1. Sangay Volcano Expedition, Ecuador, Xmas 2000
This is the write-up of my expedition to Ecuador to climb the live 5230m (17,159ft) Sangay volcano (pronounced 'Sanguy') over Christmas 2000 after an 11 day trek through rain forest, cloud forest and Paramo, assisted by my personal expedition team of ten. http://www.volcanodiscovery.com/sangay.html
The Explore Worldwide shared group trips to Borneo and Venezuela were interesting, but half the time was spent doing things that did not interest me. My main reason for going on the trips was to get away from the UK's highly commercialised Christmas and cold weather. When I returned from Venezuela I decided I would much rather have a personalised trip where every day was what I wanted to do, and instead of sharing, I would just have the company of whoever was necessary to make it happen.
I realised a custom trip for a single person would be much more expensive than a shared trip, but if it could be in an undeveloped country it might be affordable. It would still be expensive so in case it turned out to be the only one, I set about planning a real adventure. Remembering my young school days reading Biggles (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biggles) with enthusiasm, the most outrageous trip I could come up with was to climb a live volcano in the middle of jungle, far from the madding crowd.
I had bought a lot of my clothing for the previous trips in a shop called Silvertrek (later renamed Altimus) and struck up a friendship with the proprietors, with whom I regularly chatted. When I mentioned I was looking for someone to set up a bespoke but cost-effective trip, they revealed a friend, Maurice ('Mo') Adshead, had recently started up a travel company called Muir's Tours, and gave me his number.
Mo explained his company was an offshoot from the Nepal Kingdom Foundation charity, and money from trips fed back to the indigenous population where the trips took place, which I much preferred to a conventional rip-off travel company. He enthusiastically welcomed my idea and on my instruction, set about locating a suitable volcano and country. Eventually after much research I settled on his suggestion of Sangay volcano in Ecuador, and began to plan my trip, which took the best part of a year. Mo set up the trip with Alfonso Tandazo, the owner of Ecuador adventure company Surtrek based in the capital, Quito: http://www.surtrek.com.
Sangay has been active for at least 14,000 years; its name means 'The Frightener':
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sangay
Our research revealed Sangay could easily be reached from the west side within three days and the handful of people who climbed it each year attempted it from this direction, but the jungle had long gone, replaced by muddy grassland. The south eastern approach was harder, and few had attempted it as the nearest town Macas was 35km from the volcano and the remote dense jungle spanned several large rivers, the terrain ranging from lowland rainforest to highland cloud forest and paramo. This satisfied one of my goals, which was to trek through jungle with a view of the smoking volcano. I decided Sangay volcano would be the ideal adventure, and set about planning the trip with Mo.
I took a lot of equipment with me, including my first conventional slide camera, the 3M pixel Canon D30 which was the first DSLR, and a Panasonic NVDX100B digital camcorder, all housed in waterproof enclosures I had made for the trip. The cameras were only released for sale very close to the departure date and I had little time to learn how to use them. The poor quality of the photographs is a combination of the latter and the impracticality of swapping film in and out of their enclosures in the largely wet environment. This lead me to record most of the adventure with the camcorder. As a result, most of the photographs below are actually stills from the video camera, often degraded by defocusing raindrops and moisture on the front window, which I was unaware of whilst filming. However given the unique nature of the adventure, I think this can be forgiven.
What was it like? Looking back, it was great. Ever present (save for the hike between the rivers Volcán and Sangay - more later), was the roar of the nearby fast flowing rivers: Rio Upano, Rio Volcán and Rio Sangay.
I shall backtrack...
ADD VIDEOS
Day 1: Saturday 16th Dec.
I caught the 8pm flight out of the UK and spent the next 15 or so hours travelling. First stop was Schipol airport, Amsterdam for a change of aircraft and then to Ecuador which took about 9 hours. We landed first at Curaçao, the airport on a tiny island just off Venezuela. After about an hour's delay, we took off again and the next stop was Guayaguil, the southernmost city in Ecuador. I find long flights tedious, especially as I'm 6'4" tall and have long legs, although I will always endeavor to get a window seat if at all possible (there's always something to look at, if only a wing). On the flight out to Ecuador I had a mid-aisle seat and it wasn't long before I got bored.
As we flew on I watched my fellow passengers, most of whom were speaking Spanish, a language of which I have no knowledge. I watched body language and what they were doing. Sitting on my left was a man who appeared to be in his mid-twenties and who every now and then, began to read from what looked like a technical journal of some description.
Eventually my curiosity got the better of me and I started a conversation; it turned out he was a well-educated Ecuadorian engineer with a friendly disposition and it wasn't long before he asked why I was going to Ecuador and I'd told him. From that moment on we got on well and he began to describe the peoples of Ecuador, their dialects and some of their strange ways. He also told me how to pronounce the name of some of the places I was going to visit. For reasons that now escape me, he became known to me as 'Bill the Cowboy'. He explained that on the whole Ecuador was a fairly stable country, but Guayaguil was one of the less stable regions and best avoided if possible, and that was where we were headed next as the plane had to be re-fueled and cleaned.
The army had a noticeable presence at Guayaquil airport, strolling around in camouflage gear with clearly visible machine guns but we were safe in a military-controlled airport; it was only if we went out of its boundary we might have to worry. Bill and I took the airport bus over to the waiting lounge and remained there for an hour or so until the announcement came to return to our plane for the hour's flight up north to Quito, the capital of Ecuador.
My research had suggested Quito also has its problems, so I had arranged to be met at the airport and be driven straight from it as soon as I landed. I was met by Surtrek owner Francisco, who looked about 45, his female assistant Alexandria about 25, the German mountaineer and jungle survival expert Frank Alte (29), the biolologist Igor Revelo (29) and the driver Ivan, I guess about 30 and fairly thickset, but otherwise very friendly: smiles all round; instant camaraderie.
First stop was the AGA medical factory to fill the four empty steel oxygen cylinders I had brought from the UK. A mere $20. After a short stop at the agency's tour office, I ran a quick check on the satellite phone I'd brought to see if it worked - it didn't: the security code didn't work - and checked the walkie-talkies: OK. Francisco emailed the UK for the right code (which we later got and were able to prove operative), then Ivan drove myself, Frank and Igor out of the city. A marvellously hot, sunny day. I guess temperatures in the 90s.
My suspicions were confirmed that the agency hadn't done their bit when my 22-page 'Wishlist' dossier was handed to Frank and Igor to read on the way: so much for forward planning. I was getting concerned, but I needn't have worried, because the scant information that did reach Frank was sufficient for him to plan the expedition exactly as I had wished. Probably because Frank proved to be an intelligent man with a logical, common sense approach. Also a great sense of humour and a really nice guy to boot.
We would spend the next two days driving to the town of Macas in the far south, where the adventure would to start (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Macas_(city)). Please scroll down to the bottom for maps.
We left Quito on the main Highway 35, soon passing the 5,900m Cotopaxi snow-capped volcano, a magnificent mountain that filled the sky and most of the surrounding land, a truly awesome sight:
Cotopaxi volcano: 5,900m, the highest active volcano in the World
Then it was on to the 'Cow Restaurant' for a spot of beef and an introduction to the obscure vegetables on offer. The rest of the day was spent driving to Patate, our mid-route stop between Quito in the north and Sangay in the south. When we were were still some appreciable distance from Patate, the massive flanks of Tungurahua (pronounced Tungoo r-ow-a; say it quickly), which translates to 'mouth of fire' in the native Quicha tongue, came into view and grew ever larger as we drew closer to Patate. Tungurahua is also one of the most active volcanoes in Ecuador.
Later, Alfonso told me the first inhabitants of the Andes regarded volcanoes as living male and female beings capable of feelings and emotions. They believed Taita (‘father’) Chimborazo was eternally in love with Mama (‘mother’) Tungurahua but she instead fancied El Altar, who was younger and more attractive. Blind with jealousy and rage, Chimborazo fought against El Altar and after some months of this, El Altar exploded and was destroyed. Mama Tungurahua was so impressed with Chimborazo’s power and courage that she gave herself to him, and a little later the Carihuairazo volcano was born from their love.
Tungurahua volcano from the distance - video camera stills
I had pre-arranged a stop at a vantage point from which to film and photograph Tungurahua before we got to Patate. Dusk was approaching and it was past 5pm when we reached the viewpoint, which was still some considerable distance from Patate. Mist in the air contributed to the eeriness of the view.
We arrived at ‘Hacienda Manteles’ mountain lodge about 9pm in the pitch black of night, a tastefully constructed wooden ranch house on the brow of a very steep hill, the Toyota Landcruiser bouncing and weaving frantically up a thin, rocky mountain path to the destination.
Patate (the name actually does originate from potato) was chosen because it's about 20km away but in the line of sight of Tungurahua. I had hoped to video it throwing out red-hot projectiles at night as it had been on yellow-alert all year, but now there was only steam slowly rising from its cone.
Day 2: Sunday 17th Dec.
The next morning we piled into the 4x4 and continued on to Macas. We stopped first at Baños de Agua Santa (pronounced 'Ban-Yos' meaning bath, due to the its naturally-heated hot water public baths). I also learned 'Aqua' is pronounced 'Awa', useful to know before the adventure. At 'Baños' as it was known by the locals, we drank juice from freshly squeezed sugar canes in the small market town square which was crowded with stalls ranging from local produce to baby chickens in large metal cages. Frank bought a bunch of 100 small clear plastic bags that were to prove invaluable later.
Highway 50 is the Ecuadorian equivalent of an Interstate but it was little more than a wide, dusty, rocky mountain road. As we drove on towards Puyo a few km ahead, our meandering mountain road crossed the Andes, cutting the west and east of Ecuador in half in the process. A spectacular valley view appeared with a several hundred foot drop, vegetated and farmed down to the river.
View of Rio Pastaza from Highway 50 Rope bridge at Pailon de Diablo waterfall
We were heading east before joining the main highway south to Macas. We stopped off to walk down to view the small 'Pailon de Diablo' ('devil's cauldron') waterfall (the magnificence of the name is not deserved) at a village called Rio Verde. Here two rivers meet and there's a small rope suspension bridge. The bridge has a weight limit (see ‘eye’ sign), so we had to wait for people to leave it.
