Ki. I met Ki (pronounced key) at the dock on Wednesday. He's
from Japan and had ridden a bicycle here from Mexico City. Ki looked to be about 19 years
old.
When he left Japan, Ki told his parents he was
going to visit Mexico for a few weeks. Well, he flew to L.A., hitchhiked to Baja, took the
bus to Mexico City, bought a bicycle and ended up here. He was on his way to the Silk Cays
to camp by himself for a week. Someone will pick him up at the Silks on Wednesday. From
here, he will bike to Brazil. Once in Brazil, he will fly to South Africa and spend some
time there.
Ki's bike looked about 10 years old, but it had
been new only 3 months ago. He told me that when he bought it, he knew nothing about
bicycles. Now, he says, he can fix anything and everything on it. I asked him what his
parents would say when they found out he'd be gone a year or so, instead of a few weeks.
His answer? "I don't know, but it's my life." Ki wants to be a writer.
Sylvia. Sylvia
is a 10-year-old beauty, half Creole, half Anglo. That beautiful blond-white hair with
black underneath, honey and brown-sugar skin. I went fishing with her, her younger brother
Mikey, her Uncle Kevin, and Greg, a local hippie who somehow just never managed to leave
Placencia.
The day was blustery, and we ended up in a
downpour about half-way to Hatchet Key. Uncle Kevin put Sylvia and Mikey behind the seats
in the boat to keep some of the rain off them. Greg, Uncle Kevin and I were soaked, and
stayed soaked all day. (I have never stayed so wet for so long, or been so happy to take a
hot shower and put on dry clothes.)
The kids were relatively dry for awhile, but with
the roughness of the sea, they ended up as wet as we were. But they didn't care. Mikey
even slept, soaking wet, on my shoulder for a long portion of the trip.
But Sylvia! How excited she was when she hooked
her first fish. Eyes sparkling, she laughed, and danced, all the while singing something
in Creole and asking Uncle Kevin if she could catch another one.
Unfortunately, the next one was a long time
coming, and Sylvia, Mikey and I eventually all fell asleep together at the back of the
boat. We woke up again when we heard a fish take the hook, but we lost that one. Lunch was
bologna on white bread that was somewhat soggy from the spray coming into the boat.
We eventually caught another barracuda, a tuna and
a jack. Sylvia and Mikey's mother was waiting at the dock when we came in. The first thing
Sylvia did was grab her first Barracuda and run to her mother with it.
Sylvia reminded me of the first time I went to
Yankee Stadium with a friend's family and watched her little boy see his first home run.
Delen. Delen
is a 45-year-old black man with the finest features and some of the most expressive eyes
I've ever seen. He is hooked on crack.
Delen's brother brought him here from Belize City
where the brother found Delen literally sleeping in the gutter. Delen works for Uncle
Kevin, loading and unloading his boat, filling his cooler with ice, cleaning his fish.
Delen is fiercely loyal to Kevin because Kevin gave him a job when no one else would.
Notwithstanding his crack habit, Delen is very
trustworthy. In fact, when Kevin was robbed a few months ago, Delen recovered all of the
stolen items. As Delen explained, he knows what all the other crackheads own, and he knows
what they have that they shouldn't.
As with most other places in the world, crack is a
problem here, much more so than marijuana. Most of the crime that occurs here is the
result of crack - - just like home.
Resorts v. the Village.
I happened to be at the dock a few days ago when a group of the local guides starting
talking about the Placencia Website which they perceived as being organized by white
resort owners.
The mistrust expressed was astounding. Someone
told me that the U.S. government was giving the resort owners the money to put up their
Website. Others told me that they wouldn't participate in the Website because the resort
owners would censor the guides' Webpages. This censorship would occur to prevent tourists
from contacting the local guides without going through the resorts.
I suspect some truth lies within the guides'
mistrust. I know some resort owners are using only guides willing to undercut the other
guides, and then adding resort fees on top of the fees charged by the guides. And I
suppose it's entirely possible that the resorts would censor the guides' Webpages in some
way, even if not diabolically.
