After our recent adventure on the Cotopaxi volcano, I have a newfound respect for mountaineers. Though I had suspected it before, now I also know that mountaineering will probably not become my newest hobby.

The view from Lake Limpiopungo. Cotopaxi is hiding behind that big cloud, which rolled in right about when we did.

We hadn’t planned to go up on the volcano, but after spending 2 days right next to it, feeling, but not seeing, its presence, we developed a bit of an obsession. During 2 days, we constantly searched the horizon, hoping the clouds would clear just enough for us to catch a glimpse of the snowy peak. Only on the third day did our luck change. After finally admiring Cotopaxi from a distance, we realized we needed a closer look.

Feeling a bit nervous approaching the volcano.

Through the hostel, we had the option of joining another couple and a guide to ascend the volcano, but only to the refuge at the snow line. The final ascent to the summit required more time, experience and equipment than we had. Also, I wasn’t so sure I was interested in doing anything that involved ice axes and crampons. So after a veeeery bumpy ride to the base of the volcano, upwards we went. One excruciating step at a time. There is a good reason that mountains are often used in metaphors and proverbs. Mountain climbing is a very literal lesson in patience, perseverance and overcoming obstacles – all values we relearned during this challenge.

Still quite a way to go…

The altitude had been having quite an effect on us both, but mostly on me. I don’t think I had slept more than 2 hours a night since our week in the Galapagos, and I was totally exhausted from scrambling around in canyons and caves the previous days. The thought of going up even higher made me very anxious, but I wanted to do it anyways. About a third of the way up, breathing, and therefore walking, became increasingly difficult. I felt like my body was being squeezed by a giant, invisible force, and I worried that my heart and my lungs and my head would just explode. At the moment, that seemed totally possible though now it seems a bit dramatic. After a while, the refuge came into view – so close, yet so far away. My focus narrowed to the small patch of sand where my feet stood. Left, right, left right, stop. Sit. Shallow breathing. Rinse and repeat.

Slow and steady progress.

It took a long time to finish the climb, though probably not as long as it felt. My strides grew shorter and shorter and my breathing breaks longer and longer. But I did it! Reaching that refuge was a very proud moment for me, and a good reminder that I am stronger than I often think.


A welcome snack of cake, bananas and tea before heading back down.

Our guide, David, was fantastic. He takes a photo with everyone he guides up the volcano.

The way down resembled nothing of the way up, of course. Sliding and slipping down the mountain, our shoes filling with sand. Breathing deeper and deeper and feeling so relieved and proud. The pressure didn’t let up for hours, though, which was surprising. And it took the rest of the day to feel somewhat back to normal. But there was not much time to recover, because we had a bus to catch and a new adventure to look forward to!

**For more photos, check out Bela Lumo’s photostream on flickr or “like” Bela Lumo Photography on Facebook. I’m regularly updating the albums there. And as usual, please contact me directly if you’re interested in using my photos or purchasing any prints. Thanks!** 

4 thoughts on “4810 Meters

  1. Meagan

    How awesome! I love your stories and photos, you guys are such adventurers! And can I just say how stylin you both look in your hats 🙂


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