Betty smiled and nodded. “Lead on,” she said.
Just getting to the bottom of the hill proved hard work, and Betty began to wonder what she had let herself in for. Finally a river emerged from the thick jungle undergrowth. And there was the vine bridge Dugulugu had told them about. Betty took a deep breath when she saw the flimsy structure. A tangle of intertwined vines about two inches thick formed the “deck” of the bridge; two more vines strung higher up were handrails. Other vines were zigzagged between the deck and the handrails to hold them together.
Leona looked at Betty and said, “This is supposed to be one of the best kept bridges in the area. No one has fallen off it in quite a while.”
Betty smiled weakly. She was not afraid of heights, but when she went up in an airplane, she made sure everything was as safe as it could possibly be. Now she was about to venture out onto a bridge constructed of vines, and she had no way of telling whether or not it was safe.
Dugulugu, who had taken over carrying the box of food, was the first to cross the footbridge. Betty watched as his wide feet almost curved themselves around the vines as he walked. She looked down at her boots and wondered whether she would be able to make it across wearing such heavy-soled footwear. Perhaps she ought to try crossing the bridge barefoot herself. Within minutes Dugulugu was safely across and had beckoned for the others to follow. Soon only Leona and Betty were left to cross.
“You go first,” Leona said to Betty, “and I’ll start across as soon as you reach the other side. At least we know the bridge has been well tested before us.”
Well tested, or weakened by the others, Betty wanted to say, but she kept her silence. By now she’d had plenty of time to study the proper crossing technique. You kept your eyes fixed on the far end of the bridge and slowly slid your hands along the vine “rails” with each step you took.
As she took her first steps on the vine bridge, Betty was surprised by how springy it was. She had taken about ten steps and was well out over the swirling river twenty feet below when she heard a snap. She froze in place, her eyes darting from side to side to see what had happened. Several of the zigzag vines that held the handrail vines in place were broken. But had they just broken, or had they been broken all along? Betty couldn’t tell, and for the first time in her life she found herself unable to move because of fear. She could keep a clear head and respond when an airplane’s engine suddenly stopped in midair, but the thought of going another step on the flimsy bridge terrified her.
As Betty stood clinging tightly to the vine rails, one of the Moni guides began making his way toward her from the far side of the bridge. Betty could feel cold sweat beading on her forehead. The thought of another person on the bridge only heightened her anxiety. Now twice as much weight was on the bridge as before. They were doomed for sure!
Betty watched as the guide nimbly made his way to her. When he reached her, he gently touched her hand and smiled. He then took a step backward and waited for Betty to follow. Betty nodded, knowing what he expected her to do. She slowly slid her right foot along the vine about eight inches, then slid her left foot even with her right foot and slid her left foot another eight inches. She had taken a step! A surge of adrenaline went through her. She knew she could do it now. And so, step by step she followed the Moni guide to the other side, where Dugulugu excitedly patted her on the back, a look of relief on his face.
“I hope there aren’t too many more of these,” Betty said when Leona finally made it across the bridge to join them.
“Only a couple more, but you know what to expect now,” Leona replied. “I was thinking while I watched you cross,” she went on. “Last month Grace Cutts got sick and had to walk out for treatment. Can you imagine feeling dizzy and ill and having to walk across that bridge?”
Betty shook her head. There was nothing like walking up and down steep mountains to remind a pilot of why his or her airplane was so valuable to missionaries serving on the ground. The hope was that if all went well with the airstrip inspection at Hitadipa, people would no longer have to make this torturous trek over mountains and through dense jungle. Of course, they had to get to Hitadipa and the airstrip first.
Chapter 16
Hitadipa at Last
At 3 P.M. the two missionary women and their eight guides stopped for lunch. Betty perched on a large, flat rock and devoured a sandwich while rubbing her weary leg muscles. Although she felt tired and sore from all the walking, she noticed the Moni guides seemed to bounce with energy. They looked as though they hadn’t walked more than a mile. Betty wished she had their stamina.
Finally Leona St. John announced that it was time to get moving again. The guides leapt to their feet and eagerly loaded up the gear they were carrying on their backs. Betty pulled her backpack on again and followed the Moni guides on up the trail.
The group walked on for another hour and a half through thick rain forest, clambering over the roots of large camphor and ebony trees. Finally, at 4:30 P.M., Leona announced that it was time to make camp for the night. They were within a few hundred yards of a village, which Dugulugu assured them was a friendly one. The guides helped the two women set up their tent, and then they were gone.
“Where are the guides? They haven’t deserted us, have they?” Betty asked.
Leona laughed. “No, they’ve gone into the village for the night. It would be very difficult for them to stay out here with us,” she said.
Betty looked a little confused, so Leona explained. “When the sun goes down, they get very cold. They don’t wear clothes, and they don’t use rugs or blankets when they sleep, so they need to be inside a hut huddled around a fire.”
“I see,” Betty said. “I hadn’t thought about how they would sleep. We’re up quite high here. I guess it gets rather cold at night.”
