Moses and Indian Nose

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“We can start at 5am or 6am, though some people do it as early as 3am to see the sunrise,” our guide Moses suggested for starting our hike up Indian Nose, one of the best views of Atitlan and the surrounding area. Our late night jam session had resulted in a later start, something I was beginning to regret as we cut an aggressive path straight up the steep walls of Indian Nose. Every time the sun shined onto the trail, we would break out in an intense sweat, pausing to rest every 10 minutes or so. After a steady climb of a couple miles, we reached the spine of the mountain range and proceeded to the nose.

Moses was one of the best guides I’ve ever met. We had instinctually shooed him away when he first approached us after landing at the boat dock; an instinct I’ve had anywhere when first arriving to a new locale. He hooked us up with a great hostel and kayaks and we were more than pleased to have him on the Indian Nose trek. Though fluent in English, Maya and several other language, he firmly stuck to Spanish with us, something that is firmly appreciated with anyone who is learning or looking to practice. A former coffee plantation worker, he gave us a rundown of the harvesting process on our ascent and was full of interesting quips and jokes along the way. At a rough point in the trail I requested that he use his powers to part the bushes, to which he responded “only if brother Jeremiah is here to help lead us.”

I’ll let the view speak for itself, but upon arrival, Moses asked us if we wanted to learn some Maya. We surprised him with the basic “Mahk Diosh,” (thank you) and he seemed pretty pleased that we had even gone that far to remember Maya. Afterwards we cruised by the village of Santa Clara and were treated to a spectacular market scene.

Indiana Jonesin'

From Manizales, we caught a bus to the pueblo of Salento (pop. 3000), on the other side of Parque Nacional Los Nevados. The small town feel was a nice change, Salento is a place where people actually said hello to each other on the street: I tipped my hat and offered "buenos tardes señor" to an elderly gentleman and he responded with "que caballero" and a smile. The only way to reach Valle de Cocora National Park is via Jeep, which they gladly run with the "pack as many as you can" rule; people hanging off the sides, wherever you can get a handhold. After a dusty ride and a short walk, we found ourselves in the midst of hundreds of wax palms, Colombias national tree.

In addition to growing nearly 60 meters tall, these palms were set against a surreal-looking backdrop of rolling green hills (which Brent remarked, looked like something from DragonBall Z or Sonic). Before trekking in Colombia, I had no idea how many hues of green Mother Nature was capable of reproducing to paint a palette of amazing natural beauty. As we hiked further up the valley, the terrain changed from grassland and wax palm to denser jungle and cloud forest. We began to encounter man-made development, long abandoned to the clutches of the jungle. As we crossed makeshift bridges over roaring rivers, I felt like the next turn could bring out blow-darting jungle pygmies a la Raiders of the Lost Ark. We came across a suspension bridge that scratched Brent up as he tried to avoid the broken slats below.

We were also reminded of the rebel FARC presence that had prevented tourism in this park only a few years before; there were certainly enough jungle tunnels that we saw to reinforced this fact. Though there had been FARC activity on the other side of the mountain as recently as last year, we felt safe, knowing the Colombian Military checkpoints we had driven by earlier would do everything they could to hold the line. A few more miles up steep terrain and we came across the Reserva Natual Acaime. The caretaker chatted with us about the eating habits of the Andean Bear as we sipped Aguapanela (chocolatey tea) with chunks of freshly-made cheese and watched the hummingbirds buzz around the air.

Into Thin Aire

Headache, shortness of breath, fatigue, I was familiar with these high altitude symptoms from my time in the Peruvian Andes though this time there was something new. Hands tingling, I clapped them together to try to get the circulation going and *OW* -jolts of pain shot through my palms and joints. I was a little worried, more than half of our group had already turned back, but our guide was yelling "animo! animo muchachos! vamos! (attitude guys! let's go!) encouraging us on to the summit.

Los Nevados National Park lies just a few Kms from Manizales, a town that sits at about 2,100 meters (7,000 ft). I had experienced some symptoms of the altitude when we arrived, but was able to sleep it off the next morning. Before we reached the park, we had a bit of a comical incident, as two guys from our hostel had accidentally hopped on our tour (in a minibus) while we had boarded the full size bus on a different tour (going to the same place). Both buses stopped for breakfast and we were forced to give up our comfy full size seats to squeeze in the two back seats of the minibus. This ended up being a blessing in disguise as our minibus was full of Colombians. We chatted it up with almost every single group on the bus, who were surprised to find a pair of gringos who could gift the gab. In particular, there was a mother traveling with her two daughters who had never seen a Yankee (in person), so they were a lot of fun.

As the hike up Nevado del Ruiz (Colombia's highest peak) began, the youngest daughter began getting really sick. Incredibly, the mother walked her two daughters down before double timing it to get back to the tail end of our group. Another feat of age in the face of adversity was a 50 year old father of two who scrambled past the guide (after his portly sons turned back) to be the first one of our group to summit. I guess it's all about physical and mental conditioning, which at least pushed me up to the top to ensure that people almost twice my age were not going to leave me in the dust. At 5,150 meters (17,000 ft), we were rewarded with a beautiful glacier that is unfortunately getting smaller every year, but a reminder of the limitless diversity that exists in all regions (and altitudes) in Colombia.