Stage One and Two took me out of the gate east along the North Coast, floating up to the Bay Islands. Soon I grew tired of baleadas, and cold showers. I tired of bug bites and inexplicable skin allergies, and getting bumped into by flying things. Tired of being rained on for twenty minutes.

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What is particularly striking about Quirigua, and only becomes more so in retrospect after a visit to Copan, is the amazing size discrepancy between the several enormously large and intricately carved stelae in the city’s great plaza that front a relatively low altitude, rather mundane acropolis of comparatively small size. Copan has pyramids more than three times as tall as Quirigua’s highest effort. Given the brief period of time in which these stelae were produced, and how they quickly became less massive and intricate in the years following the AD 738 commemoration, the city’s peak period of flourishment seemed to be short-lived; maybe the construction of massive pyramids requires a much longer period of enduring prosperity than the creation of elaborate carvings, even if the intricate designs still baffle archaeologists unable to figure out with what tools they were created, obsidian seemingly unlikely and metal hardware never suggested.

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I began my journey to the ancient Mayan ruinas at Copan, in the frontier western highlands of Honduras, from Quirigua, Guatemala. The town sits next to the ruins of the ancient capital’s most fateful rival. The most well established significant moment in the history of Ancient Quirigua was the AD 738 beheading of Ruler XIII, King of ancient regional power, Copan. Immediately following the assassination of this foreign leader, there is well established evidence of a cultural renaissance in Quirigua, as a relatively insignificant settlement of no more than 2000 suddenly ballooned in population and produced some of the largest carved statues ever discovered in Central America. Despite what the carvings would like us to believe, it is probably not the great wisdom of the city’s leaders that brought sudden strength to Quirigua, since a sudden increase in wealth as a cause better explains subsequent sponsorship of massive monuments and political assassinations.

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Nearer to the falls, the humidity of the air made the steep slopes muddy and slippery, but fortunately handrails had been constructed out of fallen logs and rubber tubing. I was told that on Semana Santa and other holidays, large gatherings of families make their way up to the falls, carrying supplies for picnics. I had a hard time imagining grandparents scaling these steep slopes, let alone while laden down with provisions, but the Hondurans of the rural mountains are clearly of a different, tougher stock. Luckily for us, when we reached the uppermost fall, tumbling down a sharply stepped rock face over 30 meters high into a clear circular pool, we were entirely alone.

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I met the family, parents, an uncle, and a few cousins home at the time, who expressed doubts about our embarkation at such a late hour, but Imer grabbed his machete, and we set off on the way to the falls that they all knew, despite the fact that none of them had been for years. We walked about a kilometer down a few dirt roads before we began to climb on a road frequented more by horses than cars, as all the droppings indicated. As we walked by small farms, they pointed out to me fields of maize, sugarcane, plantains, bananas and especially coffee. Arriving higher up hill, we walked past a few rarely visited farms, judging by the incredibly active and noisy reception their dogs gave our mere passing. At one moment we paused silently and realized we could hear the still far away falls. After about 45 minutes of climbing, we reached a small trail peeling off to the right by a small house and fronted by private property signs. We walked up to the house, however, and Imer made short conversation with the owner sitting outside, presumably securing permission for us to cross his land.

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