We managed to sail most of the way to Isla Montuosa, motorsailing the last few miles and arriving just after midday. As we approached the island, we noticed a pod of dolphins churning a small patch of ocean into foam. Up close, we saw a group of about 30 dolphins charging about at random, so close together they were often in contact. They were not feeding, but instead seemed to be engaged in some form of social activity, something we've never seen before. The group would change direction suddenly so that they didn't move in any particular direction, and our presence only served to change their direction a little as we motored around photographing them.

The anchorage is an open roadstead---that is, there is no harbor or cove and we're exposed to the open ocean. At times there is a very strong current past the island, so it looks as though Kena is under power with a bow wave. The current seems to be related to the tide, although we're a long way from shore. We can see the bulk of Isla Coiba and a companion island in the distance to the east and north.

The island is magnificent. Coral sand beaches and rocks make up the shoreline, which is backed with dense groves of coconut palms. The island rises rapidly to over 400 feet, and the central hill is covered with large trees and heavy undergrowth. It was high tide when we first went ashore, and we managed to get a good slop of water in the dinghy. At high tide, the waves surge all the way up the beach to the palms which lean out over the water so there is little room for error. After some exploring, we bailed the dinghy and made a careful exit that involved having Sal swim out beside the dinghy and be hauled in once clear of the surf.

The water is very clear, so our first snorkeling experience was wonderful. The bottom is all coral, which explains why the beach consists of varying sizes of coral chunks, many over an inch in diameter.

On the first morning, we went ashore again, this time at low tide, which made the landing much easier. We walked around the beach to an area where we'd seen a building the day before as we approached. Here we found to young guys who explained that they worked for the owner of the island, a fellow named Rueben from the United States. They explained that they were running out of food and asked if we'd contact their base to let them know. We tried, using the satellite phone, over two days, but somehow the numbers they had either didn't work, or were to public phones that never seemed to have the right people around.

Apart from these two guys on the island, there's nobody else around. Occasionally we see a sportfishing boat in the distance, and on the last evening, a large powerboat anchored about 100 yards from us for a few hours before heading off towards Costa Rica. The feeling of being in an extremely remote tropical paradise cliche is very strong here! In many ways, this is one of the most remote islands we've ever visited, not least because there's nobody else around. The guide books say you can arrange for trips from Panama City, several hundred miles away. They also say the surfing at one end of the island is extremely good, but only for experts, as medical help is so far.

Tane and I climbed to the top of the island. Most of the climb was very steep and we had to use trees and roots as handholds and footholds. At one point, I grabbed the trunk of a palm without looking directly and was rewarded with a dozen or so inch-long spines in my hand. These are some mean palms! At the top, we got glimpses of the ocean and the edge of the island, but the heavy growth made it impossible to get a broad, clear view all around.

On the third day we got out the hookah unit to continue getting ready for the diving at Cocos island. Sal and Tane had a great dive in the morning, starting near the boat. In the afternoon, we took the hookah to another area and they started another dive. Shortly after they started their descent, the hookah engine stopped. There was nothing I could do but to watch the bubbles and hope they made it to the surface safely. After about a minute, first Sal, and then Tane, popped up exclaiming about the sudden loss of air. Our best guess is that they got to about 25 feet when the engine stopped. Tane realized the unit had stopped first, signaled Sal, and they both rose to the surface exhaling and keeping pace with their bubbles. We've been having quite a time with the hookah engine---there's something fundamentally wrong with the carburetor setup and/or adjustment that we don't know how to fix, so we have to run it with the choke partially on. This worked fine in the morning session, but not so in the afternoon. Now nobody is going to be willing to go below 25 or 30 feet at Cocos! We did manage to get it started again later to do the shutdown procedure.

On each of the last two nights we spent at the island, we set up Tane's computer on deck just behind the mast and watched a movie. With the moonlight, the dark bulk of the island, no lights or sign of civilization, and the sudden splashing of large predator fishing chasing prey right near the boat, it made for a memorable experience.

Although there have been several large thunderstorms visible in the early mornings, we haven't had any over us while at the island, and during the day it has been most clear and quite hot. The water temperature is 90 degrees. We're been enjoying our ShadeTree boat cover, which goes over the boat with fiberglass rods, making it look like a floating Conestoga wagon of the wild west. The shade, with a little breeze, makes it quite pleasant as long as you're not working too hard. It's a great setup of cocktail hour.

We stayed at Isla Montuosa for three nights, enjoying the isolation and beauty, exploring the island, and doing our hookah checkout dives. We raised anchor at 5:30 am this morning, bound for Isla Cocos, Costa Rica, which is west and a little south of the island, 310 nautical miles away.

As I write this, it's 4:30 in the afternoon and we're nearly 50 miles from Montuosa at 7 degrees 10 minutes north, 82 degrees 59 minutes west. We were able to sail under main and spinnaker for nearly 6 hours, but the wind has died and we're now motoring. A big concern is that we've heard reports of significant adverse currents, so we want to sail as much as possible to preserve fuel if we need it to motorsail against the currents. One problem with going mostly west at this latitude is that we'll be in the ITCZ (doldrums) for most of the time, which will mean less wind and more thunderstorm activity.