Tajumulco Volcano
Back when I visited Taiwan, I made an attempt at climbing the mountain of Yushan and getting to Taiwan’s highest point. At the time, I felt in the best shape I was, and it was after spending several weeks hiking around Japan and South Korea. I felt great about myself, and I was ready to conquer this mountain. I underestimate the altitude, as well as the physical difficulty. It ended up as a disaster, and by the end I felt I was lucky I didn’t end up in ICU, or worse. Although I did make it to the top of Yushan and back down in one piece, on the inside I felt hollow, broken. I reached the peak, but the mountain defeated me.
It took me several weeks to feel like I’m recovering from what I later came to call a trauma. It was the main reason I left Taiwan earlier than I planned, and part of the reason I struggled with The Philippines in the beginning. At the time I didn’t really talk about it with anyone. It wasn’t so much shame, but rather a desire, a need, to forget that it happened. I wanted to live in denial and have no record of it. I promised to myself that I’ll never make that mistake again, and thought that it would take several years before I’d even consider another high-altitude hike.
When I got to Mexico City, there were some hikes in the area, but they were too high for me, so I didn’t do much there. When I started to look into Guatemala, it wasn’t long before I found out about the famous Acatenango hike, which I immediately dismissed. And when it came to Quetzaltenango, while I was aware of a couple of high-altitude hikes in the area, including a hike to the highest point in Central America, I didn’t think much of it. My original plan was to go to Chicabal, maybe some waterfalls in the area, and that’s it.
But as I made my way through Guatemala, and started looking more at this city, I realized there is more to it, more that I can do. The first realization was that Xela itself is high up, over 2,300 meters, so while there were hikes that were reaching 3,000 meters, it wasn’t that much of an elevation gain. Of course, both Tajumulco and Santa María were well above that, but an idea has been formed in my head- Maybe, if I stick around for a while, I can gradually make my way to those peaks. I could take my time, increase my fitness level, adjust to the altitude with some of the lower hikes, and then make an attempt to not only get to the top of those volcanoes and be rewarded with great views, I’ll also be able to overcome the traumatic experience of Yushan.
And so, cautiously, I started my training in the mountain around Quetzaltenango. I started with Chicabal, which was the lowest point for me, before taking on the Santiaguito Viewpoint. I made sure to check what the altitude is at the top of those destinations, and asked people around about how problematic it would be to do it alone. I felt fine at the Viewpoint, and so I kept going. I headed to La Muela, and then attempted to hike to the highest peak of Cerro Quemado. Whether I got there or not, I did get pretty high up.
I felt good about myself, and after a failed attempt to find the starting point of the trail to Siete Orejas, it was time to try Santa María. It was quite a bit higher than the other hikes, and I didn’t want to take a risk of any problems arising while I’m on my own, so I signed up for a group hike. It was a great success, I didn’t feel bad along the way (although I did feel the effects of the altitude), and I was great with stunning views.
At that point, Tajumulco was the only one left. The problem was getting a group together. Xela isn’t on the main list of places to visit in Guatemala, it’s not a main tourist destination, and even less so during the rainy season. Day after day, for about a week and a half, I asked repeatedly if there was a group going, or if anyone would be interested in joining and for a group. It got to the point that I considered going to Hotel Villa Real and trying my luck there, although that would have been without a guide, which seemed somewhere between foolish and dangerous.
At the last moment, a new guy came to volunteer at the hostel where I stayed, and he expressed interest in going there. I have tried to market to tour for him, just like I tried with everyone else (and felt a bit like I’m selling my soul), although I wasn’t sure it was necessary. However, I was desperate to make it happen, and didn’t want to take any chances. There were three options for this hike- Overnight camping, a day tour that starts before sunrise, and a night hike. I didn’t want to do it overnight, and felt like a night hike would be the best option, and that was also a great option for my new companion.
And so, we got the ball rolling. We picked a date, got ready, and at the appointed hour got into the car. Other than me and my hostel companion, another hiker decided to sign up at the last minute. With us in the cas, there was the driver and the guide, two men who seemed friendly enough. They didn’t speak English, but we managed to get by with Spanish.
