Punta Ycacos Redux

K.L. McKee (1992)

Who would ever have thought that a simple paper straw and a soft drink would be the source of so much misery and put three of us in danger on our return expedition to Punta Ycacos? But I’m getting ahead of myself. For now, it is instructive to reflect upon how innocuous objects and insignificant occurrences can yield catastrophic consequences in the wilderness. Things we usually take for granted in the civilized world take on a whole new character when you’re miles from the nearest supermarket or hospital.

In the southern part of Belize, near Honduras lies an extensive lagoon system called Punta Ycacos. This mangrove-dominated region is located along the mainland coast about ten kilometers north of the picturesque town of Punta Gorda. One of these, called Freshwater Creek, meanders through an unspoiled landscape before it widens into a mangrove-lined lagoon near a point of land called Punta Ycacos. A unique ecosystem has developed along this riverine corridor, and we had previously initiated a study of it.

Our trip to Punta Ycacos was actually a trip within a trip, for we spent the first two weeks at Carrie Bow Cay where the Smithsonian Institution has a field station. Four of us were going: me, Candy and her summer intern, Mariel, and Beth.

Candy and I had worked together in Belize for about six years. She was in her late forties, medium height, with short, salt and pepper hair. Candy is one of the most observant people I’ve ever met. We hit it off from the first, probably because we both are generally quiet, more comfortable alone than with other people. Our backgrounds were quite similar, both having grown up in poor families and in the rural South. Her family was from the mountains of North Carolina, and mine from he rolling hills of northern Mississippi.

We’ve never actually discussed this, but I think we both categorize people into two groups—those who appreciate and understand nature and those who don’t and are afraid of it, want to change it, civilize it, or control it. I can spot the latter group, often because of their reluctance to be alone in nature. They are not comfortable, even fearful and panicky, when they find themselves isolated from other people or signs of civilization. I know I feel just the opposite way, preferring to be alone, undistracted and uninfluenced by other people while in a natural setting. It’s as if my thoughts and feelings are distorted by proximity to other people. There are many things that are overlooked because your attention is being directed toward answering someone’s question rather than noticing some aspect of your surroundings.

We began the trek south with an hour-long boat ride from Carrie Bow to Dangriga, a seaside town. We landed at the Pelican Beach Resort, where we picked up our plane tickets and sent a couple of faxes to notify relatives of the change in our travel plans. Toby, an employee of the hotel, hauled our gear in a wooden wheelbarrow to the airstrip only a short walk from the hotel. We were all sweating freely as we trudged down the path to the Dangriga airstrip, which was a tiny gash in the landscape, bordered on either side by tall stands of cattail and Roseau cane. Two of the hotel’s watchdogs accompanied us, and they periodically bounded off into the grass in search of some imagined animal.

Candy and I had been on two previous trips to Punta Ycacos, and Beth had accompanied us on the second one when we camped at Jaguar Beach—the one with the dangerous current. It was high noon under clear skies, and I was contemplating my impending heat stroke, when Candy said, “I’m going to get a coke.”

We entered the small, concrete building situated to one side of the strip and that served as the airport “departure lounge”. We entered and turned over our tickets to a woman sitting at a table just inside the door. There was no air conditioning, of course, and the heat was stifling. Candy asked Toby if he would like a cold drink before he headed back to the hotel, and he said he thought he would have a Sprite. A young guy, in his late teens was slouched at another table with his head resting on one arm. He appeared to be sleeping.

The woman who took our tickets said to the teenager, “Hey, these people want something from the bar.” She said this in a tone of voice indicating that she was just about fed up with him. The young fellow dragged himself to his feet as if this act were a major effort and went behind the bar where there was an ice box filled with soft drinks.

He looked at us and mumbled, “All we got is Sprite.” I thought he was just lazy. But as I pondered his behavior later, I realized that he had another problem.

Candy replied, “Well, good thing that’s what we want.”

She bought two Sprites and gave one to Toby. Candy asked if any of us wanted a drink, but we didn’t. However, when she offered us a sip of her Sprite, Mariel and I took a swig.

We heard the Maya Airlines plane approaching and went outside to wait. The eight-seater prop plane taxied over to where we were standing next to a small palm tree. I was actually under the tree trying to stay in the shade as much as possible, when the pilot quickly whipped the plane into a 180° turn and clipped the top of the palm tree with the left wing. I instinctively ducked. I suspected that the pilot did this deliberately because I could see him snickering through the window.

