Wave action destroyed the buildings at Paradise Lodge. The owner, Alex Tomaso, vows to rebuild in the coming months.

Friday, August 17 - (This fishing trip might not be a good idea.)

As I finished packing the day before the planned flight to Paradise Lodge, a remote fishing lodge on the southern part of Mexico’s Yucatan coast, Hurricane Dean was a category 2 hurricane spinning in the Atlantic near Jamaica and heading toward the northern tip of the Yucatan Peninsula. Landfall was predicted for Cancun in the early morning hours next Tuesday, perhaps a category 4 hurricane. Dr. Sam McLeod, a surgeon in Orlando, and I had booked this trip about four months ago. This would be six years in a row I would be going to the fishing lodge located near the town of Mahajual about 220 miles south of Cancun. It would be Sam’s first trip. I called the outfitter who had booked the trip and expressed my concerns about the approaching hurricane. We agreed that getting to Cancun on Saturday would not likely be a problem. Although we might miss a day of fishing on Tuesday, we’d likely be more than 200 miles away from where the hurricane was supposed to make landfall. Lastly, I was concerned that getting back to Cancun on the following Saturday could be a problem. If Cancun took a direct hit, they would only have four days to get the airport back up and running. I was going to be wrong on all three concerns.

Saturday, August 18 - (Signs, signs, everywhere signs)

The flight Saturday morning was scheduled to leave Orlando around 9 a.m., to arrive in Ft. Lauderdale about 10 a.m., to depart Ft. Lauderdale around 11:30 a.m., and to arrive in Cancun around 1 p.m. Upon awakening, I checked the hurricane’s track on the Internet and noted that it had become a category 3 storm overnight and the predicted landfall had shifted slightly south of Cancun. This was not good news but we were not going to let a little wind and rain interfere with our fishing trip. I drove to Sam’s house in Orlando and his wife then drove us to the airport about 6:30 a.m. At the airline ticket counter we learned that our plane had not arrived. The crew had exceeded their daily limit of hours and had a mandatory layover in St. Lucia. The plane and crew would not arrive until around noon, and after the plane had been cleaned, we could fly around 1 p.m. or shortly thereafter. We would not make our connecting flight to Cancun. There was another flight from Ft. Lauderdale to Cancun at 2 p.m. but we would not arrive in time to make that connection, either… unless we drove to Ft. Lauderdale. So we changed our tickets to the 2 p.m. flight to Cancun at the Orlando airline ticket counter, called Sam’s wife to come and get us, and we’d try to get to Ft. Lauderdale before noon.

Sam and I got back to his house, dropped off his wife, filled the tank with gas, and got on the Florida Turnpike by 8 a.m. We arrived at the Ft. Lauderdale airport about 11:30 a.m, got parked and shuttled to the airline ticket counter to again wait in line to have our bags and documents checked. While waiting, I contacted the outfitter and asked the international travel agent to call the company that was to transfer us from the airport in Cancun to the fishing lodge five hours. I wanted to be sure that they would be waiting at the airport for our late arrival. I also did not want to go somewhere if I was going to be in harm’s way. I was assured that the hurricane was still predicted to make landfall several hours to our north but if we did have any problems, we would be in good hands with Alex, the lodge owner. After several more calls between all parties, we were assured the driver would be there to pick us up. We checked our bags, got our boarding passes, and headed to the TSA checkpoint. Here, Sam and I, along with our bags, were randomly selected for the most stringent search known to man. We finally cleared TSA and took the tram to the terminal from which our flight would be leaving.

