Sometimes I pretend to be outdoorsy

It seldom goes well for me. 

Recently, this materialised in the form of the outrageously optimistic thought that I, Lucy, having the wealth of mountaineering experience that can be gleaned through a slightly vigourous walk up a flight of stairs, decided to have a crack at Volcán Santa Maria. 

The volcano is 3,772m above sea-level (Xela is 2,330m), and has been dormant since 1922, when a side-vent (nb. may not be the technical term) erupted and created the Santiaguito "volcano/lava dent". 

Santa Maria's big claim to fame is its 1902 eruption, which was one of the longest eruptions in history. It was a 6 on the VEI (Volcanic Explosivity Index - which, by the way, has the greatest scale of any scientific measurement, ranging from "Effusive" to "Mega Colossal"), which puts it just below the 1991 explosion of Mt Pinatubo, which you can read all about in my Year 9 Science research report (I'll be waiting by my inbox, waiting for the flood of emails requesting a copy). 

It's best to hike the volcano at night/early in the morning, because the clouds blow in from mid-morning, and it completely defeats the purpose of hauling ass up the mountain if you can't see anything from the top. 

And so our adventure began in the depths of night, when we arrived by minibus at the base of the volcano at midnight. Accompanied by two guides, and two policemen (because apparently, it's not uncommon to get robbed on the trail), we started with a gentle, 40min stroll up a slight gradient through paddocks. 

At this point, I realised that despite being moderately fit, this was not going to be a fun traipse up a mountain. Within 5 mins, I was wheezing. 

And not adorably. 

So after these 40mins, when the guide said "and now the real hike begins?" I was about ready to roll myself back down the hill. 

But I persevered. 

What followed was three and a half hours of, which I'm not proud to say, shuffling, hyperventilating and feeling comprehensively sorry for myself. I think I might be the first human to propel herself up a mountain using only whinge-power. 

My lamp didn't work (super fun for pitch black, muddy climbs). I was a moron and didn't bring gloves (cue frostnip). The altitude was awful. I was unfit. My shoelaces wouldn't tie. Wah. Wah. Wahhhhh. 

In all fairness to myself though, I was really surprised by how hard the altitude hit me (and it's made me reconsider how much of a slacker I thought I was after Chicobal). At some points, I could only take 10 steps before I had to stop and breathe for 10 breaths to recover even a little. 

Added to this, the path itself was an absolute nightmare - it was all muddy and rocky, with just enough trees to keep you on your toes (or ass, as happened to me twice when I was too busy looking for handholds to realise that I was propelling myself directly into a branch). And because of this, there are very few photos of the walk up, except for this specimen, which is the only vaguely focussed photo I managed to take...

Xela by night. 

A nearly-full moon which theoretically meant we had great visibility of the path.


I call shenanigans. 

But in the thoroughly respectable time of 3.5hrs (we were told to expect 4-5), we managed to ascend up through the clouds (an experience which was equally amazing and freezing) and reach the top of the mountain. 

Little did I know that the worst was yet to come. 

Because as torturous as the 3.5hrs of climbing had been, the constant hyperventilation had done an fabulous job of keeping all but my extremities extremely warm. Adding to this, climbing  amongst (and whacking my head against) trees, had been largely shielding us from the wind. And when we got to the top, we were brutally unprotected from it.  And since we'd made the top in such good time, we had about 2 hours to wait until the sunrise. 

It. 

Was.

Awful. 

I have never been so cold, and so underprepared to be cold, in my life. I was wearing thermals, leggings, jumpers, some fancy wind- and rain-proof coat, a beanie, and was burrito-ed inside a sleeping bag and I was still shivering *violently* for what felt like literally was hours. 

On the upside, it shook all the lactic acid out of my body, which is why I wasn't completely crippled after the hide, on the the downside, I have never experienced whole-body cramps like I did that morning. And when you're huddled for dear warmth inside of a sleeping bag, there are extremely limited options for stretching out cramps, so you just have to ride the dragon. I'm not too proud to admit there were tears. 

But after 2 hrs, I finally got the glimmer of hope I was desperately needing. 

RISE YOU BASTARD, RISE.

The view from the top, out over not-Xela (the other side of the volcano). 

I couldn't pick which of these photos would make you most jealous, so this next bit's going to get monotonous...

#sahhartsy

WOULD YOU JUST HURRY UP AND RISE?

More proof that I was, in fact, above the clouds

Finally, the sun rose enough to get a photo to prove that I did climb a mountain.

And then I promptly ran back into my sleeping bag. 

HOW DID YOU GET LOWER AGAIN??? COME BACK

Santiaguito - the volcano we'd been told to watch for an eruption

How to not be warm enough, by Lucy. 

I got out again to take a jumpy photo.

Fucking love a jumpy photo.

(I was crying from cold on the inside)

Xela by (almost) day

HOW ARE YOU NOT UP YET?

Looking out over the other side of the volcano. 

Other side of the volcano feat. Moon.  

Higher... 

Higher....

Nearly there.....

So did you guys know that mountains can have shadows?

I did not.

But if you look at the blue triangle, in the middle of this photo - that is the shadow of Santa Maria. 

Other side of the volcano feat. moon feat. shadow of a volcano

AND THE SUN IS UP AND I CAN BE HAPPY AGAIN

Seriously, I was really excited about discovering mountain-shadows. 

HOLY SHIT I FORGOT HOW COLD AND MISERABLE I WAS BECAUSE THE VOLCANO NEXT TO US STARTED EXPLODING AND SUDDENLY I AM SO HAPPY THAT I MADE MYSELF DO THIS!!!

!!!!!

Genuinely thrilled and not at all cold and miserable.

Oh, so you take forever to get above the horizon, but once you're here, you're just going to jet off into the sky? 

Having seen our fill of sunrises/moonsets/volcano eruptions/mountain shadows and frostnip, we started the treacherous journey down the mountain. 

And while going up still remains the deepest lever of hell, going down was not the stark relief I had hoped for. Because in addition to being steep, slippery and muddy, I was now outrageously fatigued from no sleep and the ascent. Adding insult to injury, as we were trudging down, we passed about 200 Mayan people wandering up, some of them dressed in long skirts and thongs (cf. my hiking boots and activewear)

My attire. 

The path.

Not seen, how steep, muddy and slippery it was. 

But in 3.5hrs (maybe a little under), we made it back down to the paddocks where we'd started the "real hike", and promptly collapsed for a 20min power-lie-down-and-process-the-enormity-of-what-you-have-achieved/nap. 

I did this. 

I did this hard. 

And so this story ends with me soaking my hands in warm water for about 4hrs until they got feeling back/stopped burning, having a stand-up-nap in the shower and then a solid 14hrs of sleep. 

And then I started Googling which volcano I would climb next....