May of 2016

The plan was to walk the path that is used by the indigenous peoples of the Bocas De Toro province of Panama to transit from the mountain town of Boquete to the Atlantic slopes region of Bocas as it is known. This passes firstly from Bouquete through the National Park of La Amsted or Palo Seco, then the Comarca of the Ngabe, Bugle peoples.                                                           The total distance as the crow flies was only some 30 kilometres, it goes over a 1850 meter pass and then through the mountains and forests on the way to Chiriqui Grande on the Atlantic side. The only problem is I am not a crow.

This Sendero  or pathway is still used to bring cattle over from high farms and for the indigenous people to reach Boquete to work or buy supplies and is known as the “Sendero de La Pianista”  and I had come to know about it from the search for the two missing Dutch girls whom had gone missing whilst on a day hike some two years before.

Starting in the Mountain town of Bouquete early in the morning at 1100 meters altitude it was not a difficult walk up to the restaurant La Pianista, and the start of the trail following the mountain stream upward.  It took a further hour and a half to reach the dividing ridge through the low cloud base, which obligingly lifted by the time I made the top.  Three local campesinos or farmers arrived at the same time at the ridge top and we talked for a while, they explained that their farm was just over the second quebrada or stream a little lower down some 30 minutes or so and that they farmed cattle, staying some two weeks at a time to work the land.            When I explained that the plan was to come out at Punta Robalo on the Bay of Chiriqui Grande, they were surprised and felt it was a long haul, they said I would be passing through tiger territory lower down ( Tigre is the Jaguar)  They seemed  surprised I would attempt this solo.

They carried on and I stayed a while to cool down before starting down through the thick temperate Forest to the first stream.  From this point the cloud came back in and it was like walking through cotton wool land. The pathway ran through deep ditches which at times towered overhead, It was really muddy, sometimes one sank halfway up your calves, notably it stayed that way until the road was finally reached at the small indiginous town of Nortena, this made me nickname the place ” The land of mud”.  I vowed never to wear hiking boots again here,  but rubber welly boots that the locals all used (smart people).

The second quebrada was just ten minutes beyond the first and is around the same size being really small and generally uninviting. From here the path left the thick forest and passed through cattle pasture in thick mud before plunging once again into densly forested  country. There was evidence of animal life everywhere, troops of howler monkeys could be heard and this became  common. It was now raining pretty solidly,  making the terrain really slippery underfoot.

 

 

 

I had run into an  Indigenous bloke walking out to Boquete whom told me there was a hut I could sleep in further on, he had only a machete in hand and nothing else, it was by this time late around 6 pm but he felt he would have no problem getting through by seven, I could not see it myself,  He did not seemed worried though and pushed on, tough people these guys. I was tired by now and really looking forward  to getting to that hut, This finally appeared after crossing the first river encountered and was located about five hundred yards further on in the middle of a cow pasture.  It turned out to be an old National park service instillation, now collapsed and in disrepair.  I had to fight some cattle for possession and got the prize of two wooden platforms to sleep on,  it was really welcome.

Cooking up some food and tea I was reminded of a simple fact,  You can be in the most luxurious hotel in the world and eating the best food that man can find and it would not compare to the simple meal, eaten by a tired wet person coming in from the mountains,  its all a case of comparison.

The dark night brought the incredible sound of frogs, they were loud, really loud it was pretty amazing to listen to them, they made you know you were in the jungle. I slept well though, tired from the days exertions.

It was raining by the morning,  I got going early and followed the path down the river valley through the towering trees, it descended steeply from 1000 meters at the hut to some 750 meters where it again crossed the same river.  A second triple wire rope bridge, crossed this feature, they looked way worse than they really were.  The creek was crystal clear and dropping over large boulders and  forming deep pools, it looked inviting except for the horse flies that is. They were ever present wherever you were on the trail but were especially bad close to the rivers, making stopping at at times painful.

The Sendero was now  smaller than it had previously been, I was to find out this was due to it being much less used than further up, where the locals use it to reach cattle farms. Further on the people of the comarca tend to go out to the Atlantic side making the central section much less travelled.

After walking some distance more and crossing a marshy pasture with a wooden rough cut board hut, the Rio Culebra was reached and a third wire rope suspension bridge. Here I stripped off and had a swim and wash, fantastic as long as one remained submerged that is.

