We went for a hike in the hills near Pucón. We were looking for Salto El Claro, but on our first attempt to find it we made the mistake of following a sign which said "Salto El Claro". We felt sure we were onto a winner with that, but it turned out that the sign just pointed the way to a distant hilltop where we found a man who seemed like he might not have spoken to anyone for quite some time. He seemed confused as to why we might have thought there would be a waterfall on his hilltop and said the nearest waterfall was miles away. I began to hear the twanging of banjos and we made a swift exit.
We tried again the next day, following the other path at the fork in the road, and we found our way to the falls. At least, the girls did. The path down was precarious and I decided that a fragile back, a paralysed foot and a muddy path might not be a happy combination. So I waited at the top in the rain while the girls went down to explore. I stood in the rain, remembering how much I'd missed rain when I didn't see any at all for six months. I enjoyed it, for about three minutes. Then I decided that I'd had my fill of rain and would quite like another six months without any.