I speak Spanish, but not well. I made arrangements over the phone with my friend Victor, who speaks Spanish well, but English is no bueno. He is patient with my halting conjugations and slaughtered gendered words. Details were made and I second-guessed myself. Is it possible I misunderstood any of these details? Why am I involving others in my adventures? There seemed to be a bit at stake.
Victor arrived at 8:45 PM. This was the most critical of the steps. My fears relented. He had arranged a guide to show us the way to the top of Acatenango at night. Our leave time was at 10:00 PM. Victor stopped his van in the middle of the road, in the middle of all things dark, talking on the phone with Jaime (hymay), our guide for the night. We had arrived, but we didn't know it yet. Jaime was standing off to the side, silhouetted, but rather obscured. I looked at the two people I had roped into this adventure and muttered, "I'm sure this will be fine."
It was fine. With our packs loaded up, Jaime gave us gloves, trekking poles, hats, and the oddest collection of jackets to aid in our warmth at the top. Mine was a Gant jacket, like one my dad wore in the 1990s. I was expecting (hoping for) a parka, and I was given business leisure. I strapped it on the outside of my pack. Despite the incessant lightning bouncing around us, Jaime said that it would not rain tonight. The weather app differed from his predictions and the lightning seemed to be evidence of something contrary to his expert opinion. I took a poncho just in case. I had just met Jaime and would be foolish to trust him completely. He had given me a Gant jacket after all.
Victor bid us bon voyage, but in Spanish, and we started our climb by headlamp. This was to be a 10-mile round trip, 5000 feet of elevation hike. I wasn't too concerned about the hike, but the elevation, she can be a fickle foe. As night hikes go, there's isn't much to note. the lightning continued to our right for almost the entirety of our uphill climb. No thunder; no rain, just persistent lightning flashing about the gray clouds. While Jaime was chilled on his climb, bundled in a jacket, pants, and gaiter around his neck, I was warm and sweating in my shorts and t-shirt. He kept warning us about the cold to come, and indeed he stopped us multiple times at different points to wait, to slow our pace, so we wouldn't have to spend too much time at the summit in the cold. We napped, we snacked, we conjectured as to why a black mutt of a dog was following us up, napping amongst us when we stopped and quietly passing us on the trail when we started out once again. She was akin to a ninja (although I have never met/seen one). She made no sound except when I stepped on her in the pitch black. At one stop, I chose to not turn on my headlamp as my fellow hikers were taking videos of the lightning; I stepped on her black legs and she let out a yelp that caused my kidneys to contract. She didn't bite me, only letting me know that she was there and that I hurt her (or him). I had named her Black Ninja, but this felt too generic. Sensei became her name.
She followed us all the way to the top, all 5000 feet. When the sunrise finally happened, she napped below the rock on which we were perched. A faithful companion to us, strangers. It was comforting to have her alongside us for the entirety of our walk in the dark. She was always there. Close, comfortable, even though we had just met.
We summited at 4:00 AM, almost 90 minutes before sunrise. We positioned ourselves in the clefts of rocks to shield ourselves from the wind. We faced Volcan de Fuego (Fire Volcano). I hauled my camera here and a friend's tripod in hopes we would see the warm orange glows of lava erupting from its core. We didn't. It either wasn't erupting, or my dozing prevented me from seeing when it did.
It was cold, but not as cold as we had anticipated. I was wearing my wife's navy Fjallraven puffy encircled in the Gant jacket that weighed at least five pounds (I'm fairly certain of this fact). It was cold, but tenable. We all seemed to awake at the same time - 4:40 AM - and Jaime passed around the most welcome hot chocolate I have ever held in my numb hands. As if not enough, he passed around Banana Bread. Be still my heart. This felt like grace in the midst of poor choices.
The light was coming. We adjusted our location from our Fuego position to that of the pending sun's arrival. As we did, we noticed the light beams of headlamps approaching us from all angles. This would not be a solitary sunrise.
The light came and came and came. Pinks. Oranges, Yellows. Blues. All bathing. the sky and undercast layers with light that exceeds description. The scene glowed around Volcan de Agua and Antigua. Eric and I, perched on a rock, had front row seats to the show. Sensei asleep below our rock, waiting for the sun's warming rays or perhaps adoption. We kept looking at each other wondering if this was an hallucination, some made up reality that our brain was causing us to believe. We were in it, believing it all. It just seemed too good to be real. The clouds that at one point seemed to threaten any chance of a vista, performed in ways that enhanced our viewing pleasure. We hallucinated well with photos to prove it. Jaime spoke to our surprise and delight - this wasn't normal or expected for today. We were given a gift and we happily put it in our bellies next to our banana bread.
As with all adventures, there was the fact that we now had to go down 5000 feet. The trail isn't steep, but it is relentless in its descent. While not easy, the effort required was less than climbing up while fighting for oxygen at 12,000 ft. We plodded and moaned our way down.
Sensei didn't follow us down. She decided to stay in the sun's rays despite an invitation from Eric. Her job was done. Our out of expectation experience faded with our descent and we were brought back to what felt like plausible life. As I am typing this, I received a text from Abbie, saying that she is less mad at me now than she was at 8:00 AM this morning. Time does seem to heal all ills, if we let it.
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