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December 2000
The following is an earlier version, not the final published copy.
by Jon Kohl
The clouds break apart and a mountain peak appears: Pico Bonito, all 7,988 feet of it, looms over us like a giant Gulliver as we gaze up from our vantage point in the downtown La Ceiba, a port city on Honduras' Caribbean coast.
The mountain commands the landscape where only a mere five miles from the beach in some places, the mountainside rockets up. Forty-six rivers course down the second largest national park in Honduras. Even though Pico Bonito is the fourth highest, Celaque — the first — is a stroll in the park by comparison, taking only seven hours to summit. In turn Pico Bonito demands five days up, four days down; and only 8 teams have ever reached the top. Even the inhabitants are huge. According to legend, a race of men living at the top stand 12 to 15 feet tall.
Determined to take our best shot, we march to the park office. There we meet guide German Martinez, the only known human to have conquered Pico Bonito four times. German convinces us of a better option for one-day thrill seekers. “We make in four hours,” he says using an English he learned a couple of years ago in a bilingual nature guide training program run by an Arlington, Virginia-based conservation group, RARE Center for Tropical Conservation.
We agree that our best chance is to bubble off some nitrogen at one of Honduras’s most photographed waterfalls. So we grab German and hop into our rented Toyota and head for the mountains.
As we drive along the highway running parallel between the coast and Pico Bonito, we pass through massive pineapple fields on one side and grapefruit on the other. The pineapple fields stretch from highway’s edge for a mile until bumping up against Pico Bonito’s fast rising forest frontier.
We turn down a dirt road traversing one field until we reach the trailhead. In perfect Pico Bonito form, our first step is up a forested hill. About 10 minutes into the hike, the Zacate River starts to tease us with a couple of small waterfalls. As the dense, damp forest air mixes with a robust sweat, we daydream of cool island breezes.
The trail snakes left and then right, each time a massive tree standing in its way. After a 20-minute jaunt, we climb down a natural rock staircase to a gravelly stream. "This waterfall, you see swiffs fly," says German, pointing to the fast flying swifts that nest in a cave under the lip of the waterfall. Over the top, water rushes around a beach ball-sized boulder, pouring 15 feet into a water hole.
We make our way back to the trail and continue under the thick canopy, light sprinkling through the branches. We traipse for 45 minutes more before spying Morpho cipris, the big blue butterfly with a metallic iridescence unmatched by any other insect in the world.
Eventually, we turn a bend and light surges through a giant hole in the treetops. "Bienvenidos a Waterfall Zacate!" proclaims German.
The water cascades off a precipice, five stories high, into a deep pool. The light catches the mist and scatters over a rock prominence that juts out of the water, beckoning us to climb up and dive in. This is why the Ministry of Tourism plasters images of this waterfall over its promo materials. But it strikes me as odd. Why would this mountain allow us such a prize only a couple of hours from the road? Maybe it’s pity. No, it must be an act of generosity I conclude while joining my group on the prominence.
Pico Bonito calls, and with a splash, we disappear into the dark water.