Gold of the Gods by Bear Grylls Read Free Book Online

Beck, Ringo ,' said Christina, trying
unsuccessfully to hide her impatience. 'You
know, the pop—'
    But Beck wasn't listening. 'Balsa,' he said,
pointing excitedly into the distance. 'That
tree over there. The really tall one. It's a
balsa tree. That's what the Indians used to
build rafts like the one in Gonzalo's model.
We've got all the materials we need to build
the real thing right here. And unless we get
away tonight' – he glared at Ringo – 'it
really will be Ramirez jumping out at us
from behind the bushes.'
    Beck led the way through the undergrowth.
'You can tell they're balsa trees by
the flowers on the ends of the branches.
They look like ice-cream cones.' He pointed
up at the smooth white bark of the trunk,
which rose straight as an arrow towards the
sky. 'It grows faster than almost any other
tree in the jungle and because it floats so
well, it's brilliant for making rafts.'
    'And model airplanes,' added Marco
wistfully.
    'How do you know all this stuff, Beck?'
asked Christina.
    'My parents lived all over the world and
my father was a survival expert,' replied
Beck. 'He taught me everything he knew.
When I was a kid, he showed me how to
make shelters in the wilderness and find
food and water. Sometimes it was in the
jungle, sometimes in the desert or in the
mountains. I made my first abseil down a
cliff when I was five years old.' He sighed
wistfully, but then turned his attention once
more to the job in hand. 'There's no time to
waste,' he told the twins. 'We must hurry if
we're going to leave tonight.'
    There was a note of urgency in his voice
now. 'We need a sharp blade to cut this tree
down. It shouldn't be too difficult as the
wood is so soft but this trunk is more than
half a metre thick. With the logs from three
or four trees like this we should easily be
able to make a raft that's big enough.'
    As the boys went in search of more balsa
trees, Christina hurried off in the direction
of the hacienda. She reappeared a few
minutes later, a leather sheath slung around
her waist. Long tassels hung down almost
to her feet. 'Dad's machete,' she said,
pulling the steel of the blade free and
turning it in her hand so that the sharpened
edge flashed in the sunlight. 'He likes wearing
it when he's on his own at home. Mum
says it makes him feel like a conquistador.'
    The team set to work. Aiming a series of
heavy diagonal blows at each side of the
trunk of the balsa tree, Beck sent chips of
wood flying into the air. Marco picked a
piece up and turned it over in his hand. It
was as light as a feather and the colour of
porridge oats.
    'Stand back behind me,' shouted Beck a
few minutes later. The tree began a slow-motion
topple forward before gradually
accelerating and smashing through the
undergrowth onto the ground with a dull
thump.
    Repeating the process with the other trees
they had found nearby, they lopped off the
branches and cut each trunk into three until
twelve logs lay side by side on the jungle
floor like giant matchsticks. As the boys
admired their handiwork, Christina went in
search of some bamboo for the decking
layer. Adrenalin surged through her veins as
the blade of the machete swung through the
air and dug into the base of a clump of tall
bamboo poles with a loud ker-chunk .
    She remembered the tales her father used
to tell her of the tribe of women warriors
who once lived in the forests of the Amazon
just a few hundred kilometres away over the
mountains. A glint of fierce determination
sparkled in her eyes as, one by one, the giant
bamboo stems fell free.
    'All we need now is some long lengths of
vine,' said Beck as they dragged the last
of the bamboo poles back to the beach. 'Not
exactly a problem round here.' He pointed
out the best lengths for the purpose, and
Christina and Marco took it in turns to
hack away at the thick tendrils that clung to
the trunks of the jungle trees.
    With all the materials for the raft now
assembled, Beck demonstrated how the
vines should be woven between the balsa
logs