The path continued on mostly NNW,  every time it passed from the jungle and crossed a cattle pasture it became really difficult to follow, as the grass tended not to show the line to follow and of course the cattle had made tracks in all directions. Things went well for about three more pastures but then I lost it completely. Tracing the boundary of the jungle did not show up anything.  Finally slogging upward to around 800 meters I ran into a small group of indigenous houses surrounded by gardens of bannana, papaya, yuca and other vegetables. I was able to talk to a really surprised young bloke whom was completely nonplussed at giving directions, the gist of it was “it is too difficult to explain, you just  go down and in two minutes you will find the path, its easy”

Ok I went down and it was not easy, I kept going down from 800 meters all the way to the edge of the jungle, then cut down through the very steep forest, after having slashed through a couple of Quebrada’s, down again through the bush until I came out at the River Culebra, without intersecting the path and  I now found myself at some 600 meters or so.  Ok I was not happy about the outcome and felt maybe I had been led astray, but wisely decided to have lunch, this made me feel much better about it all.  So after a while It was slogging back up to the overgrown cleared zone above, through the very inclined  jungle, I kept slogging back until almost the small community again, where, and I am  proud of this,  I resisted the temptation to ask for the directions again.  I am sure this reduced the perception that  gringos are a little soft in the head amongst the local population.  To be honest the only reason I finally found the bloody path again is because I had noticed that a local and his dog had been following the trail earlier on,  these were the only legible tracks apart from some really nice big cat footprints which were evident in the mud whilst in the jungle (Cow hooves apart). So tracking back to the last place I knew I was not lost, (a golden rule) and picking up his tracks again which were followed religiously right back and across the huge clearing, then downward to 715 meters where it left the cow pasture and plunged again into the forest.

 

It was now getting later in the day and I was pretty much done in, walking on through the jungle a really fun hollow tree was encountered by the path,  if a couple of elves came out to kick me in the shins it would have been fitting.

So I was really glad when after following a steep ridge downwards the path came up to a river which was a tributary of the Culebra at 620 meters or so, then after following the bank upriver for about a kilometer another wire rope bridge was encountered (the fourth).  This one had an upper wire broken so of course immediately I had to try it out by crossing it, not bad as long as you maintained your weight over the good wire and did not lean back.

There was a really worn sign which marked the edge of the national park so from here onwards it was in the Comarca.

As there was a great soft grass section not too muddy and on a small hill, I decided this was the place to camp, here the tent was set up and the tea brew got going.  My legs were cramping along with my shoulders and I was really happy not to be carrying on.

Just about six pm a local, the only bloke I saw on the path that day arrived having carrying a 50lb sack and having just walked from Boquete. He said he had left from his village the previous day made Boquete and was now returning with supplies, and it was a further two hours to get home, (honey I am  just going out to get the groceries’  takes on a different meaning here) he asked if I wanted to carry on with him, it would have been good, but I just did not have the energy to be honest and so he moved out, after looking at the broken bridge and decided on fording the river which he managed with a little difficulty.

I slept like a dead man and woke feeling rejuvenated if not a little stiff though,  breaking camp early and crossing the broken bridge so as not to get my already wet boots wetter, the path led off steeply upward always from now on in a north westerly direction.

The scenery was spectacular , looking down the Changuinola Valley through the patchwork jungle terrain, the path crossed steep pastures and plunged in and out of the jungle.

I surprised a large coral snake which was just as shocked as me and although it was only about a meter ahead of me it disappeared from the path into what looked like a plant and was not seen again.

The path had been climbing steadily upward and I reached an altitude of some 1000 meters before finally coming on the biggest and practically the only village so far, made mostly of rough wooden sawn boards and dominated by a building with the Panamanian flag flying from a pole. This turned out to be a School,  I am sure it is one of the more remote ones in the country. I got to meet the schoolmaster whom told me that he comes for thirty days at a time to teach and that it was six solid hours to get to the road head at Nortena.  There were a lot of kids whom were really fascinated to see a Mister (term used all over Latin America by indigenous people to denote a Gringo or I presume anyone they feel they have to say Mister to). I asked the schoolmaster about Jaguars, if they were seen hereabouts and he told me told that they were uncommon and mostly to be found higher up toward Boquete.  So there it was, you were safe, when you were higher up they were lower down and when lower down they were higher up – perfect,  no chance of being eaten.

