Waking up this morning there is very little to bely the heroic efforts of yesterday's climb up Volcán Baru. I feel surprisingly normal which in some ways makes me feel great for having a body that can tough it out, and also slightly un-nerved that perhaps it was actually all a dream. Fortunately for me I have two groaning companions who fared slightly less well and can testify to my presence.
As Panamá's highest point the dormant volcano, often shrouded in cloud, is an obvious "must do" for anyone stepping off the bus in the Chiquiri province. Most people however do it in a 4x4 rather than wrestle with the challenge of a 14km,1700 vertical metre hike starting at midnight. With a gradient worth respecting, a track swimming in mud and boulders and no sleep I feel quite proud of myself for maintaining a measly 2.5km/hr on the ascent. And even more proud that I was whooping and smiling as dawn came and the sky exploded into colour.
As you well know by now it absolutely pours with rain in the afternoon but the beneficial result of this is clear skies from around eleven pm until around nine am the next day. This makes a midnight hike not only an adventure (this is tropical rainforest not the South Downs Way, with it's resident jaguars, snakes and other various hungry carnivores on the hunt) but also almost guarantees clear skies for the duration of the climb and most importantly for the summit. The moon, full and shining brightly, casts silvery light down through the canopy catching tree bark and lichens and outlining the forest to contrast against the inky blue sky. Quite extraordinarily and something that filled me with wonder was that throughout the night at some place in the sky (never directly overhead) there was lightening striking and thunder letting out it's ominous growl. As we climbed we gained an elevation advantage over the clouds and began to see the lightening from above, something I have only previously witnessed from an aeroplane.
Throughout the night we were accompanied by the various cries and calls of the jungle night. At one point my hyperactive imagination (or maybe not..) thought that we were being stalked but it was just wishful thinking that the monotonous grunt of slipping over greasy boulders might soon come to an end with a spectacular wrestle with the illusive jaguar.
Suffice to say we made it to the top. Chasing time as we so often seem to do in life I sped up for the last two km to ensure that I didn't miss the sunrise I so desperately wished to see. And sure enough, as the dawn light began to glow we rounded the final corners, rested weary legs and sat on the rocks to watch a glimmering orange sun rise and fill the skies with pinks and yellows. Elated and having unceremoniously plonked ourselves on the ground we dug around our bags for the assortment of squashed sandwiches and crumbled biscuits we had brought for a picnic and, hiding from the cold wind at the summit, ate them with smug satisfaction. A satisfaction, however, that was not to last too long: as those of you who walk in the hills will know the descent is more often than not the devil of the hike, especially for the knees.
Lying here in my hammock the morning after however, the fiery heat in my knees is only a memory and I am left only with fabulous memories and photos to match. This mini adventure marks the end of my time in Boquete, it's time to pack up my spanish dictionary and head across to my new home for the next few months: Bocas del Toro and the crew of Floating Doctors.
So my next entry will be from a whole new world. Stethoscope and hammock in hand, the fun is well and truly about to begin.
As Panamá's highest point the dormant volcano, often shrouded in cloud, is an obvious "must do" for anyone stepping off the bus in the Chiquiri province. Most people however do it in a 4x4 rather than wrestle with the challenge of a 14km,1700 vertical metre hike starting at midnight. With a gradient worth respecting, a track swimming in mud and boulders and no sleep I feel quite proud of myself for maintaining a measly 2.5km/hr on the ascent. And even more proud that I was whooping and smiling as dawn came and the sky exploded into colour.
As you well know by now it absolutely pours with rain in the afternoon but the beneficial result of this is clear skies from around eleven pm until around nine am the next day. This makes a midnight hike not only an adventure (this is tropical rainforest not the South Downs Way, with it's resident jaguars, snakes and other various hungry carnivores on the hunt) but also almost guarantees clear skies for the duration of the climb and most importantly for the summit. The moon, full and shining brightly, casts silvery light down through the canopy catching tree bark and lichens and outlining the forest to contrast against the inky blue sky. Quite extraordinarily and something that filled me with wonder was that throughout the night at some place in the sky (never directly overhead) there was lightening striking and thunder letting out it's ominous growl. As we climbed we gained an elevation advantage over the clouds and began to see the lightening from above, something I have only previously witnessed from an aeroplane.
Throughout the night we were accompanied by the various cries and calls of the jungle night. At one point my hyperactive imagination (or maybe not..) thought that we were being stalked but it was just wishful thinking that the monotonous grunt of slipping over greasy boulders might soon come to an end with a spectacular wrestle with the illusive jaguar.
Suffice to say we made it to the top. Chasing time as we so often seem to do in life I sped up for the last two km to ensure that I didn't miss the sunrise I so desperately wished to see. And sure enough, as the dawn light began to glow we rounded the final corners, rested weary legs and sat on the rocks to watch a glimmering orange sun rise and fill the skies with pinks and yellows. Elated and having unceremoniously plonked ourselves on the ground we dug around our bags for the assortment of squashed sandwiches and crumbled biscuits we had brought for a picnic and, hiding from the cold wind at the summit, ate them with smug satisfaction. A satisfaction, however, that was not to last too long: as those of you who walk in the hills will know the descent is more often than not the devil of the hike, especially for the knees.
Lying here in my hammock the morning after however, the fiery heat in my knees is only a memory and I am left only with fabulous memories and photos to match. This mini adventure marks the end of my time in Boquete, it's time to pack up my spanish dictionary and head across to my new home for the next few months: Bocas del Toro and the crew of Floating Doctors.
So my next entry will be from a whole new world. Stethoscope and hammock in hand, the fun is well and truly about to begin.
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