The Captain

Francisco had lived his entire 34 years on the shores of the Osa Peninsula and Sierpe River in Southern Costa Rica when we met him as our fishing guide and boat captain during our week in the Corcovado rain forest.  He grew up with only his feet and a canoe or kayak as a mode of transportation.  As such, he knew the jungle trails and waters of the southern Pacific as well as most folks know their way from their bed to the bathroom.

Reserved, reticent and recessive to the point of introversion, Francisco went about his duties silently and showed no emotion nor made no comment even in situations where those around him were bursting with excitement.  A childhood accident had reduced his vision to one eye and it seemed the scar where his left eye had been had affected his temperament as well…his zest for interacting blunted…his enthusiasm dulled.  He had chosen the orbit of a lonely planet.

As a boat captain, however, his ability to read the swells and pitches of the ocean was remarkable given his lack of three dimensional sightedness.  Ever wordless and focused on the task at hand, he piloted our boat gracefully through troubled waters.  And because there are no docks to facilitate passengers disembarking, Francisco had to back his panga in to shore while battling wild surf with 6’ - 8’ waves crashing the beach every few seconds so we could jump out in shallow water.

To pull this maneuver off without destroying both boat and outboard motor is a feat that depends on exquisite timing and the ability to dominate the ocean swells the way a lion tamer cowers the big cat.  It requires converting those roaring waves into allied forces…..a skill that denies being taught and transcends learning.  It requires a nearly innate feeling, a sense of oneness with the beast.  Francisco possessed that unity with the raging sea.

To the delight of those fishing, this inborn talent also allowed him to guide his party to spots on the vast ocean surface that harbored hungry schools of fish.  He could read telltale signs offered up by nature that few of us could see.  He spotted minnows breaking the surface hundreds of yards away, birds circling so far in the distance we couldn‘t see them with binoculars, and his gut radar was well tuned, his eye working overtime.

Perhaps the most amazing triumph was his ability to zero in on whales making passage from Alaskan to South American waters.  In the late afternoon with the sun low in the sky, the choppy surface of the Pacific is one dark flash after another.  As the panga bounces from wave to wave, chop-chop-chop, objects near and far are equally blurred.  Picking out the dark humpback of a whale a quarter mile away in such conditions is all but impossible.  Certainly, none of the six in our boat, ever spied anything close to a mammal in the water, though we all strained our eyes relentlessly.  And, yes, we each had two good eyes devoted to the task.

Then when we least expected it, Francisco would suddenly decrease our speed, make a ninety degree turn and cruise quietly for a few hundred yards, sometimes even a half a mile.  Whereupon and to our utter amazement we found ourselves within spitting distance.  We were side by side with a migrating mammal.  A gigantic whale slowly sliding through the sea, occasionally blowing a spray of saltwater skyward, slipping its way south, only to eventually turn around and head back to whence it came.

All the while, Francisco remained expressionless even despite the round of applause from his six passengers.  He had a job to do and this was only a part of it.  There would be more whales to spot and he still had the responsibility to deliver us back to the camp beach safely, many miles away.

He would employ his eye to our full benefit.  He would show us more than the sights of the sea.  He would show us the true definition of courage and stoic humility.