Leaving Utila was bittersweet, but I knew I was leaving to go see someone for whom I cared deeply. We hadn’t seen each other in quite some time, so I was eager to get to Nicaragua and be reunited. Unfortunately, Dusty wouldn’t be coming for a few more days, so I had to bide my time with Marlene instead.
Marlene was still finishing up an internship working on a sustainable farm, so I passed most of the first few days relaxing by the pool in our hostel and trying to rid myself of the last of the illness that had plagued me on my final days in Utila. Once I was feeling a bit better, I thought it might be fun to see what Marlene had been up to on the farm for the past few months. I thought wrong. There have been times in my life where I thought it might be nice to live a simple life and live of the land on a small farm in my later years. These hopes were quickly dashed in a few short hours on Marlene’s farm. After a few minutes of hunching over pulling weeds among the rows of produce in the sustainable garden, I knew it was not a life for which I was built. Either my back hurt from leaning over, my knees hurt from squatting, or my legs went numb from sitting cross legged. I was having flashback to Mother’s Day and Father’s Day as a child, which were the holidays my parents chose to exploit us for child labor in the garden. I hated it as much now as I did then and was happy to leave the dream of farm life behind me.
High winds across the arid plains of Nicaragua in the days before his arrival foreshadowed the presence of Dusty. The dry grittiness reminiscent of the man I once new. The man that arrived, while still dry as stale Wonderbread, had lost his grit.
The first opportunity to prove his worth was an overnight hike of Telica, an active volcano outside of Leon. The hike was no walk in the park, but the Dusty I remembered was not one to falter under a bit of pressure. I don’t know if it was the dry heat, the altitude, or the pace, but something was holding him back. Had posh east coast living turned him soft? Maybe, but his will was resolute and we ultimately made it to the campsite just before sunset. We were tired, but we quickly found out that Dusty wasn’t the only one that had struggled up the mountain. The campground was littered with the bones of dead horses that hadn’t made the return journey.
After setting up camp, we hiked a little further up to the crater rim to stare down at the bubbling lava. We were several hundred feet above the inferno, but the heat was still scorching and the sulfuric gas suffocating. After choking down the view for a few minutes we headed to lower ground to watch the sunset, then called it a night and retired to our tents.
After a cold, windy and relatively sleepless night, we awoke ready to get off this damn mountain. This should have been the easy part, but the worst was yet to come. About halfway down the mountain, Marlene, Dusty and I got a bit ahead of our guide and the rest of the group. Marlene had done this hike before so we trusted her to get us down the mountain. That proved to be a grave error. We came to something of a crossroads where there was a well worn path leading one direction, and a much smaller, well, path is not exactly the right word, let’s call it an opening where the bushes hadn’t grown together, leading in another. Marlene, in her infinite wisdom, chose the latter. Before too long we all suspected that we had taken a wrong turn, which is when we should have turned back. What we did instead was to keep following Marlene, who was too stubborn to admit she was wrong, in hopes that the trails would eventually meet up. They didn’t. I’d like to say that I was the model of composure at this point, but that would be a lie. I was tired, hungry, and thirsty, which inevitably reduced me to a cranky four year old. I threw the kind of tantrum that no grown man should ever be caught throwing. Deservingly, I would never hear the end of this. It was after this that Marlene revealed to us that she had both a cell phone, and the number for our guide. Information that would have been very useful a few miles ago. So, Marlene called the guide who told us that we were most definitely not on the right path and to retrace our steps. After a good hour and a half detour we met up with the rest of the group who were less than thrilled to see us after waiting for us for so long. I guess sometimes slow and steady really does win the race.
We eventually arrived back in Leon tired, dirty, smelly, and borderline cranky, but there was to be no rest for us yet. We were meeting up with Marlene’s roommate and heading to the coast for a day of R&R at Surfing Turtle Lodge; an eco hostel that also serves as a sea turtle sanctuary. It wasn’t the season for turtles, but it was high season for relaxing. We frittered the rest of the day playing cards, swinging in hammocks and wandering the endless white sands. This was just what the doctor ordered to put the tumult of Telica behind us and prepare us for what was to come.
