The Rainforest Journal: Outing #17 – Day 3

(Monday // 29-December-2014)

Alright I’m not gunna bother with the usual dribble about the happenings of the day ’cause they were pretty much standard.



Relaxing day, went for water, felt something in my sock all the way back and just knew it was a leech, got back to camp and removed said leech then tossed it outside on the ground before stabbing multiple times with a sharpened stick. Blood everywhere, but within an hour the little janitors of the wild – the Ants – had removed all traces there was ever a leech there, along with my blood.

Being a virgin to leech-bites, each one causes the area around the bite to puff-up and itch for days. This bite only inflamed to about golf-ball size, but the one before it looked like half a tennis ball had been planted under my skin.

It's hard to believe that such disgusting creatures are related to the meek, inoffensive earthworm, but they are.

It’s hard to believe that such disgusting creatures are related to the meek, inoffensive earthworm, but they are.

Same thing happened when I squashed a little Cockroach trapped in the roof of the tent; within an hour, the tiny black ants had found the dead Roach and begun working on dismantling it. Not long after that there was a mass of moving black ants coating the dead bug and two hours after id squished it, no trace of the dead Cockroach remained.

They’re such fucking crafty little buggers I really love ants now. The tiny black ones seem the most voracious of the half dozen different ants around me; less fussy I guess, they’ll eat anything it seems except breads and grain-based stuff. I have a theory that they instinctively know that grains will introduce mould or mildew into their already humid mounds and so the worker ants won’t bother with bread, crackers, etc,.

The Possum had count tonight was Guido and the Baby girl; this time it was sans-Mother. I hand-fed her some banana before Guido came over to beat shit out of her. She run away before he got the chance of course, and tossing the food all over the place has reduced the aggression over the outside of the tent-door, since there’s that’s no longer the only place there’s food.

I didn’t see Bobby or the Mother – or any other Possums – but I zipped-up to read short-stories once I’d seen to it the baby possum had something to eat.

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