The thing to remember about Boquete in the rainy season is that you can expect a dry morning, then a wet afternoon and evening, followed by a dry night. We postponed our hike up Barú our second night there because we were concerned about trail conditions and that it would dump on us after experiencing the afternoon's downpour. Turns out it was a fantastic night to climb. While concerned that we had ruined our chances of a rain-free hike we nevertheless committed to hike the next night, despite the weather forecast looking less than promising.

At 11:30pm we climbed into the hostel's van, and the 8 or so of us were driven to the base of the road that led up the mountain. Our pep talk from the hostel staffperson was conducted under the glow of van's headlights. "Go up the road, come back down the road. Some of you have already made a big mistake, putting on all your layers at the beginning. Good luck."

We started off, and the physical fitness of the individual members of the group quickly became apparent. The British boys powerwalked ahead, the girls kept a slower yet steady pace, and my dad and I quickly realized that he was not in the shape we were hoping for. The quick uphill was a struggle. We fell behind.

I kept pace with my dad until about 3am when I finally decided that if I wanted to make it up by sunrise I would have to go on ahead. Hoping that he would be okay and feeling more than a little guilty for leaving him behind I went on, passing my brother and a two of the girls, one of whom seemed to be suffering from altitude sickness. They turned back, and I kept going, wheezing my way up the last stretch to the campground, and then the last stretch to the false summit.


At last I arrived at the radio towers and skirted around them with only the thought in my head of reaching the cross that folks back at the hostel had considered the true destination. The last bit of climbing was more of a scramble over rocks. My hands got colder and colder as I occasionally touched the cold stone to keep my balance. Eventually I made it to the cross just as the light of dawn was beginning to peek through the clouds.


Not ten minutes and twenty-some frantic picture-taking later I hear someone scrambling up the rocks behind me. It's the American girl and we take pictures of each other with half-frozen fingers. A little while later the British boys and a backpacker (as in sleeping overnight in the wilderness kind) come to the top as well and we all spend a frozen half hour or so waiting for the sun to fully rise and hoping we will be able to see both oceans.
We are not that fortunate, but we do see the Pacific Ocean in the distance. I actually could not tell where the clouds ended and the sea began but I nodded along and ooohed and aaahed as we took pictures.