Acatenango Saga (Part 3)
(photos by Eddie Thornton)
Morning dawned on our little crew and I was awake and hopeful. Lex and I’s early jaunt allowed a brief glimpse of the valley below and the sunrise over the hills. The clouds lifted just enough for a gorgeous view and I was stunned to see how high we were. I looked down onto the tops of fluffy clouds.
The rain the night before, and I think many of our crew’s elevation issues, had decided the fate of our summit. Sadly, we were not going to make the second day’s 3-4 hour trek up to the crater, but David mentioned that if anyone wanted to do a cone summit, we would leave in five minutes. I brushed my teeth, grabbed my raincoat and was off. This smaller crew was David and Jeremy, Eddie, Lee, Alicia, Ashley and myself. The going was slow, although not as bad as the day before. This time the elevation was a problem, but so was the incline. No longer 45 degrees, I think we were probably at a 60 degree angle. Many times I thought I would slip, or maybe just fall over and roll away, or even just get a little dazed and forget to turn on the switchback and walk right off the side. David was a fast walker, and his heart never skipped a beat. Mine was again hammering out of my chest and gulping water was difficult. Ashley, crazy girl, thought that if she sprinted up the side, she’d save her legs. I’m not sure if that was correct, but that’s how she took that hill.
When we were almost to the top, I heard a recognizable sound. The children of the day before were on their way back down. At a gallop. They were having fun, but also running. I asked them how was the top, and just got one reply. A laughing boy goes, “frío!” and they were off, blankets waving in the wind, still tied like capes around their shoulders. The lost boys, surviving a zero degree night with rain and wind, no tents and only small fleece blankets that were decorated with soccer balls or the logo of some phone company.
The second summit was surprisingly enjoyable, despite the difficulties. No pack, a lot of laughter, every now and again the clouds would lift and we could see the valley, but walking in fog also has its ghostly pleasures. The grasses and trees gave way to scrub brush and delicate volcanic flowers, and then eventually that gave way to nothing but fog and wind and black sand. I dug my toes into the sand and hoped a gust of wind didn’t blow me away. I traveled the last 30 yards by myself, in the fog, leaning against the wind, with only the footsteps of a previous hiker to follow. Our time at the top was brief. White and black and grey, that’s what I saw. Out of the whiteness, the three Spaniards appeared. At first only the red jacket of the lead guy, but then briefly the blue of another and maybe a spot of green. E went to talk to them and ask about the top. He disappeared briefly into the fog, then returned laughing. Their response? “Cold, rainy, and you can’t see crap.”
We took a last look around and then jumped back down the hill. Easier than going up, but much more dangerous, mostly I took the volcano side at a running jump. Feet on either side of the gully, step, step, step, take the switchback curve on the incline then use your momentum to propel you to the other side of the path before you hurtle off the side. There was a rhythm to it, and soon E and I and one of the Spanish guys had a nice little train. It got so that I could hear the difference in E’s footsteps, and know where to put my weight for the different types of sand and ash. An hour and a half up, twenty minutes down. We arrived to a lovely breakfast of granola, yogurt, fruit, and blessed instant coffee.
The trek down for me was mostly solitary. At times I walked with Jeremy, or with Alicia, or just by myself. It was pleasant and easy. The foggy volcanic moor was hauntingly beautiful and the forest time was gorgeous. The jungle was green and strangling, and I got to enjoy my surroundings in a way that was not possible the day before. There was a light drizzle, just enough to keep me cool, and soon the jungle gave way startlingly to corn fields and patchworked earth. Lex, Ricardo and I meandered down through the farmers fields, chatting and taking photos. I examined all of the vegetables scattered on the ground, and wondered why the carrots here are all misshapen and deformed. Or maybe it was that I was too used to American carrots, perfectly thin and exactly ten inches long, a uniform orange.
Finally the van was reached. I set my pack down, stole some Fiesta Mix from David, gave the chippy wrestler tokens to the house kids and climbed into the van. We drove back to Antigua listening to Ricardo’s eclectic iPod mix, complete with (Hawaiian version) of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. A perfect soundtrack.
Post-Party
The smart thing to do after this hike would have been to go home, take a hot shower, then go to bed. And, at least half of that happened. But Lex, E and I all met up later for a sauna. Turns out that one of the hotels here offers the use of their pool, jacuzzi and sauna for $5. We showed up with towels and suits, but sadly the jacuzzi never heated up. The pool was refreshing, maybe, but after 48 hours of rain and mud, the last thing I wanted was cold water. So, the sauna it was. For the next hour, I alternated between steam and lukewarm jacuzzi. It was the perfect ending to a good, hard day. Or at least it would have been the perfect ending, had the day ended there. But no, someone decided to cap off the day with a glass of wine and some homework. And then someone else called someone else, and soon, it was 8pm and a group of eight and we were at Queso y Vino for a late dinner. By 9 I could barely stay awake, we were waiting on the check, there was some political discussion about cambio in Guatemala and how no one ever offers it, Chino was suggesting that we meet his friend over at O’Reilly’s who knows all about Belize, and in my stupor I just agreed and began to follow along like a puppy. Thankfully Eddie became human again (and kind) for just long enough to suggest to Chino that we meet his friend some other time, and we all went home. I never actually got my glass of wine, but there’s plenty of time for that later. All’s well that begins well right? or something like that.
Acatenango End.
Morning dawned on our little crew and I was awake and hopeful. Lex and I’s early jaunt allowed a brief glimpse of the valley below and the sunrise over the hills. The clouds lifted just enough for a gorgeous view and I was stunned to see how high we were. I looked down onto the tops of fluffy clouds.
