Disappearance of "Sunset Man" Civilization in the San Juan Mountains

"The Lost People of Mountain Village"
Great parody of soulless mountain development (15 minutes):

Nederland and Rollinsville Skiing: Rogers Pass, Jenny Creek, and the short path to Kathmandu

Went up the last few weekends for a few mellow tours up above Nederland.

Rogers Pass Lake

First up was Rogers Pass Lake, just below the Divide above Rollinsville.  I went there on Super Bowl Sunday, continuing a tradition of skiing somewhere on Super Bowl Sunday, although it's really a great day, relatively, for downhill skiing.

The route starts at the Moffat Tunnel/East Portal, on the edge of James Peak Wilderness, and climbs steadily for between 4 to 4.5 miles up the Boulder Creek Drainage to Rogers Pass Lake.  Shortly past that is Heart Lake, and this area is a popular summer hiking destination as well.

As it was, I did see a surprising number of users on the trail.  This alone increased my probability of occasional frustration, with some dog owners (among good ones) and people stopping in the middle of the trail even when it's clear people are coming from both directions (I just don't "get" that, just as I'm also never tempted to stop my car in the middle of the road).  I made it maybe a good 2.5 miles or so without putting on skins and just using the scales on my skis, but this eventually became too much work, so I pulled off to put the skins on.  This trail is a bit tougher than most popular trails for skiers without skins.

As I climbed higher, I did see a guy literally (figuratively) bombing down the hill and taking a jump on the trail, which increased my stoke and also made me wonder how well he would fare with the crowds below.  That said, it was also a sign that the snow was creamy and quite good, and the upper reaches of the trail were more like a good Blue gladed run at a resort: wider-spaced trees with options.  That, plus the views on top, makes it clear why it's popular.

This took about 1:45 to get up.  I poked around a little bit towards Heart Lake, but I also took caution to be wary of the avalanche danger, which was "Considerable" from the CAIC at and above treeline.  I saw a few women taking a break, and as I was talking to them, she pointed out a small avalanche/slough behind me, on the wind-scoured ridge that led up to James Peak.  I turned around just in time to see a cloud of snow rising upward.  A good sign to be careful, and although I wasn't going on that side near the steeper cliffs, I just decided to avoid that cirque altogether.  

Instead, I cut across on a tamer angle below Haystack Mountain for new views, took a break for lunch, and circled back.

By then, a group of skiers that I had passed earlier were up near the rocky outcropping that I decided to avoid...and then started skiing up there.  I was curious as to there assessment, and also if there was anything good up there, so I watched as they got closer to a narrow passage around a rock that gave me pause because of the higher angles above it. Then one of the guys peeled off and headed towards where I had gone, so maybe we all made the same decision.

I was ready to head back down to the trail, but went a bit further west so as to drop in on some wide-open but safe looking snow back to the trail.  I enjoyed a few turns, and then a few more in the glades, which zigzagged around and eventually led back to a sustained descent on the trail.  Including some breaks and fiddling with my dying camera and cold hands, it was less than an hour back down.

*

Jenny Creek Trail

After convincing J to join me for some XC skiing for the first time in awhile, I decided that Jenny Creek would be a good new place for her.  I had been up there a month ago and recalled good snow and a moderate, rolling course along Jenny Creek, and made mental note that that section (excluding the upper reaches near Yankee Doodle Lake and up the Guinn Mtn. Trail) would be a good option.

Well, there is a bit of a steeper section in the 2nd mile, as you ascent and then descend a ridge from the ski area.  I remember that section as "fun" and "quick," but unfortunately and improbably, in the last month, the snow has gotten worse -- it's February, for crying out loud!  So it was a bit bony and thin through that section, with a few (no more than a couple meters) short stretches blown clear of snow.

My skis are a bit wider and I have cable bindings, so tight icy turns are on the edge of what's comfortable and safe.  Otherwise, walking for about 4 or 5 minutes through that section gets one through with ACL and skull intact.  It was a hit against my promise that it was an easy and mellow trail, however.  But as we descended toward the creek, the snow was indeed significantly better.

We went a few more miles, had lunch, and turned around.  The return trip was great because of the slight downhill along the creek.  Also, it had started snowing by now, so not only were the woods more serene and wintery, but the snow was perceptibly grippier on the uphill with less icy sideways-slipping on the downhill on the ridge.

A few bare spots on the side of the ridge

So other than a few spots of caution, which is scary for mid-winter, the rest of the trail was fun.

Since the trail crosses through, with permission, on the side of a "Green" learning-hill on the edge of the ski area, I always get a kick gliding down the "hill" on skinny skis, thinking to myself that people pay money to get taken up hills like that in the midwest.

Kathmandu Restaurant

And now it was lunchtime.  So the other reason to go to Ned, again, was to get lunch with J.  We've only been there once before, and I can't justify going by myself, but it seemed like a fine day to go to Kathmandu Restaurant for their awesome Nepalese-Indian-Tibetan lunch buffet.

The food is great and plentiful; the tap beer selection is surprising; and the service from the family that owns it is fantastic, despite being just a "buffet." 

Plate 1 of 3.  Not shown: Delicious Naan, Beer, and Tea

The drawback of pairing a delicious meal with an Ellie's Brown Ale is the bloated drive back down the Boulder canyon.  Luckily, we made it down into Boulder proper, where we pulled off into a parking lot for a 20-minute nap.

