The gentle wind had S/V Ileana heeled at a comfortable 15 degrees as we sailed to Los Haitises National park across the bay of Samana. In the Dominican Republic, even when the Armada has processed the boat papers upon arrival, it is necessary to get their permission before moving the boat to another place.
Shep, the burly Armada wearing army fatigues, said, “I may want to inspect your boat when you come back. We are always worried about human trafficking.” he said.
I looked at him quizzically. I’ve been to Los Haitises National Park before. There are no humans to traffic; just a few noisy bats that occupy the caves, but they stay hidden during daylight hours. Even the beautiful eco lodge where we were planning to have lunch is deserted.
“Make sure you get back between 8 a.m. and 4 p.m.” he said.
“What if I gat back a little later, say 4:05 p.m. if I am delayed?” I asked.
“You are to anchor outside the marina until the next morning.” He pointed to the anchorage with his finger.
I’ve learned not to discuss these kinds of things with officials of these Caribbean countries. They take their jobs seriously. I had planned to leave early that morning, but had to wait until he got to the marina to get the boat papers stamped so I could leave. The 8 a.m. time he promised me the day before was 10 a.m. when he arrived. I did not ask him to explain…..
Arriving at the National Park, only three other boats had anchored. We launched the dinghy and headed towards the caves where 500 years ago, the indigenous people had carved faces in the rocks, and drew pictograms on the walls of the caves. The park warden wanted 100 pesos from each of us….about two Canadian dollars. It probably cost me more on gas to drive back to the boat to get it…. It was definitely worth it .
I remembered there were three caves, dark and mysterious, beckoning from the cliff face. We had only seen two of them. Despite the sight of a long, thick snake writhing in a rocky crevice—its scales shimmering, a smell of damp earth and decay filling the air—the kids pressed on towards the third cave. Us adults lacked enthusiasm, much preferring the cool refreshment of the boat to this activity. With the sun beating down and the mangrove branches brushing against the dinghy, I inched my way up the twisty creek, nervously checking the fuel gauge, hoping I wouldn’t get lost or run out of gas. The unexpected twist added an element of excitement to the adventure. We never found the cave, but our jungle hike was amazing; the air hung heavy with humidity and the sounds of unseen creatures.
Despite the humid jungle air thick with the scent of damp earth and the eerie echo of bat cries from the dark caves, the children fearlessly plunged into the vibrant, teeming sea.
With my unreliable memory leading the way, our trip to the eco-lodge for lunch the following day turned into an adventure as we found ourselves on the wrong mangrove lined river, the air thick with the scent of jungle and damp earth. The realization that we were hopelessly lost hit me as our our outboard engine became stuck in the thick, clinging mud. Thanks to Nick’s use of Google Maps, we were able to navigate up the correct creek. A short hike along a sun-dappled dirt road, dusty and fragrant with horse and goat manure, had us at the eco-lodge just in time for a refreshing swim before lunch.
The Eco lodge, with its unique architecture and lush surroundings, has always fascinated me. It had been built into the granite rocks, its rough-hewn stones echoing the craggy landscape. Sunlight streamed into the beautiful rooms, illuminating the glorious view of the turquoise bay of Samana and its pristine waters. Gleaming, expensive bars hung over the rocks, their polished surfaces reflecting the light, beckoning patrons with the promise of expertly mixed drinks; soft, plush leather chairs invited guests to sink into comfort. The best part was the natural fresh water swimming pools, where waterfalls cascaded into at least twenty separate areas for swimming, all lined with groomed grass, vibrant hibiscus, and other colorful flowers, creating a fragrant and tranquil atmosphere.
We were the only guests at this spectacular resort, and the feeling of seclusion was palpable, enhanced by the fresh, clean scent of the sea air.
No trip to Los Haitises National Park is complete without the dolphins’ acrobatic display, leaping and spinning in the turquoise water, their sleek bodies glistening in the sun. It felt like a silent promise of reunion, their antics conveying a heartfelt goodbye and eager expectation for our next visit.
Surprisingly, we arrived back at the marina at 3:30. p.m. with a comfortable margin of time. Shep, our Armada fella was preparing to leave. He wasted no time in checking us in, not bothering to see if we were in fact human traffickers. He glanced at his watch, seemingly annoyed I had delayed him. I watched as he sped away on his scooter at 3:35 p.m…..
My Novels
My latest novel available on Amazon
