We got the Colombian photo gallery updated with photos from our most recent stretch of riding. Click on the photo below to check them out.

Part Two: Recovering from Blindness

I was ready to go at dawn. Fishermen were already trolling close by, and the sounds of livestock wailing and townsfolk awakening drifted from Mamitupu. Goat yelled at me from his hammock as I packed my Kayak; “Are you not going to cook breakfast here?�

“NO,�I growled, grumpy and wanting to eat. “Once we reach Mamitupu, I’ll cook. I don’t want a repeat of yesterday morning.�

“Are you mad…? Do you realize how miserable it’ll be, the whole village swarming around our stove…â€?Yelled back Goat from his Hammock. “You know, it took that police unit till noon to get off their ass and inspect our scene.â€?

Goat had a point of sorts but I decided to ignore him rather than argue further.

The inevitable Kuna greeting party was there to meet us on the shores of Mamitupu. It consisted mostly of women in their gowns of intricate geometric patterns (called Mola) cradling, without rest, their small children. A man, presumably the most fluent Spanish speaker at hand, stepped through the crowd to decipher our needs.

Goat carefully related the terms of our predicament including how we had spent much of last night searching the nearby bay for our friends.

“Ah, so it must have been you guys who were scaring the hell out of all the boatmen.â€? our helper said with a grin. “Everyone’s afraid of the eye robbers… Have you heard about this?â€?

“We have heard.â€? I answered, “and we are terrified.â€?

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Part One: Out of Sight

Goat was in the lead. More accurately he was far ahead of the pack, and completely unaware of the span of choppy sea separating him from me.

With my left foot I pushed in the rudder control foot peg as far as it would go and paddled till my front made the 180 degree change. The Kayak rotated with the grace of a battle ship, yet still responded better than the muscles in my back, which cramp and spasm every time I turn my head to face backwards. For some time I squint directly into the setting sun, searching for the two miniscule figures of Jacob and J.

Minutes later two paddling figures emerge, unfortunately from the opposite direction. Two young Kuna men in their Cayucos were returning it seemed from a deep sea fishing trip. Their Payloads however told a different story.

“Nuedie!� I greeted them with the word that encompasses all variations of salutation.

Neither of them responded so I shouted louder.

“Are those Rocks in your boat?� I asked. Curious about the huge mound of broken corral heaped within their boats.

“Yeah, rocks.� They replied, politely smiling.

My head buzzed with questions; how the hell did they dig up all that coral? What would they use it for? Does the entire Kuna Yala Comarca plunder their reefs like this?�

Usually fishermen in the Comarca are baffled by the sight of our small gringo boats weighed down by dismantled bicycles of all things. Nearly everyone we’d encountered had paused and made an effort to figure out where we came from, where we were going, and why we chose to travel unassisted by motor. These rock gathering boatmen, however, were in a major hurry. They bolted right past my idle vessel and continued on to the town of Ustupu leaving me to admire the fluid form of their oar strokes propelling them so swift and straight.

“Damn, where are they…?�

Though the sun was softened by low-lying clouds, still my search was directed into the center of its brilliance. I pulled off my sunglasses, rinsed the sweat streaked lenses in the ocean, looked again, but could not find the characteristic flash of paddles arcing through the air.

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