Roatan & Utila, Honduras (April 2007)
From the air as
my plane descends into San Pedro Sula — the industrial capital of Honduras —
the economy of the country appears to remain largely in the hands of large
corporate fruit companies. Indeed, I had read that Standard Fruit (Dole)
continues to have an important presence in Honduras. Below me are endless acres
of pineapple, banana, and papaya fields. As far as the eye can see.
San Pedro Sula,
disappointingly, contains mile after mile of strip commercial development.
Dominoes Pizza, Burger King, Pizza Hut, Sunoco, Kentucky Fried Chicken, and
Popeye’s makes it immediately apparent that Honduras has not escaped this form
of cultural and economic imperialism that the United States has spread
throughout the globe.
Our bus ride to
the Aggressor SCUBA dive boat we will live on for the next six days provides us
with over three hours of travel through the Honduran countryside. We spot a
great many men wearing what I presume are traditional cowboy hats. A number of
horse-drawn carts along the (surprisingly) paved highway we are on tell us that
the old is still mixing with the new, at least with regard to transportation.
The ambience and
character of the countryside we see is quite similar to Belize, which of course
is not surprising since Belize is a neighbor of Honduras. A great many cattle
and horses grazing along the roadside right-of-way, and quite a few chickens,
which conveys a third-world, lower-income message. The bus also drives over
quite a few river bridges, which is to be expected given the impressive
mountain range on one side of our highway. Most homes, like in Belize, are of
cinder-block construction.
Much of the
Honduran countryside is planted with African Palm, which I am told the country
now grows in great numbers as a way to create bio-diesel fuel.
Our bus ride
gives us a taste of what appears to be a contrasting highway driving method in
Honduras compared to what I’ve experienced in America. Here in this Central
American nation, highway motorists appear to have a rather caviler attitude
toward passing slower cars on two-lane roads. Little heed seems to be given to
a car approaching from the opposing direction when a Honduran decides to pass.
It appears to be accepted that the opposing car will simply be obligated to
drive onto the shoulder to give way to the passing car. This is done rather
calmly.
Indeed, on the
bus trip back a week later, slow holiday traffic meant that large herds of cars
were passing in such a way. Never in my life have I seen bumper-to-bumper
traffic at a standstill sitting in the opposing lane while trying to
pass.
Noteworthy as
well is the relatively large amounts of litter and rubbish that lie along the roadside
shoulders. My speculation is that there is little garbage collection and
landfilling in Honduras, and that the roadsides have therefore become a common
place to dispose of household trash.
I should point out that despite some of
these unfortunate conditions, Honduras will almost surely be better able to
survive a future world of, say, peak oil, than a nation such as the United
States, as fuel and proximity to the fruits of the land seem to be more at hand
to the population than in the US, where so many are so dependent on imports and
assistance from those outside the community.
We spend our
first night sleeping in our cabin “staterooms” on the docked Aggressor.
Very early the
next morning, the Aggressor steams to our first day dive destination. We anchor
and plunge into our first two dives at Toon Town, which features large,
cartoonish, bulbous coral clusters. Visibility here is about 50 feet. The reefs
found in Honduras, we are told, are the second largest reef system in the
world. Only the Great Barrier Reef in Australia is larger.
Our third dive
is at a place called Pelican Point (Wall?). With a moderate current, this is a
drift dive for us, where the current does the work of moving us along the
colorful coral — coral that seems to be a fireworks display. Here, we find
out-of-this-world vibrancy of colors — blues, purples, yellows, and oranges.
Finally, we
anchor at Angel Harbor. This dive site turns out to be relatively confusing,
with several coral heads creating a hard-to-follow maze. I would recommend that
divers follow a dive master for this dive site.
One of the
luxuries of diving from a liveaboard boat is the towel service. After each
dive, we take a freshwater shower at the back of the boat, after which a crew
member is waiting to drape a warmed towel over our backs. We also enjoy being
served three hot meals each day from skilled cooks working in the Aggressor
kitchen. A glass of red wine is part of each of my dinners. I can get used to
this…
First thing
Monday, “Captain Eddy” has the Aggressor heading out at 6 am. With the welcome
sight of a calm sea lying down flat, he guides the boat to the Coco Seamount
site — a location that is usually unavailable for diving because it requires
flat seas. We are able to do two dives here. And the visibility is excellent —
over 100 feet.
