By Carter Blankenship

I would never expect a trip to Guatemala to include me gripping a fishing rod in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, 20 miles from any sight of land. I would never have expected so much of what we have done. But that’s exactly how our week unfolded, this week included a deep dive into the Guatemala culture and an open water adventure! A trip I will never forget.

From the moment our group arrived, Guatemala welcomed us. Everywhere we visited buzzed with energy. Women making clothes in front of their homes, kids chasing each other up and down the street, and shop owners greeting us like neighbors instead of strangers. Everywhere we went we were greeted with kindness.

We have spent some of our days learning from the locals, practicing Spanish with everyone we encountered…..most of the time they have to understand our sign language Spanish, and also talking to shop owners about there life in Guatemala. I thought the entire trip would look like this.

Then came the fishing trip. Before sunrise yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, we drove to a coastal dock where a charter captain and his crew welcomed us aboard his boat. It wasn’t big or flashy, but it could get the job done. The boat was not new, and smelled of salt and diesel. The crew told us to get comfortable because we had a long ride ahead of us….. 20 miles to be exact off the coast! 

I’d never been twenty miles out on the ocean. Actually, I’d never been more than a few minutes off any ocean coast. But as we pushed through the first stretch of waves, watching the shoreline shrink until it was nothing more than a blur, I felt this rush of fear, excitement, and amazement tangled together.

The water changed the farther we went. Near the coast, it had been a soft green, but out here it was a deep, richer blue than anything I’d ever seen. The boat slowed and all the lines were tossed out. It was time for stuff to get real! 

We didn’t have to wait long.
When the sailfish hit, the rod practically exploded with tension. I grabbed it once the guy made sure it was hooked, and for the next ten minutes, it felt like I was in a full-body battle with the ocean itself. The fish dove down and tried to get as far away as possible; it was stronger than I ever imagined something in the water could be. My arms were shaking, everyone was yelling encouragement, and the crew kept shouting instructions over the crashing of the waves.

And then, finally, the sailfish broke the surface. It was massive, shimmering from the sun beaming on to it. It was powerful even as it fought its last few moments. We didn’t keep it sadly, and honestly, watching that incredible creature swim away from the boat felt like the most respectful ending to the whole encounter.

On the ride back, the boat rocking gently beneath us, I kept thinking about how the trip had blended two worlds, the small town warmth of the people who welcomed us in, and the wild, breathtaking force of the Pacific. Both taught me something different, one about community, the other about patience.

I went to Guatemala expecting to learn about culture. I didn’t expect to learn about myself. But somewhere between conversations in tiny mountain towns and wrestling a sailfish miles offshore, I realized just how big and surprising the world can be when you’re willing to step into it.