Copan Ruinas

My trip fast approaching its end, I thought best to position myself close to the airport for an easy outing to catch my flight in 2 days time.  So I caught a bus to San Paulo Sula and found a nice hostel to stay in.  I had a thought of attempting to see the Maya ruins of Copan the next day but knew it would be a push.  The man at the hostel reception told me it could be done if I went early enough and caught the Casa Sola Express.  Good enough for me, I hit the pillow for an early start, arranging a taxi for 6:40am. 

Macaws mate for life

I arrived at the bus terminal and started trying my best to find the right bus, eventually finding the casa sola ticket window.  Through my broken Spanish I learned with disappointment that the bus could get me there but not back again.  I accepted my regret and headed for some breakfast.  Then I wondered, “could there be another bus?”  So, broken Spanish in tow I started a little investigative work and found another bus to Copan.  I could take this bus there and back but unfortunately would have only about a half hour in Copan.  That wouldn't work, but a combination of the 2?  I found I could take the 8am Casa bus to Copan arriving at around 11:30 and then take the 3pm Hedman bus back to San Paulo, leaving me with 3.5 hours to see the ruins.  The stakes were high though. If it didn’t work out, I would either miss my flight or have a very expensive cab ride ahead of me.  I took a deep breath and thought,” just go for it man”.  Sometimes ya gots ta take a chance. 

The Casa Sola Express wasn’t so much of an express as a slow moving chicken bus.  Probably it had been a school bus in another part of the world before retiring, and getting a job for Casa Sola.  These buses are always interesting.  People constantly get on to peddle their wares and stories, from chicklets, to fruit and newspapers.  One guy seemed to be going on about some sort of hard life caused by an injury, another was preaching for about a half hour, after which they came around for donations.

 3.5 hours later the bus rolled into Copan and I grabbed one of those 3 wheel taxi carts and started down a bumpy stone road to the ruins.  From there I enquired about a guide as I figured this would expediate my movements and give me a better picture of the ruins.  It was only $25 and I am glad I did so, seeing much more and getting loads more information than I could have gotten on my own.  My guide Carlos had Maya heritage and had grown up in the area.

The Maya ruins of Copan date back to around 426AD, the city being abandoned around the mid 800s AD.  Other cultures lived in the area from as far back as 1400B.C. The city was abandoned with the collapse of the Mayan dynasty which is believed to be due to over consumption and deforestation.  Sounds familiar doesn’t it!

The ruins were reclaimed by the jungle and remained hidden until the 1800s when the first of the archaeological digs began.  Even now, only a portion of the buildings have been uncovered and there are numerous mounds in the jungle telling the tale of more.

The Mayors house

Our first part of the tour was Las Sepulturas.  This is where the elite lived.  The elite consisted of the mayor (a relative to the King), the priest, the astrologist and high ranking warriors. Copan’s population reached around 27000, 1600 of which were considered elite.  While the commoners had 1 wife each, the elite had multiple wives.  Perhaps the most interesting element of these ruins is that the dead are buried in their houses, with jade in their mouths to buy their way into heaven.  400 hundred years of tombs and dead bodies in your house! At least they are quiet guests.

A statue of a croc

Carlos then led me to the main part of the ruins.  Here lie the large temples, the market, a ballgame court, the king’s palace, and the area where the elite worked.   The Copan River had once moved and washed down a lot of the site, exposing generations of ruins built on top of one another.  Carlos took me around pointing out the huge La Ceiba trees growing through many of the temples and brought me to the warrior training court.  Here he pointed at one of the temples and told me a story.  One of the Kings had put on a ceremony where he took blood from his finger, blood from his nose, blood from his ear, and blood from his genitals.  He then mixed the blood with a hallucinogenic, drank it and announced he was in communion with the gods.  When the trip was over he came to the people with the message from the gods.  He told how the gods had told him that he must “raise taxes, the people must work harder and that he must have more wives”  He then informed the people that if they dare not believe him the gods would bloke out the sun in 3 days time.  The Mayas had an incredible grasp on the movement of the sky.  The astrologist knew that there would be an eclipse that day.  The people were not privy to such information.

Warrior training area

We then made our way to the ball court.  They played a ball game with a large rubber ball, very heavy, hitting it with elbows, knees, and shoulders.  This game was played throughout the Maya Empire (which spanned from southern Mexico, through Belize, El Salvador, Guatemala, and Western Honduras).  In most areas, after the match they would sacrifice some of the losers.  In Copan however, they would sacrifice the best player.  This was an honour in the players eyes as from a young age the priest led him to believe he would go straight to heaven where many virgins were waiting for him. 

Just outside the ball court was the sacrificing area consisting of a large round stone with a divot in the top.  The chosen person would rest their head in the divot, have their throat cut and the blood would spiral down into a jar.  Surrounding this area were many statues of the kings.  Some of these elaborate statues were missing their noses.  I asked Carlos about this and he told me how in the Maya culture a big nose was a sign of aristocracy.  Obviously the king was not always liked and the statues had been defaced accordingly.

