Paseo a la Chorrera Guadual (Outing to the Guadual Waterfall)

For two decades now, one of the roles I play in this little town is to inspire leisure -- or at least to motivate very hardworking people to take a day off to do something fun, usually involving a hike. I don't believe I uniquely cultivated that role; after all, I am not particularly adventurous myself. It is something about being a foreigner, a gringo, that moves my friends to want to share the natural beauty of their home and grants them permission to take the time to do so.  

And so, we went on a little adventure on Saturday.  A classic, awesome, perfect La Josefina adventure. 

As most adventures begin around here, it started off with piling into the back of a pick-up truck, a camioneta. As you might imagine, my carseat-trained kiddos find this mode of transportation to be a most exhilirating treat (and I have to quiet my concerns about motor vehicle safety, knowing full-well that we would never ever do this in the States). Interestingly, since our last visit here five years ago, camionetas have overtaken buses as the means of local transportation, which means there is no longer regular bus service through town. I'm bummed about that because 1) bus travel is safer and 2) if the camioneta cabin is full -- which it often is -- you inevitably wind up in the back with the wind in your face and in your hair. Plus Brynna and I keep forgetting our hair ties. :)

Luckily, we adults got to ride inside the truck this time. And so, the camioneta took us to a little school called Guadual way up in the hills above Pucayacu, the next town over from where we live. It was about an hour's bumpy journey. Josue, who was driving, was five years old when I first lived here. He was a petite quiet kid who has matured into a petite quiet young man and father. Paul and I often chuckle at the number of four-wheel drive vehicles in the States that never go off road. Not true here. The roads are off road. And Josue navigated the challenging roads with tremendous skill.

We bumped along the muddy road and through ravines with rocks and streams, following the winding river, passing fincas with banana and sugar cane, happy cows grazing in green fields, cement block structures housing pigs, traditional wooden houses on stilts, and a brand new community structure built to grind and prepare the panela (the crude sugar that comes from the sugar cane). When we had traveled for some time, we stopped and hollered to a man across a rickety suspension bridge, asking for directions. He waved us onward.

At the top of the road was a beautiful, sturdier suspension bridge that launched us on our trail. And, shockingly, the sun shone brightly out over the cloud forest, giving us a rare glimpse at blue sky and making us all wish we had brought sun hats. The boys whined about wearing long pants, but Lucia assured us that they would be happy to have their legs covered when traipsing through the tall grasses ahead.

There are few marked trails in these parts; most things that appear to be trails are paths locals use to traverse their fincas and don't lead to recreational destinations like waterfalls. When hiking, it's prudent to carry a machete -- not only to peel an orange or two, but also to chop yourself new trail in case the need arises. Always plan to get your feet wet. And expect mud.

On the way up, we ran into an unaccompanied burro carrying a heavy load of wood planks down the mountain; about ten minutes behind, a boy younger than Dillon trailed the burro. He offered to come back once he unloaded the planks to help us find our way. We stopped in the shade to eat oranges (my kids are obsessed) and encountered another local woman who clarified the path-- she warned us to follow the river and not to take the trail up the mountain. She said that not too long ago, a group looking for the waterfall never found it; instead, they were lost for hours wandering in the fincas above. 

The kids all did great. As expected, there was plenty of mud. Several times, we caught glimpses of a strikingly beautiful blue butterfly hovering over the river.  The path was clearer than most, and eventually we hit a crossroads where the trail clearly went up. We humans love well worn paths, and so after a brief detour up (we couldn't help ourselves), we ultimately heeded the woman's advice and chose the low trail -- straight into the river. Some of us macheted our way at the edge, others tromped directly through the water, and soon, we made it to the lower falls. Totally unmarked and unadulteratedly beautiful. As any good waterfall tends to be, it was loud; a small deep pool lay at its feet. 

As is the habit of Paul and my people here, there was a pressing desire to cross the first pool and climb further to get the the large waterfall above. I am not so naturally inclined. So after a brief respite and plenty of discussion, we crossed the river (Brynna and I  refused to cross at first, but ultimately gave into the peer pressure). Conveniently, a previous visitor had left a well-anchored rope with knots, which we used to scramble up the steep, slippery hillside. Jonah went ahead and came back exclaiming over the majesty and beauty of the larger falls above us. "Come," he said, "Come see!" And he was totally right. 

When we arrived at our destination, Paul realized we were actually inside the "Reserva Iliniza" (Iliniza Reserve). I need to read more about what "the reserve" actually means here because the convergance of private land and park land is a complex political construct in countries where the government doesn't do a good job of dilineating, and people need to eat to live. I remember hearing about this years ago as a Peace Corps Volunteer. Some parks are more park-like than others. Clearly, there is no park service marking trails or constructing bathrooms. But could they?

A beautiful waterfall at the top of a mountain is the best reward for a well-earned hike. Lunch is second best. And I will never get accustomed to what happens next here. Out of kids' backpacks come pots and pans filled with chicken and rice; out of one young girl's pack, even a china plate. Real spoons. Out of our backpack, a traditional American hiking lunch: bread, cheese, cucumber, tomato, popcorn, and slices of watermelon. My friends all consider our meal insufficient (as long as it doesn't contain rice) and share their rice generously. 

We ate a little of everything.

On the way back down, we stopped again at the first pool -- deep and clear -- and, even though it was cooler than when we first arrived, some people coulnd't help but jump in. Including Paul. Brynna stripped down to her undies. I was tempted but didn't have the right bathing attire. Such an impediment never stopped an Ecuadorian; most of the kids went right in in their clothes and figured the rest out later. Even a shivering Dillon. Everyone had a blast. 

Just as we were wrapping up our time there, a 75-year-old grandma arrived with her family (they were the only other people on the trail that day). She was very proud of having accomplished the journey, and I was proud of her too! People are amazing. 

We tromped back down the hillside, some with squishier shoes than others, collecting plants and flowers along the way. And, magically (or not so magically) another camioneta was there waiting to take us home. 

Happy trails.