As we started loading up we saw that there were only six seats, but seven people. Not to worry, though. The ground crew dragged out some extra seats and tied them into place in front of the cargo hold. Candy ended up in the rear and had to board from the cargo door.

The pilot, who must have been annoyed after dealing with disgruntled passengers all day, snapped, “Get in.”

Candy replied, “I’m just waiting for these guys (who were loading the luggage through the same door) to move out of the way.”

The pilot said, “Don’t be gettin’ an attitude, or we’ll leave you in Dangriga.”

I held my breath, waiting for Candy to take a swing at him, but she didn’t. I guess she was thinking that it wasn’t worth it.

As we taxied to the far end of the runway, I looked to see if I could spot the wreckage of the plane that crashed in the ditch a couple of years ago. Nothing was visible, however, in the overgrown weeds. We took off to the southeast over the water, then turned south along the coast. To the left I could see mangrove cays scattered in the distance–dark green patches in the pale turquoise water. To the right and below was the mainland. Along the shoreline were bands of mangrove trees with some salt marsh patches to landward. Farther to the west, the vegetation appeared to be lowland forest or pine savanna.

Occasionally we would pass some citrus fields, rectangular patches cut out of the forest and sporting rows of widely-spaced trees with dark green foliage. In the distance were the Maya mountains, which when partially obscured by low clouds, seemed to suddenly rise from the flatland. They formed somewhat strange, gently rounded mounds, vaguely reminiscent of the karstic landscape of Guilin (China). These peaks became taller and less rounded farther to the west, but the ones closest to us looked more weathered and were dark green with vegetation.

We made a quick stop at Monkey River, where one of the passengers, a woman in a brightly flowered dress, got off. There were a couple of people to meet her. The pilot said, “Next stop is Punta Gorda.”

A little later, we spotted from the air the wreckage of a small plane that had been uncovered by a fire that had burned a large area of jungle. A drug run gone bad? The shattered parts of the plane, which shone white against the charred ground, were scattered in the pattern of a tiny cross. Rather fitting, I thought.

As we approached our destination of Punta Gorda, Candy said, “Look, there is Punta Ycacos Lagoon and Freshwater Creek!” We all craned our necks and frantically snapped photos of our study area through the airplane windows. Sunlight shimmered on the water below, and I could make out individual, dwarf red mangrove trees. Their spreading prop roots resembled insectile legs and gave the illusion that the land below was swarming with strange arthropods.

Our plane landed safely at the Punta Gorda airstrip, and we scrambled out into the late afternoon sun and heat reflecting off the tarmac. We located a taxi to take us to the Belize Center for Environmental Studies where we would meet up with Will, who was working on his Ph.D. dissertation research in Belize. He was providing the boat, food, and other necessities for our trip to Punta Ycacos.

Everyone knows everyone else in Punta Gorda. We told the taxi driver who we were looking for and he said, “Sure, I know Will.” His place was located on Front Street, which ran along the shoreline. We unloaded our gear from the taxi and looked around for Will. Candy spotted him in his boat directly in front of the house and waved hello.

I knew Will from previous trips to Belize. We first met when he came by Carrie Bow Cay for a visit. He seemed so thrilled to have some other scientific colleagues in Belize that he could talk to. Candy, Beth and I had traveled to Punta Ycacos six months before and gone camping with Will and his friend, Tim, the gourmet cook and fellow grad student.

When I first met Will, I thought he looked like a wild-eyed mountain man—or at least what I imagined a wild-eyed mountain man to be. His reddish-blond hair and light complexion definitely did not fit in with the tropical sun and brilliant blue water. He was often bare-headed, but sometimes wore a billed cap for protection during the hottest part of the day. When not hidden behind sunglasses, his eyes were large and expressive, often opening wide at some comment that he thought outrageous. It was his untrimmed beard, I think, that gave him the appearance of a mountain man or early American settler or soldier. A movie company would certainly select him to work as an extra in a film about the Civil War, but he was probably too short to play a lead role. I could easily imagine him in a Confederate uniform and cap, carrying a knapsack and rifle and running screaming across a battlefield in Pennsylvania. He also had a wild, uninhibited laugh that might sound a little hysterical to someone who didn’t know him. He behaved just like many outdoor guides who are accustomed to dealing with all types of people and situations in the wilderness-patient, affable, energetic, happy, and efficient.

Beth, Mariel, and I followed Candy over to the edge of the sea wall to see what Will was doing. He had a local boy, about ten years old, holding the line until he finished stowing things in his boat. He said that we should move our gear upstairs while he moored the boat for the night. So we turned around and walked back across the street and into the front yard where we had piled our gear.