I'm not sure how much of it is context -- being outside for a few hours, being in a cool little town in the mountains, and eating there only rarely -- but I can't argue against this being one of my favourite restaurants in Colorado, or anywhere.

Isla Bastimentos: Wizards, Red Frogs, Fire Ants, and a Supposedly Fun Hike We'll Never Do Again

I stood sheepishly and breathless at the edge of the police station, with mud up to my knees and no shoes.  In order to try to make myself somewhat presentable and respectful, I at least figured I'd button up my shirt, and tried to slow myself down so I could think in broken Spanish.

"Pásale"

The officer calmly listened to my tale of traveling woe.  Most importantly, nobody had seen or turned in a camera.  I repeated the details I had just told to the men outside -- the boatman and "the man who could help" -- and they interjected by repeating my own details in better Spanish.  No, it wasn't stolen -- se cayó (I fell or it fell, either one was accurate).  Well, at least they knew it was missing, and hay recompensa if anybody found it.  It wasn't a particularly valuable camera, so it was more about the pictures we had already taken and being able to take more.  But it was also possible that it was lost forever in the jungle or buried in mud.

So I also had to cross over the top of the island again, and return back to my wife, stranded a few miles away, and tell her that I lost our camera and previous pictures.  Which means I'd have to go past the damn fire ants, again, which probably caused this whole thing in the first place.  And where the heck did John go, anyway?

All we wanted to do was lie on the beach.

*

Isla Bastimentos is an easy, quick, 15-minute boat ride from Isla Colon in Bocas del Toro.  From the main harbor, anyway, there's always somebody headed across the bay in small boats for about $3 per person.  Soon enough, you're on another island, which has just a few amenities concentrated along the shore, but no roads --  "No Cars, No Stress" -- and is mostly a National Park.

Makeshift trails weave past simple houses and farms, with a popular trail leading to the north side beaches, supposedly an easy half-hour walk in dry conditions.  

After that, we'd be able several miles along pristine beaches before ultimately arriving at Red Frog Beach, where we'd hopefully be able to spot some strawberry poison-dart frogs in the jungle near the beach.  Also, the latter beach is more calm for swimming and wading, whereas the early ones have pounding waves and riptides.  Of course, there's a much easier way to get to the beach, by paying a few bucks more (and then a park entrance fee) for a boat ride further along the island, and just a short dirt-road away from Red Frog Beach -- but the longer alternative seemed more scenic and romantic, if not a bit wild.  On paper.

I thought more time in the jungle would increase our chances of actually seeing a red frog, because it seemed that spotting them even near the eponymous beach was becoming more difficult. This observation was gleaned from a discussion at the bar the previous evening, where we joined a bunch of other American's in watching the NFL playoffs.  We met a couple who said they hadn't seen any red frogs at all, and their friend, who seemed to be a "one-upper," claimed he saw one, but he said it in a way that I didn't believe.

So as we walked passed the houses, I hadn't really seen any signs for the beach (I saw one on a different trail later), but I knew that the trail went roughly over the high point of the island before descending to the beach, so being on "a" trail in roughly "the" correct direction seemed reasonable.

Along the way, though, we did see signs for a coffee and chocolate shop "Up on the Hill."  That sounded like a new good idea before heading to the beach.  And now we saw another person on the trail, who seemed to be studying something intently.  This was John.

John, looking for geckos

John was staying by himself on the island, and had decided to go for a walk to the beach, also hoping to later spot a red frog, when he spotted an interesting red-headed gecko.  He excitedly told us about this find and the picture he took, as he pointed to the tree where he last saw it.  J and I looked around the the tree, and I wasn't finding anything.  I asked J if she saw it.

"No," she replied, "but there's a little red frog here."  Nonchalant.

John and I rushed over excitedly to see (and photograph) it.  Sure enough, although we hadn't expected to see them in this area, we saw our first red frog.  J claimed it wasn't as big as she expected, but I don't know exactly what she was expecting, as they were as big as advertised in The Guidebooks: the size of an adult thumbnail.

Blends in pretty well

Cool, we had seen the fauna that I hoped to see for the day.  Soon enough, we were at a gate that led to the Coffee Shop, which also informed us that we had tagged the highpoint of the island -- 330 feet!

Conquistadors of the Islas

We passed through the gate and past the organic farm, with visible gardening activity and a compost pile, before arriving at a muy tranquilo respite in the middle of the jungle, run by Javi, an Argentinian ex-pat from the Tigre Delta, and his wife and young son.

With fresh cacao and fruit growing on the premises, we enjoyed a delicious French-press coffee, brownie, and passion-fruit juice.

John decided to head off to the beach and bid us farewell, following Javi's directions to a connecting trail through the property that would lead down to the main trail to the beach.

Surrounded by music, flowers, and handmade organic soaps and oils, along with conversation with Javi, we took our time to relax for a bit, before heading out on a supposed easy 20-minute walk down to the beach.

The trail across the property seemed clear and obvious enough, although part of it got a bit steeper.
"This trail can get muddy in the rainy season," said the guidebooks -- but it was the dry season, and it hadn't rained the previous day.  Did it?

There was just a bit sticky mud, now -- enough to slow down and be careful not to slip, but otherwise manageable.