Of course, some of the guides realize that the
Internet could be very valuable to them. At least 2 of the local guides have their own
Websites, and one (a man who runs a kayaking operation), has benefited tremendously from
the exposure.
There's a guide meeting Monday or Tuesday night to
discuss the whole subject. A class war started by the Internet?
The Grocery Store.
Well, I have to go to the grocery store again. And yes, I need heavy stuff - - again.
Shakey may be around this time though, and I still have some potatoes, onions and
pineapple juice, so this trip may not be quite as memorable as the previous one. Just in
case, I'm taking a cloth bag. So, I've put this off long enough. Gotta go.
As the crow flies,
Dangriga Town is about 47 miles north of Placencia Village, on the eastern coast of
Belize. As the bus travels, it's about 70 miles and 2.5 hours, as long as it's not
raining.
 I caught the Ritchie line bus (a very old American Bluebird school
bus) at the top of a hill on the dirt road at about 7:15 a.m. Friday. Almost missed it,
but there are no bus stops, and one guy drives while another keeps an eye out for errant
passengers. The bus stopped for me and I took a seat in row #9 on the driver's side. I
later learned that my seat selection was a terribly intelligent one, for a tourist.
Why? Since Dangriga is north, the rising sun would
hit the east side of the bus, making folks on that side of the bus terribly hot. Row #9
would not get direct sun, because it was on the western side of the bus. Also, row #9 is
not over a wheel well or near the back of bus, the bumpier places to ride (row #9 was
bumpy enough - I'd have hated to have been anywhere bumpier). Finally, since row #9 was in
the middle of the bus, all of the passengers in front of me would cushion the blow if we
hit something. So there you go. If you ever take the bus between Placencia and Dangriga,
rows 7-12 are o.k., with the exact seat selection depending on the time of day and the
direction you are headed.
After picking me up, the bus next stopped for
William Morrison (the names have been changed to protect the innocent).
William is about 45, overweight, but overweight
all over (i.e., he's just big). He's the nephew of some terribly wealthy Placencia
widow ladies. William (NEVER "Will or Willie or Bill, or, God forbid,
"Billy") is ostensibly the caretaker of a few properties up and down the
Peninsula, but he's not a terribly energetic man, so the properties are in awful shape.
William's grandfather was a minister of something
or other in Belize about 60 years ago. According to William, his grandfather became
"politically incorrect" and was eventually run out of Belize after having all
his property confiscated.
Thus was William raised in the U.S. I gather
he was a real "rounder" in his youth, hitchhiking around the country, drinking,
carousing and drugging it up to the hilt. I think his youthful "exuberance"
carried on a bit longer than was seemly and he was sent to Belize to straighten himself
out (and get him out of everyone's hair, quite probably).
I had met William before, so having pity on me as
a poor, lonely tourist, he also sat in row #9.
Now, I knew William was a talker. But, I had
never experienced his full abilities. He began talking before he sat down, and
did not stop until I got off the bus in Dangriga (fortunately, he was going on to Belize
City, so we parted ways at the Dangriga bus station).
William's discourse included off-shore banking
(which he admits he doesn't really understand, but that doesn't prevent him from talking
about it), when the Southern Highway will be paved, whether tourists will buy pre-fab
housing, why jaguars smell so bad, where to stay in Belmopan, how to save $1.00 so
that you can buy 4 panadas in Belize City (whatever they are - something to eat I gather),
land his grandfather owned but sold before the land boom . . . Well, you get the picture.
Although I had William as background noise, the
bus trip to Dangriga was quite interesting. I had never traveled all the way up the
Peninsula before, so had never realized how close we are to the foothills of the Maya
Mountain Range. Very pretty, forested small "mountains" that reminded me of the
foothills of Appalachia.
We also went through several orange and banana
plantations, and I was able to see how banana trees are re-rooted each year to produce
next year's harvest.
