Predators I Have Known - Alan Dean Foster [79]
Preparing to set out on a hike upriver, I carefully checked my attire. Long-sleeved shirt tucked into belted pants. Hiking socks and hiking boots. Broad-brimmed hat intended not to keep off the rain or sun so much as to provide a barrier against Things That Drop Out of Trees. All gear prepped and sprayed with permethrin. Insect repellent lightly slathered on exposed hands, face, and neck. And as the final touch, leech socks especially acquired for walking in the Danum. Unlike your standard hiking socks, whose breathable weave leeches can easily penetrate, leech socks are fashioned of fabric impervious to their probing. Something like plastic bags for your feet and lower legs, they are tied below the knee and add virtually no weight to your trek.
Thus equipped and having already successfully concluded several walks in the forest without having received so much as a single nibble, I felt perfectly safe in setting out once again.
The humidity that morning was high even for the Danum, and as the day warmed, I began to perspire more than usual. Long before I reached the end of the trail, I was steamed and drenched. At the terminus of this particular hike lies a flat, triangular peninsula of water-tumbled stone that sticks like a stony tongue out into the Danum River. Worn smooth by centuries of flash floods, car-size boulders dot the rubble-strewn terrain. The cooling breeze blowing down the river proved irresistible.
After carefully checking one especially inviting, smooth-topped boulder to ensure it was uninhabited, I removed my shirt and lay down to cool off. Ten delightful minutes later, I sat up and happened to catch a glimpse of my nether regions.
My legs were crawling with leeches.
Brown and tiger, they were inching their way upward like miniature malevolent Slinkies in search of exposed flesh. They were unable to live in the water and unable to live on the hot rocks, but they were perfectly comfortable lying dormant in the moist sand and mud while waiting for a mouse deer, a bearded pig, or an overconfident visitor like myself. Keeping as calm as I could, I first checked my exposed chest. Thankfully finding nothing, I returned my attention to my legs and began to flick the ravenous visitors away. Except, they didn’t flick. Hanging on with ferocious single-mindedness, they forced me to pick them off one by one, roll them up, and toss them aside.
I made a thorough job of it, checking and rechecking to ensure that not a single one had escaped my notice and trying not to think about what would have happened had I chanced to fall asleep on that fine, cool, comforting rock. One or two leech bites are harmless enough. Several would be more than a little uncomfortable. The potential effects on the body of several dozen gorging themselves when combined with the hot tropical sun and humidity was one I chose not to contemplate.
Satisfied that I had seen off the last of them, I put my shirt back on, tucked it back in, and started back toward the trailhead. Looking down as I left, I saw still more of the hungry worm-shapes looping in my direction. I did not exactly sneer as I left them lurching futilely in my wake, but I did feel undeniably superior. With a single stride, I could cover more ground than any leech could in many minutes of extending itself to the fullest.
Hubris. A bad companion in the jungle.
Well pleased with myself and having thoroughly enjoyed the morning’s outing, I returned to my room at the lodge and immediately began to remove my sopping wet clothing in anticipation of the refreshing shower to come. Shoes, leech socks, and hiking socks came off outside, then the rest inside. I pulled off my shirt and prepared to hang it over the back of a chair to dry and . . .
Plop.
Plop is a sound more frequently associated with cartoon audio effects than real life, but I can assure you that what I heard at that moment was inarguably a distinct plop. Frowning, I looked around and down. Lying on the floor was an