Nomad Travel competition - adventure travel story under 1000 words.

Whose great idea was it to go out for a big night before an early morning hike? Probably mine actually, but hey, I blamed Hannah. After all, she talked me into the trek up Volcan Concepcion. Not that I needed much convincing. I love a good hike, especially in my jandals. Anapurna Circuit, Langtang, Mt Rinjani, Salkantay, I wanted another one to add to the list. A one day walk up this hill in Ometepe...too easy.

Up at dawn, hungover, and completely unprepared for the day ahead, we jumped into the minivan with the guide and a few randoms. Everyone had on proper hiking boots, and there’s me, practically barefoot. It’s always a good way to get a laugh - that crazy kiwi chic. We’re told it’s a challenging eight-hour hike up to 5000 feet, and I'm treating it like a walk in the park. No hat, no sunscreen, no shoes, no problem. 

Excitedly, we headed off, it was a perfect morning and we greeted the rising sun with our carefree banter. After passing through farmlands and along well-beaten tracks, we entered the jungle, then headed up and up through the trees. I was in heaven, feeling confident and striding ahead, so comfy and free from cumbersome, hot footwear. The birds were singing, the monkeys howled, we chatted and laughed, I was in my element.

It began getting steeper and more challenging as we marched on and after a few hours we were basically climbing vertically. A cool wind picked up and reminded us of our human fragility. Once we hit the shale-covered, precipitous slope, it was blowing a gale. The risk was apparent to me and I felt nervous but I wanted to get to the top so I kept going, very slowly. I knew what might happen if I slipped so I stayed close to the ground, while the wind swirled around me. Unfortunately it doesn't matter how careful you are, when you're in jandals, on steep shale, the possibility of sliding is very real. When it happened, it was fast.

While everyone else was powering on towards the summit in their appropriate footwear, I was experiencing a crash course in velocity and acceleration. At 1500 metres above sea level, I was careering down a baron cliff at a very concerning pace, desperately looking for something to grasp. Thank God for a small outcrop of long grass. With its wispy stalks few and far between, it looked as hopeless as I felt. I grabbed at it, totally expecting it to loosen from the dirt and come for the ride with me. But no, it was tough stuff, it didn’t falter. I clung on and managed to dig my feet into the gravel. Heart racing and legs like jelly, I glanced down and shuddered at the gravity of my situation. Feeling very lucky to be stationary, I assessed my predicament and built up the courage to continue descending, very carefully.

Thankfully, a tall, fit German guy, fully equipped with poles and camelbak, was on his way back down. I tagged along until we hit the tree line, then he was off like a shot. Todo bien. I grabbed a nice looking branch for my pole and headed off on my own, full of the joys of life once more. I prefer climbing up mountains rather than heading back down the steep, and sometimes slippery trails but this felt easy after the shale experience. Loving my pole, I charged down, overly confident and not paying nearly attention to what was underfoot.

Climbing over big old tree roots, my trusty branch out in front easily supported my weight. I was rhythmically bounding along, swinging my branch ahead and jumping down towards it, conveniently forgetting about all the times my jandals had twisted, broken, or tripped me up in the past. Then it happened, my right jandal got caught and twisted under a gnarly entanglement of roots; it stayed there, and my foot freed itself. While that was better than it also getting stuck and my ankle twisting, my trajectory and pace were suddenly impacted.

There was nothing I could do, my body was already in motion, hurtling forward with all my energy toward my pole that was planted below. I was in mid-air and about to impale myself on it, there was no going back. I screamed in agony as it plunged into my pelvis with great force. I didn't even want to look, as the pain convinced me that the thick old branch had most definitely ripped through my skin and I was probably going to bleed to death.

When I pulled myself together and investigated the damage, I couldn't believe how lucky I was to see that I was only badly grazed and very bruised. Still no one from the group had caught up and I began to convince myself that, not only was I hurt, but I was also lost in the jungle. Exhausted, I fell again, this time landing on my wrist. The thought of it being broken didn’t even phase me. Finally, in the setting sun, as I staggered along tracks I no longer recognised, I saw them, the fields we crossed on the way in. I've never felt such relief. I'd made it, sore, dirty, humbled by nature and looking forward to a nice cold beer.

back to Creative