Wild Spirit Read Online Free Page B

of the wet season.’ This was the flagship project for which the Trans-Gabonese Railway would be built.
    â€˜We’ve been slowly opening up the camp over the last five months. At the moment, we have a Sicilian geologist and a handful of Gabonese labourers up there. They’re manually clearing the old tracks through the forest ahead of our team of British surveyors, who’re due here in a fortnight.’
    â€˜How do you get up there?’ Win asked.
    â€˜It takes two days. We fly to the nearest town, Makokou, then go upriver in a motorised pirogue – a dugout – whichtakes between five and twelve hours, depending on the height of the water. Then we go by Land Rover seventeen kilometres up into the mountains. The route is steep and full of hairpin bends, so it takes about forty-five minutes.’
    Win’s eyes had lit up. ‘How do you communicate with people in the camp when you’re down here?’
    â€˜We have an army-style field radio here in the office, another one at our base in Makokou, and one in the camp. Twice a day we have scheduled radio links to coordinate movement of supplies and people and sort out any problems.’
    I sat on the edge of the armchair. The project sounded like the plot of an adventure film. It had all the right elements – remoteness, danger, challenge and the mystery of Equatorial Africa. I forgot how tired and hungry I was. I just wanted to hear more. For Doug, the project was clearly more than a job – it was a way of life that combined his love of wild places with a satisfying career.
    â€˜We’re about to embark on an accelerated building program at the camp,’ he said. ‘We need six timber houses built quickly.’ Doug was unaware he was sitting opposite a builder. A flicker passed across Win’s face; he had always believed that when opportunity knocked, one should race to open the door. A hint of a smile played around his mouth. ‘Not looking for a good builder, are you?’
    â€˜Matter of fact, I am. I’m about to telex someone I know in Brisbane to see if he’s interested. But it’s hard to get people to come here.’
    â€˜Well look,’ Win said, still playing with the idea and not really serious, ‘I’m a builder. If you pay me US$30,000 a year tax-free, I’ll build your camp for you.’
    I think he expected a flippant reply to the effect that it wasn’t so simple. Instead, Doug leaned forward, focused: ‘Okay, you’re on. There’s no problem with the salary, as long as you only work for six months. But it won’t be much fun for your wife. You’d have to live in a tent.’
    Win’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Doug turned to me. ‘How would you feel about being the only white woman there?’
    How would I feel? The ‘only white woman’ part wouldn’t faze me at all, but going back into that forest, to those minuscule biting insects, for six whole months – I couldn’t face it. Mosquito nets and insect repellents were useless against their onslaughts. I glared at Win as he began to discuss the possibility seriously, without even asking my opinion. His imagination was on fire; I was speechless. Thoughts ricocheted in my head: ‘What is he doing? I won’t go back into that jungle – we’ve just escaped from it!’ I kicked his foot hard under the table.
    It was now dark outside, but Doug was wound up, deadly serious about recruiting this builder who had dropped into his lap. ‘Look, why don’t you come home to my place and we’ll have a drink and talk about it?’ We still had not eaten, and it had been a long and tumultuous day. The last thing we felt like was socialising over alcohol, but Doug wasn’t about to give up: ‘If you give me a few minutes, I’ll be finished here and we can drive there in convoy.’ It was settled before I had a chance to demur. Only much