Oh, and the road itself was interesting. As I've
already indicated, the road is in pretty bad shape down here near the Village. But it gets
even worse as you head north. In spots, rocks have been thrown across the road to slow
down the growth of potholes. The rocks seem to be effective for that purpose, but result
in a truly bone-jarring ride.
Also (according to William), some parts of the
road are yellow from the dumping of slurry dug up from foundations, dredging work, etc.
This slurry is very slick in the rain. I know, because I've now been on an old,
decrepit American school bus traveling at 40 miles per hour, with the driver completely
out of control of the bus. I have to give the guy credit, he was able to take it out of
the slide within a reasonable distance.
And what is a reasonable distance? That's the
distance between where you are and the next bridge over one of the many small river
tributaries running under the road. You see, these bridges are merely plank bridges,
without guardrails, and just a mite wider than the bus itself. So, as long as the driver
can regain control of the bus before the bridge, control has been regained within
a reasonable distance.
Oh, and overtaking slower traffic works like this:
blow your horn 10 or 12 times and stomp on the accelerator. That works for passing even if
there's oncoming pedestrian or vehicular traffic. Dangriga Town drivers use the same
method of traffic control.
The cost of all this fun? $4.00 U.S., one way.
(They don't sell round-trip tickets. I wonder why?)
The wafting
Placencia breeze is famous for keeping the Village cool even on the hottest days.
But when it stops, the heat and humidity can be gruesome.
Last night, the breeze didn't stop, it traveled
well beyond the wafting stage to almost frightening.
About 2:30 a.m. I woke up to find objects flying
across the room and lots of very loud banging. When I finally realized what was happening,
I rushed around drawing the heavy wooden shutters closed.
As a novice heavy wooden shutter closer, I almost
lost an arm when the wind caught a shutter and pushed it back toward me with amazing
force. The wind was too strong to go outside, so I had to unfasten the shutters from the
exterior porch wall from the inside of the cabin. Not impossible, but difficult in a
really strong wind.
Once I had the place secured, I turned on the
lights (the electricity amazingly didn't fail). Nothing was broken, just strewn about. In
the kitchen, a large ginger-jar lamp on a high shelf had been picked up and knocked to the
other side of the galley kitchen floor.
I was able to leave the side shutters open since
the wind was coming straight from the sea. The open northern shutter acted as a buffer and
allowed me to lean out the window and watch the storm.
Palm trees were blowing almost parallel to the
ground. Waves were hitting the beach about 20 feet from the high tide line.
Amazingly, no blowing sand and the temperature
didn't seem to have dropped. In fact, the wind seemed "high," in the tops of the
trees, but not on the ground. When the storm calmed a little later, I had to use 2 hands
to open the front door. However, when I went outside to stand on the porch, the wind
didn't seem to be that much of a force on my body. Strange. Plus, the wind seemed very
warm and actually soft. The storm ended about an hour after it started.
Word to the wise, a beach cabin should have
jalousie windows. Otherwise, it gets awfully hot when completely shut up in a
storm.
Sunday dawned fair and relatively calm.
Mary called at six thirty.
"Get up!" she cried. "We’re going on a
busman’s holiday. Kevin is taking us to Glover’s Reef!"
We’d been hoping that this trip would happen but we
hadn’t prepared because that seems to be the kiss of death. I actually leapt out of
bed despite the early hour and headed over to Mary’s.
We quickly put together a shopping list and went to
Wallen’s for groceries, wine, beer and rum. Then I headed home to pack.
 It was almost ten o’clock by the time the boats were gassed up
and loaded. Eight of us headed out in two boats- Harold Wallen (of Wallen’s Market),
his fourteen-year-old son Carl and Carl’s friend, Harry, were in one boat; Kevin,
Mary, Sarah and Donald (from the US) and I in the other.
