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| Los Locos de Big Momma |
This particular instance, I found myself reliving a unique weekend in which I ventured out with two of my Tico buddies, Daniel and Willman, into the wilderness. Now, when I say wilderness, I'm not talking about a patch of forest that some folks choose not to explore because it's off the beaten path. I'm not talking about a hike that might be classified as something your sweet grandma probably couldn't quite handle because of some tougher, steeper hills. I'm not talking about a place that you saw on some obscure Instagram account and thought, "Oh shoot, I wanna go there too."
No, no, no. (That's two English 'no's and then a Spanish 'no' for good measure)
I'm talking about a place that literally no human being had been to. A place that'd only been seen through satellite camera lenses. A place that had never been charted or documented. A place that was truly untouched, in every possible sense of the word.
How did we come up with this ridiculous idea? Well, it all started with a Facebook message. One of my fellow waterfall aficionados is a kind man from the Northeast named Dean. Dean and his friend Bryan co-manage the World Waterfall Database (Click here to check it out), and we had spoken briefly about a few of the lesser known waterfalls that I had had the fortune of exploring in my free time in Ticolandia. Dean sent me a message one day that really, really caught my attention; he forwarded to me the coordinates for three separate spots on a map that he'd discovered during his routine scans of satellite imagery on the lookout for waterfalls.
Being the obsessed waterfall fiend I was/still am (as much as I can be in the attitudinally-challenged flatlands of northwest Florida), I immediately pulled out my tablet to dive into this. Zooming in on the three sets of coordinates, I saw what to this day remains one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.
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| Tiny little threads of joy |
Okay, I admit - it may not look like much; however, in the darker spaces of this satellite image, if you look reallllllly closely, you'll see them. Look super closely. Those wonderful little white threads are - as far as Dean was convinced - waterfalls. He also mentioned that he had done some rudimentary calculations and estimated them to measure somewhere between 200 and 300 meters - between 656 and 984 feet tall, or, for reference, between half to two-thirds the height of the Empire State Building.
Inspired by these basic images, I shot a text to Daniel, a Tico pal of mine who had already accompanied me through the Costa Rican backcountry. I knew that if I was to make this idea a reality, I would need a companion, and I felt Daniel would be just the right person to join me. His eternal positivity, his appreciation for the small things, and his adventurous spirit would be important on a journey like this.
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| At Las Orquídeas Waterfall with Daniel in December 2016 |
I also did my best to scout out information on the local area, but I soon discovered that... well... there wasn't any. Despite my best investigatory efforts, not one thing existed in reference to those coordinates, the surrounding area, or any nearby terrain. It was, by all intents and purposes, completely untouched. The best I could muster was the place names for a handful of what seemed to be dairy farms on the other side of the main peak to the south, closer to a valley nestled almost squarely between a pair of active volcanos.
Armed with very limited information, I sprang the idea on Daniel, who almost immediately mentioned his brother-in-law, Willman. It just so happens Daniel's sister married a topographer who has a knack for outdoorsy experiences. He said he'd pitch the idea to Willman and get back to me. Less than a day later, I was making plans to get over to San José so I could meet Willman and the three of us could start planning this crazy adventure.
Willman did not disappoint. We stood at the desk at Casa Colón and pored over all of the topographical resources he had via his job, and an idea began to form. We knew it was going to be a rough hike. We knew we'd need a minimum of three days to get to these giants and back. We knew we'd need to bring more than just a walking stick. Considering all of these factors and more, we chose to plan an exploratory trip just to get a feel for the surrounding area and the true topography of the approach so we could feel as prepared as possible for the hike.
Arriving to the entrance to the expansive valley, we descended slowly through the volcanoes' pass, inching further and further into the cut. I don't mind admitting it now; as we bounced over and chewed up the gravel down the dusty, unpaved road, a small part of me wondered what we were doing out there, but that doubt quickly subsided when I saw the valley floor in all its glory. Sunshine, a cool breeze, and probably the cleanest and crispest air I'd seen in Costa Rica to date all combined for a captivating sense of adventure that dispelled my tiny fears at once.
