Heane, H. 1990 October 27 (continued) fire, our eyes burning and our feet cold and wet. There are poles in the water where we crossed the swamp, but we'd worn shoes or jungle boots and couldn't avoid going in. I had just realized huddling up slope behind Vincent that the unrecognized (but somehow familiar) part of his odor is cooking fire smoke. Our cold dies work for cooking by using long limbs that dry progressively as they are slowly pushed into the fire. Three species of turacos are calling loudly from the surrounding trees as mist rolls over the late afternoon ridges. Rain had stopped x/600 m and we quickly set up our