The modern warriors

Astrologist office

Before beginning this whole journey I tried to find a book on the Maya culture.  All I could seem to find were books about 2012 written by some white guy who claimed to know all the secret prophecies of the god like Mayas.  I asked Carlos what he thought of all this hype.  It was his understanding and opinion that December 2012 brings to and end a 5000 year old calendar and the Mayan believe that this will be the end of one era and the beginning of a new one.  He said he knew nothing of predictions of destruction or the end of the world.  Remember too he is part Maya!  As for the romantic view of the Mayas being somehow superior in their knowledge of the future, I really didn’t see it like that.  What I saw was an impressive civilization that had great knowledge of stone work, mathematics, science and astrology.  They were surely not immune to the follies of human civilization around the globe and throughout history in terms of thirst for power, greed, and manipulation over fairness, humility, and compassion.  Here in Copan the elite lived high and frivolously off the hard work and oppression of the common folk.  Like many other civilizations these follies brought about their destruction,  a lesson that we should be all heeding.  While I don’t feel like I am one to judge what is right and wrong, I have a hard time accepting any culture that practiced human sacrifice as superior or more in the know.  Maybe I’m wrong but I guess we will see on December 22^nd or 24^th depending on which white guy is making the predictions!  None the less though I found the ruins to be fascinating and saw that this culture had its greatness.  The Maya people still thrive on with a population of over 6 million scattered throughout Central America.

The market place

I had a quick whistle around the museum and made my way to the bus terminal with 25 minutes to spare.  There I saw an American fellow with dive gear.  I got all excited and went over to chat with him.  He told me that the diving in Honduras sucks (a first that I had heard) and the country is backwards and boring.  I smiled and told him I was hungry making my way over to some more amicable people.

A replica of a temple found inside another temple

My last night in Honduras I spent sitting on the hostel balcony drinking a Salva Vida (a local beer) that I got at a gas station for 14 Lempera ( ~ 90 cents or so) and reflected on my trip.  I am glad that I chose Honduras.  It was very interesting; full of neat things to do and friendly people.  I wouldn’t say I enjoyed it all the time, with the foreign language, garbage all over the place, poverty, and dog bites.  Sometimes I was definitely out of my comfort zone, but at the end of the day, that is in part what I was looking for and part of the adventure of travel.  Many of the best experiences are great fun but some of the greatest experiences aren’t much at all!

With that I made my way to my flight, said good bye to Honduras and the tropics, arriving back in Toronto just after midnight.  The outside temperature, -8 with a cold wind blowing in thoughts of the many adventures that lay ahead in the Canadian winter...

A Day in the Jungle

Arriving back on the mainland I headed straight for the closest jungle.  My jungle dream for Honduras involved an area called La Moskita, a large track of jungle up against the border to Nicaragua full of dangerous creatures and devoid of basic infrastructure, my kind of hangout.  Unfortunately though I was having trouble organizing a tour as operators were slow to respond to my emails and my limited time was slipping away. 

I made my way to just outside of Pico Bonito Park, only about a half hour out of La Ceiba and set myself up at the Jungle River Lodge.  The guy at the check in told me he would see if he could help me find my Moskita adventure and gave me some tips for the day, mainly a hike into the cloud forest to a waterfall. 

After a short walk along a dirt road I arrived at a small, very basic visitor’s centre and purchased a pass along with a few id cards for local fauna.  I enquired about Jaguar and the warden reluctantly told me there were lots in the area.   I don’t think he expected or understood why I started to smile at that.

I crossed a swing bridge and entered the jungle, paused to give thanks, set my intentions, and fine tune my senses, a routine I do often when entering my local forest.   The jungle was hot, dark, humid and surprisingly quiet.   Within the first 20 metres of following the hiking trail I found an animal trail forking off to the left.  I tracked along it for awhile but found no distinct tracks.  The rain had pounded down hard the day before wiping the slate clean.  I did however find some leaf cutter ants making their way along their highway and I spent some quality time with them before returning to the main trail.

It didn’t take long before I was again distracted from my agenda to make it to the waterfall and back before dark.  A very faint sound caught my attention.  It sounded like something feeding in a distant tree.  I dropped down into a thicket with my senses trained in on where I thought I heard the sound coming from and stalked closer, even belly crawling through the jungle at one point to get a good vantage point.  I was almost certain it was a monkey of sorts but a few moments later I was pretty sure I was hearing and seeing movement of some sort of bird.  The canopy was too thick to get a really good visual.  What was being eaten, or better said, what wasn’t being eaten was falling down to the forest floor.  I picked up a shell, the nut having been extracted by what looked like a beak, judging by the way it was cracked. 

My interest didn’t waiver for the rest of the hike, checking out plants, birds, loads more ants and the few washed tracks of undeterminable beasts.  It was interesting to perceive the various strategies of plants.  One in particular looked like a dart, the seed having a pointed tip and hair like fletching so after it was released from the flower it would fall down and stab its way into the soil.  I also observed a small lizard. There were 3 waterfalls along the trail, the last being really impressive at about a 60 metre drop.

