Outdoor Living – November 2026

When the Trail Fights Back: Hiking from Ixtlahuacán to Ajijic

The day began with confidence. As every hiker knows, that’s often the first sign that things are about to go spectacularly wrong.

Jutta and I had hiked this route several times before. The plan was simple enough: catch the early bus from Ajijic to Ixtlahuacán, climb to the Antenna, wander through the Oak Forest and descend into Ajijic by one of the forest trails. We’d decide which one later.

Easy. At least, that was the theory.

Just after six o’clock we boarded the bus in Ajijic, chatting happily and congratulating ourselves on being organised enough to catch an early start before the summer heat.

Then something didn’t look right. Instead of heading towards the plaza in Ixtlahuacán, the bus rolled out of town in the opposite direction. Towards Guadalajara!

We looked at each other. Oh, shit.

Fortunately, the driver took pity on two confused hikers and dropped us beside the highway before the underpasses. We climbed out onto a muddy roadside, wondering how we’d managed to start a hike by travelling in completely the wrong direction.

As we walked back towards town, a friendly dog appeared. Not just friendly. Committed.

Within seconds, he’d adopted us. Every time we stopped, he stopped. Every time we walked, he happily trotted beside us, completely convinced he was joining the expedition. Neither of us thought a twenty-kilometer mountain hike was in his best interests. He was clearly someone’s much-loved pet.

Thankfully, a local gentleman called him back towards the plaza. Our furry companion reluctantly abandoned his dreams of becoming a mountain dog, giving us one last disappointed glance before disappearing home.

When we reached the trail, the countryside had been transformed by the first summer rains. Wildflowers painted the hillsides with splashes of pink, yellow, orange and white. Mushrooms pushed through fallen logs, birds filled the morning with song and every bend in the trail revealed another magnificent view across Lake Chapala.

As we approached the second ridge, one particularly photogenic tree demanded attention. “I need a photo sitting on that branch.”

I removed my backpack and carefully placed it beneath the tree.

There are decisions in life that seem perfectly sensible at the time. This was one of them. Unfortunately, the residents underneath my backpack had a very different opinion. Within seconds, a furious cloud of bees erupted into the air.

One moment we were admiring the scenery. The next we were charging around the hillside, wildly slapping ourselves like two people who had completely forgotten how to behave in public.

Jutta was desperately trying to get a bee out of her ear. I was pulling a stinger from my neck while attempting to avoid another bee that appeared to have developed a personal grudge against me.

People always say things like, “Stay calm around bees.” Or “Don’t run.”

Wonderful advice. Clearly offered by people who’ve never had a bee disappear into their ear.

Eventually the swarm settled. Which was when we realized my backpack was still sitting on their nest. A long silence followed.

Being considerably smarter than me, Jutta retrieved her hiking poles first. Then, with all the caution of someone disarming an explosive device, I nudged the backpack free while she persuaded the last determined guard bee to move elsewhere.

Backpack recovered. Pride… less so.

After a laugh, an antihistamine, and confirming neither of us was swelling alarmingly, we continued towards the Antenna. The view from the summit made every sting worthwhile.

Lake Chapala shimmered beneath us while white clouds drifted lazily across the mountains beyond. We sat eating lunch and, as often happens after an adventure, the bee attack somehow became funnier each time we retold it.

From there we entered the Oak Forest. As always, it felt magical. Towering oaks stretched overhead, many still bearing the scars of old fires. Fresh moss glowed against dark trunks, while fallen leaves carpeted the forest floor. Wooden trail signs pointed in every direction, each promising another adventure.

It was there we made our biggest mistake.

“Let’s try the La Floresta Trail.”

Someone had recently recommended it. Perhaps it had been an excellent trail before the rainy season. The mountain had other ideas. Not far down, vines began creeping across the path. Then more vines.

Soon entire walls of vegetation swallowed the trail. Sometimes we found it. Sometimes we lost it. Occasionally we’d discover what looked exactly like a path before realizing it was simply nature playing another practical joke on unsuspecting hikers.

Every now and then we’d spot an old ribbon tied to a branch before losing the trail again. Eventually we began leaving our own bright pink ribbons behind us, partly as navigation markers and partly as evidence that we had once existed.

We climbed over fallen trees, crawled beneath branches and negotiated countless camote holes hidden beneath the undergrowth. The descent seemed endless.

The loose shale transformed parts of the track into a slippery slide, sending us into several undignified but controlled descents that felt more like surrendering to gravity than walking.

Meanwhile, every buzzing insect sent Jutta into instant panic mode. The unfortunate bee-in-the-ear incident had clearly left emotional scars.

Each ridge promised civilization. Each ridge lied. The houses looked closer. The lake looked closer. Ajijic looked closer. Yet somehow the trail never ended.

By then only one thought kept us moving. Beer. Cold beer. The sort of beer exhausted hikers dream about.

At long last we stumbled out of the jungle into La Floresta, scratched, dusty and thoroughly defeated. We made ourselves one solemn promise. Never again. Never. Ever.

A few minutes later we reached a small abarrote and ordered two icy-cold beers. After the wrong bus, the adopted dog, the bee ambush, disappearing trails, tangled vines and what felt like the longest descent in Jalisco, it may well have been the best beer either of us had ever tasted. And if the best hikes are measured by the stories they produce, this one was hard to beat.

Charlie Allen’s passion is hiking. She discovered it’s one of the greatest ways to experience a country, its people and its landscapes. She’s been fortunate enough to hike in more than 70 countries around the world, from challenging mountain trails to gentle countryside walks. Ajijic, Mexico, holds a very special place in her heart. With its stunning Lake Chapala views, mountains, forests and endless variety of trails, there really is something for everyone. Whether you’re young or young at heart, an experienced hiker or simply enjoy a leisurely walk, Ajijic offers an adventure for every age and ability.

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