This is Nothing.  But it was my last picture for awhile.

And then, on a steeper hill, while being careful not to slip, I saw furious activity on the ground, as ants passed each other in rows.

I've stopped to admire leaf-cutter ants before, but these were much faster and not really carrying anything.  Standing off to the side, I got out my camera to take a video, and leaned in to get a closer shot.  I was outside of the main line of ants, but undoubtedly there were a few stragglers, as I saw them near my sandals.  I wasn't too worried, even if one or two of them bit me.

Until they did.

I saw one on my foot and lightly brushed him, before returning to my camera.  A few seconds later, I felt an itchy sensation, and then I saw his head buried into my skin as he was flailing around.  At that moment, other ants were upon me, and they were all stinging.  I started flailing around to get them off me, when I heard similar commotion from J as she was getting stung.  I ran down the hill a bit and she came too, and then fell while I pulled slightly ahead, still swatting at real and imagined ants, and now she was mad that I got ahead of her and for the existence of the ants and everything, and by God, it itched badly more than anything else, and now somehow we were in deeper mud.

This wasn't the easy walk to the beach we expected.

Quickly, we had itchy little red welts on our feet and legs.  J had fallen and gotten some mud on her.  The mud had gotten deeper, but it was the way to the beach -- and that would be salvation, yes?  We could wash off the mud, soothe our itch in the ocean, and laugh about it as we walked casually on the beach, in just 10 or 15 minutes.

*

About half an hour later, we had just finished what was probably the worst part of the mud.  By now, some steps had us sinking more than knee-deep straight into the ground, sometimes having to stop and use an arm to pull out a leg and a shoe.  And then shoes were abandoned altogether, being worthless.  So now, in the jungle where I guess you're supposed to worry about diseases like tetanus and biting animals and plants and stuff, the only practical way to travel was to walk blindly through the jungle mud, barefoot.  We saw a few other people struggling along the trail, and some abandoning the endeavor.  But we had to be close!  And, symbioronically, the cool mud felt soothing on the ant stings.

Busy with trying not to fall, I didn't bother to get the camera out at this time, but I can assure you it looked pretty much like this:

No Matter What, Don't Despair!

Finally, after a steep and slippery descent, the trail leveled off, and the beach was close at hand.  This beach is known as Playa Primer -- "First Beach" -- but is also (and now more commonly) referred to as "Playa Wizard" for reasons unknown but probably awesome.  Finally, we could wash off the mud.

But first, I wanted to take a quick picture of how high the mud reached up on our legs -- I just needed to wash all the mud off of my hands, first, and then retrieve my camera...

...Which wasn't there.

I felt terrible, and J was understandably exasperated.  Right or wrong, though, I wanted to fix the situation as soon as possible -- I knew I had the camera by the ants, so it was probably around there, or a steeper spot later in which I fell to the ground.  Or maybe a passerby found it.  But either way, I should go look now so as to intercept anybody who found it heading the other direction but without a way to get it back to me, if not to find it myself, and rectify the whole situation.

But it meant leaving her by herself on an isolated beach.  I anticipated that there'd be occasional tourists going by and be relatively safe, and that I'd be back quickly, but I had already underestimated or lied about things earlier in the day -- if not our whole marriage -- so everything I said was suspect.

I told her to relax on the beach, which was likely impossible, and I didn't even bring my shoes, as I ran full-speed back up the hill, barefoot -- ants be damned!  Much as it wasn't planned, this actual running, barefoot, was actually a bit thrilling, and as much as the acolytes of barefoot running claim that shuffling slowly on First-World city pavement and then writing about it is an epiphany, I'd actually say that this sort of terrain was the uniquely perfect situation to run barefoot.

After having taken almost 40 minutes to walk down, I made it back to the coffee shop in 9 (yes, I told Javi this).  Desafortunadamente, no camera was to be found, nor was it among the people I encountered.  But at least now they'd be able to ask or hold the camera should someone encounter it.  I quickly headed back down to the beach, although this time scanning a bit harder among places where it might have fallen.  I was still optimistic, but soon passed the most likely spots, and then saw other places where it really could have tumbled and been lost in the brush.  I was running out of trail and now nearly to the bottom, and I had to tell my wife that I lost the camera.  And that I'm a bumbling, foolish husband.

J was glad that I was back, and she said we could forget about the camera and move on.  But I couldn't.  I just felt terrible about letting her down and knew I'd keep worrying about it, so I begged for one more shot: there was a junction of our side trail with the main trail that would lead back to town.  Clearly, some of the other folks walking in the opposite direction would have taken this main trail instead.  If I left now I might see them, they'd have our camera, and all would be well. 

She begrudgingly agreed (I think) to this, and I took off again.  I scanned the side of the trail and soon enough hit the main trail and forged ahead -- it was also muddy, but not nearly as bad as the lower descent to the beach.  I was now on harder dirt and able to run harder as well.   I encountered a few people, but none had seen my camera.  There would have one more group ahead that I hadn't yet passed, and now I was back in town.

Most people in town would head toward the boat dock, so I sprinted down there, slapping my feet on uneven sidewalk, hoping to see someone familiar, but I didn't.  A boatman asked if I wanted a ride, but I gave him my story instead.  He drew over another guy walking by, a guy "that could help me," and we re-hashed the situation.  I tried my best to explain where I thought I dropped it.  Mostly, they thought if someone found it, I'd never get it back, but if it fell in the jungle, maybe somebody (like this guy) could find it.  They at least seemed interested and invested in the story, which I then quickly recounted to the police officer.

