I returned at last to find my family roots—and to check out a mountain region, Viñales, that my Lonely Planet guidebook described as a “miniature Yosemite, with the most spectacular scenery in all Cuba.” As a longtime Yosemite climber, I’d doubted that possibility, but could not resist taking a look.

In Viñales, I discovered a large, open valley encircled by mountains and interspersed with dramatic, overhanging 1,000 foot limestone rock faces bulging with tufas and hung with stalactites. Viñales is not a miniature Yosemite, but a Chinese landscape painting, particularly in the early morning mist, with cliffs rising from the rich, lush greens of palms and tobacco and coffee fields. And all of it was unclimbed. Hooked, I returned four times that first year alone, unable to sate my appetite to explore these stone walls of sculpted caverns.

In the early years, development of climbing was in spurts, almost always when foreign climbers appeared. We left our climbing gear for the Cubans on our first trip, and then started to bring shoes, harnesses, and ropes for them. By word of mouth, other climbers began to learn to do the same. Today the overwhelming majority of the first ascents of the walls in the Viñales valley have been done by Cuban climbers. Cuba is probably the only major climbing destination in the third world where that is the case. Since our first ascents in 1999, the Viñales valley has been declared a national park and become destination for ecotourism. The Cubans we taught to climb have become become the leaders in the exploration of their own country.

It all should be idyllic: perfect for the young Cuban climbers, for the park officials, and for most of the foreign visitors. For me and for the other American climbers, there is one problem, though, with the arcane name of the “1917 Trading with the Enemy Act,” that makes it illegal for Americans to spend money in Cuba, effectively prohibiting travel, with the maximum penalty of a ten-year prison term and a $250,000 fine.



Most of us are willing, clandestinely, to run that risk for the climbing alone. But as Jonathan Miles wrote in Men’s Journal after one trip, “Climbing in Cuba is as much about Cuba as it is about climbing.” I was captured, as well, by the island’s in-your-face vitality, and the resilient, openhearted Cubans I met; by the rich sounds of salsa, timba and reggaeton playing on the streets; and by the voices of people shouting every detail of their daily emotions and calamities across the courtyards. Not for the timid or bashful.

As I continued to visit this paradise, the fear of prosecution was like working your way up a big wall climb, such as El Capitan. You slowly adjust and become acclimatized to the vertical world. Over time, it becomes second nature. I guided eco-tourists to my favorite areas, wrote articles about Cuba, talked to journalists, sold pictures to magazines and newspapers and even created a website, www.cubaclimbing.com, nailing the date of every first ascent I and other Americans had done. Now, let me try to deny that I had been there!I guess I thought I was immune—until an early morning in November 2006. I was checking my email, when the phone rang.

“Armando, it’s Jason. I’m in DC on some work, calling you from a street corner. I was walking along and saw the front page of The Wall Street Journal. It had a photo of a climber on the cover! I couldn’t believe it. The article’s about you—you and the Cuban climbers!”

While he spoke, the first incoming email arrived. It was from the journalist, telling me that the article was published and attaching a copy. Of course, I knew that a story was coming out. But I wasn’t expecting to see one of my images, a dramatic color photo of Cuban Josué Millo, or the bold, front-page headline, “Cuban Rock Climbers Inspired by Foreigners Irk Castro Regime.” The story was that young Cubans, “schooled by an influx of foreign rock climbers, have turned [Viñales] into an extreme-sport mecca,” and as a result, “rock climbing has emerged as an improbable political battleground between the government and young Cubans eager to embrace the latest foreign fashions.” And the foreigner who was responsible: me. It detailed my fifteen or more climbing trips since the late 1990s. I was busted, in flagrante delicto. Jason’s whereabouts jumped back into my consciousness. Washington D.C., the U.S. Government, the Trading with the Enemy Act. Suddenly I had a more immediate worry than how the Cuban government might react. Then—I can’t make this up—my computer dinged with another incoming message.



From: “US Treasury Department, ”the government agency that prosecutes violations of the Trading with the Enemy Act. Subject line: “Civil Penalties.” I may have blurted, “Thanks—good-bye,” to Jason as I hung up. This was nothing like being scared on rock. My breath rushed from my lungs as if I’d had a blow to the chest. I’d felt this way only once before, when I was told in Viñales that agents from State Security in Cuba were asking questions about me. Now, it was the US government.

Before I clicked on the “Civil Penalties” message, I recalled what my Cuban climbing partner had told me after the visit of the Cuban agents: “It’s a shame to have to worry about this when all you want to do is climb.” I took a deep breath and opened it.

It was a monthly report of fines against other people caught violating the Trading with the Enemy Act.
I hope I’m not on next month’s list.