During my walk out an internal battle was growing in my mind between my jungle dream that I had spent many a night thinking about and another voice telling me that for that trip I needed more time and besides I couldn’t dive in the jungle.  Another affair calling me back to the ocean was a book I had found in a used bookstore on Routan.  The book being the classic novel ‘Robinson Crusoe’ by Daniel Defoe was the perfect island read and very well written.  I was unsure what to do when I arrived back to the lodge.  The man back at the desk had found out nothing so I took the cue that I should return to the Bay Islands, Utilla this time, the following day, and let the jungle dream rest for another voyage.

The next morning I caught an early morning chicken bus out of the jungle and back to the ferry port in La Ceiba.  The ferry however was a no show and no one could give us any answers on its whereabouts until later that morning.  The sea was too rough for the morning ferry and if the weather didn’t break the afternoon ferry would be cancelled too.  So a small group of us spent the day bonding under the cover of the ferry terminal until finally the ferry showed up.  Three Aussies in the group decided it would be a good idea to get into some rum at around 10am.  By the time the ferry arrived they were blind drunk and a handful on the boat, messing around with controls and being very obnoxious.  The sea was still very rough and I thought certain one or all of them would fall overboard as the ship pitched and rolled in the swells and we were all sent flying out of our seats.  The Aussies didn’t have the sense to get themselves into a safe position and it was making me nervous and more nauseous than the rough ride.  I was uncertain how to handle the situation but after much consideration resolved myself to that it was not my business and if they go into the drink, as it were, than I should just let nature play itself out.  To make it worse the female of the trio made it clear that diving was not why she was heading to Utila.  She was looking for cocaine and general party.  I started to question whether this Island was for me.

I found Utila to be a very interesting place indeed.  My first impression of it was kind of seedy.  People were  flying around on scooters, four wheelers, golf carts and dirt bikes.  It was a scary scene to watch drivers weave around each other, bikes and pedestrians.  Not a helmet to be seen either and lots of wasted tourists who probably had never driven machines of the like before.  I was offered to buy some cocaine within the first hour.  I told the guy “maybe latter” so that he wouldn’t think of me to be too different.  I noticed a lot of rough looking characters with tombstones in their eyes roaming around.  I felt like I didn’t fit in and was exceedingly grateful for that.

The next morning brought a new day however.  I got up early to sort myself out before grabbing a 7:30 dive boat.  Utila has the cheapest diving in the world at less than $20 per dive which includes all equipment, the boat, and free accommodation at the dive shop.  The moment I descended towards the corral,  took a breath of compressed air, and watched the ocean close above me, my whole outlook changed and I knew without a doubt that I had made the right decision after all.  On the first 2 dives I saw loads of impressive wildlife, including a hawks bill sea turtle, another giant green moray and 2 spotted eagle rays.

I realized that day too, that there were a large number of people on the island who, like myself, were not there for a party but to dive as much and as frequently as they possibly could.  Or I guess you could say that they were not there to get wasted but were there to party under the sea. Cue the music.

Over the next 3 days I did 5 more amazing dives, one being another night dive and 2 of them involving some ship wrecks.  The current was interesting near Utila and I had to learn to work with it.  It would wash hard back requiring a breaking action with my flippers, than it would wash hard forward and I would kick, moving very fast, then repeat and so on.  On the second to last dive we encountered a remora eel.  Remora eels travel stuck to the side of sharks.  I wondered where his ride was.  The remora was swimming around a girl’s leg and then onto the leg of my dive buddy.  I pulled in behind him to see if I could get the eel onto me.  As I was doing this my dive buddy quickly spun around and came straight at me.  It took a second but I clued into that he was in trouble.  More precisely he was having an air issue.  I gave way for him to get my alternative air source, a spare regulator attached to my vest, while covering my own just in case in panic he took it out of my mouth.  Everything was so calm though, just as we practise in training.  In a brief moment he was breathing off my tank, I took hold of his arm so we wouldn’t separate and signalled to him if he was ok.  He signalled back that he was.  Another dive master came to us and took over.  I was buddied up with a different diver and we continued the dive as my old buddy and the other diver swam off.  It turned out that dirt had gotten into the top of the tank and blocked it.  Good training for everyone though.  Just after that we had a neat encounter with a sting ray.  It was lying in the sand.  When we arrived on the scene it slowly ascended off the bottom and then turned and swam just off to our left.

My final dive was one of my favourites.  It was in an area called the labyrinth.  It consisted of winding routes through the coral and some tight swim throughs.  I tried as hard as I could to soak it all in, knowing very well that it would be awhile before my next dive.  Although as I write this I am back in Canada, looking out at the falling snow and thinking about looking into an ice diving course!

    

In the end I really liked Utila and enjoyed my dives with Paradise Divers.  They were friendly and helpful.  I had a problem with using a lot of air which they all helped me to slowly reduce so that I could enjoy longer dives.  The next morning I was back on the ferry.