I retraced my muddy footprints before heading over the high point for the 4th time of the day (it was no longer interesting), and checked once again at the coffee shop.  Nada.  She said I should check maybe at the police station, which I did, if not Tio Tom's, which was kind of the only other main hostal/gathering place for tourists in that area.  Now, once more into the fray, as I ran past the ants again -- the trick is to keep moving, which I should have learned from the cartoons -- and back down toward the beach.  I checked some random bushes, hoping the plants weren't poisonous or allergenic or anything, but it was hopeless.

I lost the camera and now wasted an hour looking for it.

So we were done with that, time to move on.  We would enjoy our walk up the beach, and then take the easy way back.

We saw another traveler here, who had walked from Red Frog Beach.  That gave us hope.  He said it took about an hour and 15 minutes -- but he had taken pictures, he added -- although it seemed concerning that he was minimizing something, and he was eager to be done with the trail.  He did say it was an easy trail across the island near Red Frog Beach, however.

The problem was, the trail to get there.

It would be an easy and pleasant walk along the beach, at low tide.  Not only were we at high tide, but it was seasonally high as well, as we saw the previous day along the washed-out road near Playa Bluff.  So we'd have only a short stretch of walkable beach, before being blockaded by large drifted branches.  One could theoretically scamper along slippery, rocky cliff walls -- but the next large wave would quickly pull you out into the surf.  As J said at one point: "Uh-uh."  So our only option was to follow another, fainter trail back into the jungle.

Which meant, more mud -- no less muddy than before, and even steeper.

We backtracked a little and tried to find where the actual trail was.  Now things were getting ugly.  I promised J we wouldn't have to walk back the trail we came, which would take 45 minutes or so if we took the shortest main trail -- but we were also equidistant from Red Frog Beach on a trail that was just as bad, and now getting worse.

I didn't have a camera, and we were in a foul mood, but now we were seeing red frogs all over the place.  And hermit crabs.  And, among some sad, scattered garbage, we saw a small hermit crab, comically using a toothpaste cap as a shell!  I pointed this sad sight to J, hoping to elicit a smile as we swatted at mosquitoes, but our main goal was still to get off of this trail.

And then, after another half hour, the trail outright disappeared.

Now we had really, clearly, wasted time, and not been relaxing on the beach.  We were on a small rise, and it looked like there was wider, clean sand below, and it looked like there was a building there as well.  By line of sight, we could just bushwhack it, maybe...But everything else I said and hoped had been grossly wrong.

So I had one last shot at going over the rise and blindly looking for where a trail should be.  Finally, with a bit of luck, a cleaner trail right through the jungle appeared.  It was clear we'd be able to get to the beach.

We arrived at the more inviting expanse of Red Frog Beach: dirty, itchy, tired.  And thirsty.  Much as I'm nervous about the possible resort expansion on the beach, I can't say we were disappointed to get a cold beer and margarita.  I'd love to show you a picture.  Had we gotten here much earlier, it would have been nice to lie on the beach, and in fact this area was decently surfable.  The one thing we did acknowledge: we didn't see any red frogs anywhere near this area.

But also: where the heck did John go?  In my numerous traversals, I never saw him again.  We joked, with a little worry, about him getting caught up in the mud (wearing Crocs) somewhere.

So it was time to head back and get cleaned up.  Indeed, there's a shortcut, easy 10-15 minute dirt road that leads to a small harbor on the other side, that had waiting boats.  We were able to hop right back in for a ride back, no more surprises.

Except, I suggested to J, rather than heading back to our hotel, why not head back one more time to Bastimentos Old Town, and check one more time with the police station?  It was on our way, time-wise, and at least felt like one last attempt at finding the camera.  

I got off and headed to the police station.  He asked me if I found it, as soon as I walked in, so that answered my question.  The boatman from earlier had also spotted me and checked for an update.  No suerte.

Remembering the last conversation at the coffee shop, I tried one more thing: stopping at Pension Tio Tom's to check that out and put the word in there.  The owner opened the door, and we talked in English about the whole thing, he listened intently but hadn't heard anything.

This would be an even more boring story if I gave you all these extra details without finding the camera, so let's say this: a woman rushed up to the door and said, "Sorry, I heard you guys -- you're the one that lost the camera!  I found it and left it at the coffee shop!"

She -- a friendly Canadian -- had been there after us, and returned the camera sometime after my (3rd) visit there.  I was incredibly grateful, but she wouldn't accept any sort of recompensa.  Instead,  I asked her about her favourite charity, and thus made a donation to WWF.

I smiled and then tempered it as I looked at my wife, as I figured I'd make one more quick trip up there, but she was fine to go up the hill again with me.  Now late afternoon, we made our way past the houses again, with dinner cooking smoke wafting through the air.  A young woman was walking ahead of us, but slowed down and stopped.

"Do you mind if I walk with you two?" she asked.  She was house-sitting on the island, and had been for a month.  She loved it and had no problems, but she said it was always a little easier to walk with someone than alone.  So if nothing else, we enjoyed accompanying each other up the hill.  Oh, and one more thing: when I commented on the mud, she mentioned how it had rained there last night.  Funny, even as it hadn't on the other island just a few miles away, but that's how the weather works around there.

