In the meantime, we contacted another Notre Dame student, Aristides Fernandez, from Colon, Panama. It was largely through his and his family's help that the trip was successful. The streets of Panama City that run down to the harbor literally go from bad to worse. The harbor contains a fleet of shrimp boats and a few banana boats; its surface is covered with a flotsam of garbage and debris. On the buildings crowding the water's edge, roost large black vultures, lending their eerie presence to an already eerie scene. Here we boarded the trading vessel Pirre, a rundown, double-decked boat whose engine was a loud two cylinder motor, and whose only sanitary convenience was a roost suspended over the water. The crew was of Spanish, Negroid, and Indian origins. The food served to those aboard was a barely palatable diet of rice and meat. The meat was so tough that it had to be first set in the sun until it started to decompose. The Pirre carried us down the Pacific shore of Panama to the Bay of San Miguel, from there up the Chucunaque River and finally to Yaviza, the last point of civilization in the Darien. With a letter of introduction from Aristides Fernandez, Sr., we sought a local merchant, Raoilio Ley, to whom we explained our plans.
We had previously decided to camp in the interior of the Darien, and then to cross the San Blas Mountains to the Caribbean Coast. Ley told us that such a trip was possible only with the permission and help of a native leader by the name of Chaua. He lived in the interior, on the Rio Tuquesa, a tributary of the Rio Chucunaque, and could only be reached by piraqua ( dugout canoe ) . The next morning, supplied with a pot of rice and a great deal of enthusiasm, we boarded a large piraqua and started up the Chucunaque River, headed for the Tuquesa. The river was enclosed on both sides by green jungle walls, and at each bend there were great white-trunked trees, towering two hundred feet above us. As we progressed into the jungle, our enthusiasm was replaced by respect and awe at being in a place so removed from civilization. Towards evening we reached the Tuquesa and began making our way upstream against both the current and the approaching night. When the river became too difflcult to negotiate, we left the boat and set off across the jungle. After a couple of hours of jungle travel, we came to an Indian settlement into which our guides disappeared. The settlement was unusual, since it was inhabited by both Indians and Negroes. This strange condition was created by the nearby presence of the only trading post in the region. When our guides returned, they told us that the trading post was owned by Chaua, but he was on a trip further up the river. This news brought our plans to a temporary halt. While waiting for Chaua's return, we used the time hunting in the surrounding jungle. During one of the hunting trips we came across a Fer-de-Lance, a deadly South American snake of the Pit Viper family. On another occa sion, we made friends with an old man named Kintana, who lived in a small hut on the edge of the main clearing; he seemed to know the jungle well, and we were told he had crossed the Darien approximately ten years before. This was important to us as we had not previously known any one who had made the trip, and we knew that no man lived in the rugged San Blas Mountain region. Early on the morning of the third day, we were awakened by shouts tell ing us to prepare to leave immediately; Chaua was nearby and if we hurried we could reach him. All that morning was spent working our way by piraqua up the Tuquesa, until early afternoon when the Indians suddenly pulled the boats to the shore and told us that we had at last reached Chaua. Actually we had arrived at the home of a Choco Indian family. When we arrived, Chaua and the rest of the men were in the jungle. He returned two hours later and we were able to make the necessary arrangements. It was agreed that the three of us would go ahead and set up camp by a creek named Vanau. We would remain there a week and would then be joined by Kintana and a weight bearer named Carlos, who was to help us carry our heavy equipment. The camp at Vanau was a success despite a disastrous beginning. We arrived at Vanau late at night, tired and sore; we rigged up a hasty camp and collapsed from near exhaustion. That night the rains came with such intensity they soaked through the tent, wiped out the fire, and soaked all our clothing and gear. The next day it continued to rain, but we worked from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m., cutting trees and building a semipermanent shelter, raised above the ground on stilts, so that we could have the basic necessities of life: a place to keep dry and a fire to cook upon. This task completed, we spent an enjoyable week hunting, fishing, and exploring. Wildlife was plentiful though difflcult to see. We regularly found the tracks of herds of peccary near the camp, and on one occasion we spotted jaguar tracks. A frequent visitor to our camp was a giant jungle otter who didn't seem to mind our presence. A