TA Loeffler's Adventures that Move

I was lucky to be swimming in the Pacific Ocean on New Year’s Eve and again on New Year’s Day. To me, the water was a warm invitation to play. Once I reached the beach, I could only heed the siren’s call of the ocean to enter the salty water, be bashed about by the pulsating white walls of water, and laugh when I miscalculated my jump and received a full nasal filling splash to the face. Oh the joy of salt water that’s said to cure most things either through sweat, tears or plunges into the sea.

We’d received a safety briefing about the beach. At lower tide levels, sting rays might be found lying on the sea floor, partially buried by the sand, making their presence hard to detect. Sting rays, which when swimming look like birds in flight, possess one weapon of defense. It is a barbed tail with a potent venom. When frightened, sting rays swing their tails hoping to hit any potential predator with their stinging tail. From what I’ve heard, going through a sting ray sting is not a life experience that one ever wishes for. Emergency treatment involves immersing the sting into hot water as quickly as possible for heat denatures the venom. That, and pain meds and watching for any allergic reactions…

The only way to avoid being stung by a sting ray is to stay out of the water. Some folks use that risk management strategy but miss out on the joys of swimming in a warm, wave-filled sea. A second strategy involves shuffling your feet rather than stepping as per usual. By shuffling your feet, you give any sting rays in the vicinity the chance to vacate before you step upon them (accidentally, of course) and risk a tail swipe/sting. The thought of a sting ray sting gave me slight pause but I wasn’t willing to forego a swim, so I shuffled happily into the water knowing I was willing to exchange the slight chance of a sting for all the benefits of playing in the waves.

Other teammates were electing to walk along the water’s edge. I could see them looking at the water with a bit of longing in their eyes. They waded a bit deeper but were unwilling to truly get wet. I wandered over and invited them to come play. I cajoled. I encouraged. I tried to entice. I shared my bravery by heading confidently back into the water. Slowly, they took tentative steps towards the deeper water. The siren began to sing. The waves called. They shuffled their feet. They came, they jumped, they swam. With smiles and laughs, we shared the water and waves. No one got stung.

In that moment of inviting the others to come swim, I came to see that bravery can be shared. That courage can be lent. That sometimes, all we need is an invitation and a confident friend, to help us cross the threshold to a new experience or new way of being. Our bravery and courage ebb and flow like tides on the beach. As a new year dawns, let’s share our bravery. Let’s lend confidence. Let’s support each other in taking small steps that are hard and big steps that might be even harder. Let’s play in, with, and through salt water in all of its forms. Let’s climb big hills and visit deep valleys. Let’s go together even though there is some terrain we must traverse alone. Let’s go with support, care, and compassion for ourselves and for others especially with courage ebbs low and the risks are huge. Let’s never go to the summit alone but take others along by inviting them on their own summits, by sharing our summits and our valleys, and by sharing bravery and courage along the way.

Happy swimming in 2016.

Our last two volcano climbs took us from sky to sea. After leaving Berlin, we were up early once again to drive to Chonchagua Volcano. We met our guides and national police escorts and made our way to the base of the volcano. We hiked up the road about 500 metres until we entered the Chonchagua Protected Area. The park staff had some coffee drying-an interesting mix of both free and ripe coffee berries. We’ve seen coffee growing on most of the volcanoes we’ve climbed.

After a brief rest stop, we climbed along a lovely forested trail to the summit and climbed a fire tower for our first view of Gulf of Fonseca. From the tower, we could see both the island we would be camping on as well as the island that housed our last volcano, Everisto.

Exchanging our bus for a launcha (boat), we motored out to our island home for the night. We passed several fishers along the way and I suspect some of them caught the Sea Bass we had for dinner. After the long, sweaty climb up Conchagua, the sea breezes on the boat were a welcome respite from the heat.

After a gorgeous sunset, we were treated to a delicious dinner of grilled Sea Bass, rice, tortillas, and veggies. The breeze dropped, the temperatures rose, and we all settled in for a long, sweltering night in our tents.

The day dawned with an equally beautiful sunrise. The volcano that the sun is rising above is the highest volcano in Honduras. We were encouraging our outfitter to investigate whether it could also be added to the itinerary. After a Desayuno Tipico (typical breakfast) we took the launcha over to Everisto’s island. We were met on the beach by our local guide de jour and we were delighted that our entire guide team that day were women.

