Chapter 12: The 2nd Annual Lagoon-Reef Eco-Challenge

Jon boy had no idea what he was
about to get himself into. I had spent
the last 2 months helping to organize a kayak race and was keen to test a
hypothesis as to whether it was harder to paddle or organize the #$@*&^! race. In past races we had a total of 18 tandem
kayaks entered (36 people), this one however had already doubled its popularity
in one year with 42 single and tandem boats competing (approximately 72 people). This, let me tell you, is no easy task to
fundraise for prizes and figure out logistics for a race this big with only 3
committee members performing the lion-share of the work; myself being one of
them. The 2nd Annual
Lagoon-Reef Eco-Challenge would traverse the entire northern portion of
Ambergris Caye, a total of 43 miles through shallow lagoons, narrow mangrove
channels, a portage of 1/8 mile over mud-flats, littoral forest, and rocky
beach, and finally, back-reef ecosystems.
Contestants paddle 29 miles the first day, camp out on the beach in
Bacalar Chico overnight, and start the next day with a 14 mile push to the
finish line.
Jon agreed to be my partner for the
race. Jon and I had been best of friends
throughout our Peace Corps service, like the little brother I never had, our
off-center personalities, quirky sense of humor, and “what you see is what you
get” attitudes clicked, we were like peas and carrots. I truly believe the only reason why I
didn’t give up during the portage section of the race was due to Jon’s positive
feedback and his quick thinking. I don’t
think I could have done the race with anyone but him. Afterall, only a really tight friend would
allow you to pee in the same kayak he was riding in, a mixture of seawater and urine
washing about his feet?! It was a race and on the second day it
would have been too time consuming and difficult to paddle out of the deep
water and maneuver out of the sit-inside kayak to take a wiz!
Lucky for Jon, the first day was in shallow
water where getting in and out was easy.
It was filled with twisty narrow passageways though the red mangroves
where you could attempt to steer but instead found yourself bouncing off of the
banks like a super-ball in an ADD child’s hands. We laughed a lot. Until we got to the portage area where you
had to carry your kayak 1/8 mile over “land” from the lagoon-side to the
seaside; then we cried. (My boss had
lent us a heavy sit-inside tandem kayak with no handles. They had been broken off and replaced with
duck tape. The seats were also damaged
and would slide out of place if you shifted your weight. On top of this it did not come with spray
skirts for the hatches, which would prove a problem later on.) The “land” was partly made up of mangrove
marsh that during the wet season is a foot underwater and during the dry season
(and the kayak race) was mud that would suck your shoes, your calves, and your
knees into its abyss if you let it.
Swamp muck, smelling of rotten eggs and making your hands extremely
slippery once you fell into it a few times while attempting to get your leg
back from its sticky grasp. Covered in
mud and the faith quickly draining out of my face after only 10 feet of trying
to carry a kayak with out handles, slippery hands, and no upper-body strength
through this quagmire; Jon’s light bulb
flashed. He grabbed a few downed
mangrove logs and laid them under the kayak, we heaved and hoed, swore and
screamed, slide and sunk, the bog slowly devouring us along the way. I vowed revenge against my boss not only for
making me plan and organize this race but for giving me the most ghetto kayak
in the fleet. We finally reached hard
ground after spending the last bit of our energy and an hour struggling through
the Bacalar Chico bog. To say I was
exhausted would be a huge understatement. I had arrived at that point in which one has
to reach down into herself, dig deep into that bottomless mud pit, retrieve my
shoes and my spirit, and surface with a reserve that human beings are so well known
for in trying times. Jon urged me on with
shouts of well-timed encouragement, as we hefted and huffed the beast of burden
through the forest, tripping over stumps, muddy hands slipping, clawing to keep
hold, labored breathing counting off the paces until the next break, getting to
the top of the hill and drop kicking the piece of shit kayak over onto the
rocky coral laden beach, sliding slowly towards the water once again. I’d like to say this was the end of our pain,
but it wasn’t. We then had to paddle
another ½ mile to the campsite that included a shallow rocky area called Robles
Point, where the barrier reef came particularly close to the beach. This is where the spray skirts I mentioned
earlier would have come in handy. The
waves started breaking over us, the sea washing into our hatches, water levels
rising around our hips, and the kayak getting heavier to paddle with every
stroke thanks to the extra weight from our water retention. This is the point where Jon probably wanted
to kill me, but he’s such a genuinely kind soul, he didn’t. The journey was no longer fun; we wanted to
be at our destination. It was a struggle
to keep our hope and our boat afloat.
We did make
it to the campsite, we were the last boat in, lunch had been finished hours ago
by the front-runners and dinner was on its way.
I rinsed off my mud and salt-encrusted skin, ate, and crawled into the tent
to sleep at 7:00pm. The start was 9:00am
the next morning accompanied by everyone taping blistered hands, slathering
lotion on sunburned skin, and trying to get psyched for another 14 miles of
pure hell. The winds were blowing from
the east and you would think pushing us into shore, but instead it caused the
kayak to pull farther out towards the reef.
Jon and I were both constantly having to compensate for this and steering
with all the strength we had left for shore while getting pulled towards the
reef. Zig-zagging our way to the finish
line, Jon figured we had actually paddled twice as far as everyone else, but
unfortunately there wasn’t a prize for that.
In the end, team Green Go!
(get it, gringo?) finished 4th to last to the cheers of the crowds
lined along the beach. I had an
overwhelming sense of accomplishment, for not only did I help to make this
successful community event happen but I had also paddled it, which is something
no other race committee member could lay claim to. Take it from me; they don’t call it the
Eco-Challenge for nothing. Someone asked
me why on earth I would voluntarily enter a race like that? To this I replied, once you’ve achieved an
undertaking such as this, you know that whatever trials may come in the future,
you can overcome them, and realize
your goal, even if you come in last, its not quitting that counts in the long
run.