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Mario Calvio ♦
There are many cayes in the waters of Belize with amenities that are tailored with tourism in mind. But none of them comes close to Calabash Caye. In my humble opinion, the true beauty of Belize is found in the areas that are virtually untouched by man. Approximately 31 miles off the coast of Belize City lies one such haven for the few who dare to become disciples in the discipline of Marine Biology—the temporary home of some of the most intelligent, energetic, and hardworking (not to mention weird) biologists I have had the pleasure of meeting.
It was a sunny morning at the dock behind the Ramada Hotel. I and my fellow marine biologist in training were getting our belongings ready for departure.
VROOM! Roared the boat's engine as it came to life. My peers and I took our time getting into the boat. We were accompanied by our lecturer Mr. Eden, a middle-aged medium-built man of a sunburnt complexion. His dark hair was combed to the side, held in place, it seemed, by a handful of hair gel. He wore glasses with a dark frame that tightly cuddled the wrinkles of age that had begun to appear on his face, with a long-sleeved dry-fit shirt and pair of Hawaiian swimming trunks (fitting for the occasion). “Is everyone ready?” he asked as he stretched one leg into the boat and carefully gauged his steps to avoid stepping on the luggage that populated the deck. Once everyone was settled in, Mr. Eden gave the captain the okay, and we were off on an adventure we would never forget.
As the boat picked up speed, I could feel the thumps and bumps as it skimmed over the waves. With the wind crashing against my face, I took in a deep breath of the fresh ocean breeze and sunk into my seat, thinking to myself, “I can get used to this.”
The route to Calabash Caye is filled with twists and turns, but the boat’s captain masterfully navigated through the coral reef, careful not to damage it. As the boat detoured through the mangroves, we marveled at their bright green beauty, which was highlighted by the blue canvas of the ocean surrounding them.
You could feel the excitement in the air as we drew closer to our destination. Finally we arrived, and it was worth the wait. With its bright sandy beaches and palm trees swaying in the wind, it was everything I had imagined and more.
Photo by Mario Calvio
After we got settled into the student dorms, we all gathered on the beach where we were assigned to teams. We then prepared our swimming gear and made our way back to the dock with goggles and flippers in hand.
While we were settling into the boat, Mr. Eden appeared on the dock and headed towards us. He held a box full of what appeared to be butterfly nets in one hand and buckets in the other. My imagination took off at a hundred miles per hour, trying to decipher what we were about to do. “Okay class, we’re going jelly fishing,” Mr. Eden said nonchalantly.
“Jelly fishing?!” blurted one of my classmates who was sitting close to the engine.
“Yes, jelly fishing,” confirmed Mr. Eden who then proceeded to brief us on how and why we would catch the jellyfish that afternoon. But all I could picture when I thought about jelly fishing was SpongeBob SquarePants running around in Jellyfish Fields.
Image by Zamaria Patiño
Moments later, we were back on the water. After fifteen minutes or so, the boat slowed and came to a halt between two mangrove patches. Why there? Because, according to Mr. Eden, the type of jellyfish we were tasked with catching can only be found in calm waters since they rest on the seafloor.
Everyone then began to prepare themselves to enter the water, but before anyone could get in, Mr. Eden descended upon us like an eagle upon its prey. His usual happy disposition shifted, and the creases between his eyebrows became more defined, his face stern. This prompted me to pay keen attention to what he was about to say. He slowly scanned the group and said, “Only the best swimmers in your group should enter the water because, in this case, you won’t be able to complete the task with a life jacket on. Also, be careful not to stir up the sediment because it is filled with ephyra.”
We all looked at each other cluelessly. Then someone asked, “What’s that?”
“Baby jellyfish,” Mr. Eden replied. “We also call them stingers because…well, you’ll find out.”
I was nominated by my team as the designated jelly-fisher. I took my time getting into the water, careful not to stir up the sediments. But in a split second one of my classmates, disregarding everything Mr. Eden had just said, jumped into the water feet first with flippers on. The sediment shot up like a nuclear mushroom cloud, engulfing him. He shouted a list of obscenities not suitable for virgin ears as the sharp stings of the ephyra pierced into his body. When I saw that, I pushed away from the boat with all my strength, propelling myself into deeper waters. The other the jelly-fishers waited patiently for the sediment to resettle, then they proceeded with the mission. I began to dive with my jelly-fishing net, capturing the tiny creatures and passing them to my team who were stationed at the boat. Every now and again you would hear a jelly-fisher drop an F-bomb when they were stung.
As the sun began to set, we regrouped on the boat and made our way back to home base with a bucket full of jellyfish and bodies full of red patches. Hungry, tired, but very, very happy.
Photo by Mario Calvio
Whether you are a marine biologist or an ordinary person who’s in love with the sea and everything it has to offer, Calabash Caye has something for you. It is not a tourist destination with fancy palapas, pretty waitresses, and enticing cocktails. It is something better, something that cannot be recreated—nature in its raw and true form, which, to me, is priceless. Calabash Caye will forever have a special place in my heart because of the unforgettable memories I made with a rag-tag team of unforgettable people. ♦
Mario Calvio is an IT major at the University of Belize. He lives in Belmopan and enjoys reading and photography.