Chopper over Covenas

Experiences and opportunities that present themselves never cease to amaze me. Today, December 8th, was one of those days on yet another national holiday—a day to celebrate the conception of Jesus. (Even being mathematically impaired, I know that somewhere along the line someone definitely screwed up those numbers.) Regardless, another school term is approaching an end, and a beach day was in the works. The pilot was back in Covenas and we decided to pay a little visit, and of course sneak in a few hours of baking between his flights. Our plan failed miserably and it was the first time we have returned from the beach without an inch of our bodies showing the tell-tale sign of a beach day.

We arrived at the beach house just before the boys’ second flight of the day, and as per usual they asked us to join them on the tarmac and then lounge in the officer’s club on the leather sofas waiting for their return. But today was different. On the ride to the naval base, the captain asked us if we wanted to join. My roommate translated the question as I was preoccupied with watching the local livestock being paraded up and down the street in the sweltering heat to really catch what conversation was taking place. Her indecisiveness drives me nuts and I couldn’t be bothered for her to pull some princess shit about not wanting to go blah blah blah, so immediately I leaned toward the captain and asked, “Really? Is it possible?” After confirming that he had truly asked us to join and wasn’t goofing around, I instantly said, “Let’s go!” I wasn’t sure if my roommate was coming or not, and at this point I didn’t even care. I wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass me by.

Onto the tarmac and a quick rundown of safety procedures in the following order: always enter the chopper from the front, never walk behind; don’t step on the pontoon thingys; machete and pistol under the co-pilot’s seat; if we crash meet at the front of the chopper; seatbelts fasten the same as a plane; life vests in the arm rests; wear the ear muffs, etc. (I loved the fact that knowing the location of the gun and machete was more important than knowing about seatbelts….ahh yes, I forgot for a moment that I was in Colombia.

So off we went, nose down and flew up and above our beach. Then out towards the ocean where the captain decided to see if our guts were made of steal or not. A few dips and drops, cranked turns, ups and downs, another turn which I swear made the horizon disappear. If he could have done loop-de-loops, I am sure he would have.

But then it was business for the boys—checking out the oil refinery and water tanks. Apparently, lids go on the oil tanks while the water tanks are exposed. If perchance there is a lid on the water tanks, it is suspicious and figure that drugs are being stored there…of course this could only be the story told to guest passengers and really they were looking for cocoa fields or what not—but who really knows.

We flew to the southern point of the Bay of Morrosquillo and then towards the north. Over beach houses and resorts, shanty towns on the outskirts, mangrove swamps where the river touches the ocean and turns the shades of green a dirty brown, and thick patches of palm trees and nothingness. Along the coast to see dug out canoes fishing and villagers darting along the shores, an abandoned house and air strip of a drug family which has now been claimed by the government, and a private island with a few ‘cottages’ on it. We had just completed a complete loop of the bay and headed back to the base.

It was an amazing experience to see how our little beach stretched so far and what was beyond. But what amazed me most was the spontaneity of it all.