The ride over to the trailhead was pretty smooth and uneventful. After a bit of chatting in the beginning between all of us, me and the other two hikers got quiet, trying to get some more sleep, while the driver and the guide talked with each other. I failed to sleep, and ended up just looking at whatever views we had, mostly random houses and signs which were lit by street lamps. One of those signs had “elephants” written on it, which seemed a bit random to me. A few minutes later, I heard the driver and the guide wondering about it, and my hostel companion joined the conversation. It turned out I wasn’t the only one who paid attention and was a bit confused by it.
It took about two and a half hours, and after we passed by Hotel Villa Real, we drove over a dirt road for a few minutes before the car stopped. We got out, took our bags, and said goodbye to our driver, who, as far as I could tell from the quick conversation, was going to sleep in the car while waiting for us to come back.
It was pitch black, and we each had a headlamp to help us see anything. Not knowing much about the trail, we followed our guide, trusting him to know the way to the top and get us there without getting lost in the process.
Unsurprisingly, I found myself in the back of the group once again. My companion from the hostel was at the front, and I could hear him chatting with the guide, while the other hiker who joined at the last minute was in the middle. We were not too far from each other, and whenever the guide felt like we did, he stopped and waited until everyone caught up with him. Being in the back, it was a pretty quiet climb for me, along the twisty dirt road, and while it was a great difficulty, I could already feel the altitude. On top of that, it was getting colder the higher up we got, but the constant climb kept the temperature up.
The city lights that we could see earlier on quickly disappeared behind us, and only the headlights ahead of me indicated the right direction. Alone, it would have been too easy to get lost on Tajumulco in the middle of the night. Being behind, that was a bit of a worry to me, but I felt like as long as I can see and hear the rest of the group I’m in any trouble.
From time to time we stopped, mainly for me, rested for a few minutes, and then kept going. Not wanting a repeat of Yushan, I made sure to pace myself, and pay attention to any signs that my body might not be up to the task. At times it seemed like an inconvenience for the rest of the little group, but I had to take care of myself. For the most part I just focused on my breathing and tried to maintain a steady pace.
Time passed, mostly in silence. At some point we started to see the city lights again, and that gave me something to look for. It was night, so we barely saw anything, certainly nothing far away from us, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like once the sun will come up, what views will greet us on the way back down. I was cheered up by those thoughts, and even when we were between the trees again, I kept thinking about it for a while. There was something waiting for us on the way down, quite a different view, and I wasn’t sure I had an experience like that before.
As we got up, the road started to change and become more challenging. At this point I have concluded that anyone who said Santa María had a greater physical difficulty was simply wrong. On top of the altitude, the road itself was difficult. I got tired quickly, and had to stop more often, which didn’t sit well with the tour guide. From my point of view, I paid for a tour guide not only to navigate at night, but to do it safely, and he seemed to have little concern about that. Somehow, at an altitude of way over 3,000 meters, I found myself arguing with the tour guide about my need to rest, drink, and pace myself. The guide kept pushing to go forward, and I had to keep pushing to stay put for a few minutes.
I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but somewhere along the way my hostel companion decided to position himself behind me, ask if I could keep going, and didn’t complain when I stopped in the middle of the trail. The guide was some distance above us, and it felt like he stopped only when he had no choice.
The road was getting steeper, rockier, and windier. I kept going as much as I could, slowing down in an attempt to have less brakes, but that strategy only lasted so far. Eventually I just sat down on a rock and refused to move, until my hostel companion suggested looking for another place to rest, where there would be less wind and I’ll be better protected. A few minutes later I found a spot and sat down again. Of course, it didn’t take long before the guide urged us to keep going. I had no idea why he was in such a rush, and just didn’t care. I couldn’t handle much Spanish at that point, and I started to struggle with English as well. It wasn’t until my companion explained to me that a few more minutes would get us to what the guide referred to as “basecamp”, which from what I understand was the place for overnight camping. At that point a light drizzle started, which was quite annoying, especially combined with the wind. It also made me think about the weather conditions in Yushan, and the lack of views on that fateful day from the top of the mountain.
Thinking that basecamp would be a better place to rest, and that everyone else needed to sit down as well, I got my bag, and slowly the group made it to the right spot. I sat down, drank some more water, and started to relax. And then the guide told us to keep going again. I was very unhappy with it, and repeated the word “no” for several minutes. Rushing to the top was something I tried to avoid, and having to fight with someone who was supposed to keep me safe on the road felt profoundly wrong. Somewhere in the back of my head I knew that the altitude, weather, and lack of sleep all have part in how I felt, but I also knew that rushing mindlessly can be disastrous.