Back at the shop, Javi smiled and said, "Sorry, I don't have it!"  I told him the other details and that I knew he had it.  He laughed,  And -- living simply in the middle of the jungle -- also wouldn't accept any sort of tip for helping me out.  "I just like to help people, that's enough."  And that was clear from the donation jar he had at the shop, for raising school supplies for kids on the island, so I added to that instead.  And I asked if I could take his picture:

Muchas gracias amigo!

The camera and pictures were intact.  It wasn't what we expected, but I love this stuff -- travel instead of vacation.  It all worked out -- except for not spending much time on the beach, of course.  It'd be a good story, I pointed out.  And eventually, I promised, when we're old and grey, I'll allow myself to be imprisoned on a cruise ship, or some sort of all-inclusive deal, where interesting things and people are guaranteed not to happen. But for now, I still owed J big time, and we mellowed out some other parts of the trip later.

Now, on our way down, we saw a familiar face -- John!  He was staying at the hostel as well and heard the commotion, and was going for a walk.  Earlier in the day, he got turned around in the mud, so he just headed back, never making it to Playa Wizard, let alone Red Frog Beach.

We made it back to our hostel and got all cleaned up.  Camera in hand, again, I was back on pace to take hundreds of pictures of nonsense.  But anyway, we cleaned up, and enjoyed some terrible headache-inducing box wine by candlelight before heading out to a nice dinner.

Panama - Now or Later?

J and I greatly enjoyed a brief trip to Panama.  Even in that span, I wrote about 40-50 pages* of observations about the country itself; the world we live in; how J and I have changed together; how travel always has a 4th dimension of context; the common bond (and challenges) we share with people around the world and how it's a beacon of hope for the future, etc.  And how you're the first white person ever to come up with all these conclusions in a week.

* In my head.

On most trips, I'm too exhausted each night to actually write anything.  This'll be no different.
Now I've lost the immediacy of sensation and emotion, but eventually I'll compensate by misremembering and embellishing immensely.

But, anyway, should you visit Panama now?  Later?  And, why?

Yes.

In summary and I suppose stereotype, Panama is a beautiful, safe and friendly country, that's relatively easy to get around and can be relatively cheap.  Panama City is booming and things are changing quickly.  In some respects, they'll quickly get even better, as a subway line is well underway and slated to be completed in 2014.  This will save on the largest hassle and expense of traveling in Panama City by taxi.  The rapid and aggressive completion of this project mirrors the progressiveness of other investments, such as Panama Canal expansion, and planned expansion of free wifi across the country (this is very real and usable in Panama City and David).
So although the business and tourism infrastructure is there, by no means did we feel overwhelmed by other American tourists or hassled in any way. It's still reasonable and easy to experience your own travel agenda without being surrounded by tourists, which felt a bit more refreshing compared to what Costa Rica seemed like (and that was almost 10 years ago), although that's certainly a beautiful country as well.

As for Panama City itself, it's a large Latin American city (meh) with the Canal close by.
But I was surprised how enjoyable it was to walk around the Casco Viejo area.  It's a UNESCO world heritage site; rightfully so, with buildings dating from the 16th and 17th century.  You can't just manufacture 300-year-old buildings anywhere, so this is a fabulous place to visit.  Glorious architecture, such as old buildings and churches, abound, and they are quickly being repurposed for business and residential use.

This has minor guidebook warnings about pickpockets and petty crime, and although we were only there in the late afternoon, the crowd and police presence made things feel very safe.  It seems to me like it has passed a tipping point of being a safe tourist draw, but you have to wonder or worry if some of that will be lost in coming decades.  It's something to see as soon as you can.

Bocas del Toro, (especially Bocas Town) by all means, has changed from the sleepy town it supposedly once was to a more of a tourist draw.  There are benefits in terms of finding lodging, dining, and supply of boats and boatmen to explore the other islands, but there are also challenges such as the amount of trash generated on the island.  Still, Isla Colon has only one road; you can enjoy a peaceful bike ride and solitude on the beach within an hour; and places like Isla Bastimentos are more laid-back, with the interior of that island and the others even more raw and natural.

I haven't yet exposed myself to the all-inclusive disappointment of, say, Mexican resorts, so the biggest saving grace of going to Bocas now is precisely this contrast...mostly.  But the temporary restraint on development of places like Red Frog Beach resort will only last so long, as the script familiar to Mexico, Belize, and Costa Rica is likely to play out in our lifetime.
In that respect, go now!

And we didn't even have time to visit Guna Yala, which seems like a worthy trip in itself.

As for Boquete, it already has had an explosion of ex-patriation, and while I really enjoy the young folks that have made a leap to a simple lifestyle among the locals, the occasional clusters of old white people smug in their real estate deals, worldly self-satisfaction, and terrible Spanish does occasionally interfere with the preferred aura of international travel.

Still, look for the restaurants with menus (and prices) in Spanish, go for a hike, do things like go to the fair after sunset (when they return to their gated communities) and ride in the taxis and diablos rojos and you'll still get a Latin American experience.

