The flight to Panama City was scheduled to leave at seven in the morning from the airport at Cartí, on the mainland; the “airport” being no more than a hacked-out section of jungle that served as a runway and a small covered waiting area.

Cartí Arport

As it was three hours by boat from Wichupwala to the airstrip, we had to leave the lodge at three o’clock in the morning. Ricardo, a young Costa Rican man who worked for José and who was to accompany us on the trip to Cartí, woke us and led us by flashlight to the dock where the boat was tied up.

Ricardo & Gerald

Surprisingly, there was more than enough room for passengers and crew and our luggage, which we stowed in the bow section wrapped up in old pieces of canvas.

our boat

Although by now we all had some experience with travel by cayuco, the vessel still did not inspire a great deal of confidence, especially from my American friends who were not used to long voyages in the open sea, let alone in such a rustic craft in the dark of night.

Because the cayuco is long and narrow and has a rounded bottom, it can tip easily. José warned us not to stand up or make any sudden moves.

We couldn’t help but notice that the cayuco was leaking rather steadily, and that the outboard engine didn’t seem to be running very well. This did not concern José, however.

He took turns with Ricardo bailing the water out of the boat using a calabash gourd, and totally ignored the sputtering cough of the engine, which would stall out completely every so often.

The moon had already set, and the night was pitch-dark. Within minutes, we lost sight of Wichupwala, which, not having electricity, had hardly any lights at all. Overhead, the sky was clear, but in the east, the stars were shrouded by thunderclouds. Bolts of lightning from that direction would periodically light up the night followed by ominous rumblings of distant thunder.

As I sat in the cayuco, amazed at where I found myself in the world at that moment, it occurred to me that there was no navigational equipment on board, not even a compass. I wondered how José knew where we were. There were no lights to aim at, no land to be seen, just the blackness of the ocean. I pondered this for a moment and then decided that, of course, José was navigating by the stars. Looking up, I could clearly see the constellation of Orion; perhaps one of those stars was our guiding light.

The storm continued moving in our direction. Within an hour, the light breeze that had been coming from the east died and the sea became perfectly still. The calm was followed minutes later by a strong series of wind gusts. Then came the rain, the huge forked bolts of lightning and the explosion of thunder.

José told us not to worry; the storm would soon pass.

He was right. The worst of it was over quickly, but the night sky did not clear, clouds obscured the stars and a light rain continued to fall. Now there were not even any stars to steer by. I was wet and cold and was increasingly worried about José’s ability to navigate, which up till this point, I had not mentioned to anyone. I turned to Ricardo and whispered, “How does José know where to go?”

Ricardo answered, “No te preocupes,” (Don’t worry) “Él sabe,” (He knows).

We continued traveling though the starless night for another hour and a half. José was silent, keeping one hand on the tiller of the outboard and bailing calmly with the other.

The weather cleared up as dawn broke. The jungle lowlands of Panama’s Darien region were suddenly visible no more than a mile away. Right in front of us lay an old wooden pier, a small building with a thatched roof, and a cleared strip of forest; José had taken us directly to the Cartí airport.

The next day, I visited Alfonso at his high-rise office building in Panama City. I thanked him for sending us and told him all about our trip to the San Blas, about the voyage from the islands to the mainland, and about José’s astounding navigational skills. As far as I knew, in order to find your way on the ocean, you needed to have a landmark of some kind or else use instruments, José had neither.

Alfonso asked, “Is José a Cuna?”

I answered, “Yes, he is.”

Alfonso replied, “Ah, then that’s the answer. Cunas don’t need instruments to find their way at sea.”

He explained that the Cuna can navigate by observing the patterns of the waves and their relationship to the phases of the moon and that there are over 100 words in the Cuna language that describe different characteristics of waves.

“No problem,” he added, “I would go anywhere with a Cuna.”