On Saturday July 17th, we had the pleasure of going boating with one of Jim’s co-workers. They picked us up boat in tow and we sped to Puntarenas on the reopened Caldera highway, where we met their other friends. As the 14 of us left the dock with two boats and two jet skis, they commented that safe boating on the Pacific means going with other people. We assumed that this comment meant “the more the merrier”. 
We boated past the long Puntarenas causeway, across a relatively calm Gulf of Nicoya to Isla San Lucas, which used to be a prison Island “like Alcatraz”. Now, I’ve never been to Alcatraz, but I’m pretty sure if I had to spend life in prison on an island, I’d choose Costa Rica over “the rock”. We headed to a spot to wake board, and with the two jet skis tied to one boat, we snacked while the kids went wakeboarding for about an hour. As the tide ebbed, we saw a lot of debris (garbage) rolling by in the water, prompting comments of “muy sucio” (very dirty). We avoided getting in, especially after our host climbed out with some kind of a jelly fish sting on her hip. Moments later, the ski boat came limping back with a plastic bag caught in the impeller, which took four guys an hour to remove. Once we were moving again, we crossed over a wide expanse of ocean to Tortuga Island. It was quite a ride through rolling waves higher than the boat exacerbated by chop and frequent floating tree trunks, but the islands and shore line were spectacular.
They showed us the touristy part of Tortuga Island – complete with a restaurant and toilets - before taking us around a point to the “other beach”— no restaurant, no toilets, but no people. We plunged into the neck-deep water and swam to shore, lunch in hand. As we ate our sandwiches and chips, a local vendor showed up in a boat that looked like it would not have made it across our pond in Plymouth, let alone the bay, and served some of the mo
re adventuresome of us raw oysters. We were not among the indulgers.
After lunch we boated back across the choppy ocean waters to Isla San Lucas, where we water skied and wake boarded for two hours. With the sun setting on a beautiful day, we stopped to pick up the last wake boarder and tie down the equipment. “And that” commented our host “was a full day of water sports!” Then he tried to start the engine… to no avail.
It’s not like we climbed on some rotten scow with a 7 hp outboard. This was a brand new 20’ Sea Doo Challenger with an inboard 430 hp intercooled super charged engine…that wouldn’t start. The sun didn’t look so high in the sky all of a sudden. Are those rain clouds? Can howler monkeys swim? I think we still have some pretzels left. “You jinxed us you know” Nancy chided. “Huh? What’d I do? I was just sitting here”. “You sang the opening line to Gilligan’s Island when we left”. Oh. Just shoot me. What a poor choice of music.
After spending a half hour calling the boat mechanic, opening every trap door flipping every switch and jiggling every wire, the boat still wouldn’t start. So 9 of us piled into the smaller boat, and 3 squished on one jet ski, we putted across the open bay as the other jet ski slowly towed the boat back to the dock. What took about 20 minutes to cross in the morning now took well over an hour. Fortunately, the weather held and the sea was calm. We arrived at the dock ahead of the disabled boat so we could take our showers and get changed, only to realize that we had left our shorts and sandals on the boat.
We made it home by 10 and woke up the next morning realizing that it’s not too bad being marooned…in Costa Rica.
We boated past the long Puntarenas causeway, across a relatively calm Gulf of Nicoya to Isla San Lucas, which used to be a prison Island “like Alcatraz”. Now, I’ve never been to Alcatraz, but I’m pretty sure if I had to spend life in prison on an island, I’d choose Costa Rica over “the rock”. We headed to a spot to wake board, and with the two jet skis tied to one boat, we snacked while the kids went wakeboarding for about an hour. As the tide ebbed, we saw a lot of debris (garbage) rolling by in the water, prompting comments of “muy sucio” (very dirty). We avoided getting in, especially after our host climbed out with some kind of a jelly fish sting on her hip. Moments later, the ski boat came limping back with a plastic bag caught in the impeller, which took four guys an hour to remove. Once we were moving again, we crossed over a wide expanse of ocean to Tortuga Island. It was quite a ride through rolling waves higher than the boat exacerbated by chop and frequent floating tree trunks, but the islands and shore line were spectacular.
They showed us the touristy part of Tortuga Island – complete with a restaurant and toilets - before taking us around a point to the “other beach”— no restaurant, no toilets, but no people. We plunged into the neck-deep water and swam to shore, lunch in hand. As we ate our sandwiches and chips, a local vendor showed up in a boat that looked like it would not have made it across our pond in Plymouth, let alone the bay, and served some of the mo
re adventuresome of us raw oysters. We were not among the indulgers.After lunch we boated back across the choppy ocean waters to Isla San Lucas, where we water skied and wake boarded for two hours. With the sun setting on a beautiful day, we stopped to pick up the last wake boarder and tie down the equipment. “And that” commented our host “was a full day of water sports!” Then he tried to start the engine… to no avail.
It’s not like we climbed on some rotten scow with a 7 hp outboard. This was a brand new 20’ Sea Doo Challenger with an inboard 430 hp intercooled super charged engine…that wouldn’t start. The sun didn’t look so high in the sky all of a sudden. Are those rain clouds? Can howler monkeys swim? I think we still have some pretzels left. “You jinxed us you know” Nancy chided. “Huh? What’d I do? I was just sitting here”. “You sang the opening line to Gilligan’s Island when we left”. Oh. Just shoot me. What a poor choice of music.
After spending a half hour calling the boat mechanic, opening every trap door flipping every switch and jiggling every wire, the boat still wouldn’t start. So 9 of us piled into the smaller boat, and 3 squished on one jet ski, we putted across the open bay as the other jet ski slowly towed the boat back to the dock. What took about 20 minutes to cross in the morning now took well over an hour. Fortunately, the weather held and the sea was calm. We arrived at the dock ahead of the disabled boat so we could take our showers and get changed, only to realize that we had left our shorts and sandals on the boat.
We made it home by 10 and woke up the next morning realizing that it’s not too bad being marooned…in Costa Rica.
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