Trek through an Alien Landscape

Our driver plunged our rickety little taxi into the deep fog at the foot of the venerable Cotopaxi volcano. Armed with chocolate and hand-knit mittens from the cheery visitor center, I tried not to think about the eruption that happened not too long ago. It was several years, but that was still far too close for comfort.

We disembarked some way up the foot of the mountain – at this point we began to feel a bit tired. The air was thin. We weren’t sure whether we were in fog or in clouds. When we asked our guide, she didn’t seem to understand the difference. Camera in hand, mittens in pocket, we began the ascent up to base camp. The terrain was difficult to say the least – the whole mountain was covered in an abyssal black silt. Our guide explained that it was the crushed mountainside and frozen lava that was hurled out during the eruption. Having risen above the treeline, there were no plants, weeds, or even mosses. There was simply that black silt everywhere as far as one could see. After a few minutes, we were clearly in the middle of nothingness. Surrounded by fog, the sky was a pale white and the ground a dark black. This was as alien a land as possible.

We came to a fork in what the guide described as a trail. It was more of a series of footprints in sand than any demarcated path, but we made no quibbles. In Spanish (she understood little English), she asked a pressing question.

“¿Fácil o difícil?”

She pointed at two paths. Both disappeared into the fog. Taking the initiative, I piped up.

“Fácil.” I said with determination. “Mucho fácil.”

Unfazed, she turned around as we took a break before heading down the easy trail. Having chugged as much water as we could carry, we took turns disappearing just far enough into the clouds for privacy to relieve ourselves. Dizzy, we giggled like little boys at our flagrant behavior.

The climb itself was hazy at best. Oxygen deprived, I took frequent breaks, declaring that I needed to stop for my photography. It was lucky I had the camera to make such excuses. The climb was not steep – at sea level it would have been a leisurely half-hour hike. But having risen thousands of feet into the atmosphere, we were panting and sweating after only a few minutes. The air felt wispier, lighter, more fleeting. Breathing felt like a task, brought to full conscious mind.

And yet, this was nothing. Our guide, fully altitude adjusted, seemed to have no trouble at all, slowly walking by us as I trudged. I nibbled desperately on the chocolate we’d bought for this purpose as I lamely fiddled with the options on my camera – another excuse to lengthen by breaks by a few seconds.

Still, I carried on. For a moment, the clouds parted, and the vast surrounding landscape was revealed to us in stark, vibrant color.

The clouds hung over once more, returning us to the moonscape.

Finally, we tumbled into the icy base camp, from where the real climbers journey would only just begin. Spirit buoyed, we scrawled our names, nicknames, in-jokes, and whatever else we could come up with on the visitor log before sitting down. There was a small café, which was little more than an assortment of candies, a coffee machine, and a microwave. Still, that was more than enough. Having gulped down some hot chocolate, we took a moment to peruse the camp, covered top to bottom in layers of flags and mementos of climbing parties past.

Having taken our photos, we took the steep trail down, as it was faster. It was more akin to a ski slope than a pathway, so we not-so-gingerly slid and ran down the mountainside, cheery and proud of our own small victory.