Climbing Victoria Peak Belize: Summit Day, Jungle Survival, and the Final Hike Out

Day 2: Miley Cyrus’ “The Climb” Couldn’t Have Prepared Me

I consider myself an early bird, but waking up at 3:45 a.m. was pushing it.

The morning was a quick shuffle. We double-checked our day packs, changed clothes, brushed our teeth, ate breakfast, and somehow managed to get ourselves together within 45–50 minutes. By 4:40 a.m., we were headed out with the goal of reaching the base of the peak by 10 a.m., per Mac’s recommendation.

Vickie left nothing on the table.

Just when we thought it could not get any steeper, there we were at 5 a.m., headlamps on, scaling up an incline that made me miss Mt. Fuji’s terrain.

“What in the bloody hell is this?” I kept thinking.

But I was committed to finishing. Committed to the challenge. And honestly, God’s strength kept me going.

We planned to eat lunch at the top, so most of our stops were quick breaks to catch our heaving breaths, snack on bars or nuts, and refill water where we could. The streams were not as abundant as I expected, so every refill mattered.

At one point, after I stopped to catch my breath and layer up on bug spray, Alex asked me if I was “weak.”

It took every ounce of restraint in my body not to lay into him.

He really had poor social awareness the entire weekend. Weak or not, this hike was a challenge for anyone who was not a local like him and Mac. I was already in a not-so-great mindset, and his comments were not helpful. I had to tune him out multiple times.

A little over four hours later, we reached the base.

Insert harnesses.

We started looking around for the ropes as the guys helped us into our harnesses and helmets. I could not see anything that remotely looked like it was going to help us up the mountain. It was not until we climbed about 20–30 yards that the setup was finally revealed.

My jaw dropped.

There was an immediate pit in my stomach.

Dirt inclines were replaced with rocks and tree roots, which acted as secondary support to the ropes. Our “overview” of how to switch between ropes was just that — more of a demo than actual practice.

This is where fear started to set in.

My mind went straight to worst-case scenarios: falling to my death, hitting my head on a rock, breaking bones, smashing my face.

It got dark in my pretty little head.

We were extremely cautious with every step, making sure our footing was secure before pulling ourselves up toward the next rope. This is where my strength training helped. I felt really good with my pulls, even though I cannot do a pull-up to save my life.

I was also thankful for my three feet of leg, lanky arms, and general tallness. Some of those reaches for rocks and roots were out of this world.

Again, nothing could have fully prepared me mentally or physically for this.

While becoming a fortified tree hugger because I did not want to fall, we slowly reached the section where scaling along the edge turned into a vertical climb with a belay.

I had not done any sort of belaying since JROTC in middle and high school.

That is when I finally broke.

The tears formed behind my eyes, and I just started crying. Not an ugly sob, but one of those quiet, my-spirit-is-broken-from-fatigue cries. I had already been praying every step of the way, but from the belay point, the prayers seemed to come from a deeper part of my soul.

I was hoping to be the last one up, but in pure guide fashion, Mac said he wanted ME to go first.

Eeeek.

Below are some pictures of us getting set up in our harnesses at the base and again at the belay point. This was the last time we would be secured to a rope with our harnesses. The rest of the way up was basically free-balling, with a couple of rope climbs that felt like a CrossFit competition mixed with hand-to-hand combat against shrubs and trees.

Finally, a little before 11:30 a.m., we reached the top.

We peaked.

The view was vast, and you could see the denseness of Cockscomb Basin. It truly was a feat.

Unfortunately, our time at the peak was short. Maybe 25 minutes total. Enough time to catch our breath, eat lunch — PB&J for me — and sign the book with our individual names and group name: PG Mountain Sisters.

We had completed 27 km across two days.

Our spirits were bruised and a little defeated, but we still had it in us to celebrate the accomplishment. By 12 p.m., we headed back down the mountain.

And then we had to do everything in reverse.

Which was still terrifying. Honestly, maybe even MORE terrifying than going up.