What are the diablos rojos?  They're the crazy, incongruous, pimped-out schoolbuses that serve as cheap transportation.  The owners take pride in packing as many people in as possible; getting to a destination as quickly as possible; but mostly, tricking out the bus with chrome pipes, a booming speaker system, and graffiti art.  One common theme, being a highly-Catholic country, is to paint nearly all of the front window with graffiti honouring Jesus and El Senor.  In combination with a rosary on the mirror and the requisite faith, only a small patch of window visibility is apparently necessary for safe travel.

On a bus from Boquete to David, I watched the boy get out in front of me with something squirming in a bag -- this turned out to be a live rooster.

These are uniquely Panamanian, but are apparently a dying breed.



Perhaps the diablos rojos giving way to the subway is symbolic, as Panama is clearly enjoying a renaissance of business and tourist travel, but it's a good time to visit to capture it's lingering charms.

Volcan Baru: Bike and Hike to Panama's Highpoint

Volcan Baru, Panama 3,475msnm (11398' above sea level)

50km roundtrip from Los Naranjos, Panama

7000' gain

Hike and Bike, ~6 hours total

Visiting beautiful Boquete, Panama, puts one in the shadow of Volcan Baru, the highpoint of Panama that looms 7000 feet higher.  With a National Park surrounding it, and a rocky dirt road leading 13.5 km to the top, it's an accessible and (relatively) popular hike.  Although it's tainted with classic Latin American graffiti at the top, as well as a large series of communication towers, it also offers unparalleled panoramic views of the country.  When clear enough, in fact, one can uniquely see both the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans at the same time.

Since the rugged road from Boquete is actually driven by 4x4 vehicles in order to maintain the towers at the top, and it was dry season, I thought it would be worth a shot to ride it on a mountain bike.  Having read just a few hints online of riding it -- and watched a cool video -- I had to make a reasoned estimate of my time from Los Naranjos.  Although the hike itself usually takes 10-12 hours from the park entrance (saving about 75 minutes of bike riding), I allotted myself 4-6 hours.  This ultimately ended up being a close but unfortunate mistake, with great apologies to my wonderful yet tested wife.

First things first: I headed to Mirador Adventures at Hostel Nomba the day before to rent a bike.  I was hoping to meet Ryan Brandt, a Colorado ex-pat who was enjoying life in Boquete, but instead we first met his lovely wife, Sofi -- as Ryan was tending to their 5-week old son.  Having rented bikes abroad before, I set my expectations accordingly.  Among a half-dozen bikes, some were ruled out by size, others by lack of parts (e.g. pedals and wheels), but I did settle on an 18" Trek Hardtail.  Although a little small, most importantly, it had disc brakes, which alleviated my main concern of descending thousands of feet (possibly in the rain and mud).  After some tweaks (e.g. adjusting the rear brake) -- I had brought parts and a helmet with me -- it was serviceable and better than I could have expected.

Later, we did have the fortune of meeting Ryan, and he was very enthusiastic and happy to meet us as well.  Quickly after we talked about biking, (and thinking about U.S. standards) he apologized for about the bike!  No worries, like I said.  I regret not having contacted him earlier and having brought a Colorado brew with me.  I enjoyed learning how shopping in Miami in person was a preferred way to get things like bike parts.  Interesting to hear about those details.

Once everything was ready, I packed up and overprepared with warm clothes (including hat and gloves) and rain gear, for a possible precipitous drop near the summit, as well bike tools, maps/directions.  Leaving before sunrise, I also had a few lights for front and rear.

Understandably, J was nervous about the whole enterprise, as it meant being separated in a foreign country, doing something unknown with some risk to it.  ("You fell off a rock in town," she reminded me).   I did my absolute best to plan and prepare, and gave her my best estimate of a return time, with a plan to turn around if my worst-case (6 hours) was in jeopardy.  

As to the details, after descending from Los Naranjos to Boquete, it was a solid, 2000' sustained climb of 7 miles or so to the Volcan Baru entrance.  A bright flashlight on the front of the bike (no real ambient light for most of it), and a flasher on the back kept visibility suitable the whole way up, and I saw no cars, with just a few people walking.  With fat tires on a creaky bike, this took about 45-50 minutes of enjoyable sustained climbing.  A couple of turns were well-marked by signs, basically staying on the main paved road. 

 I was already sweating more than expected, and at 6000 feet after having been at sea level earlier in the week, even breathing harder than expected.  Finally, just before the entrance, the grade increased as the road turned to gravel.  I made the paved section in one push, but gave up any heroic thoughts on the gravel as I took a walking break to the main entrance.  Almost an hour after I started, it was now light enough to see.

The entrance was unmanned, so I was unable to pay the normal $5 entrance fee for now.  In the park, the main road remained obvious and signed, noting 13 (but actually 13.5) km to the cima.  These occasional signs would ultimately be useful in judging progress and speed.

I continued onward, occasionally hopping on to ride some climbs, and ultimately some flat areas and even descents along some fincas on the park boundary.  With the ascents being ~16-18% in grade, however, I was too blown to keep riding up (the knobbies on the rear were also pretty worn), but looked forward to the descent.

Things were going smoothly for almost 4km or so, when I hit a chunkier patch of trail.  Huh.  Not only was I not going to ride up it, but it was a section that I'd certainly walk going downhill: I'd barely ride some (and not all) of those sections in the U.S. on my own bike, but it would be slow with perfectly modulated brakes and barely faster than running, let alone the penalty of falling.  At this point, pushing the bike uphill was pretty slow.

