Trying not to fall of the volcano

The community of Las Trancas is nestled at the base of a dormant volcano. From the first day I arrived here, I knew that I would need to climb the volcano before I leave. Two weeks ago I finally did it. Never again.

I have hiked part way up the volcano on three separate occasions before my most recent ascent, but because of the groups I went with (younger kids or older adults), I always knew we would not reach anywhere near the top. And we didn’t; in fact, before two weeks ago I had not even reached the midpoint of the volcano. So when on a Thursday night Chino came to my house to tell me that the next morning a group of people were setting to summit the Usulutan Volcano, I knew I had to cancel whatever plans I had and join them.

We left at 5:30 on a Friday morning. A good group consisting of “Chino”, the Sherpa—strong and athletic; “Moncho,” offered constant moral support; “La Pipa,” provided comedic relief when it was most needed; “Gallo”, the Don, the decision maker; and “El Gringo”—more comedic relief but more for my blunders than my jokes. Amongst us, we carried 4 machetes, 4 slingshots, 1 pistol, a pot to cook in, water, expectations to reach the top and hopes to come across an iguana, rabbit, or armadillo to cook on the mountain. Also we carried a 30 foot rope which should have served as a fair warning to me, but of course it did not.

The first few hors of the hike were pleasant enough. The trail was steep but it was a trail nonetheless. At about 9:00 we stopped to make coffee over an open fire and eat bread, tortillas, and beans. Feeling replenished, we set off again in high spirits. Almost immediately, the trail abruptly ended. We hiked or way into a overgrown wash. We continued stumbling over rocks and through brush with the idea that if we were going up, we must be going in the right direction. Though difficult, there was still no danger graver than a scratch from an overhanging tree branch or a banged shin by a loose rock. That is, until we reached a 15 foot wall of rock.

It came out of nowhere and there was no going around it. We sat for a minute, laughed uneasily, and then decided there was nowhere to go but up. Chino took his machete and chopped down a nearby tree. We chopped off the branches leaving us with a 15 foot log. The log was placed up against the rock wall and Chino shimmied his way up the log to the top of the cliff. From there, he tied the rope to a tree at the top and the rest of us proceeded to climb the cliff using the rope as support. Scary, but not too big of a deal.

At the top of the cliff we were greeted with another, only this one was twice the size of the first. Once again, we felled a tree and placed it up against the rock wall. The biggest tree we could find only reached about half way up the cliff. So Chino, in an impressive feat of mountaineering shimmied up the tree for 15 feet and then rock-climbed the remaining 25 feet of the cliff. From the top he called down to us that there was nowhere to tie the rope to and he was just going to wrap it around his wrists and hold it as we climbed up the cliff. Looking at Gallo’s 6 foot 210 pound frame I called up that I didn’t think that was such a great idea. Chino was offended that I didn’t have confidence in him. Now as people who have visited me here know, I will go to great lengths not to offend Salvadorans. I have eaten food that I don’t like until I’m on the verge of getting sick, I have sat through 4 hour nighttime evangelical church services, and most recently I scaled a 40 foot cliff using a rope attached to nothing but Chino in order not to offend Salvadorans. If anyone from Peace Corps is reading this, I think I deserve an award.

Reaching the top, we all breathed a sigh of relief to be safely on a 45 degree slant as oppose to a 90 degree one. Now, about ¾ of the way to the top, there was nowhere to go but up, up, up. This last stretch got steeper, more overgrown, and the dirt and rocks were much looser. As we neared the peak we were scrambling on all fours dodging rocks, branches, and at one point a machete that was dropped by on of my partners ahead of me. With steep slopes on either side of me, there was no dodging falling debris, the best I could do was shield myself with my backpack. It was just a ridiculous, dangerous comedy of errors. Myself, La Pipa, and Gallo, knowing that going down was going to be even more dangerous than coming up, had decided enough was enough. Moncho and Chino, having heard that there was an easier trail on the other side of the volcano, wanted to get to the top, descend the volcano on the easier trail and take a bus back to the community from the other side of the mountain. The prospect of not having to climb down the steep, slippery part of the volcano we were currently on and the two cliffs we had scaled earlier was appealing to everyone, but eventually decided it was better to start heading down rather than facing the treacherous 50 vertical feet that remained to the top.

Going down is when we really started to realize the situation we had gotten ourselves into. Any misstep or slide would not be easily corrected and would result in at best, some very serious injuries very high up on a mountain. So very slowly we began or descent. We walked in the crab position, on all fours and looking upward so that if we started to slide we could sit down and drag or hands and hopefully stop ourselves. It was at this point that I heard La Pipa mention his three kids. I think we all, except maybe Chino, were thinking similarly—we could die if we fall.

We reached a spot of relatively level ground where we stopped to eat some more bread, beans, and tortillas. The mood was rather different from our first meal as we were all thinking about the cliffs that still awaited us.

After eating, we set off again. As we neared the rock walls, we searched for more manageable ways down. Not finding any, we planned how to climb down. The first one was the big one. The rope only reached 30 of the 40 feet down. We decided cut down a tree, tied it to the rope, and lowered it so touched the ground and leaned against the cliff. Moncho went down first. He lowered himself down the first 30 feet using the rope that was supported again by Chino. He shimmied down the tree for the last 10 feet and let out a yelp of relief. Next went Gallo, then La Pipa, and finally, it was my turn. I’m certain I was pale as could be and my hands were shaking. I have never been in a situation where I had to do something so dangerous with no other options. I don’t think I was being overdramatic in thinking I might die. And I wish I could say I was confident in my own physical abilities (heck, Chino wasn’t scared and he had to climb down after all of us and without the help of the rope) but I was definitely not. Very slowly and very cautiously I made it down without problems.

When Chino made it down without problems, the change in the mood of the group was night and day. Even though the 15 foot cliff was still in front of us, the worst was behind. Once again, at the risk of sounding overdramatic, I think we were all ecstatic to be alive. The rest of the way down was filled with constant talking, joking, and laughing.

I choose not to drink in my community due to a prevalence of alcoholism and a stigma placed on those who drink by those who don’t—a stigma that would hinder my work here. However, heading back to the community, I suggested we stop at a small restaurant to drink a few beers. I have rarely felt more close to a group of people than I did at that restaurant drinking those beers and talking about our adventure. Leaving the restaurant, we decided to sit under a huge mango tree as the sun was going down. It was mostly silent except for the occasional contented sigh which really said it all.