Tajumulco

The dark and the thin air pressed in around me. At base camp the air was still below freezing and dawn was hours away. The nineteen other hikers, three guides, and I stood huddled by the tents waiting for Justin, the leader, to indicate it was time to attempt the summit. I shivered as I stood in the predawn morning wondering if this hike would be as strenuous as Saturday had been.

On Saturday morning we Quetzaltrekkers had all awoken at 4:30 am hopped on two chicken buses, and transported ourselves towards Mexico and towards our destination of Tajumulco. We had hiked from 3000 meters to 4000 meters over the course of six hours. Each step up the hill grew slower and more arduous until the final half mile took nearly 45 minutes to complete. I had stayed at the back of the group with some other hikers and a guide where I resolutely climbed 5-20 steps before stopping, panting, for breath. “Slow and steady wins the race, Nancy,” I kept reminding myself, grateful that it was not actually a race of this peak. Although it was exhausting, each time I looked back at Asier, the guide, I smiled. It was thrilling to be on the mountain, in alpine air, in pine forest, amongst lupine and alpine grasses, and staring out at the amazing landscape Guatemala has to offer. Thrilling but harder than any hike I had ever done before. What would Sunday have in store for us?

I looked up at the looming black shape of Tajumulco. We had to climb 220 meters to summit before the sun rose over the horizon. Finally, Justin, the lead guide, indicated it was time to hike. I clicked on my headlamp, got in the middle of the crowd, and started the hour climb to the summit. Almost immediately my lungs began to protest the physical strain of low oxygen and the steep climb ahead of me. A steady stream of clear mucus began dripping from my nose onto the rocks below. As I ascended, I determinately and fixedly stared at the pool of light illuminating my next step. “It’s just like climbing, Nancy. Just focus on your next move and mind that foot placement,” I thought as I resolved to move steadily uphill. Slowly the meters melted behind me as I took careful steps up the rocky slope towards the summit. Two hundred meters… 190 meters… 150 meters…. My breath came at slow, regulated pulses made to match my determined march up Tajumulco. The rock turned to loose pebbles, boulders, and scree. I pulled with my arms and pushed with my legs, forcing out the final 50 meters to the summit. Finally, I could see the rock falling away from above me, the slope flattening out, the stars glimmering overhead, and the thin golden line of sunlight to the east. We had made it! A grin burst over my face as I realized I had reached the summit of the highest peak in Central America.

Hanne and I bundled up in sleeping bags and huddled behind a boulder out of the wind to watch the sun come up. A sea of clouds swallowed the mountains below us, reminding me that Tajumulco means “above the clouds.” What an appropriate name. The crystal clear sky became a palette of colors as the sun moved gradually into the eastern sky. Profiled on the horizon sat a line of dynamic volcanoes stretching from Antigua and Lake Atitlan to Xela. Occasionally great bursts of ash would rise from Volcanes Fuego and Santiaguito, two of the most active volcanoes in the country. The cold air sucked the heavy sheets of clouds into the valleys below, making the sky look like a great river of clouds. Behind, Tajumulco’s blue shadow fell over Tacana, the second tallest peak, darkening its tall, stark form.

I breathed in the cold, pressing air, and found satisfaction in the wind whipping around the peak, the brilliant colors exploding from the sunrise, and the magnificent view that stretched from the volcanoes of the east, to Mexico, and to the Pacific Ocean. It was heaven to see this glimpse of the world from Tajumulco, the tallest mountain in Central America. I had bagged my first peak and what a peak it was.