Marilyn, Carrie Bow Belize 2002 |
I made a
dozen or so trips to Belize over the next twelve years, working on three
different projects. Going from Washington, DC, we boarded a plane at National
Airport to Miami, where we joined a group of largely tourists heading south to
Belize City. After passing through Belizian customs with large, plastic
containers of our supplies and gear, we made our way south to Dangriga. Sometimes, we hired an old station wagon to
take us from the airport to Dangriga, that more frequently than not broke down
for a period of time along the way. If we managed to jump on a small plane,
often our luggage was too big and was delayed in Belize City until a truck
could be found.
Dangriga is a mid-size coastal town
with an airstrip located next to the Pelican Beach Resort Hotel. If we arrived
by plane, we were met at the airfield by two men who worked at the hotel. They
loaded our luggage and gear onto two wooden hand carts, the we walked on a dirt
path through a field to the dock area where a small boat awaited us for
transportation to the offshore Cayes. With our gear wrapped in plastic trash
bags, we were taken across 20 km of choppy, coastal waters to Smithsonian’s
research station at Carrie Bow Caye, a small, 50 meter sand atoll on the edge
of a coral reef. Carrie Bow Field Station
Arriving at Carrie Bow was always
exciting and special. From a distance, we could see the small island emerge
with its few palm trees defining the landscape. We were greeted by our cook and
the station managers on the dock, where we hauled up our personal gear and
boxes of scientific equipment.
Myrna Jacobson, Carrie Bow lab |
One
of the more unusual features of the station was the location and positioning of
the outhouse. At the end of a 40 m small catwalk positioned over a “pristine”
coral atoll, the outhouse looked out over the Caribbean Sea with small gentle
waves lapping over the corals at low tide. The hole in the outhouse led
directly into the ocean where bodily fluids and solids, along with toilet
paper, flushed out with the tide. Usually, you walked quickly away and avoided
searching for your “business” among the invertebrates lining the shallow
waters. After a week or so on the island, particularly at night, it was not
uncommon for someone to be intentionally locked inside of the outhouse.
Mat Wooller and Babs Smallwood, Guuy Fawkes Day, Carrie Bow |
Martha, one of our Belizean cooks |
Armed with hot coffee, I spent the
early cool part of the morning before breakfast out on a Belizian wooden chair
overlooking the water. It was the time for quiet reflection, for refining the
exciting field work for the day, and thinking about what I’d learned the day
before. I was often joined later by Wooller, Jacobson, or Dave Baker (coral
biogeochemist) who also took advantage of the peaceful time of day. While some
people feel troubled by jumping off the grid or being a remote environment, I
found it completely invigorating.
Before dinner and after showering off
the day’s mangrove muck, we cracked open Belican beers and headed out to the
end of the dock wearing Hawaiian shirts and dresses, excited to discuss the
day’s adventures. On rainy days, sometimes we remained inside the labs, but
usually the rain cleared by sunset. Dinners were spectacular culinary delights.
In 2011, on a trip with postdoc David Baker, Chris Freeman, and student Derek
Smith, Martha learned how to prepare lion fish that Dave and Chris had speared
earlier in the day. My favorites were beans and coconut rice with fried
plantains along with fresh fish. We ate our meal on the back porch of the field
station as the sun set and darkness set in. Drinks that were offered to us,
other than the beers we had to chip in for, were syrupy fruit drinks--passion
fruit, orange, lime flavored mixed with bottled water hauled over from the main
land.
Boating to
our research area: After breakfast
each day, we hopped into a 3-4 meter boat with an outboard motor and headed to
Twin Cayes, a pair of islands several kilometers to the west of Carrie Bow. The
boats were always a source of both pleasure and pain. They were moored about 30
meters offshore of Carrie Bow. In the morning, someone had to don their dive
booties and walk into the cold water to manually drag the boat closer to shore
so all could board. No one looked forward to the task. Being older, senior
women, Myrna Jacobson and I asked Mat, Babs, or any of the other students to
wade out. One morning while dutifully bringing in the boat, Wooller was stung
by one of the sting rays that lived on the bottom of the calcareous sediments.
He spent the day with his foot in boiling water then sprinkled with Adolf’s
meat tenderizer. I’ve rarely seen grown men cry in the field. He didn’t but it
was a close call.
Each day when we left the station, we
were handed a water proof Pelican case with a marine radio to communicate back
to Carrie Bow if we encountered any problems or were delayed for any reason. We
dutifully carried the radio box with us. One afternoon, we called in to alert
the station managers that we were delayed, so they wouldn’t worry. Turns out
that they were annoyed we used the radio when it was not an emergency. Mat
always answered, “Terribly sorry. Shan’t happen again.” Several times there we
ran out of gas, had engines not start, couldn’t reach Twin Cayes due to strong
winds, and lost numerous things off the side of the boat. Once, Candy Feller
was returning from a solo trip to Twin Cayes, hit rough water, and was thrown
from the boat. She did not have the kill switch on her wrist, so the boat kept
going until it ran out of gas. Fortunately, she was rescued.
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