Eventually, reluctantly, I picked up my bag, and we resumed our walk. I’d still stop for a few moments every now and then in order to catch my breath, and my companion from the hostel did a far better job at keeping me safe than the guide, who seemed like he couldn’t be bothered. The road was still pitch black, and while the drizzle eventually stopped, the wind got stronger and colder.
Then, out of the blue, we started descending for a minute or two, and then stopped. I was informed that apparently we made it to the top of Tajumulco. I couldn’t see anything, my negative feelings toward the guide grew stronger, and there was no sense of achievement. The only hope was that once the sun would come up, the view would be worth it and change everything. But that was about an hour away.
Our guide finally had some sense knocked into him and he started looking for ways to start a fire. I, on the other hand, started to freak out. I could not feel my fingers, they were freezing through the ski gloves I had, and I tried to take them off, thinking that if I can press my hands on my neck or my stomach and get some body heat going it will be fine. I struggle to take off the gloves, and then unzip the coat, which I’m pretty sure I just tried to rip off at some point. Someone helped me, I’m not sure which one of the other hikers, but I could hear some English. And then I could hear the guide in Spanish, who for the first time seemed to express some concern for my well-being.
The fire eventually started, although it was changing direction a lot due to the strong winds, so one moment I could barely feel it, and another moment it was burning my hands. It was just about enough to keep me from another episode. I tried to focus on my breaths in an attempt to keep my mind off the cold.
Slowly, the sun started to rise, but unfortunately it rose over a foggy and cloudy mountain top. We were not able to see anything, and it seemed like we wouldn’t be able to even if we had stayed there for a few more hours. I was frozen and disappointed. When the suggestion to go back down was brought up, the only thing I said was that we need to take a picture with the sign first. We did that quickly, and then embarked on our journey down the mountain.
The guide turned to me, gave me his trekking pole (he only brought one), and then quickly started walking again. If he appeared to have any concern for me, it was a great concern. Once more, I was in the back of the group.
One step after the other, we descended the steep and rocky terrain. I wasn’t as far behind as I was on the way up, but I did struggle. I also had to remind myself that going up to the top of the volcano was only the first half of the journey. Going down was the second half, and still had potential risks.
While the others were ahead, my companion from the hostel was still very much aware of me and my struggles, regularly looking over his shoulder to make sure I’m not trailing behind too much. And he did some far more often than the guide.
As we cleared the steeper parts of the trail and got back to a more grassy area, the skies started to clear out a bit, and we started to see some nice views. I was right about having something to look forward to on the way back, however, those views felt like a consolation prize. It was nice, but I knew it could have been a lot nicer. And on top of that I also realized I’m spending so much time delving into the dept of negativity, thinking about how much I hate the guide, and that made me struggle to enjoy the views we did have. I still took some pictures, more of the sake of taking pictures and less because I wanted to (and later when I felt better I had something nice to look at from that day).
The group just kept going with minimal brakes, and once we got into the easy part of the trail I found myself further behind, and it could take me several minutes before I saw anyone again. Along the way, I decided to just tune out and focus on myself. I walked for as long as I could, took a break when I felt like it, and didn’t care what anyone else wanted to do. The group was kinda falling apart at that point. My hostel companion was close to the guide, while the other hiker was ahead of everyone.
While the guide stopped to rest, I passed him without even looking at his direction, pretending he didn’t exist, and he didn’t say anything. I managed to also overtake another hiker, and was the first one to reach the car, where I was greeted by the cheerful driver. I smiled at him, handed him my bag and the trekking, and then sat down in the car.
Several minutes later, everyone else reached the car as well, and we started the drive back. I managed to get some sleep, and felt a bit better when I woke up, but I knew I needed more than that. There was nothing else for me in Xela, and after we were dropped off, I packed everything I had left in the hostel and left the city as soon as I could. After all this time in Guatemala, it was my first time taking the chicken bus, which didn’t feel special. I’m not sure it was supposed to. I had a great time in Xela for the most part, and I was sad to leave on a bitter note.