less frequent visitor was the tyra, a five-foot weasel. As the time for our departure drew close, we began to appreciate the comparatively easy life at Vanau and were apprehensive about the coming trip. The first day of the trip to the mountains indicated what was to come. As the diary of the trip records it: "Jim carried about 45 pounds, Joe and I about 35 pounds, our weight carrier, Carlos, about 55 pounds, and Kintana his own burden. We left camp at 9 a.m. and finally reached an attractive spot at the edge of the mountains at 5 p.m. where we set up camp for the night. Today as usual we traveled along the river, making twenty one fords and covering about fifteen miles." The next day we found we had camped in a truly beautiful place, on a stony beach at the junction of three rivers. Since the river we were following was running high due to rains in the mountains, we left late the next day. Travel was difflcult as the river was now flowing from the high jungles above in a series of cascades and rapids. Thus we were continually making difflcult ascents and extremely hazardous crossings of the rapids, made more dangerous by the dead weight strapped on our backs. That day we didn't reach the mountain pass or the divide as we had hoped. The next day's entry in the diary reads: "This was a difflcult day. Again we were frustrated in not finding the divide. However, we will arrive tomorrow." This was followed by a similar entry for the following day. "Ha! We climbed and walked all day through impossible and beautiful country, but still did not reach the divide. We must cross the mountains tomorrow." The situation was getting dangerous; we had eaten the last of our provisions that night, and due to severe cases of jungle rot and fatigue we were incapable of hunting in the high mountain jungles. The only camping spot we could find this evening was on a rocky ledge about twenty feet above the river.Across the river from our camp was a large stone rising the same distance above the river. On this stone rested a log, apparently placed there by a flash flood coming down from the mountains. Nature repeated its past performance that night. "At about 1: 00 a.m. the rains started and continued with great intensity until at 2: 30 a.m. we heard Carlos cry out, 'You in the tent get out. The river comes.' The flood missed the tent by a matter of inches as it roared by, claiming all the gear in front of the tent. We moved what we could salvage to higher ground, and spent the rest of the night huddled in our panchos, cold and discouraged." If the night had been terrifying, the next day was torturus. "We finally crossed the moutains today after eight hours of the most treacherous climbing and walking imaginable."
By the next day conditions had worsened considerably. We had been without food for 11/2 days, and our feet were swollen and infected with jungle rot. Although we did know that the Rio Pito flowed into the Caribbean, we had no idea of how far it was or, for that matter, how far we could travel. After many hours of walking, the river led into a swampy region and then finally into the Caribbean. Our joy at reaching our goal was mitigated by our unfortunate circumstances. For a camp site we could only find a sandbar with the ocean on one side and the swamp on the other. Since we had no idea of the state of the tide, we feared the high tide might come during the night and force us back into the swamp. Later that night we made a sobering discovery. While in the jungle we had been on the look out for crocodiles and caymans, and now when we were in a near helpless state, they were everywhere. One had only to shine'his flashlight at the swamp ten feet away to see their eyes as they moved closer to the sandbar. We later learned that the larger crocodiles frequently raided the Indian villages at night, looking for dogs and other domestic animals. The next day was the hardest day of all, and thankfully, was the last before we reached some measure of civilization. We discovered that the sandbar extended in both directions for a great distance, and then gradually turned into a beach. We knew from our maps that there was a town, Puerto Obaldia, located just above the Colombian border, about twelve miles south of our present camp. Thus, half starved and dazed, we started down the beach towards Colombia. After fourteen hours, the ordeal ended; we crossed a hill and sighted Puerto Obaldia. That night we ate for the first time in three days and slept on the floor of the local jail. After a rest of several days, we made our way up the coast by sailboat to a Cuna Indian Village on the island of Mula tupu, across the bay from where Balboa was beheaded in 1517. Here among these strange Indians we found a Baptist missionary and his American wife; through his kind hospitality we were able to recuperate. Finally, we were able to contact, by means of a short-wave radio owned by the missionary, a bush pilot who landed on a nearby island and flew us back to Panama City. After three weeks of strenuous hiking to cross the Darien, we flew across it in a few hours.