Day VII - Opocopa you suck.

It’s 16h30 TTZ. I’m stitting on a deep layer of emerald-coloured moss, my back against a tree, black flies devouring the 5 square inches of exposed skin I have left, and I am waiting for Luke and Marcus to come back to know if they found the lifejacket that was blown away in the Opocopa wind this morning. Câlisse.

Everyone else is spooning in what might be the worst tarp job in modern history. I’ve been knee deep in cold water at the point twice already to see if Marcus and Luke were in sight. Nothing. Time passes by VERY slowly. I had time to extensively clean and bite all my nails, to kill about 387802458 black flies and to call camp. We have to call back at 18h30, said Dave.

As we were saying earlier, it’s better to call because we lost shit than because someone is injured. But the best remains not calling at all.

ON VA TU FINIR PAR LE FINIR CE FOUTU LAC-LÀ?

Hace un viento que te cagas desde que llegamos aquí. Marcus tenía razón (como siempre) de decir que cosas raras ocurren al norte del 50º paralelo… No sé todavía a que me refiero, puesto que a parte de la perdida de esta maldita chaqueta salvavidas no hubo nada que se podría describir como “raro”, pero persiste este sentimiento extraño de que estamos en otro planeta, o por lo menos otro país… pero un país desierto, donde hay que deducir por ti mismo porque por razones desconocidas se han marchado todos los habitantes, dejándote abandonado sin el manual de instrucciones para este ambiente surrealista.

Black flies are having a fucking party on my lower back right now.

I’m starting to understand “Surfacing” at a whole new level right now.

I’m still debating whether or not I should be writing a bunch of random thoughts and slices of life in this journal or if I should keep a detailed log of all the stuff we do. I guess parts of me want to remember every minute of the trip, while other parts find it more authentic to just write whatever I find relevant at the time. I guess the river will decide for me.