Beautiful Exhaustion

Though our room had a scorpion on the wall and a frog in the toilet, I still managed to fall asleep. We emerge from our room at 6:30am for a quick breakfast before setting out to hiking Volcano Maderas. We decided to take this hike on our first day in Ometepe so that we have two days recovery time before traveling again. Ometepe is an island comprised of two volcanoes, joined by an isthmas, in the middle of the ocean-like Lake Nicaragua.

Banana leaves, brown, yellow and green flap in the breeze like towels hung over a clothes line. Filtered sunlight streams over our small expedition. Julie and I are the only girls in this group. Our fellows come from LA, Austria and Germany. Other than the guide, I am the oldest. The six of us hop over rusted barbed wire to stroll through the yards of farmers, around pig pens, through a small grouping of coffee plants and past a set of adorable brown puppies who shy away as we approach. The sun is hot and my shirt is already glued to my body with a layer of sweat. The heat is exhausting and I couldn’t be happier when we leave the bean crops behind and enter the patchy shade of the coffee fields. The crops stretches out all around us. The elevation and rich soil produce coffee beans that grow in bunches, green and red. The bright red beans are ready to be harvested. Tall trees provide the farmer’s livelihood with the protection of partial shade. We head straight up hill at a quick pace. This does not appear to be a country that believes in switch backs. The trees grow thicker as the coffee plants thin.

Vines appear to sprout from every surface. Our guide points out a parasitic vine that twists around tree trunks. The vine sucks at the tree’s nutrients, a slow killer. Two hours in and I find that I am paying less attention to my surroundings. My mind is fixed on the task at hand. My legs scream with every uphill step. I watch the positioning of my feet carefully as many of the rocks shift under my weight. I huff and wheeze, promising myself that I will exercise more frequently. I am in piss poor shape. I use my arms to push against my knee as I haul myself over a rock.

There is little transition zone between the temped forest and the cloud forest. The clouds that appear before us grow thicker by the step. Moisture saturates the air. Everything is water. The leaves drip off the trees. Shake a branch and a shower of water is dislodged. All leafs larger than dollar bills contains holes reminiscent of swiss cheese. The wind and water need to be able to flow through to prevent damage. Like coral fans, moss clings to the tree trunks. The ground sinks below our feet, the mud pulls at my boots. Several additional ounces are added to each lift of my legs as the earth clings on, an unwanted passenger. The tree branches are twisted. Always pliable from the moisture, they remind me of a paper clip that has been bent so many times in so many directions that there is no way to straighten it.


Clouds ooze through the foliage. My vision plays tricks. Peering into the forest I perceive the air to be still, consistently white. The trees are only visible in a three meter radius. Beyond that everything falls out of focus and then white. In my periphery, movement pulls at my attention. A distinct wisp of condensation morphs in the breeze. I find myself wondering what lies under the veil of clouds. More forest, but the possibility of the unknown sends shivers down my spine. This is a place of spirits. A place where far more exists than meets the eye.

I grab branches, tree roots and rocks to pull myself along. I hate hiking with a bunch of fit guys in their early 20s. One of the Austrians is doing the whole 8 hour hike barefoot. I am slipping, falling, twisting, turning and all the while getting muddy. Not just kind of muddy, absolutely covered from head to toe. My legs are past burning. My body is oddly numb. 3 hours of straight up hill and every muscle is in survival mode. I don’t have the energy to hurt right now. I surrender to the hike.

Florescent red and purple barriers the size of bee-bees hang on branches under arched leaves. Moss grows atop bulbous funguses. We are in the heart of the cloud. Finally we reach the top of the volcano. However, we are not done. I have come this far, I am going to see the lake in the center of the creator. As we descend, all I can think about is what a bitch it is going to be to hike back up this on the return.

Jungle grows nearly to the edge of the lake. Mist rests heavily atop the dark water obscuring the view of the opposite side. The water is still. My weary body shudders under in the chilly breeze that does not appear to ripple the lake water. I hear the call of a single bird, but am unable to tell which direction it originated. My body is exhausted, my mind incapable of mundane thought. It is still, saturated with the experience.



After a mediocre sandwich, an unripe plantain and two packets of club crackers, we depart. Up the side of the creator we go. As I suspected the return ascent is a giant bitch. Within moments I am hot again. We reach the top of the crest and I am so thankful that it is down hill from here. However, my desire for an easier walk is quickly crushed as I encounter the challenge of walking down a muddy rocky slope. Two of the boys pull ahead of the main group. It is around this time that I slip off a rock and roll my ankle for the first of three times. I was starting to think this hike couldn’t get all that much more challenging.

I start to see a bright spot in the clouds where the sun tries to break through. The moment it does, we find ourselves in a different forest. We emerge from the clouds into taller trees with wider trunks. The leaves here grow larger. In the distance, we hear the bark of howler monkeys. We emerge on a clearing, a “mirador.” The view that stretches out before me takes my breath away. Ahead we see Volcano Conception, the larger of the two that make up the island.
It is at the mirador that we meet back up with the two guys who pulled ahead at the top of the mountain. They had run down the path, surrendering to the inertia of downward momentum. Swinging from tree trunks, they jumped from rock to rock flying though the forest. My body aches and I know I am sporting a mild fever from exhaustion. How I wish to be in their shape, to be certain of my invincibility.

When we reach the hotel, I am hobbling on my twisted ankle. I fall into bed. For the next two days, Julie and I can’t bring ourselves to do anything but lay in a hammock. Luckily the view from our hammock is of flowers that are straight out of a Dr. Seuss book. It was worth it.



Our room at the base of the volcano.