The hike up Guagua Pichinchia

Wow.

Okay, so yesterday I awoke to the most beautiful day yet in Quito - yes, I actually got to see a cloudless sky for the first time since arriving here. And the timing could not have been better, because yesterday a group of us hostel-ers were to hike Guagua Pichinchia and were to be spoiled with magnificient views in part because of the clear skies (a rarity for this trip, apparently).

Leaving at eight a.m. or so, we - a group of nine packed snuggly into a kickass, old landrover - winded through some very rough roads (roads I would later bike down SLOWLY - for you mom) until arriving at our launching point at around 4100 meters. Piling out of the back of the landrover (no seatbelts, yikes) we put on our second layer of sunblock and began walking up the remainder of the road leading to the refugio (a cabin at the end of any road ascending a mountain, basically). It became clear that some of us (myself excluded, having lost a bunch of weight since getting here) were in some rough shape, but we all managed to pair off with someone of equal shape. I was paired with Honey (yes, that is her real name....), a nice Canadian girl and we managed to lead the group the entire way, arriving about 8 minutes earlier than everyone else at the refugio after about an hour of trekking. This was very encouraging to me because I had feared that my asthma would be a problem at that altitude (no problems all day!).

The views were spectacular. The horizon held numerous andean mountains, highlighted by the nearby Cotopaxi, a magnificent nearby glaciated (and thus snowcapped) volcano. In the foreground was the valley in which Quito sits, with the edge of the valley being encroached by clouds pouring over the adjacent valley. The adjacent valley, filled to the brim with puffy white clouds (well below us) looked like a bowl of smoothed cotton filled just too much. Above us loomed the dark, rocky crater of Guagua Pichinchia, its summit still clear from clouds (and would remain so all day) about 800 meters above.

About an hour later we arrived at the end of the road on which we had been driving and hiking, stopping for some contemplation and, when the last person arrived about 20 minutes later, a quick snack and a refill of our water bottles from the gian water jug nestled on top of the landrover. After some stretches (you get muscle cramps much more easily at that altitude, the refugio being at about 4500 meters), we left on the narrow path towards the summit, lead by me and a manager at the hostel, Brad, who grew up in Markham (about 20 minutes from where I grew up) and Honey (something about us Canadians, I guess). At this point the horizon was dotted with puffy white clouds, and the valley beside Quito had finally unloaded its cotton into Quito's valley. It looked as though someone was slowly tucking the city in for an afternoon nap.

After about thirty minutes we arrivied at the lower tip of the crater. Ferocious winds were suddenly silenced by walking three feet into the steaming bowl which was unfortunetely too steamy to really see into. The most amazing part of the crater was the smell - sulfur galore. At a nearby peak sat a giant cross with plaques with various names on it. Brad told us that they "were the names of the people who fell into the crater", a statement whose meaning came into full view with a sudden shift in the wind: about ten feet in front of us the ground suddenly - instantly - dropped two hundred meters. I took a few steps back, remembering an english name from one of the plaques.

After catching our breath - you REALLY felt the elevation at this point - we began walking around the lip of the crater headed for the summit, about 300 meters away at this point, but a very difficult 100 meters. Breathless, I turned around to whisper something to Honey when I caught a glimpse of the cross that stood at our first resting point on the crater's mouth. Now I was both literally and figuratively breathless, because the cross was perfectly placed for this vantage point to sit amidst the cloud-filled valleys far below. We all have memories of sights that we know we will never forget and that had an ineffable effect on us... this was number one of the day.

We arrived some thirty minutes later at our first set of "rock scrambles" (places where you had to "get low and hug rock" to navigate through, up, and down narrow passageways) which would not have been too scary had there not been the crater only feet away (with its lovely 200 meter drop). Hug may not be a strong enough word for some of those rocks, but I will omit the word I WOULD use... Several rock scrambles and some nerve racking moments later we arrived at the summit, just for breathless, forever memorable moment number two.

For one, the sight was magnificent. Secondly, the feeling of gratification from summiting (it is a verb, apparently) a volcano wasn't bad at all. But what I will remember is the sight of all these strangers sitting on a rock, 4800 meters above the sea, enjoying tea, soup, rest, and views... in total - TOTAL - silence. If white could have a volume, it would be this. Breaking the silence, slowly like a growing wave, were the scattered conversations of the bonded strangers scattered along a rock acting as a perfect picnic table. Several pictures and high-fives later we packed up, applied sunscreen, and headed down an alternate route to the refugio.

This route consisted of running - yes, running - down a very sandy, very steep (but not dangerously so) side of the volcano, "yipeeee!!" the whole way, although only Brad, Honey, John and I actually ran and jumped. Don't worry mom, it wasn't that dangerous (THAT dangerous...). Because I was the first one down, and a fast runner/jumper, I got to stop and wait alone, choosing to perch myself on an elevated rock overlooking the southern mountain range. Being alone, in that silence, watching the oncoming clouds shape the sunlight into thousands of jigsaw pieces on the giant valley seperating the mustard yellow side of the volcano and the neighboring rusty mountain, was the craziest mix of calm and awe I have ever felt. Oh, that and a headache from descending a tad too quickly (mild but persistent, as it turned out).

Once gathering the group together we were only a short distance (another rock scramble) from the refugio, where my bike waited atop the landrover, dying to be thrown down the abandoned road. Biking, I have found out, is the absolute best way to sightsee. Totally open to the surroundings and totally quiet it offers great experiences of nature. This time I took it very slow which allowed me to glance around at the spectacular sights all around. Mountains, grassy fields, and endless cows and sheep made for a great twenty minute ride to my first stopping point where I chose to hike up a nearby peak to get a birdseye view of the scene. This scene, though, is going to stay a secret to me... I don't feel like tarnishing it with words.

When the landrover caught up about ten minutes later (they fooled about at the refugio) I let others have a turn on the bike. It was obvious at this point that we all, without many words, had become very good friends. Eyes met with ungestured nods confirming that we were thinking the exact same things, things locked from words I am afraid. About an hour later we got back to the hostel after a quick stop at Quito's high central hill offering some cool, impressive (but unappreciated, because of what we had seen all day) views of the enermous, 12 km long, dense city. About 2 hours later, by 8 pm, most of us were asleep. A day to remember and chew for many years to come, for sure.

Ciao for now.

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