We were hesitant to leave the next morning judging by the wind and the waves. Neither of us wanted to eat salt water for breakfast. Even though it was extremely windy it was blowing directly at the island, so we decided to paddle to the point to get a better look. We rounded the lighthouse into five-foot following seas. Whitecapping waves with a face threatened to steal our kayaks and gear leaving us naked to the sea. As we paddled toward Cayo Culibra I would lose site of Colby every now and then in the waves. These were definitely hazardous conditions. The waves were big enough that we could catch a few and get a ride for a couple of hundred yards, this was a welcome reward for braving the intimidating surf. When we beached an hour later the wind was howling. We climbed to the top of the lighthouse on the small deserted Caye, and both agreed we were in gale force winds of about thirty to forty knots. We camped very wind-conscious on the cement foundation of an old house, which had been swept off the island by a hurricane. Our GPS broke on us a few days earlier and our short-wave radio didn’t pick up any signals. Estranged by desolation, we both slept uneasily with the thought of a hurricane lingering over our heads.

Colby woke me up around six in the morning and suggested we get the hell off this island and back to the mainland. It was another six nautical miles to the other side of the bay and the wind was just as strong as the previous night. To make it even worse Mother Nature gave us more rain. I slammed some cold cereal, and we loaded our boats. Shoving off into the surf we followed the island’s shoreline to the other side, where we were protected by thick mangroves. We were amazed at the birdlife. Cayo Culibra was a bird sanctuary so, we lazily paddled while in the windbreak. A fish actually hopped onto Colby’s sprayskirt while we gazed at the birds. It spooked him and happened so fast that he couldn’t see what kind it was.

At the eastern tip of the Caye we dug in and made the crossing in horrid wind and rain. While paddling I spotted a small military camp in the jungle; they were as drenched as we were. The soldiers all ran to the shore with looks of confusion and amazement on their faces. They were obviously shocked to see two men in kayaks paddling through such treacherous conditions out in the middle of nowhere. We continued our paddle until my body was exhausted. After fighting through the last few feet, which seemed like an eternity, I hit the sand. Jumping out of the cockpit I tugged furiously at my kayak to get it up on the beach. I fell to the sand, and was completely out of energy. We had crossed the Bahia De La Ascension and were safe, for the time being.

We had landed on the beach of a world class fly-fishing resort called Casa Blanca. We had gotten information about the place from an expatriate in Punta Allen. Our eyes wandered the new landscape. You could only arrive at this resort via plane or boat. It was an island, and it seemed deserted except for the two white stucco buildings which lined the beach...we hadn’t seen anything like that since about 50 miles out of Cancun. We began strolling aimlessly up a small dirt road to ask for permission to camp when a Caucasian couple walked out of one of the buildings and greeted us in amazement. They were the managers of the place. All the guests of the resort were out fly-fishing. The couple helped us move our gear with a truck they used for maintenance. They placed us down the road a bit, so as not to interfere with all the guests. I guess they were paying top dollar to be there. It was so windy, we had no hope of leaving soon so we made camp in the palm trees. Fortunately the stickers did not live in these parts, so our feet could step in peace.

While setting up the tent, our zipper broke on the door...this was a huge tragedy, "what the hell are we gonna do now"? I asked. While we were in deep thought about the tent, the couple walked up and invited us to dinner. After all the beans we had been eating the last few weeks we gladly accepted. The resort was well known for its food and the chef had cooked up amazing tortilla soup. Colby and I agreed it was the best we had ever eaten. We felt a touch underdressed, but the guests accepted us well. They were mostly well to due business folk from the U.S., who loved hearing our stories about the trip. The weather cleared that night, so we planned to move out in a day or so. Cutting out a piece of my personal mosquito bivy net with a knife, and sewing it onto the tent solved our tent door problem. Sewing was not our strong point, so a local Mexican resort worker, who we had met at dinner, helped us sew it on. We are forever in debt to her for saving us from the mosquitoes. Our tent was our oasis.

A day later the waters were still a bit rough. Our launch would have been into the into reef had we not decided to shuttle our gear and our boats with the truck 10 miles down the road to the end of the island, where it was reef free. We stopped to see some rare Mayan ruins on the way that few have ever seen. Enrique the head of maintenience and the driver of the truck gave us a small tour of the ruins and explained that it was privately owned land, so most tourists were not allowed to view them. We continued to the end of the island after the tour and were now at the beginning of Bahia De Espirito Santos, a ten-mile crossing.

After enjoying the sunlight, looking for shells, and wading in the shallow water we began the crossing. It was tempting to jump in the water and raid some of the hundreds of lobster traps we paddled by. Small red buoys floating on the surface marked them all. We overcame the urge to steal someone else’s profit. So far the trip was going well and we had been out for about three weeks. We estimated that it would one more week to Belize. We had about two more months to get to the Bay Islands. We hoped the weather cooperated.

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