Search for the Manatees
11 May 2005 | Bluefield Range, Belize
As we navigated our way to the Bluefield Range, we read in one guidebook about the Bluefield Range Resort. At anchor, we could see what appeared to be abandoned shacks which could not, even in the most liberal sense of the word, be called a "resort." We had made a plan to check out the abandoned shacks first thing this morning, however, a morning rain shower somehow diverted our attention. Fresh water falling from the sky was a novelty in our short stay in Belize. I decided to use the occasion to assemble the dinghy and clean her up as I did so, considering that my hands and shirt were turned black the last time we went through the assembly process. Somehow, it turned into a morning of chores for all. I ended up completing the dingy cleaning and assembly, only to find myself using said dinghy to scrub the topsides with a brush and some Soft Scrub cleaner.
Meanwhile, the ladies worked with a hand awl to repair some separated seams on the bimini top. Bruno took the occasion to rig up a tarp to try his had at catching and collecting fresh rainwater.
Eventually, the sun returned and we abandoned our chores to go explore. As our underpowered and overloaded little dinghy approached what had seemed to be an abandoned set of shacks, we found that it was not abandoned, at all. A very large, rottweiler came running at us. Much to my chagrin, Sheryl and Stephanie tied off and climbed right onto the dock, into the path of the oncoming beast. A heavy sigh escaped my lungs as the dog turned out to be incredibly friendly. Bruno and I climbed onto the pier as an older gentleman approached. He was short and very thin, with a leathery skin and a scar on his face. Despite his looks, it was obvious from the way that he carried himself that he welcomed our arrival. He introduced himself and the dog, Puma. As we spoke we learned that he was responsible for watching the place when there were no guests, and serving as the cook for small groups. Another cook was brought from the mainland for larger groups. We walked around the place and took in the very sparse accommodations for their guests. The shacks, many on pilings over the water, were split into two rooms, each with two beds. No running water was available, but gutter systems caught fresh rain water and channeled it into large cisterns. The presence of electricity was questionable, as I noted a bare bulb in the ceiling of one room, but the wiring had been removed and was lying in a heap outside the shack. We thanked our host for his hospitality, and prepared for our departure. Puma became very upset as we walked back to the dinghy, barking and trying to block our path. Apparently, the resort is lonely in the off season, and Puma wanted us to stay and lavish more attention upon him. Unfortunately, though, more squalls were visible on the horizon and we needed to get back to Artemesia. Upon return to the boat, Sheryl found reference to the resort in another guidebook which called the place, Ricardo's Beachhuts and Lobster Camp. The description was of a rustic, almost romantic back-packer's vacation destination. Currently experiencing the sacrifice of some creature comforts for the reward of solitude and nature, I could appreciate the perspective of this guidebook. And I smiled at the thought of most people I know staying even a few days in such a resort, not what most would consider romantic or enjoyable in the slightest.
Next in goal in our explorations was to see if we could find the pair of manatees said to live in this area. The resort keeper had indicated that, in fact, there are manatees which hang around the mangroves. We explored for hours. We took the dinghy into the mangrove growths, maneuvering with oars through the winding paths across the glass still water. We snorkeled around the outskirts of the mangroves, through murky water, wondering how shocked we would be if we came face-to-face with a manatee in this low visibility environment. Finally, we abandoned our pursuits for happy hour was upon us.
As the day progressed, more boats had joined us at anchor. A series of squalls were approaching, and the Blue Field Range offered nice protection. During our dinghy travels, we had stopped at one boat, Jabiroo, a 35-foot Island Packet to chat. The captain of the boat made the bold offer of sundowners aboart Jabiroo. This was a bold offer, you see, because it broke the golden rule of cruising, "Drinks for 6, dinner for 4, sleeps 2." He was breaking the first rule, due to the fact that the couple aboard Jabiroo also had a couple of guests aboard. We gladly accepted his invitation, the first opportunity for Sheryl and I to experience a cruising pastime of sundowners on a neighboring boat.
Back on Artemesia, the liquor cabinet was looking somewhat decimated. We did find a fairly healthy bottle of tequila and some margarita mix. I wrapped these items in tea towels and placed them in my mesh bag to take as an offering. At the appointed hour, cleaned up to the best of our abilities, the four of us boarded the dinghy and Bruno did his best to keep us dry as we taxied over to the Island Packet. Despite his best efforts, we arrived slightly soggy. We were, however, prepared (remember the tea towels wrapped around the liquor bottles). The eight of us settled into the cockpit of Jabiroo, quite comfortably. And drinks were mixed and passed around. Jabiroo was equipped with an ice maker, and the margaritas, were quite a popular item.
Conversation was a mix of standard boating talk with a hint of landlubber flavor, thanks to the presence of their guests, Sheryl, and me. It was a wonderful evening of sundowners, and the beer and tequila were beginning to take effect by the time we wished our hosts safe sailing, and reboarded the dink. We returned to Artemesia, where the party continued, resulting in near depletion of the liquor cabinet. The end of the evening is a bit fuzzy in my recollections, but I do recall a late night skinny dip to watch the phosphorescent glow churned up by my swimming motions.