hundreds of insects were slowly forcing their way through, head-first. I massacred them then smeared the thick layer of insect repellent along the fold and this seemed to work, however being besieged by so many, some would always get in and make sure I could not sleep.

In the early hours I was gripped by a sudden pain that meant it was time to make a run to 'the toilet'. Outside the frenzied hordes awaited. The pains became sharper, I would have to get a move on. As I struggled from the sleeping liner the hammock swung violently and I was forced to stop moving and tense up to stop myself losing control and tipping.... it all went horribly wrong! As I tensed I lost control of my bowels and what seemed to be a bucket load of sewerage filled my clothes and hammock. I just felt like lying there and weeping..... I just want to sleep, please let me sleep. I tried to clean up from within the hammock but it just could not be done. There was no way I was going to open up the hammock now as I swear they would kill me.

This never happens to Indiana Jones... the bastard. I simply lay in my own filth until daylight, a sad pathetic sight I'm sure.

2001. 07 degrees 45 minutes north, 77 degrees 11 minutes west. Tuesday, 6th February

Mosquitoes, mosquitoes, mosquitoes... Oh Lord! I now begin to climb and the forest changes in its nature to a different vegetation. It's a little easier at times, yet overall still 'in-your-face' hand to hand combat, machete blow after machete blow, step for step. It's thick with vines which seem to have a mind of their own, wrapping themselves around your legs, neck, arms, gripping my bergen and holding me back as I try to move forward. Every movement to progress takes intense effort. The mosquitoes are everywhere and I'm sucking them in, choking as I gasp for breath. I'm piss wet through all the time simply with sweat, forced to take a rest every 10 minutes. I climb for a short distance then the ground drops, before climbing for yet another short distance, and so it goes. I keep moving, but it's hard, so hard!

There's no real top canopy, so most of the sunlight makes it through to the forest floor, fostering plant growth. This is secondary jungle, a real bitch. I only had one glove, having lost the other one before Riosucio, so I used an old bandage to wrap around my left hand to keep the mosquitoes off. I was also forced to use my head net as I was being driven insane, although by now I'd got used to the mosquito bites. My face would no longer itch, and though you'd feel the bite that would be it, but I still couldn't stand them all over me. I kept pushing and pushing, making little progress, but at least it was progress.

I feel pretty safe out here as I'm in the middle of nowhere and its highly unlikely I'll find a soul. 'Don't cut your way through the jungle, manoeuvre through, saving energy'. So the wisdom goes, yet I could not move a yard without cutting. Its like being anchored by nylon cord and trying to run. I grow weaker as the day progresses, and the strength goes from my machete blows. Sometimes I just stand there hitting the vines and nothing happens... then I'll just fall on my arse.... somebody give me strength! I start to get worried, and scared I might not be able to make it through this lot before my rations run out. There so little progress, and so far to go. Tracks, I need tracks, they could be dangerous yet if I don't find them? Bugger... how will I cope?

Sunday, 11th February 2001. 07 degrees 49 minutes north, 77 degrees 18 minutes west.

The hills or spurs were getting steeper all the time and I certainly felt it. I was basically making my way on to higher ground and a ridgeline that marked the border with Panama. I was extremely tired, and my climbing pace was very slow, although it was not much better going downhill. I would come across dried up waterfalls where huge slabs of open rock would mark the edge of possibly a 100ft drop onto the rocks below. There were amazing views down onto the jungle and across the treetops. I tried in vain to sort the camera out but got nowhere, this was a major sickener,... all this and not one photo, an absolute sickener. At one stage I lost my rag and threw the camera into the bush, but realised I might need it to help bluff my way if I got caught, so ended up going back for it.

Not long after midday I came puffing and gasping out onto a third river and just collapsed on the bank in a heap. A good wash and clean up was my aim, lots of admin to do, always lots of admin. Tics to find, thorns to remove, wounds that needed cleaning and no end of kit that needed sowing etc etc. As with the other rivers I was amazed as to just how many fish there were in there, so this time I unstitched my survival fishing kit and rigged up a basic line. In no time at all I had a fish on the hook, not much of a fish, but a promising start. Bait was no problem as there were hundreds of tiny frogs hopping about on the sandbank. I would then use the smaller fish parts as bait. Within only 10 minutes I had a larger fish which was well worthy of a meal. With that I decided to cut the day short, stay here and eat well for a change. Having made that decision my luck seemed to change for a while and I got nothing more. I kept losing the damn bait. Then just before I gave up for the night I had a good catch, then another. I rigged up a night line and set about building a fire. This was not a problem as there was just so much dry wood lying about, despite the fact that I'm soaked to the skin on a permanent basis. The jungle at present is very dry and it hasn't rained for quite a long time. It looks like I got the timing just right and the low rivers are easy to get through, any other time of year and this would be a raging torrent, impossible to cross. Yet there's more than sufficient water to be found, which is lucky as I putting away 8-9 litres or more per day. More than when I'm in the desert.

