Hiking up to a campsite to watch an active volcano erupt all night is probably one of the coolest things I’ve ever done. I had this amazing experience in Guatemala, where Volcan de Fuego spews lava every 15 minutes or so. For the best view, there’s a campsite on the side of Acatenango, a neighbouring volcano that has (only) been dormant since the 1970s. The colourful eruptions are even more dramatic in contrast with the night sky, but hiking to the campsite was challenging to say the least.
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My experience hiking to an active volcano
We get up at the crack of dawn and walk to the Wicho & Charlie’s office. It’s about 20 minutes from our hostel, and the old colonial town’s cobblestone streets seem even more beautiful at this hour.
That’s Volcan de Fuego in the distance!
Hot tip: If you want to get some great photos of Antigua, this is the time to do it! Not only are there no people around, but the clouds are typically clear around the peak of the volcano this early in the morning. (I’m not a scientist so I don’t know why that’s the case, but it’s true.)
It’s 7 am, and this cute little courtyard office space is blasting — and I mean blasting — high energy rap music.
Y’all gon’ make me act a fool, up in here, up in here.
Y’all gon’ make me lose my cool, up in here, up in here.
If I gots to bring it to you cowards, then it’s gonna be quick.
All your mans that been to jail before, suck my d*ck.
We help ourselves to the tea, coffee, and breakfast station. About 30 other people slowly filter in and the guides give us a run down of what we need. They’ve got all the essentials available for rent, from hiking poles and water bottles to hats and gloves. Even though it’s 29°C outside right now, we’re hiking to an altitude of 3,600 metres. So it’s going to be cold.
Considering that we’re travelling and working for 6 weeks, I think we’re pretty well-prepared. We only needed to rent one pair of gloves and a beanie for maximum warmth, but brought our own high-quality multi-day hiking bags, water reservoirs, hiking shoes, wool socks, poles, layers, and rain gear.
With breakfast in our bellies and our bags filled to the brim with hiking essentials, we’re ready to hit the road. The team at Wicho and Charlie’s loads us into minibuses for the hour drive out to the Acatenango. At the base of the trailhead there’s a last-chance bathroom stall and a woman selling snacks, water, and beer of all things. Like I’m going to bring one of those with me up to the top?
The guides hand us each a paper bag with a handful of dog food in it. But don’t worry, it’s not a trail snack. There are a bunch of stray dogs that live in the area and love to accompany hikers on the way up! What a dream. I try to dole out some dog food to make friends but save enough as a reward when they get to the top — If I get to the top, that is.
I ask one of the guides how often people give up, and he says it’s not uncommon — at least once a month. He also says if they’re going to quit, they quit in this first third, which totally makes sense to me. I think because it’s a relatively popular tourist activity, people underestimate it. We’ve met several people over the past two weeks who had already done the hike, and every single one of them told us how hard it was. I feel like we came into this with reasonable expectations. So while my legs are already burning, I know I can handle a 4-hour hike. I’ve hiked the 4-day Milford Track in New Zealand, so it can’t be harder than that! (Right? Right???)
As we start into section two — the switchbacks — the rain has rolled in. We’re still going relentlessly uphill, but we can finally plant our feet firmly on the ground without sliding back in the sand. So there’s that.
The lunch spot is, umm, not what I’d hoped. Not only is there nowhere to sit, there’s only a thin, hole-y bit of plastic draped over a branch for shelter. We’re all soaked and there’s no escaping it. We continue to trek on up the switchbacks, and the rain starts to hit even harder. It’s making the rainforest look lush and magical, but it’s also making me cold.
Chesney has gone up ahead and I’m fighting for my life but not at the very back of the pack, so I’m hangin’ in there. One of the very old doggos has become my companion and we take turns encouraging each other to keep going. (However he is the only one getting treats so it seems a bit unfair tbh.)
The pup on the right was my main hiking companion
The rain turns to hail as we climb higher. We’re in the clouds, and there’s a storm happening around me, rather than above. Lightning strikes and thunder crashes so loud it rumbles the ground beneath my feet. Marble-sized chunks of hail tumble down and I’m half-expecting one of the trees to fall in my path. I’m alone, except for my dog, and starting to wonder if I should keep going. I don’t want to give up, but I’m also not entirely convinced I’m not about to be struck by lightning?
I can barely see a meter ahead because the fog is so thick, but I’m half-expecting to see a guide coming back this direction telling me to turn around. This can’t be safe? My hands are frozen and being absolutely pelted with sharp, stinging balls of hail. I can’t feel the hiking poles in my grasp anymore, but I can see they’re still there and doing their part as I drag myself up this hill. Somehow I’m holding on even though I can’t feel my extremities. I’m also starting to feel a little pessimistic about whether this hike is even worth it if I’m not going to be able to see Fuego from the top.
It was so much worse than this at times, but as you can imagine it wasn’t very easy to take photos when I was fighting for my life.