Shark Dive

2 days of waiting were well worth the Shark Dive, 2 days of waiting in paradise, I'm quite capable of handling.  Although I must say that the first day of waiting I didn’t get in any dives and I felt a heavy withdrawal from being down in the corral, breathing compressed air and processing nitrogen.  So the second day I got my fix with a fun dive, which is as simple as it sounds, no course involved just diving for fun. 

The next morning I kitted up at “My” dive shop and grabbed a taxi to a larger town called Coxen Hole.  The shark dive was organized through one dive shop on the island.  Although I use the word organized loosely as they really were quite unconcerned about communication, dive safety protocol, and the wants and needs of the divers.  It really made me thankful for the quality of training that I have been fortunate to have found.  I felt confident in my routine of taking care of my own safety in terms of inspecting and setting up my gear and keeping myself safe during the dive.  The dive shop seemed to be focused on selling a video of your dive for $75.  I wasn’t impressed with the outfit but the dive was perhaps one of the most fascinating events of my life. 

The dive boat went out approximately 20 minutes where we got in the water and followed a reference line off of a buoy down to 21 metres below and behind a reef.  Going down we had to fight a strong current and could see a few sharks swimming around below. 

Getting along the wall of the reef put us out of the current and gave as a good place to observe the sharks.  I say us, there were 9 fellow divers plus a dive master and the guy making the film.  I was trying to keep track of all the sharks but they came in and out of view so quickly it was hard to count.  I estimate there were ~ 15 – 20 Caribbean reef sharks ranging in size from 3 – 6 feet in length, 1 black grouper, a Nassau grouper, and a few other little fish around.  I was hoping for some sort of rogue badass shark to make an appearance.  A tiger, bull, or even some hammerheads would of uped the adventure and as I said there were 12 of us so odds were in my favour!  The dive master brought a closed bucket of fish that the sharks clearly knew all about. Whether they could smell the fish or were working on learned behaviour I was not sure, but my guess is that there was a bit of both.  We then got to swim around with the sharks.  The dive master had told us that touching the sharks was forbidden but that is kind of like telling a kid not too touch the stove.  When one of the larger sharks passed over me I had a quick look to see that the dive master was looking the other way and snuck my hand up towards its belly.  It just scooted above my fingertips but then its tail wacked me in the side of
                                                                                    the head, so I was satisfied.

We were then motioned back to the wall and our man opened the bucket.  This was a surreal experience, being all but 10 or 12 metres from a shark feeding frenzy!  Try as I may I couldn’t help keeping myself calm.  My heart was pounding with excitement so hard I thought it was going to scare the sharks away (or bring them around for a closer look).  My heart rate being up, my air was being used quickly and after the feeding, as other divers looked for teeth, I had to sign to the divemaster that I was low on air and he sent me up.  I did my 3 minute safety stop at 5 metres and got back on the boat.

This was my last day on Roatan and I reflected back on my time spent there.  I really enjoyed the place.  The dive shop, Ocean Connections, was such a great outfit and I was really feeling at home there.  They were professional, friendly, and fun.  My instructor Jergen was fantastic in his skills, clarity of instruction and his attention to safety procedures.  The place where I slept, West Bay Bed and Breakfast, was perfect for me; comfortable, clean and affordable.   The beach was fantastic and I will miss getting up early to do my kung fu and have a swim in the ocean.  While I ate a few times at the beautiful seaside resorts, my favourite place was a locals hang out.  It was built under a house on stilts, set way back from the beach in a muddy parking lot. The cement floor was cracked and uneven.  The tables and chairs made of plastic (and provided by Coke).  The roof was just high enough for me to not hit my head on the floor joists of the house above.  The servers spoke no English so I often knew not what I had just ordered.  But you know  I enjoyed eating there more than at any of the high end,    

picture perfect resort restaurants on the beach.  This place wasvery real. Authentico, I believe is the word.

   

The people of Routan are gentle, laid back and 

friendly.  I was a bit sad leaving the next day on the early ferry but eager to see some jungle.

Dive Dive Dive

3 days 6 dives and my advanced SCUBA certification.  It has been so amazing I can´t even begin to put it into words.  To SCUBA dive is to experience a sort of freedom.  Temporarily free from the need to surface for air, floating weightlessly and able to move in 3 dimensions in a world so diffent from the terrestial happenings. What you aren´t free from though, is the need for good training.  Poor training, or no training, is very bad judgement and has very simple and harsh penalties.  Good training, and following proper procedure makes, on the otherhand, SCUBA diving a safe, highly enjoyable, and highly rewarding activity.  To obtain my Advanced Certification I completed the following adventure dives.

Dive One - Refresher:  I hadn´t dove for 7 years so it only made sense to reaquaint myself with the equipment as well as the 20 skills learned in the Open water Course I did back in ´03.  These skills teach you what to do in case of emergencies, how to avoid emergences, how to deal with equipment issues, and basic techniques like buoyancy control.  It all came back to me surprisingly quickly but I would not have felt comfortable with further dives if I had not taken it.  At the end of the skills my instuctor, Jorgen, and I cruised along the reef checking out the coral, a lobster, loads of fish and a sea spagetti (a type of worm with tenticles)  It felt so good to be back down there.

