Page 71 of Rio
“Then take a small boat, and be quick.”She doesn’t want me to go, but I’ll be so quick.Pierce has it in for me, I can tell, and I need to have this locked in.
“Don’t worry about me.You enjoy your grandson’s birthday.”
“Don’t go too far,” Alma warns.“I hate the thought of you being out there all alone.The weather can turn in a minute and the sea can get dangerously choppy.”
“I’ll be back before you know it.”
I make my way to the place where I can hire a boat.I’ve seen the little rowboats with the outboard engine.Easy enough for to handle.I’ve ridden jet skis and quad bikes before.This should be easier by comparison.
***
A few hours later I head down to the dock and hire a small motorboat.It rattles a tiny bit when it idles, but I’m not going too far.Setting my backpack down, I check the bearings on the GPS on the dash, then enter the location of Caye Encanto.
Even though we’ve filed, it’s prudent to get more documentation, especially if I’m already out here.I’ve looked at the map.The caye is a narrow stretch of coastline, about thirty minutes by boat.It’s a place tourists don’t see.It’s undeveloped, a tiny fringe of jungle and I’m curious to see if the damage reached that far.
Alma has her suspicions.She’s thinks Delport Knight bulldozed through mangroves but they also violated marine protection zones too.
I tie my hair up into a knot, wipe my hands on the back of my shorts, and slide my phone into my backpack.The battery’s dying.I didn’t charge it last night.I was too tired, too wired, tooeverythingafter that confrontation with Rio.
There I go, inviting more thoughts of him in.I can’t seem to help myself.
I push the boat off the dock and start the engine.It’s a lovely day.The sun’s shining and the sea is calm and shimmering.It’s a perfect day for sunbathing, and for reading and having cocktails.For relaxing.Maybe I’ll do that later when I get back.I might even go for a dip in the sea.
I’m two miles along the coastline when I see the caye.Slowing the engine down, I ease the boat into the shallows where I toss the small anchor overboard.It’s light enough for me to pull back up on my own, but sturdy enough to keep the boat from drifting.I wade through the warm, knee-deep water, and pull the boat slightly onto the sand, just to be safe.Then I tie the rope around a thick mangrove root at the water’s edge so I can climb back in later.
I climb out of the boat and walk around the edge of the caye.It’s quiet here.Very peaceful.Very still.Maybe a littletoostill.A little too eerie.
The narrow strip of land is hemmed in by mangroves, but some of the trees look unhealthy.Off-browning leaves, exposed roots, dark water swirling at their bases.A powdery gray film clings to the trunks and floats in the shallows.I’ve read about this.It’s a telltale sign of sediment runoff.The roots are getting choked, thereby starving the plants of oxygen.This is what happens when construction runoff isn’t contained.When concrete washout and chemicals spill into coastal ecosystems.It’s a slow and quiet killer.
I shake my head in dismay.Caye Encanto is anything but enchanted.It’s looks damaged beyond repair.
Taking out my phone I start snapping photos—wide angles and close-ups of the damage I see.It’s so pronounced here.The discolored water, the broken roots.I quickly jot down field notes, then feel a breeze brush my skin.I rub my arms because it felt a little chilly.I snap a few more photos as I make my way along the narrow strip of land.
I see a small hut further up.The roof is a mixture of tin and weathered corrugated iron.I walk up to it, knock on the door, but the door pushes open.I gingerly step inside.It’s small inside.Small, and wooden, and dilapidated.The walls are thin, and uneven, with holes.They’re patched in places with rusty sheets of corrugated metal, and palm fronds stuffed into the cracks like plugs, to keep the wind at bay.
A small wooden bench runs along one side.I can’t work out if it’s to sit on or sleep on.At one end of it is a little hurricane lamp and a box of matches.There’s a rickety table, two chairs, but one is broken.On the far wall is what looks like a crooked little window.It looks more like a hole covered with a rusted shutter barely hanging on.Battered crates are stacked in the corner, with a pile of old tattered newspapers lying on top.A sagging fishing net is draped over a hook.
A musty smell of decay and salt and iron fills the air.I step back out, closing the door behind me and continuing with my investigation.I wander a little father along the shoreline, on the lookout for any other signs; chemical sheen on the water, floating debris, a break in the vegetation where equipment might have been dragged ashore.
Anything that will support my case.
Anything we can use.
Suddenly, a gust of the wind tears at me.Trees begin to sway and bend slightly.The air shifts.
I look up.The sky starts to darken; a flicker of fear lances through me.I’m almost done.I look up and the sky darkens in an instant.Feels like a storms coming.The clouds are thick, like heavy clumps of dark and foreboding matter, bruising to a garish violet.
I try to head towards the boat, but the wind is so strong, I can’t take a step forward.It feels like I’m fighting with an invisible monster.The wind slaps into me, the trees swaying and bending like strings.I’m enveloped in danger, and suddenly, I feel afraid because it’s all happened in an instant, and I never truly believed it could turn so fast.
I try harder to move towards my boat, but it’s like wading through tar.Buckets of rain crash over me.Like the heavens cracked wide open and emptied.I’m soaked through in seconds, caught by surprise.That’s when I see my little boat bobbing up and down, tossed around like a dog chew.
I can’t get into that.I turn around, with great difficulty, getting drenched by the second, in my shorts and spaghetti-strap tank which seemed perfect this morning.Now they’re my worst mistake, second only to coming out here alone.
I should have listened to Alma.I suddenly hanker for a young child’s birthday celebration.A barbecue.To be safe, surrounded by people, laughter and dry clothes.Instead, I’m battling the elements, and so badly ill-equipped for it.
I manage to reach the hut just as the sky opens, like a round of firecrackers erupting.Once inside, I close the door behind me, leaning against its flimsy frame, my soaked backpack sliding off my shoulder and falling to the floor in a sodden heap.
A sharp crack of thunder shatters the silence, and lightning flashes outside.
