Type II Fun

"Type I fun is when you are doing something and you instantaneously have a good time.
Type II fun is when you feel as if you are going through hell but later realize
that the experience was amazing. I like Type II fun more."
-Micah the Vulcán Guide

Throughout this trip I’d say that we’ve had more than our fair share of Type I fun. Whenever we’ve gone out to salsa clubs, shared meals with friends and climbed Vulcán Pacaya last week, we were having quite the blast while we were doing these things. In sort of contrast, over the last two days, we climbed a 13,000ft active volcano, watched it’s neighbor spew lava over 500 feet in the air, slept in its crater, had one of the most horrific nights of my life and experienced our first Type II adventure.

One of the main reasons we came down to Guatemala was to experience its wilderness. Since the three of us are all avid outdoorsmen, the allure of this country’s 13,000 and 14,000 foot volcanoes had us salivating before our departure, and I believe we were only here a day or two before getting our feet wet with the volcano climbing experience. For roughly 45Q, we were able to get a ride and a guide (not voluntarily) to take us up Vulcán Pacaya.

Standing inside Pacaya

Pacaya is considered the wimpy intro to volcano climbing in Guatemala, and typically if anyone climbs a volcano in Guatemala it will most likely be Pacaya. Now while it is considered a wimpy climb, there is a bit of danger involved with this volcano. For instance it erupted in May, killed a news reporter and rained ash on Guatemala City—which sits about 45 minutes away.

The climb was pretty uneventful natural disaster wise, but we had an amazing experience on the volcano, walking on the dried lava field, feeling the heat vents and even stepping inside of one of the volcano’s craters—which felt what I would imagine a pressure cooker would feel like. With Pacaya, we officially got the Vulcán bug, and set our sights to a more physically demanding climb—Acatenango.

Micah and a dog that followed
us for half the climb.

We woke up at 5:20 on Monday morning to pack our bags, check out of our hostel, and make our way to Outdoor Excursions (OX), a guide company based in Antigua. Micah, a young twenty something from East Texas who has spent a few seasons working at and trekking through Denali National Park, led our crew, and along for the ride were two other clients: a young backpacker from Germany and a Canadian expat currently living in Antigua.

Because of the hike’s proximity to civilization, there have been problems of thefts on the trails in the past, and it is mainly for this reason that we chose to do this climb with a guiding company. In addition to giving us meals and gear, OX provided security in the form of a super kind, soft-spoken, and local man, Jaime, who wielded not only a two-foot long machete but also a 9mm pistol. Needless to say, we weren’t too worried about of safety. We loaded into our van, and after a quick bagel and café stop, we began our thirty-minute journey to the trailhead.

Driving is an adventure of its own in Guatemala. California made me used to driving fast with motorcyclists driving even faster, while swerving in an out of traffic, but the California freeways did not prepare my heart for the rides down here. In Guatemala driving slowly isn’t an option, and it isn’t just the motorcyclists that swerve in and out of traffic here—it’s the cars, the vans, and even the chicken buses. It is not uncommon to be driving around a mountain turn—with no guardrail mind you—and to have the vehicle you are in slam on the breaks to stop for a cow, person, or chicken bus in the middle of the barely two lane road. We’ve had some close calls with hitting stray dogs but nothing too serious.

Guatemalan Agriculture

The climb began right off the side of the road, on a dirt path that is used for farming traffic. For the first hour or so, we wove ourselves in between farming patches, many of which were finished with growing corn or other vegetables for the season and were in the process of being transitioned into lily fields. The trail consisted of very loose dirt, and wasn’t the most pleasant smelling due to horses and some bad habits of Guatemalans doing their business on the trail.

As one of Guatemala’s national parks, one of the most striking things to be was the sheer amount of trash located on the trail and in the foliage on the way up to Acatenango. This past summer, I was shocked to see the amount of trash that was collected at the annual Yosemite cleanup event—the Facelift—but despite the amount that was collected in that park, the amount of trash we saw along the trail—including water bottles, candy wrappers, and medicine packaging—put it to shame.

The trail led us through the farmlands, into the jungle and above the cloud line, revealing some rather spectacular views of neighboring mountain ranges and towering volcanoes. However, it wasn’t until we were in the alpine zone did the experience really hit its peak.

Towering at 13,045 feet with a prominence of 6,020 feet, Acatenango just barely sits below my highest summit of Mt. Dana by a mere 16 feet in height, but dominates it by 2,039 feet in prominence. When hiking at such a high elevation, being wary of what your body is telling you is pretty important. Altitude sickness can be pretty serious, as I’ve watched first hand as a friend descended from Mt. Dana and preceded to vomit for over an hour. When climbing Dana, I felt the sickness pretty bad in the form of one of the worst headaches of my life and a strong desire to fall asleep. Having known my past, I took extra precautions with my water intake by drinking more than what was recommended by Micah and by not pushing myself too hard during the climb. What was absolutely amazing about Acatenango, was the fact that during the entire trip, when others in our group were experiencing mild altitude effects, I had nearly none and never really felt tired until it was time to go to sleep.

Summit!

