The Dictator's Highway by Justin Walker

Author:Justin Walker [Walker, Justin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781483546865
Published: 2015-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

A sign on the gate advised of an entrance fee but there was no-one to collect it. I started down the trail, crossing a gurgling brook on a dilapidated timber bridge. Spots of rain began to fall. Ahead was a long walk through beautiful mountains, and the prospect of two days off the road boosted my spirits.

Traversing a hillside, the trail passed a row of derelict shacks and descended into woodland. The terrain was friendly, and only a series of wide streams posed any difficulty on that first afternoon. Other national park authorities might have constructed bridges but apparently not this one. On the first occasion, I managed to keep my feet dry by stepping between prominent stones onto a central bank of pebbles and then shuffling over a fallen tree. But for three subsequent streams there was no such assistance, and I resorted to removing shoes and socks in order to wade through. The icy water urged haste but the stony stream bed and the burden of a heavy pack both prevented it. After each crossing, I sat on the bank to massage my shivering, numb feet before re-shoeing for the onward hike.

The rocky pinnacles of Cerro Castillo were far ahead, seen through a haze of falling rain. The woods were eerily quiet with a peculiar absence of birdsong. Green foliage showed no sign of the caterpillar infestation that had decimated the forest around Puerto Guadal. A group of brown-and-white cows reacted as if this was the first time they’d ever seen a human; they bounded off in a startled manner to a safe distance where they turned and stared as if transfixed. The tree cover grew dense, and the gently ascending trail became increasingly muddy. After a creek, a marsh and a dark pond, it led at last to a warden’s hut.

The guardaparque welcomed me to his lair and collected the park fee. We drank mate together, enjoying the fire burning in his estufa.

‘Why are there no bridges?’ I asked.

‘This is hiking,’ he said. ‘It needs to be a genuine outdoor experience. If we built bridges over the rivers, it would be too easy.’

I wasn’t convinced. Hiking can be sufficiently exerting without the obligation to catch foot pneumonia.

‘How much food are you carrying?’ he checked, before going on to advise taking supplies for the expected duration of the hike plus an extra day. ‘You can drink any running water,’ he added, ‘but avoid the standing water.’

I asked about the weather.

‘You’ll have plenty of rain in the coming days, but only showers, mixed in with dry spells. The most important thing is to cross the high passes early in the day. The wind gets pretty strong in the afternoon.’

Sufficient daylight remained to reach the next camping area, another three or four kilometres ahead on a low, flat island in the river. There, the water ran fast and deep on one side, but the nearer channels were shallow and easy to jump. The location didn’t appear to be prone to flooding, so I pitched my tent on the bank and ate.

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