Santos Ocaña Refugio

Friday 4th March 1988

I awoke at 06:00 hrs. feeling surprisingly good. I put what I needed for the volcano assault in my rucksack and nipped out to get some supplies. These consisted of two bars of chocolate, a tin of sardines and a bottle of dubious white alcoholic spirit called Cristal.

I added this to the plastic jar of coffee from Guatemala and four bananas which I had left from yesterday. I filled up my water bottle from the sink and popped in a Puritab water purifying tablet.

I joined the others for the expedition in the Patty dining area. At 07:30 hrs. the pickup arrived to take us part of the way up the slope. We bumped about in the back of the van under a cloudy sky, following a stony road which wove up the hillside, having to get out at one particularly treacherous bend along the way.

We arrived at a lone hut with the Sangay National Park sign and a notice warning us not to molest the flora or fauna. The park's wildlife is a highlight for many people, although much of it is elusive and hard to find, making it more rewarding when sightings occur. The Andes mountains sit as the park's primary attraction with the volcanoes serving as the focal points. The park contains two active volcanoes (Tungurahua and Sangay), and one extinct volcano El Altar (Kapak Urku).

Protecting a range of elevations from 900 to 5319 meters above sea level, Sangay National Park contains a wide variety of habitats, including glaciers, volcanic landscapes, tropical rainforests, cloud forests, wetlands, grasslands, and one of the largest regions of páramo (high elevation moorlands) in Ecuador. 327 lakes feed into a vast wetland system covering 31.5 square kilometres.

We paid one $US dollar to a friendly man with a machete who told us that it was a two-and-a-half-hour hike to the Refugio. At 09:15 hrs. we started upwards through a muddy natural tunnel. We continued across a few fields and then we were on to a well-defined trail cum channel which went relentlessly up through the forest.

We were already sweating almost immediately, and we began to string out as each of us adopted their own comfortable pace. I tried to maintain a slow continuous pace but ended up doing short spurts and panting for breath every ten metres or so.

Initially there were only trees and bushes and the drying mud track to see, but as we gained altitude a good view of the valley opened up on our left-hand side. It was a bit misty but there was a huge drop with glimpses of towns and fields a long way below.

I was completely knackered by 11:10 hrs., making shorter and shorter bursts of progress between rests, so I was glad when the English couple behind me shouted up plans for a rest and recovery stop at 11:30 hrs. The route is at altitude with a 1000 metre elevation gain from the hut at Pondoa.

Breathing torturously, I pushed through some trees hung with lichen looking for a suitable spot for several exhausted people to recover out of the increasingly cold wind. I halted at a grassy space where I threw off my rucksack exposing a cold wet patch of sweat on the back of my T-shirt.

The others caught up and we spotted a better-looking spot about five metres further on. As we moved on up we spotted the red Refugio building. This came as a surprise because although we had been told it took two and a half hours to get there, I had assumed that this was the estimated time taken by a fit, unladen local who was acclimatised to the altitude.

We were expecting it to take us about four hours so, giggling with relief, we quickly covered the last few metres to the refuge. In the hut we met a German couple. The guy was ill and suffering from a sore throat. We put on some warm clothes and put some water on the stove to make tea.

The refuge hut was a welcome sight with it’s “Bienvenidos al Refugio” sign. It is well equipped with pots and pans and a gas stove. This is the Santos Ocaña Refugio at 3,800 metres with a splendid view out over the valley.

We sat on the terrace for a while and looked out at the misty view. A Spanish/Australian guy called Manuel, decided to do a bit of housekeeping and burn and bury the heap of rubbish that had accumulated at the hut.

First, we needed to revitalise the spade to make it usable by putting a handle on it. Dutchman Peter-Paul got out his Rambo knife to whittle down a stout stick which we nailed to the battered shovel. Attempts to ignite the damp garbage ended in failure.

The Swedish contingent consisting of Anja, Aneka, Ola and Kent, arrived in the afternoon. After a photographic session they sat down to a prolonged card playing session. During the afternoon the sky cleared, and we could see the snow-capped peak of Tungurahua Volcano (5,016 metres, or 16,457 feet) looming above us against a pure blue sky. There was a flurry of camera shutters.

There was not much else to do, and I sat in the shade as the sun was strong in this rarer atmosphere. Sunset at 18:00 hrs. was spectacular. The clouds had also cleared from all of the other snow-capped volcanoes in the area.

As the light dimmed the lights came on in the towns and villages far below in the valley. It also began to get cold, and we retreated inside. Peter-Paul and Manuel concocted a huge spaghetti and sardine meal which we all ate from the cooking pot, like a communal trough, because there were no plates. A flurry of spoons and forks dived into the pot as we greedily wolfed down the content.

Outside it was a clear night with flashes of lightening on the horizon to the north. I sat with the Swedes who were eating basic open sandwiches. I tried some of the nasty Cristal spirit in some tea, but it was barely palatable. I got no other takers for this dubious nightcap!

We went to bed early, laying our sleeping bags on the wooden floor in the roof by candlelight. The Swedes played cards noisily downstairs. Peter-Paul, who had been eating sweet things all day to combat his diabetes apologised for his “bad gases”.