ALL ASHORE…

A Little Off the Rhumb Line
in Honduras

by Chuck Cherry

The average sailor travels to the beat of a different drum, doesn’t necessarily think patience is a virtue and has an itch for exploration. Considering this, I thought it might be entertaining to recount some personal adventures and misadventures, in slightly out-of-the-way locations for cruisers traveling in the greater Caribbean. I am submitting a series of random excursions to this publication in hopes that it will encourage other cruisers to jump ship for a short time; to enjoy sites and areas a little off the rhumb line of sailing, in countries they might be passing; to enhance the total experience of places such as Honduras, Panama and Colombia.

Honduras, for example, is a large country with potentially many off-rhumb areas for adventure. The Bay Islands’ diving, fishing and real estate development; north shore beach towns; the Mayan ruins of Copau and interior mountain regions all offer some degree of physical, intellectual and social adventure.

We decided to take a couple of weeks off during the hurricane season to explore the Honduras mountain regions and ultimately visit Honduras’ Cleaque mountain cloud forest and national parks. I like to call this “the area where you can drink the water”. Think Rocky Mountain high. Maybe a little higher. This is probably the largest undiscovered secret in Central America. The multitude of cloud forests and accompanying verdant valleys laden with exotic parrots, toucans, quetzals and other bird-watchers’ favorites, plus scores of weird and endangered animal species is one thing. But the landscape itself is another. In all the brochures, the landscape is described according to its flora: this flower grows here, that flower dominates this area, etcetera. The famous high-altitude Honduran orchids are a botanist’s dream. Set amongst all this nature are picturesque pueblos, each with at least one church, dating from the time of the conquistadors. Generally speaking, each of those laid-back little villages is “famous” for something: its role in history, obsidian arrowheads, opals lying around, caves complete with multicolored hieroglyphics, multiple symmetrical holes in the ground made by aliens, miracles, Mayan ruins. To top it all off is the residual mix of Mayan-Spanish inhabitants. These have to be the friendliest, most accommodating and shortest people in Central America. Under Montana-like skies and alpine fresh air you will find yourself surrounded by a rare scene of native humility and security. It’s enough to make you want to mind your manners.

But enough tree hugging. It’s one thing to come for the vista and another to visit the adventure. The cloud-forest mountaintops, hidden gorges, really big waterfalls and really, really big organic coffee fincas are all worthwhile destinations. But like the man said, “It’s not the trophy but the race, not the quarry but the chase,” so let me tell you about Cleaque.
Of all the paths you can take, trails you can hike and treks you can make, the peaks of Cleaque, the highest mountain in Honduras, is the ultimate challenge. Topping out at 2,874 meters, it sits in the middle of the largest of the cloud forests in Honduras. It is surrounded by pristine forests, uncontaminated rivers, and multiple indigenous species of flora and fauna, and has a world of conservationists determined to keep it normal. Cleaque in ancient Mayan means water box, and from this mountain spring 11 rivers that supply water to five times as many villages. To say the least, it is big, tall, steep and wet.

An interesting side is that during the ice age when the glaciers pushed all the vegetation south and then receded with global warming, several of the North American trees like spruce, fir and pine remained on the tops of some high Honduran mountains and evolved into relatively new species. Weird eh?
We had hauled out in the very nice, efficient, large, inexpensive, professional, laid back and happy La Ceiba boatyard for the hurricane season and bottom paint. After a two-bus, five-hour ride we reached Gracious, a refreshing cool mountain pueblo. 
The next day we met with Walter, the self-appointed tourist guide of Gracious, at his hangout, the Giuauesco Hotel (nice place). He gave us his self-drawn map and rented us two sleeping bags for US$1.25 each per day. Quite a pleasant fellow, he spoke good English, suggested alternate routing to see more animals and wished us buen viaje. He did mention that some people take a guide for the first leg (alternative) and we might want to take some plastic to sleep on. Translated in retrospect, that meant that if you go that leg alone you will probably get lost and not be found for weeks, and without plastic, will sleep in water with big spiders. 

We left the next morning. First we had to go to the park entrance to pay the three dollars admission each and three dollars more for each intended night’s stay. This entailed a three-hour hike or one-hour taxi ride. We elected to take the taxi to save our strength for the assault itself (good idea). The “taxi” was a three-wheeled rickshaw affair that resembled a riding lawnmower with a bimini top. It did get us there but it would have been much easier on horseback. As bad as the road was, it was the best of the trails we were to encounter.
After entering the park proper, the little half-inch on the map turned into a mile or more climb up an equally bad road to the “visitors’ center” or what could be called the base camp, with bunks for 20, covered cooking area with grill, clothes-washing area, shower and working toilets. Basically, all the comforts, plus dinner at sunset. 

Directly adjacent to the base camp is a very real working coffee farm or finca. The matriarch is a sweet little old lady who lives there with several of her eight offspring in a small adobe cabin with no electricity but a great wood-fired stove and grill. For a little less than two dollars she will cook you a meal that is as good as you can find anywhere around. We thought about just staying here and trying to get acclimatized.

