Her tent is still zipped shut, which is good. She’s probably exhausted from yesterday’s trek, and to be honest, I could use some time alone to get my head on straight. I stand and quickly roll up my sleeping bag, then brush my teeth for much longer than normal (for no particular reason).
Taking my GoPro, I walk over to the spot where I left our water bottles last night and turn on the video camera. “One of the best ways to get fresh water when you're out in a rainforest is to use the natural humidity in the air and a big leaf to collect the water for you. Last night, I set up our water bottles under this banana leaf. By now, they should be full.”
I check the bottles and smile at the lens. “And it worked again.”
I shut off the camera and mutter, “That did sound smug. Huh.”
“But not overly so,” Arabella says, scaring the hell out of me.
I start, then turn to her with a sheepish expression. “I thought you were still asleep.”
“Got up early to collect some breakfast,” she says, already looking lovely, with her hair up in a ponytail.
I glance down to her arms and see she’s carrying a bunch of bananas and some oranges. “I see you did some early morning foraging.”
“I thought it only fair since you provided supper. It’s not larvae, but it’ll have to do.”
Grinning at her, I say, “We can always find some bugs to eat along the way, Your Highness.”
“Yum, can’t wait.”
We sit together and eat our fruit, listening to the water rush down the river.
“Can I ask you something?” she says with a serious expression. “I'd like you to stop calling me Princess Arabella or Your Highness. I'm taking a break from royal life for a few days.”
“Sure,” I say. “In that case, I need to give you a nickname.”
Raising one eyebrow, she gives me a skeptical look. “Like what?”
“I don’t know yet, but it’s probably going to have something to do with you being a thief.”
Arabella gasps dramatically, but her eyes sparkle with laughter. “I am no such thing!”
“That lighter you keep in your bra says otherwise.”
She laughs and slaps my arm playfully. “I was being resourceful. Think of a name that has to do with that.”
“Nope, you’re a bit of a scoundrel. Sticky Fingers?” I ask, then shake my head. “Nah, too weird. Maybe I should go with something to do with your foul-mouth.”
“I do not have a—oh wait, I guess I do when I’m rappelling, don’t I?”
“Just a bit.” I stand and smile down at her. “I’m going to have to put some thought into it, but I’ll come up with something just right.”
Getting up, Arabella rolls her eyes while she starts to collect the peels from our breakfast. “How about Arabella? You won’t have to hurt your brain coming up with a nickname, and it brings with it the added bonus of me answering to it.”
“Hurt my brain? Was that an insult?” I ask.
“No, I would never imply that you’re not smart,” she says. “Just because a good portion of the women Dylan surveyed thought you didn’t seem that bright?”
“She told you that?!”
“She may have done, yes,” she says with a mischievous grin.
“They only said that because of my physique.”
Arabella wrinkles up her nose. “Is that what she told you?”
I burst out laughing. “You’re a bit of a badass!”
“A bit, yes,” Arabella answers with a hint of pride. “Now, let’s get moving. We have miles to go today and I don’t need you slowing me down.”
I grin down at her for a second, then remember I do not want to fall for this woman. “Speaking of slowing you down, I have a much quicker way for us to get to Mbambole.”
“Really?”
“Want to help me build a raft?”
“I’d like that very much.”
“Good.” I grab the machete and start into the bush with Arabella in tow. “I’m not going to forget about the nickname, you know?”
“Damn.”
“You thought you could distract me with the results of that horrible survey and I’d forget, didn’t you?” I ask, over my shoulder.
“And I was right. You forgot all about it.”
“For about a minute.”
“Oh, come on, it was at least two.”
17
So, I Do Want to See Under Tarzan’s Loincloth. What of It?
Arabella
The cameras are rolling again, which immediately shifts Will’s focus, bringing him back to his business as host. The two of us have spent the last hour collecting long, green bamboo shoots and dragging them to the river’s edge. Each trip back, I yearn to jump in so I can be refreshed by the cool, fast-flowing water, but instead, I drop what I’m holding, turn, and continue on. I’m already sweaty and tired, my muscles aching from the exertion, but I’m also filled with a sense of hope that propels me forward and gives strength to my arms while we work. Riding the river is going to be heads above cutting a trail through the dense brush.
We reach an impossibly tall tree, where Will stops. “I’ll go up and get us some vines. If you can film me, that would be a great help, Mad Dog.” He looks at me for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nope, you’re not Mad Dog.”
“I should hope not,” I say, watching as he swiftly starts his ascent. He climbs up a few feet, then turns his head toward me and speaks into the camera. “Now, if you really want to get the strongest and longest vines, you're going to have to climb for them. This is not something you should normally do without a harness because the fall from these heights could be fatal.”
“Brilliant,” I say. “So, that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
“Yup. But don’t worry, I’ve never died before.” With that, he starts casually climbing, as though he could hang out in that tree all day. I stand on the ground, finding myself simultaneously impressed with his abilities and terrified that he may be overly optimistic about the outcome. A few moments later, he's disappeared into the canopy of the tree. He calls down to me, his voice sounding far too distant for my liking. “You’ll want to stand back so that none of these vines land on you.”
I back up, then shout up to him. “All clear!”
Crackling and zipping sounds fill the air as the vines drop to the ground, slamming against branches and the trunk on their way down. When they hit the jungle floor, the soft bed of leaves and organic matter fly up and scatter. After several vines have been freed from the tree, I wait, expecting to see him climb down. Instead, he decides to swing down on one, hollering like Tarzan.
I laugh as he lets go of the vine and sticks the landing with his hands in the air. “Not bad, hey?”
I clap and say, “Encore. Encore.”
“Glad you enjoyed the show. Don’t forget to tip your waitress.”
The raft is roughly the size of a queen-sized bed when it’s all put together, and I cannot wait to get on and rest when we’re finished. The impossible humidity makes me feel like I'm sucking in water instead of breathing in air. As we work together tying off the vines, Will teaches me how to make a ‘clover hitch connector’ by placing one length of bamboo perpendicular to the others at one end of the raft. “We’re going to wrap the vine through the connecting piece, then use a simple overhand knot to secure it. The overhand knot is one of the most fundamental of all knots. It’s used in everything from fishing to shoelaces to climbing.”