The flight to Cancun went without incident. We cleared immigration, picked up our bags and headed to customs. I pushed the button, got a green light, and was told to pass. Sam hit the button, got a red light, and his bags were subjected to yet another search. He was eventually cleared and we left the terminal. The driver was waiting for us just outside the door. We arrived at the lodge around 9 p.m. and our supper was waiting. I was offered the opportunity to fish anywhere I’d like the next day. The choices included Espiritu de Santo Bay more than an hour to the north, Chetumal Bay on the Belize border about an hour to the south, or any of the more than a dozen lakes and lagoons lying just inside the coastline. These bodies of water are remnants of a centuries-old intra-coastal waterway that has partially filled in. I selected the largest and most remote lagoon up in the Sian Ka’an Biosphere, a huge nature preserve about an hour to our north, knowing it would not have been fished for several months. We went upstairs, prepared our fishing tackle for the next day, and got to bed around 11pm.

Paradise Lodge, a fishing lodge near Mahajual, Mexico, where we were staying that week, was the bull’s eye for Hurricane Dean. The owner, Alex Tomaso, is shown here surveying the damage the day after the storm, following our drive down from safe haven.

Sunday, August 19 - (Our first day of fishing.)

The room Sam and I shared was in the corner of the second floor of the lodge. Although it was air conditioned, we opened a wall of eight jalousie windows to let in the cool breeze off the Caribbean Sea just 25 yards away. When we came downstairs for breakfast at 6:30 a.m. Alex met us with bad news. The Sian Ka’an Biosphere had been closed and everyone ordered to evacuate. We would not be able fish there. He suggested the largest local lake because it held lots of nice-sized tarpon and snook. He went on with more bad news. Hurricane Dean had strengthened during the night and taken another shift southward. It was now expected to make landfall as a category 4 storm between Ascension Bay and Espiritu de Santo Bay less than two hours to our north. We could only fish half a day tomorrow and then would have to evacuate to the town of Chetumal. Staying at the lodge would be too dangerous so close to the sea.

After breakfast, we loaded our gear into the waiting boat and left for the lagoon. The tarpon bite was quite good in the morning. Sam and I each had about a dozen bites and got several fish into the air. Topwater plugs on which we had removed the front set of treble hooks drew the most dramatic strikes. We got three tarpon to the boat, each weighing about 20 pounds, and released them. The bite slowed considerably in the afternoon, however. We attributed this to the heat of the day but our guide thought it was the result of the approaching hurricane. He also commented on the lack of birds and that the coastal marsh had grown unusually quiet. We had half a dozen more bites but got only one more fish to the boat.

We returned to the lodge late in the afternoon in time for supper. Meals at the lodge are served in a first floor room overlooking the beach. Guests sit around a wooden table just off the kitchen. A lounge area and bar are off to the side. After the evening meal, we often relax in lounge chairs or a hammock swinging from the posts of a thatched palapa on the beach. Palm trees swayed in the steady breeze coming off the sea as we embellished stories of the day’s fishing adventure. Alex suggested we wait until tomorrow morning to decide where to fish. The winds were unusually calm and we ran the air conditioner during the night.

Monday, August 20 - (It is time to get out of Dodge.)

Alex again met us at breakfast with bad news. Soldiers had come during the night and told him there would be a mandatory evacuation today. If we crossed one of their checkpoints, there would be no coming back. He had learned off the Internet that the hurricane had shifted even further to the south and was predicted to make landfall at Mahajual as a category 5 storm with sustained winds in excess of 150 mph. This would be the dreaded “big one.” The town of Mahajual is 15 miles down the coast to our south and we were, in effect, in the center of the bull’s eye. There was much to be done at the lodge and we would not be fishing.

Hurricane Dean was predicted to hit the lodge about 2 a.m. tomorrow morning and take about four hours to pass. Everything that was going to be done would have to be done today. Alex’s first concern was to get Sam and me, along with Caroline the cook, to a hotel in the town of Chetumal where we would be safe. We offered to help with preparations but Alex insisted he and the staff could take care of everything and that he would join us in Chetumal later that evening. He did ask if Sam or I would drive one of the Toyota 4-Runners he used as a tow vehicle to Chetumal when we left this morning. Caroline had already loaded her belongings, three parrots in a bird cage, and Alex’s bird dog into the 4-Runner, so Sam and I put our luggage and gear into the 4-Runner that Alex would be driving. We set off to Chetumal and the hotel at which Alex had made a reservation for Sam and me, along with himself. Caroline and her husband, one of the guides at the lodge, would be staying with friends in town.