We spot
barracuda, and a school of what appears to be silver spadefish. The school is
unfazed by me, and they seem to be unbothered by my swimming into their school
to snuggle up to them as we swim together. We also notice schools of
yellowtails, triggerfish, and parrotfish amongst the healthy reefs found in
this location on the mount.
In one of the
dives here, I start my descent and look to the bottom, where I spot a brightly-colored
divers weight belt. “Does that diver know he or she has dropped their weight
belt,” I wonder? Then I notice I’m having trouble descending. To my horror and
embarrassment, I reach down and realize that the belt is MINE!
I struggle to
the bottom, and my dive buddy generously gets to it first to hand to me.
Unfortunately, doing so is exhausting and I burn a fair amount of air to
retrieve my buoyancy equalizing gear.
Water
temperature for most of our dives this week is a comfortable 82 degrees.
Taviona’s Wall
at Roatan features eye-popping visibility ranging up to 120 feet. Not only is
the visibility astonishing here, but gliding through the site adds to the
exhilaration because here, one is able to find a great many extremely
pleasurably narrow swim-through canyons graced with healthy coral.
Later, I decide
to try a night dive at this site to have one more taste of its joys. Divers
know, as well, that night dives benefit from the “they only come out at night”
principle, in which the coral reefs are a vastly different world with creatures
that prefer being active only after dark.
Sure enough, I
find an incredible number of large crab within the barrel sponges here. My LED dive
light also discovers a great number of sea tiger tail cucumber on the ocean
floor. I additionally spot a gorgeous, fire-engine red shrimp within a coral
crevasse.
Other creatures
I come across on this night and during the various day dives in the Bay Islands
include Caribbean Spiny Lobster, Giant Hermit Crab, White-Speckled Hermit Crab,
Sand Dollars, Bulb Tunicate coral, Green Tube Tunicate, Donkey Dung Sea
Cucumber.
Curiously, given
the health of the reefs we find, there are very few eel, barracuda, turtles,
sharks or rays in the Honduran reefs compared to other Caribbean dives I’ve
experienced.
Our first dive with the Tuesday morning
sunrise is the famous El Aguila wreck (see photo). We descend to the wreck and
are IMMEDIATELY greeted by an anxious horde of very hungry giant grouper.
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN??,” they cry. “WE’RE STARVING!!!” These are fish that are
spoiled by the feedings they enjoy from various diver groups visiting the
wreck.
I hold up my
hands to one particularly large black grouper to show him I am empty-handed. He
swims alongside me for quite a ways, in case I’m trying to trick him. He curls
and brushes his body against my arm in a cat-like way.
The Aguila wreck
sits at 110 feet and is 200 feet long. I notice that a large collection of
garden eel are poking their heads out of the sandy ocean bottom near the wreck.
I enjoy two leisurely, pleasant swim-throughs on the conning tower stern.
Swimming to the bow, I’m greeted by an even LARGER grouper. He is so anxious to
see me that he is happy to let me pet him.
At the bow, an
enormously excited and animated green moray eel is happily eating his breakfast
from the dive master fish bucket. The dive master hands me his video camera so
I can get footage of this marine feeding.
For our second
dive, my buddy and I return to the wreck because I want to check out the
swim-through at the bow of the ship. Having done that, we head for the nearby
(and imposing) coral reef wall. Visibility is about 80 feet. The reefs just off
the wreck are spectacular. Healthy coral, fabulous swim-throughs, and colorful
tropical fish in what amounts to an underwater slot canyon.
I have all kinds
of kid-like fun swimming through tall, narrow walls of colorful reef.
Throughout my playful, wide-eyed explorations, my grouper friend, of course,
follows along just in case its lunchtime.
The third dive
of the day is at Half Moon Bay. Big, narrow, numerous swim-through crevasses
(just the way I like them) are found here, as well as a strong current and
surge. So strong that I find I am often not making any forward progress at all
despite strong split-fin kicking.
On Wednesday, we steam 3.5 hours to
Utila. Our first two dives are at “Old House” on the north side of Utila. Here,
one finds very steeply dropping walls, and fun swim-through canyons and
tunnels. The reefs, as was the case in our previous days, are active, diverse,
and home to colorful schools of tropical fish. Here we enjoy spotting marlin,
hawksbill turtle (see photo), banded coral shrimp, and scorpion fish well
camouflaged in the coral.
