BILL FELT OLD. HE USUALLY CARRIED HIS FIFTY-SOME YEARS LIGHTLY, BUT WHEN TREKKING THROUGH THE JUNGLE IN THE SWELTERING HEAT OF BELIZE, AND THEN STRUGGLING UP THE LONG SERIES OF STEPS TO THE TOP OF THE LATEST MAYAN RUINS, IT FELT TO HIM AS IF HIS SKELETON WAS A BADLY OILED SERIES OF WORN-OUT JOINTS, KNEES ESPECIALLY.
Finally standing on the top of this latest ruin, Bill paused to stretch his aching back and rest his knees. Arching his back with a groan, he looked out across the almost virginal jungle. In the distance, he could see the border with Guatemala demarcated by a change in the vegetation. On the other side of the border, the forest had been stripped for its wood. He knew that if he got closer to the border, he would be able to see the scars from the amateur efforts to mine the small veins of gold.
Sometimes Bill wondered whether his consuming obsession with all things Mayan had been a waste of his time, but what had been his hobby, and was now his profession, often delivered moments like this; a perfect moment caught for a second where the sunlight was reflected a thousand times from the green of the jungle. The howler monkey chorus was a subdued background soundtrack to the beauty of the natural spectacle spread before him.
Deciding that he’d rested long enough, Bill turned to do what he’d come here for originally, to inspect this latest ruin. It was one of the 90% of the Mayan ruins that hadn’t yet been explored. Most people weren’t aware that the ruins that were photographed and shown to tourists comprised less than ten per cent of the total in the country. The others were generally known by experts in the field but hadn’t been investigated. The government of Belize had a conservative policy, trying to avoid exploitation of the ruins. They approved the academic study and archaeological investigation, but not without the intense scrutiny of the credentials of the people requesting access.
Of course, funding was a major delaying factor in the number of approved researchers, both to fund expeditions as well as to get permission through the many layers of bureaucracy required, and that was without taking the usual corrupt back-handers that were sort of expected to grease the wheels.
Bill had managed to parlay some of his old army contacts into special permission to do a survey of the various un-studied ruins. Even though the country was no longer a British colony, it was still part of the Commonwealth, and the Jungle Warfare school still hosted British, American and other militaries who considered the Jungle Warfare school to be one of the better arenas to train their Special Operations forces. Bill had fond memories of his times in Belize going through the course, not of the tough course itself, but of the sense of pride and accomplishment, he had felt on completing it. No-one who could be considered sane actually ‘enjoyed’ doing the course, but he would be the first to admit that the third time he had done it, as an instructor, it had been great fun to inflict some of the same ‘Good Training’ on newer members of his old unit.
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Hauling his Canon DSLR from its protective bag, Bill turned until he was facing north, then proceeded to take photos of the surrounding terrain from each of the cardinal points. The built-in GPS information on the photos would place the photos correctly on the map, and the additional module that had been added to the camera would add the compass bearing to the photo’s Exif metadata. Once those basic photos had been taken he continued to take photos of what he had already determined was one of the better examples of a Mayan temple, starting with the central altar.
After over an hour of work, having documented the entire temple starting at the top and working his way down, Bill set up camp under the jungle canopy within a few meters of the temple, where he had dropped his ruck-sack before scaling the flights of stairs earlier. He had the process down to a fine art by now, having developed the skill in the army, but adjusted it during the last six months or so that he had been traipsing the jungle and documenting the ruins, paring away the purely army considerations and adding some of the pretty sophisticated civilian kit that was now available. He chuckled quietly to himself as he tied his hammock to two conveniently located trees, knowing that his ‘snivel gear’ would have led to his mates taking the piss out of him, but happy in the knowledge that now that he was retired from the army, he had to please no-one but himself. He had always believed the axiom that “there is no need to practice being uncomfortable, the army will provide you with enough opportunity to experience it for real”, but the reality was that as a senior NCO he’d always been aware of the need to lead by example.
Once the hammock was secure, with its integral mosquito net zipped up to ensure that the blood-sucking bugs didn’t invade his sleeping space, he got out his mini camp stove and brewed some coffee.