It took a few trips to carry our belongings to the second floor where Will’s apartment/office was located; the downstairs appeared to be rented out to a private family. The house had an upstairs verandah that ran alongside the front, rear, and one side of the building. A sign at the top of the exterior stairs indicated that visitors should knock before proceeding onto the upstairs verandah.

Inside, there was one large room that served as combination office, bedroom, and dining room. To the left as we entered was a small kitchen and just opposite was the bathroom. A couple of partitions demarcated a small bedroom that belonged to an elderly gentleman who shared the apartment with Will. The main room was large, about 20 ft by 30 ft and cluttered with scientific books, and manuals, brightly colored poster with environmental messages, maps, and boxes. A weathered dugout leaned against one wall. On another wall was a turtle carapace, partially bleached by the sun. Will’s bed and a desk were placed over to one side. The left half of the room was furnished with a desk, telephone, and fax machine. A large dining table with chairs occupied the center of the room. Sliding glass doors opened onto the front verandah with an unimpeded view of the ocean.

When we walked in, the elderly man, whose name was Charles, said, “Will, you didn’t tell me that you were going out in the swamp with four young ladies. I was expecting some professors.”

I waited about two heartbeats and said, “Well, some of us are professors; we just don’t look the part.”

Charles quickly recovered, saying, “Oh, I’m so pleased to meet such a dynamic group of young ladies.” Considering that three of us were forty-something, I concluded that this was a compliment, however inaccurate.

We all sat around the table drinking water and trying to cool off. I felt incredibly sticky and hot so I went into the bathroom and washed my face. When I returned, Candy was trying to explain what we were planning to do at Punta Ycacos to Charles, who was apparently a soil scientist and had surveyed the soils in Belize and elsewhere in the Yucatan. He had purchased all our food supplies for the trip and had it all packed and stacked up by the door for us. Beth and I talked to Will about what we wanted to accomplish on this trip and we all looked at some maps of the study area.

Candy’s ears were bothering her because of a persistent infection. Beth pulled out her “Where There Is No Doctor” book so we could try to identify a remedy. This book is a wealth of information, but also quite amusing because of the illustrations that accompany the text. We couldn’t find anything useful to help Candy, but entertained ourselves by reading aloud about amoebic dysentery, parasitic roundworms, and other interesting tropical diseases.

By six o’clock, we were starving and headed into town to get something to eat. Will’s suggestion was “Man-Man’s Kitchen”, which was just a one-room shack owned by an elderly Belizean by the name of Man-Man. Such enterprises are fairly common in Belize, and I was somewhat apprehensive upon seeing the place. However, it turned out to be a very interesting experience.

Man-Man was reclining in his string hammock in the front room of his restaurant/home as we approached, but quickly hopped up when he saw us coming. He was a skinny, dark-skinned man who looked about ninety years old, but was probably only sixty or so. He was a very gracious host, welcoming us profusely and telling us to make ourselves at home.

Man-Man said, “Good night. Please have a seat.” I remembered then that Belizeans say “good night” when they mean “good evening”.

We all sat down around the one table, which was covered with a flowered, vinyl tablecloth. Man-Man sent Will around the corner to the store to get our drinks. There were no menus, just whatever man-man chose to prepare from his stocks. He went into the kitchen, which was at the rear of the house, but in full view of the table. He grabbed various pots and skillets down from their hooks on the wall and slapped them onto the stove. Within minutes he had rice boiling, fish frying, and vegetables sautéing. Our stomachs grumbled as enticing odors drifted toward us from the kitchen area.

During the preparations, Man-Man talked to us, explaining his views on various topics. Before we had really gotten settled in, Man-Man had placed a seven-course meal in front of us. Sliced tomatoes and onions, fried grouper and jack, refried beans, coconut-flavored rice, red cabbage salad, fried eggplant, and French bread. Everything was delicious.

At one point during the meal, three men entered the room. The talkative, older fellow knew Will and was accompanied by two fellows who worked for the Forestry Department. The first guy had a mustache and goatee, which made him look somewhat Latino. I was having some difficulty understanding him, but soon realized that he had been looking for Will to bring these two fellows to him.

It turned out that the two forestry officers would be going on the field trip with us. Juan was short, with Mestizo features and appeared to be in his mid 20’s. He behaved in a very quiet, respectful manner. Alejandro also had Latin features, but he had a more well-fed look about him. We all introduced ourselves and discussed logistics. Will told them that we would be leaving about seven o’clock in the morning, but Alejandro seemed hesitant. We finally decided on eight o’clock. I got the impression that they planned to stay up late drinking and wanted to be able to sleep late. After we got that settled, the three excused themselves and headed out—probably for the nearest bar. We finished our meal and said good-bye to Man-Man.

