Even when the swamp thins out and we are on higher ground, it is like walking in grease. Wet clay shows skids and imprints of bodies that have gone before me.

After hours of this misery, Amanda and Andy remark that I am very brave.

"Hey," I reply "I'd rather be a coward. Beam me outa here, Scotty. Send in a helicopter, I'll take it." Looking back at the swamp which shows no trace of our path, I see the only hope lies ahead.

When I am not deep in muck, the thorny vegetation scratches my bare legs. And later, busy watching my feet, I fail to see the looping vine that catches me on the forehead. Thomas suffers the same fate. Our heads are like pincushions with the inch long needles.

"Good God, what else can happen, hungry alligators?"

No, smaller things. Yusef points to my leg, where a thin trickle of blood runs down my thigh. 'YECH! Leeches." I can't repress a shudder of disgust. (Here I am in the African Queen, Katie throwing salt on the leeches all over Bogart's back. Even that he-man shudders.)

As I wonder where the salt is, Yusef is already de-leeching me by touching them with a hot, burned match. They drop off. Yusef warns us not to pull them off, the heads may remain in and cause infections.

Actually, leeches don't really hurt like a bee sting does, but it's very uncomfortable when they get tangled in one's pubic hair. I hate it. Amanda shows me where an exploring leech has found the inch long opening in the seam of her slacks. Most of the group has slacks tucked into boots while I am blithely and ignorantly wearing shorts.

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