Panama is a very flat country. With nearly 2500 km of shoreline and only 75,000 km2 of total area, there isn't much opportunity for tall mountains. The country's highest point is Volcan Baru, an active volcano near the town of Boquete. This post is about a midnight climb to the top of that mountain.
We started at 11:45 pm, dropped off at the bottom of the mountain by a guy in a pickup truck. Looking up into a sky bereft of light pollution, we could see every star clearly. The five of us had about 25 words of Spanish, three flasks of whiskey and one compass between us. We didn't know much, but we knew that we wanted to be at the top of Panama's highest peak in time for sunrise.
Boquete is about 2000 meters (~6500 feet) above sea level. The hike was 13.5 kilometers up a broad but convoluted path to a mountaintop roughly 3800 meters (~12,500 feet) high. This is roughly the altitude that a small airplane might reach on a short-hop flight. The plane needs only a minute to reach its goal; our legs would traverse the necessary 6000 vertical feet in about 6 hours.
Climbing a foreign mountain in the middle of the night is exhilarating. Though its not terribly dangerous, listening to the pitter patter of unknown animal feet reminds you that the bubble-wrapped western world is far away. Fortunately, there were signs to follow.
We started off walking quickly, listening to the sounds around us and trading cookies and rolls of salami. I wasn't used to this night sky; it was fully black but full of stars twisted into constellations that I had never seen before. The dirt beneath our feet crunched as bottles of port and flasks of whiskey passed from hand to mouth to hand.
A couple of kilometers into the hike, we came to a gap in the trees, through which we could see the lights of Boquete. We looked down over the mountain towns and got to know each other: a fat Frenchman who had spent the past 8 months sleeping in hammocks to avoid the cost of hostels; a couple of German girls, lured to a country they knew little about by cheap flights on Lufthansa; an American on a short vacation; and myself. We swapped stories, learning how good French can become bad Spanish and how a single airline's deep discounts can lead thousands of Germans to new cultures and experiences.
As we climbed, the air got thinner and we got colder. This was incredible -- I had never been cold in Panama before. Walking around this Central American country usually necessitates two showers a day; some expats spend their time rushing from air-conditioned space to air-conditioned space. I had brought along a fleece (purchased in Boquete just for this hike) and the one pair of warm socks that I owned. It wasn't enough.
As the air got thinner, we got slower. It was as though we were hiking while flying in an airplane with the windows open; each kilometer took longer than the last as we tried hard to suck enough oxygen into our lungs. Still, our feet kept moving and the distances on the signs got smaller and smaller. The clock kept ticking as well, we knew that we wanted to reach the peak at sunrise, which would happen around 6 am.
Finally, we reached the first top of the mountain. The sun had not yet begun to rise, and it was still dark, but our rubbery legs had carried us nearly 6000 vertical feet since midnight.
However, the hike was not done. The very peak could be reached only by waiting for a little more light and scrambling a few hundred feet up a pile of rocks. This time, there was no path to follow, and any fall could be treacherous.
We were exhausted, but nobody wanted to hike 13.5 kilometers without reaching the very top (small lie: peer pressure motivated my exhausted legs). We made the climb. It was worth it.
We reached the final peak to find the clouds laid out below us like a still but foamy sea. From above, the mass of clouds had its own hills and billowy mountains, shapes of white floating in air and promising a look into eternity.
A hike well done. Now to sleep.