50 days or 1,200 hours or 72,000 minutes or 4,320,000 seconds, all of which equal one hell of a long time in the bush. Any way you cut the cake that was a long run without civilization. One must ask: What in the world were you doing out there for so long without coming in? The answer: A lot of reading, spear fishing, canoeing, hiking, body surfing, boogie boarding, fishing, basketball, pushups, aqueduct designing, bingo and last but not least enjoying the Caribbean from my Yucatecan hammock. Is the answer in any specific order? No. There were days when I did none of the above and there were days when I did almost all of the above, it almost always depended on the weather.

The weather on the peninsula varies from minute to minute or some times day to day. There were times when I would be at least two miles off shore diving for lobster and red snapper in water so calm one would think that there had been a massive oil spill that was weighing the water down. Then all of the sudden a wall of wind and water erupts from jet black clouds that were not there the last time that I went under water. Visibility then turns to a hundred meters or less, the direction of land becomes irrelevant because it is almost impossible to row against the wind and water even if you could see the land. So what is left to do? Go down for another lobster and hope that the canoe doesn’t fill up with rainwater, even if it does it doesn’t matter because they are made of wood. By the time you make it back up with your lobster the storm has blown over along with taking you and your boat a couple hundred meters farther off shore. Then the lip cracking sun reveals itself evaporating all the rainwater collected in the canoe in what seems a matter of minutes, those minutes then turn into an hour of laborious rowing that test the integrity of all the muscles in your body from the waist up. But in the end when land is but a stones throw away, you look down and see the fish and lobster that you will be eating that night, and think hell twenty days is nothing, not even a full calendar month.

Speaking of the weather, one usually imagines the Caribbean as a rather peaceful sea that is great for beach-loving snorkelers and sucking on freshly cracked coconuts. But for a few wretched months of the year substantial swells roll in from out there on that glassy horizon, making some very nice waves for surfing but not so good for trying to escape the peninsula in a small boat with a forty horse power motor. So what does one do? I grab my boogie board and make the forty-five minute trudge through the jungle to a stunning beach with a long right to left break of waves up to eight or ten feet. Running across the golden sand to the bright blue water diving at the last second to make my glorious entry into the Caribbean Sea, I begin to think; hell thirty days that is just one flip of the page in the calendar year.

Hiking to the top of hill through the thick foliage following the trickle of a stream that hopefully will be a new source of water for the village, I tend to forget the bug gnawing on my neck and the yellow horned pit viper watching intently at something that it can kill but for the moment is enjoying its superiority. Pausing at the top to enjoy the sweeping view of the surrounding islands and crystalline water lying below, then looking down the path I just came up I begin to think that is going to be a pretty serious climb with a hundred and ten pounds of cement on my shoulders. At that point I take a swig from my water bottle only to find a large scorpion lying in wait for some innocent green horn, but this is no green horn I came prepared, and with what better than an oversized machete that would make Genghis Khans kneels rattle. Wielding my jumbo blade I begin to hack recklessly at my water bottle only to realize that it is still connected to my hand, which I am not interested in losing. A well timed release of the bottle and a well placed slice with weapon severs the container as well as the bright green and red scorpion in half. The good, I am now somewhat safe from the paralyzing sting of the deadly scorpion, the bad, I am now out of water and have a rather long trek back to the house. So I sit down and collect my thoughts and get my bearings, I feel my butt become wet with the water of the stream and realize that I am sitting at the source of a seemingly inexhaustible source of uncontaminated water. So as I am filling the half of my bottle that is left and is not tainted with scorpion, I begin to think maybe I can do forty days in the bush, just so long as there is a cold beer in the cooler when I get back.

So as I sit back and enjoy my refreshing beverage from the cooler and watch the sun set on yet another day on the peninsula, I begin to think that this isn’t so bad after all, maybe twenty seven months isn’t so long in the end considering that I have already knocked out sixteen. But let me make something clear, on that 50th day or 1,200th hour or 72,000th minute or 4,320,000th second I was very much ready to make my exit from the wilderness and into the civilized world. There is nothing like a hot shower, a warm water shave, a soft bed in the AC and some news from the land of milk and honey. In the end when I get to live in the civilized world fulltime, I will probably miss some of the roughness on the peninsula because living out here is one hell of an adventure, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.