We were walking around Selva Negra, a beautifully maintained coffee estate, with a pretty little lake, a small restaurant, and a quaint cottage or two hiding in the overgrown jungle. A wedding ceremony was starting soon at a local chapel, and lavishly dressed guests were strolling around the property. Children were playing on a small playground, families were enjoying picnics, and swans were elegantly swimming in the lake. This hardly seemed like a place where one could get in trouble…
After enjoying a cup of coffee and buñuelos by the lake, we decided to burn off the calories by doing a little hiking. At the entrance we were given a map of the property which showed multiple hiking trails through the surrounding coffee plantation and jungle, and we figured we would just do a few small trails and then a big loop. It was still early afternoon, and we had plenty of time to kill.
We strolled down a few well-maintained walkways, watching out for Resplendent Quetzals (local colorful birds) and howler monkeys. Despite not spotting any larger wildlife, the trails did not disappoint – we did see plenty of butterflies, exotic plants, and the walking was relaxing. As we turned towards the longest trail, we were greeted by an ominous-looking sign, “Danger! Experienced hikers only!”
I audibly scoffed. In El Salvador, we hiked up a volcano and never saw a sign like this. We have hiked through mountains, forests, and deserts in Argentina, USA, Oman, Canada, and Norway. A walk around this pretty little coffee plantation could hardly even be considered a hike!
“Probably just a sign to discourage families with little kids from going up there,” said Victor, and we forged ahead, without a moment of hesitation. Slowly, the trail got steeper, narrower, and muddier, but we hardly noticed as we were too busy enjoying the beauty of the forested terrain. The cloud forest around us looked magical, as the occasional rays of sunlight broke through the canopy of dense, moss-draped trees and lit up the thick green bushes and plants. As we kept walking, I realized we were gaining actual altitude, and this was no longer just a walk in the park. We were now climbing up a barely visible path of packed dirt, roots, and rocks, twisting along narrow ridge lines. At least twice I lost the trail entirely and attempted to descend a dangerously steep and grimy path, one time even losing my footing and sliding down the mud on my butt.
“It’s like you have no peripheral vision!” Victor joked, “Look, the trail is heading this way. Why are you crawling through the underbrush?”
Throughout the trail, we were rewarded with sweeping views of the valley and coffee farms below, the feeling of cool mountain air, the sounds of birdsong and rustling leaves, and by a sobering realization that we are not experienced hikers, not by any stretch of imagination. And it is one thing to feel like a rookie while hiking in Norway, and quite another to be humbled by a nature preserve in northern Nicaragua. It was well after 4 pm when we finally made our way out of the forest, tired, sweaty, and muddy, yet well satisfied with our adventure. We purchased some Selva Negra coffee at the gift shop to commemorate this occasion and immediately started making more hiking plans for the next day.
After all, we couldn’t possibly get any worse at hiking, could we? I think you know where this is going.
The next day, in the afternoon, we headed towards the Cerro de Apante hike, the start of which was only 1 km from the finca where we were staying. We parked our car by the entrance and paid the local attendant 60 cordobas ($1.50) for both of us to enter.
“Easy hike!” the attendant said in Spanish, “Just go in a circle! Can’t get lost! Look at my map!”
The map was in a hand-drawn circle on a notebook page.
“Make sure you take a picture of that!” I said half-jokingly, and Victor did.
The hike began gradually and slowly became steeper as we ascended the mountain. So close to the city of Matagalpa, this trail made it easy to be immersed in nature with tall grasses and ferns, canopies of guava and coffee bushes, and an occasional rustle of a lizard in the lush green forest.
After about an hour, we reached Mirador de la Cruz, a breezy spot with a large white cross set on a concrete platform. We enjoyed the stunning view of Matagalpa, nestled in a valley and surrounded by endless rolling hills and mountains fading into the mist. We were the only tourists there, but it was a popular spot with local teenagers to hang out, drink beer, and flirt with each other. As we were leaving, one of them asked us how much the entrance fee was and they anxiously whispered among themselves, probably calculating how much they would owe if caught up here.
As I mentioned earlier, the trail was a circle, so we were supposed to descend a different path than the one we took up to the Mirador. The views down this trail were simply stunning, with the setting sun illuminating the trees’ branches and making the leaves almost sparkle. We were in no rush, enjoying nature and making plenty of stops for pictures. Suddenly, the trail ahead of us became overgrown with grass and hard to navigate.
“Are we still on the trail?” I asked. “Did my lack of peripheral vision fail me again?”
“We must be, I never saw the trail split up.” Victor said and jokingly added, “Let me just check the map!”
Just a few minutes later, we ran into a barbed wire crossing our path. And by that, I mean literally, and I had a giant bloody scratch on my arm to prove it.
We were clearly off the trail and lost. But the worst part wasn’t the hand-drawn circle map or lack of internet connectivity or my bloody scratch. Our main problem was the rapidly setting sun. While we could absolutely trace our steps back and try to find the trail, we were risking having to complete our descent in total darkness. I hesitated, and Victor sprang into action.
“Climb under the barbed wire,” he said. “This might not be the trail, but it is a way down this mountain. As long as we get off the mountain before dark to the main road, we can find our car.”
We climbed under and, a hundred feet later, ran into another stretch of barbed wire. I managed to see it just in time and didn’t walk directly into it. The rest of the hike, as we navigated the rocky, overgrown trail, I kept squinting through the descending dusk, paranoid about more barbed wire in our path. Finally, we could see the main road below! But there was one last challenge – a long, tall fence was separating us from the road. We walked along it until we reached a house, and a little boy came out just in time to see us trying to figure out if a small hole in the fence was big enough for us to fit through. He told us to walk around the house and opened a small gate for us.
“Easy hike… Can’t get lost…” I mumbled the attendant’s words to myself as we walked down the road. We got to the car just as the last of the daylight slipped behind the mountains, tired, dirty, a little humiliated, but also weirdly exhilarated. We drove back in silence, letting the adrenaline wear off, with just the occasional glance at each other that said: “Did that really just happen again?”
Back at the finca, as we ate our dinner, the absurdity of it all started to sink in. Two seasoned travelers, foiled twice by supposedly easy trails. We laughed, winced at our scratches, and began discussing our upcoming volcano hikes. We were going to hike up two volcanoes in one day and spend a night camping on an active volcano.
