After leaving island life and returning to the mainland of Thailand, we headed for another National Park -- this time in the rainforest. The bus ride to Khao Sok was right out of the movies: verdant tropical foliage, remote location, and fabulous scenery. Then it started to rain, creating a mystical setting for our next adventure.

Touts hoping to persuade us to stay at their respective resorts greeted us at the bus stop, a thatched-roof shelter along the roadside. Surprisingly non-aggressive and non-competitive, they suggested that we look around at all the different resorts and then select a place to stay, and they offered to give us a lift. We pulled out our rain gear, climbed into the back of a pickup truck, and headed off in the rain to see what we could see. After looking at several outrageously beautiful places, we settled on one called, interestingly enough, the "Khao Sok Rainforest Resort."

Our bungalow was named "Waterfall," and nestled in with the bamboo on a very steep hillside, the entire front of the cabin perched on stilts overlooking the Klong Sok River. To get there you must cross the river via a rickety wood-plank bridge, gingerly step through a muddy area covered with banana leaves, then follow the winding path as it narrows and climbs rocky steps into the dense jungle. "Waterfall" is the first of four bungalows at the end of the path; you cross a small wooden bridge to reach it, and step up onto the porch. Chairs on the front porch overlook the roaring river directly below.

Inside it is sparsely furnished with two mosquito-netted beds, a shelf unit and a rod for hanging clothes. Light and air smelling of plants and earth pass through the large cracks in the wood-planked floor. The overhead fan does not work, but we are provided with a small table fan. The bathroom is primitive and, as usual, very leaky and wet, but it does have cold running water. Large spiders and other insects live in the bathroom, so we don't spend too much time in there. There are several bare light bulbs with questionable electrical wiring, but they work. Candles are also provided, and at night the owners light the path leading up to the bungalow for a short time, until they know we made it back safely and were in for the night. We are the only guests at the resort (in fact, there are few people in the Park at all), and when the lights go off down below, we are alone in the dark jungle hut. We hear lots of new sounds of wildlife prowling through the night, and the gauzy mosquito nets created a dreamy atmosphere. Pretty cool.

Our first day at Khao Sok was the 1st day of July which, according to the sketchy notes in our guidebook, marked the first day of "rainy season" -- and that's exactly what happened. We woke up to rain, and it rained on and off all that day and for the remainder of our four-day stay. We soon realize that, while wandering around exploring the area (in full rain gear), we still get very wet and nothing is drying out. The bamboo forests provide some protection from the rain as the canopy lets little water through, but it comes down in buckets once you move out of their protection. We resort to wearing two outfits: one wet, one dry. Whenever we left the cabin we put our wet clothes back on -- love that cold, clammy feeling -- but at least we had one set of dry clothes to put on when we returned.

