Deep in the jungles of Belize I rediscovered a simple truth: To accomplish a big task, you must take one step at a time — sometimes without even looking beyond the next step.
I relied on that strategy on every adventure I tackled last weekend, when three friends escaped the Dallas snow for the Cayo District of Belize.
Our first challenge was a 6-mile journey from our hotel to the nearest town — in a canoe on the Macal River. The staff warned us that the water level was low (it’s dry season in Belize). They didn’t discourage us but did warn that it could take up to four hours.
We scoffed. Four hours? We were confident we’d make it in three. (I’m not sure how we conjured such bravado; only one of us had navigated a river in a canoe before.)
We left with instructions to look for a bridge. That would signal our arrival in San Ignacio, and just past it, we’d find a boat ramp and a guide to take us to our next destination.
After we identified our roles and developed a rhythm — and I learned that as the middle person, my ability to maintain balance determined the whole vessel’s balance — we paddled with fierce determination.
We had no map, no GPS, no way to estimate how quickly we were moving. We just kept paddling, through clear water, among schools of tiny fish, past limestone formations and vines and trees and bursts of jewel-toned blossoms.
We didn’t know how many bends we would need to maneuver before we’d spy the bridge. We took very few breaks, resting our arms only when muscle fatigue was too painful to ignore.
Splash, pull, swish. One after the other. One at a time.
Just less than three hours after we’d dipped the paddles in the Macal, we spotted the bridge. We rowed as fast as our tired, 30-something mom selves would allow, and we rammed ashore. One big goal accomplished, thanks to countless little motions.
That feat was nothing compared to the next day’s adventure: a journey through a secluded cave.
We knew that the cave was accessible only through private land and that the landowner, Ken, would take us there by truck and then foot. We were promised the experience of a lifetime. The rest of the details were sketchy.
If someone had presented me a map of the gravel road, followed by off-road trail, followed by the jungle hike, followed by the rock climb — just to reach the mouth of the cave — I probably would have sought a gentler excursion.
If someone had described the cave’s mix of dry and slippery surfaces, the centipedes and spiders, the occasional flying bat or bat skeleton, the narrow precipices, the massive scale, I definitely would have opted for another three hours in a canoe.
I am thankful that I was unaware. I took one (sometimes intrepid) step at a time. I clung to limestone and shimmied through tight corners and placed my hands on rocks that were home to creepy crawlies.
I wandered through caverns where Mayan rulers once presented sacrifices to their gods. Where they pleaded for favor and rain and bountiful crops.
I examined up close shards of ancient pottery and natural formations of the earth, millennia in the making and still under development.
We left the cave unscathed — despite a cloud of angry bees — and hiked back to the Land Rover that delivered us. Another destination complete, with unexpected twists and an unpredictable ending. And a welcome reminder that even the most overwhelming goals require just one step at a time.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. E-mail her at tyradamm@gmail.com.
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