3 kayaks, 2 islands, and 1 tropical storm

Just like in the United States, a national holiday is a perfect opportunity to travel here in Nicaragua. Thus, Friday morning Andrea and I left the big city life for a tranquilo weekend in Ometepe (we were also celebrating Andrea's birthday—she turns 26 tomorrow, FYI). In case you don't remember, Ometepe is the giant island created by volcanic activity in the middle of Lake Nicaragua that I wrote about a few weeks ago when I was there on a work-related trip.

And in fact, the majority of the trip WAS peaceful and relaxing. Lazy mornings sipping cafe con leche and watching the light change over the lake as the sun rose, afternoon naps on the outdoor hammocks, leisurely hikes along the foresty paths near our (cheap but beautiful) beachfront hotel Charco Verde, seeing fishermen catch our dinner in gigantic nets, taking pictures every 30 seconds as the sun set over the western sky and produced fiery colors worthy of National Geographic...

There might not have been much to write about, had it not been for Saturday afternoon when our friend Anne joined the two of us for a little kayaking on the lake. Everything started out perfectly normal. We paddled out of the bay, pausing frequently to admire the view behind us of the Volcan Concepcion, the larger of the two volcanoes on the island and veered left around the bend in the trees, where we hoped to get a view of the other volcano, Maderas. Eventually we had both volcanoes in sight, and could hardly believe our good fortune, as both were virtually cloud-free (the combination of the hot volcanic air and cold exterior creates a seemingly endless amount of steam around the top of Concepcion, so seeing its upper opening is almost impossible).

The sky was a gorgeous, perfect shade of blue, and eventually a tiny isleta (island) that we had seen on a previous hike came into view, and we spent a few minutes debating whether we should continue into the more open water between us and the isleta to check it out. Needless to say, we were all very curious about this tiny island in the middle of the lake, so we kept going...not noticing the clouds building in the distance, of course. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

We made it across the open water in what seemed like no time at all, and when we reached the isleta, we disembarked long enough to realize the entire thing was totally grown over, and there was no obvious way to hike up to the top, so we (remember we are in bathing suits and flipflops) tiptoed our way back through the weeds and ants (and who knows what else) back to our kayaks, at which point we decided to kayak around the side to see if there was any other entrance we might explore. Finding none and observing finally that the sky appeared cloudier and darker than before, we decided to head back to Charco Verde.

About 10 minutes later, the wind began to rise, and the water grew a bit choppier and we noticed the dark clouds behind us had gotten bigger and darker, and were coming our way. Always the transparent one, Andrea remarked, “I'm scared.” I was scared too, but I tried to reassure her by saying, “Our God is the Lord of the wind and waves. We will be fine.” So with a bit more urgency we pressed on around the first forest-filled corner and headed for the second, after which we would be out of open water and in much safer territory.

However, as we pushed for this second milestone, the waves suddenly became our enemy, as the strengthening wind was pushing them directly against us. And as we rounded that corner (still about 20 minutes from our hotel bay), it became totally impossible to paddle and the rain began to come down. “We have to go for shore!” Anne shouted over the wind. We quickly paddled to some nearby rocks (thank God we happened to be relatively close to shore) where we anchored our kayaks and took shelter underneath a huge tree hanging over the water. At that exact moment, it began to pour.

Then the wind picked up even more, and the water began violently moving toward the center of the lake. Anne, Andrea and I looked at each other and realized we had made it to that point just in the nick of time. Where we had just been, there was no shelter we could have taken, and if we had continued toward the hotel, we would have been caught in open water again.

It poured, and poured. And poured.

Someone mentioned later that there was a hurricane in the area, and these showers might have been a residual tropical storm. Even if there wasn't (it turns out the closest one was in Mexico), it sure felt like one. The rain was pelting us like bullets, and the air grew quite cold...Anne was the first to have the bright idea of holding onto a rock and submerging herself in the lake, which was much warmer than the air. We soon all followed suit, laughing at the absurdity of the whole situation. “We just had to go see that island...good thing we didn't decide to kayak around the whole thing!” I commented.

Eventually Anne left us to go back to the hotel on foot to assure our other companion Sylvia (who had elected not to join us kayaking) that we were still alive and safe. After she left, Andrea and I began to sing hymns and worship songs (“God of Wonders” takes on a whole new meaning when you are personally in the middle of a tormenta!) until the wind and rain finally “ceased” (after slowing down and coming back 3 or 4 times, we decided it was took much to hope for that it would stop altogether, so we settled for “navigable”), then anchored Anne's kayak to Andrea's and proceeded to paddle back to shore.

Needless to say, we were wet, cold, and very tired when we finally set foot on dry land—eer, wet sand—again an hour later. A few minutes later, with dry clothes and hot coffee warming our chilled bones, we were good as new (even cracking jokes about being near death!)...but I don't think any of us will be kayaking too far from shore again (at least not in Lago Nicaragua) anytime soon.