Dive 2- Underwater Navigator:  This dive teaches general navigation such as natural navigation and compass work underwater.  It was pretty straight forward but it is by no means precise, as elements such as current move you off course very easily.  The importance of paying attention applies just as much as it does on land.  Paying attention to the position and angle of the sun, landscape formations, biological communities, contours on the bottom, maps, and such must be noted as it is easy to become disorientated.  We saw a lot of the same wildlife on this dive with the addition of a hawks bill seaturtle at the end of the dive.

Dive 3 - Underwater Naturalist: You can imagine by the title why this dive appealed to me.  Ecology, ecosystems, and best practices in interacting with marine organisms were discussed.  The dive consisted of me having to identify a number of invertibrates, vertibrates, and plants.  I knew some of them already but had to describe a few, writing down characteristics on a slate to look them up later.  Jorgen showed me all sorts of neat things, the highlight being 2 giant green moray eels, which can reach lengths of 5 feet.  One of the eels was at least that.

Dive 4 - Deep Diver: Open Water Certification, my previous cert and the first in a journey to become a master diver, allows a diver to go to depths not exceeding 18 metres.  The Deep Diver course brought me down to a maximum depth of 30.9 metres.  It was a different world down there with different creatures and differnt light.  Light is filtered out by the water.  Its not just a loss of light but a loss of spectrum.  We brough a colour card with us.  At that depth red is no longer visible.  The dive was short as air supply is used a lot quicker at depth. The gas is compressed, at that depth it is use 4 times faster than at the surface.  This causes some other considerations to deal with.  The air in the tank is compressed normal surface air.  Normal air contains nitrogen which is simply expelled by the body. Breathing condensed nitrogen can cause an intoxicating effect called nitrogen narcosis.  Nitrogen narcosis in itself is not dangerous but the effects can cause a diver to make irrational decissions putting them at risk. Its kind of like being drunk.  The other thing with nitrogen is, again under pressure, in the body it doesn´t come out as fast.  This can cause decompression illness, also known as the benz (or the ben´s if I didn´t follow procedure correctly)  Decompression illness can be very serious and usually requires specialty facilities like a decompression chamber and straight oxygen. The procedure to avoid this illness is straight forward.  A slow asscent with a saftey stop at 5 metres for 3 minutes is required.  Then using a dive computer or chart you figure out how much residual nitrogen is in your body before subsequent dives.

Dive 5: Underwater Photography:  Unfortunately I am still unable to upload photos.  Might have to wait until I return.  I probably didn´t get any National Geographic cover shots but I think I captured the world down there pretty good, at least for my own memories, with a simple point and shoot camera in a special housing, waterproof and able to withstand pressure.

Dive 6:  Night Dive:  Really, really cool.  Fish were sleeping, lobsters roaming around, the coral was fuzzy as much of it was activley feeding on algae and perhaps the coolest thing, bioluminescence of plankton.  I am not entirely sure what is going on here, whether it is somesort of defence mechanism or what. But agitate the water and it is like thousands of stars all around you.  We spent a few minutes without torch light just watching it, between cruising around looking at the reef at night.

Now I am waiting on news about another dive.  A shark dive!  Hopefully I will be able to go tomorrow to a place where a lot of sharks hang out.  Today I had no diving which was hard to do.  Instead I lounged on the beach for a bit this morning and then walked into the next town in search of a haircut.  My head has been too hot and I was starting to feel a little ¨clown like¨  I made my way along the beach towards West End about a 40 minute walk.  It was nice just walking in the sand looking dreamingly out to sea and singing raggae tunes in my head.  All was great until I had a not too nice of an experience.   I heard a dog bark, very aggressivly, and turned to see a dog teeth out, face all scrunched up barreling towards me.  I turned to face it and readied for a fight.  Then another dog sped out flanking me on the right.  It came in so fast but it was quiet.  They weren´t huge dogs but they were big enough, probalby just a bit smaller than my dog Miko.  I put put my hand out thinking it might smell me and calm down but before I knew it I felt its teeth penetrate my thigh.   I roared and took a swing at it and it let go jumping back.  The two dogs were continuing to bark aggresively and were circling around me.  Having had enough of this already I took on the mentality of an enraged bear and growled, snorted and kicked at the ground. I advanced on them and they took off.  I got some good teeth marks but am fine.  They didn´t seem rabid just mean.  As I carried on along the beach I wondered if I should take a different route back but decided that no stupid mut was going to dictate my day.  I would just be ready for them next time.

