I think the boys could do with a better sense of urgency myself; after all, there's a good chance that Shanghai Suzie is on their trail with a balloon-builder who wants his balloon back. And probably not the way the boys have mended it either :) And, just for the record, Ben's also slept through dynamite blasting on a railroad construction much to everyone's surprise :)
Urgency Bacon and eggs never lose their appeal, which is fortunate because it was all we had. I did take a moment to go and check on the chickens and take all the eggs they'd laid that morning -- which was a grand total of three. But three is better than none, and I boiled them hard in the water we were using for coffee as well. The bacon grease, sacrilegious though it was, got soaked into some rags and tied around tree branches to create torches again. Jimmy looked like he'd seen a ghost when I started soaking the grease up with the cloth, and Ben chuckled and poked him in the ribs. "Unless you saw some cooking oil around here, kiddo, this is what we've got. They'll smell great for the first hour, after that you're going to want to swear off pork for life." And then, shortly after that, we walked into yet another cave, with an ill-defined sense of urgency, to find out what was lying in wait for us there. These caves proved to be wide and shallow as we walked through, but there was a definite slope downwards to the ground, which made sense given the direction and speed of the river flow. The noise was deafening as we walked further in and it echoed around and around us until we were contained with a ball of white noise. The air was damp and cold, filled with spray thrown up by water striking rocks, the cavern walls and the bank of the river, which quickly stopped being a sandy strand and became a water-cut channel through black-green rock. Then the river turned off to the left and the caves turned right. We had little choice unless we wanted to swim, which we definitely didn't, so we turned right. Two minutes later we found ourselves with man-made steps carved into the rock and heading upwards. "Unexpected," said Ben, looking at them. "Didn't see nowhere along here where a boat would stop to offload." Jimmy was leaning over the steps, holding his torch just above them, dangerously close to his hair. The torch was burning with a yellower flame, and giving off blacker smoke curls, which suggested to me that the air was less fresh here. "These are old," he said. "These weren't made recently, these have been worn away over years and years." "Odder and odder," said Ben. "Maybe there's a tribe of chupacapra living here then, and their ancestors carved this." "Shut up," I said, swinging my torch in Ben's direction. He dodged to the side, chuckling. Then his free hand started its familiar tap, tap, tap of his pockets, locating his cigars. "Well," he said, finding them and lighting up, "we've not got a lot of choice here. I guess we go up?" Jimmy led the way, not because he wanted to but because he was already at the foot of the stairs. As we climbed them I noticed what he meant: the edges of the stone were rounded, and there were depressions in the middle of each stone where footfalls had worn it away -- all things that took a lot of people a lot of time. Or one person even longer. The stairs curved round as they went up but were at least thirty steps up before we noticed it, and it was another sixty steps before we reached the top. I was breathing hard, as was Ben, and Jimmy was sweating enough that his hair was sticking to his head, but none of us said anything about it being a tough climb. The roar of the river had returned now, though it was quieter and we could shout over it, and when we walked a little way along we discovered that we were now on a long rock gallery that overlooked a chasm into which the river flowed.
2 comments:
I think the boys could do with a better sense of urgency myself; after all, there's a good chance that Shanghai Suzie is on their trail with a balloon-builder who wants his balloon back. And probably not the way the boys have mended it either :)
And, just for the record, Ben's also slept through dynamite blasting on a railroad construction much to everyone's surprise :)
Urgency
Bacon and eggs never lose their appeal, which is fortunate because it was all we had. I did take a moment to go and check on the chickens and take all the eggs they'd laid that morning -- which was a grand total of three. But three is better than none, and I boiled them hard in the water we were using for coffee as well.
The bacon grease, sacrilegious though it was, got soaked into some rags and tied around tree branches to create torches again. Jimmy looked like he'd seen a ghost when I started soaking the grease up with the cloth, and Ben chuckled and poked him in the ribs. "Unless you saw some cooking oil around here, kiddo, this is what we've got. They'll smell great for the first hour, after that you're going to want to swear off pork for life." And then, shortly after that, we walked into yet another cave, with an ill-defined sense of urgency, to find out what was lying in wait for us there.
These caves proved to be wide and shallow as we walked through, but there was a definite slope downwards to the ground, which made sense given the direction and speed of the river flow. The noise was deafening as we walked further in and it echoed around and around us until we were contained with a ball of white noise. The air was damp and cold, filled with spray thrown up by water striking rocks, the cavern walls and the bank of the river, which quickly stopped being a sandy strand and became a water-cut channel through black-green rock. Then the river turned off to the left and the caves turned right. We had little choice unless we wanted to swim, which we definitely didn't, so we turned right. Two minutes later we found ourselves with man-made steps carved into the rock and heading upwards.
"Unexpected," said Ben, looking at them. "Didn't see nowhere along here where a boat would stop to offload."
Jimmy was leaning over the steps, holding his torch just above them, dangerously close to his hair. The torch was burning with a yellower flame, and giving off blacker smoke curls, which suggested to me that the air was less fresh here.
"These are old," he said. "These weren't made recently, these have been worn away over years and years."
"Odder and odder," said Ben. "Maybe there's a tribe of chupacapra living here then, and their ancestors carved this."
"Shut up," I said, swinging my torch in Ben's direction. He dodged to the side, chuckling. Then his free hand started its familiar tap, tap, tap of his pockets, locating his cigars.
"Well," he said, finding them and lighting up, "we've not got a lot of choice here. I guess we go up?"
Jimmy led the way, not because he wanted to but because he was already at the foot of the stairs. As we climbed them I noticed what he meant: the edges of the stone were rounded, and there were depressions in the middle of each stone where footfalls had worn it away -- all things that took a lot of people a lot of time. Or one person even longer. The stairs curved round as they went up but were at least thirty steps up before we noticed it, and it was another sixty steps before we reached the top. I was breathing hard, as was Ben, and Jimmy was sweating enough that his hair was sticking to his head, but none of us said anything about it being a tough climb.
The roar of the river had returned now, though it was quieter and we could shout over it, and when we walked a little way along we discovered that we were now on a long rock gallery that overlooked a chasm into which the river flowed.
Greg - indeed. And... that doesn't surprise me :P
Hmm, those well-used steps are an intriguing find. I am deeply curious as to what the boys have stumbled upon here.
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