Chetumal, the capital city of the state of Quintana Roo, is about 120 miles from the lodge by road, although about 75 miles to the southwest, as a frigate flies. We were still going to experience much of Hurricane Dean’s force. The hotel at which Alex had made a reservation had a restaurant and we would not be lacking for anything. As we approached Chetumal, we gassed up the 4-Runner. Upon arriving at the hotel around noon, we were told that a governmental directive issued earlier in the day provided that no tourists could stay at a hotel. All tourists were to be moved to an evacuation center where they could be accounted for and have limited services provided. Caroline had a friend who worked as a hotel clerk and we went there. This hotel didn’t look like much but we were able to get two rooms, one for Alex and one for Sam and me. The rooms were sparse but they looked bunker-like with cement walls and ceiling. With a window a/c and bathroom, the room would suffice to ride out the storm. About 3 p.m., a government official knocked on the door and we thought we were going to be ordered to leave. Instead, we were offered a free flight to Mexico City and out of harm’s way. With our bags still in Alex’s 4-Runner and no place to go in Mexico City, we decided to ride out the storm where we were. We had shelter and the keys to a Toyota 4-Runner with a full tank of gas. About 5 p.m., we started getting concerned about Alex not having arrived at the hotel. Caroline said she would notify him of the change in hotel and he had our bags. A curfew would be enforced starting at 6 p.m., so we went on a hunt for food and bottled water to last a couple of days. We found water and some packaged food at a small store and returned to the room. The streets which had been bustling with activity in the afternoon as people prepared for the impending storm were now eerily quiet. Alex finally arrived just after 8 p.m. with the second 4-Runner, a full tank of gas, our luggage, two loaves of bread and two coolers. One cooler had beverages and the other had cheeses and luncheon meats from the lodge. We made a sandwich and I finished rereading the only book I had brought with me on the trip. I apologized to Sam for getting him into this situation but he acknowledged that it had already been an adventure and who knew what lay ahead. With no family members or property at risk, I readily went to sleep.

Tuesday, August 21 - (Why me?)

I awoke at 4 a.m. to the sound of wind howling and rain hitting something. I opened the door of the room and saw trees flopping back and forth above the two story hotel. Rain was not falling but being blown sideways. Our roof had been blown off. Kids were obviously frightened and crying in nearby rooms. I needed to go back to sleep until this was finished. I awoke again at 7 a.m. and Sam had already risen. I quickly got dressed and went out into the street to have a look. Street poles with lights were blown down. Trees in the median were blown down and blocked one side or other of the street, electrical and telephone wires as well as supporting cables lay everywhere. Corrugated tin roofs and pieces of plastic signs were lying all about. Streets were flooded in several places. People already had started clearing the streets of fallen trees, some with chain saws but most were using machetes. Government authorities were nowhere to be seen and these proud people were not looking for a handout. They had set about to return to a sense of normalcy as soon as possible.

Owner Alex Tomaso moved his boats 12 miles inland hoping to protect them from Dean.

Alex said that he was going exploring and asked if we wanted to come along. Sam and I quickly agreed. We piled into his 4-Runner and headed down the street. I never said we had good sense. If we did, we would not have gone to the Yucatan area with a huge hurricane predicted to make landfall while we were going to be there. But an adventure is an adventure and we might as well make the most of this one. We crossed dozens and dozens of downed lines. We often had to hop the curb, cross the median, and go around a fallen tree. We were never sure of the depth of water we drove into but it couldn’t have been that deep since we were on a street. We eventually made it to the edge of town and Alex announced that he wanted to see if the military or police forces would stop us if we tried to leave town. They didn’t try to stop us and I realized where we were going.