I had a quick chat with a bar owner when I reached West Bay.  He informed me that the only barber in the town was off today so I would have to go to the next town, Coxen Hole.  As I tried to figure out my means of transport a young local guy asked me where I was going.  I told him about the haircut in coxen hole and he came back with ¨my brother cuts hair¨ I thought what the hell, should be interesting.  I got on the back of his scooter and he drove us a long a bumpy back street to his house.  It was quite the place.  Basically a ghetto.  Out front were 3 old timers.  One big lady, Craig, the scooter driver´s mother, and 2 old guys one smoking the absolute end of a cigarete.  There were a bunch of kids running around, one naked todler and a few kids that proably should have been in school.  There is a school, some go, some don´t.  Out front of the house was a lot of exposed soil, a few trees, and a washing machine that looked like it died decades ago.  The yard was littered with garbage and old broken machine parts. The house was small, run down and had no windows.  At one point it proabaly did but they had long ago been boarded up.  One of the oldtimers put in a call to the barber.  It took him about 20 minutes to get there.  He was very surely and didn´t say hi, only ¨how you want your hair cut¨ I explained it and we made out way to a chair at the side of the house, behind some laundry lines.  He put a sheet around me.  In front of the chair was old plastic table with a few very used clipper combs and a pair of scissors, missing a handle.  He handed me a mirror, or part of a mirror to be more exact, to check out the progress.  It had been a mirror of 2" or so but all that was left was one jagged corner.  The haircut was a bit rough, not going to lie.  My barber, not even sure of his name, pulled at my hair alot and seemed to comb my ear more than my hair. The thought came to mind of ¨what the hell am I doing¨ but I pushed it away.  These people were nice and gentle (except the actual haircut) and I felt relatively safe.  The job wasn´t too bad.  Its a bit uneven and lumpy but I´m ok with that.  My dad always said that a bad haircut will grow out in 3 days and if it doesn´t I don´t mind shaving the rest off.  Barber asked for 100 lempires, about 5 bucks.  I gave him 150 and a smile and was on my way.  Definetly the most interesting haircut I have ever had!

It was time to make my way home.  Again making my way along the beech but thinking about the ¨friends¨ I met on the way.  They may have moved since my earlier walk so I started preparing myself early, finding a large, heavy peice of drift wood.  As I got closer I bent down and picked up a handful of sand, keeping it my right hand, my throwing arm, and the stick in my left.  If the dogs came at me again I would throw the sand in their eyes and pop the stick up into my right hand in a baseball bat position.  If the dirty buggers got closer than 2 metres I was prepared to give them the good news with the club and if I was bit again I was going to bite back.  I also stayed along the waters edge so I could step out into the ocean.  A few metres in and I would be standing, the dogs swimming, and me with a big advantage.  What I was really hoping for though, was that in the heat of the day they were lying under a tree somewhere and would not be a problem.  I kept myself switched on tracking in the sand for their prints and stayed at the ready, not tense but ready.  I soon passed the area that we would be in and made it past a pier that I was pretty certain they couldn´t pass.  Lucky for me lucky for them.

I can hear the jungle screaming my name and should be there in the next few days...

Trains, plains, and parrot fish

6:25am flights kind of suck, but that is what you get when you go for the cheapest flights possible.  Besides I probably wouldn´t have slept a wink anyways with visions of dolphins, boas, and coconuts drifitng through my conciousness.  Instead of waking up ridicoulously early to make the airport I decided to catch the morning from the otherside.  I left downtown Toronto just after midnight and got to the airport about an hour latter.  The night was chilly, far from the temperatures I would be experiencing in the next few days. 

I never like to rush, so this was perfect for me to figure out where I needed to be for my flight.  Pearson Airport is a big place and a guy like me can get lost pretty easily in there.  Afterall there are no trees, ridges, or streams for me to navigate with.

I found the air canada desk and picked out a spot on the floor for a few restless hours of getting my head down.  Sleeping in an airport is difficult especially when they are doing a major vaccuuming of the terminal. 

The first lag of the journey was quite short; Toronto to NY.  Then I had to swithch airports which was bit of a stress as; the time was short, the 2 airports are not close, and it was rush hour.  The cabby didn´t help either as she didn´t think I would make the plane.  Fortunately she was wrong and I was there with an hour to spare. 

The next flight was to El Salvador.  It was beautiful as we approached the landing strip; plantations, mountains, and volcanoes (some of them smoking) welcomed us. An old beat up, possibly burnt, abandoned jet was lying off to one side of the run way.  I told myself that it was there for decoration.

Finally I arrived in San Paulo Sula, Honduras at approximately 4pm.  It was hot and very spanish. I figured I would just kind of wing it with the whole language thing. ``It`will be like jumping off a dock.  You´ll be fine and figure out how to swim`` I told myself.  Well I was drowning for awhile.  Trying to figure out my phrase book and trying tricks like saying it in english but putting an o on the end, then the same with french, I wondered if I would be better off trying to communicate telapathically.  I managed to get a bus out of San Paulo to La Cieba.  I am glad I did.  It looked like a rough place.  Mostly it was a ghetto with a few wealthy surrounded by high gates, dotted the city.  I had forgotten what this kind of poverty looks like.  Its sad to see people living, literally in garbage.  One thing I did get a kick out of though is not only are there stray dogs roaming around but also stray horses.  I watched out the window as we passed one feeding at the side of the street.

