Hola Ola.

In lieu of another Colecos Dr Báez and her equally adventurous husband Eric, decided on a day trip to Isla Iguana, much to the relief of the woman who maintains my locks. Despite the unfortunate departure of Lisa back to work (for reasons unbeknownst to reasonable men), we were bursting with delight at the prospect of seeing some tropical nature and giving our cameras a good aperture work-out. Oh, we have to leave at 7am? Aye.

“Yeah, we will need to take a ferry to the island.” This was the statement that led me to underestimate our nautical journey to Isla Iguana. While I’m sure the language barrier prevents perfectly fluid exchanges of information, I’m not entirely convinced that ‘ferry’ was not used tacitly avoid any conflict with the less intrepid of our group.

“Huh, where are the ferries?” Alauna adroitly expressed on our arrival to the beach of the mainland facing our destination.

“ There they are. we’ll have to go in one of those.”

Eric pointed slightly hesitantly to the speeding, fiberglass and aluminum vessels whose apparent age and frame seemed all but shattered by the very 'calm' (read very choppy) ocean channel before our eyes. I am not too familiar with watercraft navigation world, but I do know that white-capped waves, and seven people in a boy scout boat seems like a bad idea. I gripped my camera tightly as scenes of an airborne, wave-bound Canon S2IS in a ziplock bag flashed before my eyes. I silently scorned myself for not bringing more of those Rey Supermercado bags.

Drs. Báez, grandma Báez, Leah, Alauna, myself and of course ‘Mio (an awkwardly dense short form of Emelio) climbed one by one in the reasonably stable Benedic Katalina. Fortunately, Mio provided quite the adrenaline experience to distract from the fact that the waves looked bigger than the boat. Though, I still clutched my camera to my chest with all the zeal of an antebellum Belle to her newly returned Southern soldier, the fresh salt air through my locks and the frequent feelings of momentary weightlessness suitably replaced fear with excitement.

After half-an-hour, we arrived on the most beautiful cotton-soft white beach I’ve seen (much in contrast to the equally startling black beach of Santa Clara). An army of tiny hermit crabs felt similarly. They blanketed the beach so well that it appeared to undulate just inside the range of perceptibility. Furthermore, what’s an Isla Iguana without Iguanas? They were far more reluctant to make the acquaintance of gangly homeotherms with prosumer cameras in tow. They preferred the rocks and sand just out of reach. As our adventurous Panameño-American herd filed through the forest to find flora and fauna that normally graces the ‘tropical’ section of Lowe’s greenhouse. On the other side of the island we find another gorgeous beach and small cove eerily similar to San Diego’s verdant coastline. Claro, instead of joining the others, I lathered on more sunscreen and headed for those micro-oceanic environments. The intertidal area of the rocks, if one is pacient and patient enough reveals amazing wildlife secrets. Puffer fish, brilliant blue fish, sheepish octopi, and fish as ‘ugly as sin’ (as my grandmother would say). This was in addition to the countless birds in the sky. One could hardly throw a stone without fear of an Icarus returning most ungracefully to the earth or the sea.
A great day. As we trekked across the island again to the beach of our landing, we were surprised to find that the Pacific’s notoriously wild tides had receded to trap our beloved Benedic Katalina on those soft sands, and exposed a bastion of coral. Clearly, we promptly took a nap under a palm tree for a couple hours and awaited the return of the ocean. Best siesta yet.