An Invitation to the Unknown
Below, I share a travel chronicle of my experience in the Parque Natural Regional Las Quinchas, where, guided by the agency RoadTrip, I ventured into the secrets of Quebrada La Cristalina, a hidden gem in the southern reaches of the park. "Quinchas," in the indigenous language, means hummingbird—that sacred messenger of the unseen, seemingly guarding the portals to other worlds.
Access to this stream lies about an hour and a half from the municipality of Puerto Boyacá, along an unpaved road connecting to Otanche, a town famous for its long-standing tradition of precious Emeralds. From the moment you begin the journey, it’s clear that you’re leaving behind the noise of the everyday world and stepping into a dimension that only reveals itself to those willing to be transformed.
Into the Jungle, Step by Step
We began our hike on Sunday, May 18th, at 10:00 a.m., under the guidance of Fabio, a wise local. The route started directly through the riverbed, walking against the current, stone by stone, as if each step were a gesture of reverence to the mother jungle.
Over the course of nearly 10 kilometers, we ascended to an altitude of 1,200 meters, crossing the stream again and again, soaking our feet, our skin, and our souls.
Guardians of the Forest
The fauna of this place hides itself, much like the forest’s secrets. Sometimes you hear the calls of unseen birds, but there is one that, if you're lucky, might let itself be seen: the Blue-billed Curassow or Colombian Paujil. This majestic bird, with black plumage, a distinguished crest, and a sky-blue beak, seems more a guardian than a mere inhabitant. Its presence evokes the feeling of standing at the threshold of other dimensions, inaccessible to the hurried eye of the modern world.
Locals also speak of the Andean bear, the Bothrops Atrox snake (known locally as “X”), and tarantulas that dwell silently among the stones and damp undergrowth.
Lunch in Sacred Silence
After navigating a particularly forceful stretch of current with the aid of an anchored rope, we reached a spot where the mule carrying our lunch could go no further. There, in a forest clearing, we paused to eat.
The traditional fiambre—a hearty mix of chicken, rice, plantain, and potato—was wrapped in banana leaves and accompanied by a refreshing lemonade. Eating in silence, seated upon stones and surrounded by the symphony of crickets, birds, and the murmuring stream, felt more like a ritual than a break.
Entering the Cañón de los Guácharos
With renewed energy, we resumed our ascent toward the Cañón de los Guácharos. This sacred place, about 300 meters in length, narrows in some parts to barely a meter wide, with walls rising more than 20 meters high. To pass through it was to enter the living womb of the Earth.
The current, powerful and at times impassable even when swimming, pushed us back—as if the canyon itself were testing our intentions. The faint light, the deafening echo of the water, and the humidity that made the black stone walls glisten like obsidian created an atmosphere that defied logic. We were visitors in another dimension.
A Test of Spirit and Trust
We tried to press forward along the rock walls, feeling for handholds with a mixture of fear and respect. Any shadow or texture could be a tarantula, a snake—or the spirit of the canyon itself. Eventually, we overcame the most challenging part and passed the rope to a shallower section.
But the challenge was not over: the roar of the water amplified through the echo, and every step among the submerged stones became an exercise in blind trust.
Where the Birds of Twilight Fly
Suddenly, above us, Guácharos began to fly overhead—nocturnal birds with brown plumage and an owl-like appearance, dwellers of caves and canyons' twilight. They flew with magical precision, gliding between the cliffs where they nest.
The air was tinged with the scent of sulfur, like an ancestral memory, and everything took on the feel of a lucid dream.
Surrendering to the Canyon
Upon reaching the deepest point, with water nearly up to our waists, we decided to surrender to it all. Floating on our backs, eyes fixed on the narrow opening where light poured in, the known world began to dissolve.
Thoughts vanished, time ceased to be measured, and the mind drifted into the eternal present of water and stone. The Guácharos flew above us like keepers of the forest’s secrets, while the canyon—patient and eternal—slowly returned us to the world.
Emerging Transformed
We made our way back downstream, descending once more through Quebrada La Cristalina. We knew something within us had changed.
As Heraclitus once said, “No one bathes in the same river twice,” and likewise, no one returns from the Cañón de los Guácharos the same as before.
By Humberto Goméz