The Crate
Six thigh sized yams were dug up fairly quick. Rose waved her small group off of pulling up any more, because she didn't want to clear out this group, let them flourish a bit, who knew how long they wetre gonna be here. Six yams of that size would be more than enough for the stew to serve fifty odd people.
To be honest, she hadn't gotten to explore much further than the surprising yam find the first time she was out here. She had a rough wooden club in her hand, and it made her feel a bit more safe.
"Let's press in a bit, stay all together. Maybe we can find something else. A new bamboo stand would be nice, yeah?"
Zoe looked a bit nerveous. She'd been up to exploring with Rose yesterday... but now... "I don't think we should wander too far from camp."
"Anyone who doesn't want to came can stay here. We'll make sure we're at least buddied up, okay? But we need to find a wider foraging field, and I'm not gonna let those wankers keep me all cowed and boxed in. The more we know bout the terrain the better. They obviously know it, and that's an advantage to them. I'd rather level the playing field a bit."
In the end even Zoe went with her. Talk about not being cowed was one thing, but there was comfort in being among a group.
The Cashews were a find! Protein for the diet, and once roasted they could be kept for a while to munch on. They gathered as many ripe looking nuts as they could, half filling a duffel .
They were about to head back when something caught Rose's eye.
It was plastic sheeting. She moved to investigate, and the foragers followed, almost like a little herd.
There, on the forest floor was a crate smashed open. The wood breakage was so fresh, clean at the edges, not weathered at all.
"Has to be from the crash." She muttered. But the group was already pulling things out.
Three wooden tubes, four to six feet long, painted with primitive symbols "Didgeridoo's" Someone explained. Four boomerangs, some primitive stone axes, a two leaf shaped pieces of painted wood attached to a long sinew string and sex spears. Someone was shipping aboriginal artifacts. The stuff didn't look touristy cheap.
There was a small crate inside the smashed one. McGuigan Simeon Wines was stenciled on the side. It looked like it would hold a dozen bottles. There was no smell of sour fruit, and as far as they could tell, no signs of breakage. The smaller crate remained sealed, and no one had anything to pry it open.
The plastic sheeting the artifacts had been swathed in was as valuable as anything else, and it got carefully folded up.
The last thing they found besides lots of plastic peanuts, was a plain brown paper wrapped box the size of a pizza box.
Everything portable was gathered. The wine box was too impractical to carry right now, along with the rest and the yams and nuts. It would have to be retrieved later.
Rose led the troop back to camp feeling a bit like Father Christmas.