The boat captain suddenly killed the engine and the bow of the boat dove as we abruptly came to a stop in the middle of the Caribbean. The captain was pulling in a fish on the line that had been draped across his knee and trailing in the boats wake. It was a beautiful Tuna about 14 inches long. I sat there feeling sorry for the fish as the motor roared back to life and sent the boat hopping over the swells. It flopped around less and less after each passing swell. But I knew this tuna would nourish a hungry family and come as a real treat compared to the flatter - less tasty fish that are usually caught near the shore. Alas, such is life, and this was certainly easier to watch than the iguana I saw mercilessly tormented and killed by a pack of wild kids a few weeks before (the iguana was also going to be eaten).
As the islands came into view, I felt myself getting really excited. I saw two large humps in the distance beckoning me like sirens. This is what its all about. Since I can remember I have been drawn to islands. There is something about being surrounded by water that both comforts and excites me. When I started to become disillusioned with geopolitics and mass consumption, I often dreamed of making a life for myself and a few select friends/family on a private island somewhere in the south pacific. I enjoyed reading tales like Huckleberry Finn, Lord of the Flies, and my favorite: Blueprint for Paradise: How to Live on a Tropic Island. Subsequently, I was moved by movies like The Beach, Mosquito Coast, Cast Away, and the Lost series. The list goes on with stories like Blue Lagoon, Treasure Island, Robinson Crusoe, and an all-time favorite, Joe Versus the Volcano.
Anyway, the islands were getting closer and soon I saw a little dome of sand rising from the sea with a lone palm tree. We beached at this cay and spent some time snorkeling and poking around. It was a sweet little island, with volunteer coconut palms trying to gain their footing in the shifting sands, and a network of intricate coral reefs surrounding it and stretching across vast inter-island expanses. At the edge of the reef, the sea floor dropped out of sight into an abyss; hovering out there on the edge of the reef, you could feel the cold water rising up from the deep blue depths. The sea life was fantastic! Looking west, you could sense the remoteness of the archipelago as the towering mountains on the mainland now blended into the horizon.
Soon we departed for the Marine Park's Headquarters on the smaller of the archipelago's two main islands, Cayo Menor. Other than the headquarters and research station, this island is uninhabited and covered by a dense layer of tropical forest. This island is highly protected and one can't even step foot on the island without permission... except to pay the marine park entry fee. Still, our contact with the island was limited to the pier. After paying our fees, we circled the island in the boat and I could hardly contain my jubilation while passing secret coves, volcanic cliffs, and hidden beaches.
Our final destination in this boat was the tiny cay known as Chachahuate, home to about 15 families and 1 dog (known as Niñito). When we beached, we were greeted by about a dozen children all holding necklaces and bracelets made from fishing line and shells. We assured them that we would buy something but that we first would like to make sure we had a place to stay tonight. Apparently someone had radioed ahead and told the village that we would be coming. They offered us a nice little loft above a family's home with meals included for about $25 US each. The owner assured us that we could leave our things in the loft and that she would make sure nobody went up there. Since there were four of us, and only two small beds, I was finally glad that I had been carrying around a ~5 lb hammock that I purchased in La Ceiba.
The owner's husband offered to take us to Cayo Grande - the largest island in the archipelago, to look for the endemic and elusive Culebra Rosada (Pink Boa Constrictor). Our hike up the ridge line of Cayo Grande was a true jungle trek. We saw one Pink Boa down at the resort where we landed, it was stuffed in the rafters of one of the buildings... then on the trail, we were stopped and alerted to the presence of a poisonous green tree snake, which we clearly avoided. Eventually, my companion and the guide had no more motivation to climb the mountain, so I went on alone... toward the lighthouse at the top. On the way, I finally encountered una Culebra Rosada curled up inside a hollowed-out log. It wasn't all that pink actually, but it was so cool to discover it on my own! I didn't mess with it, just opened the log a bit to get a better look. The Boa was sleepy but slowly came around and slinked away up a tree.
Once I reached the top, I could see beautiful 360 degree views of the Caribbean filtering through the foliage and spent a little time looking around the locked lighthouse. I thought I could barely make out the village on the eastern side of the island that few foreigners have seen. This village - called East End - is apparently not as inviting as Chachahuate. I think I had seen a few too many movies because I started getting freaked out being alone in the jungle. I would hear something in the woods and think it was a Jaguar or a jungle mugger or something. I actually sprinted down the mountainside to catch up with my companions, but didn't reach them until I made it all the way back down to the beach. Everything was cool though. No jaguars, no guerrillas, no more encounters with poisonous snakes, just a brisk run down a mountainside to emerge from the jungle on a beautiful tranquil Caribbean beach.
We slowly made our way back to Chachahuate in our wooden canoe. There we hung out with the local kids, played with El Niñito, swam in the warm sheltered waters of the bay, and I bought a necklace. Later we had dinner (fresh caught fish, with fried plantains and rice) under a small light bulb illuminated by a car battery, and passed the Garifuna version of the peace pipe with our Cayo Grande guide and the owner of our room. It was an incredibly beautiful evening made even better by a night swim with the phosphorescent plankton before climbing into my hammock. There was no electricity, so the stars, the trade winds, and the sound of the ocean were our sleeping companions. It was almost like sleeping on a sailboat with the breeze blowing across the loft's two open windows and gently rocking me to sleep. I could live like this...
The next morning, we caught a ride on a small boat headed for the mainland with bottles to be recycled. Between the four of us, the boat's captain, our gear, and the bottles, this 8-foot boat was loaded to the brim and riding low in the water. It took about 2 hours to get to the mainland and by the time we got there, we were pretty wet from the swells splashing over the sides of the boat. We were dropped in a medium-sized Garifuna town called Nuevo Armenia, where we waited for a bus and planned the next leg of our journey...