So pushing on from the village the name of which I never got, the path continued through pastures and forest before dropping down steeply to the Rio Romero, where the thickening cloud finally let go and rained in an impressive form, It was not cold so I just carried on and was soon completely drenched, the path turned into a small creek, lightning was coming down within half a mile or so,  generally it was just letting me know this was a tropical rainforest zone.

The trail passed through several small Gnobe villages of two to three houses all of sawn boards with thatched rooves, the women were all in traditional dress, everything was immaculately clean and there was no garbage to be seen anywhere, in fact that had been the case for the whole walk.

For the most part,  The Sendero was running along a ridge so the views were breathtaking I was definitely the only odd only thing out in this picture.

At one point four young girls came up the narrow path all dressed in matching black traditional dress with banded border decoration, we talked for a while, wanting to know why I was there and where I was going. They carried on in single file upwards and I continued trudged down headed towards Cano Sucio the river which led out to the road. It seemed almost a perfect picture with the steep surrounding terrain, Apart from the sounds of the mountains, the wind, rain and the distant creek below nothing more was to be heard,  it reminded me much, of places I had seen in the remote mountains of Peru.

The rain let up, I was by now pretty tired as the day had started early and it was now 3pm I had not eaten and was now fantasising about a quiet bench to sit on to eat lunch out of the mud, for some reason I could see it in my head, it would be nice to sit contemplating the view and out of the mud, fat chance.

Not ten minutes went past,  and getting to the top of a small hill on the ridge there in front of me were two small benches of rough wood under a tree, There were no houses nearby and they were the only isolated benches to sit on I had seen up to now and were to see on the whole walk, It was ethereal. In any case lunch of canned spam and crackers was eaten in relative comfort looking out on the wild beauty of the place.

The path dropped steeply from here and divided, I guessed the right hand one which turned out to be the better of the two although they both would have worked,  ahead a toucan flitted from one tree to the next. The wide trail followed another smaller ridge before dropping down to a large village of completely traditional houses where most of the men were working thatching the roof of the central roundhouse. I spoke with them and after explaining what I was doing there, asked the way to Nortena, they pointed to the river where the path continued following the watercourse.

As it had just rained the river was running heavily,  the trail constantly forded one side to the other,  but even with the heavy current it was possible, the rounded rocks though constantly making you stumble.  It was now only 100 meters above sea level so it could not be far now,  A young schoolgirl in school uniform and plastic sandals came up the path it was obvious she had just forded the river and was headed home, no school bus here I thought.

Finally a large Village was encountered and there was a large suspension bridge and even a couple small tiendas or stores, people seemed pretty friendly and just assumed I had come in from the main road which was by now not too far away. The final walk out  was uneventful,  civilization was confirmed when I saw the first Coca Cola sign and was glad enough to drink one to be honest. The store I bought it from was an Aladdin’s cave of just about anything you might need to live here, it was kind of magical.  This was Nortena finally, I had heard about it from quite a way off.  Interestingly I saw no alcohol was for sale as it is was still the Comarca and therefore not allowed, and it was not until I nearly reached the sealed Road and the border of the reservation where a Chinese store had been set up, that the first signs of beer for sale were to be seen.

I finally reached the Changuinola to Chiriqui Grande Highway the only thing there was the bridge over the river and a couple of bus shelters where I put down, with great relief the monkey on my back in the form of a backpack.  It was now 7pm it had been a twelve hour day most of it walking, it felt good to finally stop.

A minibus which was going from direct Changuinola to David arrived, it was pretty full but they made room for me and my pack. Funnily people ask me if I feel in danger doing these sort of trips alone, as if they live safe lives, then without thinking get aboard crazy buses which are driven, as if by the late great Ayrton Senna through the mountains. We are an illogical bunch to say the least.

It still amazes me that perspectives can change so quickly, I was now fully returned to the “normal existence” that we call our lives,  but I had been allowed to get a quick look at a tough little paradise which we know very little about, it is very secluded and a little middle earth like, I feel we might all be better off getting a glimpse of that other world.