It was only human nature that Alex would want to see what had happened to his lodge. Allowing for the extra miles driven to and from the hotel, the round trip distance to the lodge and back to Chetumal would be about 250 miles. We had enough gas to make the trip but not for much else. There were only two gas stations along the way and we knew neither would be operational today. Along the way, we again encountered trees, highway signs, and electrical supporting towers that had fallen into the road. Fields of banana trees had been leveled. Leaves had been stripped off trees and most trees had been broken midway up their trunk. About two hours into the trip, we came to the place 12 miles inland where Alex and his staff had moved the fishing boats so they would not be washed away if the waves were excessively large at the lodge. The boats were a mess. The pangas were filled with water. One of the flats boats had been deposited on another. A canoe was crushed underneath a flats boat. Most of this would be salvageable, however.

At this point, I was wondering “What am I doing here?” “Why am I at this place several miles from civilization alongside a desolate road with one of Orlando’s leading surgeons looking at boats damaged by a hurricane?” “And why would I ever think to bring Sam along with me?” “Why me?” Before I could move on and begin to ponder the purpose of life and my existence, we left for the lodge. As we neared the coastline and the town of Mahajual, I noted that the power lines running alongside the road were down as the supporting structures had been twisted, bent, or completely knocked down. A red compact car passed us at a high rate of speed. The passenger was a 25-year-old reporter from Mexico City who was trying to get a scoop on the damage caused by the hurricane and her assistant who was driving. A mile down the road, I had the answer to my questions. The young female reporter climbed out of a ditch where the red compact had come to rest in some water. She flagged us down. She had a gaping head wound near her temple and was bleeding profusely. That was it. I had to be here with Dr. Sam so that he could save her life. He had her lie down on the pavement in front of our car and made a compress out of some of her clean clothes we found in a suitcase. He used the compress to apply pressure on her wound and directed me to tie other articles of clothing together that could be used to secure the compress to her head. There was no way to summon them to the scene so we put one of the back seats of the 4-Runner down, had her lie there, and Sam got into the cargo hatch to be near her. Her assistant got in the other back seat and Alex and I in the front. We turned around and headed to Limones, the nearest town, about 30 miles back from where we had come. Along the way we stopped military forces, federal police, and local police but they were of no assistance whatsoever. None knew of a local medical facility or seemed to have the means to get help. When we arrived in town, we asked about a medical clinic but there was none. One of Alex’s guides lived in town and we went to his house. We asked him to call a friend who was a taxi driver and have him take the injured reporter and her assistant to the hospital in Chetumal. Fortunately, he had gas in the taxi and agreed to do so. Sam instructed the reporter not to let anyone remove the compress before getting to the hospital, as it would restart the bleeding. He also told her she was to insist on getting an X-ray. The taxi and occupants left and we did the same.

We resumed our trip to the lodge, now having gone an extra 60-plus miles and without sufficient gas to return to Chetumal. The roads we traveled were seldom used on a good day and we appeared to be in the first vehicle to try and negotiate them after the hurricane. In many places, the pavement had been peeled away. Trees lay across the road as far as we could see. Still, we pushed forward until we came to the beach road, a one-lane road normally of exposed limestone rock and potholes. The road was covered with about two feet of water and large trees completely stretched across the narrow lane. We could not move or go around them and had nothing with which to cut them. We would have to walk the last two miles through the standing water. Our first hint of how high and strong the waves had been was when we realized that the road was covered with sand which was also drifted along the sides. Either the high winds had blown sand about a hundred yards back off the beach or ferocious wave action had pushed sand this far inland. We realized that it had been wave action that had covered the road with sand when we found snapper swimming in the water. This was confirmed when we later found concrete blocks in the road. Things took a turn for the worse when we saw a motor home that had been parked on the beach side of the road yesterday was now up against the coastal marsh on the inland side of the road. An hour after we had started walking, we came to the lodge but we were not ready for what we were about to see.