It would take a book to describe the layout of this place. For starters, the coffee is necessarily grown organically because the adjacent river supplies the water to Gracious and several other small villages. This entails the planting (among the coffee plants) of certain fruit trees for “fertilizer” and to attract certain birds which eat certain coffee-loving bugs. It takes 700 pounds of hand-picked, big red coffee “beans” to get 100 pounds of the little seed inside that we end up using to make coffee.  The other 600 pounds of shell gets hand-plowed back into the soil as humus to keep it fluffy. Then there is sorting by size, shape and density, followed by sun-drying (in a cloud forest), packing, aging and finally roasting to taste over a wood-fired grill. These things, plus the usual tending of the garden, chickens, pigs, turkeys, dogs and guests for dinner, keep Mama and the boys busy. But I digress. 
The next day we began our assault on the mountain after a great breakfast at the finca. We took number-one son along as a guide for the first leg after deciding to go the longer roundabout way to swing by the monkey neighborhood. Now the going was really tough. “Hiking” here is a relative term, including stretches of hike-or-die narrow trails, rock climbing and river crossing. Forty-five-degree inclines were the norm and “slippery when wet” is all the time in a cloud forest. The drizzle wasn’t much of a deterrent as the trail was wet anyway, but when the clouds really rolled in, the dim light under the canopy went dark. We never saw a monkey but the snakes were friendly and gave way easily. We did see toucans, parrots and one quetzal, and heard a couple of peccaries rustling around in the underbrush. We also saw one panther’s paw print in the mud and heard his howl later on that night. The forest itself was beautiful, and the view of the surrounding mountain range spectacular. Also of interest were a large variety of big beautiful orchids. These were hike stoppers, demanding a photo and including the national flower of Honduras. All, of course, indigenous to these mountains.
After a little over five hours, we arrived at the first upper campsites. Here we found a run-down cabin with two “sort-of” bunks and a completely worn-out latrine, but also a nice river with clean drinkable water. We were a little reluctant to go in the cabin at first as it seemed like a good place for spiders and snakes, but it turned out to be real cozy when it started raining. The guide left us here and after a short time a young Spanish couple from Madrid joined us having come up the “easy” way (three hours). The next day they gave up and went back down.
At this point we decided not to try for the second upper campsite the same day. We were dog tired and figured we would rest up and the next day try for the last two legs with only one pack of essentials.

I had already decided to give this hike a 10 on the Cherry Scale of 1 to 10. Not because of the hike-or-die stretches or the slippery rock climbing or even the three-day duration, but rather due to the number of lives the mountain claims each year. In the 12 months preceding our climb there were six: two in a plane crash and four just got lost. Our guide showed us one spot where one hopeless fellow was found and I swear it was less than a hundred yards from the trail. When the clouds roll in, they really roll in. The trail is well marked by bright orange ribbons every 20 feet but sometimes that seemed like not enough. 

The next day, after cookies and apples, we set off at 6:00AM sharp to try to reach the summit before the clouds moved in. This leg was harder than the first but mercifully shorter. The adjectives “steep” and “slippery” just don’t cover it. The forest got wetter and greener and the birds got more colorful. We reached the second upper camp in two and a half hours. Here there was a tin roof on four poles with plastic walls providing shelter for about two people. Oddly enough there was a first-class latrine. We had a rest and snack and headed for the top with only two Snickers bars.
At this point we were over 7,000 feet up in a serious cloud/rain forest. Needless to say, everything here — including the air — was real, real wet. It seemed odd to be in a swamp at that altitude, but that’s what we had for the next two hours, complete with mosquitoes. Not so much climbing now, as sloshing up and down a series of small hills using the machete constantly to reclaim the path from the jungle that seemed very much alive. At about 8,000 feet we did come to the last “up”. Like they saved the best for last, we were crawling over slimy rocks masked by wet pine straw. My hiking partner was no longer whimpering but crying out loud and using every known female threat to force a retreat. The compromise was to stop every ten feet to breathe. That suited me fine. We reached the top at 11:45, just in time to watch the clouds come in and block the majestic view. 
It was almost 9,000 feet with as many mosquitoes. Not to be disheartened after such an achievement, we danced and whistled, managed a few photos through the gathering clouds and took several pictures of each other with the sign “cerro menus”, a strange name for the highest peak in Honduras. Then we slid down. 
One more night at the base camp visitors’ center with one more great dinner and now old friends and then one more roller coaster ride down to Gracious the next morning. After a fruitless search for a masseuse in this small village, I sit here now licking my wounds, writing and scratching mosquito bites. It’s a good feeling. 

Afterthoughts
I mentioned mosquitoes several times, as they are plentiful. They are, however, easily controlled with generous applications of repellant. Just remember to coat your undies or you will return with a multitude of bites in places you can’t scratch on TV.
This hike is strenuous but doable by wimps like me and Monica. If your land legs are out of shape, take an extra day going up. The slower you go, the more you see.

The Honduran powers-that-be are starting to encourage “interior tourism”. There are several other national parks with well-marked trails and mountains to climb. For example, Santa Barbara Mountain (and park) is only a few feet shorter and sits beside big old Lake Yojoa.
Finally, I personally think that if you don’t fall in love with the top of mountain country in Honduras you need to see a doctor. But I have met a few people who think that drinking out of rivers requires too much bending over and that mud is dirty and that climbing up mountains is similar to work. If you are one of those, then come explore the pueblos, take Spanish lessons in-house with a local family, muse over the mysterious Mayans in Copan or wash off the salt water in Lake Yojoa, but don’t fail to get sidetracked in Honduras.

Chuck Cherry and Monica Bermudez live aboard the traveling Cherry Bowl and enjoy cruising the Caribbean and talking about it.