El Volcan!

The volcano Santa Maria stands just outside of town and watches over Xela like the all-seeing eye of Sauron in the Lord of the Rings’ land of Mordor. Clouds collide with its tree covered face on a daily basis but nevertheless there it remains strong and unfazed. With a peak reaching 3772 meters above sea level into the sky (about 1400 meters higher than the city), it’s a formidable yet conquerable opponent for a novice hiker.

Since my first day here the volcano peered at me from a distance, daring me to ascend its cloud piercing peak. This past Sunday, Andy and I decided to accept its challenge. No big deal, I convinced myself, we’ll walk up in the morning to beat the rain, take some cool pictures, and be back home in time for lunch. Considering I couldn’t make the ten minute walk to class without being winded, I had no idea what kind of struggle awaited me.

The night before our hike, I couldn’t sleep again. Aside from the constant pitter patter of rain drops on the thin roof, the night was unusually quiet; the dogs weren’t barking, no trucks roared by, and the roosters took the morning off. As I laid there unable to sleep, I thought about my struggles from the first week. If nothing else, these first five days made me realize how much harder learning Spanish would be than I ever could have imagined. I thought about how much I’d have to push myself to transform my lazy tongue into an ‘r’ rolling champion. I thought about all the awkward attempted conversations that I’d have to initiate to get there. I wondered if I have what it takes.

It felt like I only blinked when Andy walked through the door and said, “Time to get up, mate. It’s a gorgeous day.”

For the first time, we were the first ones up in the house. We skipped breakfast hoping that four oranges, eight water bottles, and two bites of chocolate would be enough to sustain us throughout the morning. By 6:30, we were out of the house.

The sky was a brilliant blue and we could clearly see the Santa Maria awaiting us in the distance as we walked to our bus stop. Vendors were setting up their fragrant flower displays and food stands as we boarded our surprisingly empty chicken bus.

We were dropped off twenty minutes later in a one-dirt-road farming neighborhood. During the bus ride, the volcano disappeared from sight in a swarm of clouds. About a half hour by foot away from the base, we walked up to the end of the road and – when the road ceased to exist – we continued onto the muddy dirt and rock path that we hoped would lead us to the cloud covered Santa Maria.

The plan was to switch on carrying the backpack every twenty minutes. It seemed reasonable enough and, thinking that I was a reasonably fit young man, I thought I could hold up my end of the bargain. I was wrong. Ten minutes into our uphill hike through farm fields, my feeble lungs struggled to make use of the thin air. Deep breaths were made all the more difficult by the pervasive smell of mud mixed with shit – dog shit, horse shit, bull shit… it was all there. Andy looked back to find me hunched over, sweating through my shirt, and wheezing as I tried to keep up. “You were carrying it before. Why don’t you let me carry the bag for a bit and we’ll switch in twenty,” he insisted. I didn’t carry the bag again the entire day.

A half hour in, my shirt and pants were soaked and I didn’t think I’d make it three more minutes never mind three more hours. A group of five Guatemalans around our age came up behind us, the guys dressed in jeans and track jackets; the girl with them wore a dress and slippers. “Hey, no excuses mate. She’s climbin’ in her bloody slippers,” Andy quipped. I almost collapsed on the spot.

Andy and I had been debating whether we had reached the base yet. We agreed that we had, but we still couldn’t see the volcano behind the clouds and we had no idea how far we had gone. We reached the base about twenty minutes after we thought we had. Then, in a most dramatic and timely fashion, the clouds thinned and we could see the forested face of the beast towering over us. All I could think to myself was, No fucking way.

There was a makeshift shack and a couple benches along the open path leading into the woodsy trail up the actual volcano. We stepped over roots and rocks as we followed the narrow trail through the forest. Andy, being the heavily bearded former Aussie rules football player that he is, set the pace. I tried to keep up. Surprisingly enough, however, for a while I found my stride and, though our pace was pretty deliberate, we seemed to be making decent ground for an hour plus.

Then the trail started getting steeper and the air a bit crisper. My feet started feeling heavier and my legs tightened. My lungs tried to convince me they couldn’t take anymore. For a while Andy ran off a head. I stopped to rest every few steps. My head throbbed and spun. Even my shoulders hurt. The trail was much steeper here. The sweat drenching my shirt cooled and circulation slowed to my extremities. I had never pushed my body like this before. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

“Tom!” It was Andy. Thank God, I thought as he finally came into sight with a bottle of water waiting for me. “I reckon we’re almost at the top,” he said excitedly. “You,” I breathed, “waited.” I continued panting. “That’d be pretty selfish of me to finish by myself, eh? We’re gonna finish this thing hand in hand, man. We got about ten more minutes to go, so here’s what we’re gonna do. Walk for one minute, breathe for ten seconds. Walk for one minute, breathe for ten seconds. Got it?”

The only things I remember seeing in those last minutes are the dirt and rock path in front of me and the back of Andy’s heels. When we got past the tree line, Andy made me take the lead. I trudged forward, refusing to stop or to glance to the side until we were at the very top.

Three hours and eight minutes after we stepped off the bus, we had reached the peak. The pictures and videos we took could never capture what it felt like to stand up there and look down on the clouds; to see for miles in every direction and look down on everything in sight. I felt so proud of myself… that is until we saw a group of Guatemalan women in dresses and flats having a full-on picnic (including several 2-liter bottles of soda). Then we saw a group of men and women with boxes filled with food to sell to hikers. As Andy and I sat and enjoyed our victory chocolate and orange, a Guatemalan man stumbled behind us and relieved himself of the huge sack he was carrying on his back. Andy was as dumbfounded as I.

After a half hour of enjoying the view and the accomplishment, we headed back down the way we came. We started off with ginger steps along the steep muddy path at the top; by the time we were halfway down the winding trail we were jogging, jumping over roots and ducking under low hanging branches. When we reached the base, the clouds had resettled and they opened up on us during the last stretch of our hike. By the time we reached the road, my legs were on autopilot. Each foot managed to throw itself in front of me just in time to catch me from falling as my momentum cast me forward.

I ran into a small shop and grabbed a 7-up and two tasteless but unbelievably satisfying pieces of bread while we waited for our bus. As I sat on the grass outside the shop with Andy I looked back on the volcano, now smothered on clouds. I thought to how utterly shitty I felt within the first ten minutes and couldn’t believe that I lasted another three hours. At that moment I felt like I could do anything I put my mind to.

I thought about my doubts from the previous night. I’ve only been here a week. I still have another six months to go, I told myself. It will be a long climb undoubtedly, but I can make it. I need to focus on how I’m doing and not worry about if some woman in a Mayan dress and slippers blows by me. Patience, perseverance, and maybe the help and encouragement of good friends along the way – with these things I can do anything I put my mind to.