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| Turrialba Volcano, off in the background, even showed off with a little ash-spittin' as a small welcome to the valley. |
Following the road through pastures and down further into the valley below, we descended slowly, taking in every square inch of the new spaces around us. Keeping track of the GPS, we realized that the end of the line for us would be right about near a small patch of land with a clearing at the edge of a steep, rocky horse path. Pulling around a curve, we leveled out and saw a small house next to a dairy farm. Stepping out of the vehicle, we introduced ourselves to a young man working to round up the livestock to feed them. Hearing the unfamiliar voices outside, the owner of the farm emerged from the house: the inimitable don Sergio.
We explained what our intentions were regarding the hike, and don Sergio was more than happy to help us by answering a few basic questions about the area as well as offer us a covered area to park Willman's Jeep while we trudged down into the river valley below. Sergio informed us that his property extends out to a certain ridge, but that no one had ever hiked beyond a point in the riverbed below, at least to his knowledge. Realizing that this could, in fact, be a true discovery trip, we cinched up our daypacks and began our descent.
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| A short portion of the path along the ravine heading down towards the edge of the finca. |
Getting through don Sergio's property was a task in and of itself; his farmland stretches far down the ravine for a few kilometers. We made it all the way down to what we assumed to be the next-to-last slope before the edge of don Sergio's farm, and stopped to marvel at our surroundings. Despite the low-lying clouds and the strong, constant winds pushing them across our view, we were still treated to an extraordinary panoramic view.
The hike back up to don Sergio's house was rough. It was 90% uphill, and I was already tired from caroming down the trenches and hills on our descent, so plopping one foot upward after the other and constantly pulling myself up put my legs to the test. We eventually arrived back at don Sergio's house and were welcomed with a smile. It was a familiar smile, the smile of a campesino, someone from the rural parts, who sees the city-goers after their first bout with new terrain. There was nothing malicious about it whatsoever; rather it was more so just the look of someone who knows the challenges that come with the patch of land he's chosen for his home, and knows them well.
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| If we ever form a band, at least we know we've already got our first album cover. |
We shook hands with don Sergio and expressed our gratitude for the guidance and the parking spot, informing him that we would certainly be in touch via text messages to let him know when we would plan on returning for the hike. Don Sergio, in his own warm and humble campesino way, thanked us for visiting and wished us well on our return to the city.
On our drive back to civilization, we began to discuss the immense challenge that awaited us on the hike. We all agreed, with the requisite jovial laughter at times thinly concealing the nerves, that this would surely be an epic, once-in-a-lifetime kind of trip. Taking turns, we glanced through our respective schedules to come to an agreement on when this trip would actually take place.
And then the waiting. It would be another four weeks until we ventured out to see Big Momma. In order to maintain my sanity, I thought it necessary to bite off as much as I could of other, more accessible (read: at least one person has been to them) waterfalls. In the three weekends leading up to our trip, I was able to knock three more off my list, taking trips to Caño Seco near Turrialba, Dos Novillos just west of Siquirres, and Pozo Azul in Bajos del Toro.
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| With trips to four separate waterfalls, February 2019 will surely go down as one of my all-time favorite months |
All of these were delightful in their own ways, and I always treasure the opportunity to go to a new waterfall - especially when I get to do it with awesome people (shoutouts to Bethany, Gabriel, Daniel, Lara, Susan, Amani, and Gabo). That said, there was this itch, deep down, that I knew I wouldn't get to scratch until the last weekend in February.
It finally arrived. Packed up and filled with coffee, I grabbed the early bus to Cartago where we'd planned on meeting up. Due to some logistical issues, we were unable to use Willman's Jeep to get to don Sergio's property, so one of Willman's co-workers kindly agreed to drop us off. We'd planned on having someone come pick us up after we hiked out a few days later.
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| And so it began. |
I still remember the moment we started walking. You'd have to ask Willman and Daniel, but I'm pretty sure I was basically running down the steep path, beyond excited to get this hike underway. It was a cloudy day, but I didn't let a lack of sunshine rob me of my childlike joy at the prospect of hunting down a waterfall in the untouched backcountry of that gorgeous place. We meandered our way through the steep paths among don Sergio's cattle pastures, stopping every now and again to wrap markers around trees as reminders for a return.
Being that we started the hike somewhere around 2,100 meters (nearly 7,000 feet), we had to descend quite a bit into the initial river canyon. As we passed through the pastures, we drank in our surroundings. We were completely and utterly drowning in green, lush nature. Despite the dry season, this particular zone didn't seem to be affected by the change, as the vegetation was thick and heavy. And we continued to descend into the valley below.