There were quite a few people about that evening. Groups of kids on bicycles were slowly wheeling through the dusty streets. Families sitting on their front porches or still at the dinner table were quietly talking, laughing, or playing games. A few people stared at us. I suppose we were somewhat unusual looking. One guy and four women, all white and wandering around the back streets of Punta Gorda. As we strolled along, we could hear thunder in the distance.

I asked, “Do you think we can make it back in time?” I had brought my raincoat just in case, but no one else had.

Will answered, “Sure, we will.”

Just as we turned onto Front Street, the wind picked up and the first drops began to splat on the dusty road. We sprinted the last few yards. As soon as we had reached the upstairs verandah, it was pouring. Will informed us that this was typical. Every night about eight or nine o’clock it rained—at least during August. I said, “This should be fun when we’re camping.”

Candy, Mariel, Beth, and I set up pallets on the floor. Beth and I had our Thermarests, and Candy and Mariel used some foam mattresses that Will had. I thought: this should be pretty comfy. The rain continued. It was a massive downpour. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much precipitation fall within such a short period of time. We started out sitting on the front verandah, watching the storm. But we soon had to move inside because we were getting wet from the blowing rain.

As we sat listening to the rain drumming on the tin roof and the palm fronds slapping against each other, I was thinking that we would drown in our tents in such a storm. I said to Beth that I didn’t think my tent was waterproofed well enough to withstand this kind of onslaught. She replied, “Mine either.”

We all prepared for bed and turned the lights out. I must have dozed, because I suddenly became aware that the rain had stopped and everything was quiet except for the periodic dripping of water onto the lush foliage outside the window. The air was still and moist and surprisingly had a slight chill to it. The sliding doors were open, and the street light in front of the house cast a moon-like glow into the room. I was reminded of a scene from a movie about the Vietnam war—Platoon, directed by Oliver Stone.

Charlie Sheen’s character is a newly-arrived infantry soldier about to be in his first fire-fight. He has been on patrol all night in the monsoonal downpour, but despite the rain, bugs, and snakes, has managed to fall asleep due to sheer exhaustion. He suddenly awakens to an ominous silence, aware that he’s been inattentive to his surroundings for an unknown period of time. He’s sitting on the ground with a towel draped over his head. He then slowly lifts one edge of the towel and peers through the dripping foliage toward an area about 25 yards beyond his position. At first, nothing appears to be out of place, but then a slight movement reveals a person wearing a helmet decorated with camouflaging leaves and branches—an enemy patrol! A quick glance to his side tells him that his buddies are all dead asleep and he alone is aware of the impending danger. What should he do? The Vietcong soldier raises a hand and makes a “move forward” gesture. Soon other soldiers appear behind him, all moving toward the US patrol unit. Suddenly, all hell breaks loose. Bullets and mortars start flying in all directions. Charlie Sheen’s character takes a grazing injury, but survives. However, one of the other new recruits is killed. One of the sergeants says, “Maybe if he had lived long enough to learn something, he might have made it.”

I sleepily contemplated the underlying message in this film sequence and wondered why I was now remembering it so vividly. Just as I was about to doze off again, the neighborhood dogs started barking and howling. Actually, it was Charles’ dog, Otto, that started it by barking at someone passing on the street. This act set off a chain reaction among the other dogs along Front Street. The noise went on until about two o’clock. I couldn’t believe it. I could tell that my other floor-mates were all awake because they kept shifting position on their pallets and sighing. At some point the racket stopped and I fell asleep again.

We got up around 5:30, just as the sky was beginning to brighten. I felt really tired and out of sorts. The others looked just as bad as I felt. Each of us took a turn in the bathroom to wash up and dress. Will prepared some breakfast of sliced fruit bread, and homemade jam. The sea was dead calm, a fortunate beginning for our trip up the coast. As the light became brighter, we could see the Honduran coast in the distance.

Everyone pitched in and carried the gear and supplies downstairs. The man with the goatee showed up in his LandRover, and he and Juan helped us load our stuff in the back. They took it and Will to the boat landing, and would come back later to pick us up.

