This morning, I watched the fisherman come back into town after fishing all night. Each produced quite a bounty of guapote, a fish smaller than a snook, which is illegal to sell this time of year. I'm guessing it is because the large snook run is happening now. All the fish went straight to the market or to the restaurant next door, where Willy workes. Then, once the work was finished, the fishermen took their sons out fishing, using fixed-line poles instead of nets.
We left San Carlos around 8 am and started paddling downstream. There is quite a bit of boat traffic, mostly pangas going in between San Carlos and El Castillo. We're planning on being in El Castillo tommorrow night. Soon after we left San Carlos, we were eager to start fishing, so we rigged up the 9 weight road and since I was in the bow today, started fishing. After 2 hours of fishing and probably 15 different flies fished at different depths, I was still skunked. And makes it even more frustrating is that all day, everywhere, fish were rising in the river. A HUGE tarpon rose not 4 feet from our boat. It scared the shit out of me. I only saw its tail, but it was enormous. There are snook everywhere too. Right now, as I write by the fireside awaiting dinner, I can hear them in the river, mocking me. I saw a gar today too, and while I can't be sure, I might have seen a manatee. I hear they are in the river, too, and I can't imagine what I saw to be anything else. A big rotundas being rose ever so slowly and for a little while, exposing little. Forever a mystery, I guess.
As always, there ar howler monkeys. If I had never seen or heard them before, I would be quite scared of them. We saw a ton of birds today as well. Around every corner is an egret or a blue heron. They produce some lovely sounds that serve to soothe the soul while paddling. No snakes yet, and I'm crossing my fingers that it stays that way.
Around noon, we stopped on the shore to say hi to some Nicas on their finca and ask about the fishing, since we were hopelessly without luck. We pulled up to their finca and immediately saw some snook (they call them robâlo) hanging up to dry, because they have no refridgeration or electricty here. Very primitive living. So we met Luis and his friends and talked for about an hour. The snook hanging on the line had been caught that morning when they went spearfishing. Crazy. It was a great experience to see how these campesinos live their lives, even for a fleeting moment. They keep cows and subsistence farm for corn, beans, and rice. They don't produce enough to sell at market in San Carlos.
The poverty here is pervasive. I am amazed at how often I am asked the value of our possessions. My shoes, my shirt, my rain jacket, the canoe, my camera, cars, etc. It has put me in a reflective mood, highlighting just how priveledged and rich we are and how much of our daily lives we take for granted. The Nicas work inexplicably hard- in no way are they lazy- and they barely survive on what they can produce from the land. And here we are, paddling down this river, the lifeblood of the region, in a canoe filled with equipment that probably costs more than they make in two years. It is very humbling and makes one almost resentful of such a chasm between two human beings. Because, when it comes down to it, we laugh at the same jokes, chase women with the same tenacity, and enjoy a beer just as much as the other.
It appears that down here, birthplace is synonomous with birthright or entitlement. Luis and his crew wanted to know if we would take one of the kids back to the U.S. with us. I told him, "I can barely take care of myself, let alone a child." It was a good way for me to dodge a tricky situation, I thought. Luis is 19 and completely content. Lucky for him. Unlike most American 19 to 20-something year olds, he lives a life inherently simple, free from the stress of "making something of himself", or "finding himself". I guess when you are spearfishing for dinner, you don't really have the time or the need for existential problems.
We left Luis after showing them how to cast a fly-rod, which they found to be very beautiful. We continued downstream, gliding along like a bird riding thermals, following the strong current through every curve of the river. The shores are a mixture of low-lying mangrove-like trees, grassy fincas, and palms. Monkeys escond themselves high in the canopy, jumping from limb to limb. The sun is brutal. We are red, despite the application of sunblock. As we paddled, we passed two guys hiding in the jungle. They said as we waved a hello, "Por favor, no digan nada, somos illegales." ("Please, don't say anything, we are illegals") These Nicas were trying to illegally enter Costa Rica, (a few kilometers south through the jungle) in search of work.
We pulled into Isla Grande around 3.30, which is about 35 kilometers downstream of San Carlos, and halfway to El Castillo. We set off to make camp before the skies opened up. Firewood is a bit of a bitch because most of the dead wood rots too quickly. We made it work though, and now have identified the best wood to start fires for tommorrow's breakfast fire. It rained all afternoon, but we didn't feel it at all because we were underneath the canopy. For dinner, burnt rice and beans with an appetizer of onion, platano, tomato, and chile. It was delicous. Now we lay in the tent, sweating, praying for the rain and wind to come, cooling us off.
