ABOUT A WEEK AFTER ARRIVING in El Salvador, several of us were taken by a Huey ‘Mike’ helicopter to one of the small settlements in the north of Morozan Province, where we were to join a company of soldiers of the Arce Battalion. Our squad included Bob MacKenzie, cameraman Kumst, Paul Foley, and a handful of others, but not ‘Sweet Michael’.
The 20-minute hop above 3,000 feet was instructive; we flew just high enough to avoid small-arms fire, though that placed us within what Harry Claflin casually called the SAM-7 envelope. Envelope or not, it was the first time we’d been able to examine clearly the terrain we were working in, for it had been overcast before.
The mountains near San Miguel were almost all volcanic, though most were extinct. Others emitted intermittent puffs of smoke and apparently some had recently erupted. Every day slight tremors could be felt. The biggest volcano of them all, Cacaguatique, sat dormant but ominously brooding near the coast, its peak perpetually in cloud or surrounded by sulphur fumes. Recent lava emissions were visible on its flanks though nobody would hazard a guess as to when the somnolent beast would go active again.
Before we left, we’d been told to prepare for a long haul. We’d walk in column from dawn to dusk for three or four days, said MacKenzie and our route would lead us into the same mountains we were now traversing by chopper. The idea was to take only bare essentials, together with as much water as we could manage, as weight was a factor. The army would supply the rest, Bob disclosed, though he warned that it would be tough. ‘Take your malaria tablets’, he added. ‘If you don’t, the mosquitoes will devour you, it’s that bad!’ That said, we didn’t have a mosquito net between us.