(Daniel) As could be expected, the animal noises that the most lush jungle that one can imagine could muster, are a sound to behold.  Where you have only to step in a puddle and miniature turtles go running in every direction. Tarantulas wander around seeming confused by everything in their path, and Howler Monkeys practice their Darth Vader impressions at close on 90 Decibels for eighteen hours a day.  Not to mention the Parrots, who seem to be able to randomly select any one of hundreds of different noises, from robotic beeping to human like whistles.

It was to this cacophony of noise, that I awoke this morning.  The Monkeys especially caught my attention, as their strange husky exhalation noise seemed to throw itself particularly well, sounding not unlike someone breathing in your ear.  Outside, the camp was thankfully intact, I climbed out of the door, leaving Daniel 2 and Yerko to their slumbers.  The track stretching into the distance looked even worse than I could have imagined, the ruts where visible above the water, looked wide and deep.  I walked along the track, Nicky’s British army highleg boots which I had borrowed sank deep into the soft mud as I trudged along for 150 meters.  Just to travel this short length of the 50 km track, would either take an hour of winching and climbing ruts, or five minutes of gut wrenching, part breaking thrust.  I walked back to the camp, where Yerko had risen, He wandered past me looking tired and off up the track to make the same grim discovery which I just had.

As I sat down beside the vehicle, pulling a couple of tins of beans and some franks in can from the supplies box.   Three tribal farmers came around the corner with a surprised look, no wonder looking at our muddy selves and even muddier vehicles camped up in the jungle.  I wished them a good morning, with knowing grins and nods exchanging directions.  just as they were leaving Yerko returned, and in his perfect Spanish began to share a laugh with the three Mayan villagers.  When he walked over to me, he had an incredulous look on his face, "They said that we are going the wrong way.  Apparently there is another track from the village, this is the 150km track to Rio Azul and Dos Lagunas."  

For a second I pondered our supplies situation, and the length of time it would take us to achieve this even harder route.  The days added up and the supplies didn't, we would have to turn back.  But the other man had been so sure and helpful, could these villagers be wrong?  We hadn't progressed far enough to get an accurate reading from the GPS, but a continuation for several hours to find that we are on the wrong track could be disastrous.  The Franks and beans began to boil just as Daniel 2 emerged from the rooftent.  "Looks like we're going the wrong way" I said. "We have to turn back."  

We ate the franks and beans joking about the mistake, and the uncertainty of having conflicting sets of directions.  As if called by fate, a Toyota suddenly appeared next to Yerkos vehicle.  A battered old Pickup, it was sitting astride huge 35" tyres with its leaf sprung suspension sitting atop of it's axles for extra clearance.  This was the vehicle for the ruts, an old man sat in the back holding on for dear life.

The driver and his young sons got out to see what the delay was.  He confirmed that this was indeed the wrong path, and that we would have to head back.  I attempted to turn around, but the Wolf wouldn't climb out of the ruts.  I was about to try a rope from an opposing tree, when the man began hacking away at first the jungle around the vehicle, then the ruts themselves, cutting a path with his 3 foot blade for the Wolf to pass through.  With some help and pushing, we eventually managed to turn her around, and I pulled off to the side of the track, next to the deep pool in the centre of the track.  The man returned to his vehicle, driving past me and straight through the muddy pit, with the old man flying around wildly in the back, an inane grin on his wrinkled face.  

As Yerko and I headed back, the now experienced obstacles were far easier to tackle.  Within thirty minutes we had left the jungle track, arriving back in the tiny village of Uaxactun.

An old lady further re-enforced the mornings discovery, pointing us in the direction of a similarly daunting track, this time travelling uphill on loose scree to enter the thick forest once again.

We drove on encountering a few muddy sections, but nothing so bad as before.  The track looked hardly used, as the trees were overgrown and bushy.  Not more than a couple of kms into the way, I encountered my first low hanging trees, which had to be cut away before we could proceed.  Further along still a small clump of trees had fallen across the path, Daniel began to get the Hang of using the Parang, which seems to be far superior for cutting trees of any size.

As we drove on, the track got quiet solid, but fell off on one side into a tree filled valley below.  It reminded me of Malaysia, where I had been permanently paranoid about slipping off the edge, having let one wheel go over in Cameron, and having to winch out to avoid the very real danger of slipping off.