Later, with the
Aggressor heading to our afternoon dive site, I’m reading and dozing in my
cabin. Suddenly, there is great commotion and shouting above.
“WHALE
SHARK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
The holy grail
for divers. A whale shark encounter is an extremely rare and much-sought-after
diver experience. The whale shark (Rhincodon typus), is largest living fish species in the
world. The species is believed to have
originated about 60 million years ago. The largest documented whale shark is 41
feet and over 47,000 pounds, but there are undocumented reports of this fish
being over 50 feet in length. Despite its intimidating size, the whale shark is
harmless animal, however, as they only eat plankton. In many ways, they remind
me of the Florida manatee.
The whale shark
mouth can be up to five feet wide and can contain up to 300 rows of tiny
teeth. It has five large pairs of gills.
The crew has
leapt into action and is now shouting rapid-fire instructions to the divers:
“Mask, fins, snorkel!! Nothing more!! Get to the back of the boat!!”
The boat storms ahead,
looking for the telltale sign of a roiling boil of seawater at the surface,
indicating small schools of fish swarming around The Big Guy.
We assemble at
the back of the boat, anxiously waiting for the signal.
Waiting.
“NOW!!!!!!!!!”
screams a crew member on look-out. “JUMP IN!! HE’S RIGHT THERE!!”
I leap into the
fairly rough seas, desperate to witness the awesome fish.
Then, in the
distance ahead of me, I see it. The telltale tailfin and dark brown body with
white spots.
But the glimpse
is fleeting. The creature quickly disappears into the murky blue-gray water.
At least I can
say that I saw it while in the water. But then I realize how disappointing that
would be. My chance of a lifetime is a brief glimpse.
How little did I
know at the time how wrong I was. There would be more. Much more.
The boat dinghy
the Aggressor has dragged during our week-long excursions now is plucking us
out of the water. The boat speeds ahead in search of Him.
The little craft
battles its way over large waves. We finally spot the roiling surface ahead of
us. The skipper yells for us to “BACK ROLL INTO THE WATER NOW!!!”
I hit the water.
Suddenly, a few feet below me, I spot
him. He is gloriously swimming just below me at a speed that is slow enough for
me to easily remain above him for a few triumphant minutes (see photo). I am
close enough to be awed by his 15 feet of length, dwarfing me above him. I feel
like a lamprey fish. He swims very gracefully and unconcerned. He is docile an
approachable. Intimidating in size, but gentle in behavior.
He vanishes
again into the deep.
I’m back on the
Aggressor. “WHALE SHARK DEAD AHEAD!!!” I wait for the signal and bound back in.
My mask falls off from the impact with the water. The spotter shouts “HE IS RIGHT
THERE!!!” Frantically, I lunge for my mask, somehow finding it. I throw it on
just in time to see The Big Guy glide three feet below me.
Again, the
dinghy is there to pick me up. I’m whisked ahead. “Jump in NOW!!”
I am only a few feet
from the monster fish. He is directly in front of me heading right at me. We
are face to face, only 18 inches apart. Suddenly, just before his enormous head
collides into my face, he elegantly turns away. Close enough that his body
nearly wraps around me.
I reach out and
slide my hand along his huge tailfin. The whale shark, I find, has a
canvass-like skin.
Truly an
unforgettable experience.
The Aggressor
steams on. We spot two more whale sharks cruising near our boat. We have come
across a HERD of them.
That afternoon,
after all the excitement, we dive Jack Neal Point on the south side of Utila.
Legend has it that Jack was a pirate who hid buried treasure here. We didn’t
find it, but we did spot a scorpion fish and a winged sand diver.
As I silently glide over the colorful
hills, valleys and canyons of coral reef, I feel as if I am an eagle soaring
over my territory in search of prey. But the exploding profusion of
playful tropical fish below me is oblivious
to my presence as I swim through this gigantic underwater jungle aquarium.
Overnight, the
Aggressor anchors in a Utila harbor. An armed guard is brought on board to
spend the night with us, as modern-day pirates are known to raid dive boats
anchored off the harbor town at night.
We awake to a
sea that looks like glass. The ocean is lying down flat like a pancake. Our
first dive on this calm day is Black Hills Seamount on the west side of Utila.
Nice coral, a healthy population of fish, and above-average visibility. We
encounter a school of Atlantic Spadefish.