Our guides encouraged us to “keep going” and said they would “catch up,” but we declined and slowly made our way down as a unit. Between scaling down backward to avoid eye contact with rock pits and finding the courage to face forward, we finally made it back to the base of the peak.

We removed our gear, layered up with more bug spray, and for the next five-plus hours, we hiked back to KM 19.

To say I was done is an understatement.

We reached KM 19 by 5:30 p.m., just before it got too dark.

Two days. More than 20 hours on our feet. A total of 35 km completed.

Day 3 — our exodus — was here.

Day 3: To ATV It Out or Not?

I did not think I would like sleeping in a hammock.

But when you are exhausted all over and somehow find a position of comfort, dare I say it — I may have had the best sleep of my life.

We woke up at the same time: 3:45 a.m., in case y’all forgot.

This time, we were headed back to the welcome center. The night before, we talked about taking the ATV out versus walking the whole distance. Anja and our friend Carolyn opted for the ATV ride out, which would start at KM 12.

I was on the fence.

Do I ATV it out? Do I walk? Can I carry this big ass bag one final time?

I really wanted to complete the WHOLE thing.

I went back and forth between all the options all night and into the early morning. For one, I did not want the ladies waiting too long once they got back. We were all done, and I did not want to be the reason they had to wait even longer to return to PG.

But as luck would have it, Anja’s husband was not coming until between 12 p.m. and 1 p.m., and the rangers on the ATV said I could put my overnight pack on the trailer. It would be waiting for me at the end.

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

My only other hesitation was having to complete the hike with Alex. Like I said before, he had no social awareness of how his statements landed. So, in pure “mom voice” and “this is my life we are talking about” mode, I made it clear that he was to follow my pace. After our first quick breather stop, Alex and I headed onward to KM 12.

Nothing looked familiar, to be honest. While the trail was evident, Alex still had to tell me not to go a certain way. I was so focused on getting to the finish line that I missed a couple of turns.

Our breaks were shorter, and I recovered quickly from an endurance standpoint.

But my walk was DEFINITELY slower.

Like a rookie, I forgot to clip my toenails. At this point, I was sure I had bruised the nail beds at minimum. Every decline felt like banging my head against the wall — or, in this case, my toenail against the top of my shoe. I reminded myself my body would recover.

But like Vickie, I did not want to leave anything on the table. I did not want to regret not completing it. Call it ego, stubbornness, stupidity, resilience — not completing was not an option.

(I mean, I paid $350+ USD soooo lol.)

We reached KM 12 in about three hours. After a quick change from overnight pack to day pack, a stop at the outhouse, a refill of the CamelBak, and a snack restock, I was ready to get to the entrance before 12 p.m.

The remaining 12 km were torturous. Every incline and decline seemed to never level out. My feet hated me. I hated me for accepting the challenge lol. My emotions were everywhere. I think I relived every past trauma, rejection, poor performance, and failed test across my lifespan.

At some point, when the ATV caught up, Alex and Mac switched. How Mac had the energy to be yards ahead of me, I will never know. Bless him. He was repetitive in the sense of, “This will not be easy.”

(No sh**. I got that memo days ago.)

But he was also very encouraging.

Once the terrain leveled out and we reached our final 2 km, I felt my body start to release tension. Three days of fight-or-flight mode slowly shifted into rest-and-repose mode.

I was at the finish line.

No more sweating from every orifice. No more extended time on my feet. No more wondering why I willingly signed up for jungle-sponsored suffering.

As we walked through the last bit of forest, I could see the ladies relaxing. Their cheers became audible.

And just like that, three days in the jungle and one peak summited was done. Never to be attempted again.

Could I have trained differently? Yes. Cockscomb has a lot of different trailheads that would have been sufficient.

Would it have changed the outcome — fewer aches, less pain, and less ego bruising? Hard to say.

But one thing is for sure: I would not have done this hike with any other set of bad-ass women.

We did the bottom of the two red trails……