It all began when I told the young girl if her team might need help at some point
during the race that I'd be glad to assist. She told me to hang on a minute and
ran down the muddy river bank, before I knew what was happening she came back
again and said Yes! Right now! Well in Belize “right now” can mean anything
from right this second to 3 days from now, but by the look in her tired eyes I
could tell she meant right this second, because she was gonna drop if she
paddled one more mile. A little history… La Ruta Maya is a 170 mile canoe race
down the Belize River that takes 4 days to paddle.
Paddlers start every morning at 6:00am and camp in the evenings in 3 different
villages along the race route. It is the fourth longest canoe race in the
world. The first day is 49 miles, the second and longest day is 60 miles, the
third leg is 36, and the fourth is 25. It is not a race for the weak of heart,
it is a great challenge, and as such, has much honor attached to it. The race
follows in the tradition of the ancient Mayans when once they paddled their
heavy dugout canoes on trade routes from thriving cities now in regal ruins
such as Xunantunich and Altun Ha to the sea and the barrier reef beyond. I was
to have a seat in this race until my team fell apart at the last minute. I had
worked out at the gym on the rowing machine for hours every day for the past 2
months. I had gloves, Gatorade, and glowing ambition. I had years of paddling
experience on kayaks, and a few hours on canoes. My team had evaporated under
the hot Belizean sun, but just because two of us couldn't/wouldn't participate
didn't mean that the third was going to give up on this opportunity! It was
9:00am and 15 miles into the longest day of the race when I finally got my
chance. I jumped onto the front seat of the canoe with an excitement that is
only seen from contestants at the starting line of the first day. I had
forgotten my paddling gloves and my Platypus water bladder in all the rush but
luckily the team already had food and water on the boat, so off we went. The
team that I was assisting was actually not officially in the race at all, in
fact, they were a support canoe that helped teams who had capsized and that
picked up trash floating in the water that paddlers threw overboard. I'm really
not sure if anyone had told this to our steersman however, since he had us
paddling as if we were racing. His name was Calvin, a Belizean that had been in
La Ruta Maya the past 4 years, his teams had finished in 2nd and 4th place-an
incredible record and one to be greatly respected. My other team member was
also a Belizean male, a computer science high school teacher, who I'm sure
probably thought this race a simple task after attempting to teach 60 teenagers
about computers. No amount of preparation could have helped this white girl
when it came down to trying to keep up with two Belizean men's paddle strokes.
It was only thru sheer will and stubborn determination that I was able to keep
pace. I'm also pretty certain Calvin was going twice as slow as he was
accustomed to doing in the past, otherwise I would have been a goner. It was
hard to concentrate on paddling when our surroundings were so breathtaking. I
found my mind drifting as we passed towering strangler fig trees, soft and
bushy bamboo stands, howler monkeys noisily complaining about our presence, and
hundreds of birds including chachalacas whose raucous call almost rivals that
of the monkeys, brilliant green and red squawking parrots, and the peaceful, shimmering
gray-breasted martins that skimmed inches over the river surface seemingly
following us to make sure we were OK and when they were assured we were, would
then perch on fallen river snags as we paddled by. When I needed energy I
shoved a handful of candy bar, hardboiled egg, or salted peanuts into my mouth
and began paddling again while I chewed it down. When I got thirsty I grabbed a
“shilling bag” (a small plastic bag filled with water that costs a quarter or a
shilling). When I needed to pee, well, that was an issue. I asked the guys what
the last girl did when she had to pee. I had seen other girl paddlers getting
out on the river bank, or jumping out into the water while holding onto the
canoe to do their duties, but these methods would slow us down tremendously.
They told me she hadn't gone at all-this meant she was most likely dehydrated
and one reason why she had looked so worn out. I decided that the bleach bottle
cut into a bailer that I had picked up as trash floating along the way was sent
from the river gods for a reason. Now ladies, picture if you will pulling down
your shorts, scooting down to the front of the seat while laying somewhat prone
and holding a bleach bottle underneath you while you attempt not to rock the
boat with your weight. OK now picture it with two male strangers sitting behind
you, yep you got it. OK now envision doing this three times in one day because
you were paddling for 8 hours straight! With that problem solved I then moved
onto the next, which involved the occasional flatulence brought on by having
eaten a typical Belizean breakfast of greasy fry jacks, eggs, and beans (black
beans whipped in a blender and mixed with coconut milk). The first couple of
farts I was able to somewhat muffle while timing them with the sound of paddle
strokes splashing in the water. However, the 4th one was quite loud, high
pitched, and seemed to reverberate off of my fiberglass canoe bench seat, so it
was heard by the two Belizean male strangers downwind from me. After we all got
a good laugh out of it, I tried to explain how Americans aren't accustomed to
eating beans and fried foods for breakfast and how it reeks havoc on our
digestive systems (or at least mine.) We reached camp around 5:00pm that
evening and I surprisingly enough begged my team to allow me to paddle with
them the next day. They said their boss wanted to go the next day but that I
could possibly paddle on the final day of the race. The final day of the race
came around and Calvin said his boss annoyed the hell out of him and he wanted
me in the canoe instead. That was a really big compliment for me coming from
him; though I didn't know whether he meant it because he got to see my butt 3
times the day before or because I was a good paddler, but either way I was back
on the team! The start was anarchy. The loud thumping of helicopters flying
overhead filming us, 102 canoes side-by-side, the boat horn signaling to begin,
paddles thrashing the water, steersmen counting strokes out loud and yelling
switch!, canoes scraping against each other in a furious fight for the finish
line. Because the 4th day was only 25 miles long there were no breaks for my
team and it was a bit harder because we didn't have the current urging us
forward. I sang a few bars from the O Brother Where Art Thou soundtrack to make
the time pass, namely Man of Constant Sorrow (by the Soggy Bottom Boys--which
was definitely the case in my status at that particular point,) and Down to the
River to Pray, a couple of suitable Beatles tunes such as Help! and Yellow
Submarine, and the Mighty Bob Marley's Don't Rock my Boat. This crazy American
one-woman show kept my Belizean team members quite entertained for awhile also.
We were getting closer to the sea; between the tidal influence and the winds
pushing against us as the river widened, it was getting more difficult to keep
up the pace, so I shut up. When I made the effort to look up from my work I
noticed the change in vegetation and bird life. As we slipped closer to the
sea, cohune palms had changed to royal palms, red mangroves had replaced
calabash trees, and green herons swapped spots with kingfishers and kiskadees.
There were even two bottlenose dolphins who escorted us for awhile; they made
traveling through this river look easy! Nearing the last 10 miles we entered a
tributary that was a narrow shortcut and a red mangrove tunnel of love. These
were the most impressive mangroves I had ever seen, completely covering our
passage, the 50 foot tall canopy enveloped us, while the prop roots reached and
stretched out in an Alice
in Wonderland type of fanciful gigantism. With the bridge (finish line) in our
sights we began to sprint. To put everything we had left to give into digging
our paddles into the water. I gritted my teeth, my lips trembled, and as
thousands cheered I worked harder, dug deeper, reached within myself for extra
power, and came out of it on top, soaring above all the obstacles I had
encountered in Belize and looking down on them from another vantage point. I
did it, at least part of it, and it felt good--the race had symbolized my Peace
Corps service. It had its low points and its high points but all in all it was
a life-changing experience and when it got tough you just kept treading water.
After 70 miles, I now have amoebas again from bathing in the river for 3 nights
and blisters on my behind; I suppose those were the low points, the high points
were everything else.
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