As the Aggressor
moves to our second dive site of the day, I again notice a regular occurrence:
Large schools of flying fish fly up to 50 or 100 yards just above the waters’
surface as the fish flee the on-coming boat.
This second dive
is at Cannery Bank on the eastern side of Utila. Reefs are very healthy on this
rarely visited reef. We see big schools of creole wrasse, amongst giant forests
of barrel sponge and brain coral.
The Pinnacle and
Fish Bowl is our third dive of the day, and here we enjoy diving with a
graceful Giant Manta Ray, a chomping spotted eel, and a wriggling green moray.
As I dive these
indescribably staggering and magnificent coral reef canyons, I occasionally
think to myself: “Am I really doing this? Little old me? This is the sort of
thing one sees in TV shows or science fiction thrillers, not real life!”
Blackfish Point
on the north side of Utila is our fourth dive. It is a night dive. The dive starts,
thrillingly, by my entering a sea cave. It is one way in and one way out. I
penetrate deeply and come to the end wall – a sort of “T” intersection inside
the cave. The walls are very geometrically sharp and straight-lined, suggesting
the cave has somehow been built by humans — which it wasn’t.
Later, we spot a
large moray and a menacing barracuda (barracuda are much scarier and
intimidating at night, by the way). Larger fish, interestingly, seem to be
nestled into little fish nests on the sandy bottom. Their way of sleeping?
Friday morning
finds us at Ted’s Point. More stunning slot canyon swim-through’s with steep
walls and sugar-white sand bottoms. In the early portion of our dive, we
inspect the small Rojan’s Wreck. Our second dive is also here, and I am amused
to notice a large fish swims alongside of me the entire way. Clearly, he is
expecting me to be his meal ticket. But I’m now wise to this.
Here we find enormous fields of what
looks to me like brown coral lettuce. I spot a number of healthy-looking
lobster, a gorgeous and graceful spotted drum (see photo). The reefs, again,
appear pristine.
After this
Friday morning diving, the Aggressor docks and I spend the afternoon strolling
Main Street in Eastern Harbor, Utila. The town is very similar to the tropical
ambience one finds in coastal Belize, Bonaire, and the Florida Keys. Very laid
back. Everyone seems to be either a beach bum, a tourist, or somehow a part of
the dive industry. The town, of course, is chock full of dive shops, Tiki bars,
scooters, bicycles, motorcycles, and ATVs. One and all seem to speak a mix of
Spanish and English in every sentence.
Off the main
drag, one finds rural modest homes of Island residents, cattle pasture, forest,
and beaches. Everything exists because of the turquoise waters.
Main Street sees
a steady, diverse stream of pedestrians. Very few cars or trucks are on the
island. Indeed, I count only two cars in 90 minutes of Main Street walking and
sitting.
The Aggressor
steams back to the Honduran mainland first thing in the morning under a steady
rain — rain that we were fortunate to avoid for our entire week of diving, and
which can be safely ignored on this day of travel.
We reach our
dock and bid farewell. The group of divers boards the bus back to San Pedro
airport and home.
But not me.
I taxi to the
Jungle River Adventures office in downtown LaCieba. There, the sole
English-speaking staff person I find instructs me to wait. After about 20 minutes,
a tall, thin, stern-looking man points to me and in a Spanish accent says,
“Jungle River?” “Si,” I respond, hoping this is the man I’m supposed to get a
ride from to get to the fearsome Cangrejal River for my scheduled whitewater
rafting trip.
After stopping
and waiting for several minutes at a number of different hotels without seeming
to accomplish anything (like, say, picking up additional Jungle River
customers), I find I’m growing increasingly disconcerted. Two Spanish-speaking
males who do not speak a word of English are the only ones in the 4-wheel drive
with me. Am I supposed to be in this vehicle? Where am I being taken?
We drive through
the stereotypically Third-World downtown of LaCeiba, which gradually becomes
rural. We are now roughly bouncing up a gravel road puddle by the still-falling
rain. To my right is what appears to be the Canjragel.
I observe this
with both relief and trepidation. Relieved because it now seems I am not being
driven to some remote location to be shot. Worried because the river — which I
will apparently soon be screaming down – is loaded with the largest (“mucho
grande”) boulders I’ve ever seen.
We arrive at the
Jungle River lodge, perched above the roaring Cangrejal. After being given my helmet,
paddle and preserver, we board the 4-wheel drive again and are taken upstream.
