The Final Entries of Dr. Bruce Berthoff
Posted: 2007-07-16 07:48pm
The following excerpts were found only recently by members of a scientific expedition down the Amazon River. Most of the journal was completely unreadable due to the ravages of time and exposure to the rainforest. It appears to detail the final days of the ill-fated expedition of Boston University Dr.'s Thaddius Beltran and Bruce Berthoff, whose members left in late October of 1937, and were never heard from again.
Personal log - Bruce Berhoff
November 14, 1937
Day Seventeen of our little float down the Amazon, and our guide, Diego, has diverted down a small fork in the river. It is a quiet tributary where the water flows clear and slowly. In fact, I am in the boat as I write this, so sedate are the currents here.
The information we have gathered will doubtless be of immense value to the university in Boston. Dr. Beltran and I have catalogued no less than 17 new spiecies of plants, 4 new mammals, and countless fish. Sadly, our specimens were lost in a rather terrible storm last night, but we've kept detailed drawings and a few photographs; though the humidity is torture on our camera equipment, so I do not know how much longer we will be able to continue photographing.
I feel it necessary to write of a slightly uneasy twinge we're doubtless all feeling as we travel down this particular part of the river. Not the least of reasons is the clarity of the water. While the main river is muddy with the churning of storms and stained rust-colored with decaying vegetation, the water here is at least 4 feet deep and I am able to see straight to the bottom of the river, all the way down to tiny details in it's moss covered rocks. The fish here do not even scatter as the boat passes over them, or even when I plunk my finger into the water. Diego says it's the easiest fishing he's ever experienced. I get the impression he is quite pleased with his choice of detour, though I'm led to believe by his reaction to this place that he's never been here before, which seems contrary to his position in this party.
I am, however, not one to complain. There is a calm about this place, aside from the occasional squawk of some unseen forest bird in the canopy, or the splash of a fish breaching the water here and there, that feels like home. And it allays our unease quite readily. I do hope we find a clear spot on the bank and that we make camp here.
My God, I've only just realized that there's not single a mosquito to be found here at all.
Personal log - Bruce Berhoff
November 14, 1937
Day Seventeen of our little float down the Amazon, and our guide, Diego, has diverted down a small fork in the river. It is a quiet tributary where the water flows clear and slowly. In fact, I am in the boat as I write this, so sedate are the currents here.
The information we have gathered will doubtless be of immense value to the university in Boston. Dr. Beltran and I have catalogued no less than 17 new spiecies of plants, 4 new mammals, and countless fish. Sadly, our specimens were lost in a rather terrible storm last night, but we've kept detailed drawings and a few photographs; though the humidity is torture on our camera equipment, so I do not know how much longer we will be able to continue photographing.
I feel it necessary to write of a slightly uneasy twinge we're doubtless all feeling as we travel down this particular part of the river. Not the least of reasons is the clarity of the water. While the main river is muddy with the churning of storms and stained rust-colored with decaying vegetation, the water here is at least 4 feet deep and I am able to see straight to the bottom of the river, all the way down to tiny details in it's moss covered rocks. The fish here do not even scatter as the boat passes over them, or even when I plunk my finger into the water. Diego says it's the easiest fishing he's ever experienced. I get the impression he is quite pleased with his choice of detour, though I'm led to believe by his reaction to this place that he's never been here before, which seems contrary to his position in this party.
I am, however, not one to complain. There is a calm about this place, aside from the occasional squawk of some unseen forest bird in the canopy, or the splash of a fish breaching the water here and there, that feels like home. And it allays our unease quite readily. I do hope we find a clear spot on the bank and that we make camp here.
My God, I've only just realized that there's not single a mosquito to be found here at all.