Spirit of the Jungle

by Bear Grylls

  By now Mak was even joining the pups while they ate, rather than waiting for their leftovers. He’d studied what parts of the innards the pups went for first, so was able to select the most nutritious meat – such as the liver – and avoid the sickening stench of the pig’s burst stomach.

  One day they entered a wide glade that offered a picturesque waterfall pouring from a rock face some two storeys high. The water cut through the jungle to join the main river, which they had not returned to for days, although Mak kept seeing it through the occasional gaps in the trees.

  Without the ever-present tree coverage, the rain fell harder on him. It hadn’t stopped for over a week and Mak was beginning to forget what it felt like to be dry. He left the wolves to drink from the stream while he set about exploring the clearing.

  It was only about the size of a football pitch, but as he moved away from the waterfall his new position allowed him to see a little over the trees.

  The rock from which the waterfall flowed was just the base of a sharp incline that teetered steadily upwards. Mak glimpsed distant mountain peaks and was puzzled; the only mountains he had seen lay in the opposite direction from the one he wished to get to . . . With a sinking heart he realized that by following the river they had circled around in completely the wrong direction.

  He expected to feel despair and defeat, but to his surprise he felt nothing. The old Mak would have been yelling to the heavens at the unfairness of it all.

  Not now. He felt calmer. There was no point in wasting energy shouting and ranting, it wouldn’t change a thing. At least he was still alive, and while he was alive he had the power to change things.

  His senses were more attuned to the environment now. He closed his eyes and the sounds of the jungle amplified. The patter of rain on the leaves around him; the gentle grunts from Itch and Yip; the dull throb of the waterfall . . . and something else.

  He angled his head, cupping his hands behind his ears, which had the effect of raising the jungle’s volume switch. There was a constant noise coming from the direction of the river. Curious, Mak headed towards the treeline and it got louder. Machinery possibly? And if there was machinery . . .

  ‘People . . .’ he gasped excitedly.

  He took off through the trees at a run, hopping over boulders and vaulting across fallen logs. The weeks had certainly toned him up from the couch potato he had been back in London, and he felt empowered by it. Ahead he could see smoke, and the noise grew louder with every step.

  The ground before him suddenly vanished, and Mak grabbed a tree to stop himself plummeting over a precipice that suddenly yawned before him. It hadn’t been machinery, but the rumbling of an enormous crescent-shaped waterfall that blocked any further progress downstream.

  The smoke was a veil of mist kicked up by the falls, obscuring the view across the water at the bottom. The riverbank he stood on was the lip of a gorge that dropped straight into the mist below.

  The earth shook beneath his feet. At first he took it to be the power of the falls, but it was getting stronger.

  Then he heard the howl of Mother Wolf – the hairs on the back of his neck prickled instantly and he sprinted back towards the clearing.

  With each step the air seemed to reverberate with the mighty rumble. Mak burst into the clearing to see the wolves facing towards the mountains, howling in alarm.

  Then he saw why.

  The tops of the trees swayed and cracked as if something enormous was ploughing its way through the jungle towards them. The clearing’s pleasant little waterfall suddenly became a torrent, as some unseen force pushed the water before it. Then the water turned black, and rocks, dirt and broken trees were hurled over the edge.

  A second later a wall of churning mud and water crashed through the forest – the spearhead of a mighty flash flood. There had been a massive landslide upstream, as part of the distant mountain had finally given way under the relentless monsoon rains.

  Mother Wolf stood across the other side of the clearing as the flash flood tore between her and Mak faster than he could run. Mak saw Itch race to his mother’s side, but for some reason Mother Wolf wasn’t fleeing. Then Mak saw why . . .

  Yip had become separated, and was on Mak’s side of the approaching divide. If he ran for his mother the young pup would undoubtedly be crushed, yet that was exactly what he was trying to do.

  Mak yelled as he raced towards the pup. ‘YIP! NO!’

