The Descent

Leon, Nicaragua 
We were not long on the peak before a ridge began to chip away at the circle of the sun and we were reminded of the shortness of days near the equator. It had taken hours to reach this height and now there was certainly less than an hour before the quickly fading sun would be fully obscured. And so with this realization upon us we fled the mountain top. We  knew there was no possible way to reach the bottom before dark if we descended the same way we had come. Our friend suggested an alternate–hopefully more direct route–but one that was unfamiliar to all of us. We weighed our options and decided we would have to take the risk of the unknown path.

Our pace began at a rapid clip, but as the shadow of the mountain began to extend across our path we broke into a jog and soon after a full-out run. We fled the mountain we had spent the entire day conquering. Behind us the shadows reached out their arms to engulf us and we raced to escape their embrace. Down, down the narrow, winding path. Down through the underbrush and the fields, down past the tree of paradise where we had lingered too long in its shade such a short time before. Then we had seen the shadows as friends, now we saw a looming enemy at our back.

Soon we came to the fork in the path where we were forced to leave the familiar and trust that this new path would bring us safely out of this wilderness. We took this path still at run; and as we did the trees closed in overhead and we were instantly submerged in the twilight we were fleeing. Roots and rocks and slippery leaves threatened to send us sprawling at any moment and we were forced to slow to a jog and then soon–as the twilight thickened–back to a walk. The world grew grayer and grainier–like a faded photograph–and our eyes strained to find the way. We hurried on as best we could in this manner for some time. I could not pinpoint the moment it happened, but suddenly I realized that the last of the day’s light had left us and darkness had fallen, thick and complete under the trees, and my eyes groped hopelessly had vague shapes in the blackness.

We had only one headlamp between the three of us and though our friend walked between us to share the light it was hard to say if it did not actually worsen the situation. If we walked behind we walked outside of the swath of light and though the way ahead was lit, our own steps were in darkness. If we walked in the light our own shadows obscured our immediate path and the light destroyed any sensitivity to the darkness and we were again left blind. But we stumbled on as best we could.

By this time my feet (foolishly clad in thin-soled hiking sandals) were so sore, bruised, and tired I could barely walk. And with every step I was likely to feel a sharp rock underfoot or to stub a toe on a root–each step more painful than the last. It was when we finally seemed to have reached the base of the mountain and the steep descent had ended that the worst of the trek began. We found ourselves on a road of sorts with steep dirt walls rising on both sides. The road was covered in deep, coarse gravel. I cannot express the horror of walking on this material with bruised and battered feel in unprotective sandals and to make matters worse the gravel slid under our feet making progress slow and exhausting. We were all feeling done in by this time, but I was in the worst shape and kept falling behind no matter how hard I pushed myself to continue stumbling forward. A fear had begun to rise in our minds that we might not make the it to the main road in time to catch the last bus back to the city–that we might be stranded in this wilderness until morning. Another, even worse fear was also brooding in our minds that this path might be leading us entirely astray and we were actually wandering farther and farther from civilization. We were keenly aware, now that the warmth and security that sunshine offers had left us, that we were three young, vulnerable gringos, stranded in the back country of third-world country–helpless and exposed should human or animal decide to give threat.

The ring of light provided by the headlamp grew further and further out of my reach as my husband and friend trudged anxiously in the direction they hoped was leading out of this dark wilderness. A rustling in the undergrowth on the steep embankment to our left stopped us in our tracks. The light swung in that direction and we saw the reflective glow of eyes peering at us. We all held our breaths for a moment and then I hurried to reach the light and the safety of numbers. By the time I reached the others the eyes had disappeared. We looked anxiously around us and then began our journey again with even more urgency than before.

When we had traveled in silence for a while and no sounds of pursuit or flickers of eyes appeared in the shadows we began to relax a little. We took a short rest to catch our breaths and give my aching feet a chance to recover. In spite of our fears we allowed ourselves to revel for a moment in the incredibility of our situation. We turned the light off and looked up at the brilliant array of stars overhead. It was a beautiful and familiar sight; but something about it jarred me. It took me a moment to realize why–these were not the stars I knew. This was a different sky, a different configuration of pinpoints of lights. I saw for the first time constellations I only knew from textbooks. The feeling that came over me then was one that made my skin crawl and made me shiver–one of unearthliness. Can it be the same world if it does not share the same sky?

Standing there in the heavy silence of night we were all in awe and fear of what we were experiencing–and in spite of our fears we loved it. I felt the smallness of my existence in this wild, foreign land with its unfamiliar sky. I felt how vulnerable we were–but also how alive. Sometimes the most wonderful moments in life are also the most terrifying. Sometimes fear is the recognition of the greatness of a thing–that it is beautiful, wonderful, even terrible.

We were shaken from our reverie by that faintest sound far off in the distance. We strained our ears to catch it again but it was elusive–leaving us uncertain that we had heard anything. But then it came again–a melody–music, coming from somewhere, far, far away. But it was something. A sign of life in this world we had felt for a while entirely alone in. It seemed to be coming vaguely from the direction we believed the road to be. And so we set out again on this seemingly endless journey.

Time seemed to stretch on and on and the sound at times seemed to become more distant and again the fear that we were lost rose in us. But we knew nothing to do other than to continue forward and  strain our ears for the sound of vehicles in the distance. When we were again nearing despair and the pain in my feet was so bad that I was nearly crippled our ears caught the sound we had been hardly daring to hope for–an engine–a car whizzing down a road in the distance. The other two hurried ahead leaving me stumbling in the darkness–but I could hear their excited cries up ahead as I struggled to follow. A few minutes passed and my husband was hurrying back. “There is a bridge and a paved road ahead!” He called back to me. And at that moment I saw headlights through the trees. Soon I was crawling up an embankment and onto the road. We were all laughing and smiling in our relief. And a moment later our friend had waved down a vehicle and then we were inside, sitting down–finally–exhausted, happy.

Later that night–after a huge dinner and a hot foot bath for me–we scrambled up onto the red-tiled roof of the compound; precariously balancing mugs of tea as we climbed. We sat there looking out over the rambling city roofs and reliving our wild adventure, and discussing our dreams and plans for the future. We lay back against the hard tiles of the roof, listening to the sounds of the city around us, and feeling the tiredness of our bodies which gave evidence to the reality of our surreal adventures.