It takes about two and a half hours, in good weather, to
reach Glover’s. You travel to the outer reef, locate the opening and pass into open
sea. I had never been to the reef. It is amazing. About ten minutes before you actually
reach it you can see the foaming waves breaking over the coral. It stretches in both
directions as far as the eye can see. The water inside the reef is that special Caribbean
turquoise while on the other side it is deep blue. Kevin piloted us through and suddenly
we were in the rolling waves of the open ocean.
 After what seemed like forever, Kevin pointed
out the smudge on the horizon that was Glover’s. As it slowly became larger on the
horizon, Mary filled us in on this unique spot.
Glover's Reef is about 70 miles southeast of Belize City
and due east from Dangriga. It encompasses an area of approximately 90 square miles. The
atoll was named for the pirate, John Glover, and old pirate graves are said to be on North
East Caye within the Atoll. Glover's Reef remains one of the most remote and most
unexplored areas of Belize. Some marine biologists believe it may be the most untouched
atoll system in the Caribbean. All cayes in the Atoll except North East Caye have been
zoned conservation areas, and Middle Caye is a designated wilderness. The climate is
desert-like. It rarely rains but there is a constant cooling breeze.
We were headed for North East Caye. A lawyer from France
and his wife took possession of the Caye in the sixties. They live there with their
daughter Becky, her Creole husband, Breeze Cabral, and their two children Warren, age
eight, and Jacqueline, age 5. Grandma home schools them as she did her own children.
 We pulled in to the dock and Becky directed us to the eastern tip
of the island where she had set aside three cabins for us. The cabanas are thatched,
raised structures with a porch, cooking room and sleeping loft. Mary and I quickly settled
into ours and then headed over to the cabin which was to be our supply depot.
The communal kitchen was set up quickly under this cabana.
We had a lunch of cold meats and bread which tasted like the finest French cuisine, we
were so hungry! While we were eating, young Harry informed us that he was prone to
seasickness and afraid of most things- like being eaten by a shark or meeting up with a
pirate ghost!
After lunch the guys headed out fishing while we ladies
checked out the caye. There is no electricity or potable well
water, but they provide containers
of water for drinking and gas for cooking. Guests are picked up at Sittee River in a large
sailboat and deposited on the caye for their holiday. There are paths all over, leading to
cabanas, outdoor showers and a spot to watch the sunset. The sea looked like a huge,
crystal clear lake, protected by the reef, just yards away, from the open ocean.
The water looked so inviting that it wasn’t long
before we were in. The temperature is unbelievably warm- almost feels like a hot tub- but
soooo relaxing!
 The fishermen finally
returned, well after dark. They had lots of luck so we ate fish, rice and salad for supper
while they told us tales of their adventure. Sure enough, Harry got sick and acquired a
new nickname- Harry the Hurler.
After dinner it was time to go reef walking to pick
lobster. Each person carries a flashlight. The eyes of the lobster gleam red so they are
easy pickings. They came back with five big ones in a sack. Poor Harry had slipped on the
coral and had a nice scrape down his leg. He almost turned white when we told him how
lucky he was- that the fresh blood usually attracts huge sharks!
It was time to sit back and enjoy the tropical evening
with millions of stars overhead. We talked quietly for an hour or so before bed. Harold
recounted some of the old pirate tales of this area.
Morning came early! The fishermen ate a quick breakfast so
that they could get out on the water. Someone noticed that Harry looked particularly
sleepy and asked him about it. Turns out he didn’t sleep all night- he was afraid the
ghosts would show up!
The fishing boat returned at noon. Harry the Hurler had
been true to form! After lunch, we went snorkeling. The visibility in the water was
excellent but the coral off the caye is in clumps rather than in a long line. That meant
swimming from one clump to another rather than drifting over an enchanted forest which is
what I really enjoy. Donald decided that he didn’t need fins. After a time he
found that his sandals were like cement blocks on his feet! The current was quite strong
too. Fortunately, Sarah was wearing an inflatable vest so she was able to tow him to
shore.
