Nothing would give up life: Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath - Theodore Roethke
The Mukutan Gorge looks like another country unto itself. From the low scrub and bush rises a splendid place of converging canyons, steep mountains, and tropical jungle-like vegetation surrounding crystalline waterfalls, pools and streams. Getting there is not easy, and not necessarily for the faint of heart.
Trekking through high grasses and down into riverine banks darkened by tropical plants and trees, the light changes once again as filtered sun-shards cut through dense foliage, playing hide and seek in the cool shadows. Across moss covered rocks and running water, through walls of dripping palm fronds and branches heavy with lichen and blooms, the hike continues through this moist and fertile world, offering no easy footpath or break in trees.
Today, I am hiking the gorge with Douglas, Jeffrey, two armed guards, and two young women, one American, one German, who are volunteering at the research camp. Not knowing that this trip would offer so many opportunities to be on foot in the bush (as previous safaris were confined to Land Rovers), I did not pack hiking boots appropriate for treks in the wild.
The German volunteer, Katarina, graciously offered me a second pair of boots she had packed, so today, I am lugging them along. If not for the boots, I could not have done this spectacular hike but unfortunately, the boots are at least a size 10 while I wear a size 6. Some four sizes too big and extremely heavy, I feel as though I am walking with bowling balls attached to my feet. They look like military issue footwear and with each step, my small feet which feel even tinier housed in these cavernous vessels, are swimming about with every move, regardless of the pair of socks I stuffed in each toe. This adventure promises to be a lot more challenging, if not precarious, due to my immense footwear and their weight. At this moment, my humor is intact, but my gut tells me things may change as the real physical challenges emerge.
Our first stop is the small waterfall, a gorgeous spot and respite in full sun. As we stand alongside the transparent pool waters at the base of the fall, Douglas pulls a plant from the bank and tells me to chew on it. He does the same, as does Jeffrey, watching for my reaction to the taste of the tiny, yellow bud. As I chew, my mouth begins to burn followed by the numbing of my tongue and throat. Douglas tells me that this medicinal plant is widely used as a remedy for sore throats and mouth ulcers.
Leaving the gentle sounds of the waterfall behind, we encounter the first of many walls of rock that must be scaled. In front of me is a vertical slab of mountain perhaps twenty feet high. The only way up is by grasping at tiny lips of stone ledge while finding the few spots where a foot can grip, then hoisting oneself up and onto the base of the rock wall. I watch as the guides scramble effortlessly up the wall face. Naturally, they have done it before. In fact, I am the only one here today who has not yet made the trek through the Mukutan Gorge so I am at a definite disadvantage, not to mention my feet.
I make many attempts but cannot seem to grasp enough exposed ledge to hold my weight while simultaneously finding a foot grip large enough to manage my massive boots. Finally, after numerous unsuccessful attempts, Katarina, below me, gives me a strong boost and push, which gives the momentum to pull myself up onto the top of the cliff wall. I do believe she owed me that considering my ankles are attached to an additional ten pounds of leather while scaling cliffs and trekking through jungle.
The next hurdle encountered on this area of higher plateau is a slippery river crossing. The fast running waters of the river are deceptive and potentially dangerous if one is not mindful. Where a small waterway crests at the river site, we must carefully move across wet, algae covered rocks and then, grasping the stone face of the cliff, maneuver our way across a piece of log, a fallen tree, that has wedged itself between the cliff and the water spillway.
This is a precarious spot at best, hugging the smooth, flat cliff face while balancing one foot in front of the other along the length of the log, maybe twenty five feet long. The drop below is far enough to be dangerous, into fast moving, murky waters and onto jagged rocks. I am told, the first of numerous times this trek, not to look down while crossing. I obey, and am relieved when my boots and I make it across the damp expanse of the log, over the drop, safe. What a pair.
I am aware that I am smiling broadly. I am by far the oldest in this group. The others barely top thirty. In fact, they are all in their twenties, with the exception I believe, of Philip, who may be just shy of thirty. In any event, as I have just celebrated my 45th birthday while at the research camp, and am now offically a "mama," the term of respect for an older tribal woman, I think I have held up pretty well. Jokingly, when I told Philip the day I turned 45 that I guessed he would now have to address me as "Mama Jan," he giggled, good naturedly. Actually, he laughed for some time.
In the paradise of the Mukutan Gorge, I feel as though I have been transported into the tangles and depth of primordial jungle. It is a breathtaking spot, this place, so very different from the areas I have trekked the past few days, through savannah and vast open plains, dry bush, thorn and scrub. I have always dreamed about hiking through the jungle but this adventure to come will surely test my will and endurance.
For some reason, I assume the most vigorous and challenging of cliff scaling is behind me. But as we continue the safari, our single file line of bodies moving through wet foliage, over steep drops, raging waters and chalky cliffs, a more ominous wall of rock looms ahead. This cliff, which offers no advantage of protruding ledge or lip to grasp, is higher than the last and has a far more frightening drop.
I watch as a few of the others slowly make their way along the face and to the other side. It is not so much climbing this wall that must be done, it is holding onto a flat surface in order to get to solid ground. The only grips are two strong tree roots that have grown within and alongside the surface of the cliff. This Tarzan challenge looks dicey, as I watch the others hold tight the dangling root grips and swing their way onto the other side.
The height of this cliff and the drop below into even deeper water and sharp rock does not bode well for me. I tell Philip I am worried, especially in these boots which offer less than ideal footage and grip. Mostly though, it is the vast drop, the distance below. "Don't look down," Philip tells me, yet again. "Here, no one looks down. If you don't, you'll be okay." He is sincere and concerned, and knows this spot is a challenging one.
From where I stand on the narrow ledge abutting the cliff, I estimate the fall is some thirty to forty feet. There really is no turning back and from what I've been told, the most breathtaking and glorious of the adventure is yet to come. So I take a deep breath and firmly grip the cool, smooth vine. It feels thick and sturdy in my hands and gives me some sense of security.
A native Californian, Jan Baumgartner is a freelance writer currently living in Maine. Her background includes scriptwriting, comedy writing for the Northern California Emmy Awards, and travel writing for The New York Times. She has worked as a grant writer for the non-profit sector in the fields of academia, AIDS, and wildlife conservation and anti-poaching for NGO's in the U.S. and Africa. Her articles and essays have appeared in numerous online and print publications in the U.S. and internationally, including the NYT, Bangor Daily News, SCOOP New Zealand, Wolf Moon Journal, Media for Freedom Nepal, and Banderas News in Mexico. She's finishing a memoir about her husband's death from ALS and how travels in Africa became one of her greatest sources of inspiration and hope. She is a Managing Editor for OpEdNews.
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