James Rodriguez

I cut the engine to idle, and let momentum carry us toward the beach.

The water was remarkably clear.

I could see white sand oft below, unmarked by anchor scars or debris.

We made it, David said, his excitement breaking the silence untouched.

Botanical paradise.

Look at those tree lines.

Completely undisturbed canopy structure.

I steered the plane parallel to the shore, approximately 30 yards out.

The water depth held steady at 8 feet, close enough to unload easily, deep enough to keep the aircraft safely afloat.

Thomas got secure a line to shore and began unloading procedures.

I said, Sarah scanned the beach for any signs of wildlife.

Robert, identify the most stable ground for base camp.

Emily, document initial observations.

The methodical work of establishing our presence began immediately.

Thomas waded to shore with a mooring line, securing it to a fallen tree trunk.

Scott followed with the first equipment cases.

The water reached my thigh, warm against my legs as I helped pass gear from plain to shore.

The beach extended approximately 60 yards from water to jungle's edge.

Fine white sand gave way to harder packed ground near the tree line, where gnarled roots reached toward the shore.

No footprints, no garbage, no coconut husks or fishing line.