 That night we had a
feast. Harold had brought excellent corn fed steaks so we enjoyed surf (grilled lobster
with lime sauce by Kevin) and turf (teriyaki grilled steaks by Donald), slaw (my
contribution) and garlic mashed potatoes (a group effort), all washed down by a nice red
wine. It was one of the best meals I have had.
Tuesday morning while we were having breakfast, we
watched as ominous, black clouds surrounded us. We battened everything down and waited.
All of a sudden, the wind shifted to the west and the temperature dropped ten degrees.
It was as if someone had flicked a switch and turned off the sound of the surf
crashing over the reef. The west wind was blowing the sound away from us! We
waited for the deluge- and waited- and waited. It finally rained for about ten minutes,
the clouds rolled by and the wind shifted again - another perfect day - again.
 After breakfast, Kevin and crew cast off for a
whelikies gathering trip on the reef. (Kevin had almost drooled when he described the soup
he would make from the whelikies.) While the fearless fishermen were off hunting and
gathering, the rest of us packed up and prepared to leave - - reluctantly.
On the way back to Placencia, Harry redeemed himself by
catching the biggest fish of the trip - a huge king mackerel. AND he didn’t
hurl! Mary caught a grouper on the return trip too. Once inside the reef we saw huge manta
rays, and dolphins played around the boat. Magic!
Upon our arrival in Placencia, we learned that there had
been a major storm early that morning. For four hours, high winds and driving rain had
lashed Placencia, sending waves as far up as the sidewalk. Lakes of water still
flooded some areas of the village. I’m more convinced than ever that
Glover’s is a magical spot!
by Marilyn Beckstead
The tide is up, the
porch facing the sea has a 3-pronged plug, my surge protector works, the sun is shining,
the wind is wafting and life is good.
Customs turned out to be a piece of cake. Seems
the sight of me with the HUGE SSI cooler, 2 fishing rods, a laptop and a carry-on bag
amused and entertained most people. As a result, all I had to do was open the cooler and
they waved me through. Oh, and no one, including Continental, charged me for excess
baggage. A lesson here, maybe? Look ridiculous enough and people forget to ask you for
money? Thoughts to ponder.
Once through customs, I found a porter who took me
to Tropic Air. They clucked and clattered about the size of the cooler, but in the end
promised to get it to Placencia on the 4:40 p.m. flight (possibly helped along by a small
($5.00 U.S.) tip to the guy who loads the luggage).
Again relieved of my amusing and entertaining
burdens, I made my way to Jet's Bar in the departure lounge. I sat down at a table by the
window so that I could people and plane watch simultaneously (and, of course, have a rum
punch).
When the waiter returned with the change, he also
brought along the little guy who manages the bar. He's shorter than me and has a
high-pitched, sing-song Creole voice. He had immediately spotted me as an entering tourist
and told me he desperately needed American dollars. I agreed to exchange $300 U.S. as long
as he promised to change my Belize back into U.S. when I left. So there we sat, in the
middle of the departure lounge of Belize City International, counting our money. I did get
a free rum punch out of the transaction, something I probably did not need, but was more
than happy to accept anyway.
While the banking was taking place, an older
couple (Ben and Sarah) sat down at the table next to me. We eventually struck up a
conversation and they turned out to be the parents of Ben Ruoti (Benny, as his parents
called him), the owner of Nautical Inn in Seine Bight. They had just spent a week with
their son. Ben is as Italian as it gets and Sarah gave me a recipe for something that
sounds like "gowmla". Basically, it's a layer of fresh bread dough, topped with
lightly scrambled eggs, browned and crumbled Italian sausage, romano cheese and another
layer of fresh bread dough. Sarah says the Italian sausage is supposed to be fresh (she
made 50 pounds while here). I also received instructions to visit Benny and ask for an
order of fresh Italian sausage made by mom. Funny, I have to travel to Placencia, Belize
in Central America to get fresh Italian sausage. Go figure.
