He carried a machete, and hacked away at the undergrowth to clear a way for us down the side of the valley. After I had already landed on my backside half a dozen times, he cut a stout pole to help me keep my balance.
After maybe 40 minutes or so of slipping and sliding, we reached the bottom. And, as is often the case at the bottom of valleys, there was a river. Not a huge river, admittedly, but a river nonetheless, and we obviously were going to have to cross it.