Photos Around the "Creek"

Lately at Jaguar Creek:

We got a new name and a new sign...well actually the name is not official and the sign isn't new, its recyled from a sign that used to say "Jaguar Creek - Christian Environmental Center" from the very early days of Jaguar Creek. Mateo did a nice job carving the new words at the bottom "Mission & Conference Center"; we are sort of trying out this name to see how we like it. The sign is posted at the turn off from the dirt road to Ian Anderson's Caves Branch Resort.

Other woodworking news: We've hired a couple of men from Armenia Village to refinish some of the wooden furniture at Jaguar Creek...(we have a lot for them to do). Besides sanding and varnishing these dining tables, they also repaired the splits and tightened the legs up a bit.





Here's a view you've never seen before. From the office (left) you can now see the lodge (center). The area in between was pretty much just jungle until a week ago. So far everybody that has seen this new look, really likes it. It won't stay brown for long (even if we do nothing, when the rain comes it will be green!). There has been some discussion about a putting green....but we will probably just settle for a little grass and flowers.




Our cabin skylights were getting pretty shabby so we replaced them. The nice thing about the new ones is that they have the same form as the sheet metal used on the roof. Much nicer.









And last, one of my favorites....fans in the dining room. We had to create our own poles because the ceiling is so high. They work great and will be nice if the weather ever gets hot down here (ha).

The State Trooper, Border Patrol and Customs

What would not be a good thing

When I was 20, I was driving my little white 1966 Volkswagen Bug on Interstate 70, near Dillon Colorado, where I lived as a ski bum for a year. It was the middle of winter, and as I took my exit, I noticed two or three things. First, the off ramp was completely covered in snow; second, at the end of the off ramp there was a State Trooper patrol car. Now the Bug, as you probably know, has it's engine in back, providing extra weight over the drive wheels. This makes it a great car for driving on snow and ice. But the third thing I noticed as I braked was that it was probably 50/50 whether or not I was going to stop before I hit the State Trooper. Fortunately, thanks to the laws of physics and God (who designed the laws of physics in the first place) I stopped short of rear-ending the patrol car, although I was within 18 inches of it, which probably violated its notion of "personal space".

Unfortunately Mr. Trooper was not at the time distracted by a radio conversation, paperwork or a donut. Instead he saw the whole thing in his rear view mirror, and when he stepped out of his car and approached mine, he didn't look very happy. I don’t really remember his face, just his size – about as big as my VW Bug.
Mr. Trooper, growling with a redneck drawl: "You almost hit my car."
Me, eyes down, both hands on the wheel: "Yes sir."
Mr. Trooper, stating the obvious: "That would not be a good thing to hit my car."
Me, trying not to look like I was from California: "No sir, it wouldn't".
Apparently both my answers were correct, so he let me go.

Uninsured motorists from across the border that can’t speak our language.


I lost my right to complain about those uninsured illegal aliens. Tikal is an amazing, huge Mayan ruin in Guatemala. We visited there last month. On the way back, just before we got back into Belize, two border officers stopped us and asked for the papers for the car. I said "Oh and which papers might that be officer". Except I was speaking in Spanish, so it came out more like: "huh, er, I, wha?" They proceeded to tell me that I should have had a permit for the car to take it into Guatemala. (We found out later that you are required to buy car insurance when you cross the border.) I carefully explained to the men that when we crossed the border, there were no signs or people to tell us what to do, so after we got our car fumigated for bugs, we just drove through. Except in Spanish it came out more like: "Ah, er, paper no got, no know nothing". I asked them what I should do, and after giving me a look like: "How do you people even survive down here?" they let me go.


Officer, I swear I didn’t know there were T-shirts in the bag!

There are a number of items that you cannot import into Belize under any circumstances. The list includes global thermo-nuclear weapons, rocket propelled grenade launchers, heroin, and T-shirts that say "Jaguar Creek Belize". When we tried to bring our T-shirts in, the customs officer at the airport told us that we would have to apply for a license to import them through the Ministry of Finance. No problem, I thought, and I visited the office to find out what I needed to do. The secretary there told me "you can't bring printed T-shirts in the country." I told her about our non profit Christian ministry, how we help the poor in Belize and asked “wouldn’t the Government want to support that kind of activity?” She said that wasn’t her decision to make, and I could apply if I wanted to. So I went to Angeles Press where I bought the form I needed, filled it out and wrote a very compelling letter explaining the ten years of wonderful work of Jaguar Creek, our future plans to help the local children and the non-profit use of the T-shirts. I closed with a heartfelt desire to work in cooperation with the government and our tremendous respect for their regulations. It was really one of my better works of art, and apparently when the Minister of Finance read it he was so moved that he immediately denied our request.

So, now our only choice was to send them back to the US. Fortunately there was a team here that was headed back to the states. So we went back to Customs at the airport, showed them our friend’s airline ticket, and he gave us the two large duffle bags of T-shirts. That's right, he just gave them to us and we walked out of the secure area. Now we are standing there in line at the check-in counter maybe 100 yards from our car, no officers in sight, nothing to keep us from just walking out the door with our contraband. It was so hard to do the right thing. (Some of you reading this probably disagree about what the right thing to do was…I'll leave it to your imagination.)