Cockscomb Basin Jaguar Preserve
We wake to the sound of the trade winds lapping the hull of the Sea Lion. An early start to get to Cockscomb Basin Jaguar Preserve. The bus rolls past cane fields and over speed bumps, while the Belizian guide tells of the penetrating nature of the Carib Indian language. He tells us that the cashew tree we are seeing with the seed on the outside of the fruit was a concession God made when he was creating the world. The Devil wanted in on the process so God let him make a fruit. However, he even messed that up, and put the seed on the outside of the fruit.
Soon after arriving at the jaguar preserve we forget about jaguars. There are birds everywhere. Yellow-winged, scarlet-rumped, and crimson-collared tanagers stunned us with color. Slaty-tailed trogons moaned eerily in the darkest recesses of the canopy. A chachalaca peers at us from his strutting branch. Kiskadees build nests before our eyes. Then we remember the jaguars. In soft mud, at our feet, evidence of anothers foot.
A blazing white crescent of sand decorated with palms and buttonwood trees. How could we go wrong with a place called Coco Plum Caye? We kayak in her lee, snorkel in her turtle grass shallows, explore her outlier islands. The mangrove anchored Man-O-War island is crowned by hundreds of circling magnificent frigate birds. Handsome males resonate beak clicking in their inflated candy apple red gular pouches, asking females to join them in the nest.
We wake to the sound of the trade winds lapping the hull of the Sea Lion. An early start to get to Cockscomb Basin Jaguar Preserve. The bus rolls past cane fields and over speed bumps, while the Belizian guide tells of the penetrating nature of the Carib Indian language. He tells us that the cashew tree we are seeing with the seed on the outside of the fruit was a concession God made when he was creating the world. The Devil wanted in on the process so God let him make a fruit. However, he even messed that up, and put the seed on the outside of the fruit.
Soon after arriving at the jaguar preserve we forget about jaguars. There are birds everywhere. Yellow-winged, scarlet-rumped, and crimson-collared tanagers stunned us with color. Slaty-tailed trogons moaned eerily in the darkest recesses of the canopy. A chachalaca peers at us from his strutting branch. Kiskadees build nests before our eyes. Then we remember the jaguars. In soft mud, at our feet, evidence of anothers foot.
A blazing white crescent of sand decorated with palms and buttonwood trees. How could we go wrong with a place called Coco Plum Caye? We kayak in her lee, snorkel in her turtle grass shallows, explore her outlier islands. The mangrove anchored Man-O-War island is crowned by hundreds of circling magnificent frigate birds. Handsome males resonate beak clicking in their inflated candy apple red gular pouches, asking females to join them in the nest.
