Into the Rain Forest

After everything was settled, the manager introduced me to Jonathan, a young, fit, and handsome guy that would serve as my guide. Jonathan reminded me of the smooth, exotically-accented, and hunkish secondary love interest that always makes the leading man in romantic comedies look like a bumbling idiot in the first half of the movie.

Jonathan outfitted me with a pair of galoshes and 1.5 liter bottle of water, and we then set out for the rain forest. Before we got to the rain forest, though, we had to make our way through a kilometer of secondary growth, also known as the jungle. Jonathan explained that wen the primary rain forest is cleared, as it was here for farming, small plants and vines take over. This inhospitable terrain is extremely difficult to navigate, and often requires use of a machete, one of which Jonathan adeptly wielded. Primary rain forest is a lot easier to travel through, as the leaves of the huge trees block out the sun and keep smaller plants from growing.

Easier, but definitely not easy. As we made our way into the primary growth, the ground became thick with mud and sucked at my boots. After much schlepping and sloshing, we entered the primary rain forest.

The entire area was just teeming with life. Plants were everywhere. Massive trees soared into the sky and out of view, their root structures clambering all over the floor. Vines hung from everywhere, and there were all manner of plants everywhere I looked.

Insects chirped, birds called, and monkeys howled, but the plant growth was so thick that it was hard to spot much of the local fauna. It was kind of like playing Where's Waldo, but Waldo kept moving and taunting you with his mating call. Jonathan, however, was quite adept at this game and pointed out all manner of birds from seemingly nowhere. The monkeys were a bit easier to spot. They made quite the ruckus in the tops of the trees, with branches snapping and leaves rustling.

There were three kinds of monkeys in the reserve. Spider monkeys, so named because of their spindly limbs, were the easiest to spot. My research on Wikipedia told me that the spider monkey is threatened and travel in matriarchal groups of eight to twelve. My research also told me that spider monkeys will throw branches and other objects (including their own droppings) at unwanted intruders. I normally cross-check Wikipedia, but here I was willing to give the source the benefit of the doubt.

I was inclined to give the monkeys a wide berth, but Jonathan didn't seem worried. he even whistled and hooted at the monkeys to get their attention. Apparently we weren't much of a threat (we were a good forty feet below them) and our outing happily remained feces free.

Howler monkeys are harder to spot but easier to hear. Their hooting, somewhat similar to a dog's bark, can be heard throughout the forest. When the howlers really get into it they sound like that awful raspy guttural growl that heavy metal singers use. We spotted some howlers making their way through the canopy. In addition to the howlers and spider monkeys, we caught a quick glimpse of a capuchin monkey making a death-defying leap from tree to tree. The twenty foot drop seemed to do little to rattle the primate, and he quickly retreated from our sight.

There were also smaller creatures to be seen. Jonathan caught several tiny basilisks as well as several poison dart frogs, assuring me that the poison only took effect through a cut in the hand. I contented myself with pictures.

After about twenty minutes the humidity took effect and I was sweating so profusely that I looked like I had just fallen into the river that ran through the reserve. Mind, it really wasn't that hot - with the canopy above us, we were almost always in the shade. I would estimate that it was in the low 80s (and a good deal cooler than much of the Eastern United States these days).

And while I make no claim to be in triathlon condition, I have been fairly active over the past month, hiking or biking several times each week. Despite any prior preparation for this rain forest hike, I was exhausted. Jungle Jonathan, of course, had barely perspired and was ready to go for the next three weeks. I felt like the rom com chump to his Don Juan. He was kind enough to say that the climate takes some getting used to.

After about two and half sweaty hours we made our way back to the lodge, where I sat down to an excellent lunch and prepared for our next adventure.

Getting Ready for the Rain Forest

On Monday I hired a panga, more or less a motorized rowboat, to take me downriver to the Indio-Maize Rain Forest Reserve. It was a short 15 minute ride. East of El Castillo the southern shores of the San Juan River become Costa Rican territory. Interestingly enough, due to a 19th Century treaty, the river itself is entirely Nicaraguan territory. This oddity has sparked some tension between the two nations as of late, and Nicaraguans are quite touch about the issue. Considering, however, that Costa Rica disbanded its military in 1948, I can't imagine that things will get too heady.

Nicaragua, though, wasn't taking any chances. As my boat pulled into the reserve's ranger station, I took n9ote of the army barracks on the shore. After my credentials were checked I was directed to the resort, which consisted of four cabins, each with two rooms. As I made my way through the resort, I didn't see anyone else. I shouted a few Spanish greetings, but no one answered. The whole area looked abandoned.