While we waited, we sat and talked about Beth’s teaching techniques. She wanted to try some new ideas on her undergraduate ecology class in an effort to get them more involved. She would have them work in groups to prepare papers on an assigned topic. The catch was that although each of the people in a working group would have to write a different paper, the grade given to them would be based on one randomly selected paper from the group. Thus, it would be to everyone’s benefit to get involved in the others’ papers and help those members who needed it.

Upon hearing this scheme, I said to Beth, “Well, it will either work like a charm, or they will end up suing you.”

We were sitting on the concrete stairs, and Otto, the dog, came past us on his way down. All of us glowered at him. I thought he looked fairly spry after having been up most of the night howling his head off. Otto trotted jauntily out to the street and let out a yelp. We immediately heard a reply from the direction of the wharf that sounded vaguely familiar. Otto responded again. There was again another bark from the wharf. We finally realized that Otto was barking at his own echo, bouncing off the concrete quay about a quarter of a mile away. I was suddenly certain that this was part of the problem last night.

Otto barked and was instantly answered by another dog with an uncannily familiar bark. To a dog’s brain, this must be incredibly insulting to hear what he thinks is a strange dog barking at him, but the response seems disrespectful and stirs him to anger. He certainly wouldn’t recognize it as his own distinctive bark, just as humans are often very surprised to hear their own voices. “I sound like that?” So the dog must conclude in his limited way of reasoning that this is a strange dog mocking him. He knows all the dogs in the area because he regularly marks his territory and recognizes each of their urine signs and knows the sound of their barks. However, this phantom dog never shows himself, never leaves a urine trail to announce himself to the other dogs, but only issues this challenging bark. This was obviously driving Otto crazy, because he would bark once, wait for the response (echo), and then bark again. This went on for about 15 minutes, until we started laughing and jeering at Otto to shut up.

Beth yelled, “You dumb dog, it’s just your echo!” He finally stopped and headed out on his morning rounds. Will told us that Otto had some grown offspring that lived down the street with another family. Otto regularly visited them, to check on their progress, I suppose. We laughed and talked about this for a while. I wondered if Otto went through this barking routine every day and if he ever went down to the wharf to look for this strange dog that must be hiding out down there.

Finally, the truck came back to pick us up. We jumped into the back and headed through Punta Gorda to the boat launch.

Things didn’t look too promising when we pulled up to the boat dock. Actually, it was just a shallow area next to the road where Will’s boat was pulled up to the edge of a gravel turnout. A few other boats were tied up there as well. Will had the motor up, and I could see that he had taken the propeller off. He was trying to replace it with a spare. A Belizean in the next boat was giving him advice periodically. In the meantime, the rest of us began unloading the gear from the jeep and loading it into the boat. Juan was there, but Alejandro was nowhere to be seen After about an hour, we had things stowed onto Will’s boat. He finally got the propeller fixed. Alejandro drove up just as we were finishing up. Good timing, I thought to myself.

Will, the two Belizean forestry officers, and the four of us “young ladies” piled into the boat and headed north to Punta Ycacos. We arranged ourselves on the ice chests and boat seats as best we could. Will was driving.

The water was perfectly flat, the early morning light reflecting off its surface. We seemed to be gliding on a sea of mercury, silvery, smooth, and viscous. The slightly chilled air blew past my face and threatened to snatch my cap off. I tightened the strap a bit and looked up. The pale sky blended almost seamlessly with the ocean horizon, giving the disconcerting feeling that we were speeding toward the edge of the world.

Will rigged up his fishing rod and handed it to me. We slowed down and started trolling in an area where some birds were circling, but nothing was biting. After that, we sped up again and continued on our way.

To our left was the mainland, where the shoreline was mostly dominated by mangroves. To the right was open water, the view occasionally punctuated by an island. Most of these cays were uninhabited and dominated by an impenetrable tangle of red mangrove. Others had been partially tamed by humans and had a small stand of coconut palms at one end. Occasionally, I spotted a fisherman’s camp comprised of materials scavenged from the sea, such as driftwood, bamboo, logs, palm fronds, buckets, fishing nets hanging to dry, and other items too small to identify from a distance. I looked in vain for Chicken Caye, the site of a previous adventure, but couldn’t recognize it.

Will pointed out the closest habitation to Punta Ycacos, “There’s Hardluck Charlie’s” He was indicating a small group of shacks and a pier in a small embayment on the mainland, about half a mile before the turn into the lagoon. A couple of boats were moored near the pier.