Ben and Sarah watched my stuff while I went to the
duty free shop to fill my Placencia liquor order. Apparently, the lack of a boarding pass
on an out-bound plane is not a problem so long as you have a bag in which to stash the
stuff (unfortunately, this is no longer true). The liquor completed my Placencia purchase
orders, so I felt another rum punch was in order.
Ben and Sarah departed about 3:20 and I was left
to my own devices for another hour. About 4:15, someone from Tropic Air came to my table
and asked if I was Miss Mary. Yes, I said. A slight problem had developed I was told. More
people than expected were taking the Tropic Air flight to Placencia, so no room for me or
the cooler. But, they could take the rods.
I expressed concern and dismay. However, all was
well. Maya Air agreed to make an unscheduled flight for me, 4 other passengers and my
cooler. Our tiny little twin engine left 10 minutes after the much bigger Tropic Air
plane, but arrived in Placencia first, after making a stop in Dangriga.
(We pause here for a sea break, it just turned the
most beautiful shade of green. I can't believe I'm really back.)
Walter, Percy's brother, was waiting with a van to
take me to Placencia. (Percy owns a cab and B.J.'s, a pretty decent restaurant located
across from Wallen's, one of the Village grocery stores. Percy's also on the Village
Council, does small engine and appliance repair and is the Village chiropractor, a
versatile man, no?)
So far, so good, except how to get from the van to
George's cabin? No road and the cooler is too big to be transported via wheelbarrow. We
found 2 young guys who needed $5 U.S. and a way into town. Voila! Instant cooler
transportation.
Finally, the cooler, the rods and me, safe at
George's cabin. Unpacked, had a shower, changed clothes, and I had arrived.
Paradise is, well, Paradise. At
least until it's time to do something sophisticated like grocery shopping - - and, heaven
forbid, get email access.
I was tired this morning, so I messed around until
noon. Then washed the dishes, took a shower and got dressed to go out.
I first delivered the cinnamon, nutmeg and inkjet
cartridge to Miss Lydia. No problem there. She's just across the sidewalk through the
middle of town.
 Next to BTL to set up Internet access. Right before I left
I wondered whether I needed ID. Nah, I decided. Why would they care? I get to BTL. Closed.
Won't open for another hour. No problem, I'll go grocery shopping first.
I decide to take the back road so that I can
stop at the small Placencia Grocery to see if
they have eggs. Placencia Grocery is nearer to the house and eggs don't come in closed cartons here. Instead, they're
either bagged or come in large (2-dozen) open-topped egg containers. Either
way, they're hard to carry, so I don't want to have to carry them far.
I reach Placencia Grocery. Closed.
Fine, I'll go to Wallens and then to Olga's.
Wallens is about a quarter-mile away, not a big deal. I get there. A sign on the door
informs me: "Closed half-days on Thursdays."
I'm beginning to wonder if Thursday afternoon is
grocer's holiday in Belize. I don't remember Thursday being a big deal grocery
shopping-wise. Maybe it's just in July. But, no problem, I'll go on to Olga's. Olga seems
to be a little more entrepreneurial than Harold Wallen, so she should be open.
 Another quarter-mile. Olga is, you guessed it, closed. But,
no sign on the door telling me whether it's for the afternoon, the rest of the day,
permanently, whatever.
I'm beginning to think I'm screwed on groceries
today. I decide to go back to BTL, because it should be open, and they can fill me in on
the grocery store deal.
BTL is open. Hurray! I finally successfully
communicate that I want email access. They want my passport. I knew it. Anything else I
need, I asked. No. So, ok, BTL's not far from the house. I walk back and get my passport.
Once again at BTL. This time they tell me they need $100 Belize deposit. I have $100
Belize on me, but need to go to the store. Back to the house.
The money does it. Setting up the connection takes
about 45 minutes, but finally is accomplished.
The BTL people tell me Olga's should be open. I
walk the half-mile back to Olga's. Yes! She's open.
