Rescue Dog Tales

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Mikael Lindnord. Rescue Dog Tales

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For Arthur, my best friend for life

Foreword

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The next stage started off with more heat and more hills, but then seemed not to have quite as many horrors as I’d imagined. We mostly walked along a boulder-strewn ridge where we could see over the plains of the Pantanal, and the gods gave us a breeze, which saved us from more direct hits from the infernal mosquitoes. Yet soon enough the sun reached its height and the intense heat returned, to make the second 35 kilometres as searingly exhausting as the previous day’s climb. We’d run out of water again and this time the gods decided not to give us any creeks or rivers. We were desperately thirsty and, despite managing to get two or three hours’ sleep in the relative cool of the night, seriously sleep-deprived.

I think thirst and heat makes everything worse, but in particular it makes you drained and very possibly stupid and muddle-headed. Certainly I found it hard to try to motivate everyone, and was depressed by the slow progress we seemed to be making. As a racing friend of mine says, ‘When you’re safe at home you wish you were adventure racing, and when you’re racing you wish you were safe at home.’ On an hourly basis my mind was taking me home.

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