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Defining what constitutes a "bad trip" for many people is whether the service was up to par or whether the water was hot enough. I usually label a trip "bad" only if my life was in the balance at any particular time. If that were the measuring stick, one might have to categorize our trip to Gorgona Island in this vein.
Gorgona Island is a 10-mile square island 56 kilometers off the pacific coast of Colombia. The island was used as a prison for only the worst-of-the-worst criminals until 1983 when it was declared a national park. It has been referred to as the second "Devil's Island." The island is surrounded by a dozen species of sharks and got its name for the many poisonous snakes that make it their home. Just think of Medusa, the Greek goddess of terror whose hair was made of snakes and who was the only mortal of the three Gorgon sisters, and you get the picture. Despite its name, the beauty of the island made it an obvious selection for a national park once the prison was closed. My brother-in-law decided that it was in line with other vacations that we have taken. We all like nature and wildlife and adventure travel so this seemed to fit. So arrangements were made and my wife, Cristina, and I and my brother-in-law and our niece and two nephews set off for the adventure.
We took a bus from Bogota down to Buenaventura. This in itself is a life-in-the-balance trip. Driving or even being on the road in a bus can be a Disney-like ride experience. The shoulder of the road can be only inches wide at times and then goes straight down into oblivion. The bus drivers and truckers like to turn a two-lane road into 3 or even 4 lanes in the hairpin turns of the Colombian mountains. While this is happening, the regular automobiles would mix in between them. Many times, I'd just close my eyes and hum to myself to get through the torture. Occasionally, the bus would pull into rest stop where I'd vow not to get back on. The bus stopped conveniently close to where our boat was docked. By the way, Buenaventura is not a tourist port where you'd expect to see the latest cruise line. It is where the freight of life is directed to the four corners of the world. We made our way to the boat and found that our entry was to be made via a very narrow old wooden plank stretched from the edge of the dock to the edge of the boat. Now I can give it a better description-- a cargo boat. Ok,....no problem. We boarded the boat by carefully balancing our bags and scooted across the abyss like tight-rope walkers. The cargo boat is actually sort of a bit bigger than a tugboat-size thing with a big cargo hatch on its front deck. We made our way up to the upper deck and were fascinated with all the things that were being lowered into the hold of the boat. Mattresses, huge blocks of ice, bananas.... This kept us entranced until we shoved off for our 12-hour trip on the Pacific to Gorgona Island. The first thing I noticed was that the engines of the boat were so loud that I had to walk around with my fingers in my ears. I realized that the smoke-stack was missing. This is akin to taking the muffler off an old Chevy, flooring it with your ear next to it....for 12 hours. I then surveyed the 'sleeping' quarters. Well, I exaggerate--the quarters. Let me describe it. First I noticed that there was no door, only the hinges. Ok, I thought...it is only a 12 hour trip. As I stepped in, I had to crouch because it was less than 6 feet in height. If I spread my arms from left to right, I could easily touch both walls. If I tried to lie down in a bunk, I would have to bend my knees because it was a bit short in that direction, too. Now, this space had 6 bunk-type beds (three on a side). So, the bottom line was that this space was for 6 people and their luggage. I decided I would avoid the claustrophobic experience and I would sit this trip out on the bench that was at the back of the boat. The boat chugged along into the Pacific while some of the passengers ate food that apparently was prepared in the bowels of the boat. We enjoyed the setting sun and the ambiance of the boat. Then, the black-night sky decided to open up with a torrential downpour. The Pacific turned into a fierce boiling pot making those who had dinner regret it. The boat was cast from side to side with rhythmic dives into and out of the ocean. Since I had my Gore-Tex on from head to toe, I preferred to stay on the bench at the rear of the boat protected by a flimsy canopy that deflected portions of the rain and waves. My brother-in-law beckoned me to enter the quarters to ride out the storm, but I preferred to see where we were going even though it was a pitched black night. And as usual, it was too late to take my Dramamine that was safely tucked away at the bottom of my backpack. Cristina joined me, maybe thinking it might be our last night together. Let me describe this bench we were on. It must have been held on to the boat by only one bolt. Each time the boat rocked to the left, the bench would shift in that direction. The boat tossed to the right, bench swung to the right. With my left hand, I clung to this bench. With my right hand I held on to my wife. Needless to say, the white-knuckled grip of my left hand was keeping us both from being cast into the midnight surf. I firmly believed that our lives were being held together with that one bolt. This went on for hours. The rain was endless. We were tossed like a salad. In the middle of the darkness, the engine noise suddenly lessened and I heard the captain say something that made everyone scurry around getting their gear. We were apparently at our destination. Still dark, still raining. But I perked up because that meant land was in sight and we might live. I envisioned a harbor with a pier and a vehicle to transport us to our lodging. Well, not quite. As we climbed over the boat's edge, we found ourselves standing in a small open boat with a little motor at its end. This was a severe test for my Gore-Tex boots that immediately were engulfed by about 6 inches of water in the bottom of the boat. We then motored through the pure darkness to the island. No pier. We had to step out of the boat into knee-high water to wade to the shore. Now, the picture of Medusa was dancing in my head. This island is known for its variety of poisonous snakes. We had to walk in the dark, in the rain, to our lodging without stepping on one of these guys. We made it to our destination without further ado. However, we then discovered, we had to sidestep a welcoming committee of some very large scorpions and duck as the bats zipped down the breezeway of our lodgings. The next thing I heard from the park authority man, who was guiding us to our rooms, was that there did not appear to be enough rooms available. Just prior to me performing an unspeakable act, he retracted this edict and a room was found with just enough beds for our troop. Sleep was had and the morning sun came. The first day was spent wearing off the previous day's adventure and adjusting to the lush green surroundings at hand. As the day progressed, you saw what caused some of the prisoners of this island to write some of the most beautiful poetry known to this part of the world. We took hikes to its deserted beaches. Our guide shimmied up a coconut tree to slice off our mid-day snack. He was amazingly deft at husking, cracking and serving a most delicious meal. At one point, I thought I saw an explosion way out in the ocean. The water shot to the sky and showered down. I found out that it was only the annual migration of humpback whales doing their thing. On our way to having dinner in the outdoor pavilion, a baby boa was lounging on its steps. Its much larger mother showed up later as we walked along the beach. The naturalist guide let us drape it around our necks for a photo opportunity. The mountain on the island was always in the clouds. This allowed for fresh water to cascade throughout the island. The fresh water crabs were popping up everywhere, as were the salt water crabs. On one walk, we found one of the island's namesakes. This one was the distinctive coral snake. We had all been warned on the first day with a mandatory snake identification class. We were shown samples of the various snakes--each one was pickled for preservation in a large jar. The several days we spent investigating Gorgona vanquished from our minds the struggle we had with nature to get there. All was serene and wonderful. Nature has a way of shaking one's senses and making way for more than what one thought to expect. The island was slowly reclaiming what man had put there. The prison was becoming a playground for the monkeys. The narrow brick enclosure that was used to hold a noncomplying prisoner in the hot sun was becoming a support for the jungle's vines. The jail cells were perfect for the bats to make a home. But all must end and I found our return trip was again a night trip back to the mainland. The sky was dark again and its lightning was too close for comfort as we waited on the beach for the boat to come out of the blackness. The return trip was much more delightful that the one that brought us to Gorgona. Our cabin actually had a door. The cargo boat's motor had a full and complete smoke stack. And it did not rain. I slept the entire trip back. Bad trip? Nope! Great trip! All was well.
-The End- Back to the top |
(I will have some images of Gorgona after I get my scanner.....)
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