A van that had been used as a tow vehicle in years past and left behind during the evacuation was off the ground and supported by bent trees. Across the beach road and strewn about in the trees were tables, chairs, steps, chests and a few other recognizable objects. Most things, however, appeared as mere rubble. The outbuildings where the staff stayed, as well as maintenance and storage buildings, were gone. Also gone was the beautiful beach. Palm trees had been uprooted and washed away. The palapa with its thatched roof was gone. About two feet of sand had been blown or washed all the way to the beach road. Boat trailers and who knows what else were covered with drifting sand. The centerpiece of the lodge had been the concrete block building with dining and lounge facilities downstairs and guest quarters upstairs. A large, wooden door on which a leaping tarpon had been carved greeted guests each time they entered. Waves had smashed the windows and walls facing the sea and then knocked out the back walls, as well. Everything, including the door, was gone and had become part of the rubble across the road. It appeared the building had been readied for demolition and we had interrupted a bull-dozer in the process of bringing the once-proud structure to its knees. Paradise Lodge had become Paradise Lost. I attempted to console Alex and to some extent, he did the same for me. He vowed to rebuild the lodge, this time further back from the sea. Alex’s full name is Alejandro de Tomaso and he is from Argentina. As we walked to the beach road to begin our trek back to the 4-Runner parked two miles away, we found three unopened bottles of Argentinean wine lying half-buried in the sand. We each took a bottle and promised to return and uncork them when the lodge was reopened.

We walked back to the 4-Runner and started our return to Chetumal about 7 p.m., a few gallons of gas short of having enough to make it. About five miles down the road, we met an oncoming pickup truck that belonged to one of Alex’s neighbors. We both stopped and Alex told them that they would be unable to drive to their house, as the road was impassable. Like us, they said they would walk the rest of the way but it was too late in the day. It would be dark by the time they arrived. Alex showed them some pictures he had taken and suggested they follow us back to our hotel in Chetumal and return tomorrow. We stopped once again where the boats had been parked, this time intending to siphon gas from their tanks to use for our return trip. None of us had eaten all day and we found a loaf of bread in the 4-Runner which we offered to share with Alex’s neighbors. They added that they had cheese and luncheon meat in a cooler and when they learned of our intention with regard to siphoning gas, produced a 6-gallon can of gas for us. It was getting dark and although we were in a very remote location, everything we needed had been provided for us. We ate well and drove on to Chetumal, arriving about 10 p.m.

Wednesday, August 22 - (Back to Cancun)

We awoke and found a place a block from our hotel using a generator to prepare breakfast foods. After eating, we decided we could accomplish nothing in Chetumal or back at the lodge, so we’d head to Cancun where we could get a room with electricity, hot showers, good meals, and see if we could get our airline tickets exchanged for an earlier flight back to Florida. We gathered our luggage and gear but first decided to stop at the hospital and check on the reporter. She was in good spirits, although her face was swollen and quite black and blue. She had received some antibiotics and was on an I-V drip. Electrical power was expected to return soon and the doctor said they would x-ray her head at the first opportunity. We left for Cancun, more than five hours away. The roads were clear. At the airport we exchanged our tickets for the next flight, one leaving around noon tomorrow. We got a room at a nice hotel, showered, and walked several blocks to a Mexican restaurant Alex liked. I had a burrito and several cervezas to ensure sleep would come easy when we returned to the hotel.

Thursday, August 23 - (Back in the good old USA)

The force of wave action from Hurricane Dean was so great on the coast near Mahajual, Mexico, that it forced two vehicles and trailers, along with out buildings and the contents inside Paradise Lodge, across the beach road and into the marsh.

We had a nice brunch at the hotel and Alex showed us the plans he had drawn overnight for the new lodge. He was going to take them to an architect in Cancun after we left and prepare a budget. He would return to Argentina to rest for a few days, go to Italy to get funds for rebuilding, and then return to the lodge to begin anew. After eating, we left our hotel and went straight to the airport. The flight from Cancun to Ft. Lauderdale and the drive back was uneventful…

The nearby Costa Maya Cruise Ship terminal took the same hit from Dean and will likely be out for at least six to eight months.