Unfortunately, I need heavy stuff (potatoes,
onions, limes, pineapple juice, rum) and can't find Shakey (a local man who makes his
living by delivering heavy stuff via wheelbarrow). I went ahead and bought the eggs at
Olga's thinking Placencia Grocery still wouldn't be open. They put them in a small plastic
bag and slipped them in the large plastic grocery bag with soft stuff.
I also went ahead and loaded up on groceries even
though I hadn't found Shakey. I figured I might still find him and I didn't want to have
to go back to the store tomorrow.
No such luck. And those 4 bags were really heavy.
I stopped 5 or 6 times to shift the load. Then the first bag broke and out dropped the can
of pineapple juice.
Great. I repacked that bag into two other bags,
leaving the egg bag untouched. Off I went, and then the second bag broke.
No way I could get all of the contents of the
second broken bag into the non-egg bag. So I carefully packed around the eggs and tried to
carry the remaining 2 bags from the bottom. I couldn't, but by continuously stopping and
readjusting the load, I did manage to get everything as far as 150 feet across the
sidewalk from my house before the non-egg bag broke. Limes, mangoes, potatoes, onions,
mayonnaise, rum, pasta and corn oil strewn about the sand.
In utter disgust, I just left
everything lay
there, and walked the rest of the way with the egg bag. I set it down to open the door and
when I picked it up, I noticed something wet on the stairs. Yep, egg yolks.
Whatever. I grabbed a cloth bag, went back across
the walkway and picked up the stuff lying on the sand. Of the 12 eggs purchased, I made it
home with 8. Actually, not so bad. I didn't break any of the glass stuff either.
However, the eggs dripped onto the instructions
for setting up the BTL email account. So I'm waiting for that to sort of dry out before I
aggravate myself further today by trying (probably unsuccessfully) to install a new email
connection (in Belize, no less).
If you've received this, you'll know I was
successful.
Day One: Finally - - Alex, Biggs and I had finished transforming the
old "Wet 'N Wild" - - now the "Bad Tide" into my idea of a
decent fishing boat (I had decided not to think too hard about the name change
implications. After all, it wasn't like I was swapping a sportscar for a station
wagon and baby buggies - at least not yet.)
The Bad Tide "Before"
Picture
|
The work on the boat had been hot and
itchy. (I think I'd do just about anything - even housework - to avoid fiberglass
work again. I still wish somebody had gotten a picture of me covered in petroleum
jelly and fiberglass dust - my girlfriend said I looked like a Stephen King apparition.) Anyway, we'd gotten her launched on Wednesday night about
9:00 p.m. And after a couple of bottles of really bad champagne
(the only kind available in Placencia), we'd decided we needed a holiday to reward
ourselves. Somebody suggested a camping trip at Glover's
Reef. |
| Sounded perfect about then, and still
sounded ok the next morning. So we pulled away from the dock around 10:30 a.m. (told
you the champagne was bad) and headed off to Northeast Caye in Glover's Atoll. Northeast Caye is owned by the Lamont family and is managed
by their daughter, Becky Cabral, the ex-wife of one of my cousins (that's Becky's son,
Warren, to the right). Mr. and Mrs. Lamont are French. |
At Work on the Bad Tide
(Placencia Dock) |
 They visited Belize back in the 1950s, fell in love with it, and
opened the first Belize dive shop (pretty gutsy for the '50s). Becky and her sister,
Madeline, grew up on Northeast Caye.
North East Caye isn't fancy by any
means. Plain elevated wooden cabanas on the beach (reef side is best), oil burning
stoves for individual cooking.
(Becky will also provide family-style
meals and she's a pretty darn good cook - -learned to make a mean loaf of French bread
from her dad).
Besides, we don't usually spend much time in our
cabanas because the fishing is usually stupendous (trolling and spinning - not too much
flyfishing - even though we'd fitted out the Bad Tide as a flyfishing boat, it's still
pretty good for trolling).
