I nearly slid down another steep, mud-slick slope, laughing and clutching the walking stick my guide had cut from a small tree. “I thought you said this was the dry season,” I called to him over the steady patter of rain. He just shrugged and smiled back.
Not that I minded the rain. It took the edge off the suffocating humidity and distracted me from the constant brutal ups and downs that were straining every muscle in my legs.
It was mid-April, and my husband and I were in the middle of hiking the three-day, 35-mile Victoria Peak Route in Cockscomb Basin Wildlife Sanctuary (CWBS) and Jaguar Preserve, a trek only accessible during the short dry season. CBWS is the world’s first jaguar preserve and home to a variety of other big cats including pumas, ocelots, margays, and jaguarundis, though the animals are rarely spotted by hikers. We’d just summited the infamous Victoria Peak, one of Belize’s most challenging trails. That evening, we’d spend the second night in a hammock in the jungle with no other humans in sight.
Despite the fire in my legs, I was on cloud nine. This was an adventure worth traveling for.
The Trip: What to Expect in Cockscomb Basin
The three-day backpacking trip started with a shuttle ride from our comfortable hotel room overlooking the beach at Jaguar Reef. It was 5:30 a.m., and to the west, a thin haze of fog hovered in the negative space between tall grasses and the languid tips of palm fronds.
Arriving at Cockscomb Basin Wildlife Sanctuary and Jaguar Preserve, we met our guides for the trek: Macario Cucul and Alex Mes. All treks in the sanctuary require two guides because the final push to the summit of Victoria Peak requires roped climbing and two experienced belayers. And not just any guides will do. The Belize Audubon Society, which manages the Victoria Peak Trail, requires a special certification and route-specific training before guides can lead expeditions here.
The trail is only hikeable during the dry season between March and May. The rest of the year, the route turns into creeks or waterfalls, and the way is impassable. All of that, plus a restriction that only allows one group at a time to overnight in the backcountry, means only around 150 people complete the trek each year. That guarantees seclusion while also protecting wildlife within the sanctuary. So as the four of us embarked on day one, it didn’t take long to feel like we were in true wilderness.
Day One: Welcome to the jungle
The jungle was thick—with both vegetation and moisture. As we hiked, we were serenaded by birdsong and the harmonious hum of grasshoppers as long as my hand. The heavy canopy shielded us from direct sun, but it was already sweltering in mid-April.
We huffed uphill, avoiding ant highways and stopping at frequent creek crossings to filter water. The humidity felt like hiking in a wet sleeping bag (especially for a desert rat like me). I was 4,000 feet closer to sea level than I am at home, but still it felt harder to breathe with that much moisture in the air. My clothes clung onerously to my body.
It’s a long 12.5 miles to the first camp. Along the way, our guides stopped to point out macaws in the trees, tarantulas in logs, or to identify plants, of which they had intimate knowledge. At night we camped in a simple, open-air shelter with a roof and beams on which we slung our camping hammocks—tents aren’t recommended.
There are two camps along the route, located at kilometers 12 and 19. However, we overnighted at the same one—at 19 km—both nights. As the sun set, our guides lit a fire and boiled water in an oversized pot, and we rehydrated our individual meals. Travelers must bring all their own food. That didn’t stop us from gathering around the picnic table and dining together. We swapped stories, inspected each other’s dinner options, and learned about one another’s cultures.
By hiker midnight (9:00 p.m.), we were already curled in our ultralight sleeping bags, nestled inside bug nets. Ahead of us was our final test: Our push to the summit of Victoria Peak and back.
Day Two: Summit day
In the morning, chipper birdsong started like clockwork just before sunrise. As we mounted headlamps on our foreheads, I couldn’t tell whether the specks of light gleaming back were the reflection of water droplets from last night’s rain or a hundred tiny spider eyes.
As the sun rose, more relentless ups and downs on the 5 miles to the nation’s second-highest mountain clawed at not only my muscles, but my resolve. Victoria Peak tops out at just 3,675 feet—a modest height by many hikers’ standards. However, the cumulative gain over the three-day hike is closer to 9,500 feet. Paired with slopes that were often steeper than 45 degrees, it made for slow going (and muddy behinds).
The final vertical push to the peak was a delightfully divergent challenge. Wearing harnesses and helmets, we scrambled up sheer rock faces using ropes and side-stepped along precarious cliffs, pulling ourselves upward. Expansive views of the jungle, Maya mountains, and sea to the east glowed below us, a fresh perspective that promised the peak was near.
By the time I reached the top, my arms were burning as much as my legs. We took celebratory selfies and signed the trail register. Then, we inhaled calorie-dense snacks before storm clouds rolled in. It started raining as we prepared to descend. At several intervals, the only things that kept me from sliding down a tumble of rock-turned-waterfall were my own arms clinging to my rope and one toe planted on a hold half the size of a deck of cards. I smiled nearly the whole wet, rolling route back to camp.
Day Three: Heading Out
By the time we returned to Cockscomb Basin on day three, soggy feet and all, I reveled in a deep and exhaustion-ringed cloud of wonder and pride. I was thrilled an expedition like this exists: a singular, wild, wonderful, uncrowded adventure open for exploration during such a small window each year. That it supports local guides and wildlife preservation is a cherry on top.
It was the most difficult journey I’d completed in a while. If I were to do it again, I would cram more snacks and extra socks into my pack and spend more time training on steep slopes. But despite the challenge, I’m already scheming a return trip—just as soon as the sharper corners of my memory soften, of course.
Plan it:
When to go: March to May, give or take a few weeks before or after (dry season)
Where to stay: Almond Beach or The Lodge at Jaguar Reef, Hopkins, Belize
How to book: Visit https://belizeaudubon.org/vpnm/ and email info@belizeaudubon.org
Cost: About $550 to $650 USD per person; fees include two guides and wildlife sanctuary day-use fees that go directly to protecting and supporting the park.
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