Acatenango Part 1

About two weeks after our trip to Pacaya, Sarah convinced me that we were athletic enough to climb another volcano. We signed up for what was advertised as the trip of a lifetime climbing Volcano Acatenango. This volcano lies next to the famous Volcano Fuego, which is know for its regular, but relatively calm eruptions. Acatenango is also active, erupting about once every 30 years, the last time being around 30 years ago.

Acatenango was a challenge; Sarah and I both knew it going into it. The elevation was 13,045 ft above sea level, so not only would we have to deal with the climb, but the altitude as well. I admit, during the prep talk the night before we headed out, I started to get nervous. I had never done anything like this in my life. The day hikes in Maine with my family were years ago and nothing compared to the strenuous climb that would be Acatenango. But I had already payed.

I awoke at 5:30 early the next morning as the sun was about to show, and Sarah and I walked to Base Camp, a hostel/office in Antigua. I was nervous, like I was about to get up in front of people and sing. My stomach was a mess and I desperately needed to go to the bathroom (like I always seem to need to do when I am nervous).

We packed our once-empty, but now heavy backpacks with supplies for meals, the tent, changes of clothes, and 5 liters of water each. We loaded them into the back of the truck that was to take us to the base of the mountain and after a quick stop in a cafe for breakfast, we headed out as the sun rose.

Robert, our guide, had started our prep-talk by telling us the walk was 20% physical, and 80% mental. For some stupid reason, I didn't believe him until our first break on the mountain about 20 or 30 minutes after we had first started. I was already lagging (my excuse being that I am a sprinter not a marathoner).

I wish that I could say sometime between 8 (when we started) and 11:30 (when we took a break for lunch) that I regrouped, but I have to say most of my morning (and later the afternoon) consisted of falling behind out of sight, only to catch up when the rest of the group took a break. My constant (and only) companion was Lorenzo, the hired gun (literally) who climbed behind me, bringing up the rear.

Lorenzo, I learned speaking only my broken Spanish, was a 57-year-old former farmer who had changed careers because the pay was better guarding gringos on the mountains in the area he used to farm. He was married with a daughter about 4 years older then me. He had been on the climb about 30 times before. Both this, and his history of farming in the hills explained how he could hike consistently with a huge shotgun carried in his hands. His backpack he carried on a strap that he cast around his forehead instead of supporting the majority of the weight on his hips and shoulders. I think he did this because it is the traditional way to carry heavy products in Guatemala.

I wish I could tell you that this was the hardest thing I had ever done, and it probably was the most traumatic for me physically. But knowing I couldn't turn back without making the rest of the group turn back too made it easy. I was going to make it.

And I wasn't going to complain about it either. If I learned anything from those hikes with my family in Maine, is that complaining just makes the whole thing more miserable. So what if I had a slight cramp in my leg from hiking long distances? If I just sat down and cried and complained and whined about it (like I probably would have done in Maine in similar circumstances), it just would have made everyone else miserable, which would make me more miserable, and the cycle would never end.

So I didn't. Not only was I going to make it up the mountain (which had to be a given), but I was going to do it laughing and with a smile on my face (even if it hurt)... (and it did, hurt, I mean).
 
I complain about the trip now, but the worse came after the saddle.

Most people who know me know that I have a severe fear of heights. In fact, I would say that it is one of the only deterrents of my rampant curiosity to see and experience everything. Sadly, I will probably never go base jumping :( The clearest example I can give of this was my determination about 5 years ago to climb to the top of the dome of St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican (on the inside). A once in a lifetime opportunity I let pass because I let my fear of heights (and my vertigo) stop me. Obviously, I still remember this.
 
After you pass the saddle, the path ascends up a step incline of volcanic sand. The path is only wide enough in some areas for a person. But instead of vegetation on both sides of the path, on one side there is a steep incline and on the other an endless steep drop of sand that seems to fall out from under your feet (and does).

By the time we actually started up this way (after a false start complete with heavy packs) we had set up camp in the saddle of the mountain because of a storm. We were able to climb without our packs to the top.

This didn't hurt like the first part had. The first part hurt, but wasn't mentally hard, cause I knew I was going to make it. The second part was not physical stressful, but mentally I didn't think I was going to make it. The rain is starting to come down and the sun is half set. Not that you can see because of the clouds moving in. And I was petrified.