Mists, magic and manatees

On assignment in Panama

The assignment was vague. Go to Bocas del Toro. Find a guy named Louis (pronounced Louie). Then, find the manatees. Further conversation only heightened the mystery: the last reported sighting was 10 years ago when some were captured...or were they only spotted?...or maybe it was 15 years ago? Would I do it? You bet.

Honestly, I had no idea what to expect.

The web site for Panama Explorers www.panamajetboatexplorer.com promised access to water and lands first seen by Christopher Columbus.Words like "thrilling" and "extreme adventure" jumped out at me. As a writer, I understand hyperbole. It makes for good copy. I didn't reckon on this being so very, very close to the truth.

Our destinations: Rio Manati and up the Rio Cricamola, into an unexplored canal thought to have manatees. "We've seen the canal from the air, but the charts available are decades out of date," Captain Louis Anciaux, a retired US naval officer, explained, when I connected with him in Bocas. "We may or may not see natives or manatees. The weather may be rough." Then there followed arcane information about tides and half-tides, and a warnings to bring a pancho. And bug spray. And binoculars.

The day for our adventure dawneed cloudy. Louis and his wife, Yari, met us for breakfast and introduced us to Captain Florentino Smith and a fellow adventurer, Joe, from Las Vegas, Nevada. A professional photographer (and my husband) completed the group. Capt. Florentino is a native of the islands near Bocas, a sturdy man of solid proportions with a generous smile that splits a wide, flat face topped by deep set black eyes,. "He knows where the manatees might be," explained Capt. Louis. "He saw them when he was a boy. He knows the waters and inlets like the back of his hand. He's going to help us navigate the openings to the rivers-they aren't well charted and it could be tricky, especially since the rios change a lot during the rainy season."

Yari, a native Panamanian, and a woman of great spirit and charm, had a wary eye on the grey clouds massing on the horizon. "I am going to ask God to push them away. He will do this for me," and she lit up with a smile that leaves no room for doubt.

Rio Manati, Bocas del Toro, Panama

This was the plan as outlined by Capt. Louie: "We will go by jet boat from Bocas del Toro City on Isla Colon on Bahia Almirante (the Caribbean side of Panama), through the treacherous waters of the Bocas del Drago (mouth of the dragon), cross the Laguna de Chiriqui, and enter the Rio Manati. After exploring there, we will head for the uncharted waters of the Rio Cricamola. Our boat is Aguila del Istmo, Eagle of the Islands, and the first boat of its kind to operate in Panama. This boat has seen action throughout the Pacific and Atlantic coastal areas of Panama since December 1996."

Louis, clad in a full body, black Lycra wet suit and sporting the self-assured posture of a military officer, gave a safety lecture and explained that the Aguila is very maneuverable at higher speeds, but not at low speeds. "If the water is smooth, we'll keep to speeds of 28-30 mph. Or, even if the water's rough and we need the speed to get us through something unpredictable." I don't realize until much later in the day how important this information is. Again, he cautioned. "We may not see anything. No one has reported any manatee sightings for a long time, but they used to live there, the kind of vegetation they eat grows all along the river, and, well," he shrugged and grinned, "that's the adventure part. We're going exploring."

The American Manatee (Trichechus manatus, of the order Sirenia) is listed as a "vulnerable" species. Also called "sea cows," they are large, cylindrical mammals with modified forearms (small flippers) and a round, paddle shaped tale. An adult may reach 15 feet in length and weigh over 3,500 pounds, consuming more than 100 pounds of grasses and floating plants each day. The sailors clearly must have been suffering from too long at sea deprived of female company and extreme nearsightedness!

Some good informational sites about manatees are:
www.animalinfo.org/species/tricmana.htm and natzoo.si.edu/Publications/ZooGoer/1998/1/manateesadapedendagered.cfm

Historical tidbit: The Maya had a special process to prepare dried manatee meat, which they called "buccan". Spanish pirates who preyed on merchant ships relied so much upon "buccan" as a staple in their diet that they became known as "buccaneers."

We departed Bocas City, the sun cames out and the Caribbean waters took on the turquoise color for which they are famous. Yari smiled. "See? I told you!"

