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Excerpt from High in the Andes a faint dampness shivered, forming beads of moisture on the underside of the glacier. Clinging together, each drop resisted a growing heaviness until they fell, splattering stones. Water trickled from beneath the icy overhang. A warming sun melted the snow whose waters nourished the nascent creek. Running rapidly, it curved around rocks, splashing and slapping the corners of its bed. As the stream meandered across a shelf, distracting a school of darting fish, a smaller creek joined it. Swirling together they cruised along. Now rivulets raced down neighbouring slopes and leapt in the growing stream. Soon lapping its brim on rounding bends, its surging water chaffed the banks that cradled the youthful river. With mounting strength, it rushed on, rolling boulders, swelling in volume and scraping a broadening channel. A little girl clung to the rail of the bridge whose mossy planks spanned the swollen river. Peering down, she asked her mother, "Where's the water going?" Shooting beneath their feet, the river heard only the words, " ... to the sea". It wanted to stop, wanted to ask, but it couldn't slow, couldn't wait, driving forward, losing control... A ponderous pull in its belly dragged it down and falling abruptly, it plunged towards the chasm. For an instant it held, suspended in space, then roared as it struck the bottom and thundered against the slippery walls. Echoing in the narrow canyon, the river rolled on, building its strength in churning curves and thrusting dives. Stretching and twisting, it coursed through valleys, soon leaving behind the jagged peaks. Overhead a condor circled in crystal air as the river scudded across a high plateau. Water glistened in the distance. Surely the predator saw the trap? Saw the dam holding the water back, the sun glinting on slanting pipes, the power station at the foot of the cliff? It might have called a warning; but the river flowed innocently into the treacherous lake. |