Today, the 19th, we signed up for a trek up one of the Volcanoes. Volcan Pacaya. One of three near Antigua. Our start was a bit rough. The tour agent stated we would be picked up at our hostel, Umma Gumma, at 2 pm. Around 2:20 we began to ponder the instructions of our agent. At the same time our hotel manager, a 65 year old Guatemalan woman, approached us with the phone speaking Spanish. Slight language barrier once again. However, we did understand ”Volcan Pacaya” and ”Park Central”. Making a quick decision we huffed it to the center park where our bus was making its last call to Pacaya.
The bus took us an hour southeast into the Guatemalan mountains. Stopping first for a slight fill up of diesel. Something we’ve noticed, they never fill up all the way. Just putting in enough for the trip at hand. When we stopped three guards surrounded the bus with shotguns and as our driver stepped out you could see the shimmer of the pistol locked in his holster. A slight wake up call that you’re leaving the security of a tourist area and heading into the hills of a foreign country. Where guns are legal. Like the wild west I guess.
When we arrived at the base (1800 meters) you could hear what I thought was a huge flock of birds. Come to find out it was all the local children selling walking sticks for (5 Qs). ”Steeeek, steeeek, steeeek, steeeek.” Perhaps something I should have considered…
Our ascent would take us up 500 m, around 1600 feet, to a height of 2300 m or 7600 ft. The ascent took us about an hour. Arriving at the first peak around 5:15 pm. Not only did the temperature drop but so did our jaws. The views were absolutely breathtaking. Well, I mean that literally as well. As in I had no breath to take. Mr. Carty experiencing a 100 mile run through the Colorado Rockies had no problem. For me, my average ascent consists of the 30 foot hike up the cliff in Pacific Beach back to my house. The last time I was at 7600 feet was my Junior year in highschool. And I wasn’t carrying 70 lbs of college.
South of the pictures taken above was Volcan Pacaya. My first sighting of a Volcano up close, watching lava cascade down its side. Somewhat like my chile snot in Caracol. As the wind curled over the hill we snapped photos of nature at its finest. Perhaps because I’m a fire sign something drew me closer to the mountain. Or perhaps because it was simply put, gorgeous.
Pausing here only to catch our breath, admire nature, and attempt to capture it in digital format we continued on. A slight decline of 50 m or so. Coming to rest at the end of the lava field. After our guide called out a warning to stick together and take it slow we headed off over the lava.
As we traversed the cooled lava field you could still feel the heat radiating beneath your feet. Wondering if you stopped for long enough, would your shoes melt? We had heard that in some cases they do. Depending on the type. Looking down you could see that the lava rocks were porous. I stumbled once placing my left hand as a brace and quickly learned that porous means sharp. I would soon learn how sharp is sharp.
A warning to the faint of heart. The following is quite graphic…
In the middle of the lava field lay a peak. What seemed to be the perfect shot for a picture. Sean, enveloped by the Volcano, standing on a peak in the middle of a lava field. We nabbed the shot…
…afterwards I returned the camera to Sean and we set out on different courses. Down the peak and towards the lava. Sean chose left and I chose right. I came to a small ledge, those following behind chatting on, ”doesn’t seem like this was the best route.” It was at that moment that I stepped forward with my left leg, the resting place for my foot just beyond my reach. This causing me to trust in the rock below me rather than test it with my foot. As I let my weight take me down I loosely held on to the glass like rock with my left hand. As my foot came in contact with the lava rock below it gave way, sending me to the uneven ground below. My left hand in fear of being cut let go.
My fall was braced by my right leg and right arm swooping behind me to slow the fall. In an instant I felt a jolt of pain run through my body. I stood up quickly, attempting to regain composure from those behind me. Not wanting to be ”the guy who fell”. I looked down to my leg, slightly stinging. Nothing shocking or out of place. Trails of blood leading down my leg, staining my socks, from three cuts on my leg.
That I was ok with. Willing to move on, laughing at myself for my stupidity. However, it wouldn’t be so. As I looked down my leg I noticed crimson droplets falling on my foot and the rocks around me. As if my mind new I wouldn’t be prepared for the sight of it I had turned my wrist away from me, facing backwards. As I rotated it I saw that my hand was covered in blood. Originating from a pulsating gash on my wrist. A half an inch long an a quarter of an inch wide. The sight was one from a teen drama, slit lengthwise as in an attempt to commit suicide.