Campariat 'skull' bug about 0.5" long Ecuador's Highway 50 Interstate equivalent
We returned to the Toyota and continued on our journey to Macas by Highway 50, a pot-holed, rustic track with small boulders, pebbles and mud where I had expected tarmac, a vertical drop of several hundred metres to the right with the ever beautiful valley and far below, the accompanying Rio Pastaza frantically gorging its path. Ivan sped along, about 60mph, the Toyota indifferent to the bumpy ride.
Eventually we lost the valley and surged through the rough countryside now bordering on Peruvian jungle which enveloped us and the sides of the track: creepers and trees obscured the view and sunlight, save for a small relatively open area where thin tall Eucalyptus trees took over, imported from Australia many moons ago and once a thriving business.
I took a GPS fix of our position: 02° 18’ 1S, 78° 06’ 20W , elevation 952m.
About 60km before Macas we had to cross the wide fast Rio Pastaza and a tributary. The only way across was by two old, rickety, steel sprung bridges of mammoth Indiana Jones proportions. The entrance to each bridge was flanked by tall, vertical concrete girders covered in scrapes; there was less than a foot between the vehicle sides and their walls and far less to the side mirrors:
We reached the end of the two bridges and paid a toll to the toll-keeper and dusk fell. After the bridges, jungle again surrounded us and we continued on the bumpy road, eventually arriving at Macas.
Macas is a small town with several long, wide streets running in parallel. Unexpected intricately laid cobble-stones signaled it was the capital of the province. It also has an airport. I was expecting a small strip of grass but it was a real airport and when we eventually left, a fairly large jet took us and I was surprised there was enough room for it to land.
We booked into the 'Real Hotel'. I had been warned this was going to be a 2* hotel or worse but it was a modern building with marble and glass walls and a private swimming pool. I was booked into the 'bridal suite' and when I looked into the en-suite bathroom, I found...a bath. Surprise! Found a jacuzzi. Big surprise. Found hot water. Amazement. Found no cold water. Can't have everything. And the jacuzzi didn't work ('Not enough water'). Just a shower in the jacuzzi.
Around 9pm Frank, Igor and I went out for a meal, a lovely warm evening, I guess still around 30°C. Not long after we had sat down an American backpacker found us in the open cafe where we were eating, politely sat down with us and started a conversation about trekking in the area. Frank immediately cottoned on he was hoping to be invited along with us and replied that we were about to embark on a 17-day trek through jungle. I eagerly added I hoped to find lots of large insects to photograph. The look on the backpacker’s face darkened and it wasn’t long before he said goodbye and departed.
I had asked the biologist to look for something we could use to leave food in to trap insects so that on our return journey we could inspect their contents. Even at 10-30pm after our meal, we found a thriving market in the middle of the town and negotiated with a fruit stall owner, who gave us her rotten fruit for free, then we bought some plastic bags from her to put it in. We all chuckled she must have thought we were mad: we paid money for bags for free food.
Day 3: Monday 18th Dec. Trek Day 1.
The Landcruiser had got a puncture and Ivor the driver had already been out, got it repaired and returned by 8:30am in time for breakfast, after which we left for the 30 minute drive to Santa Rosa where the trek would start.
Cobblestone road in Macas Santa Rosa
Santa Rosa turned out to be a small clearing on a thin, muddy track in the middle of thick jungle.
Here we met the rest of the team. There were 11 of us in total: myself, Frank, Franklin a trainee mountaineer, Igor, Anke the cook, Don Manuel, 58, the head porter and local guide who also knew the terrain, and an additional 5 porters, mostly young cattle herders, many with ugly looking facial injuries (I later learned, earned from cattle hooves and horns in the mouth). A very cheerful bunch, who all laughed appreciably when I (also with a grin) donned my waders when I was told we immediately had to wade across Rio Jurumbuno, a small shallow river about 30 feet wide.
I also had to frantically kit all of my photographic and video gear in the waterproof marine enclosures I'd built in anticipation of such circumstances.
Wading across Rio Jurumbuno at Santa Rosa
The waders worked perfectly but I couldn't be bothered to keep changing in and out of them on the trek, so this was the only time I used them. However I was very pleased I used them at this river because my feet stayed dry for several days afterwards, which I later greatly appreciated.
Frank had used the eastern approach to Sangay 3 times before, the last time a year ago. He said we would trek to Rio Upano which was about 100m wide, and set up Camp 1 on its bank.
We had a lot of kit to carry on our trek. To save expense and cut down on the number of required porters, Frank had decided provisions would be carried in two or more sorties: after reaching each camp, he and the porters would go back and collect the remaining rucksacks and gear. He also planned hidden areas on the trek where provisions would be placed for the return journey.
We started out on the trek to the first camp, making our way on foot through fairly jungly countryside but it wasn't real jungle because, as Frank explained, this was Indian-cultivated land. It wasn't open fields; there was a definite jungle atmosphere with tall trees, canopy and vines etc, but sections contained human-planted vegetation and there was a distinct path cut by the Indians albeit wet, muddy, rocky and slippery. Along the way we met a couple carrying sweet potatoes and bought some.
So this is how we eventually found our way to the first camp. It was hot and fairly humid and I was grateful for the rest after our about 4 hour, 4km trek. The camp was set up on the northern flank of Rio Upano, the wide river reduced at this point to a small, fast flowing rock-swirling torrent in the midst of a boulder-strewn but otherwise dry riverbed some 100 metres wide. It was about 27°C/80°F in the day and I later observed, around 16°C/60°F at night. Nice.
Once there, the porters laid out a clothes line and hung their garments on it. Over the next couple of hours they set up camp and as I wandered around the jungle photographing the delicious vegetation and anything that moved, I stopped to watch 0.5" long black ants making their way along the clothes line.
When Frank returned I mentioned the ants and he said that they could give you a little nip, but there were some 3" long red ants known to frequent the area. He said that if I saw one I should run because 15 bites were enough to kill a human. At the time I wondered if this was a wind-up but also considered if a swarm of 3" inch ants could outrun me. Having grown to respect his advice I know now he was absolutely serious.
Camp 1 on the bank of Rio Upano Rio Upano, looking NW in the direction of Sangay
Frank said we would camp next to a river whenever possible because that way there was a continous supply of fresh water and less mosquitos, but he also added in this locality the Indians peed in the river, so all water had to be boiled first and ported to water bottles when it had cooled.
I found lots of interesting little insects but Igor the biologist said we should find many more when we reached primary rain forest in a couple of days' time, so I deferred my night experiments to use light sources to attract insects.
The porters pitched my tent and Frank, looking embarrassed, came up to me and asked if I had the means to create fire as his lighter was still in transit in the second sortie. Assuming he probably wanted some matches, I said 'Yes, but you're not going to like it', because my fire lighter was a new purchase, a solid lump of magnesium with a strip of metal glued to the side of it that creates sparks when you run a knife blade down it, the advantage being it will work in the wet and there's no gas lighter to crush or any risk of loss of lighter fluid if it gets smashed. However it turned out to be exactly what was needed, because it only had to light a gas stove.
Once the fire was lit, Anke the cook made a soup using the sweet potatoes we'd bought from the Indians we met on the way. The next surprise was Spaghetti Bolognese for supper!
Afterwards I watched fireflies before turning in for an early night.
Day 4: Camp 1 Tuesday 19th Dec. Trek Day 2.
The next morning we rose at 7am (which turned out to be the norm) and breakfast was at 7-30am. For the first 3 days it was hot coffee (Nescafe and powdered milk) or weak tea, meusli with strawberry yoghourt, bread and soft cheese & peanut butter & jam. Each day after breakfast Anke gave us a snack for lunch: a citrus fruit and a couple of sweets. It seems very little, but I found it was easy to get totally engrossed in the trekking and forget about food without feeling hungry, especially after such a large breakfast.
Being scientifically curious in mind I had brought a few small gadgets with me and I set about a some measurements: 31°C/88°F and 50% humidity, normal temperature for this part. Curious, I measured the sound level of river from my tent: 65dB, LOUD!
As I was busying myself preparing my things for the day, I heard a commotion outside and peeked out to find a young Indian man drawing himself and a young woman across the river suspended above it in a rusty metal basket on a steel cable.
Indians traversing Rio Upano Found near Camp 2 En-route to Camp 2
The route to Camp 2 was through mostly ‘cultivated’ jungle on the eastern bank of Rio Upano, but the camp itself was located on the east bank of Rio Volcán just beyond the junction between it and Rio Upano, which originates in the south. Not long after our arrival Igor, myself and Don Manuel the porter head guide (who was with Frank on his last expedition here) went to look for bugs and things to photograph and we came across a beautiful large blue butterfly.
We returned for dinner at 5pm - noodle soup expertly prepared, followed by fried chicken, rice and squash salad. Frank said some meat was going off, so we should eat all we could, and give the rest to Igor, who said rotting meat would be good for bugs. After dinner we gathered round to check the map and discuss the route forward, before retiring at 7pm for an early night, although it started raining heavily at 8pm which kept me awake for quite some while.
Day 5: Camp 2 Wednesday 20th. Trek Day 3.
Today we had about 3 miles to walk, then half a mile to / from three lagoons in the jungle that no-one has been to before. It rained all night and was still raining at 7am when I got up but it had almost stopped by 9am when we left, leaving a misty humid trail.
We started off trekking along the right (N.E.) bank of Rio Volcán, its sides rising up a good 30 feet however the night rain had swollen the river, eventually halting our course. Now we had to cut a path into the jungle on the N.E. flank. First a steep 12 foot rise at 80 degrees, a small trek for 5 minutes then a steep, almost vertical 8 foot rise. Then 10 minutes horizontal followed by a 12 foot vertical descent that needed ropes. Curious, I took a quick measurement: 30°C/85°F, 60% humid. Everything and everyone had to go this way on multiple sorties because there was more equipment than could be carried by the number of porters, and provisions had to be carried for the return journey too.
Above, the 12 foot vertical drop Igor weighed down by 4 x full O2 cylinders
This section of the trek route was solid jungle and the path we followed was hacked by my team. When
the flank height finally receded we left the jungle and returned to rubble and boulder-strewn banks, boulders that grew larger the further upstream we went, tough going. To my surprise I found Igor voluntarily carrying the four full O2 tanks and various accessories. I had neither requested nor expected him to do this. Frank took twice as much and went back for more afterwards, carrying the same amount on repeated sorties without stopping for a break in between.