The first part of our trip took us through waters traversed by Christopher Columbus and his four ships, Capitana, Santiago de Palos, El Gallego and Vizcaino, on his ultimate voyage in 1502, still futilely seeking the Far East passage. "He brought his ships in here, through Bocas del Drago, seeking refuge from the stormy Atlantic, looking for somewhere to repair and clean his ships." Louis provided a fascinating commentary as he guided Aguila through these treacherous, shipwreck littered waters. "Think about it, those galleons drew 10-18 feet of water. There are places here where the water depth changes from 60 feet to 4 feet just like that!" He slowed the boat and we clearly saw what he meant: the sea floor loomed up mountainously just below the surface and the depth finder read four feet. Less than a minute later the water color deepened and the depth finder read 40 feet. "How did they do it? They had guides, that's how. Guides in Cayucos (dugout canoes). Ancestors of the same indigenous Ngobe who live here now. There's no other explanation."

The boat ride across Laguna de Chiriqui ws splendid. The sun shining, the water smooth. A flock of pelicans swooped in front of us, keeping a precise formation that must be the envy of Blue Angel pilots, wing tip to wing tip, dipping and gliding. How do they do that? In the distance, the top of Volcan Baru poked out of a low hanging cloud. Louis called for our attention and pointed. Ahead, a clear line of demarcation appeared in the water, the color changing dramatically from clear green to muddy. "This is where the waters of the Rio Cricamola and Rio Manatee meet the sea."
The boat slowed as we eased into the mouth of the Rio Manatee, searching for an opening, a way in through the suddenly spare two feet of water below us. The Aguila can travel in water of only 8 inches when on plane at speed, but with the engine engaged, we were dangerously close to getting stuck in the mud. It was too shallow for more than a creeping speed, and way too shallow for manatees, who need at least five feet to support their mass. With infinite care Captains Louis and Florentino crept through the shallows, past the ruined carcasses of trees, into the deeper channel of the river. Within a moment we were surrounded by dense tropical jungle.

The next couple of hours drifted by dreamlike as we wound our way deeper and deeper into the interior. A gentle rain fell. Yari did not complain. The jungle flora was astonishing in its variety and beauty. Cascades of lavender orchids, giant breadfruit trees, hanging bunches of electric green bananas, enormous spreading palms, and floating water hyacinths.... Butterflies, yellow, white and iridescent blue. Toucans, eagles, vultures, snowy egrets, a giant blue heron, and songbirds too numerous to list. We quietly cruised up river. The rain begins stopped, then begans again. Frogs created a background cacophony. Hungry red heliconias, that most exotic of flowers, nodded in the bush, ferns of amazing complexity wobbled in the rain, and vines draped themselves sensuously from tree to tree. The jungle thrummed with the vibrations of life. How completely and gloriously extravagant! What divinely creative abandon!

At one point we came upon a small settlement. A man hacked at pole with a machete, shaping a beam for the small building under construction. Two women and seven wide-eyed, naked children stared at us from the porch of a building lettered, Abaroterria La Ganga-the local bargain store selling mostly canned foods, sacks of rice, sugar and flour. A pig squealed loudly, protesting his confinement. Two Cayucos were beached in front. Capt. Florentino asked the man if he had seen manatees. "Yes," was the reply, "but mostly early in the morning or evening when they are eating. Now, they are sleeping." We waved, and the women and children waved back, smiling, and then we were past them and the jungle closed up to the river bank again.

Later, in a wide protected area, we dropped anchor for lunch. Yari created magic from the contents of the coolers on board-amazing submarine sandwiches, fruit, chips, nuts, and slices of Capt. Louis's famous banana bread. We ate quietly, watching the river flow past, listening to the jungle songs of birds and frogs, scanning the banks, not really expecting much. The manatees-if they were really there-were sleeping, and truth be told, we were all feeling the call of an afternoon siesta. Suddenly, Joe (remember Joe? He's from Las Vegas and hedging his bets with diligent observation) yells. "There! There!" he pointed at the bank. "I saw one, he stuck his head up, there by those roots!" We all rushed to the side of the boat. We could see where the water was rippled by...something...but we did not see a manatee. However, we were all now very much awake.

The watching became intense, as we peered into the grasses along the banks-some patches turning brown where something has eaten away at the roots. Scanning, looking, wishing. I swept my eyes from one side of the wide river to the other then back, then...wait! There! What appeared to be the torso and head of a human rose up, midway across, rose slowly up, a dark silhouette, then sank, just as slowly. There, then not there. But I saw it...and yes, in the distance, I suppose, just maybe, it could have been mistaken for a mermaid.