It was then that adrenaline and serotonin began to pump through my veins. Instinct taking over. I looked around, hoping to find Sean. I steadied myself. Placing my left thumb over the gaping wound and walked slowly towards him. Trying to remain calm and sound as normal as possible I let out, in the exact sound all mother’s fear, a high long winded, ”Seeeeaaaaaaaan”. From that sound I could see as he turned and looked at me that he knew he wouldn’t find me in an acceptable state.
I walked towards him, he scurrying towards me. Telling me to stand still. Using his water bottle he attempted to wash the blood away but it wouldn’t be. As quickly as he washed it I replaced it. he grabbed my handkerchief from my backpack, applying pressure in attempt to stop the bleeding. A small crowd formed around me. Some girls offering to pour hand sanitizer in my wound. As I was somewhat ”out of it” Sean wisely told them No.
At that moment an Austrian we had met in Caye Caulker descended over the lava hill. Having cut his finger a few days prior on a hike he brought with him a first aid kit. Something Sean and I both had but didn’t carry in our day packs, they were left, laying on our beds. Following the Austrian was a paramedic with over 20 years of experience. My team of field surgeons applied disinfectant, bandages, and tape. Tying it tightly to stop the bleeding.
As I told everyone that I was alright, wondering if I really was, I asked them to head off and continue seeing the Volcano. Also knowing it was three hours to the nearest medical facility. I was at the base of a Volcano after-all. Sean stayed close by checking to see if the blood was seeping through the bandage. After five minutes it seemed that it had slowed. The pressure had been applied correctly, indicated by my right hand beginning to plump up. A resident was also in the group in front of us and he returned to look at. Ensuring I had feeling in both my hands.
The smile is fake, my subconscious trying to tell me it was alright, ”just pose for the picture Trevor, you’re fine”. As the majority left Sean and I standing there (the adrenaline fading) the seriousness of the moment washed over me. As I looked up, watching the lava drip down the mountain side, looking down seeing myself drip down the mountainside…I turned to Sean…filled with emotion I stated ”I think I’m going to cry”. He replied, ”let it out my man”. And I did. Overwhelmed at the beauty of my surroundings and thoughts of loved ones at home I broke down in tears. Wanting to collapse on the rocks below but only able to stand there. Leaving more of myself on the mountainside.
After I regained my composure I assured Sean I would be alright. Not wanting to ruin his tour I suggested he head up, closer to the lava. Shortly after it began to get dark. Luckily I hadn’t made it that far over the field. Returning back to ‘’solid” ground as night, the wind, and clouds set in. Ahead of us Sean and I had an hour trek back down the mountain. In darkness using only our flashlights and me with one brace left than I came up with. Also, leaving our guide and group behind. Wanting to get down as quickly as possible.
As we headed back to Antigua Sean easily convinced me to go to the Hospital. A private clinic that was open 24 hours. Luckily, the woman sitting behind us (Allison from DC) spoke Spanish and was able to convey this to the driver. Allison was also kind enough to accompany me, during her last night in Guatemala, to the ER. Fearing no one would speak Spanish. She conveyed to the doorman and the nurses what had happened. Shortly after a young Doctor showed up, removing the bandages. Through all languages, gasps and sighs are easy to interpret. The nurses leaned in as the Doctor pointed at my open wound. Speaking in English he let me know how lucky I was. Missing the vein and tendons by a mere mm. Through the opening you could see the vein lingering like a small tape worm.
As he cleaned it he reassured me in some way that I had a good trip. ”Not a good trip to Volcano unless you cut yourself”’. So, I guess Sean didn’t get his moneys worth while I did. Costing me 250 Qs for three stitches. That’s about $31.25 US. I was’t the first nor will I be the last. Lesson learned, caution. The travel agents don’t really paint the whole picture for you. As he closed me up I have Sean to thank for capturing the moment.
So, thank you to those that helped. Again, thank you to Allison for her interpretive skills. It took the stress off in an already stressful situation. I hope I spelt your name right, it’s the least I could do. You’ll notice Allison’s walking stick. Perhaps worth the 5 Qs. You decide.
