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Return to the Laguna: Crossing the Northern Bay

Today (May 25, 2016) at 6:30 in the morning, Jose and I arrive on schedule at Cacique`s Point on the northwest shore of the Laguna de Apoyo.  Our goal is to travel across the wide bay that forms the northern border of the laguna (he will paddle, I will swim), then back again to our point of origin.  Our trip across the bay and back will be roughy the equivalent of a one-way crossing of the northern one-third of the laguna, or about four kilometers according to Google Maps.  We had called the day before seeking permission to enter the park a full two hours before the normal operating hours.  Our intention was to begin the swim while the waters of the laguna were still calm and to finish it before the tropical sun reaches a scorching 45-degree angle over our route.  In view of my invitation for others to join us, it may be noteworthy to add, we appear to be here quite alone.

When we reach the steep driveway that descends to the water line, our friend from previous adventures, Joel, is there to meet us, open the gate and, most importantly, send the dogs away. Our request for early admission had perhaps been bolstered by our plan to rent a kayak for three hours, guaranteeing $30 in early revenue, then possibly taking an early lunch at the facility`s restaurant.  Joel graciously brings a single kayak from its storage place and lowers it into the water at the laguna`s edge.  It is immediately clear to us we have lost the advantage of early smooth waters.  There are clouds above us and some ambiguous activity in the atmosphere is churning the water into five inch waves along the rocky abutment that makes up the shore line. I will be swimming almost due east into the waves and facing the sun as it breaks through the thin layer of clouds. After the ritual of dousing every exposed inch of my body with SPF 50 sunscreen and loading the essential items into the kayak, I wade into the water to begin the three hour soaking I am about  to experience.  I had learned the hard way the sun at this latitude penetrates deeply below the surface of the water and can produce a distressingly uncomfortable situation.

Jose finds his balance in the seat of the kayak, lifts the oars out of the water and motions to Joel to gently push him away from the shore.  I know I am feeling the bottom of the laguna for the last time until the end of our journey. While we will not be crossing the center of the laguna, I am ever aware its bottom has been measured as the lowest point in all of Central America.  I push off into a long, wide stroke that brings me to a horizontal position at the surface.  A second and a third stroke and I`m gliding smoothly through the water feeling fully committed to the task at hand.  I glance back over my left shoulder and see Joel smiling and waving from the shore and Jose settling into a steady rhythm that will move the kayak along beside me, and sometimes ahead of me to set the course.  We’re on our way.

In fact, Jose has developed a discernible (and probably deliberate) nonchalant about the way he tracks my course in the kayak.  He often allows himself to drift away a hundred meters or so to a point where he can see me, easily reach me if need be, but at the same time, allow me a feeling of being quite on my own and self-sufficient as we move deeper into the choppy waters. Feeling almost alone anywhere in the laguna inspires both intellectual and creative energy.   Its awesome beauty, its  incomprehensible topography (especially from the surface), and even its changing temperaments based on wind, waves, temperature, time of day, position of the sun, absence of the sun, all conspire to ignite the imagination.  Last year, when we made the complete crossing on my 70th birthday, I was struck by the geographical reality of being surrounded by nothing but water for a mile in any direction, including straight down.  I conjured up great symphonies to define my relationship to the world around me, and cited sweeping orchestral movements from the ages to describe my mental and physical accomplishments and failures.  I thought deeply and sadly about the sudden loss of my sister a few weeks earlier and how her life touched many in remarkable ways.  In the end, I felt confused, determined, weak, strong, unaware, locked in a battle between will and ability, and possibly unconscious for a short time (or delusional enough to think I was).

We are now about 30 minutes into our journey and half way across the northern bay.  The waters are still unusually turbulent for the time of day and I am moving with great effort and determination to reach the other side of the bay and start back before the angle of the sun becomes a threat.  Because we chose to cross the northern bay and return (rather than make a one-way crossing of the laguna), I think at no time during the swim have we been more than half a kilometer from the dense green wall that looms a thousand feet or so above the perimeter of the shore. Every time my ears come out of the water, I hear the discordant symphony of a million disorderly crickets screaming desperately at the indifferent universe.  “Not unlike my recently diagnosed tinnitus,” I am thinking. This is what I hear all night long when my mind longs to be at peace and my body regenerating itself to meet the challenges of a new day..  The Mayo Clinic says the only known remedy for this condition is “learning to live with it,”  but always being one who sees both sides, I think the other option might be “deciding not to live with it.”  Statistically, “learning” probably wins out over the alternative, but I´m still stuck somewhere in the decision-making process.

