In the last post, I left off just as we just reached the bottom of the Somoto Canyon and, incidentally, the Nicaraguan border with Honduras. As it turns out, the Rio Coco River which runs through Somoto Canyon divides Hondurans and Nicaragua along most of its border, turning and twisting through some of the most remote and beautiful scenery in Latin America. It’s the longest and largest river in Central America, but here, at the start of our tour, it certainly didn’t look like much.
As I was putting on my water shoes, I looked at the shallow stream we were about to waddle into and wondered why we even needed life jackets for this. There were plenty of jagged, sharp, and slippery rocks which might make our trek a bit strenuous, but it didn’t look like there was much chance of drowning any time soon. I regretted not bringing my GoPro waterproof camera, as the views were gorgeous, but it was too dangerous to have my camera or phone out in my hand, as we navigated through the uneven terrain. The water was nice and warm, and we eagerly followed the guide down the stream.
Slowly, the river began to deepen, the flow intensified, and the water turned into a white froth from the turbulence of splashing against the rocks. There were several twists and turns where we had to hold on to larger rocks to prevent the water from dragging us downstream. It was starting to look like a good place for white water rafting. It was still passable, but if we didn’t have a guide to show us the way and how to navigate the rapids, I would have already turned back, spooked by the speed and depth of the water.
The funny thing is that we were there during the dry season when the water was relatively shallow, and the current was minimal. Our guide, Anastasio, pointed up the walls of the canyon to show where the water reaches during the wet season, and it was spooky to realize how much deeper the water was just a few months ago. We made several stops to retrieve the camera out of the waterproof bag and take a few pictures, but most of the amazing views remained undocumented, as it often happens during hiking.
Soon enough we trekked out of the water and walked ahead on foot, until we reached a small waterfall, which was too dangerous to navigate in the water. We were now on the riverbank, around 10 feet higher than the water and Anastasio said that this is where everyone must make a decision. He pointed up into the canyon, to a small rocky platform and announced, “Ten-meter jump!”, then to another path leading higher into the rocky cliff, “Fifteen-meter jump!”, then basically pointed his finger almost to the sky with “Twenty-meter jump”, and then to a big rock on the edge of the cliff where we stood, “Or climb down here!”
Before I could blurt out “Climb down here!”, Anastasio added, “Dry season! So only climb down here! Big jumps only during the wet season!” I tried to make a half-hearted sigh of disappointment, but I wasn’t fooling anyone. A few years ago, while exploring Mexican Yucatan, I had to talk myself into making a three-meter jump into a cenote and it looked surprisingly scary. A ten-meter jump? A TWENTY-METER JUMP? No, thank you!
Anastasio attached a long rope around a rock and threw the other end of it down over the riverbank.
“Who will go first?” he asked as I shoved Victor towards him. I watched Victor repel down the rope and jump down into the water below where he was immediately swept away by the current. He did manage to give me a thumbs up before disappearing, so I had no choice but to go next. Once I started climbing down, I realized it wasn’t nearly as hard or scary as it looked. It was just a few steps down while holding on to the rope and then a small jump. I found Victor holding on to a rock just ten feet down the river, waiting for us. We floated down the river, sun rays reflecting off the water and shimmering on the rocks around us. It reminded me of swimming in a wadi in Oman just a year earlier, the rocks, the water, the endless blue sky. Except for one thing. The wadis were full of other tourists and here, in one of the most beautiful places in Nicaragua, we were all on our own. The entire first part of the hike, we didn’t see or hear anyone else in the canyon, we had Somoto Canyon all to ourselves.
As we were swimming up to our halfway stop, we heard voices echoing down the canyon. I expected to see a large group of tourists swimming up and wondered how they managed to sneak up on us this quickly when we hadn’t heard anyone else in the canyon for the last few hours. Instead, two rowboats caught up with us, carrying a large Nicaraguan family, ranging from old grandparents to a young baby and every aunt, uncle, and cousin in between. They were completely dry, happy, and relaxed, and took great care not to hit us with their oars. While we doggy paddled in the water, they smoothly sailed right past. Almost everyone excitedly waved to us, most likely thrilled with their choice of a boat tour, except a few teenagers who feigned boredom. One woman even took pictures of us, as if we were part of the local attractions. Maybe our heads bobbing in and out of the water are now in some family album.
Anastasio had us climb out on the shore and rest. While we snacked on rosquilla cookies, he explained that we had another choice to make. We could continue swimming down the canyon on our own, or we could continue the tour on the boat (he gestured towards the two boats who stopped at the other bank of the river, to allow their passengers to disembark and walk around for a bit).
“Swim!” Victor and I said simultaneously. We made it this far, getting in a boat now would almost feel like giving up! It was late afternoon and with the sun hiding behind clouds, the water felt a bit colder now. We had to keep a brisk pace in order not to get too cold and managed to make the rest of the swim in about 30 minutes. Surprisingly enough, we weren’t too far behind the boats and caught up to them at the end of the bend of the river where the swimming route ended. By the time we hiked back to our cabin, about an hour later, our drenched clothes and shoes were almost dry.
We were exhausted, hungry, and happy. As we ate our late lunch, I thought back to the gorgeous canyon and how quickly the four-hour tour came and went.
“I want to do it all again tomorrow,” I told Victor, knowing well that tomorrow morning we were leaving early to go to Matagalpa.
“Tomorrow is another day.” Victor said, “And we have many plans.”
Read about that day in a previous post “Nicaragua: A Road Less Traveled”
