The Bocas Triangle

We took the panga down the coast of Isla San Cristobal, through mangroves to Dolphin Bay and then through the cut by the teak trees and all the way to the mainland where a mechanic lives in a house in the water, well not really IN the water, in the mangroves. Its a long ride from Bocas Town, about 40 minutes, but our trip was well rewarded with the elusive engine part we were looking for. Finally, the starter on the panga was fixed.

There is a tiny gas station next to the mechanics house, but we decided we had enough gas to get home, and anyway, storm clouds were brewing and we wanted to try to beat the rain.

We backtracked out of the bay, and raced through the mangroves as dark thunderheads spread across the sky.

Leaving the mangroves behind, we headed north and kept the island close by on our left. The rain had begun and visibility was getting low. We figured we would have no problem if we followed the island until it ended. From there we should be able to see Bocas town.

We were wrong.

The rain was coming in torrents and Bocas was hidden from view. So we headed at a narrow 10 degree angle and kept San Cristobal behind us and to the left. It was a short crossing and Bocas should come into view quickly, even in the heaviest rain. I felt confident with San Cristobal over my shoulder as a landmark. We would be fine.

The rain stung my face and the waves were high. the crossing was not exactly fun and the only thing I was really worried about was driving into the wind a little low on gas. The extra work the boat does makes for bad gas mileage.

We pounded along fro 5 or 6 minutes and land came into view. My first reaction was relief, knowing that even if we did run out of gas, a least there would be someone around to give us a tow. But as we drew closer to what we assumed was Bocas town, I quickly realized that the land did not look familiar at all.

About that time I lost San Cristobal to the mist.

It is a very unsettling feeling to be staring at islands that look nothing like they should when you re almost out of gas and its raining....hard

We drew a little closer to the islands, They were small and dotted the surface of the sea.  Our gas was running dangerously low (like the tank felt empty when you picked it up) so it seemed the only sensible thing to do was shut off the engine and drift for a while until the rain cleared a little and visibility got better. The mountains of the main land would give us our bearings again, if only we could see them.

So we shut off the motor and drifted.

The boat didn't get any closer to or further away from the small islands, it just drifted in a circle.

I took stock of my water supply, which wasn't bad, and checked out my one small bag of peanuts. Not much, but enough to get us through until the weather cleared.

That was when Lee spotted the sailboat. It was harbored in between two tiny islands and a little ways back into the cluster (there were a lot of small islands, they were everywhere)

Of course, there are a lot of deserted sailboats in the area, so there was no guarantee anyone would be on board. But we opted to use a little more gas fumes and check it out.

We pulled along side and called.

I thought I heard a voice below decks.

Lee called again and we were greeted by a wiry old sailor and his plump and happy wife.

Relief.

They even had gas. Even gas mixed with 2 cycle oil, the kind we needed.

Almost a miracle

But the really weird part came when we asked where Bocas town was and they pointed to a strip of land so far off in the distance we could hardly see it, even though the sky was finally clearing.

And not only was is incredibly far away, it was in the complete wrong direction.

There is simply no way for me to explain how we got to where we were.

We know the area well. We had lived in Bocas for nearly two years and had explored everywhere with the panga.

The place we found ourselves was a half hour ride from Bocas in the opposite direction. Even if we could have somehow gotten turned around, which was impossible because we kept San Cristobal on our left the whole way, there was no way we had enough gas to get where we were AND we would have had to add the extra half hour to our trip.

I have rechristened Bocas Del Toro, The Bocas triangle.

We thanked our rescuers, added the gas to our tank and sped home with the lifting of the rain.

We talked for hours that evening about what happened.

Bocas Triangle, definitely

PS.

The morning after our bizarre disappearance I was approached in the street by a good friend and local, my favorite jungle man, William. He heard we got lost. He knew what was going on. He'd had it happen to him on several occasions.

William explained in his perfect Caribbean English that a bad pirate spirit was left in the area when the big ships came and killed the Indians and stole the gold. He was talking about Christopher Columbus who was not the good guy we were taught he was but ransacked the area and left a lot of blood on the ground.

Take off your shirt, William instructed. the pirate spirit will lasso you, but if you take off your shirt and turn it inside out and put it back on and then turn around three times, you will find your way back home.

I used to think such advice was the remnant of children's stories

Now I am not so sure.

William also said his grandfather told him of a big ship that was fully lit and came to offer lost people help late in the evening. He said never to accept the help or they would take you very far away.

PSS

The very next day we got a distress call from our good friend Stewart. It was late in the day, the sun was just setting and black storm clouds had set in. Lightening was blazing in the distance. Stewart was in his sailboat with no motor and the wind was uncooperative. he could not get home. Could we come in our panga and give him a tow in>

Problem? he seemed very confused and could not really describe where he was.

We could not find him.

We headed back to our sailboat in the harbor and called Stewart to recommend he drop anchor and wait til morning. He was panicking. So we set out again, but the sun set and the night was so black we could not see a thing except when the lightening lit the sky. So we went to find one of the local Indian boaters. They are better equipped than us in the conditions and might be able to find our friend. The local guy sped off just as heaven opened and the rain came down so hard I could not even keep my eyes open, much less see.

With the help of a few lights from neighboring shops, we found our way safely back to our boat and an hour later Stewart boat was towed in.

In the morning the story we heard sounded awfully familiar. Stewart had been in one place one moment and far far away the next.

Pirate spirits?

I don't have a better explanation.