After spending half an hour surveying the camp, Diego tracked the group eastward. With the expansion of Gina’s group from the initial four—Gina, plus the three soldiers—to my theorized seven or more, they left a heavier imprint as they moved through the jungle, and tracking their movements became an easier task for Diego. After two hours and with daylight quickly slipping away, we found a reasonably open area to make camp for the night.

I was the only one who pitched a tent, the other four opting to string up hammocks in the nearby trees. It would be cooler in the open-air hammocks—I was assured the jungle would remain sticky and warm throughout the night—but I didn’t trust the netting affixed to the hammocks to keep the swarms of insects at bay. I wanted a wall between me and them—preferably one made of brick, but nylon would have to suffice.

If I haven’t mentioned it already, I hate bugs.

The five of us were standing and eating near the fire. Juan Pablo had cooked a stew which consisted of rice, yucca, corn, some sort of brown bean, and several different chilies.

I dug my spoon into it and took a large bite. The food came with a kick from the chilies, and by my third bite my forehead was sweating. I was a wimp when it came to spicy food, but I had high hopes the heat would get my bowels moving—they’d been on strike for nearly two full days.

Come on, colon.

Once they finished their meals, the three Bolivians headed to their hammocks, leaving Vern and me by the fire. I pulled the Garmin inReach out of my pocket and powered it on.

I let out a discouraging sigh, and Vern asked, “Still not working?”

Over the course of the day, I’d checked to see if it had been activated at least twenty times.

I shook my head. “It’s been over three days. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

“Hopefully tomorrow,” Vern said, rubbing his hand over his right knee.

I recognized the gentle massage and the grimace on his face and asked, “Bum knee?”

“You could say that.”

“Me too.” I extended my left leg several times. My knee felt surprisingly good after nearly a full day of hiking.

“What’d you do to yours?” Vern asked.

“Just your run-of-the-mill ballooning escapade gone wrong.” I spent the next few minutes recounting what had happened almost exactly two years earlier when I had plunged four thousand feet in a hot-air balloon.

“Not bad, but I think I have you beat.”

“Okay,” I laughed, thinking I’d set the bar pretty high.