The next morning we were in luck. Our taxi driver from the day before came to pick us up at the Big Fish. He informed us that the water was rough, but the panga was running. Hurray!
“Just sit right back
And you’ll hear a tale
A tale of a fateful trip,
That started from this tropic port,
Aboard this tiny ship.”
“The weather started getting rough, The tiny ship was tossed. If not for the courage of the fearless crew The Minnow would be lost.” “MOM! Stop singing that!”
“The ship set ground on the shore of This uncharted desert isle”
There’s my little buddy Gilligan with our stuff.
We arrived in the harbor near “The Village,” the only place that is like a town on the island. When the panga landed, a man was there from our hotel with a wheelbarrow to transport our bags to the opposite side of the island. We chatted about his hunting dogs. What is there to hunt here? Iguana. Tastes like chicken.
The cross-island trail
Little Corn Island is magical. It is 1.1 square miles of beach, swamp, and jungle, with no paved roads and no motorized vehicles other than one electric wheelchair. Municipal electricity from a large generator is on from 2 pm until 5 am, unless it isn’t. There is no mail service.
“No phone, no lights, no motor car, Not a single luxury Like Robinson Crusoe It’s primitive as can be.” Well actually we do have Internet sometimes.
I think the Professor has been at work here
In 2005 the census counted 495 permanent residents. Although that number has probably at least doubled by now, you can still walk along the coastline for a couple of hours without encountering another human.
Civilization up ahead, on the east coast
Yep, everybody’s pretty comfortable.
If you should happen to find our message in a bottle, never mind, we don’t really want rescuing. But if you know how to get rid of an earworm, I could live without the Gilligan’s Island theme song in my head anymore.
Lorna of Arabia 
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