Hell Beach....(posting from the road)

It looked like an idyllic paradise...soft sand beach...green mangrove trees...warm ocean water just perfect for frolicking in...we were all fooled (in hindsight, the skull on the beach should have been a tipoff).

We were advised in advance that this would be a wet landing location – meaning we needed to hop out of the boat in the water and wade ashore. The activities for the afternoon included swimming and relaxing – shoes were not in order. There nearby lagoon was just a short walk through a mangrove grove...”no problem”. Excited to have a relaxing afternoon, we tossed our camera gear into a small backpack, grabbed our snorkel gear and hopped into the partially deflated dinghy (never fully recovered from that one brush with the lava rock).

As we approached the beach, Juan had us remove the lifejackets and told us that we needed to ready to go in a hurry. There was a sense of urgency in his voice that was unprecedented to date...and oddly disturbing. As we positioned ourselves to jump into the water, I began to worry about the camera equipment - specifically the uber-expensive lens I had borrowed from a friend of mine. No – no need to panic...Juan had already said “no problem”.

We were poised in ready positions when Juan called out “watch for big wave”...of course we all turned – there was no wave. Well it seems Juan is better at reading the ocean than the rest of us as a big wave did materialize and swept poor Leila out of the boat. The camera equipment and I flopped back into the boat and tried to devise a new plan as the waves tossed us about.

We zoomed by Leila at one point – who had managed to get upright – and I tossed her the backpack and yelled to run as another large wave was approaching. Leila darted to shore as the wave broke around her lower legs while the remaining passengers and I gave up waiting for the opportune time and just abandoned ship into the pounding surf.

Eventually we all straggled to the beach, too water logged to notice the oddly hot sand we were walking on. At Juan’s urging we followed a little sand covered trail to the aforementioned lagoon while a lone cloud provided a brief respite from the searing sun. Maybe we had just been spoiled up until now but this lagoon was rather dismal in comparison to the wondrous sites we had seen.

With really nothing to look at, I turned to head back to the beach as the cloud cover overhead gave way to the massive heat lamp in the sky. I have walked on hot surfaces before... my shoes once melted when walking on an active volcano...but nothing short of strolling across actual lava could compare to the sand on Playa Espumilla (aka Hell Beach) that day.

Initially I thought...this is a little toasty...hmmm...getting hotter...WTF is feels like my feet are being seared. The solace of the ocean was only a few hundred yards away; I decided to sprint for it. I could literally feel the skin on my feet blistering as I ran on the loose scalding sand and I collapsed on my back and simply lifted my feet in the air.

So now I lay there, like an overturned turtle with my feet in the air attempting to figure out my next action. I could hear the whimpers and anguished cries of my fellow shipmates as they too felt the pain of hell beach. I saw Leila cowering in the shade of a shrub and a plan popped into my head – screw the Galapagos rules and veer off the path. So with every bit of courage that I have ever been able to muster, I righted myself and sprinted for the shade of the mangrove trees off the beaten path. The sand was not as hot and I darted from shady patch to shady patch, trying mostly to stand on prickly, yet cooler leaves. As I reached the edge of the grove, I realized I still needed to make one last 20 foot sprint across the hot sand to reach the ocean. I patiently waited for a big wave to approach thus decreasing the amount of sand to be covered and made my big break. Never have I exerted such effort to run, the every step burning my feet as I dashed into the welcoming water.

Tears of joy and pain relief streamed down my face as I heard my feet sizzle in the water – I turned back to watch my friends who were still in the midst of agony. I fully expected to see someone engulfed in flames. First I saw Luce emerge from the cover of the trees – she was holding one end to the sarong in her hands and the other end was under her feet as she shuffled along (looked like she was riding a sled). Next game Guise, he had inadvertently been carrying his snorkel gear with him so he simply applied his flippers and came flip flopping from the woods. Fernando came out at a full sprint and collapsed in the ocean. Leila had also used her sarong to devise footwear. Caddie took off her shirt and stood on it, Tricia used her hat etc.

Canada, Holland, Germany, India, Spain, Estonia and Britain united that day on common hatred for hell beach. We stood in the shallows of the beach – the waves pounding us, our feet still recovering - when someone poised the question...how are we ever going to get back in the boat?

Obviously we did make it back, I would tell you the tale but I think I have just blocked it out entirely (PTSD). I did however spend the night rubbing aloe on my entire body – including the soles of my feet.