Pico Duarte

Pico Duarte (for the dads): 

• 3087meters making it the highest mountain in the Caribbean 
• The first recorded ascent was in 1944
• 46 kilometres (over 23 of which are very much up hill) 
• Named after Duarte, who fought for Dominican independence 
• and is considered one of the founding fathers of the country

The expedition began on Friday the 4th of October when we were picked up at about 7pm by Braulio who was organising the hike. Thus began the drive of death to the base of the mountain. It's about a 5hr drive from Barahona to Pico Duarte and in true Dominican style Braulio kept a steady 74km per hour for almost the entire journey, ducking and weaving through the traffic of motorbikes and wooden-sided lorries carrying bananas and sugar cane. The last hour was on winding, unpaved, unlit mountain roads where he slowed to a sedate 50 kmph. Anyway we arrived at the national park cabin in one piece at about 2am and got out into the cold (!!!) night air. It was a bit of a shock to be shown into an empty, concrete floored room by a fairly confused night guard. We were all too tired to care however and promptly layered up and curled up in our sleeping bags.

We were woken at 6.30 (meaning most of us had had about two and a half hours sleep) and went across the path to eat a breakfast of plantains and eggs before kitting up, meeting our guides and mules and setting off in the blissfully cold, fresh morning air.

After a fairly flat 6km through jungle that felt like it should be from a scene in Jurassic Park, the path began to incline and within an hour or so we were up in the mountains surrounded by green ferns and small pine trees. Fiona and I forged ahead loving every second of the walk up through the clean mountain air, of feeling our muscles being pushed as we propelled ourselves up the red clay paths. 

Fiona - the PT art teacher at Bombita

As we got higher we walked up into the cloud that had built up at the top of the mountain and our view was obscured by mist which made the dead trees stand out against the milky background as humming birds flitted from shrub to shrub. Suddenly the thunder that had been rumbling ominously for a while broke into torrential rain. It was so hard that it was like having a shower with your clothes on. Whilst we scrambled to put our jackets and rain covers on, our guide seemed totally un-phased and promptly put on what looked like a bin bag and proceeded to lead the mules up the mountain. Whilst this for me was one of the hardest parts of the climb, walking up what had essentially become a clay-soaked river with rain pelting down and thunder crashing overhead for about an hour, it was still great. There was no escape, you have to keep walking, you are at the mercy of the elements and there is nothing you can do about it. As we reached the part where the path curved round the mountain the rain eased and we treated ourselves to a snickers bar (probably the best I’ve ever had) as we waited for the others to catch up. From then on the path wound down through sparse pine forests wrapped in mist that are only just recovering after a wild fire destroyed the hillside a few years previously. The air was so still and cold the only thing you could hear was the trudge of feet and hooves and the distant rumble of thunder as the storm raged further down the mountain. The humming birds appeared again and danced around us like fairies in the mist as we walked and chatted along the red path.

Me with Ron, Assistant Director at La Hoya

 

Dusk began to set in as we rounded the hillside towards camp. We were all freezing and soaked and the sight of cabins and log fires coupled with the promise of hot chocolate was the best feeling ever. As we waited for dinner we sat by the big log fire in our dry clothes and spread our sodden shoes and clothes out to dry. The cold, mosquito-free night air was fantastic and coupled with the swaying pine trees and burning log fire it felt like we were deep in the heart of Scandinavia rather than in the Caribbean. As we ate our pasta and drank hot chocolate in our sleeping bags on the wooden floor of the cabin we listened to the laughter of the other groups gathered round the fire outside. Bliss.

We got up into the cold morning air at around 6.30 the next morning after a fairly chilly, hard night’s sleep and watched the sun rise over the hills in the valley below us. After breakfast of chocolate porridge we were ready to make the last 5km push up the mountain. I went ahead grazing almost constantly on boiled sweets and energy bars turning occasionally to look at the sun-soaked landscape rising around me. After about two hours I caught up with two American girls who had come up the mountain behind us the day before and we made the last push to the summit.

 We reached the top at about 9.20am. At the summit there is a bronze bust of Duarte, a white cross and a Dominican flag. The views were amazing and I sat in awe with the other girls until first Ron then Fiona then the others arrived. At each arrival there was a sense of relief and amazement as they sat down and took in the awesome panorama. We stayed at the top for about half an hour, taking pictures, and eating before heading back down the steep path to camp.
                        

After a fairly lazy afternoon of sleeping, stretching and chatting by the fire in the late afternoon mist we started to layer up for the cold night ahead. We toasted bread and cheese over the fire (which takes some skill) and ate marshmallows as the stars came out. With quite a bit of enticing we even managed to get all the guides to try at least one marshmallow.

After one final chilly night we headed back down the mountain at 6.30am. The sun had just risen as we walked along the winding path away from the now quiet and deserted camp and it bathed the pine-covered valley and mountains behind in a golden light. The national park lay vast, empty and still all around us.

The walk down hill was steep and winding and it hurt a whole new set of muscles! As we descended the trees became denser, the air warmer and a we could hear the regular afternoon thunder storm begin to gather momentum on the mountain tops above us. Fiona and I found ourselves at the front and, as the thunder got louder, we hurried along through the green jungle at the base of the mountain. After about an hour we met a man carrying what looked like half a tree and asked how long we had left, he said that it was about five minutes down the path before giving a creepy smile and stroking my arm... back to reality!

Despite our aching feet we ran the last 100 meters and crossed the bridge together. The others arrived five minutes later just before the torrential rain forced us to retreat under the shelter of the building that we had stayed in on the first night. We ate lunch and divided up the remaining food between ourselves and the guides before saying goodbye and squishing ourselves back into Braulio's car which he had driven to collect us.

After another fairly terrifying journey we arrived home at about 10pm and crawled into bed to get as much sleep as possible before 5th grade first thing the next morning. Despite the fact that we spent the next few days limping around and wincing whenever we had to struggle out of a sitting position it was totally worth it. I’m now having Pico Duarte withdrawal symptoms; I miss the cold, the log fires, the humming birds and the fresh, mosquito-free air. I miss the weather-beaten guides and sturdy mules, the quiet mountains and the beautiful scenery. However, despite the fact that it was hard to come home it is great to be back teaching again, its nice to be able to put my head on a pillow and have a shower. Plus, it did feel a bit weird not to be hissed at by a man for at least three days!

We had an amazing trip and have already started to plan more like it for the future.  

  

Bryony, Fiona, Alice and Ruth