Cliffs, Coquí, and the Courage to Paddle in Pitch Black (Then Collapse in Bed)

(or: We Came, We Jumped, We Kayaked in the Dark, We Didn’t Die)

Early Start (and Thank Goodness for It)

We got going just after 8:00 a.m. (for a 40 minute drive to a 10:30 a.m. pickup), and thank goodness we did. As anticipated, traffic was super backed up. Luckily, we had obtained a toll pass, which kept us out of the very worst of it — except once, on the opposite side of the highway, where a truck had managed to drop half its load (of boxes of jeans) directly onto the road.

Naturally, this caused the “lookie-loos” to slow down even more than normal morning-commute traffic. A police car zig-zagged across lanes to shut things down, while the truck driver attempted to reclaim denim from asphalt. I am certain there is a metaphor here, but at 8 a.m. then (and midnight now)… I was not prepared to locate it.

Parking: Easy. Meeting Point: Absolutely Not.

Because we were going to be gone all day, we’d asked in advance for parking lot information rather than try to swoop into a perfect, free, all day parking space (like every detective show known to man). This worked great. The lot was easy to find (thanks to Sharon having saved it in TripIt).

Unfortunately, that is where the smooth sailing ended.

We were instructed to meet the Island Journeys van at the “Seahorse Statue.” We put that into Google Maps, arrived right on time, and . . . no one was there. We re-checked the email from GetYourGuide, and discovered that it referenced a completely different set of landmarks. Plugged those into Google, and realized that we seemed to have exited the parking garage, walked down to the esplanade, and turned left instead of right.

We hoofed it (okay okay dumb horse reference) over there . . . a ten-minute fast walk. No one.

We texted the tour company. The photos in the email showed a seahorse statue with a golden hue; the one Google had sent us to was large, unmistakably a seahorse — but more “rusty metal” than “golden.” In our second location, we could see all the stores, the bank, and the bar mentioned in the email. Across the street was a park being actively demolished by bulldozers, which led us to briefly wonder whether there had once been a seahorse statue there that no longer existed.

We texted again. The response: There is only one Seahorse Statue, and you’re at it.

Well, we HAD been at it. Now, we were not.

This is the one thing Sharon absolutely cannot stand: being early, following directions precisely… then having the directions be wrong, so arriving late. She was fully prepared to abandon the effort, demand a refund, and spend the rest of the day doing something sensible and air-conditioned.

Perseverance, Unplanned Cardio, and the Taxi That Would Not Taxi

Back toward the statue we went. It was hot and humid, and I realized my inhaler was peacefully lying on the sink in my bathroom back at the Hyatt, living its best life.

Halfway there, we attempted to get into a cab at a taxi stand. The cabbie, trying to be helpful, insisted:

“No, no — the Seahorse Statue is RIGHT up there!”

We could not convince her that we would happily pay her to take us the final few blocks anyway. (Apparently her business model is only “being right,” not “driving.”) So we persevered.

Also: we were now getting our 10,000 steps in before breakfast, but not in the aspirational way.

This time, when we arrived, there was a woman waiting — and shortly thereafter, a mother and son joined us. They had booked through Viator and had experienced the exact same run-around we had. This was both validating and infuriating, like finding out you’re not crazy, you’re just in a group project.

The van finally arrived, nearly full from previous pickups. Sharon and I ended up on the seat over the wheel well, which — combined with Puerto Rican streets and a distinct lack of shock absorption — made the ride kidney-jarring in a way that feels medically billable.

Smoothies, “Sin Leche,” and El Yunque

We stopped en route at a stand for smoothies. Sharon had pineapple-mango; I went with pineapple-mango-coconut. Our driver gave us an important heads-up: in Puerto Rico, smoothies are often made with sweetened condensed milk, i.e., dessert in a cup. So we ordered ours “sin leche, con agua.” Pro tip.

From there, we headed up to El Yunque National Forest — the only tropical rainforest in the U.S. National Forest system, encompassing over 28,000 acres of lush jungle and extraordinary biodiversity.

The name El Yunque is Spanish for “the anvil,” referring to the shape of the mountains at certain angles — though our guide told us it also traces back to the Taíno word Yukiyú / Yu-Ké, often translated along the lines of “forest of clouds” or “white land.”

