| caption: |
path steeply up hill, fishing ill |
| text: |
Finally the path goes steadily uphill. Not a leaf moves in the hazy hot stillness of the forest. At a spring sit some of the Wakching people and make tea. Greedily I drink from the clear water but not for long can I deceive myself any more that I find walking even more strenuous than can be explained by the greatest exhaustion. I climb the path uphill only very slowly and still I have to stop constantly. The effect of bathing without a tropical helmet are becoming apparent. The awareness of a climb of at least 3000 feet ahead looms threateningly. Just when I had had another rest a group of Wakching people caught up with us including the gaonbura, Chinyang, the Ang, the chowkidar, Yonan, the schoolteacher and an older man who I did not know. They saw immediately that I was not in top form and adjusted themselves to my speed. This was a tedious affair for them indeed as I had to sit down every quarter of an hour. Yet they sat down with me every time with a most cheerful expression and without showing the slightest trace of impatience and I tried in vain to convince them to go ahead. "No that was out of the question to leave their sahib behind". |
