That was where we'd made a reservation, and they'd sent the driver to meet us. He was a nice dude, and pointed out things on the island along the way. Altagracia was on the southeast corner of the island, and our hotel was in the north-central part. Because of the twin volcanoes, the island resembles a peanut shape, with one paved road encircling it. I was really looking forward to a real bed. One with a sufficient mattress, free of rogue springs and stinky paper smell. Hotel Paraiso certainly was the fanciest place we'd been to thus far, and it was reasonably comfortable. The bar was open, so we got a couple of absolutely delicious mango and grapefruit juices to store up sugars and electrolytes for the hike. With that we slept, woke up at 6:45, and went downstairs to meet our volcano tour guide.Doglas was a pretty awesome guide only a few years older than us, and he'd been hired by the hotel to take us to the volcano top. We had a choice to make between volcanoes: Concepción is slightly taller (about a mile high) and is still an active volcano. For this reason, it's somewhat free of heavy vegetation, and so offers a pretty good view. On the other hand, Maderas volcano is inactive, so has immense foliage with exotic plants, flowers, monkeys, etc. That means lots of shade. Not to mention the fact that sometimes live volcanoes do, in fact, erupt unexpectedly. The chances are low, but not non-existent. We chose Maderas, took a speedy motorboat to avoid the slow road, and started our ascent.
For those of you who don't know Chris (most of you), he's an endurance athlete. By this i mean he runs marathons in 3 hours, and wins awards for riding his bicycle too much in Atlanta. Expectedly, Chris decided this was a challenge he was going to throttle. dumbass.
The first few hundred meters were gravy - there were immense trees, and delicious looking mangos and avocados along the trail sides. Other than a slight incline, it was no problem. After about 20 minutes we came across a petroglyph. I know there are pre-columbian petroglyphs on the island, but this one seemed conspicuously intact and well preserved for something from before 1500. I'm pretty sure it was just a pretty replica.
As we passed by it, the jungle immediately became darker, rockier, steeper, and tougher. Within 15 minutes my shirt didn't have a dry spot on it, as was the case with Doglas, Chris, and Nat. I think the difference between a volcano and mountain hike is that the irregular trails on a mountain allow you to choose shallower grades, move around, and pick routs. Because volcanoes are steeper (in my mind at least) you've got to force your way up in an almost straight line - ascending a mile up, within only a few horizontal miles. If any of you have ever done stadiums, you know how your legs, lungs, and body simultaneously scream for mercy. But, at the very least you make it to the top and head back down. This was like doing stadiums to heaven in mud and 1000% humidity. I've lived in South Texas, Florida, the desert in El Paso. But the hot/humid air is brutal... worst than Mississippi. Plus, the sun hits the tropics almost orthogonally in the summer, meaning higher intensity sun. Luckily, we were in shade of the tree canopy almost the whole time. Doglas exhibited a bit of fatigue, but it was obvious he was not exactly phased. After all, he was skinny and made this trip like twice a week.
The going was hard. So hard I stopped every once in a while to wring out my shirt, take a sip of water, and make sure I wasn't going to pass out. At a little pit stop, we ran into this American guy who was about 6'4", decent shape, with basketball shorts and a UNC shirt on. He was laying belly up on a slab of rock, eyes closed. When we approached, he sat up, and his face was somewhere between beet red and eggplant purple. He said he was feeling sick, dizzy, nauseous, and that his friends had left him behind because they wanted to reach the crater. So, he said he just wanted to rest, and we left him as well.At was at this point Chris decided to become Billy Badass, and actually 'run' up the volcano. I don't think any of us realized that at this point we were only like a quarter of the way up, if that. That UNC guy would never have made it. That was the last we saw of Chris until the summit, a number of hours later.
I remember when he and I were in China, and we'd found someone to take us to an un-restored, rugged part of the Great Wall, and the going was so tough that I was slowing him way down. I remember wishing the Great Wall was even more difficult to climb, so that he too would be slowed down and somewhat sympathetic. Maderas was finally that chance. By his own admission, he only made it a short distance before having to slow to a regular pace. Plus, even with Lance Armstrong's 34% larger and more efficient heart, there were plenty or parts that required stopping and climbing as well as hiking.
a few hours into it, trudging on redfaced, the terrain changed to a glossy bright orange clay that was as slippery as it was pretty. Then, when Natalie and I were certain there was no way we'd ever make it to the summit, the trees cleared, and there was Chris, stripped down to his skivvies sitting gingerly on a log, looking over one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen: a still, mile-high lagoon nestled inside of the volcano crater.
