If I had to choose one word to describe the cloud forest in a rainstorm, it would be slippery. Dusty dirt trails swell into gooey mudslides. Rocks take on boot-repellant properties. Pretty log bridges over gurgling streams are transformed into menacing frictionless cylinders, plotting to hurl careless walkers into the white water below. The jungle’s warm breath fogs up eyeglasses and creeps underneath Gore-Tex jackets, creating portable steam rooms. Once everything is hecho una sopa—soaked like a soup—the temperature drops.
