Woody’s Expedition to the Lost City in Colombia
Climbing steep mountains, trekking through wild jungle in unbearable heat, tramping through illegal cocaine plantations, bathing in mountain streams and having meetings with indigenous Indians were just some of the moments I experienced on my exciting expedition to the Lost City of The Tairona Indians in Northern Colombia.
With two pack mules fully laden with sacks of food and containers of water, we prepared to begin our journey to the Lost City high in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
There were three of us, me and two professional German climbers, with the intention of becoming the first people to climb to the Lost City. A guide from Santa Marta named Miguel Ramirez led the way. A thin sprightly man with a nanny goat beard who only spoke Spanish, he was an experienced man in these parts. His wife, nicknamed ‘Gordita’ and two other Colombians carried equipment, led the mules and looked after our needs. We were fully equipped and even had a walki talkie to keep in contact with the local police and syringes and medicine in case of snake bites. Miguel carried both a long machete and a handgun.
We set off on a journey through the foothills and into the jungle covered mountains of the Sierra Nevada which ultimately took six days of tramping through thick vegetation, following mountain paths and climbing steep slopes in temperatures soaring above 100 degrees Fahrenheit. We passed through several small hamlets during the early part of the journey and spent the first night sleeping in a wooden shack with piglets grunting and running around the floor of the building. Before darkness fell two teams of Colombian Indians played a game of football on a hastily prepared football pitch with goals at each end, adjacent to the building which generated some interest.
After our mules had temporarily run off into the jungle with our equipment and had to be recaptured, we made our way higher into the mountains the following morning. Conditions became tougher, the slopes became steeper, the jungle canopy thicker and torrential rain at night caused the ground to become mud for the first part of the following day. This made both walking and climbing hazardous and tiring. Upon the arrival of daylight the mountains and jungle were bathed in a floating white mist while monkeys hooted in the trees. Early morning was the best part of the day. Colourful birds occasionally perched on nearby branches and huge blue or yellow butterflies fluttered past as we walked freely through the undergrowth.
Late on the second day we stumbled into a Cogi Indian village. The Indians lived in huts with animals and chickens running around the vicinity. We stayed there for a while and spoke in Spanish with several of the Indians who wore cream coloured traditional clothes with upturned flower pot like hats covering their black shoulder length hair. They were very passive, treated us with suspicion and took cigarettes from us. One of them even shared some Agua Diente with us and became so drunk that he performed a wild dance that was amusing to watch and sent my Colombian colleagues into rapturous fits of laughter.
We left the village and continued through the thick jungle for several hours, hot and tired after a long day walking and climbing. We reached a mountain stream and bathed under a cold waterfall which refreshed our dirty, sweat drenched bodies. Being fresh and pure the water was also drinkable so we used the site for our encampment. Hammocks were slung up between trees, plastic covers were erected above as protection from the rain, a fire lit and food prepared by our guides. I passed the evening watching dozens of insects rush towards the top of my lighted candle to be incinerated after being attracted by the light. Fireflies illuminated the night sky like little moving luminous spots against a dark background before torrential rain set in for the night.
On the fourth morning we left the two pack mules on a piece of rough ground tied to poles with sufficient grazing and water for two days then continued our way on foot until we reached a clearing and passed through a field of cocaine bushes as refreshing drizzle began to fall. We conversed with two Colombian peasants who looked after the crop on behalf of the mafia. They were armed with long machetes and dressed in Wellington boots, straw hats and T-shirts. They knew our guide Miguel so there wasn’t a problem. To escape the drizzle which turned into a torrential downpour we drank tinto with the peasants in a hut close to the cocaine plantation. One of them liked football so I presented him with a photo I had taken of Wembley football stadium for which he was very grateful.
Continuing our journey things became tougher as we climbed steep slopes and had to use ropes to haul ourselves higher into the mountains. For an inexperienced climber like me this was a nerve wracking experience. The labourers who accompanied us climbed with the ease of mountain goats. One of them named Pedro wore an old pair of football boots with plastic studs and no laces but this didn’t affect his climbing ability. He also showed his prowess with a spear by piercing several fishes in mountain streams for evening meals.
At about midday on the fourth gruelling day after six hours of sweat and toil, we reached a vertical mountain face deep in the jungle and high in the Sierra with hundreds of narrow, loose and uneven steps leading to the top. These dated back to the distant past and climbing them was as terrifying as using ropes in earlier experiences but we made the journey in approximately 90 minutes. I remember reaching the top so totally exhausted that I lay down and couldn’t move for several minutes. I took my bag off my back, laid my stick on the ground and relaxed with relief.
Once the others had caught up with me we continued through some beautiful undergrowth consisting of green patterned leaves and beautiful pink flowers which seemed to be growing everywhere. Suddenly, a military figure dressed in olive green and peaked cap emerged slowly from the bushes about thirty metres away with his rifle pointing upwards. He approached us cautiously and asked us in Spanish what we were doing there. He and his colleague who were policemen were murdered several weeks later by the mafia who controlled the cocaine crops in the area. The policemen who guarded the site were flown in and out by helicopter.
Later, I explored the ruins of the Lost City which the Tairona Indians had chosen to inhabit to escape the invading Spanish conquistadors of the 16th century. Walls and irrigation canals formed the main ruins with jungle vegetation growing between. The city had been discovered by the Colombian Department of Archeology in 1976 and was the most recent archaeological discovery in South America. The area was very tranquil and windless and the city occupied several levels. All artifacts had been removed and taken to Bogota but the city layout was interesting to explore and the surrounding jungle views were magnificent. It had been worth the effort to come here.
After several hours in the Lost City and a well earned meal prepared by our guides we began our return journey which became much easier because we were travelling in a downward direction, much less tiring than previously. The worst part of the journey was struggling down the vertical steps which led from the Lost City back into the jungle. This was dangerous and hazardous and one slip could have sent everyone crashing to the ground to almost certain death. After a nervous descent we all reached the bottom safely and continued our journey.
As we walked through the jungle we periodically stopped to pick oranges or pineapples and pause to eat them before continuing our journey. Occasionally, a Cogi Indian appeared to check us but quickly disappeared after a brief appearance. We didn’t have any bad experiences and didn’t meet any FARC guerrillas who inhabited the area and made money from kidnapping people. However, one of my German colleagues had a bad fall into a ravine after slipping off a rock. A police helicopter had to be called. After being secured he was airlifted out and transported to a hospital in Santa Marta where his damaged ankle was fixed.
The remainder of the homeward journey became straightforward as we travelled down the mountain slopes and along the narrow pathways. We were greeted by peasant families who waved from their shacks or adjacent fields on the last leg of the journey until we finally reached our original starting point. From here we were transported by truck to Santa Marta for a well earned rest on the exotic beaches to be found there after an unforgettable journey to the Lost City.