As it turns out, being so high, this water was deliciously cold, and there was nothing that could stop me from stripping down and jumping in. It was shallow and squishy, but chilly. And that was all that mattered to me at the time. As I swam further in, i noticed that the lagoon bed didn't get too deep, just softer in consistency. At first it was really gross, because your feet would plunge thigh high into some sort of fluffy silt. But, after a while, i tried to convince myself it was no big deal, and i swam all the way out to the center. Once in the center, I could point my toes down, and get slurped into the cool-whip like silt until I was waist deep, with the water just below my chin. I couldn't help but sit in that fluffy suspended emulsion, efforlessly bouyant like a scarecrow mounted into a giant marshmallow. I just lay suspended, as if i was in a zero-gravity water cooler in outer space. It was an interesting place to be -- suspended in a lagoon, in a volcano crater, on an island in the middle of a prehistoric lake, inside of a country on the isthmus between North and South America. I've been to the Coliseum, seen the Eiffel tower, climbed the Great Wall, gone to the Empire State building, but the shear time and force required to create this volcano and crater dwarfs anything puny humans could ever produce. I just laid my head back, grinned, and looked across the island at the perfect cone of Concepcíon, the twin volcano.
When I emerged, Doglas invited us for his post-climb reward. It was a tightly rolled joint, and he lit it, and passed it around. Realizing this was still a dangerous climb, I refused and thought about that all too ingrained night I spent in the hospital with my cousin and best friend in the world in a coma after the hiking accident. That accident happened in a way not too dissimilar from this. That was and is one of the hardest parts of my life, and it forever changed his.
All I can say about our decent was that it was trying. But, we did see a lot of howler monkeys, eager to let us now they were pissed we were in their hood. Your heart wasn't trying to beat out of your chest, and you could keep your wind, but those miles take tolls on your joints and your feet. You start to get lazy, and less coordinated. After a couple of hours, all three of us were feeling the effects. I don't know if it's depletion of salts, electrolytes, or whatever. But, your muscles begin to shake, and it effects you strongly. It's like the depletion of salt almost makes you shaky and emotional. I couldn't help but think about that lady that died in the "Hold your wee for a Wii" contest. Apparently, she drank too much water, and it diluted some necessary minerals, and she died. Eventually, we all made it down safely, and sat down at the little café at the bottom. We took tuns drinking water that we'd dissolved salt into, and ten ordered a few beers. They were the tastiest beers I think I've ever had. Cold, full of flavor, and refreshing. Or maybe it was the exhaustion and endorphins talking.
By this time it was getting dark, and we hitched a ride with some other people heading towards our hotel. We sat in the truck bed, and got to see the sun set over the volcano we'd just climbed, and watch the islanders slow their activities to a crawl as the work day ended. In about 20 minutes, we were back at the hotel, ready to relax. Here's a short video of our ride home in the truck with Doglas:
When we got back to the hotel, we were surprised that we actually had a little energy left. So, our plan was to change, go down to the outdoor restaurant by the beach, eat, drink, and go for a swim. We ordered some delicious roasted guapote, which is a famous native fish to the area. It's kind of like a Tilapia, but I find it much more delicious. I also ordered a bottle of Flor de Caña rum, some ice, and coke, and went to town. Our delicious meal was expensive by Nicaragua standards, but it was fantastic, and the rum was going to straight into my veins. Because our hotel was on the beach, we chose to go for a night swim in the lake. It's immense size means this lake has its own tide patters, and sizable waves. We put on bathing suits and fumbled through the darkness out to the charcoal-colored sandy freshwater beach.
At this point, the soreness was beginning, and to my delight, this water was the opposite of the lagoon water. It was like bath water, and i let the hot waves wash the soreness out of my muscles. Or maybe it was just the rum. I took a lounge chair from the beach, put it in the water, and let the waves push me around. I found i couldn't stay upright, but it was fun to try.
I couldn't resist the fun and temptation of emancipating myself from my shorts, so i discreetly threw them back to the beach, and went chest deep into the waves. It didn't matter anyway - it was a moonless pitch black night, and all we had to see by was the distant lights of the beach restaurant at the hotel a hundred yards away. Apparently I wasn't the only only one with the naked time idea, and soon Chris ant Nat and I were just two and a half naked gringos (i'm only half gringo ;)) playing in the surf, wondering if there were any sharks nearby. Then, as if it were some poetic fata morgana, we suddenly became witnesses to a marvelous heat lightning show. No rain, no thunder, just white/yellow/purple veins of energy flashing in and out of distant clouds on a moonless night. The lightning and the comfort brought over an enourmous calm, and I just rode the warm waves of Lake Nicaragua, speechless, naked, and eternally grateful that places like this exist.
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