Just as night falls, and I'm roasting my first fish on a stick, I hear the night line thrashing about. "Oh keep it coming!" I hauled the line in and landed an impressive catfish, indeed a meaty beast. Gutted, scaled and cleaned then hung in a row, my catch is an impressive sight for a hungry man... and on top of this there's not a single mosquito in sight.

Friday, 16th February 2001. Boca de Cupe. 08 degrees and 02 minutes north, 77 degrees 35 minutes west.

I put a line out first thing this morning and within 10 minutes had a fish that would provide breakfast, stoked up the fire, and sat back. Life by the river is good.

Once on the move my progress wasn't as rapid as yesterday's. Deeper water meant more time swimming and the current was slow. When possible it was quicker to wade as I did a few times, or walk along the banks when feasible. There was a lot more mud around in this river as well which slowed me down. I kept steadily plugging away, although a little hard work was needed sometimes. When swimming in the river there were some points where it would become shallower and channelled, running fast like white water. It was then I'd have a fun time being whipped along over the rapids, that luckily were just deep enough to keep me away from the rocks beneath.

Within a few k's of Boca I began looking for tracks or possible routes. I met up with some guy in a dugout canoe who told me where I could find such a track and I left the river, following a thin, tight track cutting along the bank next to a plantation. I could hear music up ahead, and after about 15 minutes stumbled out into a clearing, finding huts in front of me. Just for a moment I thought I was looking at sand bagged positions... must try and shake Colombia from my mind I thought. Then I realised I was indeed looking at a defensive position, and a machine-gun, a belt fed 7.62. I went around the back of the position totally unchallenged and stood staring at a chap in a dark green uniform, carrying an AK- 47? Just for a moment there was a feeling of doubt, ' Who the hell ...???.. as if I'd seen anyone with an AK- 47 in Colombia it would have meant they weren't on my side. There was a pause and a moment of tension.

" Who are you?" They ask.

" Who are you?" I answer.

" Who are you? they repeat.

During this parry and riposte my eyes are flashing about, trying to establish their identity. US-style kevlar helmets sat on the sandbags, 'Police National' T-shirts hang from the washing line.

" I'm a British walker, on my way to Panama City, and you are?"

" Police, show us your papers".

I'm searched and questioned then taken to see the boss in a small concrete building, the police station, where I explain all. Because I don't have a visa this makes me an illegal immigrant, so I'm asked to stay until they talk with a higher formation. There seems to be some confusion as to what to do with me, so I get a cell to sleep in. The word is I'm to be held here until a police helicopter comes to collect me and takes me initially to Meteti and then to La Palma, where there is an immigration office. This would mean me being left up north and I would have to spend time and money coming back south to Boca. I need to speak to our embassy in Panama City and have them speak to La Palma and Meteti. I require our embassy to confirmed my identity, because at present I'm caught in a net that picks up the wayward strays that try their luck around the border areas. These guys are naturally suspicious of who are I am. Having said that the police here are a friendly bunch and treat me well, but there's nothing they can do, its orders. The problem is, it's now Friday evening and the embassy's closed until Monday, so I'll have to wait here. 'Not a problem' says the captain in charge, you can eat here etc, so relax. I'm shown to my cell and the door is closed behind me and a padlock applied. "What's all this about?"

"You have money and equipment and I need to make sure nothing happens to you or your kit while you're in my charge." The captain explains, "Don't worry, it means nothing more."

I was asked to hand over my money, $21, which they counted and noted all the serial numbers before giving it back to me. That evening the captain explained why there was such a heavy presence here. This is the first village with a reasonable food stock and small medical centre. A few years ago the FARC raided the village for food and medicine, killing several policemen. Last year they tried again, but this time the police were ready and counter-attacked, killing 9 guerrillas with only a few police injuries sustained. Panama has no standing army, only a police force that does an army's job here on the border.

Friday, 23rd February 2001.

This morning I was back in the office with the Captain, marking maps he'd brought along. By the end of this session I'd given him a lot of info, he was extremely happy, and I was on my way to the prison at La Palma by boat. It's a very pleasant and scenic route, wide open waterways where sea-lions and dolphins play in the waters.

Back to reality, in the guardroom I'm searched, processed and then thrown into a prison compound that held about a hundred other inmates. One hundred jailed Latinos, in for a mixture of offences from armed robbery to simple theft. A goodly portion are there as illegal immigrants as well, it's a nightmare. I have to find a place to sleep within the compound as there's no more beds. Once the door shut behind me the police left me to myself.... well a hundred mainly black guys, convicts and me. The compound is not that large so things are very tight, this is bad .... real bad. I was far better off in Meteti. I'm here just in time for everything to close down and so have to survive this place for four days before I get to speak to anyone in authority. Definitely out of the pan into the fire, and going nowhere fast.