This must be what they mean by Guatemalan flat, which means I’m 75% of the way there. Instead of consistent uphill, the terrain is undulating. “Flat” is definitely not how I’d describe this, but we’re almost there, so I don’t care. Every time I pass a guide, they tell me we’re 10 minutes away. (This happens three times about 20 minutes apart, so the math ain’t mathin’ but I trek on.)
The only thing getting me through is the promise of the cabin at the campsite. Booking a private 2-person cabin wasn’t that much more expensive than the other options, so we decided to splurge. Chesney is probably already up there, cozying up with a hot chocolate by the fireplace.
After what feels like a lifetime, I make it to camp. My clothes are soaking wet and my legs are sore but I am elated. The hail stops and the clouds start to break just as I see Chesney. The sun comes out, and there it is — Fuego in clear view, with black plumes of smoke floating out from its crater. The combination of rain, hail, snow, and sun has created a rainbow. It feels like I’m in a movie. Every step of that gruelling hike was worth it for this moment.
But even with the sun out, it’s absolutely freezing cold. We head to our private cabin, which… isn’t exactly what I’d envisioned. Was I expected a log cabin with 10-foot ceilings and a cozy fireplace? No. But this is just big enough to fit a double mattress with a very tiny area in the entrance where we can step in and remove our hiking shoes — one at a time.
There are significant cracks between the corrugated iron and wooden planks that make up the walls, floor, and ceiling. And condensation is dripping from the roof onto our layers of miscellaneous blankets. I really don’t think I’ve ever been this cold in my life, and please keep in mind I’m Canadian. It’s all part of the experience, but it’s only going to get colder as night falls and I already can’t feel my toes. We change into our dry campsite clothes and try to get warm under the blankets… but it’s entirely ineffective.
Inside and outside the cabin
Our setup inside the cabin, trying to dry our clothes
Fuego is erupting and we didn’t come here for anything else, so we brave the cold to go outside and enjoy the views. The guides are handing out hot chocolate and a few other hikers have gotten a fire going. We lean our wet boots against the stones to dry and exchange stories around the campfire as the sun goes down.
Hot tip: Pack a pair of slip on shoes. I brought my Toms and it felt kind of silly to add anything to my pack that wasn’t necessary. But it was such a blessing not to have to put on my boots to go the long drop bathroom in the middle of the night. Everyone was jealous of my shoes — be like me.
As soon as it’s dark, the plumes of black smoke rising from the crater start glowing red. We can now see — and hear — the actual lava spewing out and tumbling down the side of the volcano. It’s incredible.
I have to include this because it was too funny: So on my walk up I’d been going at the same pace as this other girl a bit younger than me. She was wearing shorts, Blundstones, and only had a plastic poncho to survive the hail storm. Not exactly volcanic peak hiking attire. We chatted a little bit on the way up (suffering in solidarity) and Chesney and I share a table with her and her family over dinner. She’s here with her mom, dad, and 16-year-old sister… and they are not pleased with their mom, who organized the trip. Lol.
They were entirely unprepared and her dad and younger sister seem so mad they aren’t saying a word. You’d think they’d be over it by the time they were at the top and looking at Fuego, but that is not the case. The mom says she’s been banned from trip planning for the foreseeable future. I’m sure once they all get to the bottom tomorrow and warm up they’ll be able to look back and laugh.
There’s an option to tack on an extra hike to get even closer to Fuego. It leaves at 3 a.m. I’m really torn on whether I want to do it because like, obviously my heart says yes, but my legs are saying no. It’s a about 3 extra hours of steep incline up and down, and I’m not sure I can do that in the middle of the night and then also make it back down Acatenango. I pass, but Chesney and five other brave souls take on the challenge. They’re allowed to get close enough that they’re jus 500 meters away!
I’m so impressed that he went for it, and only a liiiiiittle jealous when he comes back with pics.
But the hike back down is excrutiating in a different way. We’re all moving much faster, but the descent is really hard on my knees! By the time I’ve made it to the last stretch of black volcanic sand, my legs are wobbling. I basically collapse once I reach the end of the trail. Now I understand why there’s a stall selling beer and snacks at the beginning of the hike — It’s for when you come back down.
I do a fair amount of hiking, and I think this may have been one of the hardest hikes I’ve ever done. Between the steep and unrelenting incline, the hail storm, and the altitude, I can’t say I’ve experienced anything quite like it. But it was honestly one of the coolest activities I’ve ever done and I don’t think there are many places in the world where you can do something like this! If you’re ever in Guatemala, it’s an absolute must.
I can highly recommend booking with Wicho & Charlie’s to hike up Acatenango. And if you’re looking for an epic volcano experience that’s a little more chill, you should check out Pacaya. You can get there from Antigua and the hike is way easier and shorter, so you can do it as a day trip. Sure, it’s not the same as camping overnight, but you can also cook pizza and marshmallows with the volcanic heat, so that’s pretty rad.
Wow! Pretty intense. And, I see your little “doggo” made it with you all the way to the cabin! Did the other dogs make it all the way too?
Well done! It sounds totally daunting, but you
plugged on .. and got a doggo fix!
Another amazing experience!