"I promise you, you'll see the sun again . . ."

And so we come to the end. Almost. After the Hike of the Kapul Liver we hiked for a couple more days and asked lots of people lots of questions, but I'm sure you don't want to hear about every time I fell in the mud or every time I asked, "So, what language do your children speak when they are angry?"

By Thursday night we had finished all of our work, and we were staying in a village that was a 30 minute hike away from the airstrip where we were supposed to get picked up at 10:33 am on Friday (pilots like to be precise, even when they are in the jungle). We got up early on Friday, said good bye to the people who had been so hospitable, and eagerly set out on our "last hike". But when we got to the airstrip, all we could see was white, white, and more white. The airstrip is surrounded by mountains, but you would never know it, the fog was so thick. Well, we sat down to wait for the fog to clear so the plane could land, and when late afternoon rolled around we were still waiting, and we had yet to see more than a faint silhouette of a mountain. Sadly, we trudged back down to the village where the hospitable people graciously cooked some sweet potatoes for us and let us fill up their house for another night.

On Saturday morning we said goodbye for the second time to the people who'd taken the opportunity to be even more hospitable, and set out on our second "last hike". Again, we arrived at the airstrip and saw nothing but white, but I refused to believe that the whiteness could last throughout an entire second day, so we waited hopefully, always thinking that perhaps in one more hour we would see a patch of blue sky and hear the plane approaching. It pains me to tell you that at the end of the day we had almost forgotten what blue looked like and we were beginning to wonder whether we had imagined the mountains surrounding the airstrip. Dejected, we sheepishly walked back into the village, where PNG hospitality did not grow weary and our hosts graciously cooked us sweet potatoes and greens and let us take over their house again.

On Sunday morning we said goodbye for the third time (I was beginning to have some real empathy for Noah, who announced a coming flood every day and slept in a dry bed every night . . . I wondered how many people were thinking, "Sure, you just keep thinking a plane is going to land here . . . we'll see you again tonight!") and started our third "last hike". But that day was different. We had known it was different since the moment we woke up and saw determined strands of sunlight bravely fighting their way through the clouds. We were even reminded again what blue looked like, as the more valiant sunbeams succeeded in piercing the clouds altogether! When we arrived at the airstrip, my heart leaped as I saw the mountains! The actual, real live mountains, not just silhouettes, and not just figments of my weary imagination! I simply cannot describe to you the agony of the next 30 minutes as we watched the sky constantly changing, and holes in the clouds coming and going before our very eyes. Would the plane be able to land? That was the burning question that each of our minds was asking but none of our tongues dared to articulate.

Well, it was able to land, but the soaring joy that filled our hearts as it touched down was soon replaced by bitter disappointment as we discovered that, due to a problem with the plane, we would not be able to fly home in that plane. We called back to Ukarumpa on the plane's radio to request another rescue, and walked back to the village again, where, needless to say, we were well cared for.

On Monday morning, as people waved good bye to us for the fourth time, it was all I could do not to call out, "See you tonight!" But I restrained myself, and I am happy to report that I did not trespass on their hospitality again that night, and our fourth "last hike", was truly our last hike! The rescue plane arrived, as scheduled, and left two mechanics behind to look after the first plane while it took us home!

That is my story. Yes, it was tough, frustrating, and at times even scary. Was it worth it? Absolutely.