We passed Punta Ycacos and turned into the lagoon. For someone unaccustomed to this type of environment, the sight would be disquieting. As far as the eye could see was water and a monotonous expanse of vegetation. And not just any vegetation. The mangroves that predominate here presented a mind-numbing scenery that seemed to remain unchanged, mile after mile. The dark, evergreen foliage overhung the shoreline, and along narrower parts of the river, the branches almost met overhead. It was difficult to see very far into the forest because much of the light was blocked by the dense canopy of the trees. The trees and their distinctive prop roots varied in size and density. The forest along the lagoon entrance, where salinities were highest, was not very tall. The largest trees were about ten feet in height. Farther upstream, the trees gradually became taller. Occasionally, we passed an area with some large trees with huge prop roots that met the trunks at points well above our heads.

As we headed farther upstream, the channel became narrower with frequent bends. Will would steer us around one curve and upon emerging would immediately have to turn again in the other direction. The width of Freshwater Creek averaged about eighteen feet. On one side, the one in the inner curve of a bend, would be large trees over twenty feet tall. On the opposite side in the outer bend of the river would be dwarf mangroves only about three feet in height. Some of these areas were vast, with stands of pygmy trees extending to the far horizon.

Frequently, we saw large fish swirl near the surface as we approached. The sun was higher in the sky by now, and we felt quite warm. The boat was moving more slowly as well, so the cooling effect of flowing air was less. After about fifteen minutes of traveling up the river, we came to our experimental site, but decided to continue on to find a spot to camp.

Will remembered an area where he had camped before, and we began looking for it. By this time, we were in an area where we could see pine savannah in places. We also passed the area of dwarf mangroves with the bromeliads growing on them. In fact, there are dozens of different species of orchids growing epiphytically on the mangrove trees here. We stopped a couple of times to take a closer look. Will pointed out a miniature orchid, with an inflorescence that looked like a tiny, white moth.

Finally, Will spotted his previous campsite, an area of pine savannah that sloped down to a narrow fringe of scrubby mangroves. We carried our gear to a relatively clear area and proceeded to set up our tents. Beth and I had each brought a two-person tent, which we pitched underneath a tarp to provide additional protection from the rain we knew would come that evening. Will had his bright-blue, tube-shaped, home-made tent that he and the two Belizeans would share.

As late afternoon approached, I watched thunderheads rising to the east and to the west, creating the sensation that we were being sandwiched between two snow-covered mountain ranges. And the feeling was more than visually stimulated. My head was pounding as the barometric pressure began to drop precipitously. Juan explained that these systems often approached from two directions and collided over the area where we were camped. The sky would then open up, and huge amounts of rain would fall. I could only groan and imagine what my head would feel like when that happened.

As darkness began to fall, I began to feel really bad. Will, Juan, and Alejandro were busily preparing the evening meal, but I had no interest in food. I crawled into my tent and lay down, thinking that my nausea would subside if I stayed horizontal for a while. However, my condition continued to worsen. Suddenly, I knew I was going to vomit and struggled to unzip the tent flap. I barely made it out and down the hill a short distance from the tent before I threw up.

At this point, I thought that this was one of my typical migraine headaches that are sometimes accompanied by nausea. I crawled back into the tent and took a Benadryl tablet, hoping that it would make me sleepy. I lay there, my stomach lurching, listening to everyone eating dinner. At some point, I dozed off. I woke later, aware that it had been raining hard, but fell back into an exhausted, restless sleep. I think I got up once more to be sick, but I could have been dreaming.

The next morning, my headache had dissipated and I only felt slightly queasy. We got our gear together and headed to the study site. We dropped Candy, Mariel, and Alejandro off, and Beth, Juan, Will, and I headed downstream, periodically stopping to collect soil and water samples. By late afternoon, both groups were finished with their respective tasks, and we reunited for the drive back to camp.

On the way back, Will rigged up his casting rod and handed it to Beth to try her luck at trolling. Beth, being a Midwesterner and only having caught a couple of tiny reef fish previously, had no idea of the piscine monsters lurking beneath the surface and that were tracking her trailing lure.

“Oh,” said Beth, thinking that we were fishing for mangrove snappers, “Here comes dinner.”

Alejandro threw out a hand-line, which is a Belizean mode of fishing that requires little hardware, but more skill than usual. After a short time, Alejandro suddenly yanked his line, stood up, and grunted, “Ah, yahhh!” He clearly had hooked something; and from the look on his face, I concluded that it was pretty big.