We climbed the village road to go visit some fumerioles (volcanic steam vents) and then returned to the forest to hike in the shade. We visited an old finca (farm) to pick some bananas, oranges, and sapotes (a cross between an avocado and a papaya) for our mid-morning snack. Bellies full, our guides pointed out termite tunnels on trees and poked a few nests so we could see the inner workings. The final climb up Everisto was 250 stairs and the summit had a communications tower.

A few of us climbed even higher on the tower to see the view over to Honduras’ highest volcano before heading down to a seaside restaurant for lunch.

After lunch, we took the launcha back to our first island and then back to the mainland. As we motored back, we had a commanding view of Conchatgua which you can see in the picture over Mike’s shoulder below (we climbed the right hand summit). Motoring back and seeing Conchatgua brought the two days together as we looked from sea to sky.

The everyday practice is simply to develop complete acceptance and openness to all situations and emotions, and to all people, experiencing everything totally without reservations or blockages so that one never withdraws or centralizes into oneself.
–Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche

The above quote seems like a perfect corollary for today’s climb on Tecapa. The quote encourages us to remain open and accepting of every moment and to experience everything…even if that everything or that volcano doesn’t turn out as expected. It also hints to the dangers of expectations (or in other words, predicting what you think you might experience). Today, the group had a lot of expectations about what our climb might be like…

Let me digress a bit…we are on one of the first offerings of a new itinerary. The itinerary, a partnership between a UK company and an El Salvadoran company, is freshly minted and trying to bring the experience of climbing nine volcanoes together in a never offered before way. That’s seriously cool. It also means that the have been some “spanners in the works” and that some of the words used to describe some of the volcanoes haven’t really reflected what turned out to be the experience of climbing them. Where there have been differences, the climbs have generally turned out to be longer, harder, steeper, and hotter than described.

So, when today’s description, said it would be an easy day of about two hours and that we would “Make our way down” from the crater to the sulphur lake, we likely should have dropped any expectations of what it might truly be like. I mostly did (i.e. drop any expectations) and made sure I packed snacks and lots of water. Others did not (and did not have enough water and snacks as it turned out).

We drove up from Berlin to Algeria and met our local guides. We started steeply up through the coffee fields and then followed a dirt track to the crater rim of Tecapa. It was a 600 metre ascent and we made quick work of it. We started making our way around the rim past an antenna installation and then, soon after, expectations started to get in the way. Given the written description, most (i.e. most likely all of us) expected the descent from the crater to be easy and swift…likely about 45 minutes or so based on the the times given in the description. Turns out, it turned out quite differently.

It took about 3 hours to get down because the path was almost non-existent. We had to pass through an area that had been previously burned over, thus removing the tree canopy, and thus allowing a thick blanket of vegetation to cover the way. Our lead local, Luis, hacked, bashed, whacked and thrashed his way through the dense green vegetation with a machete in the blazing midday sun. The rest of us following slowly behind trying to avoid the brambles, downed burned trees, rolling rocks, and stinging nettle-like plants. The descent required several pauses and stops and it was hard to get any rhythm going. Almost the entire way down, we joked, complained, and bemoaned the differences in what we’d expected and what we were experiencing.

One of the phrases in the description said we’d enjoy a leisurely pace to the climb today and that turned out to be absolutely true because it took time to machete-open the path around the crater. I used the time to look deeply at the vegetation and to photograph the flowers and moments that were capturing my attention. The experience was in stark contrast to many of our other climbs where we moved up and down very quickly. I tried my best to “drop all story lines” about the descent to be able to enjoy it to the fullest. The views were fabulous and the opportunity to photograph/see in new ways/capture beauty were an intense part of the experience. So to close, I recall Archibald MacLeish said, “The only thing more painful than learning from experience is…not learning from experience.” I might adapt it based on today to “The only thing more painful than having expectations is continuing to have expectations. Yet another day of learning from learning lessons from volcanoes…

We’re up early again tomorrow to drive to our next (and second to last volcano of Volcanopalooza 2105)…time flies when you are climbing steeply over hill, dale, and volcano! We’re camped on a beach tomorrow evening so not sure I’ll be able to post an update…

Through an act of unmindfulness/not great computing practice, this is the second time I am writing this blog entry. Marian assures me it will be better for having to do it twice. I’m unconvinced but will try my best. Of course, another volcano has come and gone since I wrote this piece early this morning…

Yesterday’s volcano was San Vicente…twin capped volcano topping out at 2173 metres, the second highest volcano in El Salvador. For parts of the climb, I wasn’t sure I would get to the summit but in the end, I did…let me start at the beginning.

