Written by Matt Dursum
At 4AM, Matt Cacioppo unzips his tent, steps onto the sand and relieves his bladder. He feels one, two, and within seconds, hundreds of mosquitos and noseeum swarm around him. In a panic, he stumbles on the sand, breaks down his camp, and pushes his tent into his kayak’s compartments. The insects bite and swarm him while he pushes off into the pitch black sea without any lights. On this stretch of Panamanian coast, lights at night time could attract unwanted attention. When the buzzes of the insects go silent, he is alone at the mercy of the waves and reefs along the Caribbean coast. The sounds of the sea drive him to paddle farther into the night towards the Darién Gap.
Day 1 – 2
After buying his yellow ocean kayak, Cacioppo purchases supplies in the town of Portobelo, Panama. Christopher Columbus named the town ‘beautiful harbor’ in 1502 and it became one of the busiest ports in the Americas. And also an easy target for pirates.
Cacioppo is biking from Alaska to Patagonia. So far, he has fled from grizzly bears, been shot at by ranchers, and experienced endless hospitality and kindness from strangers. He and his bike have been inseparable companions. But here, near the intersection of North and South America, there are no roads, no bike paths, and no safe passages. He is going to kayak to Colombia. “It’s so similar when you start a bike tour. It’s that feeling of ‘oh, my god, this is happening,’” says Cacioppo. To complete his journey in North America and start the next chapter of his mission, he must pass the impenetrable jungle that links the two continents. An area called the Darién Gap.
Before dawn, Cacioppo prepares his kayak. His bike is securely disassembled in the hull, with enough food and supplies to last a month. At dawn, he launches into the calm water. He paddles past the headland of Drake Island as the sun peeks over the crystal blue horizon. “I was like, ‘wow, this is going to be epic! The boat floats, the water’s glassy, and the sun is rising,’” says Cacioppo. He wonders why he was so nervous about the voyage.
As he rounds the leeward side of the island, he feels a current pushing against him. Waves roll in and detonate on the coral reefs surrounding him. He paddles harder against the current and the incoming waves. After two hours of paddling, a set wave appears out of nowhere, rolls over the bow of the kayak, and knocks the food storage lid open. Water trickles into the container. Cacioppo paddles to the nearest beach at Linton Bay, several miles away. After seven hours of paddling against currents and waves, Cacioppo is ready for a long night’s rest.
In the morning, he moves his fatigued body out of his tent to greet the intense Caribbean sun. Cacioppo launches his kayak and paddles east. Mangrove swamps and sharp coral reefs hug the shoreline on his starboard side. Navigating the changing contours of the shoreline and the powerful waves and currents proves challenging. There are few safe beaches to rest from the relentless sea. This stretch of coast is a ship graveyard.
Day 3 – 4
After 17 miles of paddling, Cacioppo pulls up to a beach in the village of Palenque. Locals greet him and give him permission to camp. He sets up his tent high above the shoreline to avoid the intense high tide and heads into town for food. Back at camp, he places a dollop of octopus ceviche and boiled crab onto a flour tortilla, relaxes on the beach, and calls it a night.
In the morning, Cacioppo once again disassembles his tent, packs his food and supplies, and reluctantly enters the unpredictable sea. He is in a hurry to reach the calm waters of the San Blas Islands. At sunset on day three, Cacioppo paddles into a small bay near Santa Isabel. There are small homes in the distance and he finds a secluded beach under coconut palms to camp. During the night, his sleep is uninterrupted. That is until he is violently attacked by mosquitos and forced to launch his kayak into the night.
Day 5 – 8
In a metal pot, Cacioppo boils macaroni. He adds green olives, Ligo brand canned sardines, and canned tuna. He mixes in Del Monte Tomato Albahaca pasta sauce, dried chili flakes, and a healthy dose of extra virgin olive oil. There is nobody else on this small patch of sand and coral reef.
The San Blas Islands begin at the westernmost point of Guna Yala Comarca, an indigenous province that stretches to the border of Colombia. 365 islands and cays stretch offshore of the impenetrable mainland Panamanian jungle. The San Blas Islands are home to the Indigenous Kuna People who have, for centuries, evaded European conquest but maintained a connection with the outside world.
When the sun sets, Cacioppo finds a secluded island to camp. He stretches his hammock between two coconut palms that almost spans the entire width of the island. There are only a dozen palms on the island. He ties his kayak, closes his eyes, and lets the calm breeze sweep over him as he closes his eyes for a restful night under the stars.