The porters were incredible too, simple farm labourers who cheerfully carried huge heavy loads without a murmur. As we traversed the terrain I slowly learned more about them: Don Manuel the head Porter was the spitting image of Cleggy from the UK TV series 'Last of the Summer Wine', but a real gentleman who doubled up as the second guide and between him and the porters we had four Manuels.
By now the sun was out, temperature around 32°C/90°F and still quite humid around 50%. One of my requests at the outset was to augment our diet from the surroundings if possible, but I had arrived in their winter and there was very little available. However today Igor found some wild cherries, unusual compared to the UK because they are red when unripe and purple when ripe - a sweet, delicate flavour.
We arrived at Camp 3 around 2:30pm; everyone was very tired so we abandoned the plan to explore the mystery lagoons. Camp 3 was again on high ground on the river bank.
Anke gave us something to perk us up. To me it looked like dirt in liquid with sugar and it tasted like whey powder but true enough, after about 20 minutes my feet had stopped aching and I started to photograph. We found a hornet nest with 1.25" long black wasps and Don Manuel revealed he was stung on the back of his hand by one in the morning at camp 2, and his whole hand swelled up.
I found a tiny green spider with a 2mm long body shimmering in the sunlight and one of the porters brought me a beautiful grasshopper in a film canister, and Igor found a large 3" brown frog.
Dinner was onion soup followed by Salami, mashed potatoes, carrots, peppers and banana crisps.
Day 6: Camp 3 Thursday 21st. Trek Day 4.
A fine dry morning. Breakfast was 7am as usual, but I still hadn't properly adjusted to being in a different time zone and found myself rising at 6am instead. Not an early riser normally, if I had done that back in the UK it would have felt like the middle of the night.
As I wandered along the river bank which now had fine dark volcanic sand, I noticed tiny streaks in it as if something had burrowed below its surface, and then I found holes at the ends. Sure enough, after a while a small dark grey insect appeared. Intrigued, I placed a plastic bag over an end and caught a bug as it emerged. I had never before seen what I had caught, and for a long while I wondered if I had something special. It had six legs, an articulated body that bent sideways in the middle, textured skin, a head like a shrimp and hind legs like a grasshopper, and it burrowed! It was not until I got home and did some research that I discovered it was a mole cricket nymph, native to the Americas.
ADD PHOTOS OF MOLE CRICKET NYMPH HERE
This morning we had a short 0.5 mile walk to 'Camp 4' which took about 30 mins to reach.
Some river sections needed ropes to cross them, below left is a photo of Frank in the distance tethering one on the left bank, and a photo of liquid iron Igor found oozing out of the riverbank.
Most of the route was a rock-strewn shore and many of the stones now had a pumice-like structure. More often than not they rested on soft dark volcanic sand with tiny specks of white or transparent minerals that made it glint in sunlight as if it was salt.
We were almost at Camp 4 when we had to make a detour cutting up through jungle to get round a spit in the river. Up, down and around.
Camp 4 was on a rocky island in a dried up portion of the river, and to the east of it, a tributary feeding in from a height of about 80 feet.
We stopped for a break and after photographing insects that the porters had brought to me from the trek, plus a nearby spider and leaf-cutter ants, I opened my Paramo trouser leg zips to cool down in the hot sun, then did them up. Unfortunately whilst they were open a bee had flown in and I got stung on the inside of my left thigh. I yelped loudly, which surprised everyone. Opening up the zips again I found and pulled the sting out and the pain quickly receded, but over several days my entire thigh began to swell and harden from an allergic reaction.
Frank revealed the tributary led to the first of the lagoons and asked if I wanted to continue onward, or spend the afternoon exploring the lagoon, to which I enthusiastically agreed. The next step was to climb the waterfall and follow the course of the river!
Don Manuel was the first up, followed by Franklin Rio Volcán behind Igor ascending the waterfall
To make up for the excursion to the waterfall, Frank said the porters would go on further to what we would call Camp 4A. Don Manuel was the first to climb the vertical waterfall, followed by trainee mountaineer Franklin.
The tributary was about 15 feet wide in a deep chasm typically 10 to 30 feet high with jungle growing all round and hanging into the river which ranged in depth from a few inches to several feet. From time to time when the river became impossibly deep or blocked by boulders, Don Manuel, Frank and Franklin
climbed up the gorge walls and took turns hacking a path through the dense jungle, Igor as usual commendably guarding the rear.
Franklin was very stable and helped me through many difficult situations in the river - the unpredictable bed, driftwood and rocks, much of it slippery with moss and algae.
For the next 4 hours we made our way upstream, sometimes diverting up into thick jungle to get round deep or difficult river sections but following the river if possible. For a short section in the river there was a thick root growing horizontally well above the waterline that made a convenient handrail.
ADD A WATERFALL BUG PHOTO HERE
Along the way, Don Manuel selected a particular bamboo tree, lopped it down and cut into the centre of it, revealing a pulp that you can eat. I tried it, but have to say it was rather tasteless.
Eventually we reached a point where we had to decide whether to return to camp or continue. I was very impressed my Magellan 315 GPS actually worked well in deep jungle and I took several fixes. Frank reckoned we were only a quarter of a mile from the lagoon (hidden from view) but from my GPS I could see that in four hours we had barely covered half a mile. It would have taken another 2 hours giving us little time to explore and we had to return. We were out of time so I reluctantly decided we should
turn back. Frank said I could go on if I wanted to, but we were wet, we had no food or tents, and the mosquitoes were beginning to bite.
Despite the lush vegetation, there was very little life in the jungle there. We did find a 3" stick insect and several similarly sized flying insects, but they were dark in colour, well disguised for the terrain, and much like giant mayflies. Igor spotted a red 'cock of the rock' bird but it was too far away to photograph.
Worryingly, my camera and video recorder marine enclosure screw knobs were falling off as they were working loose due to the rough passage. Each enclosure had 3 knobs to maintain the environmental seal and three had gone missing, two off the video recorder. The only solution was to apply some of Igor's silver, 2" wide gaffer tape.
We arrived at Camp 4A wet through, but Anke had hot mushroom soup & ravioli waiting for us. Once warmed, we donned dry clothes before the main course of spicy curried rice. Igor found a 1" diameter hairy tarantula spider which I photographed, although the porters looked nervous because they knew it was venomous. Bed.
Day 7: Camp 4/4A Friday 22nd. Trek Day 5.
This morning it rained heavily from 6am but stopped before 9:30am when we left.
We started with a hard trek across rocks and boulders for about a mile, including another sortie up into the jungle for about 50 yards. Don Manuel was in the lead, hacking a path until we reached the river, where we had to descend a 15 foot vertical drop by rope down to the river bank. Next we trekked along the bank for about half a mile to a bend on Rio Volcán where a large tributary joins. Here Frank strung a pair of ropes across it about 50 feet wide and as we waited, I watched butterflies dancing on the river bank and my boots.
With the ropes in place we waded across the river which had a strong current. Then it was another half mile to Camp 5, located on another bend of the river, a difficult spot to find as the first two possible sites were too wet and likely to flood. We reached Camp 5 just after 2pm, then Frank went back for more equipment, twice, despite the sun heating us up fiercely to a measured 43°C/110°F.
When Frank finally returned we had a discussion: the route to the volcano was taking longer than expected and we would not have enough days to return along the same path. We agreed instead to return from Sangay via La Playa on its western flank, taking the conventional muddy grassland route everyone else follows, rather than attempt to return by our eastern jungle approach.
The bulky Inmarsat satellite phone was a nuisance to carry but given Sangay's reputation I had brought it in case of emergency. It proved invaluable now as Frank called Surtrek with our change of plan.
Despite still being some appreciable distance from our goal, we had now our first view of Sangay swathed in clouds, looming far above the jungle.
At dusk there was a magnificent crimson sunset, my orange tent just about visible in the foreground:
Day 8: Camp 5 Saturday 23rd. Trek Day 6.
It rained heavily in the night and voices at 4am suggested someone got flooded out and moved to higher ground. When I emerged for breakfast it was still raining hard and it continued on an off all day. We planned to reach the cloud forest today.
Don Manuel was at the front as usual, cutting a path along the bank of Rio Volcán whilst we all waited patiently behind him.
We had to cross the Rio Volcán three times. At the first crossing the river width had shrunk and it looked deceptively tame. We were on the right hand eastern bank because we had run out of shoreline due to a steep cliff. Frank attempted to cross but the fierce current pulled him in and he got soaked by the cold mountain stream.
Next it was our turn. Frank steadied himself on a rock on the other side and held onto Franklin who stood in the torrent halfway across, where it was deepest and the current very strong and fast flowing. One by one, we all held onto Franklin with our right hand as we crossed and as we did this, the current swept each of us out into a wide arc.
Don Manuel cutting a path for us along Rio Volcán The ‘swinging arc’ river crossing
When it was my turn I used all of my strength to walk against the flow but failed miserably and sank to my knees. Judging by the look on his face, Franklin was gripping my right hand with all of his considerable strength. After what seemed like several minutes but was probably no more than 30 seconds, a porter grabbed my left hand which also had my stick. To this day, I have a firmly fixed image of Franklin gritting his teeth and holding onto me, stopping me from being ripped away by the fierce current.
Thanks to the combined efforts of Franklin and the porter I was able to get up relatively quickly, only getting wet to the waist. The camera and video recorder I was carrying both dipped into the river but the marine enclosures held up, although there was a sign of damp on the camera.
It was a long day with a lot of hard walking, raining on and off but still very hot. The rain cooled me and at one point I was as fast as the lead porter for at least an hour and on his footsteps, hoping to walk alongside him. Unfortunately he seemed to think this was a sign he wasn't working hard enough and tried to go faster and faster. For some time I tried to think of a way to tell him to return to his normal pace but not knowing a word of Spanish I failed, and he ignored my attempts to get him to slow. Perhaps it was a hidden rule that the lead porter must always be in front. He finally stopped to let Frank and the others catch up, wiped his brow and smiled at me and I nodded. He was diminutive in stature but carrying a huge drum on his back which I am sure must have been very heavy, and I wished I had not walked so quickly.
