URCHFONT
John Knight
A pictorial representation of my peregrination across the tundra, and through the jungle on the outskirts of the village of Urchfont accompanied by just three pack mules and a native guide.
It was a relief to get underway after so many delays. George, the taciturn guide led the way, and I followed with the two fine pack mules. There were many days of of easy travelling ahead on good made up roads before the journey would become more interesting. The weather was warm with sunshine, and everything, at last, was good.
A change of season and weather marked our weary arrival at the forest. George had disappeared, so I made camp; settled the mules, and camped for the night.
There was no sign of George in the morning. I cooked some breakfast loaded the mules and moved into the forest. Things have been difficult with George who was a short swarthy man with short cropped hair and a distinctive aroma. His communication was limited to disapproving grunts, and wild unintelligible gestures. He had never disappeared before, and so I was extremely worried.
I heard a rustling in the dense undergrowth, and dragged the mules with me as I sought a hiding place behind a fallen tree. I held my breath as the sounds grew closer only to see George emerge from the undergrowth. He was grubbier and noticeably smellier Than before, and when I greeted him he merely glared, grunted and walked along the path as though he had never been missing.
Today we discovered the first signs of early habitation. Clearly someone had sat and enjoyed the forest here, and I happily followed their example, breathing the forest and listening to the cacophony of birdsong. As I looked up a Treecreeper ran up the tree just in front of me. A small but uplifting occurrence.
We then later stumbled upon a small deserted and degraded settlement, and spent some time exploring before setting up camp for the night. George declined to contribute towards the task, but was eager to add his gloomy silence to the evening meal.
On leaving the forest the weather deteriorated dramatically, and we trudged ahead in cold wet silence. When we camped for the third night in the freezing snow the smallest and friendliest of the mules died.
I struggled alone to dig a grave in the frozen ground under the hostile glower of George who clearly thought that we should be eating a staid servant rather than burying her. The next morning I loaded all of our gear on the poor remaining mule and we set off once again.
We followed overgrown and treacherous paths for many days. George once again disappeared, and I decided that I was happier travelling alone. Eventually we encountered a small expanse of water – a large pond really, and covered in algae and blanket weed. The weather had improved markedly, and we camped here for the night. By “we”, I refer to myself and the remaining mule.
The going became progressively easier, and it was clear that some of the land had at one time been used for agriculture. I feel that our travels may soon be over.
The end at last, and we stumbled into the first sings of ‘civilisation for many months.