  The little wolf hesitated on hearing Mak’s voice – but it stood no chance of avoiding the side of the mountain bearing down on it. Broken tree logs, complete with roots, were surging towards the defenceless animal.

  Mak gritted his teeth and ran as hard as he could. He made it to the terrified pup just before the landslide did, and scooped it up in his arms. Looking around he realized that all he had done was risk getting them both killed.

  No. He’d come too far for that. This wasn’t just about survival anymore; this was Mak versus the jungle – and he had no intention of losing.

  He hurled Yip towards his mother. The young pup landed in a tumble, but was instantly on its feet and running for the safety of the trees with his family. Mak saw Mother Wolf cast one look behind – before the maelstrom was upon him.

  Mak ducked to the side as a huge tree root thundered past. He leaped on to the fallen tree just as the mud was about to sweep him off his feet. With a remarkable balance he didn’t know he possessed, Mak remained crouching on the log as it hurtled him across the clearing.

  Behind him, with a noise like the earth splitting open, came a churning wave of stone, mud and mangled trees. All Mak could do was keep his balance, even though he knew what lay ahead – the gorge.

  He gripped the tree root, holding on for dear life – and then he was suddenly soaring through the air.

  The constant roar of the flash flood was almost deafening – but Mak could still feel it through every bone in his body. Even his teeth vibrated together.

  With one hand clutching a thick branch, the other outstretched to control his balance, Mak half-surfed the torrent even as he was pitched across the gorge.

  The shaking stopped for a moment as the entire tree took to the air.

  Mak clung on.

  A constant spray of mud was kicked into his face and Mak was forced to bury his head between his arms as stones and pebbles painfully bounced off his body.

  Then suddenly it was over. The roaring subsided, and his tree stump rolled to a stop, caught in between two boulders on the high-sided banks of the river. Mak’s arms were so stiffly wrapped around it that they felt locked in place and it was painful to straighten them. Somewhere along the ride he had lost his sandals, and his bare toes wriggled in the mud.

  Behind him the flash flood of mud and debris had carved a clear scar through the jungle, with trees smashed down like matchsticks and replaced with a highway of mud and stone.

  He looked back at where he thought he had come from. The distant mountains were just visible, but definitely smaller.

  Where the trees had been uprooted Mak could see more of the sky, and he was relieved to see glimpses of blue. The monsoon rains were once again receding. The brief glimmer of the sun also gave him the chance to judge in which direction he had been carried. South-ish was the best he could gauge.

  Ahead, the jungle continued in an almost solid wall of trees.

  Then, as if the sky had been holding its breath, the rain began to patter down once more.

  There was no sign of the wolves.

  He howled as loudly as he could, hoping to hear Mother Wolf’s reply, but nothing came. His initial worries gave way to hope as he recalled how he had thrown Yip to safety and the wolves had fled into the trees. He knew how fast they could move and was certain Mother Wolf would have led her family to safety.

  But now what should he do? Return and find them? Would they attempt to come to him?

  It was easy enough to believe the wolves behaved like humans, but Mak knew, despite their welcoming of him as
one of their own, they were still wild animals. The death of one of her pups had probably caused the mother to take pity on him, and for that he was thankful. With a heavy heart the truth of the situation became apparent: he was once again on his own and salvation lay somewhere south-west-ish . . .

  ‘Onwards!’ he whispered to himself. ‘Onward and forward. Keep going, Mak.’

  And with that, and a deep-rooted fear, he returned to the depths of the jungle.

  Although the canopy above Mak’s head usually sheltered him from most of the rain, he at last became convinced that the rains had stopped altogether.

  Bright glimpses of sunlight began to filter through the leaves, and with it the humidity of the jungle floor gradually increased until it felt as if he was walking through a steam-bath. The effect was complete with a mist that hugged the ground, making each step a little more difficult now he couldn’t see what he was standing on.