Because we had a two hour drive to our volcano de jour, we were up early for breakfast at 6 am. We then drove to the village of Guadeloupe on the early slopes of San Vicente and met our local guides. Alphonso, a trim, fit, and volcano climbing phoneme, was our lead guide. We was dressed in blue jeans, yellow soccer jersey, and a machete hung from his belt. Most of our local folks have carried and used machetes on our climbs but more about that in a future post. Alphonso set off at a good clip because we’d arrived late for our 7-8 hour climb and dusk comes early at this time of year. We quickly caught the group of 40 exuberant youth who were also sharing the climb. We passed them and Alphonso wanted to keep it that way. Up and up we went. I missed the first opportunity for a snack. I’d been moving well but shortly there after around 10:30, I started to slow. My legs started to feel like they were encased in cement.

One teammate turned back when the terrain began to get steep. I’ve found in my climbing career that once someone turns back, it opens the door to doubt. It opens the Pandora’s Box of the Questioning Mind and yesterday was no exception. As the terrain got steeper and steeper and we were literally crawling our way up the slope from tree branch to tree branch, my box of “Did I want to go down?” spilled open and I spent the next while mulling that question in relation to my slowing pace. So caught up in the ruminations of my Pandora mind, I did not realize that I was running out of fuel. At the next break, I ate a banana without realizing its import. I continued to climb, albeit slower and slower, albeit with my mind analyzing every footstep of my performance, albeit just putting one step in front of another.

Thirty minutes or so later, I realized steps were getting easier. My mind was easing. The volcano slope no longer seemed like a concrete wall. In a flash of insight, I realized the banana had cured my bonk. So I ate another. I laughed at myself and my “rookie” mistake. I remembered bonking on Aconcagua just as my team was hitting Windy Corner. I remembered that I’d made the commitment then, and it still makes sense today, to never turn, to never quit until I’ve deposited gas and oil (food and water) to my engine. It was humbling to see how I’d hadn’t quite had my systems in place (ie. snacking before getting off the bus, having snacks very handy (ie. in my pocket-though in fairness it’s hard to carry bananas safely in your pocket, being willing to ask the group to wait a minute so I could take care of needs, etc.). It was great to observe the pairing of body and mind…how as fuel declined, so did my mental state. I’m proud I didn’t give into Pandora mind and just kept stepping.

There was no views but the jungle until the summit ridge and then we could see most of El Salvador. One of the benefits of Volcanopalooza has been to experience many remote corners of El Salvador but also to see so much of the country. Its land mass is about twice the size of the Avalon Peninsula but with 6 million inhabitants. We took it the view, ate lunch and then scampered back down. The soil was soft and forgiving so we “skied” down and made short work of the descent. As you can see from the GPS track above, it was quite a steep up and down! We climbed about 1400 metres to the summit of 2173 metres.

I love being humbled by climbs and the life lessons that result…San Vicente was no exception and I suspect as a result, it will be another decade until I bonk again. OK…I got this written for a second time…and I’ll hit post! Off to our pent-ultimate volcano tomorrow!

The firecrackers and fireworks went full force on Christmas Eve until just after midnight. It was our first night in Sochitoto after a climb of El Salvador’s highest peak. As we sat beside the square waiting for dinner, we all jumped out of our seats, each time a noise maker went boom. It was unnerving for those of us unaccustomed to hear what sounded like bombs and gunfire. As it turned out, the gun-powder inspired flashes and loud blasts has me in a vert reflective mood the next day as we set out on our climb of Gauzapa, a volcano towering over Sochitoto.

Our local guides for our climb of Guazapa were Orlando, Orlando, and Orlando. Orlando Senior was a rebel combatant in the Civil War. He fought in the area of Gauzapa for 12 years as a young man and he led the way up the volcano. After a brief and exciting ride in the back of a red Toyota, we followed Orlando up through the remains of a rebel camp and hospital. Stone rings marked where tents used to stand. Orlando pointed out a trench that the doctors and nurses used to dive into during air raids.

Further up the hill, Orlando stopped at a small hole under a stand of bamboo. This opening was the entrance of a tunnel system used to hid supplies or people in. At nearly 60, Orlando still moved up the volcano like a much younger man. When the old rebel paths needed clearing, he deftly removed the machete hanging from his belt holster and removed any impediments with a single blow. Further up the slope, we stopped for a break and Orlando pointed out that the canyon we were standing beside had been used to hide the wounded rebel fighters. The army would camp on the upper edges of the canyon and throw garbage down into the canyon, never discovering the folks below.

