El Cocuy National Park lies within the Colombian Andes in central-northern Colombia at 4,000 metres above sea level. A land of snow capped peaks and rocks the size of buildings, El Cocuy inspires both fear and reverence. Fairly difficult to get to, the long journey has kept the park relatively unspoilt. For years parts of the park where a no-go area as government, guerillas and paramilitaries took turns occupying areas, giving El Cocuy an edge we hadn’t experienced before.
This time we were prepared for the roughly 250 mile, constantly winding night bus journey. Arriving in El Cocuy town in the early hours before any of the shops where open we passed a few people as the cool breeze kept house doors and windows firmly shut. Once we got some sleep we set out for provisions and to figure out how to actually reach the park.
We chanced upon a small provicional market where the park office was conveniently located. We stocked up on info and food and Lauren, thankfully, bought a wooly hat that was clearly meant for her.
Journey by milk truck meant a bumby ride in the back with many stops to load the milk that was often waiting in pails by the side of the road or brought by hand, the same hands that milked the cows.
[the lechero man and his little helper]
The stunning views made up for the lack of comfort as the park drew nearer. At the drop-off point it was a further two hours by foot to our cabin next to the trails we were to take over the weekend.
Our first walk was to Laguna Parada along a series of smaller adjoining lakes. The sun shone brightly. Perhaps the first thing we noticed was the silence of the place. Stretching for miles, the distant mountains imposed themselves and one had to look to the expansive open sky to get a sense of perspective. We took our time walking and chatting along a path with views to either side.
[the plants you can see are called frailejon, a unique paramo plant adapted to the freezing temperatures]
With time on our side we decied to continue up to a path that followed a crevice between two hulking moutain sides. We kept going up. There was something compelling about continuing. Despite the falling in fog, Phil continued to ascend. He felt he just had to continue to see what was a little further up the way. Taking his leave of Lauren he kept looking back until she became an occluded small dot that would disappear and reappear with the swiftly changing weather.
I was definitely frightened even though I was only going a few hundred metres further. My interior monologue was telling me to continue even though at times my body revolted and had me stuck on the spot several time.
When I reached the top, a low bassy sound which i hadn’t really registered made itself felt as the wind was gushing cloud from below the other side and directly into my face. This is the sign I saw as I looked ahead of me knowing that behind the cloudy mist lay a downward path and unimaginable view:
And it reads something like this: Follow at your mercy. Our grandparents had to cross but they never returned. God always forgive, man sometimes, nature never. Take care.
I sucked in the air, engulfed by the din of the wind my mind completely empty. The naked brute reality of nature at her most formidable and terrible struck awe into my body. A moment later I turned around, walking faster than I had approached without looking back.
A shimmering light fell on the mineral rich glacial fed Laguna Pintada as night approached. With no heating of any kind, the cabin – and our room – was so very cold.
The next day we hiked towards El Pulpito del Diablo (The Devil’s Pulpit). Are you now getting a sense of the park’s fiersome reputation. Passing hundreds of frailejons like silent sentinals, we missed a sign and our hike turned into a scramble climb down and later on, back up, a cascade of massive rocks that varied from the size of a car to building wide proportions and appeared as if some giant had decided to push them down the hill.
The picture you see of the rock in the middle of that distant pool was perhaps the size of 26 St Augustines Road, a modest semi-detached house in the leafy suburb of Canterbury.
We descended and turned the corner to behold rushing clouds that we could trace for miles.
And there, incongrously towering next to a snow capped peak was the block like devil’s pulpit. We simply sat and watched for some time before heading back into the spitting rain and difficult climb, trekking back up the spilt rocks. One word kept repeating itself in the back of my mind: intimidating.
We were welcomed back at the cabin with a much needed hot chocolate and got straight into bed to try and keep warm before the simple, but importantly hot dinner.
The next morning, an early rise saw us out and about by 5am to make it back to the road for the 7am milk truck towards the next town Guican, 3 hours away. We were rewarded with epic views of the Devil´s Pulpit.
The milk truck only travels anti-clockwise so it was a great opportunity to see a further stretch of the mountains as we bumped along, around and over the mountains . It was a different truck with new faces and loading a lot more milk than the previous round. The views were absolutely stunning all of the time and it was such a fun and interesting way to travel around this very remote rural area of Colombia.
We arrived at the cute little town of Guican and headed straight towards promised hot springs which after a very cold weekend would be ideal. The walk however ended up being a lot longer than anticipated and the hot springs more like an abandoned swimming pool, closed. We were pointed in the direction of a tiny natural formed pool nearby the complex that was warm enough although a little bit gross with litter around the place. We put the thought of leptospirosis (bacterial infection caused by animal urine in water) to the back of our minds and had a good old wash until tiny wormlike creatures appeared on our skin encouraging us to get dressed just in time to see the local school children running towards a bus back into town in the now pissing rain. We made it.
A hearty meal later, accompanied by King Kong in spanish, we plopped our exhausted bodies onto the night bus back to Bogotá to meet Jane and head to our second joint project.
If you ever venture to Colombia you must do this trip and this website proved enormously helpful in making our arrangements, generously put together by a previous traveller.
