Swimming with stingrays and piranhas

 

Lomalinda’s people admitted their fear of stingrays, but they went swimming anyway. (If you missed last week’s post, click on stingrays’ stingers could slash a swimmer’s feet, leaving him writhing in pain while someone pulled out the venomous knife-like barb. Recovery could take months, always painful and slow.)

 

And pirañas (piranhas) lived in the lake, too. Yes, pirañas!

 

With powerful jaws and teeth like razors, pirañas have a reputation for tearing apart and eating a man in a couple of minutes, leaving only a skeleton—but Lomalinda’s pirañas didn’t bite unless they smelled blood, and thus the need for those with an open sore to stay out of the lake.

 

Swimmers admitted their fear that pirañas might chew on them, but that didn’t keep them out of the water.  

 

Lomalinda’s John Waller tells of a harrowing experience he had one day at sunrise while getting his daily exercise by swimming to the island and back.

 

“After swishing a stick in the shallows to be sure no stingrays lurked there, I waded in and started swimming as soon as it was deep enough. (I didn't want to be in contact with the bottom any more than necessary!)”

 

“ . . . about halfway back to the dock I felt something brush my leg.

 

“Now, at Lomalinda's lake you don't take that kind of thing lightly.

 

“ . . . I cranked up the speed a bit and even altered my course. Maybe, just maybe, whatever it was would keep going 'that way' while I continued 'this way'.

 

“But then, just a little further on, something again touched me!

 

“I was used to the minnows nibbling, but this was different.

 

“I thought I was far enough out to avoid the lairs of the caiman (alligators), and I had heard that the pirañas always attacked in mobs. So what could it be?

 

“Needless to say, I kicked and stroked harder and started evaluating my options.

 

“A third time was too much. Something must be after me! I knew I was a good-size meal, but I always thought the manly 'smell' would ward off any takers. Now I wasn't too sure.

 

“. . . I swam as fast as I could. It wasn't too far to the dock. Maybe I could outrun this predator. And so the race was on.

 

“I felt its nudge a couple more times but now I was near paydirt. The dock was just ahead and I wasn't going to wait for any invitations to get on it.

 

“As I quickly pulled myself up and cleared the water, I happened to glance down. There, hanging onto my leg, was the culprit! A partially attached bandage which had been moving back and forth in the water, had come loose. My race with destiny was over. The 'enemy' was none other than a little bit of cotton and adhesive playing games with me!”  (Thanks to I Was A Stranger for sharing John’s story.)

 Come on back next week. 

I have even more critters to tell you about.

Here's a photo of Matt with a piranha he caught in 

Lomalinda's lake:

 

Our lake: A place for high adventure, pranks, romance, and even tragedy

 

Last week I promised to tell you more awesome (and sometimes scary) stories about living in South America’s wild open territory in the middle of nowhere.

 

Today we’ll take a brief walk from our house, through a low jungle area, to el lago, the lake. (See photos below.) Countless escapades happened there. Renowned as the venue for high adventure, pranks, romance, and sometimes fear—my, oh, my, if that lake could talk, what stories it would tell!

 

El lago, the site of swimming, sailing, water skiing, and washing the dog.

 

A place of canoeing and hunting for orchids and monkeys, a place for fishermen to reel in pirañas (piranhas), dogfish, and silver dollars.

 

A backdrop for sunrises and sunsets in bronze, pink, gold, and purple.

 

A setting for skinny dipping in the moonlight.

 

At el lago, howler monkeys yowled high in palm trees and frightened little boys and girls. And full-grown boys and girls, too. Howlers let out eerie, loud calls, and their bulging eyes spooked a lot of people. For most of us, howler monkeys were unseen creatures that woke us up at sunrise. They didn’t live near our house, but we could hear their calls which, in the distance, sounded breathy, breezy, whooshy.

 

The lakeshore hosted birthday parties, picnics, campouts, school parties, baptisms, and glittering Easter sunrise services.

 

It was a place of sunburns and mud fights

and rope swings, of squawking parrots

and chirping frogs and singing birds

and palm fronds clattering in the breeze

and symphonies played by countless insects.

The lakeshore would one day witness a murder, but it would also witness a wedding for a lovely bride and one of Lomalinda’s young men, all grown up.

 

Matt, Karen, Dave, and everyone—except for me—cooled off in the lake despite the stingrays that lived there. Yes, stingrays. Big stingrays.

 

Before entering the water, swimmers slapped the lake’s surface with a board or tree branch to drive the critters away.

 

But if humans forgot and invaded their territory, those monsters defended themselves with their stingers—slashing a swimmer’s feet, leaving him writhing in pain while someone pulled out the venomous knife-like barb.

 

Deep, long gashes became infected quickly in Lomalinda’s heat and required a thorough cleaning, pain meds, and antibiotics. Sometimes patients had to fly to Bogotá for medical treatment. Recovery could take months, always painful and slow.

 

People admitted their fear of stingrays,

but they went swimming anyway.

 

I don’t understand it—

that’s just too much adventure for me—

but then again, you already know I'm a foot-dragger.

But a lot of people went swimming,

and they’re still alive to tell about it.

 

C’mon back next week for more adventure stories!