On entering a compound I was met with wolf-whistles and all sorts of comments.

"Look, it's Chuck Norris!.... No, no.... its Rambo!"

Dressed in my green 'uniform' (as far as everyone here is concerned,) with my rucksack, combat vest, headband, and unshaven for months I was indeed looking like some bit-part player from a Hollywood movie. Still you need all the help you can get in a place like this because it's also like something from a movie. As I say, most of the men here are very large black African/ South Americans, and then there's a mixture of Latinos and Indians, some of whom have been here for years. Just imagine being thrown into the arena with this crowd, I was one very lonely honky. You've got to get this right from the start. It means sticking your neck out and showing some bottle. Look them in the eyes, and show no fear.

"Well... you're one bunch of ugly fuckers!" (but with a smile).

"And you're one pretty piece of arse!" Came a reply, but then laughter.

The ice was broken and from then on it went well and I seemed to be accepted. The word soon spread, ' The walker'...' two years, ten more'. I began to get on with a couple people, one chap in particular. 'Ricky' a large mean-looking guy, yet a heart of gold. He liked Brits and gave me his food bowl as it was bigger than the average. " You need it more than me!" he said " Fill up," passing me a huge bowl of rice. He later gave me a roll of foam to sleep on as well, as he had more.' Ricky was from Costa Rica, doing five years for armed robbery. He also explained how he'd turn to religion and now his strong belief in God meant he felt obliged to help. " I'm touched!"

He seemed a pleasant enough sort and was an interesting chap to talk to. He was a big lad and having been in here some time knew the ropes, the kind of friend you needed here. But generally speaking they weren't a bad lot, not hardened killers. Having said that, I'd got all my kit with me in here and it looks like I've at least five more days in the compound, I'd better make the best of it... and watch my back.

Next to the compound were two concrete warehouses that were littered with piles of masonry, wood, plastic sheeting and old broken drinks machines. There were also, rows of home-made bunk beds and other odd sleeping constructions used by the inmates. Later on that day Ricki and I were talking in one of these warehouses, looking at the guards through a series of patterned holes in the brickwork walls. I then saw Captain Estrada. I called out his name and he came over.

" Karl!... how you doing, Listen, I'll speak later, meet me outside at about 18:00, see you later."

He then saw Ricky next to me and asked him "Who are you?"

"You don't remember me?" said Ricky.

The captain just stared at him for a while, and then looked back at me and said " You watch yourself in there, they're are bad bunch." Ricky knew the Captain alright, "He is a bad man", and didn't have a good word to say about him, but then he wouldn't would he? The captain is the boss of the D I I P and here in the Darien, as far as anyone 'inside' is concerned, he is the Gestapo!

It was 17:00 and feeding time. The prisoners filed past a fat guard a few at a time. When I came to him he just said :- " When you get your food you eat outside the compound with your kit."

'Odd' I thought, but I guessed this must have something to do with the Captain. I grabbed my kit, and with a bowl full of rice made my way to the gate. I was let out into the main yard and told to sit and eat in the canteen where the guards ate. I sat at a table and waded through the rice. The guard who ran the counter in the place made sure I knew this wasn't for likes of me, 'So best I find my way home to the compound'. I gave him an explanation, but he just huffed. Then an immigration official came in, puffing and panting, having been chased out of wherever he's been hiding. The man started to explain very apologetically how there was little he could do now as everything is closed for the next four or five days, and how he would need to speak to my embassy first ...

" No, no... You don't need to speak to my embassy again, they've spoken to you twice and told you all you need to know. Now is the time for the paperwork to begin!"

" OK, but it's Friday, there is nothing I can do now." he was saying as he flicked through my passport, again apologetically in a flustered manner. I believe this must have something to do with the fact Captain Estrada is the 'main man' around here and kicks arse every now and then when he wants to. Another good friend to have. On seeing the Captain outside our immigration friend goes to speak with him. I watched as they talked, the Captain shaking his head and talking into a radio as the immigration official holds his hands in the air as if to say the 'what can I do?'. After some to-ing and fro-ing they called me over, the captain dials the number for the embassy and hands me his cellphone.

" Asks them to speak as soon as possible with us."

I listen to the machine telling me they're closed until Wednesday 28th and then leave the message. The Captain begins to explain the problem with the carnival period.

" I know, it's no problem, I'll wait." I say.

" Yeah, but I don't want you sleeping in there. You sleep out here in the canteen." The Captain says. " I'll sort it out, wait here." I sit and watch as he speaks to the boss of this place, also a captain. I must confess I'm a lot happier with my new situation. I'm allowed to stay in the canteen now. There's a television in there and I have a sofa to sleep on. I get a slap on the back from Captain Estrada, and we shake on it, then, with a "See you later!", he dashes off again. He is never still for very long.

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