I remembered at breakfast I had 2 cups of Anke's energy drink, it looked and tasted like roots in cornflour and water, but according to Igor it was apparently banana. It must have given me the energy. At the time it reminded me of the magic potion the druid Getafix gave Asterix and the rest of the Gauls in 'Asterix the Gaul'.
After the ‘arc crossing' we had quite a long trek across the dry rocky riverbed before we found ourselves pushed up close to the left side of the river because its channel had again moved across to the left side. At this point we had no option but to cross over to the right, which was now the dry rocky riverbed:
This time Frank stood in the middle holding a long stick and Don Manuel held a long stick out at the opposite bank. Between them, they guided everyone else across.
Eventually the river again meandered and on the third river crossing we again ended up on the left bank of the river, but made Camp 6 on a dry island in the middle of it, because the vegetation was too thick to cut through the dense jungle of the river bank and still have time to make camp.
We had travelled as far as we could along Rio Volcán and the next day we would climb the left bank towards Rio Sangay. We had stopped here because further on the left bank rose too steeply for ascent:
Most of the time Sangay was hidden in mist and clouds, but later they dispersed and it came into view.
The porters set up Camp 6 and simultaneously, Don Manuel started to cut a path to the top of the cliff on the left bank, a climb of some 150 feet, at the top of which the cloud forest began.
It was impractical to carry bulky and heavy long range lenses on the expedition (nor could I afford them); instead I relied on the video record's zoom for an impressive view of the volcano:
The video camera zoomed in on Sangay L to R: Anke, Igor, Frank and Don Manuel
When Don Manuel returned from cutting the path, I watched him and Anke holding both ends of a long branch over a fire, suspended in the middle of which was large pot of water. They were still there 30 mins later, by which time other porters were gathered round, waving their clothing in and out of the fire trying to dry it. I was amazed the entire log didn't end up in flames.
It is a condition of Sangay National Park rules that only driftwood is allowed to be used to make a fire. Only now had we found sufficient for this purpose, so this was our first log fire.
The plan for the next day was to ascend the very steep hill on the left bank and enter the cloud forest, where we should find lots of big bugs, lay insect traps and use night lights to attract them.
As I opened the leg zips on my Paramo trousers to try to dry them out over the fire I rubbed the inside of my thigh where the bee had stung me 2 days earlier. I found a 4" diameter red mark and wondered what it would have looked like if I had not administered anti-histamine tablets to myself when I was stung.
Day 9: Camp 6 Sunday 24th. Trek Day 7.
I was in my tent and missed it, but Franklin reported that at 8pm the previous night, Sangay had thrown out red hot rocks brightly visible in the night sky.
This morning a porter had reported finding fresh animal footprints on sand near the western edge of our camp site island - Igor went to have a look and I followed to photograph them. Igor said it was a puma. The paw prints were a good 3" across and the gait was at least 5 feet.
It was only about 50 feet from our tents!
Puma footprint Negotiating Rio Sangay's slippery boulders
This was another hard trekking day. The first problem was ascending the 150 foot high cliff on the west (left) bank of Rio Volcan, the plan being to work our way through the cloud forest to Rio Sangay. The porters all scrambled up the hill without difficulty, one even balancing his load whilst walking along a damp and slippery tree trunk that had conveniently fallen at an angle of 30 degrees against the incline. This was beyond me and I needed a climbing harness and rope. The route meandered up and down for a good quarter of amile until we hit Rio Sangay.
Rio Sangay was a much cleaner river but there were large boulders along its banks that we had to scramble over, many very slippery and moss-covered. Eventually they gave way to smaller ones, but we still had to make several long sorties into the jungle to get round impassable fast flowing sections.
One of many wet cloud forest detours along Rio Sangay 18" long earthworm!
It is perhaps unsurprising it poured down with rain when we were in cloud forest. I was taking video on and off, but due to the exertion needed to cover the ground in this wet environment of luxurious dense jungle foliage, I forgot to check the marine enclosure lens port, which had been lashed by wet leaves, leaving raindrops on the outside that de-focused the automatic lens. Sadly I only realised this when I watched long fuzzy videos back in the UK. Above is a frame from one of the better soggy videos.
Igor was excited he had found a tiny rare frog and put it in a film canister. A little later, he found a nice little bug for me to photograph and opened the canister to add it, whereupon the frog leapt out never to be seen again. I felt sorry for Igor as the frog was not known to frequent the area, but also grateful, as the frog would have eaten the bug!
We made Camp 7 on another mid-river island, and again needed a fire to dry everything out. As I took a GPS fix: altitude 2300m, Anke made hot coffee then dinner of tuna, pasta and rice followed by a special treat of hot Gluwein and half a peach in a bowl, which was most unexpected. I had forgotten it was Christmas Eve - I had asked everyone not to mention Christmas to me so that I could really get away from it all.
After this, Igor gave me the small (~3 feet square) white sheet I had asked him to bring along and Franklin draped it from a branch. I mounted the cheap lantern I'd bought for the purpose on top of the Benbo tripod and shone it onto the sheet. I also started some 'snap' chemical lights - red, green and blue, and set up and tried the electronic fluorescent ultra violet light I'd brought. The only thing that appeared to work was white light and we got ONE large moth which I was able to photograph. All else we got was the odd mosquito, a lacewing, a couple of small flies that liked the UV and a few small white moths. ADD PHOTO OF MOTH
In the distance there was a short, repeated, whistle-like pulsing noise, which I was told was caused by frogs. If I had been able to see them, they would have been far more interesting than the bug light experiments.
Day 10: Camp 7 Monday 25th. Trek Day 8.
This morning I used the satellite phone to ring my parents in the UK and wish them a Merry Christmas. They said I sounded very clear and asked if I was in a hotel!
Today's plan was to ascend the 200 foot high hills of the cloud forest to get up into the paramo
because the cloud forest jungle is too dense to camp in.
Around 9am we started off along Rio Sangay and trekked for about 2 hours. Somewhere along the way I waded gung-ho into the river because the route along the shore was blocked, stumbled on the rocky river bed and fell over, taking my entire weight on my right index finger and bending it backwards. It hurt like hell and I put it in the cold water to try to relieve it. Later, Frank gave me his toothbrush and Igor wrapped it onto my finger as a splint with his gaffer tape and that's how I went up Sangay!
I wasn't the only one to suffer mishap this day - Don Manuel had been working his way along the river ahead of the group when he came across what he thought was a snake. Taken by surprise and with machete in hand, he'd jumped and cut himself. The 'snake' turned out to be an 18" long earthworm.
Two days earlier Frank had found another of these, but it was in much worse condition; a colony of ants were in the process of attacking it and it was near death but Frank knew I'd be interested so he put it in a bag and brought it to me at camp. It was covered in dark earth and not looking too happy whereas Don Manuels' snake, when we caught up to it, was alive and well and wiggled nicely for my video camera!
Now Don Manuel cut into the hillside and we started to climb. I had to wait for a rope to arrive on two occasions where it was too steep and muddy with no branches to grab hold of, and we continued upward. In fact we climbed until 5pm, a very tiring day.
Around 4pm it started to rain heavily and continued into the evening. We had to make Camp 8 in the
cloud forest because we could not get clear of the jungle. We reached 2954m GPS, gaining 654m wading through thick jungle all day.
I was cold and shivering when my tent was set up. It had been a hard day with 9 hours' climbing. The camp conditions were wretched, the porters were wonderful and my tent was always set up first in the best position. On this particular day, the left side was in mid-air because of a sheer drop below.
We were perched on a steep incline with a width of about 15 feet; the porters had hacked away the undergrowth to make room. We had no water left but it was still raining so they funneled a large grey plastic sheet 20 feet x 10 feet into a container and by morning we all had hot coffee via the gas stove, and the usual bread and cheese.
Day 11: Camp 8 Tuesday 26th. Trek Day 9.
Everything wet.
We set out as usual at 9:30am. Again the plan was to reach the paramo at the top of the cloud forest.
Don Manuel told Frank it took him 20 mins to come down after he had hacked a path upwards as we were all getting up and having breakfast. What he didn't tell Frank was that was 20 mins from as far as he could hack.
Frank said it should take us about an hour to ascend but after 1 hour we had to start hacking again. Well, brave Don Manuel and the porters did, their hands already covered in scratches and scrapes.
The incline was muddy; horizontal as well as vertical tree trunks hampered us. The jungle was very thick and progress was painfully slow. After a while we found a downward path with deep muddy footprints left by tapirs, that we were able to cut a path along. Frank complained that, despite having told him on numerous occasions to cut upward as well as sideways, Don Manuel repeatedly failed to do this. Frank was carrying a great deal of equipment which increased his stature somewhat. His having to repeatedly duck the low branches was tiring to say the least and I had great sympathy for him.
Morning from Camp 8 halfway up the cloudforest Following a tapir path up through cloud forest
Predictably the 1 hour turned into 3 hours and then finally the trees thinned and paramo grass and thickets took over.
However paramo was no more forgiving; the terrain meandered upward and downward repeatedly along the crest of the mountains that formed the labyrinth of volcanic alleys leading out from Sangay, our altitude now around 3000m GPS. By 5pm we had reached a vertical cliff about 30 feet high and everything had to be hauled up by rope, myself included.
Whilst we were all waiting to ascend the cliff, dreaded tiny flies - midges - that mysteriously appeared from nowhere and surrounded us whenever we stopped, started to bite everyone wearing T-shirts. Fortunately I had a shirt with long sleeves and after zipping up my waterproof outer the flies could only flit around my eyes with nothing to settle on and eat.
We were all standing on a narrow path on the top of ridge surrounded by foliage. There was no room to manoeuvre, it was a case of being able to retrace our footsteps to the base of the cliff, or just wait where we stood, which we did for a good hour.
Sangay was visible forwards and to the distant right, its boulder-strewn flanks later observed in their very making when Sangay threw out more rocks onto them.
Then as I watched everyone else around me slapping themselves each time they were bitten, a giant fly landed on the back of the person standing in front of me. I started to close in to take a photo, but was warned they had a nasty sting.
