It draws a gauzy veil across the landscape, dulling the daylight that just moments before warmed the deck of my riverfront cabin, and fills the valley with a peculiar, powerful percussion. Rain ricochets off waxy foliage, drums onto craggy rocks and hammers against my body. A scent is rising from the earth in response to the water: something musty and mineral I wish I could bottle. Cowering from the storm, I watch almighty nature in conversation with itself; thunder answering lightning, streams feeding the banks of the thirsty Macal River. When, at dawn, the weather wears itself out, the sun reappears and the birds take up their chorus, it feels like something in the world has reset. It’s a dramatic welcome to the wild, western flank of Belize.
“Later in the season, when the river rises so high it floods this road, we just canoe the guests across — or put up zip-lines between the trees,” my guide Fernando Obando tells me as we navigate a water-logged road away from Black Rock Lodge in his 4x4. “We don’t stop for a little rain.” The off-grid collection of cabins, powered by water turbines and a new rack of solar panels, is a stalwart of the country’s blossoming ecotourism scene and a hotspot for birders in the know. But today we’re heading several hours south.
Fernando drives us on rough roads through ranchland towards Mountain Pine Ridge Forest Reserve, home to yawning caves that snake into the granite massif, waterfalls that trip over lofty cliffs and a complex of freshwater pools where we stop off to swim. Further still, at the end of a rutted jungle track, lies our final destination: an ancient Maya site so vast and significant it could upstage
