This story is part of our Your First Published Article series. An ill-prepared traveler in Central America endures the volcanic ash trails of Acatenago, in the looming lava-spitting shadow of Fuego, testing her mental resilience as she struggles toward the summit.
I awoke hanging off the edge of a cramped single mattress in Antigua. My friend had climbed into my bunk after our cell phone flashlights revealed scurrying brown bedbugs in hers. Exhausted but excited, we quietly got dressed and grabbed our backpacks. We fumbled in the dark, trying not to wake other guests. We’d hoped that we wouldn’t wake with red bites and infested clothes. So far, so good.
We live in different countries and met in Guatemala to explore this area that neither of us had visited before. We had been looking forward to this hike; we envisioned the incredible view of the neighboring Fuego volcano erupting, the valley below, and the looming mountains in the distance. Fuego is an active volcano, puffing smoke and spitting lava around every twenty minutes. This hike up Acatenago seemed like it would be no big deal. I liked hiking and was in decent physical shape. This was just one activity on a two-week trip to Central America, and after we booked it, not much thought was given to preparations for this part.
When our guide divided the gear between our four backpacks (his, ours, and another guest’s from the hostel), my pack was too heavy to even lift, let alone wear it while hiking a steep volcano. We redistributed the gear a bit, but it was still too heavy to manage. “It’s just two days, it’ll be fine,” I tried to convince myself while attempting to stand up straight and almost falling backwards. A van dropped us at the trailhead around sunrise, then, looking up, we could feel the magnitude of what was about to happen. It felt dizzying. Was it from looking straight up to the peak? Was it just feeling the daunting task ahead? Stretching one last time, we all lifted our overweight backpacks onto our shoulders. It was time to start the adventure as the sun began to rise.
The trail was steep and consisted of dark, volcanic ash and dirt. Because it’s so loose, when you take a step, your foot slides back to where it was before. To make any progress, we had to keep moving without stopping, as if we were walking up a down escalator. We were surrounded by misty, subtropical forest with cypress and pine trees. The scenery changed to coffee farms with rows of neatly planted shrubs, leading to questions about how farmers worked this harsh terrain. To make things even more interesting, the farm land sometimes came right up to the trail, marking the property with barbed wire fencing. If we slid on the loose ash and put our hands out to catch ourselves, we had to be very careful not to grab the barbed wire. It’s hard to go against your instincts and make yourself just fall. Thankfully, the land changed to open alpine meadows followed by rocky terrain with thin trees. Reaching higher altitude, the plants seemed to thin out along with the oxygen.
The realization crept in that what I previously considered “hiking” was actually just walking in the woods. Maybe I had never actually been on a real “hike”? Breathing became more difficult, and the volcano started spinning. The guide explained that Acatenango Volcano is over 13,000 feet tall, and at that altitude, we were only getting about a third of the oxygen we were used to at sea level. Steady breathing became the main focus.
It’ll be fine.
We encountered other small guided groups along the way. Most of them appeared to be avid hikers and more prepared. Some others were slower like me. My group hiked on ahead while I struggled to breathe, hike, and carry the too-heavy backpack at the same time. They stopped for lunch and water. It was finally time for rest and a refuel, but they were ready to push on by the time of my arrival. The rest of the group was encouraging and excited to see what was next. By this point, there was no choice but to keep moving and make it to the camp, and the incredible view would be worth it.
About halfway through the trek, a hiker from another guided group injured her ankle. Since vehicles can’t make it up this narrow, rugged trail, there’s a network of local community members who volunteer to rescue injured or sick hikers. As I huffed and struggled to keep going, a local man breezed past me as if he were leisurely strolling through a city park. He wore a polo shirt, nice jeans, and black dress shoes. It was both impressive and shocking. It would have been nice to stop and admire this display of athleticism, but it wasn’t worth the risk of losing five feet of gains by sliding back.
Hours later (which felt like days), our group finally reached the top, where we would camp for the night. The first order of business was to ditch the backpacks to better enjoy the view. What a relief to stand up straight again. Looking up…the fog was so thick it was like a white curtain enveloping the camp. We walked around to different vantage points on the volcano, but no luck. Visibility was only a few feet. All that work for zero payoff.
The light sweater and jeans in my pack provided little protection from the nearly freezing temperatures (why take full cold-weather gear for one night when the rest of our Central America trip would be hot? It’ll be fine!) With a pounding headache and shivers so intense it was difficult to drink the now frigid water, I focused again on breathing and hoped the weather would improve. We ate pasta cooked over a small propane stove and set up the tent, deciding to try to sleep early. The four of us crawled into the small tent with barely enough room to roll over, but the closeness helped to warm up. We were sore and cold, with a bonus of slight altitude sickness for me. Lying in the tent, we felt too wired to sleep after all. We talked about our countries of origin, played word games, and reveled in the fact that we had all made it to the top with no major incidents.
In the middle of the night, the ground shook and we heard the low rumble of the Fuego volcano. We all sprang up in our sleeping bags and scrambled to unzip the tent, but the fog was still too thick. Since no one was sleeping well, we kept the hope alive that if we kept looking each time we heard the rumble, we would eventually see it. There were several false alarms. The odds were not looking good.
Sometime in the early morning, it happened. The fog had lifted enough for us to see the neon orange lava spewing out into the black sky. We heard clapping and cheering from other campers on the volcano as we all shared this collective moment of awe and relief that the struggle was worth it. At one point, there was a bolt of lightning in the background as another eruption lit the sky. We cheered as if Fuego itself would appreciate the heartfelt applause for the incredible show.
The other three in my group decided to attempt a hike up the last bit to the official summit for the sunrise. On our way to the trailhead the day before, our guide shared that only three out of four hikers make the extra trek to the official summit. We couldn’t believe someone would climb the volcano only to skip the last few feet. We all vowed to conquer the summit. Well, it turned out to be a spot-on statistic.
Opting to stay behind in our temporary home and rest, I gathered their three sleeping bags and pillows to make a big, warm, fluffy cocoon. For the next couple of hours, sleep came more easily than in the previous few days of the trip. No bedbugs, no one trying to roll over onto my arm, no loud hostel guests coming in and out from partying. The sun began to rise. The thick, opaque fog rolled off to reveal a sweeping, emerald valley below. The nearby towering volcanoes were exposed this time, creating long, dark shadows over the slumbering towns and sprawling coffee farms. It was peaceful and serene. It was all worth it.
The only thing left to do was face the hike back down. It’ll be fine…