I rounded a corner and the terrain improved, which I hoped was a better sign of things to come, but it was short-lived.  More bowling-ball sized rocks and ruts everywhere, on steep sections.  This isn't what I was hoping or expecting from the bike video (previous) that I had seen, but knowing what I know now, the rough terrain all comes in the middle of the trail, and all of that (save for some walking and a fall at 6:00) is skipped in the video.  That also aligns with another report from the ADV rider who rode up there, but said he dumped his bike 15-20 times.

Now you -- and I -- know!

It had reached a point where pushing the bike was slow (just getting traction and moving around on different lines) going uphill, and it would likely not save any time downhill.  So I ditched the bike in a patch of jungle on the side of the road.

It was only 7:15, so I figured I had plenty of time to hike, although my time window was now clearly 10-11am.  The day was still pleasantly clear, so I didn't have to worry about being overtaken by clouds and rain just yet, but actually the sunshine and warming temperatures were taking more of a toll, as I was dripping in sweat.

With the grade and gain in elevation, and a heavy pack still stuffed with extra clothes and bike gear (should have ditched some of that), I just kept up a steady hike, with no real thoughts of running.  I was enjoying the day but making steady yet slow progress based on the km marker signs, and most of the views were a repetitive tunnel of nondescript foliage to either side.

At this point, things were going fine, and I still hadn't seen anybody.  Some reports online suggest hiking with a guide so as not to get lost, but my only small concern of being solo in that regard was the possibility of getting robbed at gunpoint, which was referred to in an online post from 3 years ago (and I don't doubt was real), but that's in comparison to dozens more safe ascents.  While it would be terrifying, my impression was similar to the old risks of driving in Baja, Mexico -- pay $20 and move on.

With regard to hiking -- I'll explore this in future writing sometime, a topic I call "sin guia" -- my general observation is that hiking without a guide in Latin American countries has overblown warnings for both economic (understandably trying to increase guiding services) yet also cultural (it's neither as common nor accessible to do destination hikes outside one's hometown in Latin America without a guide) reasons.  In my observation, this is why Latin American travel "guidebooks" still give scant textual information on hikes and then a list of guiding services, as the culture of maps and records for hiking isn't the same.  At the same time, local guides may have a very deep knowledge of the trail that may be a worthwhile investment.

Still, it seems to me that even locals may have exaggerated fears about hiking sin guia, in the same way they may dismiss neighbouring larger cities or countries as being "unsafe" despite not having visited.  The insinuation is that traveling with a guide or group prevents against other dangers -- but I don't want to be in a dangerous situation with or without a guide!  So one must use discretion.  And I become ironically defensive, because it paints a beautiful country of friendly people in a negative light, when by far I found everything to be safer and more pleasant than anything in the U.S.

Anyway, I hadn't seen anybody yet, and although I generally prefer solo hiking, I would actually prefer to see others on the trail.  By now, the views of the summit had opened up.  The bad news is, it looked quite distant (I was within 1.5 miles though, it just meant the trail was getting steeper); the good news is, it was, despite the antenna, a picturesque above-treeline escarpment, rather than the nondescript enjunglement that appeared below.

Now within 45 minutes of the summit, I was pushing my limit on time, but still within reach.  I saw my first hikers here, undoubtedly up early for a sunrise summit, and they were friendly and cheered me on.  By the second group, I was rounding a corner of a rare flat spot that I was jogging, and I enjoyed some cheers, thumbs up, and a "Mucho respeto."

At this elevation, though, it was definitely work, and I resorted to power hiking.  I was glad to see the true summit was cleanly above all the towers, although marked with a cross.  After a few hours of grinding up hill, I enjoyed a couple minutes of running long a ridge spine, followed by a genuine scramble to the summit.

The summit was not enveloped in clouds, so I had fanastic views.  

The backside showed the much more enjoyable trail route that comes from the West.

 

What about the oceans?  In a place where it's possible to see both, 
I saw zero.

Sadly, I enjoyed just a minute or so on top, before having to move back down.  It was now 9:20 at the antenna towers.  The video of the bike descent was a 1.5 hour descent, and I had an extra 10 minutes to get back to Los Naranjos.  I had to move exactly as fast as the mountain bike descenders.

I tried, but was worked, and with a few uphills thrown in at elevation, I was really pushing the time limit.  Some of the gravel on top of the steeper hardpack made for a tenuous ball-bearing descent, and I slipped sideways at one point and drew some blood.  Things got more comfortable lower with more oxygen, but the temperatures were up, and I had just enough water.  All by itself, though, (without the extra weight), this dusty road is a decent and recommended trail run, since most of the trail proper in the area is through rainforest and gets quite muddy.

I passed a few of the groups again, and one of the guys, dripping in sweat, shook his head and stuck his tongue out at me.

Finally I got back to my bike cache, but fumbled around getting the bike and then pushing it down the chunky stuff that caused me to abandon it in the first place.  Had I ditched the bike 2 turns earlier, I would have saved time in both directions.  But now I was able to ride, the running was over.

With just a couple miles of dirt, I had to balance keeping up speed with tenuous brakes, vs. not wiping out.  It was much better than walking, and I caught up to all the other parties along the way (and a few more heading up), but I looked forward to the pavement.

