Path or trail - Khao Sok National Park
Trail or path – Khao Sok National Park, Thailand 1994
From my journal:
"We've been staying in bamboo huts floating on Rajjaprabha Lake - a flooded dam created to generate electricity, provide irrigation, flood control, and fishing - and today we are off on a jungle hike with a guide, a couple of porters, a translator and a single Dutch guy.
Kitted out with leech socks, we begin our trek by wading thigh deep in the river, then up into the hillside. The socks certainly earn their keep, and we should have been covered from head to toe with them, as the little blood suckers get everywhere. A drop of salt gets them to release their grip, but they leave behind a tiny hole which bleeds profusely. My dad looks like he's been shot with a pellet gun, his pale T shit littered with blood stains.
At one stage the path runs through grasses taller than us, and the excitement mounts as we can hear what sounds like the roar of a tiger in the distance. I turn to ask the guide about it. Where is he? And the porter carrying our lunch? The armed ranger is missing too.
Suddenly feeling rather vulnerable, we stop dead in our tracks. Call out. Nothing. We walk back a few yards to see if we missed a turning. No turnings. We call out again. Still no sign of our leaders, and the only sounds are the jungle and the aforementioned roar. After what seems like an eternity, during which we discuss what to do and if anyone can remember the way back to the lodge; the staff appear, laughing. A huge sigh of relief goes out amongst our small group.
We have been walking for around an hour and a half or so when we have to negotiate our way down a steep muddy slope, made treacherously slippery by the recent rain. I take small careful sideways steps, but I can soon feel my lower foot sliding. While the right leg continues downhill, my left foot gets caught in a root on the slope. By the time I land on my posterior with an almighty bump, my leg is grossly bent out of shape, with the left ankle touching my shoulder. Ouch. Convinced my leg is broken, I try to stand up. Nothing. No pain, no problem walking. Phew.
Our destination is a huge cave, where we eat the picnic lunch so lovingly carried by the porter. Amazingly, the food is still warm.
My leg is beginning to hurt a little by now, so I take a rest on a rock while the others explore the cave. By the time we start the walk back to camp, I can barely put any weight on the leg, and my knee has swollen to the size of a football. Oh dear. The others lament on how they are going to get me back to the lodge, and suggestions include making a raft and floating me down the river. I choose to hobble instead.
The trek back feels a hundred times longer that it did getting there, but I do finally make it, collapsing into a chair in the dining room. We'd drunk all the 'jungle juice' the previous night, so I double up on painkillers and lower myself onto the thin mattress on the floor in our little bamboo hut, worrying about how I am going to manage to get up again with a gammy leg.
On return to the UK, my physician confirms that I tore off the ligaments completely in my knee. It sure was one of our more adventurous adventures".
Path or trail - Khao Sok National Park
Trail or path – Khao Sok National Park, Thailand 1994
From my journal:
"We've been staying in bamboo huts floating on Rajjaprabha Lake - a flooded dam created to generate electricity, provide irrigation, flood control, and fishing - and today we are off on a jungle hike with a guide, a couple of porters, a translator and a single Dutch guy.
Kitted out with leech socks, we begin our trek by wading thigh deep in the river, then up into the hillside. The socks certainly earn their keep, and we should have been covered from head to toe with them, as the little blood suckers get everywhere. A drop of salt gets them to release their grip, but they leave behind a tiny hole which bleeds profusely. My dad looks like he's been shot with a pellet gun, his pale T shit littered with blood stains.
At one stage the path runs through grasses taller than us, and the excitement mounts as we can hear what sounds like the roar of a tiger in the distance. I turn to ask the guide about it. Where is he? And the porter carrying our lunch? The armed ranger is missing too.
Suddenly feeling rather vulnerable, we stop dead in our tracks. Call out. Nothing. We walk back a few yards to see if we missed a turning. No turnings. We call out again. Still no sign of our leaders, and the only sounds are the jungle and the aforementioned roar. After what seems like an eternity, during which we discuss what to do and if anyone can remember the way back to the lodge; the staff appear, laughing. A huge sigh of relief goes out amongst our small group.
We have been walking for around an hour and a half or so when we have to negotiate our way down a steep muddy slope, made treacherously slippery by the recent rain. I take small careful sideways steps, but I can soon feel my lower foot sliding. While the right leg continues downhill, my left foot gets caught in a root on the slope. By the time I land on my posterior with an almighty bump, my leg is grossly bent out of shape, with the left ankle touching my shoulder. Ouch. Convinced my leg is broken, I try to stand up. Nothing. No pain, no problem walking. Phew.
Our destination is a huge cave, where we eat the picnic lunch so lovingly carried by the porter. Amazingly, the food is still warm.
My leg is beginning to hurt a little by now, so I take a rest on a rock while the others explore the cave. By the time we start the walk back to camp, I can barely put any weight on the leg, and my knee has swollen to the size of a football. Oh dear. The others lament on how they are going to get me back to the lodge, and suggestions include making a raft and floating me down the river. I choose to hobble instead.
The trek back feels a hundred times longer that it did getting there, but I do finally make it, collapsing into a chair in the dining room. We'd drunk all the 'jungle juice' the previous night, so I double up on painkillers and lower myself onto the thin mattress on the floor in our little bamboo hut, worrying about how I am going to manage to get up again with a gammy leg.
On return to the UK, my physician confirms that I tore off the ligaments completely in my knee. It sure was one of our more adventurous adventures".