We walk down a
treacherously slick boulder path to the river. Even though it has been several
hours since I’ve disembarked the liveaboard Aggressor, I still feel as if I am
rocking back and forth to the wave action my brain had gotten used to over the
past six continuous days at sea.
At the river, we
are given an astonishingly lengthy, thorough, 90-minute “safety training
course” by our raft guide.
It turns out to be
the most enjoyable, exciting portion of the days’ experience.
We are told we
must swim across swift currents, jump into deep water and swim to and from
river-side boulders, swim along a stone wall within an eddy, hike across river
boulder fields, and demonstrate in-raft, man-overboard rescue skills.
As the four of
us are led to our next death-defying “safety training,” our guide then turns to
me with a wicked smile and asks, “Are you into EXTREME experiences?” I nod my
head and say “absolutely.” But not sure of what I’ve agreed to get myself into.
The guide has decided that I seem to be the strongest and most reckless of his
“clients.”
He points down
to the fiercely boiling whitewater pool 20 feet below us at the base of the
enormous granite boulder we stand on. He and I are to leap (to our deaths?) and
swim to the rock wall across the storming, roaring whitewater boil (while the
other three watch in horror, no doubt, but thankful they have not had the
“honor” of being selected).
The guide provides
detailed, ghastly instructions about how I am to be obligated to rock climb the
opposite sheer wall with my bare hands and feet. I am to alternate between
stepping on his thighs and shoulders, and finding various and precarious
footholds and handholds on the wall.
I am secretly
terrorized, but show outward calmness and confidence, as if it were not the
case that I have never engaged in a rock climb of more than 5 feet (no matter
how much “fun” he thinks it is). I comfort myself by thinking how I will simply
back out by informing him that he had mistakenly thought I had rock-climbing
experience and as a climbing virgin, surely he would understand my need to back
out.
But I realize it
is too late.
Everyone is
watching and fully expecting me to show I am eager to experience “extreme fun.”
Without flinching, he soars into the angry whitewater pool below and beckons me
to follow.
I’m committed.
There is no turning back.
I fly toward
what will surely be my doom. I emerge from deep below and swim to the guide,
who waits for me at the wall. There, he starts me on the impossible task —
reminding me at each step and handhold what I am to accomplish with my next
precarious reach.
I start the
climb — the wall is most steep, slippery and difficult as I emerge out of the
whitewater. I pull myself up about eight feet by climbing over the guide and
desperately cling to the surprisingly slick wall. I am then told to reach
impossible lengths to my left with my hand and to my right with my foot,
Spiderman-like. I grasp for the handhold above and exert all the energy in my
body to hoist myself to the first ledge. But my sleep deprivation (suffering
insomnia, I awoke at 1:30 am this morning) and drain of the dive week doesn’t
let it happen. I am now standing (teetering?) on the guide’s shoulders, gasping
for air without an ounce of energy.
With the
whitewater churning below me.
The guide
shouts, “YOU CAN DO IT!!!” Again, I have no choice. He gives me a slight nudge and
I somehow manage to lift up to the first ledge. The remainder of the free-wall
climb is less demanding, as he shows me the various handholds and footholds
along the wall.
Somehow, we make
it to the summit. I am now 35 feet above the growling whitewater below. The
guide provides strict instructions about how to correctly enter the water from
this kind of height — straight in and feet-first, like a missile. No sitting
position or leaning back.
He jumps.
I hesitate to
follow. I give a thumbs up to the three safely on the other side, and calmly
jump. It seems like forever to reach the water. But after the wall climb, this
is cake.
The four of us
then float on our backs (feet first!) to our rafts to complete our “training.”
I am assigned to
the smaller and therefore more exhilarating two-person raft. It will be just me
and a guide. The guide informs me that nearly all riders fall out on this
river, even though the extreme rapids occur a few months earlier from October
through December.
I point out to
him that the most fun I’ve had rafting in the past was when I fell out. We head
down.
The forest is
loud with shrieking tropical birds. The trees above are, at the highest level,
a cloud forest. Lower, it is a rainforest.
Our relatively
brief ride (anti-climatic after our alleged “training”) features some
adrenalin-pumping Class III and IV rapids, and fairly deep, abrupt drops.
Overall, a
fantastic day of whitewater thrills. And a worthy finish to an adventurous week
in Honduras.
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