A “Log” That Looked Back - A Travel Short Story

En route to Venezuela, I had a stop over in Panama. So I found a guide that would take me kayaking on the waters of Lake Gatún — the vast lake that forms the heart of the Panama Canal. My guide and I paddled quietly, admiring the blend of wild nature and discussing one of humanity’s greatest engineering feats. We threaded our way between clusters of small, forested islands — remnants of mountaintops left behind when the valley was flooded to create the lake over a century ago.

Near us an enormous cargo ship with stacked containers in shades of red, blue, and rust towered above the waterline, dwarfing our tiny kayaks. Despite its size, the ship moved gracefully as it made its way toward the locks that would lower it back to sea level.

As the massive vessel passed, up ahead, I noticed what looked like a large log floating on the surface. As we glided closer, the “log” suddenly sank beneath the water with an eerie, effortless motion. I froze mid-paddle. My guide looked over, calm as ever, and said matter-of-factly, “That was a good-sized caiman… they mostly leave people alone.”

Mostly?

I couldn’t help but laugh nervously, scanning the surface for any sign of movement. It was one of those travel moments that reminds you — no matter how many pictures you take or facts you learn — the wild still belongs to itself. And sometimes, what looks like driftwood could actually be watching you float by.