Eventually my turn came to be hauled up the cliff and with Frank on the end of the rope above and a monumental effort from myself, I found myself at the top. Whilst waiting patiently below getting colder every minute, I had formed a picture in my mind of being on top of a plateau once the cliff was ascended but all that greeted me was more of the same!
It was getting late, approaching dusk at 6pm. I was tired, the water in my filtered bottle expended some while back. We were still nowhere near water and thus a suitable location for a camp. In fact, we had had no real water supply for 2 days and even though now we were on top of the cliff, it was just another crest and we had to walk another half mile along the crests in encroaching darkness with holes to sheer drops appearing randomly along the way, each potentially fatal had I not brought a torch.
One by one, we all negotiated the high altitude paramo ridges
The crests were covered with a rather spongy-feeling tough, highland-type grass and thickets, which we grabbed hold of and held onto to haul ourselves up. The terrain was hillock after hillock, each about 30 to 50 feet higher or lower than the preceding one, with 45 degree and sometimes greater slopes on all sides and we had another hour of it in the pitch black after dusk fell, and then we came upon another cliff.
Now we were again in single file and it was just Frank, myself and Franklin. The porters and equipment had gone up the cliff first, leaving Igor and me shivering at the base of it when the others appeared. Igor had gone first carrying the four full oxygen bottles and satellite phone, and trekked off into the distance following the porters, who had to keep going until they found water and a place to set up
Camp 9.
Once more there were many holes with sheer drops hidden in the vegetation in the dips of the crests, but now instead of highland grass it was more like sparse thicket, although thankfully not barbed. The vegetation was about 2 to 3 feet high but coarsely defined by the boulders resting below. By now the arduous trek had taken its toll and tiredness together with lack of water made it easy to make a mistake. It was dangerous negotiating the mountain crest route in the dark and even though I had a torch, I had to concentrate very hard where to put each footstep.
We finally reached Camp 9 around 7pm, an exhausting 10-hour day.
Immediately on my arrival I was offered water and I drank several deep gulps of extremely cold water. Five minutes later, I threw up. There was a commotion of Spanish among the porters, and I guessed they were thinking 'altitude sickness', but I didn't think this was the case and told Frank I thought it was just simple exhaustion, which it was. After throwing up, I needed another drink to restore my throat and stomach, so cautiously took a small sip but five minutes later the back of my throat was so dry I again threw up.
The wonderful porters, Frank and Igor set up the tents while Don Manuel and I sat on a large vein of rock and shivered. Poor Don Manuel had given his all. He was cold and wet, with a down blanket over him, but it was also wet.
I crawled into my tent around 8pm. As with the previous camp, it was set up on a rocky precipice with a quarter of it hanging in mid-air, this time the drop only about 5 feet, but at a distinct incline. As soon as I was in it, Frank considerately brought me a hot bowl of pineapple-flavoured sugar and water, followed 30 minutes later (when it had cooked) by a hot bowl of vegetable soup. Bliss.
All the while, Sangay had been throwing out boulders at regular intervals and when we were waiting at the base of the cliff well above most clouds, we saw rocks coming down its slopes.
Now in our tents we were perched on the side of a hill crest on the opposite side of Sangay with no view, but with a repeating clattering sound in the distance interspersed by long bouts of silence.
It wasn't long before I crawled into my sleeping bag and dozed off, but woke repeatedly through the night because I kept sliding downward towards the sheer drop and had to re-adjust, but it was nothing compared to what the porters had to put up with.
Day 12: Camp 9 Wednesday 27th. Trek Day 10.
I awoke damp and a little chilly. In the distance I could hear Sangay, timing it on my watch: a repeating burst of rumbling clatter followed by silence for 15 minutes or so.
We had a lie in this morning because we were all very tired. My feet were covered in sores and blisters and I had used up all of my blister plasters which also stick to socks, a real pain. I found a pair of dry socks and put on my waders because they were the only 'trousers' I had that were dry.
When we were trekking I'd put my fruit, sweets and biscuits into a zipped pocket on the side of my rucksack that I couldn't reach unless I took it off. It was so much hassle to take it off when I had the camera, camcorder, sunblock and hat string all tied round my neck, that I rarely took it off, so I ended up with a lot of food. I had woken early at 6am and on remembering this, ate them all for an early breakfast.
Oh yes, and Chris Bonnington's romanticism of 'Cathedral Green' and 'Succulent' Green Giant Parasols was complete rubbish. Neither was present. Just a lot of random, multi-height jungle with light filtering through. The giant parasols he described were instead giant 4-leaf prickly plants with large ragged leaves, the thorns on the stalks a painful surprise if you inadvertently held onto them. Their roots were the size of tree trunks. I do wonder if Bonnington only saw them from a distance - maybe this was really only as far as he got, judging by the other false statements he made about the terrain on Sangay itself.
Morning at Camp 9 in a bed of thorny giant plants Leaving Camp 9, uphill to the base camp
From the maps we estimated we were about 1.5 hours from base camp, an easy day to make up for the 9 + 10 = 19 hours' solid trek uphill over the past 2 days, covering some 3 miles and 1500m.
We left at 11am, shrouded in mist (above right). However the 1.5 hours' easy trek again turned out not to be the case. It took the porters 2.5 hours and it took me together with, and slowing down, Franklin and Frank, 4 hours. Very tough going, very steep hill crests, wet and slippery, I had to be harnessed to Frank with a rope in order to be able to get up a quarter of them.
First we had to battle our way through the army of giant plants. The only consolation for the pain of this route (my feet were covered in sores) is that it had never been done before and even Frank admitted it was hard. Hearing that made me very happy: a worthy adventure indeed.
It was approaching 3pm when we finally arrived at the ascent Base Camp. It was a mossy, damp area, with a small pool of stagnant water (shown on the military map as a small pond) beside the large cooking and storage tent the porters had put up for us, which was located on a small flat area about 50 yards diameter. The tents were erected about 30 feet higher up on another smaller, flat section.
My throat was again very dry because I had no water left from the previous camp. We waited about 30 mins for the water to boil (always harder at high altitude) and the porters were probably trying to cook it long before we arrived, enough for the all of us, plus second portions, so a large pot to boil. The hot tea tasted wonderful despite the altitude and was followed by a bowl of soup with pasta pieces and an hour later a huge plate of mashed potato and a rice and veg fry-up appeared, very welcome.
It was misty and drizzling as I got my first sight of the Base Camp
Not long after we arrived the sun came out, it stopped drizzling (which it had been all the way to the camp) and it became very warm, a remarkable transition. The mists cleared and Sangay also appeared, the many boulders down its slopes clearly visible, and it continued to regularly throw more out. For the first time we were able to photograph and in my case, video it doing this.
Zoomed in, the summit
The first clear view of Sangay from the base camp
Dusk was approaching and I’d stopped filming when one of the porters shouted out. Looking up, we saw a puff of smoke from a small explosion that had just taken place.
A small explosion reminds us that Sangay is dangerous This boulder is the size of a bus
As the sun slowly sank we were rewarded with a view of boulders tumbling and bouncing down the right (north east) flank of the volcano and I was able to capture a few minutes’ worth on video before it got dark. What appeared to be small pockets of white smoke appeared as boulders tumbled down, hitting dust and debris which then flew up into the air, giving the false impression of rising smoke.
ADD VIDEO OF BOULDERS COMING DOWN
Night time didn’t alter Sangay’s pattern of behaviour and as night fell, mist and cloud continued to swirl around the volcano, hiding it from our view. All the time it vented gas and steam every 20 minutes or so. Sometimes the mists would clear and we would see showers of red hot boulders tumbling from the summit. They looked small, but we were over a mile away.
Video sequence of red-hot boulders tumbling down Sangay’s NE flank at night
Most of the time Sangay kept its secrets, the mist and cloud obscuring the activity from us.
We planned to ascend the 6,000 feet to the summit starting at 4am. At 2am a thunderstorm appeared from the southwest and refused to leave. We were supposed to get up at 3am and leave at 4am, but I didn't relish a slippery ascent in the pouring rain. At 4:15am Frank came round and I told him to abort until the following day. He suggested a daytime ascent, but it would have been too hot. I said no, wait as we were now returning by the La Playa route and could afford the extra day.
Day 13: Base Camp Thursday 28th. Trek Day 11.
I woke at 10am and it was still raining hard. At 12pm the wind picked up. It was a miserable day and I stayed in my tent as I didn't want to get my mountain boots wet. Or my feet, which were still very sore.
Looking into the front porch of my tent, I saw the ground was water-logged to a depth of 0.5" and it was cold: 10°C/45°F.
In the near distance, Sangay pushed out more boulders every 15 minutes.
Finally at 4pm the rain stopped and the temperature rose to 14°C/57°F, although it remained misty. Frank said if we were going up, we should do so at 5am and make our way down afterwards to La Playa ('The Beach'), which would be our next camp.
Even if we didn't climb then, we would have a last opportunity the next day from La Playa, but the climb is longer and harder and needs a rope in some places.
Igor showed us a book he co-authored in which there were animals we had passed on the crest hike: tapir, deer (he had identified their faeces), a rare white & black furred bat (we found its bones), mountain lion (Puma) and one or two others.
I spent the best part of the day in my tent, having a good, long, rest and sleeping on and off. Halfway through the day, I heard what sounded like a shrill female laugh and excited chatter. Later I learned that Don Manuel's sister had been at La Playa and had trekked round Sangay just to pop in and see him and the rest of the porters.
At 6pm the mist cleared and we discovered Sangay had fresh snow (from the rain) on its upper flanks. I confirmed with Frank that we would go up at 5am. He said it was very cold. I agreed! Tea with rum...
Sangay does not so much roar as make a searing noise, rather like pouring cold water onto hot coals. This is followed by a short silence and then a rumbling, tumbling, clattering noise as the expelled rocks and stones roll and bounce (if they're big) down its slopes.
Day 14: Base Camp Friday 29th. Trek Day 12 - The Ascent!
My alarm woke me at 4am and I started to get ready. I got out at 5am and met Frank, only to be told we were to wake at 5am and be ready for breakfast at 6am.
I was pleased to see burns dressings and first aid were already laid out in the communal tent in case of emergency.
It was cold and I put my mountain jacket on but when we left at 6:30am the sun was out and it was warming. It took a while to make up my mind what to wear. Knowing exercise would make me hot, I kept the T-shirt and quilted shirt and replaced the mountain jacket with the Berghaus waterproof jacket.