After nearly eight hours of climbing we finally made our way over the volcanic crater ridge, set down our packs and began setting up camp. After a long hard day, our spirits were at an all time high, as the view from the top of the volcano was like nothing I had seen before, unless I was in an airplane. Guatemala was experiencing a bit of cloud cover by the time we made it up to the top, and to be able to see volcanos peaking out above the swiriling white blanket below us was absolutely breathtaking. However, the highlight of the view was Vulcán de Fuego.

In my last post, I mentioned Fuego as the volcano who was experiencing a bit of activity this week. Well, situated only three kilometers from Fuego is Acatenango, and since Acatenango stands 700 feet taller than Fuego, we not only had a prime viewing spot for the volcano, but also a prime viewing spot of it’s crater as it erupted with an earth shaking explosion, spewing lava 500 feet in the air with a towering brown burst of smoke. Watching this volcano from the top of Acatenango is without a doubt the most spectacular experience I have ever witnessed in my lift thus far. There were times where the sound of the volcano literally made us jump in freight it was so powerful.

Sitting close for warmth, the crew sat together watching Fuego erupt at a frequency of about every ten minutes as the sun set over the most impressive blanket of clouds I have ever seen. The entire day had been perfect: the team, the weather, and even the difficulty. Could this be the most enjoyable, stress free backpacking trip I had ever been on? What possibly could go wrong?

Then came the night.

Vulcán de Fuego

With almost the exact moment of the sun dipping below the horizon—taking with it the colors of the sky—came the bitter, bitter wind. At first the wind at the summit wasn’t necessarily strong, but just frigid cold. Having borrowed warm clothes from OX, I rushed back to the tent to throw on my knit cap, sweater, long johns and down coat. While eating dinner, the wind was not as much of a pain with all my clothes on, as it was impressive while it increased in ferocity and launched flaming embers from our four foot tall fire high into the air—emulating the blazing past of Acatenango, which has laid dormant since 1972.

Around 7:30PM, the three of us climbed into our tent while the other 4 in the group, shared theirs. It was right around this time the wind picked up to such intense speeds that our tent started to shake violently with it force. As time progressed, the tent poles started to buckle under the vigor of the wind, and since Harvey was situated on the side of the tent where the wind was hitting the hardest, he tried his hardest to hold the tent from collapsing upon us. However, by 9:30 we heard a snap and a tear and the tent collapsed upon us. I jumped out and called to Micah to see if he had a metal sleeve or duct tape to help repair the snap and the subsequent tear in the rain fly, but for some reason neither of which were in his bag.

The wind was blowing so hard at this point that the lines holding down the tent and the rain fly began to be ripped out of the crater, despite being held down by seven-pound rocks. The tear in the fly grew larger and larger, and Micah made the call to move Adam and Harvey into the other tent, while him and I would stay in the damaged one—preventing it from flying away.

Few words can describe the sound of the wind against the tent. The loudness of it was so deafening that I knew early on that I wasn’t going to be sleeping that night, and it would most likely be the longest night of my life. My predictions weren’t off.

At 10:15, I saw a headlamp light emerge from the other tent, and heard Adam run over to tell us that their tent had also collapsed. Micah jumped out of his bag and ran over to try to fix the problem, however without the supplies, there was little any of us could do other than wait out the wind storm.

Camp inside the crater

Micah volunteered to sleep outside of a tent and fix any problems with the second tent if they were needed, and I stayed in the first tent, which by this point was completely collapsed and whose rain fly had torn away and blown off the side of the volcano. Sleeping in the tent wasn’t that big of a problem since it sort of wrapped around me like my bivy sack, but the loud powerful gusts of the wind were unsettling as I tried to fall asleep. Since I was deathly tired and sleep deprived, it wasn’t just the wind that had my mind racing, but also the fact that there was an active, erupting volcano only a hop, skip and a jump away from me and the fact that I was sleeping in a volcanic crater. I kept having images in my mind where I would have to cut myself out of the tent, grab my bag and run for dear life as Fuego blew it’s top.

Thankfully that never happened, in fact other than not getting a wink of sleep, very little happened. The wind never let up, but there also wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Since I couldn’t fall asleep, I stared at the stars and saw the best night sky of my life—something that I thought could never happen outside of Yosemite. The banging blasts of Fuego provided for a nice orchestration as I lay in my bag and hoped that any minute Micah would tap me on the shoulder to say that it was about sunrise and time to get the hell of that rock.

Eventually one of the most amazing sunrises cleared the stars from the sky, and everyone rushed to pack up gear in the still blasting wind. Sleeping pads and parts of the tents blew away and Harvey, Adam, and I acted as heroes of the day, chasing the items to the edge of the volcano, grabbing them before they flew into the Guatemalan clouds. After we were packed, we hiked off the mountain with one of the most exhausting hikes I have experienced. I wouldn’t recommend climbing down some 4,500 ft with no sleep.

Morning View

After all of that, would I still do it again?

Of course.

The trip was absolutely amazing, and despite the hardships and the tough night, no one really is to blame for what happened with the weather. As the sun went down, the weather was absolutely unbelievable and there was no way of knowing what was in store for us. Micah did a top-notch job keeping the chaos together and keeping morale up. For the three of us, we have other climbs in mind, but right now, I think each of us are looking forward to spending a little bit more time on the beach before we tackle any more volcanoes.

Off to Xela in the morning...