Sobre del Volcan Baru, Panama!

Making our way from Santa Fe/Santiago toward David and Parque Nacional Volcan Baru, I was reminded of Gabriel Garcia Marquez more than a few times. History seemed to be repeating itself in Panama, with external corporations snatching up resources intended for Panamanians. We drove past several pine tree farms, planted in the 70's under the direction of Omar Torrijos, to be harvested in 40 years as a source of income and affordable lumber for local Panamanians. The trees planted 40 years ago are now mature, yet for one reason or another, local level or national level Panamanians can't seem to transcend their differences in order to harvest these tree farms. As a result, the government is accepting bids from outside countries like Colombia and Costa Rica to come in, harvest the trees, and export them, leaving no lumber, pulp, or money for the locals. The Peace Corps volunteer I talked to suggested that the problem rests in the co-op system of rural Panama. It seems very idealistic on the surface, but when it comes to making decisions that affect the community, there are so many differing opinions and points of pride that it becomes impossible to reach any conclusions. With the delay in decision making, other countries are stepping in to perform the old snatch and grab...

Also on the drive, I saw the first mosque of the trip. Reading Garcia Marquez, there are constant references to Arab and Turkish migrants setting up shop in Colombia and Panama in the 18th, 19th, and 20th centuries. See Shakira, who apparently is part Lebanese, speaks fluent Arabic, and whose hips suggest some amount of belly dancing lineage...

A few miles down the road, I saw a pair of Panamerican adventurers riding their bikes loaded with full panniers, waving their Argentine flags from their rear wheels. With such heavy loads pointed in the direction of the southernmost city in the world riding on the Panamerican Highway, I chose to believe that they had started in Alaska and were working their way to Tierra del Fuego. Who knows if that was really the case, but it made a fella think for a few moments about future endeavors...

Eventually we reached Boquete. A conglomerate of a North American retirement community and wild, ecclectic mountain town Latin America. Volcan Baru hovers immediately overhead. There are only a handful of places in the world from which you can see the Pacific Ocean and Atlantic Ocean. Volcan Baru, the tallest mountain in Panama near the Costa Rican border, is among those locations. Baru, weighing in at 11,398 feet, is a climatic enclave of chilly, damp weather in an otherwise tropical region. As we soon found out... The round trip was only about 25 miles, but it required a fair amount of elevation gain. Six thousand feet or so... In Panama, some of the trail routing is pretty straight forward: straight up, regardless of the grade. Needless to say, it made for a sweaty climb. We were told we needed at least 7 hours to reach the final camp at about 10,500 feet (known as "communidad de volcan," or volcano community). We had a late start and decided to push through the climb to try to reach camp before nightfall. When we reached the top, we were met by four Spaniards, one Frenchman, and a couple Panamanian guides. We realized we'd climbed about 5,000 feet in elevation over the course of 12 miles in about three and a half hours. I can't speak for anyone but myself, but I will admit I was ready for bed...

What would a Latin American point of interest be without the requisite cross, crucifix, or Virgin Mary? Located smack on top of the summit was this cross, which was framed by an eery sundog in the early morning light. Ironically, this photo registered as number 666 on my memory card. Muy bizzaro! I heard a story later in Panama that on full moons, a group of Christians or Catholics from the Chiriqui Province hike to the top of Volcan Baru in excited anticipation of the end of the world. It has yet to happen, apparently. However, I'm not sure of the story's validity, as we were on the summit on what was quite close to a full moon and saw zero end of the world parties...

When we woke up at 5 am, the sky was perfectly clear and we could see more stars than you could shake a stick at. We started clambering up the last mile toward the summit, and the clouds began to roll in. Once we reached the summit, it was completely socked in. We waited around for an hour or more, hoping the fog would burn off. It did, somewhat, to provide this view in the general direction of the Pacific Ocean.

Descending back toward the volcano community, the clouds broke up a little more and provided a view toward the Caribbean. Not sure if we actually saw either ocean, but the views were pretty magical nonetheless.

Linnaea wandering through the misty high elevation forest near the volcano community. Once the sun would hit the trees and bushes, we'd hear an explosion of birdsongs. Pretty cool.

We were "warned" about jaguars and tigres pequenos (ocelots and margays) by several people before heading to Baru. Not sure if they were warning us for our safety or for the safety of our cookies and yoghurt, but we didn't expect to come across any big cats in the jungle. However, as I was laying awake contemplating the bright, nearly full moon shining through the tent, I heard what reminded me of a heavyset cat running around the house at night. I wasn't sure if I was halfway between the world of make believe and the world of conscious cognition. But a few minutes later, the cat-like prancing noise returned. Then I heard it again, run immediately next to our tent. It sounded to be a decent sized animal. Maybe 20 - 40 pounds. Margays range from 7 to 20 pounds, and ocelots between 20 and 35. We checked for prints around our tent the next morning, but it is most difficult to find a cat track on stone and moss... I will, however, accept this: we were visited by some species of tigre pequeno under a full moon in the volcano community of Panaman's highest mountain.