Beth, of course, was expecting a little snapper or something equally innocuous. Will indicated that he would turn the boat a certain way and that Alejandro should land his catch at his signal. The boat swerved first one direction and then the other. Alejandro gave a tremendous heave as the boat turned and then swung a five-foot long barracuda over the gunwale and onto the deck at our feet. We all scrambled so fast to the front of the boat, that I thought we would swamp it. The monster fish was quickly subdued by a blow to the head with a drink bottle.

Beth frowned disapprovingly at Will, “You didn’t tell me we were fishing for giant barracuda!”

Will said to Beth, “What do you think trolling is for, anyway?”

Beth hung near the front of the boat, gazing anxiously at the fish’s massive set of teeth, as the rest of us more closely admired Alejandro’s catch. After the initial shock wore off, however, Beth insisted on having her photograph taken with the dead barracuda. I supposed she intended to shock her Midwestern relatives and friends with some visual evidence of her tropical adventures.

Beth said to Alejandro, “Take my picture, take my picture.” A short pause. “Is it really dead?”

Alejandro rolled his eyes as he focused the camera and replied, “Just be careful of the teeth.” Later, Beth sent Alejandro a picture of himself with his fish and the picture of herself with the barracuda to her friends in India, who were quite amazed at “Miss Beth’s” fishing prowess.

I realized that my head was aching and anxiously looked at the clouds piling up on the horizon. “Oh, no,” I thought. “Not another repeat of last night.” We pulled up to our campsite as the sun was sinking below the trees. A flock of parrots flew overhead and emitted quavering cries that echoed over the savannah.

Beth and I decided to stay in camp to shower, while the rest of the group took the boat upstream for baths in fresh water. We filled up Beth’s Sunshower and struggled to hoist it up in a tree. Candy’s poncho served as our screen although darkness was falling so fast, that it soon became unnecessary. Things would have been fine, except that the mosquitoes came out just as we started showering. Nothing like a bunch of hungry mosquitoes to discourage dawdling and water wastage.

Afterwards, we started cutting up vegetables for dinner. However, by the time that the others returned from their swim, my head was in agony and I was again so sick that I couldn’t hold my head upright. I miserably crawled into the tent and stretched out. Soon I could smell the barracuda grilling over the fire, but it just turned my stomach.

Thunder sounded in the distance. The sides of the tent billowed as the wind began to pick up. I heard Will say, “Uh-oh, here it comes.” There was a clatter of pots and pans as the others gathered up the remains of their dinner and scurried under the tarp. A series of bright flashes of lightning and sharp cracks of thunder occurred in rapid succession, followed by the pattering of raindrops on the tarp. Soon it was pouring, and a fine mist blew through the window onto my face. My headache subsided slightly, and I finally drifted off to sleep.

I woke to the smell of smoke from the campfire and felt nauseous. When I sat up, my stomach lurched and I knew I would be sick again. I crawled out of the tent and headed toward the boat and the water, trying not to see or smell the left-over barracuda sizzling over the fire. Juan and Alejandro were sitting upwind of the smoke looking expectantly at the fish steaks. The smell of food made me gag. I staggered into the shallow water by the boat and threw up, but did not feel any better. I clambered into the boat and pulled my thermos out of the ice-chest. Since I had not drunk anything since the previous afternoon, I knew I was dehydrated. However, each time I took a swallow of water, it immediately came back up.

Beth poked her head over the gunwale and said, “How’re you doing?”

“Not so good,” I replied. “I think I’ve got some kind of stomach bug or food poisoning.”

“Candy’s sick, too,” Beth said. “She stayed outside in the rain most of the night because she was throwing up so much.”

“I think I’m at that stage right now.” I hung my head over the side of the boat and dry heaved a few times.

Beth looked worried and said, “I’ll make up some rehydration salts solution for you. You should also stay as cool as possible.”

Staying cool was going to be difficult. The sun was barely peeking over the trees, and I was already sweating heavily. “This could be serious,” I thought. The wind shifted, and the smell of smoke and fish drifted down to me. I just couldn’t stand the odor any longer and climbed out of the boat, planning to move upwind. I also thought that I should get into the shade somehow. Unfortunately, there was none nearby in this savannah populated by knee-high grass and a few scattered Caribbean pine trees.

I dragged myself up the hill to the campsite. Beth handed me a cup and said, “Drink this. Even if you throw it up later, you’ll get some of it into your system.” I sipped at it and continued to walk toward the sun, trying to locate a spot of shade where I could lie down. As I passed the tents, I noticed Mariel and Candy sitting off to the side looking pale and miserable, but trying to pack their things up.