The trip takes about 2 and half hours, with a
short rest break, so we didn't arrive until around 1:30 that afternoon. Set up camp
and then took off for a little fishing for dinner. Twenty minutes later - - voila!
Barracuda and two good-sized jacks. Took them back to camp and Becky baked
them with a little white wine, herbs and olive oil, added a couple of loaves of her famous
French bread, an avocado salad and a "few" Belikans. This is the
life!
A couple of more "after-dinner" Belikans
and then off to bed by midnight (1:00? 2:00? surely not 3!).
Day Two: Up early (well, by 5:30 actually),
big breakfast, and then we shoved off for the first full fishing day for the Bad Tide.
Until around 4:00 p.m., an uneventful day,
really. Twelve barracuda, 9 groupers (average size around 20 pounds), a three or
four jacks - - and EVERYTHING caught on a 9" Magnum Stretch 30+ Redhead!
A school of dolphin joined us as we were heading
home. They jumped around the boat for awhile much to the delight of Warren, Becky's
son, and Mary, my partner in the guide service.
Then, just as the dolphins were leaving, I
spotted a school of tuna - - my favorite fish.
Alex caught a nice black-fin pretty quickly and I
sat back to enjoy some good tuna fishing.
 But, just a few minutes
later, something hit Biggs' line, and it became evident fairly quickly that Biggs had
something, well, big!
Whatever it was, it was running him
around the boat, and
 he soon asked for someone to relieve him (hey,
it was our second day of celebrating, and last night had been somewhat late - or so I'm
told).
I told Alex to go for it. Alex
got into the spirit of things, but this was a REALLY big fish. This trip was a
thank-you to Alex and Biggs for all their hard work - but I couldn't resist, I took the
pole from Alex.
 This fish was big, and
pretty d)(&)* strong!
Speculation as to its identity was running toward
a yellow-fin or a shark. Warren was pretty sure it was a shark - but after
all - he's only a 7-year-old kid, so what did he know?
Well, after about an hour of struggling with what
seemed like a monster, Alex and Biggs decided that Warren was a pretty smart kid, and
it probably was a shark, and we should cut if off and go home. No way.
This son of a gun was coming UP - especially after all this time. I was going to
find out what he was one way or another!
Well, as I'm sure you must have guessed by now -
out of the mouths of babes - should have listened to Warren.
 It was a shark - - 9
1/2' Silky Shark. (A Carcharhinus falciformis according to the Audubon
Society Field Guide to Tropical Marine Fishes.)
Silkies live at the edges of continental and
insular shelves and offshore at depths of 60 - 1,650'. Considered dangerous, but
Audubon says there have been no verified records of it attacking humans (alth ough
I'm sure it would have been glad to take a bite out of us, given the chance).
We cut her off and headed home for another great
fish dinner (compliments to Becky the chef), and an EARLY night.
Up by four the next morning for a few hours
fishing before heading back to Placencia. Mary won the prize grouper award for her
35 pound black grouper, and we also got some "whelikies" (sea snails) to take
home for stew.
Great trip!
(If any of your anglers out
there are interested in a hard-core fishing trip while you're in Belize - let us know. The Atoll is very remote and
accommodations are pretty Spartan, no running water, showers or indoor toilets.
But, the fishing can be awesome (the Glover's Reef
Atoll is a marine reserve and an important breeding ground for grouper and snapper, plus,
only a portion of it can be fished as part of Belize's fisheries conservation program).
Also, lots of lobster not far off the caye
(in-season, of course - June 16 through February 14 is lobster season). Fishing can
also be combined with some of the best diving in Belize (the Lamonts still have a dive
operation on the caye).
Note: As of November 15, 1999, new diving
and fishing regulations will be in effect for the Glover's Reef Atoll Marine Reserve.
Fishing will be catch and release only inside the Reserve, and divers must register
and attend an orientation session before diving.
See our News
Page, Glover's Reef Pictures Page and our Accommodations Page for more
information on North East Caye and new regulations affecting fishing and diving. |
