Up the creek

Discovery Magic's Blog
John & Caroline Charnley
Fri 15 Apr 2011 21:04

 

You discover a lot about yourself when you go sailing from place to place.

 

In less than a month we have gone from the world’s superpower of the USA; to indefatigable Cuba; to Grand Cayman – a most sophisticated Caribbean island; and on to the aquatic life of the Kuna Indians in what we know as the San Blas islands.

 

In some ways, the locals here in San Blas are very similar to the residents of Fort Lauderdale: they all have a boat at the end of their house plot.  Except in this case is it a dug-out canoe and, if they are not living in one of the few towns, then their garden is a few banana plants or pure jungle.

 

John has already mentioned our first encounter with the locals, which was both rewarding and thought provoking.  Whilst we westerners may dream of living on a desert island, how would we fair?  Despite the paradoxical request to charge a mobile phone, the Kuna Indians we met seemed utterly content on their picture-postcard island of white sand and high palm trees, looking out over water that goes from pale gold, to brilliant turquoise and then cobalt blue – and why wouldn’t they?  But then on an island that is only 350 yards by 50 yards, what do you do all day?  The islands here are sensational to visit, but how would I manage living on one that small year after year? 

 

We got our first glimpse of a dug-out canoe at our second anchorage, as it was sailed with ease, close to the island.  I grabbed the camera, thinking it might be a one-off opportunity.  But, of course, every family needs one to get water, get to an area to grow food, to see each other.  This all became very obvious when we anchored at the town of Rio Diablo, where ulus (dug-out canoes) plied backwards and forwards between the river and the town, whilst others were sailing in from outlying islands.

 

We had already been told that the locals had to paddle three miles up river to collect water, so this morning we decided to explore it in our dinghy (with its 15hp engine).  We cautiously followed a canoe through a very shallow entrance, carefully watching him negotiate the flotsam of fallen trees and floating branches.  Gaining speed as we came in to the main part of the river, we caught up with the canoeist.  I gesticulated (half-jokingly) whether he would like a tow, but he accepted without hesitation.  So there we are, two very English-looking, tall people wearing silly hats towing a small indigenous Indian sat in a dug-out canoe!  When we overtook fellow travellers, they would give a wave and then, seeing our charge, beam a smile or laugh.  At first he was rather coy, but soon had a rather more superior air, directing our passage through the shallows and other potential hazards.

 

Once we had said our ‘adios’ (we are getting in to this Spanish malarkey), we followed the path into the jungle.  One man we met was carrying a load of bananas and mangos; others passed carrying machetes and what looked like roofing foliage, whilst another man had a small-bore rifle, although I don’t know for what purpose.

 

On our down-river journey we realised two things: one that it was still a long three-mile paddle as there is a head wind; two that word spreads quickly, as we had hardly started our engine for the return trip when someone flagged us down for a tow!  We were very happy to oblige and enjoyed the whole thing.

 

When we sailed in British Columbia a couple of years ago with one of our Discovery 55 owners, I discovered what a thrill it was to watch the salmon leaping up a waterfall – so much so that I jumped  in to the icy water with them. (John thought I was a bit mad.)  I have since discovered that I probably enjoy snorkelling in these water temperatures of 36 degrees Celsius (95f) (yes, really!).

 

 

You discover a lot about yourself when you go sailing from place to place.

 

In less than a month we have gone from the world’s superpower of the USA; to indefatigable Cuba; to Grand Cayman – a most sophisticated Caribbean island; and on to the aquatic life of the Kuna Indians in what we know as the San Blas islands.

 

In some ways, the locals here in San Blas are very similar to the residents of Fort Lauderdale: they all have a boat at the end of their house plot.  Except in this case is it a dug-out canoe and, if they are not living in one of the few towns, then their garden is a few banana plants or pure jungle.

 

John has already mentioned our first encounter with the locals, which was both rewarding and thought provoking.  Whilst we westerners may dream of living on a desert island, how would we fair?  Despite the paradoxical request to charge a mobile phone, the Kuna Indians we met seemed utterly content on their picture-postcard island of white sand and high palm trees, looking out over water that goes from pale gold, to brilliant turquoise and then cobalt blue – and why wouldn’t they?  But then on an island that is only 350 yards by 50 yards, what do you do all day?  The islands here are sensational to visit, but how would I manage living on one that small year after year? 

 

We got our first glimpse of a dug-out canoe at our second anchorage, as it was sailed with ease, close to the island.  I grabbed the camera, thinking it might be a one-off opportunity.  But, of course, every family needs one to get water, get to an area to grow food, to see each other.  This all became very obvious when we anchored at the town of Rio Diablo, where ulus (dug-out canoes) plied backwards and forwards between the river and the town, whilst others were sailing in from outlying islands.

 

We had already been told that the locals had to paddle three miles up river to collect water, so this morning we decided to explore it in our dinghy (with its 15hp engine).  We cautiously followed a canoe through a very shallow entrance, carefully watching him negotiate the flotsam of fallen trees and floating branches.  Gaining speed as we came in to the main part of the river, we caught up with the canoeist.  I gesticulated (half-jokingly) whether he would like a tow, but he accepted without hesitation.  So there we are, two very English-looking, tall people wearing silly hats towing a small indigenous Indian sat in a dug-out canoe!  When we overtook fellow travellers, they would give a wave and then, seeing our charge, beam a smile or laugh.  At first he was rather coy, but soon had a rather more superior air, directing our passage through the shallows and other potential hazards.

 

Once we had said our ‘adios’ (we are getting in to this Spanish malarkey), we followed the path into the jungle.  One man we met was carrying a load of bananas and mangos; others passed carrying machetes and what looked like roofing foliage, whilst another man had a small-bore rifle, although I don’t know for what purpose.

 

On our down-river journey we realised two things: one that it was still a long three-mile paddle as there is a head wind; two that word spreads quickly, as we had hardly started our engine for the return trip when someone flagged us down for a tow!  We were very happy to oblige and enjoyed the whole thing.

 

When we sailed in British Columbia a couple of years ago with one of our Discovery 55 owners, I discovered what a thrill it was to watch the salmon leaping up a waterfall – so much so that I jumped in to the icy water with them. (John thought I was a bit mad, but it was a great experience.)  I am probably enjoying even more snorkelling in temperatures of 36 degrees Celsius/95 degrees Fahrenheit (yes, really!).

 

 

 

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