First we made sure the porters we were going to leave behind, knew how to use the satellite phone and checked the walkie-talkies worked. Then the porters prepared to move camp to La Playa whilst Frank, myself, Franklin and Igor got ready to climb Sangay.
Sangay is huge (I think I read somewhere the perimeter is 8 miles) and 99% of it looks like a 60 degree incline, even though it's only 45 degrees. The Base Camp altitude was about 3000m and the climb started off on steeply ridged grassland / paramo. At about 3500m this changed to large boulders with a thin layer of yellow moss or lichen on top, then smaller boulders interspersed with volcanic ash and dirt.
Through the eerie mist we glimpsed a deer about 30 yards distant – a short snap of time when human and animal hesitated. A little while later we found a pile of bones but we had no idea what they had belonged to. My immediate thoughts were of past human victims of Sangay’s unpredictable fury*, but after studying them, we eventually concluded they were animal bones. *Sangay has claimed a few human lives, the most notable the 6-man scientific British Vulcan Expedition on 12th August 1976 when an eruption killed two and seriously injured three others as they approached the summit [G19],[G20].
About halfway up we stopped for a short break, looking back towards Macas
About halfway up we stopped for a sugar break and I took a photo (above) looking back towards Macas and the way we had come. Clearly visible is the line of steep ridges we had climbed, disappearing into cloud to the left of the photo, with the snaking path of Rio Vulcan in the distance beyond.
At about 4500m the first signs of snow appeared and we put our crampons on at 4750m. Any lower and we'd have damaged them, but there were some sections around 4000m where the shingle was loose and it felt very dangerous. Actually, it ALL felt dangerous: the thought running through my head at this point was ‘one slip and you're dead’.
The snow gradually thickened, increasing to 6" max. The oxygen bottles weren't full. Three were at 3/4 full and one was completely empty. We only found this out whilst climbing. So out of 4 bottles, we actually got 2 & 1/4. Worse, Mo could not provide a regulator, so I could not wear the tank on my rucksack and despite his mountaineering expertise, Frank had never seen an O2 system before.
We had to string the bottle over my neck and place it on my chest. With no regulator, I had to keep turning it on and off, but this was impractical because I had to watch every step I placed; in the end I left it on the lowest setting of 4 (10, the highest, was not much better), but this meant every time I breathed out O2 was wasted. I came to a multi-tasking compromise: watching where I put my feet, placing my walking stick on my left hand, holding the bottle in my right hand to stop it banging against my chest, then moving it to turn the nozzle and holding the nozzle over my face. There was a strap round my head for the nozzle, but you had to press the nozzle against your nose and mouth to get full O2. It was very awkward and clumsy, hardly practical for climbing a mountain, and there was still the worry in my mind that I was releasing oxygen on a hot live volcano.
About 500m from the top the 3rd tank ran out and I laughingly said to myself 'Wouldn't it be just typical if the 4th bottle is empty?'. We discovered it was.
We reckon the AGA factory had left the outlet on the 4th full on and the O2 was vented on the way. Just as well no-one smoked!
Frank said 'It's only 30 minutes to the top'. It might be for the rate he ascends at. For me, it was about an hour and I reached the summit without oxygen although I did take one Diamox tablet at base camp however I didn't notice any benefits.
We reached the summit, 5245m [GPS], but it was freezing cold (-2.6°C/27°F) and blowing a blizzard. The others were elated but I was very disappointed because there was nothing to see; Frank warned it was too dangerous to go over to the crater vent. Instead we had to watch it from about 50 feet, 20 feet
below its summit.
I set about storing the GPS location fix, measured the temperature, took some photos, got Igor to photograph me and got Franklin to turn on the video camera. For safety reasons (my hands were full), I didn’t start filming until we reached the summit but by then its marine enclosure was so cold its normally supple plastic was rigid and needed strong fingers to move the on/off power lever inside it. I videoed the steam vents at the top of Sangay and got the searing sound on tape, which had by then begun to remind us of a jet aircraft.
Frank poured me some lukewarm tea from a thermos flask he'd hauled up Sangay which I really did NOT want, because whilst it might have felt warm to Frank and Franklin who were very cold having had to walk very slowly for my benefit, I was on the other hand still relatively warm: I only had cold hands. The lukewarm tea actually did me more harm than good because it began to make me feel colder inside.
Frank meant well and insisted I consume it, but I discarded most of it and stayed warm.
Myself, 15m in front of the 5230m (17,159ft) summit of Sangay volcano
It is perhaps ironic the photo of me at the summit looks remarkably dull and something of an anti-climax for such an epic adventure. Standing in a blizzard shrouded in mist, it could be anywhere.
We never had any rocks thrown at us (good fortune) and the snow was all flat. Again I think Bonnington was romancing when he described an ice bridge. The only time I saw rocks on pedestals was on the bank of a river, way back in the cloud forest, where the rain had washed the mud away from the base of small pebbles on ONE isolated river bank.
Of course I had the benefit of a very experienced local mountaineer, Frank, with excellent knowledge of the terrain, whereas Bonnington didn't appear to do ANY prior research - he approached along our route in the rainy season, which IMO was utter stupidity.
Frank later told me that a) no ice bridge had ever been on Sangay because it was too warm and b) boulders on pedestals were only found in one location in Ecuador, far away from Sangay. That location is Carihuayrazo (5020m), the ‘little’ mountain next to much better known Chimborazo (6310m). Frank said you need extended periods of snow and ice before these things form but Sangay has never provided this environment because it is too warm.
We tried to phone base camp at the pre-arranged time on the walkie talkies but we couldn't get through because although Sangay is a big, flat mound, once you're climbing it you easily become obscured by its great mass so even if the porters could use the satellite phone, we couldn't get through to them. We weren't allowed to take the satellite phone up because its insurance criteria prohibited this.
We reached the summit at 3:45pm after 9 1/4 hours of climbing and after about 15 minutes on top, we were all increasingly feeling the effects of the cold blizzard so we left and started our descent.
On the way down I took a classic photo of myself, Frank and Franklin all reflected on the coating on the outside of Igor's sunglasses whilst still on snow, and I got Frank to video me coming down the snow in full kit, unfortunately we discovered afterwards the video tape had run out a couple of minutes earlier.
Descent: Frank The summit team reflected in Igor’s snowshades
We passed the snow level and took off our crampons. Eventually we reached a point where the boulders were the size of pieces of 'fireplace coke' and in turn, each tried our hand at sliding upright down a huge 100m flank of this stuff. Near the bottom I felt an incredible pain above the heels of both of my feet and looked down but could see nothing amiss. When I took my mountain boots off, several lumps of coke tumbled out of each boot!
Then we hurriedly made our way down to La Playa, frantically trying to cover as much ground as possible before it got dark. This was the worst bit of all, as I find more difficult to go downhill than uphill with my long legs. 6pm quickly approached and it soon got both dark and foggy.
Frank sent Franklin off to use the satellite phone to make sure arrangements had been made for us to return via La Playa instead of Macas due to lack of time.
Frank kept us on the path to the La Playa and at 6pm we started to use our head torches. We were getting concerned that fog was closing in and it was getting very difficult to make out any kind of path, but luckily Frank had pre-arranged for a guide, Pedro, to come from La Playa to help us back.
The route was as arduous and hazardous as the crest route towards Sangay but at least there were no bottomless holes to avoid. Again it was pitch black but with the added pleasure of thick mud in the furrows and dips.
Between the two of them, Frank and Pedro did a wonderful job of getting me back to La Playa, exhausted, at 9:48pm. I reckon we had walked another 5km after we got down off Sangay.
This was the longest day of all, a total of 15 1/4 hours' climbing and descent. We hurried down Sangay to cover as much ground as possible before it got dark, so there was no time for a meal. We had a biscuit and mouthful of demeira sugar halfway up Sangay, some cold tea and a biscuit on the top but nothing on the way down save for the odd Dextrose tablet that I had brought with me.
Now we were at La Playa, so named 'The Beach' because it is a small, strangely flat area of land in the midst of rolling thick grassland and hilly crests. A permanent 'hostel' is here, consisting of a wooden structure with a grass roof.
La Playa (and the beach hut)
When we arrived there were several people inside aside from our group: there was what appeared to be a small family consisting of a wife, husband and two small children sitting on the floor to the right. A fire was burning and although it was nice and warm inside, the smoke had nowehere to escape and made me splutter.
Food was being cooked by someone else from another group of people and one of my porters offered me a hot orange energy drink. Everyone was very friendly, but I decided it really wasn't my thing and as I was extremely tired, refused food and returned to my tent where Frank brought me a couple of bowls of hot vegetable soup. I was glad he persisted in feeding me because it was delicious and very welcome and I would have gone without otherwise (to no ill effect).
Day 15: Saturday 30th. Trek Day 13. At La Playa
All through the trek I'd done most of my preparation / sorting for the next day the night before, before going to sleep and deliberately got up 30 mins earlier than breakfast time in order to pack everything in the tent ready for the day's trek.
Last night I was so tired I had no time to prepare and this morning I was also partially delayed in my packing because much of my gear was scattered about after everyone arrived at La Playa separately.
If Sangay were not obscured by cloud as it is today, it would be possible to see it from here, towering above La Playa. However as it is not visible, there is no photograph.
Just before we left, there was a mass photo session, with the entire team one by one having the group photograph taken by a bystander with each person’s camera:
The complete team
We had a delayed start at 9:45am. This was a 6km trek to the 1st camp on the way to Eten, our eventual exit route from Sangay.
Today I did my best to stay dry when crossing rivers, in an effort to keep the sores on my feet dry but fell in once, getting soaked. The brave porters seemed forever wet, I don't know how they coped.
As before, similar terrain to the previous night: very muddy and very, very tiring; we crossed the same river about ten times and the drudgery of the trek made me weary. Frank said the camp was 100m to 200m beyond a big incline but it was nearer a mile.
I found myself suffering from heartburn and blamed it on the rice in the food at the time, later realising it was down to over-use of Piriton allergy tablets which I had found made good sleeping pills.
