When I go to the beach, part of my routine is a strenuous jungle hike every morning. While the distance covered is only about 3 kilometers (a bit less than 2 miles) round trip, the walk features no level terrain. From the moment I step out of the apartment and begin with a 100 meter uphill walk to the trail entrance, I traverse a series of valleys and peaks until arriving at a scenic overlook, that is the halfway point, and a nice reward for the challenging hike.
I am not alone in my hike. My company is 2 dogs, that belong to my daughter, in whose apartment I stay when visiting the beach. A fair enough exchange. After she goes to work in the morning, the dogs become akin to my stalkers, following ‘grandpa’ around the house until I put on my shoes and gather the leashes for the initial part of the walk (they are unleashed and free to roam once on the actual trail). Meet Milo and Rodolfo (lingering outside the bathroom door to greet me when I open–see what I mean about stalkers?).
They are the Goofus and Gallant of the dog world. Goofus and Gallant was a cartoon feature in a children’s magazine years ago. They represented the way to do things and the way not to. A typical two part drawing might say, “Gallant holds the door for the elderly” with a drawing of the boy holding a door open so some older folks could enter; countered by “Goofus pushes ahead and closes the door in their faces”, with a matching drawing of a sneering boy closing the door in the face of some old-timers. Milo, the spotted mixed hound is Gallant: Comes to me when called, stays at my side, and when he runs into the jungle, I know he will soon reappear up the hill.
Rodolfo is Goofus, an adopted street dog, still at home sleeping under a parked car for shade. His name is meaningless, as he never comes when called, and will sometimes vanish into the jungle and not be seen until he shows up sometime later at the gate to the apartment, long after we have finished the hike.
The first half of the hill is a gradual downhill of a couple hundred meters to a waterhole where the dogs will sometimes swim, followed by a long, very steep uphill that arrives at the highest point of the hike. This stretch is roughly paved as there are a few houses along this part of the trail. Once at the top, you start the longer descent to the overlook. Here you find my favorite sign on the trail: Why is it not in Spanish? I don’t know– probably because the locals know the route and would not be foolish enough to try and drive it.
From here it is a long, steep descent to the ocean and the overlook pictured earlier. This stretch of road would be a challenge for even a 4WD vehicle, as it has portions that are washed out and narrow, with a high ridge on one side and a dropoff on the other. Many days, the dogs and I are the only hikers on the trail.
During the recent year end holidays, the trail was surprisingly busy with many small groups– I heard Brit English, French, German Spanish all spoken, I greeted everyone with a Buenos dias and got varied responses; some people didn’t say anything, perhaps winded from the hike. I sometimes see misinformed hikers wearing cheap sandals, and hope they will finish the walk without their footwear popping apart. The highest point I mentioned earlier has an amazing ocean view that is a welcome sight after the longest, steepest uphill stretch.
From here it is mostly downhill. While on this day I did not have the opportunity to photograph wildlife (besides the dogs– who become a bit wild once on the trail), I have previously spotted scarlet macaws, parrots, monkeys, an occasional sloth, and even an anteater. Back at the apartment I am drenched in sweat, and we all three rehydrate voraciously. It is a bit over an hour, this combination dogwalk, vigorous hike, and therapy session, and another morning in paradise is in the books. The doggies are content, I have my exercise for the day, and I have earned my keep!