About three hundred feet from the camp, I spotted a large log lying in an east-west orientation. The base of the log was in the shadow of a tall pine tree standing nearby. I lay down on the log after sipping at the rehydration solution. I managed to keep it down for about five minutes, but then threw it up. As I raised my head, I saw Mariel suddenly stand up and run off to one side. She bent over and threw up.

It turned out that only Mariel, Candy, and I were sick. The others were fine, except for the worry that they too would soon be losing their breakfasts. However, they had nothing to fear. I knew it couldn’t be the barracuda, since I had not eaten any. It wasn’t the meal at Man-Man’s because Will and Beth were not ill. But what?

Then I remembered the guy at the airport who had served the Sprite. I could visualize him slumped at the dusty table with sweat beaded on his forehead.

He moved with slow deliberation to the icebox and reached in. “All we got is Sprite, “ he mumbled and swiped his hand across his mouth. After popping the cap off the bottle, he inserted a straw, touching the exposed end with his bare fingers. I saw his hand extend the bottle toward Candy. Then my hand taking the bottle from Candy and passing it to Mariel. I thought. “It all fits.” The three of us must have been infected by the contaminated Sprite we shared. The vision of the green bottle with the white straw bobbing up and down danced across my closed eyelids. It multiplied into two, then three bottles as I squeezed my eyes tighter. The images then merged and contracted to form a pencil-thin line. I opened my eyes and looked at the tall pine tree towering over me.

Rising to a sitting position, I turned and looked toward the campsite. All the tents were packed and the boxes stacked in front of the boat. I rose shakily to my feet and walked carefully through the grass toward the water.

The boat was loaded up, and we slowly pulled away from the campsite. We still had to pick up some samples at one of our sites. By the time we had wound our way down the river to our study site, my shirt was soaked with sweat and I still had not been able to keep any fluids down. The others climbed out of the boat and proceeded to pick up our samples. I decided that I couldn’t exert myself and risk losing any more water. The bow of the boat was nudged up under the canopy overhanging the water, so I moved forward to take advantage of the shade.

Juan came back to the boat and gave me a sympathetic shake of his head. He said, “I know you feel really bad, but I wanted a chance to ask you a few questions.”

I struggled to focus on what he was saying, but my head was spinning. Juan wanted to know some details about the soil measurements I had been taking, and I did my best to answer him.

The others finally returned, and we headed downstream and out of Punta Ycacos Lagoon. We dropped Juan and Alejandro off at the pier. Candy, Beth, Mariel and I waited in the bar at the end of the pier while Will went to gas up the boat. Our plan was to drive back to Carrie Bow that afternoon. The wind had been blowing steadily and white caps flashed across the water. I didn’t think I could make it, but the others were anxious to get back.

Candy and Mariel had stopped throwing up and seemed to be feeling better. I still felt miserable. I ordered a coke in the hopes that I would keep some of it down. It had now been twenty-four hours since I had taken in (and retained) any fluids, and I was beginning to realize how easy it would be to die of dehydration in a tropical climate.

Fortunately, the open-air bar was shady and cool from the stiff ocean breeze. Lying on one of the benches, I was able to stay relatively comfortable and sipped on the cold drink. Although the coke tasted really good and seemed to settle my stomach initially, I soon felt nauseous again and had to leave in search of a place to throw up in private.

I found an outhouse on the shore adjacent to the pier, but only got as far as the doorway. The stifling heat, buzzing flies, and disgusting odor almost knocked me down. I staggered backwards and slumped down on a ledge nearby. Lowering my head between my legs, I lost all the coke I had so painstakingly swallowed. Sweat was pouring off my face, and my legs felt numb. My stomach empty again, I walked back to the end of the pier just as Will drove up with the boat.

The trip back to Carrie Bow was like a wild, wet roller-coaster ride. The boat surged up over the peaks of the waves and plunged down into the troughs. Saltwater cascaded over our heads, soaking us from head to toe. We struggled to keep from sliding off our seats and slamming into the sides of the boat. Will shouted something at one point, but I couldn’t understand him. I was so focused on keeping my balance and not swallowing any seawater that I forgot to worry about my stomach. Somehow, all this bouncing around did not make me feel any worse.

We finally arrived at Carrie Bow in the late afternoon. Just before sunset I was able to drink a coke and keep it down. Afterwards, I fell onto my bed exhausted and slept for twelve hours.

We had all recovered completely within a couple of days, with only some weakness and slight malaise to remind us of the ordeal. I resolved to add rehydration salts to my first-aid kit.

Oh, and I’ve never drunk through an unwrapped straw since.