Those Little Hitchhikers of the Jungle Books and brochures about Khao Sok describe wonderful safaris you can take into the park. Our resort displayed an album full of colorful photos showing their guides, naturalists and guests in the midst of great adventures. You can go by foot or by boat, and the "night safari" sounded quite exciting. We began the search for a guide, our previous experience telling us that basically anyone you meet, or their brother, is a guide willing to take you into the jungle. Our first attempt was during lunch at the Bamboo House; their guide told us "the moon is still too full for a good safari." Huh. On the way back to our hut we stop in to ask at other resorts. "Our guide is on vacation," was one answer. Another told us that their guide was in Bangkok. "When will he be back?" we asked. "How long are you staying?" was the reply. We told them we would be there only a few days. "Too bad, he won't be back until next week." Perplexed about our failure to find a guide, we decided to stop by the visitor center at the Park for maps and more information. Why not go by ourselves, intrepid Adventure Dogs that we are? The next morning we woke early for a morning hike to the Sip-et-Chan Waterfall, described as an 11-tiered waterfall along the Bang Laen River. "The forest trail takes you through tall bamboo forests, crosses the river six times, and leads to the base of the falls." Sounds great, doesn't it? We were quite excited when we checked into the Park at 9:00 a.m. to begin our hike. The trail at the beginning was part dirt, part cement walkway, and every now and again we would stop and look around and read forest guide markers. The Park was stunningly different, and incredibly beautiful. Large leafy plants, rocky brooks, lofty groves of bamboo. The air was thick with moisture and before long our hair was soggy and our skin moist with rainforest. We prepared our clothes well for the hike: layers of rain gear topped our pants, the bottoms of which Randy and Candi rolled and tucked into their socks (I had wimpy socks on, so my pants hung as usual). Our shoes, socks, pants, and any exposed skin were sprayed heavily with "Backwoods Off!" -- good ol' American Deet. We were ready for anything, or so we thought… It's like a scene from a horror flick -- you can actually see them scurrying to get to you. First one would get on Candi's shoe, and we would all stop to try and pry it off -- the little suckers are pretty tenacious and grip firmly while we try to flick their elastic bodies (boing-boing) off with a stick. If one had somehow passed through the shoe-clothing-Deet fences and had pulled up a chair to the dinner table, so to speak, we brought out our secret weapon, given to us by the woman at our resort: a salt shaker. "Just sprinkle this on the leech and it will immediately pull its head out and drop off." While all this is taking place, other leeches are sneaking up, and before long all three of us are walking-hopping-dodging- staggering-screaming-stopping-&-flicking down the path. By the time we got to where the cement path ended and became a narrow, overgrown dirt path (well, you could say it was very "jungly") we walked only a short way before pausing (for a very brief period) to discuss what we were going to do. The leeches had become very thick and it was hard to enjoy the beauty of the rainforest while worrying about being attacked from below. "I'm not having very much fun, are you?" "Maybe we could go just a little bit further." We crossed a stream, finding safe havens on rocks in the middle of the water to rest, and just on the other side, about three quarters of a mile into the jungle, we decided to turn and tuck tail! At 10:30, an hour-and-a-half after we checked into the Park, we checked out. Was that snickering I detected from the Park officer? We laughed all the way home, glad of our fortune of coming out of the forest unscathed. Back at the bungalow, Randy and Candi sat talking on the porch while I headed straight for the shower -- the cold water actually felt good. While getting dressed, I looked out through the window to where Randy and Candi were sitting, and I noticed something big and brown on Candi's neck. I stuck my head out the door and asked, "what's that on Candi's neck?" Both Randy and I moved behind her to inspect, and our silence was met by Candi's tentative inquiry, "What is it?" [pause ...] "I think it's a leech," Randy guessed, but it didn't look the same as those in the Park. Randy and I were struck dumb by the fat, pudgy bloodsucker, which had obviously gorged itself by the time it was detected. Randy tried to pull it off, but it was like trying to get a football fan off the couch during the last five minutes of a Superbowl game. By this time, Candi's voice had accelerated to a pleading "Get it off! Get if off!" I ran frantically into the room searching for the salt shaker, as the small cabin in the quiet rainforest suddenly became a war zone. The bazooka, er … saltshaker … was lobbed to Randy, who stood closest to the enemy. He began discharging the weapon in a shotgun fashion all over the back of Candi's neck. It wasn't pretty, but war never is. The corpulent beast reared its head out of Candi's neck, rolled off her back and fell to the floor with an audible plop, dribbling with blood! "Eeewwww, gross," was all I could croak out. Candi looked down at it and didn't say much, as the blood continued to stream down her back. Leeches inject an anti-coagulant into the bloodstream when they first hook in, which allows a non-stop flow of blood into their tiny, disgusting little bodies. I know, I know, I should love all of God's little creatures, but damn, this was pretty sickening. A few blood-soaked tissues later, Candi silently ambled into the shower to kind of shake it all off, and I wish I could say the story ends here, but it doesn't. She found a couple other blood gushers on her feet, but the little "hitchhikers of the jungle" must have hopped off before they were detected. A little while later we moseyed on out in search of dinner at one of the nearby restaurants. By then, it appeared all of the locals heard the story of our going into the rainforest earlier that day -- news travels fast in these small communities. And as you probably have surmised from this and our other adventures we have written about, we collectively don't have the sense God gave plaster. This is how we missed the clues that none of the guides would go into the jungle. When we came out there was no shortage of people to ask, "how was your walk?" ... smiling and barely able to hold back their laughter. It's good to laugh, even if it is at yourself.

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