Treasure-hunting in Ecuador

Electrical storms fulminate
Above the Volcano of Seven Mouths,
And fear clings like a golden funerary mask
To your face, as you hack through tight ravines
And jungled bamboo sharp as arrows,
Quicksand bogs and bone-breaking slopes,
As endless rains fall on the black lakes
And white fogs close over.
Your finger traces contours and paths
On maps that may be hoaxes;
Cryptic words and phrases
Tantalize the imagination.
Are you seeking the treasure
Or is the treasure seeking you?
A day in the mountains is a hundred years on the plain.
Any day now, by God, any day now
You will find it, the cave, the cave of riches,
It could be here, or over there,
Victory is near, very near.
The more preposterous the proposition,
The more likely it seems.
You have studied it all in the library of secrets,
And secrets are something to believe in.
Compass in hand,
You know, at least, where North is.
At night the Southern Cross
Sets its seal on your brow.