December, 2005

Sleeping in the cab of a pickup truck is never fun unless you are three feet tall. For Lis and me to both sleep in the small double cab of my truck I knew it would be a long, uncomfortable night, but the only other choice was the mud floor of a shack crawling with bugs.  The Panama rainy season provided a couple of other additional unwelcome surprises.  We could not crack the window for ventilation because it was raining too hard and I could not get out and go relieve myself as there was three inches of mud all around the car. So as I stood on the running board, with the door open, getting soaked by the rain while I took a leak,  I was thinking —I sure hope we get out of here tomorrow.  But—It was not meant to be.

    Coiba is Closed.  The rangers in Santiago told us we are not allowed in the park if we have fish in coolers or if we have spearguns in the boat. The change is that now, it is being enforced and the boat and spear guns may be be confiscated.  So our new adjusted plan would be to dive the spots just outside the park but to return to the mainland every night since we could not stay in the bungalows on the island of Coiba. The problem was, would we be able to get there and back with the high winds and rough seas.  At the first spot only half hour from the beach I could tell that we were in for a disaster.  It was windy, rough, dirty and worse, there were no fish.  In a couple of hours of diving I only saw one big fish come out of the gloom and I am not even sure what he was. He was close but I could only see the shape so I fired.  As I started up I saw the Rob Allen buoy coming down and by me with such speed that I was afraid to grab it.  It went straight down, disappeared, and never came up.  I changed spears, went back for an hour and never saw another fish or my gear and float.  The conditions were so lousy that we decided to abort the trip as our plans were impossible.  I could see that not only was I going to get skunked for the first time but that I would also likely loose my spear, slip tip, float line and buoy.  I thought that I would come back in the morning and maybe my float would be up and conditions would be better so we headed back for the new place we would stay at the beach.

    This place had sand floors, turkeys and ducks nesting in boxes in the living room, soap operas on the TV powered by a generator, a bathroom 200 feet away and water flowing in the sink full force all the time.  It could not be turned off because there is so much water now that if the faucet were closed, the pressure would break the pipe coming off of the hill. So this first night was pretty comfortable and we would have appreciated it more if we knew what was coming.

    Back to the high spot first thing in the morning and I could tell before we got there that this trip was already over because the conditions were not improving.  My buoy was nowhere to be seen and after about an hour and no fish I decided to call it quits.  On my very last dive I saw something about 20 feet below me and realized it was my red and yellow Rob Allen buoy.  I hesitated for a moment but remembered that if I went up for air, I would loose sight of it and the current would sweep me away.  So I powered down to the buoy knowing when I got there I would be out of breath and have no time to work at freeing it.  I grabbed the buoy with enough air to give it one or two pulls.  One—the float line pulls tight and no give.  On the second pull, to my surprise, something snaps below and I slowly start for the surface with the buoy in my hands but with something slowing me down.  I make it to the surface and I start pulling up my float line, and next I see my shooting line, and then I see my shaft, and then my slip tip all tangled in a big piece of coral.  The shaft is tweaked but everything is here so I am totally stoked to have recovered my costly gear. The only thing worse than getting skunked would be to get skunked and also loose all my gear.  So it is back to pick up Lis at the beach and make the easy 30 minute drive to reach the pavement and in six hours we will be back home to clean beds and hot showers in Panama.

    Ten minutes before we reach the paved road we have to cross a small river that is usually 18 inches deep and presented no problem when we came in. . We got to the river at about noon, tired, dirty and anxious to get home, but now the river is 4 feet deep. The locals say if it stops raining the river will fall in two or three hours, but six hours later it is dark and it is still raining.  Stranded—- on a muddy road with no food and no place to stay.  We decide we have to sleep in the truck but we are feeling confident that by morning the rain will stop, the river level will drop and we can make our escape.

    That night sleeping in the truck seemed to last forever and when I woke I felt like I had polio. It rained all night and the river was still up but I knew I was not sleeping in the truck again. Two locals walked across the river to show us that it was not that deep and that we should go for it. We REALLY wanted out but if the engine stopped in the middle I would loose my uninsured truck and all my dive gear. Maybe we could suck up the current discomfort a little longer to avoid abandoning my truck and gear in the river and providing amusement for the locals.  While we waited we needed food and found a lady cooking up what looked like a giant pan of oatmeal.  It was mashed corn for chica. Not bad but the eggs she cooked up for us were a lot more welcome.  All day we waited, the rain never stopped and the river never fell.  As we knew that we could not spend another miserable night in the truck we got permission to sleep on the cement floor of the school room. It was like the Hilton and we could stretch out. 