This rainforest receives astonishing rainfall — roughly 120 to 240 inches per year — fueling waterfalls, rivers, and that deep-green lushness that makes every inch feel alive. The best part? We were promised that the “aliveness” did not include any dangerous animals (except, of course, the chupacabra . . . ) and, better yet, no poisonous “brush against me and get a rash that lasts for days” plants.

We met our second guide (the driver was also a guide) and headed up a muddy trail. We were very glad we’d been warned to wear sneakers.

HERE is a link to the photos and videos from the El Yunque portion. I’ve tried to insert them, but am once again having issues with the “.HEIC” (Apple iPhone photo extension). So this link is to a Google folder containing our photos/videos. If I can get the .HEIC photos to cooperate, I will insert some into the actual post; however, the videos are too big. They include us waterfall sliding (sound on for Sharon’s whooping) and cliff jumping (my seeming “semaphore waving” is trying to ask Sharon, below, for the arm position so they would not be ripped off). If you can’t figure out who the cute “non-Sharon-and-Sandy” couple is in the link… Read On.

Bamboo, Iridescent “Ferns,” and Survival Botany

The timber bamboo was astonishing — some stalks easily three stories tall. Though invasive, our guide explained it’s tolerated because the dense root systems hold the soil in place. Wherever bamboo clumps appeared, you could usually see a washed-out gully nearby where rain had eroded the earth, stopped only by the roots. We also learned about the “Ceiba” tree (which the tree in Avatar was based upon); the native people considered it a sacred bridge between worlds/to their ancestors. It had HUGE spikes on the trunk – not a tree to hug!

We also saw a striking red-flowered plant that looked a bit like ginger, which our guide called the “insulin plant.” This plant, from the ginger family, is so nicknamed because of traditional beliefs about its potential blood-sugar-lowering properties.

Even more astonishing: what our guide called an “iridescent fern,” but what is more accurately an iridescent “plant.” It flashed purple-blue-green depending on the angle of the light, which very much looked like glowing. Apparently it’s also called a “peacock fern,” which accurately describes the way that each move changed its color.

In the link above is also a video of a “sensitive plant.” When touched, its leaves close to safeguard their tender insides from predators (the stems have spikes).

Later, we learned about a massive tree — huge and banyan-like, with enormous folded roots — that our guide said Indigenous people used for communication: if you pounded on the folds, the sound carried (he did so, immediately making a Jumanji joke. We all peeked at our wrists for stripes). Those same folds were also described as hiding places — indigenous people would coat themselves in clay and lie within them to avoid Spanish soldiers.

Ropes, Rock Scrambles, and Me Being Braver Than My Inner Monologue

We reached a pool where you could either stop, or continue on to the waterfall slide and cliff jump. About three-quarters of us continued — including Sharon and me.

The path was not easy. It involved a lot of “put your left foot here, grab this rope, step with your right, twist your left…” You needed to haul your own body weight up. Bendy Sharon handled things like a sure-footed ibex, while I did more of “Lift my own leg with my hand and hope for the best.”

I worried constantly about slipping, but my sneakers were absolute champs.

For context: when Sharon and I zip-lined in Hawaii, I froze on a high swinging bridge over a gorge and Sharon had to “fetch me” by walking backwards in front of me saying: “Look into my eyes…. Look into my eyes….” So if Sharon looked even slightly concerned today, that was probably why. As long as I could get to the starting point of the cliff jump or waterfall slide without looking down, I knew I’d be fine.

A lovely older couple from India had braved the climb; the woman couldn’t swim, but the guides assured her it would be fine. We all had helmets and buoyant life jackets, and one guide would meet her in the pool to help her back toward the shallows.

They had also brought a GoPro, which the husband insisted (against the wife’s admonitions) would be secure on his wrist.

To go down the exceptionally swift-moving waterfall — or, more accurately, water trough — you needed to stay seated (to keep your head from banging on rocks behind you), cross your arms over your chest, keep your feet together… and down you go.

Our driver had already warned us about how many Apple Watches and similar devices were resting at the bottom of the 40-foot-deep pool. The guides had also told us from the beginning that they would be filming and photographing us (for free), and strongly discouraged bringing phones, even waterproofed.

