May 3rd, 2026
From Starfish Beach to the hidden shores of Bastimentos — a slow, sweaty, beautiful adventure.
The anchor came up dripping somewhere between early morning and the rest of the world waking up. Starfish Beach was behind me now — that dreamy stretch I’d been calling home for the past days — and ahead lay everything else. The kind of “everything else” you can only find when you let a boat decide your pace.
No wind. Of course there was no wind.
So the steel donkey took over — engine rumbling, bow pointed toward Bocas Town — and I made my peace with it. Some days you sail. Some days you motor. Both get you somewhere.
Bocas Town: Provision and Move
Bocas Town is the kind of place you don’t mean to linger in but somehow always do. Groceries. Water tanks topped up. A few conversations you didn’t plan on having. Then back to the boat, back to the chart, back to the next move.
That move: Isla Bastimentos.
I’d been there before, but the sea has a way of making familiar places feel new. And this time, everything was different — because this time, I wasn’t alone.
Old Town & The Trail to Wizard Beach
We met at anchor — two boats, two couples, the instant camaraderie that only exists among sailors and long-distance travelers. Plans formed over the side decks the way they always do: loosely, happily, with no real deadline.
First stop: Old Town. A short wander through sun-bleached Caribbean houses, painted in colors that looked like someone ran out of beige and just kept going. Kids on bikes. Dogs sprawling in patches of shade. The smell of salt and woodsmoke.
Then the trail to Wizard Beach opened up ahead of us, and we followed it in.
The jungle here is alive in a way that feels almost aggressive — green pressing in from every side, roots crossing roots, birds you hear but never see. And then the trees part, and there it is. Wizard Beach. Long, wild, with waves breaking hard on the shore and almost no one else around.
We sat with it for a while. Some places deserve that.
The Hunt Begins
We moved the boats 2.5 miles further the next day, re-anchoring close to Red Frog Beach. The mission had shifted. We weren’t just exploring anymore — we were searching.
Sloths. Red frogs. The two totemic creatures of Bastimentos, hiding somewhere in all that green.
We headed into the forest the following morning: hiking from Red Frog Beach through to Polo Beach, looping back through patches of canopy and undergrowth, scanning every branch, every leaf, every inch of the tree line.
Nothing.
The forest kept its secrets well.
We pushed on — Polo Beach, more tiny coves tucked between headlands, unnamed stretches of shore that felt genuinely undiscovered. The kind of beaches that don’t have Instagram tags yet. The kind you file away and never quite share.
Still nothing.
The Reward
There’s a specific kind of tiredness that comes from tropical hiking — not unpleasant, just total. Sweat-through-your-shirt, legs-talking-back, ready-for-a-swim tired.
We had almost decided to give up. That’s the moment, isn’t it? That’s always the moment.
I looked up into the canopy — half out of habit, half out of stubbornness — and there it was.
A sloth.
Hanging in the crook of a tree, absolutely motionless, wearing that ancient unbothered expression they always have. Like it had been there since before any of us were born and had no particular plans to move. We stood beneath it for a long time, not saying much. Some sights earn silence.
Thirty minutes later, on the trail back, someone stopped dead.
A tiny red frog had landed on a green leaf — that color contrast is the only reason any of us noticed. Maybe two centimeters long. Utterly, almost absurdly red. It sat there like a small jewel someone had dropped in the undergrowth and forgotten.
And then, right at the very end of the hike — when we were almost back, almost out — we spotted a second sloth. This one was moving. Climbing through the upper branches with slow, deliberate purpose. Arms reaching. Body swinging. Like it was making a point.
Three secret creatures in one afternoon, all found in the space between giving up and not quite giving up. The jungle had decided to be generous.
Sunset & Rain
Back at the boats, the day folded into evening the way only tropical evenings do — fast and golden and extravagant. The sunset came in like a final act: all oranges and deep reds bleeding out across the water, the kind of light that makes even ordinary boats look like paintings.
We sat in it. We didn’t talk much. There wasn’t anything that needed saying.
The next morning brought rain. Heavy, warm, drumming on the deck — the kind of rain that says stay put, rest, let the world be wet for a while.
And so we did.
There’s a version of travel where you chase the highlights — the landmarks, the lists, the things you’re supposed to see. And then there’s this version. Slow miles. Shared trails. A tiny red frog on a green leaf. A sloth that wasn’t in a hurry.
I know which version I prefer.
Watch the full video to see all the footage from these two weeks — the hikes, the beaches, the moments that words only half-capture.
Watch the Full Episode
If you want to see my adventures while exploring Bocas del Toro.
Next stop: still being decided. Follow along to find out where Anima goes next.
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Cheers
Paul – SY ANIMA