    The morning of the third day we went back to the river and it was down about four inches from our marker. I was still afraid to try, considering the consequences, but my dive buddy was ready to mutiny.  One night on a sand floor with the trukeys and pigs, the next night crunched up and sweating in the truck and the third night on the cement floor of the school and on top of that, chiggers, no showers and little food.  How could a young, pretty girl even dream of finding a guy that could offer more comfortable, luxurious accommodations than these.  Lis said she was going to wade the river, hitch hike to the road, catch a bus and meet me back in Panama. I totally understood.  The river dropped one more inch and I could see that more rain was coming so we decided to go for it. We loaded some guys in the bed for weight, put it in 4 wheel low and cruised into the river like a duck.  The water came up to the middle of the doors, I felt like I was driving a boat, but we kept moving and once we started up the hill I knew we were going to make it.  We both let out screams of gratitude knowing we had narrowly escaped a total disaster. Being soaked and skunked on a dive trip is one thing, but being stranded for three days in the rain, on a one lane, mud road is not something I ever want to repeat. I was really grateful that my truck was not floating down the river and that we were finally heading back for small luxuries that we take for granted, like a real bed, and hot food and hot showers.  Back in the city, Lis understandably decided she could find something more fun than what we had just experienced, and when a great job offer came up she wisely decided to pursue the new opportunities.

    After a couple of days of recovery I decided to start diving near Panama city out of my own panga and forget the long trips until the winds and rain had subsided. That meant that now I needed a boat driver to watch me while in the water.  I met Luis at the pool and he had worked on a tuna boat for three years. He told me the last entire year of work, which was 14 hour days,  they had paid him with IOU’s and no money.  Then the company went under and he did not receive a cent for the last year of hard work. He had some great tuna boat tales but he was only free Sunday so he had no time to drive for me.

    So it was back to the ads, and interviews at the pool, for a new housekeeper,  dive buddy, and boat driver to be. From my recent experiences with girls about half of my age, I felt that maybe this was not the way to go.  Since I needed somebody without commitments, open to change and ready for new experiences, I decided to try another age bracket — maybe drop down to one third of my age— and see if this would work better.  I know this does not exactly work for you young guys but for me it might work.

    Michelle was ready for a change.  She left home at 13 because her father was beating her up and and moved to Panama with a family to take care of their kids for 8 years.  She gets up at 5 AM and works till 8 P M, six days a week and gets paid $200 a month.  Among other qualities she is enthusiastic,  unafraid,  excited to learn,  has no problem with the small age difference of 45 years,  can say “Si Senor” with a smile, and has enough child care experience to take care of me.

    In the few pool sessions we had before I retuned to the States, she went from a non swimmer to be able to dive to the bottom of the twelve foot pool. She never said “ I am tired,  let’s quit” but was always ready for the next step.  With no car driving experience, driving the boat took a bit of coaching. We practiced around the anchored ships and I think now she can pick me up without cutting my legs off. We only had time for one ocean diving experience when Voyto, a good diver and water buddy went with us to drive.  Michelle was totally stoked on all the ocean life and equally amazed at her own ability when she got down to 17 feet.  Voyto shot the Pompano in the picture, but Michelle might well be holding her own first fish in the next dive report.

    When I go back to Panama in two weeks, Michelle will start her new child care job with me, and I will have a great time trying to pass on years of experience as I am encouraged and inspired by seeing everything new through her eyes.  The learning curve for her, will be intense, but it is overdue, and the great new freedom I will enjoy is having a dive buddy,  adventure partner, ready to go with me any place and any time. Pretty Cool.

    I was thinking that it would be impossible to write a dive report when I got skunked completely and shot no big fish.  But when I think of how many variables have to come together perfectly to shoot nice fish, I know that most divers have had the experience of getting skunked—no fish.  But, in reality, whether we make the kill or not, we get to experience the learning, the workout, the camaraderie,  the adventure and thrill of being in Mother Ocean, and all the craziness and life that happens trying to get there and back.  For these things I feel a great upwelling of gratitude.  But what really keeps me stoked, even after getting shut out, is feeling that, though fewer every year,  there are still big fish swimming around with my name on them. There might even be a few reserved for Michelle,  the new muchacha in the water realm.  So in two weeks, I will go back to Panama renewed, re-energized and ready, and when the monster appears while I am hanging at 30 feet in the silence,  I will smile knowing this one was waiting just for me—-  B A M.

Dix Roper
     December 3rd,  2005
     dixroper@earthlink.net