The ART of the SCRUB WRIGGLE
I am falling in slow motion. The wiry tangle of bauera has wrapped itself around my legs and is unwilling to relinquish its hold. Meanwhile, the rest of my body has continued to move downhill; I am now upside down. My pack—containing a week’s rations and the standard walking kit—is a dead weight dragging me down, making it impossible to right myself. Despite my best efforts, I am unable to alter my snail-paced trajectory.
After a few hopeless minutes, which would have provided great entertainment had anyone else been present, my feet are actually above my head. There is only one way to get out of this predicament. I unclip the buckle of my pack’s hip belt and let my arms slide out of the shoulder harness; the pack is pulled off me by gravity. There is a plomp as my pack lands below me, and this signals my freedom. With some difficulty, I unwrap the tangle of shrubs from around my feet.