With each step behind Orlando, I tried to imagine what it must have been like to traverse these same slopes while bullets and bombs were flying and dropping. All of the firework explosions the evening before had provided a minuscule taste but I know I know nothing like it, having been privileged to live in a peaceful place. Orlando told us that he leads some longer cultural tours where they delve deeper into the war. He said when he tells stories from that time, both he and he audience often end up in tears.

It was a long climb up Gauzapa, taking nearly four hours to reach our high point, Orlando leading the entire way up. Orlando Junior, a doctor took up the sweep position and Orlando Junior Junior keep the middle moving. We contoured our way up to the bottom of the extinct volcano’s crater and then climbed the crater in a giant, sweeping arc. We were fortunate to be under the jungle canopy the entire way up because it was a 30 plus degree day. When we broke out onto the edge of the crater, the trees gave way to five foot grasses. Turkey vultures circled above. We stopped for lunch and watched the vultures soar, perhaps jealous that we couldn’t ride the air currents in the same way being cemented to ground level by gravity and a lack of wings.

After enjoying the view of Suchitoto, we headed back down retracing our steps until following the river out back to the truck. At Gauzapa Tour’s headquarters, we celebrated the new partnership (Gauzapa Tours is a budding cultural tour operator) and Christmas with a lovely cake. It was another fine day climbing our fifth (and longest to date) volcano of the Volcanopalooza.

We had our earliest start yet this morning which helped us beat the heat as we climbed Llamatepec, also known as Santa Ana. It is El Salvador’s highest volcano at 2381 metres.

The climb took us through three zones. We started up through a pine forest which gave way to agave cactuses-many of which had sent up their flowering stocks.

Near the crater, there was no vegetation only small pebbles/volcanic rocks. Looking down into the crater (which is actually four craters) was breathtaking because of the turquoise crater lake at the bottom. The crater lake is 300 metres deep and was churning and bubbling.

We also got fleeting glances of Laguna Coatepeque (an enormous crater lake at the foot of Santa Ana)when the clouds parted. Izalco and Cerro Verde were visible as well allowing us to reflect on our previous day’s climb.

TA
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It’s true that when I look at a mountain or volcano from the bottom, my first thought is usually, “I can’t do that.” Today, when we first saw Izalco from the highway on the drive, that same thought rippled through many in the group. Today’s climb of Izalco involved a climb down 500 metres from the volcano Cerro Verdeto a saddle then a 600 metre climb up to the crater rim/top of Izalco then the 600 metre descent back to the saddle and then the 500 metre ascent back up Cerro Verde. When I first heard the route plan, my thought was that’s a “double-double.” On our way to Cerro Verde this morning, we stopped in and learned about specialty coffee and the art of roasting and brewing coffee. If you look closely at the picture of Izalco above, you can see some straight lines on the left side about halfway up, that’s coffee growing.

This was out first close-ups view of Izalco, from Cerro Verde, before we began the first descent to the saddle. The faint grey line on the right hand side is the route up the volcano. As per park regulations, we started the double-double at 11 am which mean we were climbing that grey line in the absolute hottest part of the day! It was steep and a pretty good pull (climber speak for a descent work-out/steep hill). We were sweating and doing out best to stay hydrated as we climbed up, step by step…doing our best to find a breathing/stepping rhythm that allowed us to make way up the steep slope of the volcano.

On the way up, we passed by several fumaroles. Some were actual holes with steam rising out of them; others were patches of dirt with the hot vapour mysteriously passing through the soil. Izalco is the youngest volcano in El Salvador and the third youngest in Central America. It was discovered/formed in 1771. It last erupted in 1966 but obviously, there is still a “little action” (Lay volcanist term for steam coming out of fumaroles) on the go underneath the surface.

We celebrated our arrival at the top, ate some grapes and a guava. It was my first guava on a volcano. After about 30 minutes on top, we descended down to the saddle and then climbed back up to Cerro Verde.

We are staying in the saddle between Cerro Verde and Santa Anna. We are climbing Santa Anna in the morning. It is El Salvador’s highest volcano. The picture above barely captures the magnificent sunset we witnessed tonight. I’ve always cherished the moments I’ve stayed/camped/climbed above the clouds and today was no exception. The sunset was absolutely spectacular and we all sat watching it until the sun fell gracefully behind the horizon. With darkness, the clouds cleared, treating us to a view of twinkling lights from the villages/town/cities below. In the morning, if it stays clear, we’ll have a view all the way to the Pacific Ocean. We’re tired from a great day out on two volcanoes and heading off to bed to rest up for the next one tomorrow. It is a volcanopalooza after all 🙂

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After ions of eruptions, the soil on the sides of some volcanoes becomes very fertile ground. When this fertile ground is combined with the proper altitude, it’s possible to grow coffee. El Salvador grows some of the world’s best coffee and it is an important economic activity for the country. Today we visited a coffee company that both grows coffee and processes the beans for market. Coffee “cherries” above are ready for picking. The coffee is picked by hand so pickers can differentiate between coffee beans that are ready for harvest (red ones) and those that are not (green or yellow ones).