As we turned an easy bend in the track, I heard a beep from Yerkos Toyota close behind me, but checking the mirror could not see his vehicle.  I stopped, and ran back, switching the camera on.  Yerko had somehow slipped over the edge with two wheels, and was now balanced precariously on the centre of his vehicle hanging on the edge of the track.  We looked around,, spotting a large tree some way into the jungle.  I cut a path to it, then returned to the Wolf to get a large tree strop and my tow rope.  We attached the tow rope from the side step of the 3 tonne Toyota, and the to a tree just next to it.  With the vehicle supported, and the rope as a kind of huge compass, Yerko winched in his 9000lb Warn.  For a second, the vehicle teetered and then leaned over, but the rope caught the strain, lifting the side high in the air, as the winch pulled him back up onto the track.

With Yerko recovered, we opened the first beer of the day, then pressed on into the Jungle.  The track got worse from here, ruts and muddy waterlogged sections had us walking their length to find the best route in advance. Occasionally one or other would get stuck, Yerko had my tow rope attached to the back of his vehicle, and I had my kinetic rope attached to the back of mine.  With these we usually managed to get one or other free from any sticky situations.

The winch was required several times more, mostly to pull trees out of the way, on one of these I tried out Yerkos new Blackie Collins machete, a pirate sword looking affair with serrations on the back.  I hit a small tree four times with the stainless steel blade, then it snapped in two with a loud crack, leaving me standing with a stub in my hand, and checking that I still had both eyes, ears etc.

A note on the knives and huge amount of tree cutting which I have had to do, a lot of it on this particular jungle track.  I cannot  understand how the Guatemalans use these huge machetes.  They are too long, impractical for any purpose other than swinging in grass, and can't cut a thick tree for lack of weight.  Time and again, the Parang proved to be the only comfortable, effective knife for use in the jungle.

We encountered a couple of abandoned Jungle camps on the route, presumably used by farmers or travellers caught in the bad weather.  These were simple affairs of grass huts, but both had rain catchers set up with plastic sheets draining into a reservoir.

After some more unexpected stoppages and a low hanging branch which cracked my windscreen across the middle, we arrived at the Jungle Ruins of El Sotz.  The name means simply The Bats.  At the guard camp, a uniformed tribal looking man with a huge machete in a decorated leather sheath welcomed us to El Sotz.  He invited us to camp with him telling us that his fellow guard had left to get medicine form Tikal, as he was felling sick.  The walk would take him 7 hours through the jungle  and he would probably return at around lunchtime tomorrow.

I asked if he had ever seen tourists come in their vehicles before, he laughed, never!  Almost no-one comes here by vehicle, any tourists hike with a guide for two days and bring supplies on pack horses.  SO we were the first I asked?  The first as far as he knew, and he had worked there for many years apparently.  We showered then, using the huge tank of collected rain water that made up the bulk of the camps buildings.  a small fire burned permanently, with a kettle of water boiling seemingly perpetually. The guard announced that it was time for the bats to come out, as it was nearly 6:32, the precise time that the bats appear.  We watched in the area that he pointed, as a thick smear suddenly crept across the evening sky.  there must have been millions, as the smear broke into three separate lanes, thick with bats, their high pitched squeals piercing the air like an echo.

The bats must have kept coming for at least ten minutes, when the flow abruptly stopped.  As we sat down with the guard, I set up the fluorescent light and inverter, then began to download the photos and videos from the day onto my laptop.  The poor guard seeing this bright glowing form of entertainment forced me to show him the videos over and over, repeating the word schwelar at the sight of each new image.

We invited the Guard to join us in our dinner, which consisted of Pasta with plum tomatoes and mackerel.  Yerko produced a tin of vegetables, which when mixed in with everything else actually made for a very nice meal.

After dinner, I retired to the rooftent, to calls of Schwelar from the guard, soon after Daniel 2 and Yerko went off to their respective beds, the jungles noises set in.

Wake up early to some very scary noises, check out track, just gets worse, start to make breakfast, some people pass by Yerko asks about direction, wrong way.  Confirmed by next passers.  Then truck comes, huge tyres!  Helps us to turn around, head back to Uaxactun, take other track, much better at first, enjoyable drive, with some low trees, suddenly hear beep, but yerko gone, run back, he’s tipped off the side! Quick recovery using rope and winch, then back on the way, mud gets thicker, many stops to check route, cut down so many trees, break yerkos machete, only knife worth having is parang, eventually arrive at EL SOtz, guide amazed to see us, first tourists by vehicle ever, sign guest book, at exactly 6.32 bats come from cave, thousands and thousands, make dinner and stay up chatting with guard and looking at photos.  Everyone tells us that way out easier.  Sleep in tent.

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