started. He motioned for Melanie to hop in, shifted the motor into
forward, and they were off.
As they pulled away from the pier, they all looked back at Cogo to see
if anyone took note of their departure. The only person they saw was the
lone man cleaning the Chickee Hut, and he didn’t bother to look in their
direction.
As they had planned, they motored west as if they were going to
Acalayong. Kevin advanced the throttle to half-open and was pleased at
the speed. The pirogue was large and heavy but it had very little draw.
He checked the canoe they had in tow; it was riding easily in the water.
The sound of the motor made conversation difficult so they were content
to enjoy the scenery. The sun had yet to come up, but the sky was
brighter and the eastern ends of the cumulus clouds over Gabon were
edged in gold. To their right, the shoreline of Equatorial Guinea
appeared as a solid mass of vegetation that abruptly dumped into the
water. Dotted about the wide estuary were other pirogues moving
ghostlike through the mist that still layered the surface of the water.
When Cogo had fallen significantly astern, Melanie tapped Kevin on the
shoulder. Once she had his attention, she made a wide sweeping motion
with her hand. Kevin nodded and began to steer the boat to the south.
After traveling south for ten minutes, Kevin began a slow turn to the
west. They were now at least a mile offshore, and when they passed Cogo,
it was difficult to make out specific buildings.
When the sun did finally make its appearance, it was a huge ball of
reddish gold. At first, the equatorial mists were so dense that the sun
could be examined directly without the need to shield one’s eyes. But
the heat of the sun began to evaporate the mist which, in turn, rapidly
made the sun’s rays stronger. Melanie was the first to slip on her
sunglasses, but Candace and Kevin quickly did the same. A few minutes
later, everyone began to peel off layers of clothing they’d donned
against the comparative morning chill.
To their left was the string of islands that hugged the Equatoguinean
coast. Kevin had been steering north to complete the wide circle around
Cogo. Now he pushed over the helm to point the bow directly toward Isla
Francesca, which loomed in the distance.
Once the mists had dissipated from the sun’s glare, a welcome breeze
stirred the water, and waves began to mar the hitherto glassy surface.
Pushing into a mounting headwind the pirogue began to slap against the
crests, occasionally sprinkling its passengers with spray.
Isla Francesca looked different than her sister islands, and the closer
they got, the more apparent it became. Besides being considerably
larger, Isla Francesca’s limestone escarpment gave it a much more
substantial appearance. There were even bits of cloudlike mist that
clung to its summits.
An hour and fifteen minutes after they had left the pier in Cogo, Kevin
cut back on the throttle and the pirogue slowed. A hundred feet ahead
was the dense shoreline of the southwestern tip of Isla Francesca.
‘From this vantage point it looks sort of forbidding,’ Melanie yelled
over the sound of the engine.
Kevin nodded. There was nothing about the island that was inviting.
There was no beach. The entire shoreline appeared to be covered with
dense mangroves.
‘We’ve got to find Rio Diviso’s outlet,’ Kevin yelled back. After
approaching the mangroves as close as he thought prudent, he pushed the
helm to starboard and headed along the western shore. In the lee of the
island, the waves disappeared. Kevin stood up in hopes of seeing
possible underwater obstructions. But he couldn’t. The water was an
impenetrable muddy color.
‘What about where all those bulrushes are?’ Candace called out from the
bow. She pointed ahead to an expansive marsh that had appeared.
Kevin nodded and cut back on the throttle even farther. He nosed the
boat toward the six-foot reeds.
‘Can you see any obstructions underwater?’ he called out to Candace.
Candace shook her head. ‘It’s too murky,’ she said.
Kevin turned the boat so that they were again moving parallel with the