Momotombo is the looming 1,297 meter volcano that dominates the skyline on the Pacific coast of Nicaragua, the granddaddy in the chain of fire that cuts along this landscape. The idea had never occurred to me to attempt the grueling hike. In fact, I suppose I grew a bit smug being so emphatically indifferent to the magnificent spectacles promised to the droves of adventure seekers who travel from every corner of the globe because, after all, why not hike a volcano? It's just so 'there.' Honestly, I simply didn’t give it much thought, rather just had always assumed that I was most definitely not one of them, that the only ‘extreme’ activity I might indulge in occasionally is excess coffee drinking (risky!), other than that, I just really couldn’t be bothered.
So I’m not sure when the shift occurred. I suppose entering the last few months of my two year’s stint in Nicaragua, I was growing nostalgic, contemplative and found myself taking inventory of my personal accomplishments, setbacks and pending business I still had to wrap up. Momotombo has been a constant companion along this journey of building a life (albeit temporarily) around a new job, in a new (tiny) town, in a new country. Surrounded by the unfamiliar, the volcano became a signature constant. Walking down the hill to work it stood before me solemn and unchanged but for when clouds would cloak the highest points, obstructing the view of the mountain’s iconic sign of life; the billowing trail of gasses always being pushed higher still into the impossible space held above its summit.
When Ethan visited in August, I began looking into the volcano hikes in hopes that we could include some ‘light outdoorsy sightseeing.’ Arriving to Leon we were warmly received by the good volunteering folks at Quetzaltrekkers, a non-profit organizing nature hikes and supporting work with street children. The 2 day trip to Momotombo was described as the most intense involving some rigorous climbing challenges: “you’ll be practically on your hands and knees climbing the last leg of the hike it’s so steep.” Pshaw! We felt indestructible by our bold 'safety be damned!' new found youthful recklessness. A week later, sick in bed on day 5 of some random, phantom intestinal infection, we realized that we were really just delusional. BUT! -the seed of delusion, once planted, finds a fertile space to really flourish with me, and flourish it did.
I had set my goal: reach the top of Momotombo... alive. Reaching the top, ironically, wasn't the real climax of the journey. The hike was grueling, involving some serious 'technical climbing.' Really? I only learned the meaning of that term a few hours into day 1 hike. Ignorant, I imagined myself saying...'well, it might have seemed like I was falling down the mountain side but 'technically' I was 'climbing.' Na, it really means that you are clinging to the mountain side, precariously trying to find secure holds in the rock for the walking sticks that quickly become the link between you and sudden death (ok, I'm exaggerating...slightly).
So day 1-rigorous, exhausting and intensely, strangely invigorating. By the time we made camp, got a fire going and started preparing the veggies (it was pasta night), I was feeling really confident, almost cocky- 'this really isn't as bad as I had feared!' Mark-the only member of the ad-hoc hiking team who had made the trip before, looked at me (sympathetically) and told me that the actual submit hike would prove 'interesting.' Undeterred, I savored my toasted marshmallow and let my mind wander into volcanic inspired dreamscapes, made all the more lucid by the flow of sulfur gas entering the tent. And interesting it was!
I made it though...well, I did it 'my way' which means I took my own sweet time getting there...the boys were lovely, very fun and encouraging. We frolicked in crater city, explored the bizarre fauna found near the summit-psychedelic insects abound, painted our faces with volcanic clay, indulged in some classic photographic moments and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves and relished in our success. Then the real fun began.
Getting up a mountain is not, not, where the challenge lies...the challenge is found in, "what in God's green earth am I going to do with myself as I'm sitting here on my ass, suffering from vertigo, watching these athletic boys hurl themselves into outer-space-abandoning me here, paralyzed and bruised after so many falls, and having a PRIMAL FEAR panic attack??? Get me off this frickn' mountain because I'm going to die!!! Ahhhhhh!!!!!" I literally felt like I was going to fall-into outer-space. After a few sliding, crashing falls...my walking sticks were pretzeled among my limbs, my pant's seat had been ripped clear across my keaster-yes, ouch!-and I was worried I was going to break myself into little, unrecognizable pieces. I connected with a fear so pure and undeniable...I sobbed into outer-space...I tried speaking to myself calmly, pep-talking myself...nothing worked. After about 15mins of suffering, I decided I'd get 'proactive' and scream for Mark. The camp was barely visible and I was afraid that the wind was carrying my voice up and away and further into outer-space. I would not be saved. Finally, it was Louie, Aussie #2 along with Michael, who told me later that he heard, ever so faintly, my cries (it took a few minutes to get their attention) and alerted Mark who bolted up the mountain, reaching me in record time. Sobbing, I asked for some support as I was having a 'primal fear moment.' Being a guide in training, he responded like a champion and began talking to me clearly about what it was exactly I had to do...literally showing me how to put one foot in front of the next. It took us a while...I felt like Nathan Lane's Albert from the Birdcage when he was prompted by Robin William's character to practice pretending he was a macho man (remember?). We could sense how painful it was for him to do something so outrageously foreign, so ludicrous, so out of character. "Jam in your stick! Show this mountain who's boss...let out your anger!" Mark barked at me. "Ok...I'll try," though I had obviously not convinced myself, Mark or the mountain as I attempted my stick stab only to crumple once more, folding into my dry heaving sobs. "Good...you're getting there."
It took some coaxing but, at last, I managed to woman-up a bit and I did, eventually, make my peace with the mountain and get myself back down to flat ground. Then the rest of the day was a cake walk...sorta. It was a hard hike and took all the mental and physical stamina I could muster to get myself down to blessed, non-volcanic, common ground.
It was the perfect way to symbolically offer some closure to my Nicaraguan moment. As my plane flew out of Managua's airport on October 11th, I was given a bird's eye view (thank you window seat!) of Momotombo's lake facing side-the opposite side from my vantage point in Nagarote. I pictured myself there, on the tippity-top, waving a hand of farewell and giving thanks. Everything after that moment, I trusted, I'd be able to handle.
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