After the red husk part is removed, the coffee beans dry in the sun for 24 hours before processing begins. Then, the beans are washed, fermented, and moved into the yard for drying.

Once in the yard and spread thinly, workers rack the beans every 30 minutes to ensure even drying. It is very hot work in the sun.

After it has dried to a relative humidity of 12 percent, it is brought into the warehouse in 100 pound bags until a buyer buys it. At that point, the last layer of fibre that protects the bean is removed, and in some cases the beans are roasted. Roasting the beans gives coffee the familiar brown colour and aroma that so many folks enjoy.

At the end of our coffee tour, we got to enjoy a cup of coffee produced entirely on the property and then headed off to another volcanic lands experience: hot springs. We visited the Santa Teresa Thermal Pools and enjoyed a soak in guilt-free hot water. The sulphur infused water helped soak away any soreness from yesterday’s huge descent into Boqueron’s crater.

On the way out of the hot springs, we stopped to observe, Central America’s largest geyser and marvelled at what happens in the earth below our feet. It was a fine day combining two of El Salvador’s volcanic greats, coffee and hot water. And tomorrow in true Canadian fashion, we’re climbing two volcanoes…a true double double.

Ataco, El Salvador is a common stop on the Ruta de las Flores. It’s cobble stone streets, coffee growing, and colourful murals make it a popular place to catch your breath. Let me share of few of the many murals with you. This one above shows the prominence of volcanoes in this region.

One of the many joys of leaving behind a snowy white world (don’t get me wrong I love winter and white Christmas) for a more tropical clime, is the flowers! El Salvador has not disappointed us in this regard, especially now as we are on a highway route called “Ruta de las Floras”… Route of the Flowers. Their bright colours draw your eye like ornaments on a Christmas tree and we can’t help but stop and admire their beauty. They are Christmas candy to my photographer’s eye. They are the light returning now that Winter Solstice is here. They are stored sunshine that I am wanting to share with you.

Today’s volcano was called Boqueron…Big Mouth! Rather than starting our volcano climbing adventure with a climb, we started it with a big descent into Boqueron’s crater. Somewhat reminiscent of the “Bog Down in the Valley-O” song, the main crater has a smaller crater in it…Boqueroncito…or “small boqueron.” The suffix “ito” or ita” is often added in Spanish to diminish a noun…to give indication that something is smaller. This smaller crater was formed when Boqueron last erupted in 1919. Boqueron is known to erupt every 90 years or so…so if you do the math, it’s likely due an eruption soon so we were glad to be spared the excitement of being in the crater when the “once in a lifetime” occurrence occurs.

The 400 metre descent was steep and slippery. A few sections needed rope and it was a good morning’s walk to get down to the bottom. Using my telephoto lens, I could see that the rocks in Boqueroncito spelled “Palomo” when we began out descent. When we arrived at the bottom, it read “Canada.” We thought it was a wonderful welcome! The climb out was faster than the descent because some of the terrain was easier to climb up than down. It reminded me of my many trips in the Grand Canyon. It was a hot day but the dense vegetation in the crater provided shade much of the way both down and up.

The view from Boqueron were spectacular and we saw many of the volcanoes we are going to climb in the next two weeks. Volcanoes are classically steep and sometimes the footing is very challenging depending on the type of stone/ash on the sides.

Iglesia El Rosario is a fine example of “What you see on the outside is not at all like what is on the inside.” This architectural wonder resembles a concrete bunker on the outside giving only the slightest hints of what awaits inside. If you look closely at the photograph above, you will see small square of colour. These are pieces of glass embedded in the concrete.

Walk inside the church…

And that glass transforms the light into a rainbow of light…

This is one of the most unique churches I have ever visited…

The space inside was tranquil and changed as the sun moved through the sky. The pieces of glass embedded in the back wall opposite of the alter light up differently through the day. Sitting quietly in the church felt as though we were on the inside of a prism.

The church was built between 1964 and 1971. It is located in central El Salvador and has been a critical space for quiet reflection since it was built.

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