We were on a tight schedule, so the next day we had to hightail it to Cañon de Somoto in Northern Nicaragua. When we arrived, there were only a couple hours of daylight left, and despite our exhaustion, Marlene and I decided to go for a hike and check out the surrounding valley. Dusty, still proving softer than the Stay Puft marshmallow man, decided to take a nap instead. In my opinion he made a mistake, but to each their own. The sunset over the valley from up in the mountains was unforgettable, as was the view of the canyon we would be navigating the following day.
Cañon de Somoto is one of the national treasures of Nicaragua and even graces the front of the 50 Córdoba note (their local currency). This canyon is close to nothing and is a pain to get to, but I have to say, it is well worth the extra effort. The beauty is unmatched, and beyond that, it’s a hell of a good time. We spent the morning hiking in and around a river deep in the canyon, taking every chance we could to go cliff jumping where river depth would allow. The river was quite low, but we trusted our guide to tell us where it was and wasn’t safe, though sometimes we would hit bottom before the water stopped us completely. Obviously, this unnerved Dusty quite a bit. He would never go first, but after I didn’t die a few times, he would reluctantly give it a go.
After canyoning, we had a little time to clean up before making our way to Peñas Blancas, which for you perverts out there means white…..rocks (sorry). As remote as Somoto was, Peñas Blancas was even further, and on much worse roads. We wouldn’t be able to get there that afternoon so we spent the night somewhere in the middle. We ended up getting there mid day the following day, which didn’t give us enough time to do a thorough hike, but gave us a taste of what was to come the following day. Peñas Blancas is a national park so it is very well preserved and has lots of wildlife. We saw a sloth and its baby in the first few minutes we were there. Our guide for the hikes was Don Chico, a spry 80+ year old gentleman who had worked the local land long before it was a preserve. While beautiful on its own, Don Chico would end up being the highlight of Peñas Blancas. The first hike was a casual stroll on a well maintained path while Don Chico pointed out various plants and described how they were used by locals. Many were used as medicines, while others were used for ropes or tools. We gathered most of this from context clues and the few choice words Marlene could decipher. Now, this is not a knock on Marlene’s Spanish, she is pretty good, but Don Chico’s brand of Spanish was a consistent stream of energetic nonsensical mumblings. I never had any idea what he said, but man, he said it with vigor. I’d follow him anywhere. And the following day, we did.
If day one was a blue square, day two was a double black diamond. The trail was often more local knowledge than any sort of marked path, and beyond that, it was wet, muddy, slippery, and often times straight up. Needless to say, Dusty’s true colors were shining bright. “But Stephen, what if I fall?” “I could die, Stephen.” “Stephen, this is so dangerous.” Sure, he wasn’t wrong, but I still enjoyed every second of his misery. Once we got to the top of the plateau, the traverse was smooth sailing. We could all agree that the view of the countryside from the top and the perspective of waterfalls from above was well worth the effort and unease. But alas, what goes up must come down, and the path down offered yet another opportunity to hear from Dusty Gripe, though I have to admit that Marlene and I joined in his misery on the way down. It was brutal on the legs, and the slippery mud fell each one of us in turn. It is worth noting that Don Chico did the whole climb in a pair of rubber Wellington boots and never wavered in his stability or composure. I probably wouldn’t go back for the hike alone, but I would go back for Don Chico.
Even ground was a welcome treat for us all, but we didn’t have much time to enjoy it. We were to meet Dusty’s girlfriend the following day and head for the Corn Islands off the Caribbean coast. In the end he enjoyed each of the excursions, but I am sure he was happy to put the hard work behind him and embrace the smooth sailing ahead. If only that were the case.
