First, a little background.  This story begins in a little slice of paradise in the middle of the Belize jungle called The Barton Creek Outpost where one night turned into 8 days of camping,  adventure, and one of the weirdest and unBelizeable days I have ever had.  This place is run by a couple of ex US Navy Divers, raising their 3 kids under 12 years old in the jungle of Belize.  It was like Swiss Family Robinson meets Major Dad.

And so the story begins…

So, we hop in ‘The Beast’, an old school Toyota 4 Runner,  which has a history of break downs, and set out for a little adventure in search of waterfalls and swimming holes with our new friend and gracious host Navy Jim.  “Don’t forget the eggs”  his wife Jacqueline so heavily emphasized for the third time.  We made a quick stop at a village for the eggs, gas, snacks and propane then hit the road.

With dark clouds rolling in we expected the worst but didn’t care.  We stopped, had some lunch and beers and swam in Rio on Pools, an amazing spot with many waterfalls connecting over a mile of river creating natural granite water slides.  Next stop, another waterfall for some cliff jumping, swimming, and climbing.  By climbing I mean getting most of the way up a cliff I thought would be a good idea to climb, and then getting caught in fear that I was about to lose my grip and turn this lovely outing into major medical problem.  Introducing Pickle #1.  Caught Between a Rock and a Hard Fall. Seemingly stranded about 18ft up, I lost all confidence and felt any move was going to make me fall right off the slippery face, so I just stopped for a few minutes trying to gather my thoughts.  I debated the jump but would have to kick off hard to find deep enough water below.  Then in the back of my mind I heard, ‘Ya know, my 12 year old daughter made this climb”.  This was not the back of my mind speaking at all.  It was good ol’ Navy Jim letting me know that I was a giant vagina and his Tarzan biotch of a daughter could do it, (please note – not a biotch, but i’m stuck on a cliff here.)  Genius or asshole is yet to be determined but it worked and I went for it, reaching to the top and pulling myself up.  End of Pickle #1.

After a little swim to wash the shit out of my pants that wasn’t actually there, we hopped back in ‘The Beast’ and ‘peaced out’ in the rain, attempting to make it back up a very slippery and muddy clay hill.  Introducing Pickle #2. This was our only way home so we had to try, but we never really had a chance.  Eventually we made it with some help from other vehicles, but not until we took part in a rousing mud fight.  End of Pickle #2.

After this not so brief stop, we were all in agreement that it was time for a drink.  So we booked it to the local speakeasy, which happened to be a little Rudyard Kipling-like hut, owned and operated by a friend of Jim’s named Mickey who distills all of his own liquor, everything from moonshine to rum to amaretto.   And the greatest part,  I cannot explain how much this man looks like Willie Nelson.  So here we are sitting at a makeshift bar in the middle of the jungle, with Willie Nelson himself, trying his homemade moonshine, Sambuca, and Baileys, when all of a sudden…dramatic pause…a loud buzz begins growing, and the drizzling sky gets taken over and nearly blotted out by these weird, Dragonfly looking mofo’s. Thousands of them appearing over the horizon like raiding helicopters in any Vietnam movie you’ve ever seen.  My initial thought was that we were being attacked by Locusts, but I don’t even know what the hell a Locust is.  Jim and Mickey look at each other and rushed to start boarding up the bar.  Mayflies!  More annoying than anything, these harmless insects hatch once a year and live for a couple hours, only to reproduce.  Something we were lucky enough to experience on this day.  These things absolutely swarm everything in sight and seem about as smart as a Junebug.  They land on you, they die, and their wings fall off, leaving your wet and muddy body covered in dead insect carcasses.  Hundreds of them.  It got so unbearable, we left and attempted to head back home, cold, wet, muddy, carcassed [sp].

Our next stop was an unscheduled breakdown on the road about 3 miles from home, with absolutely nothing on the way but a looming nightfall and about 1 billion flying body parts.  Introducing Pickle #3. After spending about an hour trying to unsuccessfully push start, and successfully renaming ‘The SonofaBeast’, Jim pulled out a flashlight, a machete, and said “grab the eggs”.  It felt like the gayest action movie of all time.  Starring us, on a nighttime stealth mission to get the eggs home safe, wielding only a dull machete, a flashlight, and a bottle of coconut rum from Mickey the rum runner.  Needless to say, the bottle didn’t last long, as we trekked on through the dark jungle,  capping off one of the oddest days of my life.  And I am proud to say, there were only 2 egg casualties. End of Pickle #3. So the moral of the story is, when the going gets tough…it might get worse, and worse, and even worse, but it could be quite the adventure in the end so have fun with it.

And that is my story.

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