I arrived in La Cieba at about 9:30pm and got in a cab.  I had to laugh at myself for the situation I was in. I had no clue where I was going and had to trust the driver. He got me to the hostel I showed him in my lonely planet.  I was dead tired but I stuck to my habit of doing a bit of a hazard check when I arrive at a place.  A quick recce around the building can give some pretty valuable information.  Its not that I am paranoid or expect any problems but if things go pear shaped all of a sudden I like to be able to act with out thinking too much.  Honduras has a gang problem and by the lack of fire alarms, smoke detectors and extinguishers it doesn´t have much in the way of firecode.  I like to know my exits and where they lead.  Its a solid routine and only takes a few minutes.

I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow and awoke the next morning with a start, not quite sure where I was for a second.  My hesitations with spanish were soon overcome by my belly and I hit the town for some grub.  There is a war going on down here.  I guess it is all over the place but seems more prevelant in poorer countries.  The war is between Coke and Pepsi, to see who can have more advertising.  They must give out signs and chairs to every store and restaruant.  It made it easy to find some food though.  Waking up in La Cieba meant that I could get the morning ferry to Routan.  My driver from the night before, Ramone, came to collect me at 8am for the 9:30, 50km boat ride.



Routan is a meca for scuba diving and snorkeling. At one point it was a basecamp for pirates plundering the spanish as they plundered the americas. It has a huge reef off the northern side.  I spent the afternoon snorkeling along checking out the reef and the colourful fish.  I probably saw well over a thousand fish today.  You can hear them too, as they munch away at the coral, turning it into the white sand of the beaches.  The coral is under a lot of pressure though because of its accessibility.  Even though there are a lot of signs advising people to not touch the coral, they do anyways.  Coral has a covering of slime which protects it from infection.  Touching it removes the slime, exposes the coral and kills it.  It was very obvious that the signs were not being followed.

For the next 3 days I will be going a bit deeper, under the blue.  I have 6 dives lined up.  At this time I am unable to download photos so that will have to wait for an uncertain amount of time.    Hasta Leugo, Ben

Banana Republic

Hold on to your sun hats folks, grab some bananas and ready yourself for my next big adventure.  This week I embark on a solo journey to the heart of Central America.  A short trip but exciting none the less. I will be spending 2 weeks in Honduras.  

Honduras is in the centre of Central America and is bordered by Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Guatemala.  It touches both the Atlantic Ocean and the Pacific.  While it has thriving coffee and banana industries it is one of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere.  There are 3 tourist draws for me; world class diving off of the second largest coral reef in the world, expansive rainforest jungles full of monkeys, snakes, crocs, and jaguar, and lastly the impressive ruins of the ancient and fascinating  Mayan. Surely there will be many amazing things that are unknown to me currently.  The journey is often better than the destination!  I will be avoiding cities as much as possible as there is quite a gang problem, although tourists are rarely targeted. I will be switched on none the less. Besides cities aren’t my thing anyways.

I will have no fixed plans but will most likely start by heading north, to the Caribbean coast.  I plan on beginning and ending my trip with SCUBA  diving and am hoping to better my certification to Advanced Diver.

Unsure about internet connection, I will try and post a few photos and stories from the road.  

So long for now, 

Ben

Dead Deer - Feb 15, 07

Warning:  Contains graphic images.  Do not view while eating, or if you are soft!

Last week I was missing the body.  This week I found it…

It all started with an abnormal feeling to my day off.  Usually I wake up with great excitement and enthusiasm.  I normally roll out of bed with a charge, an urge to explore and to find adventure.  This day I was lethargic, and lazy.  All I wanted to do was to lie down.  Could I waste my one and only day off of the week doing nothing?  I had been working really hard as of late.  Maybe I owe it to myself to have a down day, layin’ about, watchin’ the boob tube.  The utter thought made me more depressed.  I needed to get outside and recharge my batteries, touch the earth, and feel the rapture of life.  You trippers know what it’s all about.  You wear yourself down physically but you build up stronger, emotionally and mentally.

With Miko at my side, off I went.  Dragged my feet for the first few steps but then it all came back to me and I was once again in my zone.  To balance the way I was feeling I decided not to wander far.  We headed out into the back 40.  I can truthfully use this term as we have 40 acres of crown land sitting behind the Wolf Den.

Past the scout camp and around by the river we went.  As part of my wanders I always try and light a fire.  My brain randomly selects a time and place then it will tell me to get to it.  At first it was ‘do it as quickly as possible’ now I try and use different materials and different techniques.  Partly it’s for survival skills, partly for connecting with the earth, and partly it’s just for fun.  There is a little pyro in all of us!  I don’t make a ragging fire, just enough to get it initiated and to know that I could easily keep it going.  Then I put it out in the snow.  It is a teaching in what burns, what doesn’t and how certain conditions effect the whole process.  This time I tried lighting it with a twig bundle.  I made a bundle of dead, dry spruce branches about a foot long by 3 inches wide.  Holding the bundle in my hands, I lit the small twigs at one end, then manoeuvred the bundle to ignite more and larger twigs with the growing flame.  It worked really well.  Top drawer, as the English would say.  In fact it worked so well that I almost burnt myself.  I’d imagine that it may not work so well in moist conditions but you could probably stuff some dry tinder in it to help it out.