I set my pack down (who was going to steal it?) and made my way to the back of the property. I heard some women talking, and I followed the voices to a small kitchen. I said "hola" and all three women jumped in surprise. I explained that I wanted to stay the night, and they started making preparations.

The head woman, who I assume was the manager, asked why I hadn't made reservations. Rather than ask her what possibly made her think I needed them, I instead told her that I had tried to call the resort the day before without success. She explained that the resort's phone service went out during when it rained. Seeing that we were in fact in a rain forest in the rainy season, I took this to mean that they pretty much didn't have phone service, at least not for the next few months.

All was well, however, as there clearly wasn't much competition for the rooms. I was the only guest of the lodge. I made arrangements for a guide for a hike that morning. As the stafff set everything up I laid back in a hammock next to the river, perusing a copy of Scientific American a prior guest had been kind enough to leave behind.

Selva Negra

I've been traveling in Nicaragua´s north, home to beautiful mountains and some of the world's best coffee. Specifically I´m at the Selva Negra resort and private nature reserve. Selva Negra boasts excellent examples of the region´s claims to fame - the south of the estate is a coffee plantation, while the north is a virgin cloud forest.

Selva Negra itself is an interesting meld of cultures. Like many of the coffee growers in the north of Nicaragua, the plantation's founding family hailed from Germany, specifically Bavaria. They named the area after their homeland´s famous Black Forest, hence 'Selva Negra.' The family still owns and maintains the property.

Many Germans came through Nicaragua in the late 1840s, lured west by the California Gold Rush. Back before the Panama Canal opened, Nicaragua was the fastest way from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Travelers would sail from the Caribbean up the Rio de San Juan, through the Lake of Nicaragua, and then overland to the Pacific coast.

Some of the Germans heard that the gold wasn't so plentiful in California, but did not want to return to Germany empty-handed. Many started coffee plantations, so they started coffee plantations. Many, like Selva Negra, still remain.

I arrived at the resort just in time for dinner. I decided to get in touch with my German roots and ordered the Wiener Schnitzel along with a German dunkel beer. Both were excellent. The dunkel, especially, was a nice change of pace from the otherwise omnipresent and somewhat mediocre Nica brews - Toña and Victoria.

The next morning I passed on the coffee tour and opted instead for the nature trails. I had been captivated since arriving in the north by the cloud forests - patches of trees so high up in the mountains that they´re regularly lost in passing clouds. The restaurant at Sevla Negra faces one such forest.

The first few trails were at the base of the mountain and listed as easy on the map. Despite the map's listing the area as 'Monkey Territory,' I didn´t see any monkeys. Maybe they were all on the coffee tour. The low trails were pretty, but I wanted to see some clouds.

I started up the Fuente de Juventud trail, which led up to the top of the mountains. The path wasn't so bad at first, but it soon became nearly vertical. I had to climb hand over hand at points. What was already a tricky trail was made all the harder by the previous night's rain. As I nearly reached the summit, my feet lost all traction in the mud. I tried to grab a tree root, but it gave way. I slipped a good three yards down, leaving my pants thoroughly muddied. I made a mental note to tip the laundry lady well, and tried again. This time I grabbed a tree trunk and hauled myself to the top of the mountain. Was it worth the effort? Definitely.

I could see the clouds passing through the forest, the fog moving in and out of the trees quickly. The top of the mountain had a mystical, almost haunted feel to it. Other than the occasional bird call, the forest was silent. I walked around the ridge, pausing occasionally at lookouts. I came to a point where I could see the city of Matagalpa, some twelve kilometers south. Then the fog came in, and I could see no further than the tree branches. It was amazing.

While I was quite proud of myself for getting up the mountain, it didn't dawn on me until I started my descent what kind of challenge lay ahead, or rather, below. While going up a muddy mountainside is tricky, getting down is a good deal harder, and nearly impossible to do while standing up on two feet.

I picked up a a yard-length branch to give me support on the steep muddy descent. Even with the branch I made several slides down, though these were at least controlled and going the right direction. My pants were so filthy by this point that I just hoped the laundry lady would accept them.

After about four hours of hiking, I made it back to the lodge. I got a lot of stares on the way back to my room wearing such muddy clothes and carrying a tree branch. I guess that the rain made everyone else go for the coffee tour. I still think I got the better deal.