It was pretty clear to us when we arrived at the end of don Sergio's property. What was once soft hills with fairly well-maintained pasture quickly turned into exactly what we expected: nothing but dense vegetation forming an intimidating green wall along the trees. We stopped for a water break and unpacked our machetes.
Cutting through the thickness, we inched forward along the southern cliff of a smaller river canyon. We took careful steps along the freshly-cut path taking turns in leading the way, and came to a sudden stop when a familiar sound began to grow in volume. All three of us gazed out to the north, searching for its source. There, not even an hour into our hike, we caught a glimpse of our first waterfall. She was nothing in stature compared to what we'd hoped to be our target, Big Momma, but it was definitely a welcome sign.
Continuing slowly through the virgin forest, we fought for a balance between safety and pace, recognizing that nightfall would hit soon among the volcano peaks. I recall a moment when we came to the obvious end of the ridge, and we were faced with no other option but to lower ourselves and our packs by a tree trunk down to the next passable section below.
We took our time and shimmied down the rope, careful to not slip along the damp forest floor, until all three of us along with our packs safely landed further down along the rocky path. As we hacked our way into a path, we instinctively slowed down in anticipation of nightfall. We settled on as flat a space as one would find in such terrain, and I began to unpack my hammock while Daniel and Willman set out to clear a spot for their tent.
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| Panza llena, corazón contento |
Once we'd settled into the campsite, we fired up the gas grill to boil water and grill some cuts of sausage for our little dinner. I came well-prepared; I think I had packed in something like 6 or 8 different Maruchan ramen noodle cups. Cold and wet from the elements, I'm pretty sure that night I ended up eating three whole cups of the blessed noodles.
It wasn't until after the sun disappeared and I was settled into my hammock that the rain really picked up. I was confident in my preparedness, though; I had brought along a tarp that I was sure would keep me dry despite the pouring rain. I have been wrong in my life, but I cannot recall a moment when I was more wrong than that evening between the volcanos. The pouring rain turned to driving rain, and it began to fall at an angle just enough to splash and spray against me underneath my once-useful tarp. Looking over to Daniel and Willman, I also noticed the rain was about the soak through the thin rain fly on their tent. They had not packed anything to cover the tent, and so I pondered a mutually beneficial solution. We ended up combining our material forces, piling like sardines into the two-man tent (NOTE: None of the three of us is to ever be described as thin), but I did not complain. I had two more sources of body heat and I was dry beneath the tarp-covered tent roof.
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| Home sweet home, complete with good coffee and enough ramen to feed half of Central America |
Awakening to the crisp, cold air the next morning was extra special for me. It just so happened that it was February 23rd. It was three years to the day from when I had originally arrived in Costa Rica for the start of what would end up being one of the most epic journeys of my life, and there I was in the middle of an epic journey in the backcountry with some quality people. It was a nice moment, and suffice it to say the coffee tasted a little extra rich that morning.
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| Here's to three years of Pura Vida. |
Finishing up our breakfast, we broke camp and set off for the next leg sometime after 7am. We continued to eagerly carve our way through the thick vegetation and, after about an hour or so, we arrived at another impassable point. Looking out to our left, further down the canyon wall, we noticed that we had descended quite a bit from the original height of the valley wall from which we'd begun upon reaching the edge of don Sergio's property. From our best guess, we were only about 8-10 meters up, and we decided it was as good a time as any to go ahead and get down to the riverbed.
Opting for the same method of lowering ourselves, we anchored a length of utility rope around another tree trunk and used a chain of our best version of controlled falls to make it down. Our feet hit the boulders that lined the riverbed, and I felt a new surge of energy. We'd reached the end of the first leg of descent; we were one step closer to Big Momma.
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| Getting down from here would prove too tall a task for the Locos... For now. |
Scrambling to get our bearings, we pulled out Willman's GPS locator tool and, comparing it to the maps that I'd downloaded for offline use, we realized that we hadn't quite made it to the main riverbed as we'd previously considered. It turns out we had only reached a feeder creek of sorts - albeit wildly long and deep itself - that continued another half kilometer or so until it reaches the main riverbed we would eventually need to reach in order to continue the planned route.