At sunrise, Cacioppo packs up his camp and continues his paddle further east. International yachts interrupt the calm seas. He slides past the foreign boats and pulls in on an island for rest and to buy snacks. Locals approach him, selling necklaces, hats, coconuts, and touristy trinkets. “I was just kind of seeing the negative effects of too much tourism in these tiny places,” says Cacioppo. Dozens of people bring cocktails and beers to groups of rowdy foreign tourists taking a break from their multi-story yachts docked off shore.
Day 9 – 10
Tired of dealing with the yacht scene, Cacioppo woke up before dawn, packed his camp and hit the calm water. After three hours, the yachts disappear, replaced by the occasional paddle boat and speedboat off in the distance. Needing to rest, he pulls up to a small island. “I see this island and I see a bunch of huts and two or three people on shore.” All that’s on his mind is a Nutella sandwich and coffee. “Then, the two or three people turned into five or six and then it was 12 of them and I could tell they wanted me to stop.”
The villagers gathered around Cacioppo like he was a novelty. In a mixture of Spanish and Kuna, they started chatting. Cacioppo unloaded his coffee setup, ground his beans, and lit his propane burner. “Everyone jumped back as if I did some magic trick.” Cacioppo passes around his freshly made coffee. “And then this one little kid tries it and spits everywhere. The whole group laughs and I laugh.” Cacioppo and the villagers talk and share their items. Coconuts and dried fish get passed around with Nuttella. “I realized, if I was going to stop in one of these towns, I needed to stay longer.”
After two hours of talking and touring the town, he says his goodbyes. Cacioppo knew he was going to have to prolong his trip eventually because of the incredible hospitality and human connections. For now, he wanted to get closer to Colombia.
At a further island, Cacioppo pulls into a small village to buy water. Unlike his interactions before, people are unimpressed. “Similar to biking, when you get to towns where a bike tour has been ahead of you, you can always tell,” he says. Cacioppo immediately knows he’s not the only gringo in town. Sure enough, a foreigner with a sombrero walks up to him and starts speaking English. “He was traveling to Colombia from Panama on his motorcycle. The boat he was on crashes into coral and sinks.” The man from the state of Washington insists that this happens all the time on this coast. “Just a few people were on board with his motorcycle and his passport, his drone. His whole life is on this bike and it sinks and they swim to shore and end up in this community for a few weeks.”
Day 11
On day 11, Cacioppo pulls up to a remote beach on a stretch of coast with few islands and fewer natural harbors. As the sun sets, he sets up his tent for an early night. He hears a noise, opens his eyes and sees a shadow, then two, then several. “I kind of had to unzip and see what was outside and talk to whoever was there,” he says.
Cacioppo greets a dozen young men outside his tent. “I asked them, ‘es seguro acampar aqui?’ (Is it safe to camp here?)” “No, no es seguro aquí,” replies the group’s leader. The group points to the jungle and firmly tells Cacioppo it is safer there. “I said, no no, my kayak is 200 kilos, and it’s not possible. It’s been a good excuse up to this point. I hadn’t had anyone question that reasoning, but this particular group decided to fix that problem by picking up my kayak.”
Six men hoisted Cacioppo’s kayak and with a ‘vamos’ started walking into the jungle. “I didn’t know what to say. I just realized that this is going down; this is how it’s going to be. I didn’t really know my future there.” Cacioppo picked up his tent and followed the men into the dark jungle.
At 5 AM, Cacioppo wakes up to fresh coffee cooked in a three gallon cauldron over a smoky coconut husk fire. The group of men are coconut harvesters who come to this secluded beach every week to harvest coconuts to sell in their village an hour away by boat to Colombian fruit merchants. The previous night after relocating him to the jungle, the group treated Cacioppo to a fresh meal and laughs. “We smoked cigarettes and played dominoes, had a couple beers and it turned out to be a great night.”
After enjoying their coffee, avocados, and bread, Cacioppo and the group haul the heavy kayak back to shore and say their goodbyes. The coconut harvesters head to work in the jungle. For seven days, they call this camp home before taking their haul of coconuts back to their village. Coconuts are a major source of income for the Kuna People and have strict laws against foreigners who forage for them. After selling their coconuts, they get to enjoy three days off with their families.
Day 12 – 15
In a large pot, a woman adds chunks of green bananas, coconut water, shredded pieces of coconut, and freshly squeezed lemon juice. The pot boils over a fire. She stirs the soup until the bananas disintegrate into a starchy porridge that exudes aromas of coconut and cooked lime. When it’s finished, she serves it into a bowl, adds flavorful smoked fish, and hands it to Cacioppo.
It’s a holiday on Ustupu Island and the villagers are excited to feed Cacioppo Dulemasi, a traditional dish for the Kuna. People are drinking and having fun. Cacioppo arrived that morning. Tired, thirsty, and in need of sleep. As soon as he docked on the village beach, several people came to greet him. “‘You don’t have to camp. We will set you up in one of our homes,’ they said, and before I could resist, one of the guys shows up and was speaking English,” says Cacioppo.
