Isla Caňas didn't make the cut. The anchorage at the foot of the island was wide-open to the churlish south swell, while the coves on the opposing side were exposed to the north wind - expected to puff up to 20k: either way, making for an uncomfortable afternoon and evening. So we continued on, past the half-sunk Japanese sub perched on Isla San Telmo, around Bajo Bartolomé, Isla Elefante, and nine-billion other rocks and isles, to Isla Espiritu Santo (which I took the liberty of translating to "Island of the Spirit of Saint Nick"). We tucked in to the west between the slender rock and forested isle and the mainland, joining two other boats (FORTY-TWO: a German couple we stopped and chatted with; and LANIKAI, from Oregon - who I'm pretty sure I recognized from this year's Baja Haha).
The extreme tides in this region (up to 20') make for an ever-changing landscape: beautiful, dynamic scenery that transforms with the rising and falling sea; as rocks and idylic sandy beaches appear or disappear, trees submerge and reefs emerge - all with the tide.
It also makes for so-so snorkeling as the water is turbulent and the currents swift. Regardless, we took the dingy north to explore, with the idea of snorkeling back to the boat 'going with the flow'; stopping first at a sliver of beach strewn with shells and garbage. It is very sad to report but the lovely "Pearls" of Panama (Las Perlas) are plastered with trash. Amidst this, we also spotted an iguana bobbing his head in agitation, until he finally sprinted away.
At the shallow edge of the beach the water was clear, but the minute we struck out down the main canal toward FRC, it became murky ... green .. specked with millions of teeny life forms ... bits of flotsam ... and the rare, occasional fish (that we could see). Visibility was dismal - perhaps a good thing, I'd find out later - although I kept my eyes peeled for crocs and water snakes; and never strayed more than an arm's length from my snorkel buddy (the guys must have to draw straws to see who has to babysit me ...). The underwater scenery was unremarkable, but the chance to go for a long swim in refreshingly cool water, in such an exotic setting, was delightful.
Later in the day I realized this was it: my last day of 'cruising' as FRC heads at midnight to Panama City (and I, home) - and I wanted one more bite of adventure. I conned Chewey into taking a dinghy ride with me into the mangrove inlet on the mainland side. Our jungle cruise yesterday hadn't been too productive, and I was longing to savor one more taste of the wild before heading back to the real world.
We zipped into the bay, stopping here and there to look and listen. Eventually we heard a clutter of bird calls on the north side and putted over. We cut the engine; observed a great deal of splashing beneath some trees; puttered a little closer; cut the engine again; and drifted with the current - enjoying an untamed orchestra of chirps, songs and cries - beneath the canopy of low-lying trees at the edge of the jungle.
Prickly branches hung down and with the outboard off, Chewey gingerly tugged on them to direct our course; being careful to avoid the large thorns, as we noted the plethora of succulents (bromeliads?) tucked in the crooks of the branches ... along with ... an extremely large snake!!!
As my mind began to register the unmistakable pattern of snake skin, the fat coil of sinew drooping heavily off the brittle branch, i backed up... back... and back .. 'til I was sitting on the fuel can: the only words able to form being "F*ck, f**-***ck, F*CK!!!" Later, Chewey told me, he was thinking at that exact moment, "Gee that looks a lot like a snake ..." then frantically began trying to start the outboard - in reverse - with me practically sitting on his lap by this point.
Finally the dinghy was retreating, with me crouched low on the floor in the back of the dink; both of us convulsing hysterically with nervous laughter. "Let's go back and look at it from the other side!" I suggested - and from a safe distance we gaped at this at spiral of snake perched so dubiously on the low bough that had just minutes before been suspended over our ducked heads.
"As big around as a Coors Light can," Chewey described the snake, when we returned to FRC (after another 20 minutes of cruising in the dimming light, dodging white pelicans hunting the small shiny tunas that jack-in-the-boxed out of the rushing currents of the narrow bay) while our mates listened rapt and amused. So this was it: my final memory of the journey - adventure, laughter and friendship aboard FRC.
We leave in two hours for my final (overnight) passage, to the canal zone .. I will see you soon! XOXO Mom / Betsy 12-20-10
PS - we left just before midnight - I was on til 2AM ... halfway into my watch i noticed more stars in the sky : didn't we have a full moon just last night? I looked up & saw the lunar eclipse, SO obvious here at sea. Magnificent! Just as it was at its darkest a falling star streaked past. Amazing! Life is good ;-)
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