  The relative silence of the jungle after the landslide slowly gave way to a chorus of exotic-sounding birds. He caught glimpses of colourful shapes darting high above and their songs were a welcome relief that bolstered Mak’s spirits.

  He walked for hours before it finally occurred to him why he still wasn’t hungry. His thoughts had been very much on taking the next step, but his hands were automatically snatching nuts and berries as he passed them. Without thinking, he was avoiding the ones he suspected to be poisonous, and he felt a moment of pride at what he had learned so far. What would his father think of him now?

  As quickly as the thought surfaced, Mak pushed it away. He wasn’t ready for any more night terrors. He had accepted the fact that no search party was looking for him, and as for the fate of his parents . . . he just couldn’t contemplate it. He sighed. He would surrender to the law of the jungle and hope fervently that it would see him – and his parents – safely home.

  Gradually the sky slipped into twilight, and Mak saw ripples of cloud bathed in magnificent orange hues that hinted at a spectacular sunset he couldn’t quite see. He was just thinking about finding a safe place for the night when a throaty reverberation stopped him in his tracks.

  The mist parted before him, revealing the face of a killer.

  It was a panther. The unmistakable ebony soft fur was punctuated by a unique pattern of paler black markings. This one sported a tuft of fur on its chin, like a wise old beard. But it was the eyes – wide, yellow – that fixed unblinkingly on Mak.

  Mak’s heart beat so loudly he wondered if the cat could hear it. His legs twitched as the instinct to flee kicked in, but there was no doubt that the panther would catch him. The feline’s muscular body was designed to do exactly that.

  Long moments passed and the panther didn’t break eye contact or stop the threatening growl. Nor did it strike.

  Mak took an experimental step backwards. Still the panther didn’t move. Something was clearly wrong. That’s when Mak spotted the blood on the creature’s throat; not from the remains of a meal, but from where something had cut across its flesh.

  Despite his fear, Mak crouched for a better look. There was a length of wire coiled around the cat’s neck, probably left by a poacher – and just above it was a thick rubber collar, which had obviously saved the animal from strangulation. Mak’s heart began to beat faster as he peered more closely at the collar. It looked familiar, and on top of it was a GPS tracker, exactly like the one Anil had shown him!

  A link to civilization. Perhaps he could somehow use it to contact his family? He wished he’d paid more attention when Anil had shown him the other tracker. But the snare meant people too, and possibly closer by.

  Mak could barely contain the surge of hope and excitement that washed over him.

  The panther was in no position to attack him, so Mak slowly turned around, intent on giving the creature a wide berth. As he circled through the trees he saw the magnificent cat’s head follow him, and he began to feel its pain.

  ‘But it’s a killer,’ he muttered, forcing himself to look away.

  Being strangled by a poacher’s snare, added the voice in his head. Which makes people killers too . . .

  Mak stopped and regarded the creature. It was longer than he was tall, and he could see the deep gouges its claws had made in the log as it struggled in pain.

  What if the wolves had left you . . . ?

  His empathy for the panther increased. Mak took a deep breath and slowly turned back towards the beast.

  ‘If I help you, will you promise not to eat me?’ Mak hoped the panther would sense his non-threatening tone and words.

  The panther made no such promise. Still, Mak took a few steps forward. The creature didn’t move.

  Then one step closer . . .

  Mak was just within striking distance of those powerful claws and he couldn’t keep his eyes off them. As if sensing his intentions, the panther lay its head flat on the log, stretching itself out as best it could. Its claws retracted into its paws and the grumbling noise shifted into a deep purring.

  ‘This is so crazy . . .’ Mak muttered as he drew closer to the panther’s side. With a trembling hand he slowly extended it to the beast’s flank and gave it a short soft stroke. His fingers vibrated as the purring increased tempo.

  ‘Easy, boy . . . girl. . .’ Mak was in no position to tell. He edged slowly up to the panther’s neck, his fingers tracing over the GPS tracker. He saw the faint green power LED was illuminated, broadcasting the animal’s position.