My fire lasted approximately 5 minutes, and then I put it out.  Throughout the whole process I was noticing a lot of raven commotion.  We have lots of ravens around but they are generally fairly quiet and only 1-3 are usually about at any given time.  This time was different. There were lots of them and they were loud and excited.  Something was up!  Ravens often fly about looking for wolf kills to scavenge.  Maybe they found one!  As I approached, a snowplow went by and 3 ravens went airborne.  I then noticed 1 big raven in a tree keeping watch.  They’ll do this when they are feeding.  One will keep watch while the others feed, then they’ll switch up.  When I got a little closer a call came from the watchtower and they all flew away, flying over me for a look, and giving out a verification call.   We got a little closer and then saw it.  There on the ice was the body.  It was a small deer.

 

There were literally hundreds of tracks around the deer, fox, mink, and raven.  No sign of wolf though.  The wind was very strong causing drifting around the site.  I didn’t see the deer tracks either.  Maybe Mother Nature had covered up the last events leading up to this deer’s demise and its killer’s marks.  There was however extensive feeding on the rear of the animal, typical of wolves.  What wasn’t typical of wolves is that the rest of the animal hadn’t been completely consumed after the rear end.

Many people, visiting Algonquin, have asked me, “Where is a good place to see animals?”  Well my friends, this was the place to look for.  The best way is to find an area where there is lots of sign, of frequent and recent activity then sit there.  Become part of the landscape, a rock a stump, then patiently wait until visitors arrive.  With all the activity that had already been at this kill site, and the high amount of remaining food on the deer, there were sure to be scavengers returning. 

Miko has a rather annoying habit of chasing anything that moves and an equally disgusting habit of rolling on dead things.  For these reasons I brought her back to the Wolf Den.  Also needed to grab my camera and some warmer gear for the long sit.  On my return visit I approached from the road, and secured the vantagepoint of the bridge.  Within minutes, I had a new best friend.

It was a Mink (Mustela vison).  This sleek little bugger, who is as at home in the water (diving as deep as 6m) as on land, is a fierce predator.  They have been known to attack animals much larger than themselves and usually prey on rabbits, mice, fish, frogs, muskrat, and crayfish.  The word mink comes from a Swedish word, menk, meaning stinky animal.  Like all members of the weasel family, they have anal scent glands, which produce a skunk-like odour.  Although they cannot aim, they can spray this odour when threatened.  It is not as strong the odour of a skunk, but is pungent than most other weasels.  They normally hunt at night, so seeing it in the middle of the day was a real treat.

The top of the bridge had its advantages, but I was exposed to the bitter cold wind and I didn’t like standing so close to the odd passing car on an icy bridge.  Noting some wolf tracks in the deeper snow on the farside of the bridge, I moved down and into some tall grasses for cover.  My disturbance was too much for the mink and he was gone before I got into position.  The raven guard also spotted me and they periodically flew over and announced my presence to all, raven kin or not.  After about an hour I was still being introduced and the cold wind was getting to me so I headed home with intentions of returning a bit before dusk.

Striking out again just past 4pm, I kept my raven friends in mind and headed around through the thick canopy cover of a spruce pocket, off to one side of the bridge.  From there I slipped undetected under the bridge and set myself up against the gabion baskets, that were attempting to hold back the inevitable force erosion under the bridge. 

As many of you know, a majority of animals are nocturnal, coming out at dusk to feed.  There is a fox that crosses the Wolf Den every night.  I have seen its tracks as many mornings as I have looked, but am yet to see him.  I was hoping that this would be my chance.  I have also seen lots of wolf sign in the area.  There is a resident pack around, and I saw one of them right by this bridge just 1 month ago.  Dreaming of a magical encounter I hunkered down and tried to fight the cold.  For an hour and a half I sat there trying to not let discomfort get to me.  Tried meditating, wiggling fingers and toes, and recalling memories of times spent in tropical environments.  At least there were no bugs!  Close to frostbite and not far away from hypothermia I had to finally pull the pin and head home.  Just as I was about to move, my mink friend returned for a last visit.

 

Two days later I went by the deer again.  There was nothing left but lots of tracks, wolf scat, deer hair, and frozen red snow. The ravens were gone and my mink friend was nowhere to be seen.  I am unsure whether this was a wolf kill or not.  It could have died of exposure and then been fed on by the members of its community.  However with the way it was first fed on, the local presence of a pack, wolf tracks in the deeper snow, and the wolf sign 2 days later, I believe it may have been a wolf kill!  Being so close to the road, the wolves may have been frightened off by the passing of a car or the thundering of a snowplow.  Either way, the wolves were there and I missed them.  Maybe I’ll catch them another day, on another Wilderness Wander.