The Rainforest Journal: Outing #12 – Day 8

(Friday 24-October-2014)


So it’s a bit of a slow day today,  partly because I want to wait for the Monitor to make his daily appearance – so I can observe his general level of well-being – and partly because food, coffee and – well all my supplies really – are running low. I may have to go back to town early; since nobody’s about to walk all the way out here and just give drop stuff off for me.



Must be the fat and carbs makes them love it so much.

Must be the fat and carbs makes them love it so much.

Lizard is here chowing-down on pasta again today, and looks by and large pretty healthy. I haven’t seen any sign of the plastic bag he ate, but the fact he still has an appetite, stomps around the camp and doesn’t appear to be displaying any obvious outward signs of ill-effect is good.

..still munching.

..still munching.

He uses his tail as a whip at close-range: apparently powerful enough to knock the elderly, children and even dogs off their feet.

He uses his tail as a whip at close-range: apparently powerful enough to knock the elderly, children and even dogs off their feet.


I’ve just been bitten by a spider for the first time since being out here. Looked like a small orb-weaver type spider and I had no idea it was even there until I felt the bite.

Until an hour or so ago it was getting a bit hot to be sitting in the tent you see, and a nice breeze was blowing outside that wasn’t making it through the tent so I go outside. Naturally it’ll be even cooler without my shirt so I take that off and chuck it in the tent: bit of sun will give my pasty-white vampire-looking winter skin a bit of much needed colour again too since I’ve been wrapped in multiple layers of clothing for months.

Surprisingly, mosquitoes and flies didn’t bother me at all in spite of how bad I smell, and after hanging outside a while – getting deep into philosophical thoughts about what life would be like out here as an animal: born without a name, no concept of such things as money,  having to eek-out an existence every day just rummaging through the leaf litter and knowing that if you don’t find something to eat each day you just starve, anyway I was just standing around contemplating that kind of thing when my Broeski – who was still hanging around camp, walking back and forth to the tent here and there to pick over the pasta he’d previously missed – well he’s just making his way back towards the tent again when he starts to have himself a shit.

I watch him arch his tail,  then hear the explosive squelching sound as whatever nastiness was in there splatters all over the ground and decide I should go on over and have myself a look: maybe there’ll be some bits of plastic bag in there to help set my mind at ease about that whole indigestible-blockage-in-his-stomach episode.

I wait for him to move a bit closer to the tent – because at this point he’s right next to his shit, and I don’t want him to get sketchy about my walking straight at him – and, slowly but surely he reached the tent, at which point I walk over to the spot where I just saw him spray-paint the ground.

I couldn’t see anything at first, then I saw the blow-flies that had already started moving in on it and as I sat and looked at this reptiles scat, I feel a sharp, but not terribly painful bite about half a foot below my right armpit. Instantly my attention is drawn to my right side and I snap my head down to see what’s bitten me there it is: a black spider about the size of a blow-fly with it’s legs pressed-into it’s sides, gnawing at my skin.

I flick it the little fucker off and look around the ground for it but wherever it landed I can’t see any trace of it. I scratch the bite. It stings a little like a bull-ant bite, but not as much I guess, and then remember why I’d come over here in the first place. I look down and see that the lizards shit is like an explosion of yogurt: just white, milky-looking chunks in the middle of a puddle of clear liquid spattered across a few inches of ground.  “Mmm”, I think; to myself, “No plastic bag,  no anything solid other than those white globs of jelly”.

Obviously not much came out – this time at least – but he most likely already shat somewhere else recently; a kilo of chicken on Day 2 and a cup of pasta every day since Day 5 or 6 has to come-out somewhere. I attend to my bite again.

Couple of scratches later, it feels much less noticeable and I decide to have a drink of water and wet-down my hair. Lizard – this entire time – has been just outside the tent watching me looking at his shit.

I’ve just discovered that I can type simply by “drawing” on the phone’s keyboard: a little blue line follows my finger, and all I have to do is slide my finger around the keyboard, over the tops of the letters I want in the word and the phone – remarkably accurately too – predicts the words I’m typing, then sticks a space in after each word.  Much faster than tapping each key since there’s no need to add the space,  and less errors because the phone auto-completes the words I’m typing for me.

I don’t even need to worry about punctuation anymore ’cause the phone handles all that automatically as well! How awesome! I have to evict another bull-ant from the tent, hang-on.


Dinner is being done a bit early tonight, like now. Usually I wait until dusk – or just before sunset – but never after dark because cooking with a head-torch just sucks. Daytime is the easiest time to do it, so that’s when it’s done.

Tonight, since food is starting to run pretty low, it’s pasta with mashed potato and cheese – perhaps some pepper and chives – with cold pizza sauce as a topping. The Possum and I will love it: but if Lizard snubs it tomorrow, I’ll make him some regular pasta in the day – whenever he rocks-up.

Possum loved it too: creamy potato pasta with "bush herbs".

Possum loved it too: creamy potato pasta with “bush herbs”.


One of the best dinners I’ve cooked while I’ve been camping out here: Like mashed potato and creamy pasta had a baby, right in my pot. The instant mashed potato thickened the pasta-water perfectly, and common,  tasteless Kraft Singles I had left over melted beautifully into little pockets of melted cheese throughout the pot. The bush spices mix – ordinary Masterfoods one – gave it the salt and spiciness it needed. Excellent.


That’s about all there is to say for todays ‘dear diary’. I would’ve started on about the philosophical thoughts about life in the forest – had I had the time and inclination but it’s already nearly nine o’clock at night, so I’ll cut it here and just accept the fact that today’s post won’t be taking home any creative-writing or comedy awards.

I’ll should probably go and refill my water bottles tomorrow morning,  though I don’t really have to: I still have five litres sitting here waiting to be used, so I don’t really *need* to do anything tomorrow, other than hang with Broeski.

Of course, his daily visits are basically a full day event in and of themselves. Like a lizard-dog-companion all rolled into one, who only asks a meager amount of food: he gets here just before lunch, eats whatever I feel like giving him, then hangs-out with me until around four in the afternoon – just time enough for him to make his way back home before it starts getting too cold.

Approximately five hours each day he spends with me – for a cup of pasta. Good value, is what he is.

Three seperate people now have told me I should give him a name, but I won’t. I never will. Not only because it’s a bit silly giving a wild animal a name, but it attaches a level of ownership – even if only subconsciously – that would taint or dirty the entire experience.

He’s not supposed to have a name, he is a completely wild animal, born right here in the wild. He way very well be the same age as me, and there’s just no reason for me to designate silly pet names to an animal who’s managed to survive out here for forty years, completely on his own with nothing but his teeth and claws.

How pointless would it be for me to even try to assign a label to such an amazing creature.

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