Take my wife - Belize!

By Chuck Koteen, Globe Correspondent, 12/2/2001

he had only just married their son, but Isabelle Jones knew her in-laws well enough to be sure of this: They'd have heart attacks if they learned the true itinerary of her honeymoon with Andrew. Sure, Mom and Dad knew the kids were off to Belize. They knew about the resort with the pool, the beach, and the umbrella drinks.

They didn't know about the jungle.

They didn't know about the deadly pit vipers, the 300-foot cliff the honeymooners would rappel down into the darkness of the jungle canopy, or the subterranean bridal bower they would eventually reach.

Following a traditional white wedding in their native Toronto in September, the Joneses headed south to the little country tucked under Mexico's Yucatan Peninsula and next to Guatemala. After a few obligatory beach days, they traveled inland to the Caves Branch Jungle Lodge, base camp for trekking deep into the mountainous jungle.

The lodge, which offers this special honeymoon package, is a collection of thatched-roofed cabanas, screened but otherwise open to the jungle. ''The sights, sounds, and smells off the beaten track are better than any five-star hotel,'' said Isabelle.

Their alarm clock? A chorus of howler monkeys. The shower? Water running into a bucket with holes in the bottom. The pool? A swimming hole on the Caves Branch River, accessible by swinging off a rope.

The private Caves Branch Estate surrounds the lodge with 58,000 acres of mountains, waterfalls, limestone cliffs, underground rivers, crystal caves, Mayan ruins, and deep, subtropical jungle. Buffet meals feature local produce, fish, pork, beef, and chicken stewed Belizean-style. Hearts of palm come straight out of the jungle.

After a drenching overnight rain, a hearty breakfast, and a chat with lodge owner Ian Anderson, the newlyweds are ready. Under threatening skies they climb aboard the Caves Branch limousine, a 1965 Ford pickup enjoying a cranky but useful old age. Isabelle, 29, rides shotgun. Andrew, 30, bounces along in the back with the guides and gear.

At the trailhead, as the expedition party hoists packs, the skies open with the full force of a tropical downpour. The trail becomes a stream of slippery red mud. ''Dirt is not something I fear,'' says Isabelle, first to hit the trail just behind the lead guide.

Even under the best of conditions, hiking a steep jungle trail offers challenges. Rocks, tangles of roots - everything is slippery in the dense humidity. And what to grab for support? The trailside ''give-and-take'' tree gets its name because it will bury a spiny 4-inch thorn in your hand, but its sap will help remove the thorn. The sap of the poisonwood tree, though, is so toxic that the highly allergic can develop skin blisters just from getting too close. The venomous ferde-lance hides in wait, but the pit vipers are common throughout Central America and pose as great a threat in suburban flowerbeds as in the jungle.

A vigorous two-hour climb ends at the top of a 300-foot cliff. Here begins the serious expedition. The guides, who train and constantly recertify in jungle and mountain rescue, expertly strap the couple into a harness of tightfitting webbing.

A system of ropes and hardware will let Andrew and Isabelle regulate their descent, while allowing the guides to stop them any time they appear out of control.

''I'm totally the chicken of the family,'' admits Andrew as Isabelle edges her way over the cliff. ''I would have gone first. I can't say that I wasn't a little relieved when Isabelle offered.''

For the first 10 feet of the drop, Isabelle ''walks'' backward, supported by the ropes. Her feet are on the cliff face and her legs perpendicular to the jungle canopy 200 feet below and the jungle floor down another 100 feet. Then she hangs free, suspended between the stormy tropical sky and the lush wet green.

Nervous? Not so. ''I was in awe,'' she said later. ''I had never seen scenery like that, ever. It was heaven on earth.''

Then it's Andrew's turn, and the going is a little rougher, at least to start. ''I was pretty freaked out. I just wanted to scream and swear, but once I got away from the edge it was amazing. Just an experience of otherworldliness.''

A short hike leads from cliff to cave: a stadium-sized amphitheater carved deep into the limestone, the antechamber to the mysterious underground realm of the Mayans. First, the ground drops over terraces of limestone, slippery in the subterranean dampness. Then, the terraces give way to a steep trail over a jumble of broken limestone. On the right, the wall rises to the amphitheater ceiling. On the left, the wall drops off into darkness pierced only by the sound of rushing water below.

The guides move nimbly. For the less sure-footed, it's fingernails in the wall as feet fight for traction. This is no place to lose your footing.

Despite his anxiety, Andrew credits the professionalism of the guides with keeping the expedition safe. ''I was pretty nervous about slipping off an edge somewhere and breaking my neck. Those guys were A-1 at keeping us on the right track.''

In ever-dimming light as the huge upper cave gives way to the tunnel-like lower cave, the group dons headlamps for the final descent to the underground Actun Loch Tunich (Cave of the Big Rock) River. Thin beams cut through otherwise total darkness. The group trudges through ankle to hip-deep water, but at least it's flat.

After a half-mile walking in and along the underground river, the cave ahead begins to glow faintly. Around a bend, two rows of candles light the path up a bank to the bridal bower. Tired, sweaty, and happy, Andrew and Isabelle view their amply supplied honeymoon retreat. As part of the special package, the guides have set up a screened sleeping area stocked with champagne and abundant edible goodies for a romantic evening and night.

The guides depart, to return the next morning. Andrew and Isabelle are left alone, almost. Deeper in the cave, a dozen human skeletons - sacrificial victims of ancient Mayan rites - rest uneasily. Sleep well, newlyweds.

That they did, and with the guides' help, they returned safely, and confessed to their parents.

''They couldn't believe we had done it,'' Isabelle said. ''And gave us kudos for having the smarts not to tell them before.''

Chuck Koteen is a freelance writer who lives in West Hartford, Conn.

This story ran on page M1 of the Boston Globe on 12/2/2001.
© Copyright 2001 Globe Newspaper Company.