The man named Nash went to university in Panama City and spoke perfect English. For the Kuna, the youngest son is responsible for taking care of the family, even with a degree. Once again, Cacioppo’s kayak was heaved on the shoulders of local men, eager for him to stay.
Cacioppo meets the Saila of the island, who is the spiritual and political leader, judge, and public servant responsible for all the town’s affairs. It is a holiday, and like everyone else, by sundown, the Saila is in celebration mode. Cacioppo steps into Nash’s family’s home. He introduces himself to Nash’s wife, mother, and his young daughter, sets up his sleeping space, and joins the party.
Over the next two days, Nash and his family introduce Cacioppo to Kuna culture. “He brought me along for a taste of a traditional work day kayaking upriver to gather mangos, bananas, and coconuts. We spoke about life after death, politics, family values, and what we both felt our purpose in life was,” says Cacioppo. Nash’ wife and mother taught Cacioppo how to prepare local dishes such as red snapper and coconut rice and lobster with avocado. He learned how to sew traditional designs known as mola on his clothes. “They also gifted my mom a few things when I told her how much she would love these designs.”
Day 16 – 18
Cacioppo empties a packet of Ducal refried red beans into a flour tortilla and enjoys his meal before his final push to the isolated mangrove coast of the Darien Gap. He says goodbye to his hosts on Ustupu Island and paddles southeast down the remaining stretches of Panama known as the Darien Gap.
The Darien Gap is an impenetrable tropical jungle that covers 6,569 square miles in Colombia and Panama. Dense vegetation, mountains, flood zones, treacherous rivers, poisonous animals, and the absence of any roads makes crossing this 100 mile long and 140 mile wide stretch of forest extremely challenging. Add to that the route’s use for human and drug trafficking and you’re talking about one of the most dangerous stretches of land on the planet.
For 50 miles, Cacioppo paddles alone. Clean swells pass underneath his kayak. He watches as perfect waves feather in the distance, breaking consistently on endless empty reef passes. “I can imagine during a certain season there would be a lot of great surfing breaks,” he says. But now, it’s only him and his kayak for as far as he can see.
Cacioppo arrives at the last village before reaching Colombia. He pulls in his kayak and asks to camp on the beach for the night. Once again, the Kuna villagers turn his simple request into an excuse to feast and party. “They were not having it! An innocent invite to dinner turned into a party night,” says Cacioppo.
Day 19
In the afternoon on day 19, Cacioppo passes the headland of Cabo Tiburón and enters Colombia. The relentless salt water damaged his phone beyond repair. He decides to land his kayak in Capurganá, Colombia. “From the moment I landed there, it was kind of sketchy energy,” says Cocioppo. Capurganá is inside a US State Department Red Zone, an area with notorious drug and human trafficking. “It was a little too much for me to process and I felt I needed to be on guard.”
Right after landing, Cacioppo gets his passport stamped. He searches for a phone repair shop, to no avail. Instead of kayaking the remaining journey to Turbo and the highway leading to Medellin, he decides to sell his kayak. Within a few hours in town, he finds a man named Carlos who is eager to buy it. “By midday I was paid, and he was off to test the waters with his son.” Cacioppo promises to meet up in the evening for beers.
That evening, after assembling his bike for the long road journey into Colombia, Cacioppo walks into town to meet Carlos and his son but sees his son alone, red eyed, wet, and shaking. “I realized it wasn’t salt water but tears that made his eyes red.” Fearing the worst, Cacioppo asks what happened. “We flipped. The waves kept coming, and we screamed for help but nobody stopped,” says the boy. Cacioppo listens and feels his heart sink. “It dawned on me how strange it was his dad wasn’t there,” says Cacioppo. He fears the worst. Then he sees Carlos run towards them, shirtless and panting. Carlos puts his hands on Cacioppo’s shoulder. “A miracle! Mateo, we are alive!” he says.
Back in town, the three share food and talked about their three-hour ordeal, braving the relentless waves of the Caribbean and the loss of the trusty yellow kayak. As they enjoyed beers under the moonlight, speed boats with their lights turned off, pulled into the unlit docks, and unloaded duffle bags. “I might have been letting my mind run wild on exactly how much of that was illegal activity compared to not,” says Cacioppo. Sensing the doubt in Caciopoo’s face, Carlos whispers in his ear that his fears are correct. “It was scary, it was exciting, it really didn’t feel like real life. I was comfortable with it all, knowing that it was my last night there, my trip was at its final hours, and I would be back in my comfort zone, which is on land and on a bike.”