Cocos Island is about five hundred miles from Panama, in the Pacific
Ocean, and belongs to the country of Costa Rica. Four times a year it
is visited by a government boat from Costa Rica.
It is a steep high island, bright green jungle, with few protected
coves or bays. The best anchorage is Chatham Bay which has some shelter
with a big high solid rock island to the west and a small rock island
to the east side. The only settlement ever made here was around two
bends or coves from Chatham Bay, at Wafer Bay. The beach is more
beautiful there and the slope behind the beach is easier to climb;
there was more level ground to cultivate and plant to trees and
vegetables. But this second bay is not a safe harbor for a ship to lie
in, open and with squalls and winds blowing all the time and rollers on
the beach at nearly every high tide.
For about ten years a Captain Gissler, his wife and servants lived at
this Wafer Bay. He spent his time mostly looking for treasure and we
saw many deep holes which he probably had dug. As he is not here today
and the place is deserted, maybe he found it and moved away to a less
lonely place.
Pirates had been here and buried gold, and it is said that some
treasure has been found at different times.
There are many beautiful waterfalls. Lots of them tumble right down
into the sea from the steep cliffs and for over a hundred years ships
have come here for fresh water, whalers and pirates and merchant ships
or “tramps.” One stream empties right into the Bay.
There are many beautiful ferns and tree-ferns and tall jungle trees.
The tangle of vines is very thick, and the only way to go into the
interior of the island at all is to follow along the beds of streams
and climb up rocks and waterfalls and around cascades for the sides of
the brooks are like solid walls and there are not many places where you
can get up.
We went up a lovely stream bed one day from Chatham Bay. We pulled
ourselves up rocks and around bad places and stepped into deep pools
sometimes up to our necks. We had gone at least a mile and a half up
the river, climbing steadily, when we came to a beautiful little
cascade that fell down a cliff about seventy feet high. I was catching
small blue crayfish in the pool at the foot of it when I lost my
balance and fell down onto a jagged rock.
For a time I could hardly bear the pain of it and just sat and cried.
Mother and Isabel and Betty were all afraid I might have broken a leg
or something. They were awfully worried for we were so far from the
shore and had climbed waterfalls all morning to get there. But it was
only a terribly bad bruise and I was glad Mother was so strong. She had
to practically carry me and lower me down over rocks and waterfalls all
the way back. We stopped to eat our lunch on a lovely huge bowlder in
the middle of the stream about half way down. After resting a while I
felt a little better and could help myself getting down hard places. It
would be awful to break an arm or a leg or even to sprain one’s ankle
in such a place for even a trail is impossible there and it is very
hard to carry anyone down such a place.
Mother was pretty tired, especially as she had a bad sunburn on her
back and shoulders and I broke the blisters by putting my arms around
her to steady myself, and sometimes I even had to climb down her back
to lower myself from one high rock to another six feet below.
The night before this trip up the river, we had a furious gale. The
wind blew harder than I ever felt it, and for a time the rain came in a
solid mass like a warm wet curtain, streaming across the decks.
Everything was soaked, chairs fell over, curtains were tangled up,
doors slammed. And then the boobies kept flying right into the ship
banging their heads and bodies against things and stunning themselves.
They dropped headlong into the “lab” where we were sitting, they fell
to the floor in our cabins if the doors were open for a minute, and all
over the decks the poor things were crouching around squawking. And
they vomited up fish all over the place.
This is a curious habit with some birds; they seem to do it as a
forfeit to another bird. They cough up their food which the other bird
then takes as payment, leaving the stranded one alone without pecking
him. White-headed terns flew aboard too. We were all of us busy
throwing them overboard.
In the middle of all the gale and rain and wind, the five rowboats
which were over the side tied to the boom by lines, had to be brought
on board. A mate stood on the top of the gangway, a life preserver on a
long line in the water in case someone fell overboard, and then one by
one five men went out on the boom, to the end, down the rope ladder,
into a tangled up and bouncing boat, and then rowed it aft to be
hoisted up by other men onto the ship. It was all quite exciting and I
stood in the rain a long time watching.
The next morning it was all calm again and you couldn’t believe there
had been a small hurricane the night before.