The two women ate some canned baked beans and finished their sandwiches from lunch. Then it was time for bed. Before they crawled into the tent, Leona read a psalm while Betty prayed that God would watch over them while they slept.
As she snuggled into her sleeping bag, Betty thought about the airstrip she was going to inspect. All the time and energy that had gone into making it would benefit countless people in the future. That thought alone made each aching muscle and the terrifying experience on the vine bridge worthwhile.
The next morning, Betty and Leona were up bright and early. Just as they were finishing their breakfast, the guides reappeared, and soon everything was repacked and they were on their way again.
They had been walking for an hour and a half when they heard the buzz of an airplane engine. Stepping into a clearing, Betty shielded her eyes from the morning sun. Above them a Cessna was circling. Betty waved, thankful to know that George Boggs was watching out for them.
Soon they reached a spot on a ridge where Betty could look back down the valley they had been climbing through. Far in the distance on the opposite side of the valley she could barely make out the airstrip at Pogapa. It had taken them a day to cover the same distance George Boggs had covered in five minutes of flying.
They walked on in silence, up and over a mountain ridge that was eighty-five hundred feet above sea level. Although it was hard walking to get to the top of the ridge, Betty could not help but be awed by the spectacular view from its summit.
Of course each ridge they climbed meant that they had to clamber down the other side of it. Soon they were slipping and sliding their way down a sixty-degree slope. As they did so, Betty was glad she had decided to wear blue jeans on the trek. At least they gave her legs some protection. She wondered how the Moni men could make it without any form of protective clothing at all.
At the bottom of every ridge, a stream made its way south to join with other streams to form a river that would flow to the Arafura Sea. The river at the bottom of this ridge was particularly beautiful. It was clear and shallow, with tropical foliage draped along its edge. The group sat on a huge fallen log while one of the guides made a small fire to heat some water. The two women enjoyed a steaming cup of coffee and a slab of fruitcake Leona had made before starting on the trek. The Moni men devoured some cold sweet potatoes they had brought with them from the village where they had slept the night before.
Once they had eaten, it was time for them to be on their way again. This time Dugulugu indicated they would walk along the riverbed for a mile or so until they picked up another trail that would take them over the next ridge. Betty’s boots proved no protection against the seeping river water, but she did not mind one bit. The river was so peaceful she was glad to spend as much time by it as she could. They trekked on for the rest of the day, and once again as night approached, Dugulugu found them a spot near a friendly village to sleep.
As they approached the site, Betty noticed a wooden platform high up in a tree. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to it.
Leona peered up through the leaves and then said, “We’d better not camp here; that’s a death tree. The Moni people put dead bodies up there, and the birds pick the bones clean.”
The women camped that night on the far side of the village. Everything went fine, just as it had the night before. Betty arose the next morning refreshed from a good night’s sleep and eager to press on with the final leg of the trek. If everything went well on the day’s trek, they would be with Bill and Grace Cutts and their baby daughter, Amy, before nightfall.
As they climbed up toward another ridge, they left the lush tropical forest behind and began trekking through tall, well-spaced pine trees. With little undergrowth among these trees, they made good time. At one point, in the distance they could even see the mountain that Hitadipa was situated at the foot of. After going up and over yet another mountain ridge, they came across a village. Leona went ahead to barter with the head man there for some sweet potatoes for the guides to eat. She arrived back fifteen minutes later, her face ashen.
“What’s the matter?” Betty asked, knowing immediately that something was wrong.
“War,” Leona replied. “Ahead of us, about two villages.” She turned to Dugulugu and spoke to him in the Moni language. Then she turned back to Betty. “Dugulugu tells me there is no other trail we can take to Hitadipa. We must keep going the way we planned. We need to pray we don’t get caught up in the fighting.”
Betty prayed as she nervously walked on. Every cracking twig or muffled sound was investigated lest it be someone trying to ambush them. Finally they reached the top of the next ridge and looked down the other side. A village about a quarter of a mile away was in flames. Betty could hear women and children screaming and caught a glimpse of some warriors with their menacing eight-foot-long spears in hand.
Dugulugu waved his arm toward a large tree, and the two women quickly hid behind it. He joined them there, speaking to Leona in whispers. When he had gone, Leona turned to Betty. “He is going to send two men into the village to see if we will be allowed to pass through safely.”
“Even if they say yes, how will we know they’re not tricking us?” Betty asked.
“We won’t,” Leona whispered. “We’ll just have to trust their word.”
Betty waited anxiously, scanning the trees for any sign of the guides’ return. Finally, ten minutes later, the guides arrived back with good news. The attackers had left, and the people of the village were prepared to allow them safe passage.
The village was a sickening sight of broken and burned huts, looted storehouses, and dead bodies. Betty was glad when they were safely through it and again walking in the clean-smelling forest. As they walked on, Leona told her about some of the customs of the Moni people. “There will be a lot more agony before that village gets back to normal,” she said.
