The Ghost

The Ghost
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Their nick-name for the Land Rover was Hurraca the Spanish name for a bird that is white and blue and has a crown on its head. On my walk that morning while crossing the suspension bridge from my bungalow to the lodge at Morgan’s Rock, I had seen a kingfisher in the tree canopy; I could see the similarity. The truck was painted blue and white and had an “observation cap” with an ornamental iron railing, its crown. It was a retired ambulance that the eco-lodge had purchased for driving the guests around the dirt roads of the hacienda. Fabian, my driver and Juan, my guide were taking me on the Los Miradores tour. (Los Miradores translates “the viewing”, an overlook)

There are thousands of trees three to five years old now
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When we left the lodge, Fabian had to push the truck so it started rolling down an incline behind the lodge, jump in, put it in gear and pop the clutch to get it started. Even in the “lap of luxury” of the lodge, I was reminded that I was in a third world country. I was thinking about getting stranded miles from the lodge, but so was Fabian. As I later observed, he always parked on an incline. On the ride through the dry forest Fabian told me the story of the truck. Before the Lodge was open, the manager had a staff meeting one evening. While they were in the lodge a horn started blowing. They went outside to investigate and discovered the horn on the truck blowing. They disconnected the battery, but the horn continued to blow. They decided that the truck was haunted; possessed by the spirits of the patients who rode in the back of the ambulance, but didn’t make it to the hospital. Although they tried several times unsuccessfully to get me to pronounce the Spanish nick-name Hurracacorrectly I couldn’t get my mouth to do it. I started to referring to the Land Rover as “the ghost”, not only because of their story, but also concerned that it would, at any time, give up the ghost.

We were driving over rough roads and switch backs up the side of the mountain to the highest point on the hacienda. Fabian, carefully maneuvering to avoid the ruts, potholes and the abrupt drop-off, also had to be vigilant to avoid another road hazard, free range cattle in the roadway. I had read, from our final destination you can see Lake Nicaragua to the east and the Pacific Ocean to the west. The jarring journeys through this unfamiliar terrain whetted my growing excitement. This was truly the type of adventure I had traveled to Nicaragua to experience.

As his arm pointed to the west, I could see the point of land distinguishable by its unique pyramid shape where it met the Pacific
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Weaving our way through the forest, Fabian and Juan told me how the landowner was engaged in a massive reforestation project. In the last five years 1.5 million trees have been planted on this 2,000 hectare ranch (5,000 acres) to replace the first growth trees that had been logged before Clément and Claire Poncon owned the property. The success of the project is pronounced. There are thousands of trees three to five years old now, ten to fifteen feet tall as evidenced by every clearing we passed. The hacienda can also measure their achievement by the fact that the indigenous birds and animals are coming back. Costa Rica has had an environmental conscience for many years, but not so in Nicaragua . The destruction of the forests, obliteration of habitat and animals hunted to extinction is the legacy of environmental apathy which is a blight on this otherwise beautiful land.

Looking to the east we could see the island of Ometepe formed by two Volcanoes Concepción and Maderas off shore in Lake Nicaragua
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We wound our way up to the end of the road and Fabian stopped “the Ghost” but left it running. We got out and I walked around behind the truck. Fabian and Juan were excitedly conversing in rapid Spanish. Juan showed me what they had discovered. On the backside of a tree at the beginning of the trail we would climb to the overlook was a mass of caterpillars. They covered one side of the tree, woven together like whalebone corduroy. Each was about five or six inches long and the circumference of your little finger. Fabian made an apothecary fold from a sheet of paper he found in the truck and Juan carefully collected five or six of them as specimens. They told me they were going to take them back to the butterfly farm on the hacienda and hatch them to see what kind of butterfly they were. Juan had worked at the butterfly farm and did not recognize these larvae. Their excitement was palpable and reinforced my previous notion that there was true concern for wildlife with the Nico, as the Nicaraguan people are called. Juan had told me that when he first arrived at the hacienda in anticipation of getting a job at the lodge, he had worked on the re-forestation project. He worked with a crew cutting the underbrush away from the new trees. One time a poisonous snake slithered between his legs. When I asked if he had killed it with the machete, he looked at me with a quizzical look, “Why? It was not a threat to me; it just went on its way.”

Road Haszard
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Fabian was going to circle the mountain on the road with the truck and meet us on the other side; Juan and I were going to climb to the summit for “Los Miradores”. As we started up the wooded trail, which had been freshly cut from the forest, Juan cautioned me to follow directly behind him, watching where I stepped. “If you need to take a picture, stop; do not walk without watching the trail.” Snakes, I assumed. As we ascended, the warm breeze of the Pacific was on our backs, we were traveling east, and as we reached the peak the cooler breeze of the Caribbean was on our faces. We were straddling the divide between both oceans. Juan stopped to draw a map so he could explain the history of this very spot. Looking to the east we could see the island of Ometepe formed by two Volcanoes, Concepción and Maderas off shore in Lake Nicaragua . A navigable river, the San Juan , flows from Lake Nicaragua to the Caribbean Sea . The proposed waterway between the Atlantic and the Pacific oceans prior to the construction of the Panama Canal was sited right before us. It would have been 278 km (173 mi) long and would generally follow the San Juan River , then go through Lake Nicaragua near the southern shore and across the narrow isthmus of Rivas to the Pacific Ocean . With his hand drawn map and a sweep of his left hand Juan showed me “the canal that never was”. As his arm pointed to the west, I could see the point of land distinguishable by its unique pyramid shape where it met the Pacific Ocean . It was the north end of the hacienda’s beach where I was staying. We stood gazing at the striking panorama; the volcanic island of the lake, its peaks shrouded in steam clouds and a short distance away the Pacific Ocean . The lodge, “Morgan’s Rock” was named after Senator John Tyler Morgan of Louisiana , who favored the plan to build the canal on this site and had lobbied hard and lost.

Juan stopped to draw a map so he could explain the history of this very spot
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We started down a steep trail to rendezvous with Fabian and “the Ghost”. He was waiting a short distance down the trail with the truck pointing downhill for the needed roll to “jump-start” the reluctant ride. Mentally savoring my experience and the splendid view from the pinnacle of Los Miradores, I rode in silence for awhile. As Fabian made a hairpin turn in the trail his hand bumped the turn signal and turned on the windshield wipers. I crouched, peered through the windshield at the sky and joked “Is it starting to rain?” Fabian looked at me and said “It’s the ghost!”, but from his sheepish grin and the laughter of Juan in the back, I knew they weren’t true believers.