After all of that, the pavement was glorious and the highlight of the ride.  I got to see all of the scenery I missed in the early morning darkness, including towering pine trees, and smell the surrounding vegetation, which I would have missed had I taken a taxi, and bombed down as fast as I could at 50-65+ km/hr, sitting up in the wind to bleed off speed before corners.  This was fantastic, but I dropped into Boquete past 11. I stood up and pumped as hard as I could to make it up the hill, but was already disappointingly late.

*

Anyway, this is a beautiful hike.

• Prepare with proper clothing, food, gear, and allotment of time.  
• The route is straightforward from the Boquete side, and is possible and safe, provided proper preparation, to do without a guide.  
• Mountain biking is possible, but be prepared to push your bike through most of the climb, and possibly a large portion of the descent.
• A quality full-suspension downhill bike and protection might be pretty fun for an advanced rider
• Hiking/running is probably faster for most people
• If you're more of a cycling enthusiast, the paved riding around Boquete is spectacular, and other alternatives are probably better (even on a mountain bike).  Consider the following:
• Riding up/down Volcancito Road
• Bajo Mono/Alto Quiel loop
• Alto Lino loop
• Following Ave B Oeste (rocky) up toward Volcancito for a loop
• Other loops (talk to Ryan at Mirador)

Guinn Mountain, Arestua Hut Ski

Guinn Mountain (11220')
with visit to Arestua Hut
~9 miles roundtrip (Guinn Mountain Trail up; Jenny Creek return.  See map)

This was a trip from last weekend, that makes for a great ski or snowshoe loop.
Starting at the busy Eldora Ski Area parking lot, I headed up the far (climber's) left of the learning ski area, along the marked signs for Jenny Creek Trail, which remains a publicly-accessible NFS trail.  I enjoyed decently-packed snow on mellow terrain on waxless skis, until arriving at the Guinn Mountain trail intersection after a couple of miles.

Here, I headed up the Guinn Mountain trail, which climbed a bit more but was still manageable without skins on a packed trail.  Getting closer to the hut, the terrain opened up from a narrow tree-lined trail into an off-camber trail on a bit steeper slope, which included the ruins of a different cabin.  It was nice to have a previous track to follow, and would be both more work and a minimal but slight concern after heavy and blowing snow.  Shortly after this, the trail steepened enough on more powdery snow that it was worth putting my skins on, and I was soon up at the Arestua hut.

In the empty cabin, I enjoyed taking a few moments to eat and drink a bit, check out the register log, and the various ski posters.  Also within the hut was a guitar, a deck of cards, and a few shots of whiskey.  I left a dollar in the jar, as requested for day use, but hope to return some evening for a nice night in the woods, and get a full $2 worth.

The weather was still looking good for my planned goal of checking out the nearby summit of Guinn, which required 10 minutes or less of heading due south through the trees in the path of least resistance, slightly gaining in elevation, until the snow ran out, as the terrain opened up into a fantastic windswept tundra walk surrounded by mountains all round.



The sun felt great but it was windy as always near this part of the Divide, so I layered up and enjoyed more views.  Straight across from me was Rollins Pass road winding it's way through the iconic Needle Eye Tunnel, bringing back much warmer memories from a previous bike trip to Winter Park.

Noting the ease of travel on the terrain above the summit, I continued on to survey what the west and south aspects held, so as to descend to the Jenny Creek trail and make a loop.  After crossing the bare pack-trail just below the summit, I again found skiable but variable snow in the trees on a mellow angle to the west, and then hit a flat, open basin just below Yankee Doodle Lake.
Having seen Yankee Doodle Lake before, and achieving superior views from above, I didn't make the extra effort to visit it again.  And, the steep, ominous headwall above the lake and Rollins Pass Road reminded me of an unfortunate decade-old avalanche incident in which two otherwise well-prepared skiers were actually swept down into the lake (which then surged after the avalanche).

So I headed back down to Jenny Creek trail and saw a few snowshoers -- the first people I'd seen in a few hours.  I gradually descended the moderate grade (with the one short climb in the ski area) back to the car.

This was a fun and relatively tame loop for XC/backcountry "lite" touring, on a nice day -- when the winds pick up on the Divide and visibility is reduced, all bets are off.  I might actually suggest the loop in the opposite, clockwise direction, so as to have a more fun descent down the slightly steeper Guinn Mountain grade.  There aren't any really good turns right along this loop, so skinnier skis (with edges) work just fine, and although it seems slow to me, it'd actually be a pretty good snowshoe loop, considering the short hike over the Guinn summit.

See "Ski the 14ers" video online

Take 40 minutes and watch this.

Chris Davenport - Ski the 14ers from TJ Burke on Vimeo.

If you didn't know the history, this is Chris Davenport's project of skiing all 54 Colorado 14ers in one year.  This project was successfully completed over 5 years ago, and despite excellent footage, he wasn't allowed to release the video due to Forest Service rules regarding releasing film of commercial value in legal Wilderness Areas.  This public posting is the first time to see the film for many.

Not only does the video give an appreciation of his raw skill and effort, and an aesthetic appreciation for mountains, but even if you're not a skier, you'll enjoy seeing some of our favourite Colorado mountains, and may recognize legendary Colorado mountaineers like Lou Dawson, Neal Beidleman, and Ted Mahon.