To their left was the string of islands that hugged the Equatoguinean coast. Kevin had been steering north to complete the wide circle around Cogo. Now he pushed over the helm to point the bow directly toward Isla Francesca, which loomed in the distance.

Once the mists had dissipated from the sun’s glare, a welcome breeze stirred the water, and waves began to mar the hitherto glassy surface. Pushing into a mounting headwind the pirogue began to slap against the crests, occasionally sprinkling its passengers with spray.

Isla Francesca looked different than her sister islands, and the closer they got, the more apparent it became. Besides being considerably larger, Isla Francesca’s limestone escarpment gave it a much more substantial appearance. There were even bits of cloudlike mist that clung to its summits.

An hour and fifteen minutes after they had left the pier in Cogo, Kevin cut back on the throttle and the pirogue slowed. A hundred feet ahead was the dense shoreline of the southwestern tip of Isla Francesca.

“From this vantage point it looks sort of forbidding,” Melanie yelled over the sound of the engine.

Kevin nodded. There was nothing about the island that was inviting. There was no beach. The entire shoreline appeared to be covered with dense mangroves.

“We’ve got to find Rio Diviso’s outlet,” Kevin yelled back. After approaching the mangroves as close as he thought prudent, he pushed the helm to starboard and headed along the western shore. In the lee of the island, the waves disappeared. Kevin stood up in hopes of seeing possible underwater obstructions. But he couldn’t. The water was an impenetrable muddy color.

“What about where all those bulrushes are?” Candace called out from the bow. She pointed ahead to an expansive marsh that had appeared.

Kevin nodded and cut back on the throttle even farther. He nosed the boat toward the six-foot reeds.

“Can you see any obstructions underwater?” he called out to Candace.

Candace shook her head. “It’s too murky,” she said.

Kevin turned the boat so that they were again moving parallel with the island shoreline. The reeds were dense, and the marsh now extended inland for a hundred yards.

“This must be the river outlet,” Kevin said. “I hope there is a channel or we’re out of luck. There’s no way we could get the canoe through those reeds.”

Ten minutes later, without having found a break in the reeds, Kevin turned the boat around. He was careful not to foul the towline for the small canoe.

“I don’t want to go any further in this direction,” Kevin said. “The width of the marsh is decreasing. I don’t think we’re going to find a channel. Besides, I’m afraid of getting too close to the staging area where the bridge is.”

“I agree,” Melanie said. “What about going to the other end of the island where Rio Diviso has its inlet?”

“That was exactly my thought,” Kevin said.

Melanie raised her hand.

“What are you doing?” Kevin asked.