You can probably guess what happened next: the GoPro was a goner.

In a strange bit of symmetry, our guide (who went first) also lost his diving mask — pure fluke. He borrowed one from another group’s guide, and by the end of our time at the pool… he had found the GoPro (and his mask). I mentioned to the husband that a very generous, “GoPro replacement-sized” tip would be appropriate.

Cliff Jumping: Choose Your Own Bad Idea

Next came more scrambling — and the cliff jumps. There were high, medium, and low options. (From the low option, you could use ropes to lower yourself back down into the water, which the Indian wife did — an elegant solution that deserves more respect.)

Sharon went first and, naturally, ibex’ed her way to the high jump. Second, a guy opted for medium. Not to be outdone — and now deeply committed to my new identity as Person Who Does Things — I followed Sharon up to the high one. (As Sharon says, “Bravery is being afraid and doing it anyway.”)

I have no idea how tall it was. I only know that:

• You do not want to look down at the edge.
• You must jump feet-first, keeping your arms down so they’re not ripped upward on impact.
• Sharon mentioned afterward being surprised at how hard her feet hit the water (i.e., long drop/big impact).

She gave me a huge “WHOOP” when I landed. It really must have been pretty dang high (I’d been assiduously counting the quartz veins in the cliff top before the “Go”), because even though my helmet was securely attached front and back, the force ripped it up and away from my head. Breath-taking (in the actual sense).

Like the pool we had waterfall-slid into, the water was VERY cold at the entry point — so deep the sun couldn’t warm it.

Some people tried a rope swing into the pool. Sharon and I agreed we both like our shoulders too much to attempt that.

Fruit, Fish, and the Way Back Down

We snacked on fresh mango, oranges, and bananas the guides had cut up while we were cavorting in the water. They told us to throw the peels into the water because the trout we’d seen in some of the shallower areas liked them. I remain unconvinced, especially given the visible accumulation of older peels on the bottom.

We headed back down to the van, stopping at a farm to wash the sticky clay (which the indigenous people had dried, then used in “stick” form as sunscreen and bug repellant) off shoes and legs.

Dinner, Pig Farm Aromatics, and Coconut Mojitos

Earlier, we’d been given a QR code to order dinner at a local restaurant. It was… not a big win. The food was mediocre, and the air was heavily scented with nearby pig farming — not a bonus.

It was the only option though for miles and miles, so we ordered chicken mofongo (unfortunately very dry), salads, and coconut mojitos.

Night Kayaking and the Reward Phase

From there, it was off to a Bio Bay night kayak tour with “Kayaking Puerto Rico.” They depart from Kiosk #11 in Fajardo and have been rated “Best of the Best” on TripAdvisor.

The guides were excellent: clear briefing, lots of bug spray. We learned that the reason there were no bugs up in the rainforest was the tiny coquí frogs (tiny frog, big voice). They eat mosquitoes and other biting insects. Unfortunately, the mangrove forest area is salty and inhospitable to them; bug spray was liberally applied.

Sharon took the front of the kayak; I took the back. This went dramatically better than previous kayaking attempts with Herbert. Between rowing experience and actual communication, we were in sync. (Since I had always been in the front of the kayak with H, his “Vulcan mind meld” from the back of what he wanted me to do was… suboptimal.)

Though we were the first into the kayaks, that put us last in the single file through the mangrove forest. You were instructed to follow the tiny tail light of the kayak ahead — though not everyone managed this well, and we were led into mangrove roots more than once and had to brake often to let another kayak sort itself out.

However, sometimes at a wider portion of the mangrove maze we were able to pass some of our compatriots — usually because they had somehow slewed their kayaks sideways (and once we passed a couple who were literally turned around the wrong way).

It was intense, winding through mangrove tunnels in near-total (and sometimes total) darkness, the only light the bobbing red kayak tail lights ahead. We had four guides, but a few of our group needed to be towed into position more than once.

Every now and again, one of the guides shone a bright light from the side to show the route. Sharon and I surmised this was what was supposed to happen, but with some of our group being less than stellar kayakers, the “lighting” guide was handling other safety-related tasks. Shame, because paddling through total darkness in the narrowest bits was nerve-wracking — your paddle would strike roots, or you’d get smacked by an overhanging branch.

