My journey to the Arenal Volcano from the Monteverde cloud forest
The trip started with the jeep ride from Santa Elena up to Mirador. The journey took about half an hour up one of the worst roads in Costa Rica. The driver seemed cheerful enough in spite of the fact that once we nearly found ourselves in the ditch and ten minutes were lost wheel spinning out of a mud pool. Towards the top, the path entered the forest. The mist thickened and nothing was visible save the haunting figures of the roadside trees draped in the hanging vestiges of ancient mosses and veils of epiphytes.
As the morning air warmed the mist dispersed somewhat. Ahead of us the Mirador Lodge became visible. This was a per functionary building with a roof of corrugated iron, a dining room and a few cabins. The sole inhabitants appeared to be Arnold and his brother Leonel and their pack of adoring mongrel dogs.
After coffee the mist cleared further and the reason for Mirador's name became apparent. A magnificent view of the volcano and lake down below opened up between the passing mists that shape this awesome landscape. For now it all seemed so near but later on it would seem a long journey away.
Jorgé, my guide for the day, strode in with bandy legs, mustachioed, weathered, carrying a large machete and ready to take another witless tourist on a wonderful adventure.
We went outside and I was introduced to my horse, José. By Western standards he was small but looked knowledgeable and well kept. He eyed me with some apparent disdain. Clearly, José thought he was in charge.
We mounted and began the three-hour horse ride. It took two hours to reach the first river crossing. The descent was fantastic. Along the way we had to round up some stray cattle and cut our way around a fallen tree. The air heated as the altitude fell. The horses deftly threaded their way through the quagmires of mud and boulders that formed the path. And all around the countryside sang of its own beauty. Rarely do I admit such a thing but I was in love with that time, that place and the whole experience.
Before the first river crossing the path flattened out into the valley which it then followed. Within this pasture there was the occasional mandarin tree. I asked Jorgé to pick me one and he was delighted to show how he could skillfully peel it and top it with his lethal machete. The bright orange flesh was sharply acidic but still exquisitely refreshing and just the stimulant needed before the river crossings.
We arrived at the first crossing and I was not quite sure what Jorgé was proposing. José was turned his equine body to face the other way. Meanwhile, Jorgé kicked on. I turned to see Jorgé's steed gradually disappear below the gushing current: hooves, knees, belly … then, finally he started coming out again and arrived at the other side. Creased dimples pulled back to reveal Jorgés pearly teeth and he beckoned me forward. I do not remember that first crossing or the second, only that I did it, was relieved and proud and my feet were soaking. The third crossing was not so bad.
After the crossings the path followed the valley toward the lake. After two hours in complete wilderness, the odd farm emerged. To the left-hand side the slope was covered in an impenetrable bank of dense forest and in contrast the slope to the right had begun to be cleared, ready for the plump cattle and horses which occupy this fertile stretch. But for the private reserves all of this countryside would be similarly stripped
The path swung out of the valley out onto a stone track that traces the south side of the lake towards Castillo. The horses picked up pace, settling into the trotting pace that they assumed appropriate for the relative smoothness of the track. Having now accepted that Jorgé was my first boss and José my second, I did not argue, lent back, stiffened my raised arm against the straining rein and tried to look dignified atop my jiggering steed.
The lake looked beautiful to the left. On the right we passed a barn on top of which was one room and a porch. This appeared to be the residence of one of the locals. The façade of posters on the porch and the general health of horses we passed was a testament to the high esteem in which the horse is held in this area for its beauty, as a means of transport and for cattle herding.
Ten minutes before reaching Castillo we turned a corner and there she was, the volcano in all her omnipotent glory with the steam rolling off her sides. Her apparent proximity made me realize how far we had come on the horses.
In Castillo a few trappings of civilization emerged. We dismounted and I thanked Jorgé for a great trip and tipped him. Then I plucked a handful of grass, patted José and offered him a bite to eat. He pulled his head back and eyed me suspiciously. I guess the ride had been less enjoyable for him than me.
I boarded the launch and was sped across the lake. We passed some swooping cormorants that failed to keep up and I was lucky to spot an enormous and iridescent kingfisher. On the other side there was a small wait for the minibus during which time the dodgy Rojas brothers tried to tempt me with various excursions at cut-rate prices - now I had sadly arrived back to the real world and following the warnings of other travelers who had been ripped off, I refused their offers.
The road down to Fortuna was well prepared and lined with pink flowers. Out of the woodland there had emerged an engorged Bigoté (like a badger), feasting on the roadside snacks left by tourists. The mini-bus stopped and some photos were taken. The metamorphosis back from traveler to tourist was near completion.
The road winded out of the sparse woodland around the volcano and on to Fortuna. The pink flowers gave way to a new crop of well-manicured lodges and hotels that have begun to spring up. And down to Fortuna, a small pleasant town that seems to epitomize Costa Rica, land of tourism.
Nevertheless, it had been a wonderful, unforgettable journey and I looked forward to some creature comforts and soaking my saddle sores in Fortuna's hot volcano springs.
by Andrew James
from his contribution to this book: The Panamericana: On the Road through Mexico and Central America
21 March 2004: a photo journal of our Arenal to Monteverde horseback adventure via the Rio Chiquito / Mirador trail by our guests: the Baum and Carlson families.