We left San Carlos around 8 am and started paddling downstream. There is quite a bit of boat traffic, mostly pangas going in between San Carlos and El Castillo. We're planning on being in El Castillo tommorrow night. Soon after we left San Carlos, we were eager to start fishing, so we rigged up the 9 weight road and since I was in the bow today, started fishing. After 2 hours of fishing and probably 15 different flies fished at different depths, I was still skunked. And makes it even more frustrating is that all day, everywhere, fish were rising in the river. A HUGE tarpon rose not 4 feet from our boat. It scared the shit out of me. I only saw its tail, but it was enormous. There are snook everywhere too. Right now, as I write by the fireside awaiting dinner, I can hear them in the river, mocking me. I saw a gar today too, and while I can't be sure, I might have seen a manatee. I hear they are in the river, too, and I can't imagine what I saw to be anything else. A big rotundas being rose ever so slowly and for a little while, exposing little. Forever a mystery, I guess.
As always, there ar howler monkeys. If I had never seen or heard them before, I would be quite scared of them. We saw a ton of birds today as well. Around every corner is an egret or a blue heron. They produce some lovely sounds that serve to soothe the soul while paddling. No snakes yet, and I'm crossing my fingers that it stays that way.
Around noon, we stopped on the shore to say hi to some Nicas on their finca and ask about the fishing, since we were hopelessly without luck. We pulled up to their finca and immediately saw some snook (they call them robâlo) hanging up to dry, because they have no refridgeration or electricty here. Very primitive living. So we met Luis and his friends and talked for about an hour. The snook hanging on the line had been caught that morning when they went spearfishing. Crazy. It was a great experience to see how these campesinos live their lives, even for a fleeting moment. They keep cows and subsistence farm for corn, beans, and rice. They don't produce enough to sell at market in San Carlos.
The poverty here is pervasive. I am amazed at how often I am asked the value of our possessions. My shoes, my shirt, my rain jacket, the canoe, my camera, cars, etc. It has put me in a reflective mood, highlighting just how priveledged and rich we are and how much of our daily lives we take for granted. The Nicas work inexplicably hard- in no way are they lazy- and they barely survive on what they can produce from the land. And here we are, paddling down this river, the lifeblood of the region, in a canoe filled with equipment that probably costs more than they make in two years. It is very humbling and makes one almost resentful of such a chasm between two human beings. Because, when it comes down to it, we laugh at the same jokes, chase women with the same tenacity, and enjoy a beer just as much as the other.
It appears that down here, birthplace is synonomous with birthright or entitlement. Luis and his crew wanted to know if we would take one of the kids back to the U.S. with us. I told him, "I can barely take care of myself, let alone a child." It was a good way for me to dodge a tricky situation, I thought. Luis is 19 and completely content. Lucky for him. Unlike most American 19 to 20-something year olds, he lives a life inherently simple, free from the stress of "making something of himself", or "finding himself". I guess when you are spearfishing for dinner, you don't really have the time or the need for existential problems.
We left Luis after showing them how to cast a fly-rod, which they found to be very beautiful. We continued downstream, gliding along like a bird riding thermals, following the strong current through every curve of the river. The shores are a mixture of low-lying mangrove-like trees, grassy fincas, and palms. Monkeys escond themselves high in the canopy, jumping from limb to limb. The sun is brutal. We are red, despite the application of sunblock. As we paddled, we passed two guys hiding in the jungle. They said as we waved a hello, "Por favor, no digan nada, somos illegales." ("Please, don't say anything, we are illegals") These Nicas were trying to illegally enter Costa Rica, (a few kilometers south through the jungle) in search of work.
We pulled into Isla Grande around 3.30, which is about 35 kilometers downstream of San Carlos, and halfway to El Castillo. We set off to make camp before the skies opened up. Firewood is a bit of a bitch because most of the dead wood rots too quickly. We made it work though, and now have identified the best wood to start fires for tommorrow's breakfast fire. It rained all afternoon, but we didn't feel it at all because we were underneath the canopy. For dinner, burnt rice and beans with an appetizer of onion, platano, tomato, and chile. It was delicous. Now we lay in the tent, sweating, praying for the rain and wind to come, cooling us off.
No comments:
Post a Comment