This camp looked rather like a very crude cowboy ranch. It was on large plain with relatively short grass in middle of hilly area. It too had a hut, but unlike the hut at La Playa, it was just a simple roof made from branches and grass, with a crude wood stake wall at the rear and sides and open at the front.
In the near distance halfway down the valley, an area surrounded by small boulders had been cleared to a corral for what appeared to be horse breaking, presumably to assist cattle ranching.
We all sat under the hut and warmed up by the fire. I proceeded to remove my wet-through socks and attend to my feet. The special anti-blister plasters I'd stuck on had begun to decompose in the wet and were sticking to the inside of my lightweight liner socks. They were a real pig to remove from skin as well, gripping with great ferocity. As they're a sort of whitish translucent colour, they look rather like skin and I'm sure the porters all thought I was removing huge chunks of skin from my feet!
Mud: the La Playa route to Sangay is famous for it
Day 16: Sunday 31st Dec. Trek Day 14.
Awoke 6am, breakfast 7:30am.
I set off early. Well, 9am as usual, but the rest of group went 10 minutes later because I followed Don Manuel, who was eager to set off.
A relatively easy trek, but several long steep muddy hills. Total distance about 5km.
The landscape turned to hilly moorland and we traversed along the ridge peaks in much the same way as the approach to the base camp, except that here at least the hill ridges had a distinct path and were at least a metre wide. We were not afforded such luxury on the trek through the paramo to the base camp.
Traversing the hilly ridges
We were supposed to trek to another hut, but about 1 hour from it Don Manuel admitted to Frank that he'd instructed the porters to go on further to the next hut. This was not what Frank had planned, so a lot of angry words between them followed. Frank knew nothing about the change in plan and was really annoyed.
He told me it would be another hour to the next hut even though the first one was nearby. When I discovered that Frank's idea of 'nearby' meant yet another hour, I too was less than amused and vented my own spleen at him. However my burst of anger was amicable and over after 5 minutes. Frank and Don Manuel's argument, on the other hand, lasted for several DAYS afterwards!!
We walked on for another 30 minutes or so and Don Manuel distanced himself from us, walking out in front and out of sight. Around a long bend about an hour later, we saw what appeared to be a shepherd on a horse with 3 others in the middle of nowhere, the terrain now large undulating grass-covered hills not that dissimilar to Scotland. In fact, you could easily believe this was where you were.
Don Manuel approached the shepherd and after Frank spoke to him, asked if I would like to continue on horseback, pointing to a brown horse.
Having had enough of trekking I leapt at it, not realising that although I would be given the reins, I would not actually be allowed to control the horse, as the shepherd kept a firm grip of the halter on my horse's head.
Igor on the other hand, who admitted not riding horses much, if at all, was allowed full control which annoyed me, having spent the best part of 30 years of my life on horseback at the weekends.
The ride to the second hut
The stirrups were of a South American design: single cast aluminium 'shoes', designed for small feet and closed at the front. Definitely NOT designed for wide trekking boots. My boots kept slipping out of them before, but now they were covered in slippery mud, it was pointless trying to put my feet in them. I asked Don Manuel if I could draw the the stirrup leathers up over the saddle, but he said no (perhaps he didn't understand what I was asking). I cringed each time they swung against my boots and slammed into the poor horse's legs. Thankfully after about 20 minutes we arrived at the second hut and it didn't take long before Frank and the others arrived on foot.
I secretly believe Don Manuel pre-arranged the horses and that was the only reason why he'd changed the route, but didn't want to tell Frank and spoil the surprise.
After all, why else would an Indian appear out of nowhere with three spare horses?
Furthermore Don Manuel and Igor
were offered horses whereas Frank had already told me he didn't like them. It makes sense.
Left, the horse owner and his son in traditional local dress.
The grey was to be my horse for the final 3.5 hour ride to Eten
90% of the route to Eten was downhill. It started with quite a few hilly bits with thick mud and steep descents into, across and up out of equally steep ascents after crossing small mountain streams in the middle.
At first, Frank was able to keep up, even though he was only walking, and I gave him the video camera to film me on horseback.
After about 2 hours, the spectacular moreland scenery fell away and more and more allotments appeared on the flanks of the huge valley we eventually found ourselves riding along. The track grew wider, fences appeared and the long, long route gradually brought us to Eten. All the while, the porters hurrying ahead enthusiatically.
Frank, Franklin and Igor gradually fell further and further behind accompanied by some of the girls who had been at the hut, but they were carrying heavy loads and had already done a day's trekking.
Don Manuel was kicking his horse on ever enthuisiatically and the porters walked at full speed all the way. As we got closer and closer to 'civilisation', I began to make out the white concrete walls of the houses, saw electricity poles and lights on in the distance and I began to think more and more of the large steak I was going to order myself at the restaurant....
As we drew closer to Eten, Don Manuel pointed down into the left side of the valley to a small holding and new-looking corrugated building in the partitioned pasture land and I understood that it, and many, many acres of the land we had travelled through actually belonged to him. Probably the horses too, for all I know. On the way, we passed a paddock with a couple of llamas in it that I videod for the record.
ADD LLAMA STILLS HERE
As we approached the outskirts of Eten, dusk had already fallen and the evening air was punctured by the sound of the odd trumpet. Peasants and farmers were gathering along the sides of the road, some dressed in traditional red costume with black bowler hats. As we passed by, I regretted not having worn my Indiana Jones hat, it would have looked really cool on horseback!!
As we grew closer to the throng of people, some came forward to greet Don Manuel and offered us both a drink of their Aqua Loco: 'Firewater', a clear liquid with (Frank and I later agreed) an estimated alcohol percentage around 96%. Apparently brewed from the Naranjilla fruit (and no doubt fermented with saliva!).
It was New Year's Eve and everyone had the right to get totally rat-arsed and so they did. I was told they made an effigy of an old man (the old year) that they burned, and it wasn’t long before I saw him, perched on top of a brown horse, wearing old clothes and a hat, with a head that appeared to have been made from old newspaper. He actually looked in better condition than some of the indians!
ADD STILLS OF BURNING MAN
It was now very dark and punctuated between stoppings to greet Don Manuel's neighbours and friends. To this day, I still don't know if he was regarded as the local 'baron', because the gestures were all so friendly.
One by one the porters disappeared from view, presumably departing to their loved ones and Don Manuel led me up to a small ranch set aside from the rest of the village; I remember it was on a hill, the only noticeable thing being that we were heading towards two bright lights marking its entrance. When we got there, a large throng of indians were waiting to greet us and as I got off my horse, it was evident a full party was in swing. Except it wasn't a party in the English sense. True, there was a sort of 'disco', but it was just a very amplified tape playing at extreme distortion (probably turned full-up), with no distinctly recognisable music content. Just very loud and very crude.
The 'ranch' was a squalid concrete bungalow with a filthy, dusty interior. All expedition rucksacks were herded into a single small storeroom and sensibly held under lock and key. This, it seemed, was the work-ranch from which Don Manuel conducted his daily business. The furniture was sparse and filthy.
There was a toilet, but it was crap coloured concrete and not somewhere that any respectable person would consider having a crap. There was no toilet seat but there was at least a conventional toilet.
This was also the shower room! As you entered it, taking care not to hit your head on the low door, immediately above you was a shower head that both Frank and I failed to recognise the presence of, resulting in cold water down the back of our necks, and then immediately in front was the loo. On the shabby wooden shelf to the left was evidence of shaving foam and shampoo and above, a single, naked bulb suspended from the ceiling by its lead. It was definitely in regular use!
Yet one by one, the porters retired to this nightmare for a shower, before returning home (presumably), whereupon, a while later, they emerged in their Sunday Best for the party.
OK, perhaps I am being a little unkind here; obviously this is a very poor area and the ranch was probably viewed as a nice meeting point, but...
We sat in the sitting room. On one wall, a hand-painted picture of the faces of Don Manuel and his wife in their twenties stared down at us; his wife looking extremely fierce and he the rather docile one. It had an innocent look to it of a distant past and I recalled feeling a little sad at the great passage of time since it was created.
Well, the porters and Indians indulged in their Firewater, we drank Puro (a concoction that was heated and not that dissimilar to Saki) until the New Year approached. Frank had brought a bottle of champagne (!) which we opened at midnight and offered around, then we mixed some 38° proof rum (a mere $3.75 for 0.75cl) with the orange energy drink left in the thermos jug until that ran out, then tackled the rum neat.
DO I HAVE ANY PHOTOS / STILLS OF THIS TIME?
One of Don Manuel's very, very drunk cousins kept pestering us and kept asking us, one by one, the same question: 'Where are you from?' We started off telling him the same story, but when it was evident he had the memory of a housefly, I suggested that we should say 'Istanbul' or some similar place and see if he noticed the difference. He didn't!
He kept offering us to drink from his filthy Firewater glass offered with his equally filthy hands, but he was genuinely appreciative of our presence and, somewhat reluctantly, not wishing to offend, we all imbibed. From time to time, an old man appeared and offered us all a sip from his bottle of
Coca-Cola, an obviously rare commodity.
I was very tired, but suffering heartburn from the Piriton that I had still not identified as the source of the problem and it was difficult to settle down to sleep on the dusty floor. Frank kindly slept next to me; a wise precaution as he was as wary as I of the possible predicament we might find ourselves in if the drunken hoards descended upon us. But my (our?) fears were unfounded; it was a boisterous evening, but it never really got out of hand. I guess I dropped off to sleep around 2am.
At 4:27am (my watch has an electroluminescent dial), I heard a man shouting at a woman and (wrongly?) assumed it to be Don Manuel, who was still very emotionally affected by the ticking-off he'd received from Frank for altering the trek hut destination. I got back to sleep again, but almost immediately afterwards, doves in the rafters above us started to flutter about and stamp around at 6am (yes, doves can stamp!) and woke me, despite wearing earplugs, so I only got ~4 hours' sleep that night.
Day 17: Monday 1st Jan 2001.
After the doves, I was greeted by the sound and sight of a very drunk Indian who was still sitting outside on a wooden box, still holding a full bottle of Firewater and still drinking it as if it WAS water. Sitting next to him was another Indian although a little the worse for wear. The drunken Indian would put his head down for about 5 minutes, then sit up, shout utter gibberish aloud at the top of his voice for a few seconds, then bow his head again. He did this repeatedly for the next 3 hours!