I sometimes wonder if my seven years of living in Granada may have caused this condition, or at least, hurried it along a bit.  The nearly constant exposure to the celebratory explosions of las bombas (Nicaraguans sure have a lot to celebrate) must be factored in. The piercingly loud music and frenzied announcements coming from six feet boom boxes anchored to the backs of pick up trucks, advertising everything from religious events to drag shows down by the lake to political slogans and promises, all may have taken their toll.  Oh, and then there are the marching drummers, the brass bands and, if blame is to be assigned, the Mondoy`s dogs cannot go unmentioned.  I go to a gym in Granada most every day and, early on, another expat warned me, “Be careful.  Some of this equipment in here can hurt you.” Perhaps more hazardous are the stereo speakers on the walls of the gym painfully blaring out selections from the Nicaraguan top ten. I wear ear plugs in the gym, so now I only have to hear the screaming crickets in my head.

But I digress.  We push on and every time my ears sink below the surface of the water, I bask in the silence of my watery world…but I wonder, how long can I hold my head under water?  Jose signals we have been in the water for one hour plus one-third of his index finger, which I assume represents another twenty minutes.  We are approaching the rocky point that marks the other side of the bay, our midway destination unless I decide to swim the extra two to three hundred meters and back to complete what Google Maps measures as the full four kilometers.  I’m thinking, “no,” as I feel the waters of the Laguna becoming even rougher and the thrashing, head on waves choking off access to my air supply.    When we reach the point where a massive wedge of rough grey rock protrudes from the wall of the laguna and drops sharply into the water below, I roll over on my back (a position that allows me to keep my ears under water) to take in the full spectacle of the tropical sky (including the position of the sun) and assess any physical or mental distress that may be occurring as a result of the first half of our journey.  I hold this position for only a short time, realizing the potential effect of taking too much sun directly on my face.  In fact, I only feel a little tired and the chronic discomforts in my left shoulder and left knee, while noticeable, are not yet debilitating.  Then I say, “hell, yes!”  Let`s push on until we`re off the Google Map, then double back again.  Where are the bragging rights in failing to do something today I could do a year ago.

But now we have to get back, and that`s the hard part.  Making the film work backwards. Climbing back through a tunnel of drummers, brass bands, boom boxes,  bombas, crickets, wind, water, waves and wishes that brought us here. The trip back across the bay is long, hard, rough, increasingly painful…and satisfying. I am always amazed and baffled at how slowly I seem to move through the water when fixed on an object in the distance as my eventual goal. Today I take to counting strokes, thinking how much closer will I be after one hundred stokes, two hundred, three hundred, six hundred, and feeling not much closer at all after twelve hundred.   But ever so slowly the items lining the shoreline at Cacique`s Point become visible, discernible, distinguishable…even countable.   The waters of the laguna become so deep, so quickly, one must be practically within reaching distance of the shore before touching bottom.  Jose is pulling the kayak onto the rocky shore line  while I am reaching, stumbling, falling, half fainting and clinging to one leg of an offshore wooden dock for support.  Jose does not ask me if I need help.  He knows I cannot stand nor walk while my body is readjusting to a vertical position and the loss of weight displacement in the water.  It`s OK.  He unloads items from the kayak, fidgets with the ropes and life jackets and neatly lays out the items of clothing I had stored on board. Finally, when he thinks I am ready to try to walk, he reaches out one hand to steady my short climb to dry land.   We say nothing.  We both know it will be all right in a few minutes, but more time will need to pass before I am ready to stand up and climb the steep grade and multiple stair levels from the shore to the parking lot.

He says, “Allen (my friends in Nicaragua call me Allen), I have the keys.  I will go to the car and bring down the towels and clothes and some drinking water. Is it OK?”

“Si, amigo,” I respond.  “Un buena idea.  Esperare aqui” (I will wait here).”

Neal Graham        [email protected]

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