The rain the night before, and I think many of our crew’s elevation issues, had decided the fate of our summit. Sadly, we were not going to make the second day’s 3-4 hour trek up to the crater, but David mentioned that if anyone wanted to do a cone summit, we would leave in five minutes. I brushed my teeth, grabbed my raincoat and was off. This smaller crew was David and Jeremy, Eddie, Lee, Alicia, Ashley and myself. The going was slow, although not as bad as the day before. This time the elevation was a problem, but so was the incline. No longer 45 degrees, I think we were probably at a 60 degree angle. Many times I thought I would slip, or maybe just fall over and roll away, or even just get a little dazed and forget to turn on the switchback and walk right off the side. David was a fast walker, and his heart never skipped a beat. Mine was again hammering out of my chest and gulping water was difficult. Ashley, crazy girl, thought that if she sprinted up the side, she’d save her legs. I’m not sure if that was correct, but that’s how she took that hill.
When we were almost to the top, I heard a recognizable sound. The children of the day before were on their way back down. At a gallop. They were having fun, but also running. I asked them how was the top, and just got one reply. A laughing boy goes, “frío!” and they were off, blankets waving in the wind, still tied like capes around their shoulders. The lost boys, surviving a zero degree night with rain and wind, no tents and only small fleece blankets that were decorated with soccer balls or the logo of some phone company.
The second summit was surprisingly enjoyable, despite the difficulties. No pack, a lot of laughter, every now and again the clouds would lift and we could see the valley, but walking in fog also has its ghostly pleasures. The grasses and trees gave way to scrub brush and delicate volcanic flowers, and then eventually that gave way to nothing but fog and wind and black sand. I dug my toes into the sand and hoped a gust of wind didn’t blow me away. I traveled the last 30 yards by myself, in the fog, leaning against the wind, with only the footsteps of a previous hiker to follow. Our time at the top was brief. White and black and grey, that’s what I saw. Out of the whiteness, the three Spaniards appeared. At first only the red jacket of the lead guy, but then briefly the blue of another and maybe a spot of green. E went to talk to them and ask about the top. He disappeared briefly into the fog, then returned laughing. Their response? “Cold, rainy, and you can’t see crap.”
We took a last look around and then jumped back down the hill. Easier than going up, but much more dangerous, mostly I took the volcano side at a running jump. Feet on either side of the gully, step, step, step, take the switchback curve on the incline then use your momentum to propel you to the other side of the path before you hurtle off the side. There was a rhythm to it, and soon E and I and one of the Spanish guys had a nice little train. It got so that I could hear the difference in E’s footsteps, and know where to put my weight for the different types of sand and ash. An hour and a half up, twenty minutes down. We arrived to a lovely breakfast of granola, yogurt, fruit, and blessed instant coffee.
The trek down for me was mostly solitary. At times I walked with Jeremy, or with Alicia, or just by myself. It was pleasant and easy. The foggy volcanic moor was hauntingly beautiful and the forest time was gorgeous. The jungle was green and strangling, and I got to enjoy my surroundings in a way that was not possible the day before. There was a light drizzle, just enough to keep me cool, and soon the jungle gave way startlingly to corn fields and patchworked earth. Lex, Ricardo and I meandered down through the farmers fields, chatting and taking photos. I examined all of the vegetables scattered on the ground, and wondered why the carrots here are all misshapen and deformed. Or maybe it was that I was too used to American carrots, perfectly thin and exactly ten inches long, a uniform orange.
Finally the van was reached. I set my pack down, stole some Fiesta Mix from David, gave the chippy wrestler tokens to the house kids and climbed into the van. We drove back to Antigua listening to Ricardo’s eclectic iPod mix, complete with (Hawaiian version) of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. A perfect soundtrack.
Post-Party
The smart thing to do after this hike would have been to go home, take a hot shower, then go to bed. And, at least half of that happened. But Lex, E and I all met up later for a sauna. Turns out that one of the hotels here offers the use of their pool, jacuzzi and sauna for $5. We showed up with towels and suits, but sadly the jacuzzi never heated up. The pool was refreshing, maybe, but after 48 hours of rain and mud, the last thing I wanted was cold water. So, the sauna it was. For the next hour, I alternated between steam and lukewarm jacuzzi. It was the perfect ending to a good, hard day. Or at least it would have been the perfect ending, had the day ended there. But no, someone decided to cap off the day with a glass of wine and some homework. And then someone else called someone else, and soon, it was 8pm and a group of eight and we were at Queso y Vino for a late dinner. By 9 I could barely stay awake, we were waiting on the check, there was some political discussion about cambio in Guatemala and how no one ever offers it, Chino was suggesting that we meet his friend over at O’Reilly’s who knows all about Belize, and in my stupor I just agreed and began to follow along like a puppy. Thankfully Eddie became human again (and kind) for just long enough to suggest to Chino that we meet his friend some other time, and we all went home. I never actually got my glass of wine, but there’s plenty of time for that later. All’s well that begins well right? or something like that.
Acatenango End.
I loved this story!
ReplyDeleteI also never thought about how perfect American carrots are...food for thought. No pun intended.
I traveled to Acatenango without my mother's consent many moons ago. I traveled at the same rhythm of those children you saw on the way, I was free! Very happy to see the WORLD!
ReplyDeleteThen I traveled to a country with roads made out of concrete, and YES! I was surprised to see so Perfect Carrots...never had seen them. I was afraid of them, how can they be SO Perfect!