We loaded our gear onto a panga, a small wooden boat, and motored off into the blue. Rodríguez and the captain were fully covered, wearing long sleeves, hats and buffs so that only their polarized sunglasses were exposed. After months of winter in New York, I was greedy for vitamin D, so I wore a sleeveless shirt, but out on the water, I quickly understood that this was a miscalculation. The idyllic environment was revealing its harsher edges: The sunbeams had musculature; the saltwater, refreshing at first, began to dry out my face. As society fell away, it was easy to imagine we were in an actual emergency, fleeing something disastrous, looking for shelter.
The world dissolved into an endless palette of blues: the powdered cornflower of the midday sky, the aquamarine and teal of the waves made milky with churned-up sand and salt, the indigo of the orbs that indicated an underground freshwater cenote. It was hypnotic. This planet should be renamed Water, I thought. Eventually we began to see land — dense green foliage broken up by minuscule slivers of sandy white. We piloted around for a few hours, assessing locations. One place had enough beach to sleep on but too much greenery, which could conceal tarantulas and other venomous things. Another spot had too much sea grass. Coconut trees could mean food, fat, water and fuel, if they had ripe fruit. Holes in the coral lining the shore might mean fish, or even the spiny-shelled Caribbean lobster. After a few hours, we found an island that seemed suitable, with ample coconut trees and wide pockets of sand.
Ramón, the captain, navigated the boat as close as he could to shore, and we jumped into knee-high water to begin unloading our backpacks and gear. We quickly set up shelters — basic hammocks with bug nets — while Ramón moored the boat. Bright yellow finches flitted above our heads. Needle fish flung themselves out of the water. As we cleared away fallen palm fronds, we uncovered coils of fat black scorpions napping in their folds. We then set about surveying the land, as we’d practiced. Rodríguez identified some chechén trees, which have an effect similar to poison ivy, and pointed out trampled paths that indicated the movement of raccoons or deer. We could always hunt iguanas, he said, and we identified some trees where they might like to sun. We’d brought jugs of water to be safe, but we also taped two bottles together, mouth to mouth — one empty, one full of seawater — and set them at an angle in the sun to distill.
After we were settled, I collected myself and did a body scan. I desperately wanted to lie down, but it was too hot to climb into my hammock. Rodríguez, energetic as ever, proposed an impromptu crash course in emergency wilderness medicine. He opened his canvas organizer and took me through his wares, which were organized by tiers of injury. Tier 1: scrapes, bug bites and burns, easily treated with bandages and ointments. Tier 2: lacerations and wounds, which might need suturing. Tier 3: incapacitation. He pulled out an endotracheal tube and demonstrated how, if he were unconscious and struggling to breathe, I would tilt his head back, clear his airway and insert the plastic device. I nodded along, taking notes. Inside, I started to panic. Rodríguez noticed my expression and apologized for scaring me. Our closest help was a marine base that was as much as two hours away by boat. The reality of our remoteness set in.
The next morning, we headed out to find food. This would become our primary preoccupation for the next four days. Rodríguez talked a lot about survival math — being mindful not to expend more energy than you would consume. We might spend four hours fishing only to get enough food for each of us to have a few bites. I stopped anticipating meals because I knew there weren’t any. Intellectually, I had prepared for this, but I did not — could not — fully grasp how hard it would be, how many hours we would spend in search of sustenance. The land was abundant with it, but animals are smarter than people think. They were not easily fooled by our traps and lines.