We watched for a while longer, we saw some movement at the river's edge, something dark, lolling just beneath the surface, but no more clear visitations. It was time to move on. The captains conferred and decided to take a different route out of the river back into the Laguna, hoping to avoid the worst of the shallows we encountered on the way in. It was raining in earnest now and Yari frowned at the sky. "What, God? You aren't listening today?"

At the mouth of the river, Louis stopped Aguila. The rain was driving and a dense fog had descended over the Laguna, severely limiting visibility and turning the whole of the world into a shrouded, grey mystery. The wind was blowing and the waves in the distance were intimidating. Ahead, trees, twisting like spectral claws, reached up out of the water. Easy to imagine the sea hag below.

"Ok." Louis and Florentino reached a decision. "We're going to have to take it fast. It's the only way to get through here. There shouldn't be any problem, but, brace yourselves as best you can, because if we do hit something, well..." he shrugged, gunned the engine to full throttle and Aguila leapt forward.

We hit the first swell, bam! Another swell, bam! Teeth jarring, spine banging, bam! Wrecked trees raced past in the fog, bam! I felt the first real twinge of fear...we were going really fast...if we did hit something... I saw Yari's lip moving silently. The waves kept getting bigger and the rain was an impenetrable curtain. Bam!

"Izquierda! Izquierda!" Yari screamed, pointing wildly to the left. "Louis!" Ahead in the distance a ghostly tree snag loomed, its gnarled and snaking limbs cutting darkly through the mist. We were hurtling directly towards it. "Left! Louis! Left!" I looked back at Louis and the concentration on his face as he stared into gloom was fierce. Florentino braced solidly against the side of the boat, equally intent.

Bam! I stiffened myself in anticipation of something awful. The tree grew in stature, an obstacle for the breaking waves. We were all holding our breath, closer, closer. Why doesn't he change course??? Closer, closer, then when it seemed inevitable that we would crash into the tangle, when it must be too late to correct, Aguila del Istmo veered agilely left and zoomed past the Tree of Death. The danger receded behind. The color of the water deepened just as abruptly and lo! the fog lifted and we were racing forward into sunlit waters once again. The adrenaline slowly subsided. That, I think, must have been the "extreme" part.

Golfo de Chiriqui

Louis later explained that we were never in any real danger-that he was, in fact, watching the way the waves were breaking and rippling around the snag, and that if he had broken left any sooner we would have grounded on a sandbar. At one point we were skimming over 2.7 feet of water and the waters on either side of us were shallower still. Full stop at better than 30 mph. Not a good thing. I was so glad he knew.

Some minutes later we idled to a stop at the mouth of the Rio Cricamola. This was our original secondary destination for the day-the river that has now closed itself off to the rest of the world, where the manatees were seen in decades past, but not since. The river less traveled. Again, Florentino and Louis conferred. Florentino, as a youth, used to paddle his cayuco up the Cricamola. He knows that the sandbars have been growing, stealthily and steadily sealing the river to outside traffic. He was concerned. We moved back and forth in front of the mouth.

Finally, Louis said, "Ok. We have a situation. The tide is low. We might be able to get through, but then again we might not. But what really worries me is that if we do get through, we might not get back out. We'd have to wait till morning. What do you want to do?"

None of us wanted to spend the night, in the rain, in a boat, on a river, in the jungle.

"O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won..."

He turned the boat around and headed home.

The journey back took us past the islands around Bocas: Isla Popa, Bastimento, Agua and numerous others. Out in the open we spied dolphins, at least eight of them, circling the boat, hunting, coming closer, now moving away, their graceful silver grey backs rising and falling beneath the waves. Florentino focused, then called out, "Azul! Azul!"

We followed his finger, waiting, then a large blue dolphin arced through the water, no more than 15 feet from the boat. It clicked for me. The Blue Dolphin Bar and Grill. Blue Dolphin Sea Tours. Blue dolphin...there really are blue dolphins! A blue the color of unfaded jeans. Imagine. A world of such magical abundance, a world in which creation saw fit not only to create dolphins-mammals of awesome strength, intelligence and beauty-but just for the sheer delight of it, to create a blue dolphin, as well. Imagine!

The trip came to a close. Frankly, anything else at that point would have been anticlimactic. It had been a perfect day. So, happy all the way to our marrow, we headed toward a silver horizon that met the illumined quicksilver of the sea. It was time to come ashore, have a shower, and head for the Buccaneer for some margaritas. What a day. What a life. What a world.

No doubt about it. I was--and am--in love with Panama.