Page 26 of Ex Marks the Spot

“He was probably hoping we wouldn’t stop to look at it since we already had his directions,” Padma says, frowning.

I agree, because while Hartley chatted up other teams at the airport and on our flight, I quietly observed them and came away with a few notes.

First, Big Mike is an ass. About thirty minutes before we started boarding, an elderly couple arrived at the gate. Seating was limited, and rather than offer up the two seats he and his backpack were occupying, Mike slouched down and stretched his legs out to claim as much space as possible. Thankfully a flight attendant saw the whole thing and brought wheelchairs over to them. DeAngelo was facing the other direction, talking to Marcail and Stephanie from Southeast Alaska University and didn’t see the couple walk up. I haven’t completely made up my mind on him but so far, he seems like the nicer half of Team Wise Guys.

As for Team Alaska, Stephanie’s family runs a charter fishing company near Juneau and Marcail is a bush pilot, so they’ll be strong competitors in any challenge involving hiking, boats, or planes.

Team High Tech, comprised of Homer and Ji-ho from Wisconsin Tech, is another one to watch. I overheard Ji-ho talking about teaching land navigation to his son’s Boy Scouts troop, so he’ll have an advantage in wayfinding. Homer told anyone who would listen about his undefeated college record for home runs (an impressive ninety-two, hence the nickname). After college, he opened a microbrewery called Big Tater Brewing—apparently potatoes have a different meaning in baseball?—and has won a handful of awards for his craft beers. Translation: he thrives on competition.

It's even more of a reason to pick up the pace as we start down Las Coladas. The trail is lined with towering green grass that soon gives way to a dense rainforest and the most beautiful symphony of wildlife I’ve ever heard. How was I sitting at a worn wooden desk ordering soap and spray wax three days ago? And how in the hell am I supposed to return to that life after the show’s over?

Although after three weeks with Hartley, maybe I’ll be begging to go back.

A few hundred meters in, we cross paths with Janessa and Oscar, who raises his arms and says, “I feel like I’m back home! They have birds in here that sound like car alarms!” Except it comes out likecah alahms, which makes Hartley and Padma laugh. Unfortunately, Bobby’s doing more heavy breathingthan laughing, and soon he and Padma fall back while Hartley and I continue running toward the tree.

When we reach Sendero El Ceibo, howler monkeys on either side of the trail launch into a lively conversation. Hartley waits a few seconds, then shoots a disingenuous smile at me and says, “Hey Courtney, what are they talking about?”

“How good looking I am,” I reply without missing a beat.

“Huh. I didn’t know howler monkeys needed glasses.”

I roll my eyes in the camera, which the camera guy is holding backward while he runs in front of us like he’s taking a casual stroll through the park. It’s no wonder that the crew members look like they could eat a triathlon for breakfast. As I make a mental note never to complain about the weight of my ten-pound backpack, we round a bend on the trail and catch our first glimpse of the soaring four-hundred-year-old ceiba tree.

Oddly, it doesn’t look that big at first. It’s not until we’re right up on it that I grasp the actual scale of this thing. For starters, the roots (which look more like walls than standard roots) are three times my height, and I’m six-two. The vines spiraling around the trunk are as thick as my body and—holy shit. Is that a toucan?

“I think I see a toucan.”

Hartley ignores my pointed finger and instead aims hers at the clue box ten feet ahead. “Focus, Courtney.”

“But it’s atoucan. The only other time I’ve seen one is on a box of cereal.”

She tosses a thumb over her shoulder and says, “Weren’t you the one who was all, ‘We have to make up time’ a few minutes ago?”

“Okay, one, I don’t sound like a douchey gym bro. And two, I highly doubt taking five seconds to admire an exotic bird is going to make or break our current standing.”

“Fine,” she huffs. “Take your precious five seconds.”

I make a show of crossing my arms and gazing up at the branch I pointed to...which is now empty, but I keep pretending all the same. After a slow count of five Mississippis, I unfold my arms and pull in a deep breath of hot, damp rainforest air.

“Are you done now?”

“I am. Thank you for asking.”

“Good. Because the damn bird is over there now.” Hartley gestures to an adjacent tree and plucks a clue from the box.

I stand over her shoulder while she reads it aloud.

Go to Mirador Coladas and answer a question to receive your next clue.

“I saw that on the map,” she says, adding the clue envelope to her fanny pack. “It should be easy. We just keep going on this path and make a right.”

We arrive at the volcano lookout point out of breath and dripping with sweat. Turns out the “easy” route involved another two kilometers of trails, a couple of steep stairways, and rocky lava flows from the explosion in the early nineties. The only thing working in our favor is the lack of rain. How many ankles have succumbed to Mirador Coladas?

“You have a question for us?” Hartley asks between deep gulps of air.

A man holding a small stack of Xtreme Quest clue envelopes nods. “What does ceiba mean in English?”

Shit. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to recall the sign posted next to our clue box, but all that comes to mind are the numbers. “It’s four hundred years old and thirty meters tall. That’s all I remember.”

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