And then the sad news. The moment was a tough one to stomach, but we finally accepted our fate and admitted that we would not be able to continue on as we'd planned. It was clear that this trip would require much more gear than what we'd packed in, and we resorted to enjoying a calm moment in the riverbed before deciding on what was next.
After a brief chat about the possibility of scaling the mountain face on the other side of the riverbed, we decided to call it a hike, and, instead of heading straight back to camp, we chose to follow the riverbed up to the waterfall we'd noticed on the way in. Despite being fairly fatigued from two days of rough hiking and the lowered morale upon realizing we wouldn't get to see Big Momma, we scurried up the riverbed at a decent clip until we turned a corner between the jutting canyon walls and saw her. And then, all of a sudden, everything was okay.
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| I give you: Catarata Dawida |
As with most journeys, the return didn't take nearly as long, it seemed, as the approach. We even chose to cut part of the ascent in half by climbing up the southern wall of the canyon surrounding Dawida, which, after quite some effort, spit us out right back on the original path we'd cut the morning before. Arriving back at the campsite, we packed everything we'd left behind, took one last look around and at each other, and turned back toward civilization.
The portion of the return hike, especially after we reached the open landscape of don Sergio's property, turned out to be more difficult than I'd expected. Maybe it was the physical toll of two days' worth of slogging through thick forest undergrowth, maybe it was the mental weight of not quite reaching a goal you'd dreamt of for months, or maybe it was a combination of both, but I noticed a new sluggishness to my steps as we made our way back up the steep terrain.
We finally arrived back at flatter land as we neared the farmhouse and home of don Sergio. Unclipping the backpack straps and freeing the weight of the journey to rest on the ground below me, I was greeted by a friendly voice that I recognized and welcomed. "'Arajo, amigo, ¿cómo les fue?" Don Sergio, the perfect image on rural warmth, was asking how our trip went. As Daniel and Willman arrived and placed their items on the ground next to mine, we were invited into don Sergio's home for a moment to warm up and rest before we made arrangements for our ride.
Not a moment after we crossed the threshold of don Sergio's home, we were offered a bathroom to shower, a space in the back of the house to change into drier, cleaner clothes, and - most surprising of all - warm, homemade tortillas and hot, fresh coffee. Humbled, we happily took turns peeling off the trail-worn clothes and scrubbing off in their heavenly hot water shower before joining don Sergio and his wonderful family at the dinner table.
We sat and told the tale we'd only just lived, and we made sure to not leave out any detail. The genuine smiles on the faces of don Sergio, his wife, and his daughter as we described the last 48 hours in true storytelling form brought a certain contentment to my heart that I believe I'm actually still processing. Not only that, but when we were unsuccessful in organizing a ride to come pick us up from such an off-the-grid spot, don Sergio even offered to give us a lift to the access road where Willman's wife was able to meet us. The ride in don Sergio's vehicle further deepened my understanding of the Costa Rican concept of Pura Vida, as we enjoyed light-hearted discussion about don Sergio and his own life story while sharing bits and pieces from our own lives. It was a fitting end to the whole experience.
You see, to don Sergio and his family, Daniel, Willman, and I were complete strangers. We showed up out of nowhere, wholly unannounced, asking to take a walk in the woods through and beyond this family's otherwise-undisturbed land. Then, when we returned from our crazy little jaunt, we were welcomed into their home like family, and treated like royalty. It still blows my mind to this day. A trip that was such a unique mixture of emotions and endless highs and lows somehow ended up like that, with the altruism of three folks from the Costa Rican campo proving to me, once again, that there is good in this world.
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| Don Sergio and the Locos. |
My time in Costa Rica with the Peace Corps will always be filled with lifelong memories that I will cherish and never hesitate to share with those around me, but that afternoon sticks out as the moment in which I truly felt connected to the people of that beautiful country. Along with my fellow Locos, I met and passed rich time with a family that I can now consider my friends.
Maybe one day we'll be able to organize another attempt to get to the base of Big Momma. Maybe we'll get a hold of the proper gear to be able to make that a reality. Maybe we'll make that dream come true. I hope we do.
But I'll tell you what: Even if we never set foot anywhere near that river valley again, I still have a full heart from an extraordinary experience, and it's all thanks to a random dairy farmer named don Sergio who became my friend.
Pura Vida.
