Tungurahua Volcano

Saturday 5th March 1988

There was a chorus of electronic alarms at 02:30 hrs but most people were already awake. For some reason everyone seemed to have had a sleepless night. There was a lot of scrobbling about and a whip round of tea bags for the morning pot.

Outside there was a bright full moon overhead and a clear night sky. Below us the valley was filled with clouds as if shaving foam had been sprayed between the hills. Wearily, in Indian file we trouped up the mountainside.

I started off in the lead but soon dropped behind. By the time we reached a small hut and the triangulation point which seemed close to the Refugio, I was gasping for breath. The others disappeared into the gloom above and soon only Ola and Aneka were behind me.

Soon I was able to only manage about five metres at a time before having to stop with my lungs heaving and white spots before my eyes. The going got tougher at the vegetation decreased and the terrain became more loose and slippery volcanic ash.

I was wearing training shoes which were far from ideal, and it was lucky that the early morning frost bound the soil into a reasonably solid but rough abrasive surface to walk on. Aneka, Ola and I stopped at a huge overhanging bluff and stood shivering in the wind waiting for the dawn to break.

We shared some chocolate and water. Ola tried to move further up but returned to report that the going got much tougher from here. Aneka and I saw a brief burst of light like a flare or firework. It may have been a shooting star.

It got lighter in the east, and we began to hear bird song. The sky was a beautiful clear blue and our cameras worked overtime as the sun came up. All the surrounding hills and volcanoes were visible and clouds drifted through the valleys far below us.

The others had donned crampons for the final push to the summit on the ice. Ill equipped for this we decided to descend, sliding on the volcanic ash which was now thawing. We fell over frequently, grazing our hands on the coarse volcanic granules.

We stopped at the shed so that the two Swedes could have a smoke break and then slithered and fell back to the Refugio. Here we had a welcome coffee, and I had a tin of sardines on the terrace for breakfast.

A couple of hours later the others returned triumphant, having made it to the summit. They had taken it in turns to use the crampons for the last icy haul to the top, which was very cold and exposed.

I felt disappointed that I hadn’t reached the pinnacle, but my training shoes were not at all suitable for mountain climbing. They had no grip on the loose surface having been designed for road running. We dithered about and spent a couple of hours recovering before starting our descent at 10:50 hrs.

It was a long and tiresome trudge down the hillside which took two hours. We slid and slithered down the steeper parts with leg muscles screaming by the second hour. At the point where we all started on Friday we sat and rested and hoped for a lift back to Baños.

We had just missed a pickup truck which had dropped off a group of local climbers, so we decided to walk down to Pondoa, the “village” just down the hill. This turned out to be another murderous downhill slither through a muddy steep natural tunnel or chute.

Exhausted, we tottered into the volleyball court in front of the village store, which was one of the only buildings in evidence. Gratefully we drank Coca Cola and ate bananas. I was glad to get into the shade because the sun had been burning the back of my neck for the last few hours.

I took off my training shoes to empty out the mud, releasing a stench that English lad Ben blamed on a scraggy mongrel dog who was lying in the yard. There was no chance of transport, so we had to subject our tired and battered bodies to another hour of steep stumbling, slipping, sliding and clambering on our trudge downhill.

Baños was clearly visible a long way below us and we eventually struggled into the town by the cemetery. Peter-Paul, Ben and Nicki, Manuel and Elia and I limped into town like six bedraggled bandits coming into town.

When we reached Patty’s a cold beer was demolished by each of the blokes. We then dumped our stuff and headed for the local baths at the foot of the waterfall. There were a lot of locals around the fountain in the plaza at the edge of town.

We queued behind some young army recruits and paid our 40 Sucres at the window. We showered in the cold water diverted from the waterfall and then I jumped into the deliciously warm brown water of the hot pool, which had a menthol tang to it. It was a relaxing treat, warm and soothing after a hard couple of physical days.

In the evening I had a huge meal with Peter-Paul, cooked in the kitchen in Patty. We had tomato and onion soup, omelette and potatoes, Chilean white wine, avocado pear, fruit salad and yoghurt. This massive repast used nearly every utensil available in the kitchen and left us bloated.

For the rest of the evening, I sat chatting pleasantly with the Swedish girls and the Swiss bloke who had given $200 dollars to a Columbian prostitute because he felt sorry for her. I drank Cristal paint thinners with coke while the Swedish contingent piled up the empty beer bottles.

I went to bed, exhausted but happy at 23:00 hrs. Aneka and Anja made me a turquoise, blue and purple pulsera (woven bracelet) which Aneka tied to my wrist as a memento of the Quito “Gran Casino Mob”.