In no time, we reach a fork in our ridgetop path. Jay and I leave Ken and Rachel at the known trail and split to scout the two unknowns. Split, compare notes, and pick the way. The going is slow, at times uncertain, but we keep a steady pace. We're looking for paths, shown mostly by machete cuts, which are as good as blazes.
Morale is high until finally the ridge cliffs out.
After an hour's scouting, we find no alternative but to drop into steep brush tunnels leading straight down the hillside. What do you know, it works. We pump our filter and guzzle water, giggling with relief. And then I hear the tinkling of Siena's voice from the shady side of a grove of palms. She gets a big hug from her smelly, unkempt dad before he flips the lid on an ice-box full of cerveza.