The guarded gateway out of South America was a narrow strip of dense mountains waterlogged trackless jungle known as the Darien Gap.  This was the border region between Colombia and Panama.  A 200mile swath which presented the journey with its first true challenge.  Not just the terrain, with is huge water ways and interlaced swamps, but also be cause it was a conflict zone controlled by the infamous left wing guerrillas group know as the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC).   In 2001 this represented a potential death trap.  The jungle was a no go zone for the government, who clung to out lying territory and villages in a 20 year desperate fight with a ferocious enemy.  Between me, the jungle, and Central America were the FARC units known as the Dragon of Uraba.  T

Synopsis of the Darien Gap
After reaching Medellin Colombia I had one month while waiting for the dry season in the jungle in which to plan for the first of my three gaps.  The reason been, that during the wet season swollen rivers and water ways become a real risk.  It was during this time I met, and was aided in my task by, Catalina Estrada who was to become a big part of my life. 

I faced two major challenges, first, the terrain.  As far as we could tell, there was no account of anyone having walked from Medellin to Panama City before, which made absolute sense, why would you?

  Unsupported and unfunded I had little to no money for logistical concerns limiting my options.  I split the terrain map up into three main types or areas.  First, the road and mountains I would negotiate prier to the gap from Medellin.  This was largely un remarkable terrain if not for the fact it was a heavily contested stretch of road with a violent history.  I had been warned by the military and Police that movement on this road was very dangerous.  An army commander of Colombia’s 1st Division warned me that nothing moves on that road without been observed by these factions, and he was to be proved correct. 

Secondly, the Atrato river.  A huge river that ran South North and effectively cut the Darien Gap off from the rest of Colombia.  This river was as much as a kilometer wide in parts and held a world record for holding the greatest volume of water for a river of its size in the world.  In the area prior to the Darien the river was surrounded by jungle swamps out to about 30-40kms. 

Lastly the jungle of the Gap itself.  This was secondary jungle.  Meaning very dense, unlike primary jungle like one might associate with the Amazon, secondary jungle lacks the high dense canopy that prevents light from reaching the forest floor.  So in a secondary jungle you get a thick wall of vegetation requiring tremendous effort and slow movement complicating the logistics and any plan.  Due to the conflict, the indigenous people where been displaced and what tracks there where, were slowly been over grown and vanishing.  It would also be unwise to use what track remain as this would increase the possibility of capture by warring factions.   With no logistical support, I was going to have to wing it old school and man pack everything I needed for the duration of the trip.  This restricted me to using best I could the infrastructure between Medellin and the Gap, as a complete circumnavigation was not physically possible.   

The next major issue, and of grate concern, was the security situation within Colombia and more notably, the Darien Gap its self.  I was going to have to cross the front line in a war between three major players, the Colombian army, FARC and the right wing Paramilitaries or United Automatic Defense Force (AUC). In deliberation, father and me fell back on what we knew best, our experience in the army.  For want of a better description, It became an ‘escape and evasion’ exercise, I was going to have to sneak right under the noses of these warring factions while traversing an overwhelming environmental challenge.

Between Medellin and the Gap was a heavily contested road controlled in parts by all three players, a road stained red with blood in a history of violence.  I needed to use the road for best possible speed and to resupply.  We decided to dumb down my appearance and try turn my self into a homeless vagrant, some one who looks like you would achieve little by kidnapping him, some one who is effectively worthless.  However, despite this attempt, as warned, I still drew unwelcome attention.  At one point been cornered by an armed group of men in a closed store in the village of Canasgorda who turned out to be AUC members and thankfully had few quarrels with this gringo.  I was intercepted by the AUC twice more on the road.  At one point I was forced to use river beds to avoid a village occupied by FARC in what became a very interesting section of road. 

Eventually ditching the disguise for what we termed ‘jungle mode’ as I switched to focusing on evading groups in the jungle and leaving the road behind.   I made an attempt to forge  my own route to the gap from the road system that I soon abandoned at a place called ‘Casa 40’, beyond which the terrain was unimaginable.  This was a small AUC strong hold 40kms off the road into the jungle and swamps about another 50km from the river Atrato.  The following day I retreated to a second village called Bagira.  Again an AUC and army strong hold that marked the front line and ringed with entrenched troops in battle positions.  This region and the road marked what was labeled the 35th front of 60 front war been fought throughout Colombia.  There was one open route that I could use to reach a small village on the banks of the River Atrato called Riosucio.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unfortunately, Riosucio was under siege and the track, my only option, was held by FARC.  Having secured permission to be here and move beyond this point from the local AUC commander and the army, I now faced the most worrying part of this route, the track.  The locals had warned me that no one goes down the track as the guerrillas will kill anyone they find…and they continued…rather than give away their position with the sound of a gunshot they will put you under the knife gringo!  Filled with warm hearted words and accompanying imagery, the following day the army allowed me to continue onto the track.  They radioed ahead to the soldiers in Riosucio to let them know I was on my way.  The 60km track would be a two day trip and not without its problems.  On occasion I would lose the track due to it been largely overgrown and on the one night I would spend on this track had a close encounter with a 20 man fighting patrol. 

Hidden feet from the track in the jungle camouflaged making no sound or light, at last light a FARC patrol snaked right past.  The real fear been that the next morning I had to travel in the same direction as that patrol.  Not knowing if the patrol was laid up in an ambush potion only a few kilometers further on.  It was a tense day made worst by dehydration and sickness that left me in a sorry state by the time I reached Riosucio.

I stayed with the soldiers for a few days while I now focused on the river.  I estimated about 40kms between me and the first place I might find high ground that could support a fight out of the river and into the jungle and for Panama.  In the jungle the rivers are the highways used for travel by both friend and foe alike.  And from this point I was going to have to use the river to get me to the jungle, without been court, in a kind of extended river crossing.  The plan was simple.  I would use the combat vest I was using at the time as a life jacket by adding empty plastic bottles to the pouches, keeping me buoyant.  Same again for the backpack.

Together and camouflaged I would mix with the reams of floating debris in the river and float for four days down river.  Beyond the river, and its many close encounters, with crocodiles, humans and all manor of things, there was a ten day battle to reach Panama.  Advancing only a few kilometers a day, I cut my way north through a dense mountainous jungle.  By which time my food, and strength, was running out and I was forced to fish and forage for food again.  The long awaited day arrived and I located the Panamanian village of Paya.  Back in the rivers again, I was now remarkably amphibious, before the village of Boca be Cupe.  A tense stand off with armed Panamanian Police, at gun point, defending the village from FARC, upon which time I am detained and held for 18 days in jail before been freed and able to push on out of the jungles and finally, a week later, reach Panama City two moths after I left Medellin Colombia, gap one was in the bag.