We set sail from Boquerón, bound for the port of Samaná in the Dominican Republic on the island of Hispaniola. The captain had already reserved a berth for us at the local yacht club.
The morning greeted us with a steady 20-knot wind. With sails hoisted, we surged forward. By 11 AM, a storm cloud caught up with us. The wind held steady, without sudden gusts. Despite the downpour, we pressed on under sail. The waves grew taller, the cockpit was drenched, and so were we—soaked to the bone. It was time for a slight course adjustment. Not far from us lay the uninhabited Mona Island. We decided to anchor there for a short rest before continuing our journey to Samaná by night.
Mona Island sits at the heart of its namesake strait, separating Puerto Rico from Hispaniola. Though uninhabited, it is occasionally visited by biologists and rangers due to its extraordinary biodiversity. The island is home to many rare and endangered species, studied and protected while there’s still time. As we later discovered, landing on the island required a permit—one we certainly wouldn’t have received that day. A culling operation was underway to control the population of wild boars and goats, whose unchecked breeding wreaks havoc on the ecosystem. No one knows exactly who introduced them to Mona, but it was undoubtedly humans—perhaps ill-fated colonists or pirates. These animals thrive without human care, especially in such a paradise, where food is not just abundant but astonishingly diverse. Yet for humans, survival here is a challenge, as the island lacks any fresh water sources.
Our unauthorized landing technically violated regulations. However, no alarms were raised. Two men greeted us—one, a ranger assigned to a week-long mission to cull the invasive goats and boars; the other, a biologist who stays on the island for two-week shifts to study its unique ecosystem. He was eager to guide us, to share the island’s secrets, to unveil its wonders. Unfortunately, due to the ongoing hunt, we had to limit our exploration to the beach, the research station, and a nearby cave.
It was evident how much he missed having an audience. He was an exceptional storyteller, and even within the short time we had, we learned and saw so much.
The only real distraction was the boarlet, behaving like an overindulged puppy. He nipped at our legs, bumped into us (he was no lightweight—easily close to 100 kilograms and solid muscle), tried to snatch anything he could, and threw tantrums when shooed away. He had been found alone in the forest after the previous cull. Without his mother, survival was impossible, so the researchers decided to adopt and feed him.
The culling takes place twice a year—an unfortunate necessity, as uncontrolled population growth would be disastrous. Both goats and boars are voracious eaters, consuming everything within reach, without regard for whether they are destroying an endemic plant species or displacing rare lizards and birds. Thus, twice a year, the rangers and biologists trade their field notes for rifles.
We nearly lost our dinghy. Upon arrival, we had pulled it far up the beach, well away from the water. But while we wandered, the tide had come in. I spotted it at the far end of the shore, mere meters from floating away, just as the captain was gearing up for a dive to admire the underwater world. I sprinted as fast as I could to grab it before it was too late. Had I missed the moment, we would have been left with no choice but to swim back to Legato—through waters not just teeming with colourful fish but also patrolled by sharks. In short, we got lucky.
With the sunset, we set sail once more, continuing our voyage toward the Dominican Republic.