  If he could take that off too . . .

  It was an impossible task while the snare was still around the animal’s neck. Shaking, Mak took the long end of the snare that stretched up into the branches of the nearby tree and tugged it to free up some slack. He managed just a little, but with luck it would be enough to slip the noose off.

  Taking a deep breath, Mak slowly manoeuvred the wire around the panther’s head. He brushed past an ear – causing the animal to suddenly flinch. Mak froze, expecting to have his hand bitten off at any second.

  The panther settled back down. With agonizing slowness, Mak continued moving the snare around the cat’s muzzle. His hand passed before its mouth, and he could feel the hot air expelled as the animal slowly breathed out.

  Then the snare came free of the animal’s neck in a single fluid movement. The very second it was removed the panther bounded forward.

  Mak could feel the creature tense as it scrambled towards another tree, powerful claws gripping the trunk as it effortlessly hauled itself up to the nearest branch. There the animal lay flat and, in an awkward movement, began licking its own bloody neck.

  Mak laughed out loud, delighted that the magnificent animal was once again free, and impressed by his own courage. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair in relief. When he opened his eyes again the panther had disappeared.

  And with it the GPS tracker that could have connected him to the outside world.

  Night fell quickly, and with it Mak found refuge in the broad curving limb of a drooping tree. Off the ground he felt safe and relatively confident that the panther would not return to harm him. He sensed there was a connection between them now . . . and hoped that was not just wishful thinking.

  The thinning branches overhead granted a view of a sky dusted with stars, more than he had ever seen before. The jungle’s nightly choir struck up and, for the first time, Mak found it both comforting and soothing. He closed his eyes and absently toyed with the coil of wire he had taken from around the panther’s neck. While he was not happy with the injuries it had caused to the noble animal, the thought of poachers – of human contact – so close by filled him with hope. Combined with the big cat’s GPS collar, he felt that home was now closer than ever.

  He could almost hear his sister’s teasing voice, taste his mother’s ravioli, the food he had missed the most. Even his father’s constant complaints were beginning to seem appealing . . .

  He opened his eyes and gasped. Instead of being pitch black, the jungle was alive with ghostly blue and
green hues. Mak rubbed his eyes, but still the image remained. Fireflies zipped between flowers like shooting stars, and the plants themselves glowed with a pale blue bioluminescence triggered by the passing monsoon rains. It was beautiful and Mak felt as if he was stuck in the warm embrace of a watercolour painting. His eyes drooped . . . and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Another two days passed in peace as Mak pressed on through the jungle, mindful to check his position against the sun at intervals. Without a watch he couldn’t judge precisely which way he was going, but he began using the shadows cast by the sun to help guide him.

  Planting a stick in the ground, he’d mark the position, then wait for maybe fifteen or thirty minutes, as best as he could judge, and then mark the new position of the sun. Standing between the two points, he assumed he was facing south.

  The more he walked, the easier he found identifying the trees and bushes offering mangos, berries and nuts. Supplemented with the occasional chunk of fungus, this now formed his regular diet. He began to miss meat, even raw meat. And the thought of chocolate made his mouth water.

  Other things became apparent. Moss carpeted rocks and trees wherever it could, although it tended to be thicker on the side away from the sun. There also tended to be more spiderwebs on the northward-facing side of the trunks. It was basic navigation, but it assured him he was going in the right direction.

  Sitting on a rock at the side of a clear stream, Mak watched the fat bodies of fish swim below him. On impulse he found a straight branch, rubbed one end against a rock until it was sharp, or at least, not as blunt – then spent more time than he wanted to admit attempting to spear the fish.

  After failing at his fishing opportunity, Mak examined the coiled snare wire hanging from his grubby jeans’ belt loop. Perhaps he could fashion a snare of his own and hunt some small pig or deer?