Pro tip: lean forward or backward, not sideways. Sideways is how you roll, and I was not interested in becoming part of the mangrove ecosystem.

We’d been warned in an email the previous day (see Day 2) that the bioluminescence wasn’t at peak conditions. So we were surprised and delighted that once out in the bay, running your fingers through the water produced green-blue-white sparks. Each kayak had a black tarp, which we took turns pulling over our heads to block ambient light and make the effect stronger. Splashing water on your legs caused the sparks to materialize in your lap. Of course, it also meant water in your seat on the way back…

The guides each had their jobs: One told us all about the biodiversity; one had a laser pointer and showed us the constellations in the stunning sky. H had been a big “star nut,” and when she asked “do you know this one,” I was able to confidently name Cassiopeia, Orion, the Pleiades, Taurus, the North Star, Beetlejuice, etc. (I hadn’t known Pisces, or the myriad of stars around it that were Harry Potter-related, such as Sirius and Bellatrix.)

One more note — and this one is for the marble logbook. Lynn E had given me one of her husband’s “cremarbles” to toss into the bioluminescent bay (a.k.a. give Water Jim a little moment in the glow). But it was so dark — and we’d been cautioned not to bring our cell phones — that I decided not to drop him into the void if I couldn’t memorialize it for Lynn. We have a manatee swim coming up in a couple of days, so I’ll take Water Jim there instead. (Herbert, on the other hand, didn’t swim well though he loved to snorkel.)

That same admonishment also made me accidentally leave one of H’s cremarbles in my bag — in the van. That bummed me out more than I expected, because I think H would have liked the jungle. (And honestly, Jim might have loved the waterfall slide adventure.) Next time: marbles in pockets, admonishments or not — I refuse to be outsmarted by safety instructions.

Paddling back, we were able to catch the current in places, making the ride faster and a bit more fraught. Luckily, I’d really gotten the hang of steering. Sharon would call out “Left, right, left, right, another right…” since she could see the tail light ahead better than I could. When I saw a sharper turn coming, I’d just say “Nope,” Sharon would stop paddling, and I’d use mine as a rudder. We were a good team. (At one point she said, “If you can see the taillight, we are not going straight — you need to do something.” Fair.)

By the end, we were exhausted — the paddle lasted about three hours — but it was absolutely magical.

Home, At Last

The ride back was really, really long. We hadn’t been able to sneak into a different seat, so our over-the-wheel-well position was a special form of torture for my back. We suspect we’d gone up and over El Yunque to reach the bay, meaning the return required going all the way around the mountain.

Sadly, though we’d been last picked up, we were also last dropped off — back at the Seahorse Statue.

We dragged ourselves past the cruise ships to the car (a few sideways glances from folks not hauling sopping wet shoes, clothes, hair, etc.), threw everything into the back, and Sharon heroically drove us home (with only one wrong turn, which I would like to add was not my fault this time).

Everything went straight into the washer. We took hot showers. I am typing this near-unconscious, with the sole remaining task of moving clothes to the dryer before collapsing.

Looking Ahead (or… Sleeping In)

We had originally planned to hit nearby tide pools at  Ojo del Buey, grab lunch at the food trucks we keep passing, and head to our 4:00 p.m. Bacardi Rum tour. (NOTE: Pronounced “Bah-kar-DEE” not “Bah-KAR-Dee.”)

Instead, we suspect we’ll sleep very, very late — and that we may have had quite enough climbing on wet, slippery rocks.

We might change our minds.

But I bet we don’t.

After a sketchy beginning, an absolutely excellent day: amazing guides, unforgettable experiences, and the satisfying exhaustion that proves you really did it.

Postscript:

My shoulders, from being the main kayak driver, feel like a gorilla sat on them for the ~3 hour paddle (ibuprofen infusions notwithstanding). Satisfying though. We’ve received the photos and videos from the jungle tour company (kayaking ones still to come), so I will plunk them in here, then publish as I sip my coffee and contemplate the beautiful day outside. Yep…no tidepools.