One by one, most of the porters appeared, and a group of eight of us sat down to eat a breakfast of greasy chips, onion, salty ham, egg, cheese, meusli, and boiled fresh milk chocolate that appeared at 9:45am, cooked by a young female (whom I took to be a member of Don Manuel's family), by which time I was starving.
We had arrived earlier at our destination than expected and had used the satellite phone to reach Surtrek and warn them of this, but New Year's day was longer and more tedious than I would have liked, forced as we were to hang around on the day after the party until mid-afternoon before Alfonso eventually appeared in the Toyota to pick us all up and drive us to Ambato, Frank's town of residence.
As the day wore on I became increasingly concerned that, as Alfonso hadn't appeared, we should try to contact him using the satellite phone. Eventually Frank agreed but when we tried, the phone lines were busy or simply not answered and it wasn't until ~3pm that we did finally get through.
There was a moment as I watched chickens strutting near the satellite antenna (it says in the instructions that no-one should be within a metre of it when it's transmitting) when I thought of roast chicken but they didn't seem to be affected and continued to strut.
DO I HAVE PHOTOS TO ADD?
Don Manuel had also put in appearance by this time, but judging by the bloodshot eyes, he had not actually been to bed. He was still emotional, but I think he and Frank made it up after a short get-together.
At 4:15pm Alfonso finally appeared in the Toyota with a crate of beer which was duly dispensed before we all set off, leaving squalid Eten far back in our memories, save for a small incident on our departure. The Toyota appeared to have developed a fault which meant that 4-wheel drive had become unavailable, but as Alfonso was overcoming this problem and just as we were pulling away from the ranch, a local Indian appeared on his bicycle, riding straight towards us. With a sheer drop of about 50 feet to the left and an equally high rise up the mountainside to the right, there was only one place for him to go - the Indian veered down the left side with a big grin on his face and everyone in the vehicle saw it except me. Much laughter. I gather the Indian was ok, just still drunk from the Firewater from the night before.
It wasn't long before true civilisation took shape and by 8pm we arrived in Ambato. I said goodbye to Frank, Franklin, Igor and a couple of the porters as I was ushered into Hotel Ambato, promising to re-appear after a hot, 33-minute shower, ready to go out on the town for a group meal. The hotel was very plush and I had a very enjoyable hot shower, removing all 16 of the plasters that littered my feet.
I gave my soaking wet trekkimg boots to the hotel porter, hoping he'd dry them overnight, and headed down to reception, where Frank had appeared and we all went out for the meal. We found a local restaurant and a table for seven, and feasted upon mostly meat dishes followed by a sweet for those that had room for one and coffee with, in my case, Cointreau liqeur.
By 12pm I was back in my hotel and exploring the 30 TV channels, feeling a warm tinge from the good food and welcome shower.
Day 18: Tuesday 2nd Jan.
Awoke warm, happy and contented.
Went down to the hotel reception to be met by the porter who offered my my trekking boots with the words 'no sec'.
Thinking of spanish wine and slowly realising the connection (plus recognising the soggy feeling as he handed them to me), I soon understood that whilst they looked magnificently clean, they were still wet-through. Ah well. I found a couple more plastic bags from the never-ending supply and placed my feet into them. At least now I would now have clean boots AND dry feet!
We had prearranged at the meal the night before, that Frank would meet me at 8am, but whereas I appeared on time, he was no-where in sight. Well, not until 8:45am, when I was beginning to get a little worried. Apparently there had been a student protest and all the roads were blocked.
I had asked if I could sample a typical Ecuadorian breakfast, as it appeared the usual thing was to 'go out' for breakfast in cities. Alfonso duly obliged. We parked the Toyota in a 'safe' multi-storey car park and Alfonso led me out to a simple mall-based cafe where I sampled a simple Ecuadorian town breakfast of fried potatoes, egg, avocado, croisant-like roll and coffee, nicely filling.
The original plan had been to trek both to and from Sangay along the same approach route from Macas and afterwards, catching an inland flight from Macas to Quito. Lack of time meant we emerged instead from the opposite side of Sangay, which is why we were now at Ambato. I still keenly wanted to take the overland flight (seats were already booked for Frank to accompany me on the flight) because I hoped to film and photograph Sangay from the air.
As I still wanted to take the flight, we had returned to Ambato to repeat the previous journey by road to Macas. This then is why when we returned to the Toyota, we headed once again towards Banos on Highway 50. This time, there was only myself, Frank and Alfonso, who was to accompany us to Macas. Frank drove and Alfonso rested because he would be driving the Toyota back to Quito that night.
Alfonso had arranged a visit to an animal sanctuary and an orchid farm en-route. After passing through Banos, we headed on to the large town of Puyo, located at the ‘T’ junction between the east-west Highway 50 and the north-south Highway 45 that Macas is located on, another 120km south. Here we had lunch (I had a nice chicken dish) at a good quality restaurant known to Frank and Alfonso.
After Puyo, Frank drove us to the animal sanctuary, home to peccaries, caymen, giant snails, water snails, butterflies, amazonian tapir and other endangered species and I got some good pictures of crimson giant dragonflies hovering over and settling near the water snail lagoon. Nice and hot again, too.
ADD PHOTOS
Next, we drove on to a private orchid farm that Alfonso had rung ahead to arrange a visit. We arrived early and whilst waiting outside, Alfonso found the most magnificent small, turquoise-coloured bug by the side of the road that I took loads of photos of.
ADD PHOTOS OF BUG
There were hundreds of orchids in the orchid farm, many of which I photographed ADD PHOTOS. Also found a preying mantis, which I took outside and photographed on a leaf on the bonnet of the Toyota, and I finally got bitten by a mosquito for the first time on the entire holiday!!
Then Frank drove us on to Macas so that he and I could take the pre-arranged internal flight from Macas to Quito the next day.
We reached Macas at 8pm and said goodbye to Alfonso. Frank and I returned to our original rooms in the Hotel Real, then went out on the town again, searching for a restaurant that Frank had been to before, but was unfortunately closed. Instead, we settled for a Chinese restaurant where Frank had beef and I had a very good 'sizzling' shrimp and 2 beers, served in 10 minutes for a mere $8 in total.
Day 19: Wednesday 3rd Jan.
9am rise, same room (Bridal Suite with jacuzzi and same lingering, rasping varnish smell). Then, having already learned the hotel breakfasts were nothing to write home about, Frank and I set out into town in search of a Cafe where we had coffee and cakes.
The sun was out again and temperatures were approaching the 30s/90s by the time we left the cafe in search of a barber. We passed what appeared to be a totally female oriented hairdresser, the sole female present beckoning me in to have my desperately needed cut-throat razor shave. I was a little nervous, particularly as her fingers were not completely steady (but not quite as shaky as the barber giving a shave to Clint Eastwood in the film Highplains Drifter). Although she did a competent job for $1, Frank and I both thought between us afterwards that I was probably her first male customer ever!
It being a nice day with a couple of hours to spare until the plane we had come back to Macas to catch was ready to take off, I asked Frank if there was a shop where I could buy some swimming trunks so that we could take advantage of the hotel swimming pool, so a pair of Speedos was next on the list.
By 11:30am we were sunbathing by the pool in 30°C and remained there until about 1:30pm. I did try the pool once (I decided I had to, since it was there), but it was just a little too cold for me and after a mere 30 seconds, returned to laze in the sun instead.
At 2pm we drove to the airport and despite having left my ticket in Ambato, Surtrek managed to fix things so that when we got to the airport, they re-issued a new ticket without hassle (although of course we were still worried as it was unpredictable as to what exactly would happen).
DO I HAVE A PHOTO OF THE AIRPORT TO ADD?
A quick meal in the small airport cafe was followed by the arrival of our jet that seemed to dwarf the tiny airport and found us in a departure lounge that began to fill alarmingly quickly. Fearing I would have no chance of a window seat to be able to photograph Sangay, Frank and I cunningly made our way to the door in advance. When the announcement came to board, it was surprisingly civilised: sick people, then old people then women and children and finally the greedy masses looking for a window seat. Our preparation paid off and we got one behind the left wing with a good view. Frank already knew the left side was the correct one to view Sangay from, which was one of the reasons for having him aboard.
The other reason was so that he could identify the volcanoes as we flew over them so I could photograph them. We took off at 4pm and I was surprised by the rapid appearance of Sangay (which was hardly surprising, it being a jet aircraft). I had already caught it on video, but by the time I was set up to photograph it, a cloud had obscured it and I was cursing myself. I had just about forgotten about my misfortune when Frank said 'There it is again!' and I was able to get half a dozen shots off successfully. I had achieved my original goal of creating a complete photographic record of an epic overland trek to Sangay, its ascent and descent, together with a flight over it.
Below, magnified photo of Sangay from the aircraft:
After Sangay we flew on to Quito, passing over and photographing the peaks of the El Altar, Tungurahua and Cotopaxi volcanoes (below) mingling amongst the clouds. Frank identified and pointed them out to me as we passed them:
Above: all four volcanoes we flew over, photographed from the plane
When we landed at Quito airport we were met by Francisco and Alexandria again. Frank and I were driven to Hotel Antinea for the last night. I was given the choice of two rooms - a rather dingy-looking single or a rather palatial-looking double. Of course I went for the double, which again looked more like a bridal suite, judging by the nicely finished wooden/mirror panelling and marble his 'n hers wash-basins. Strangely, the toilet was set on a sort of miniature plinth up a small, twisting flight of steps in a far corner, which meant that after you had ascended them, there was insufficient height to stand upright and pee!
I asked Frank if he would like the spare bed as he could then stay and act as interpreter overnight. Before the holiday started, I had been relying on a lot of information from Jean at Safari Tours also based in Quito as Flash Travel had been extremely reluctant to find answers to my many questions. As a reward for her unceasing efforts to find things out for me, I promised Jean I would take her out for a meal on my last night in Quito. Of course I invited Frank and Igor along for a free meal and I had also invited Bill the Cowboy along (but not to pay for his meal). So it was, then, that Frank and I now phoned from the hotel room and tried to get hold of Bill (but failed), found Jean and also (after a little effort), found Igor. We agreed to all meet in the hotel lobby at 8pm but as Igor was at his home, he would drive to the restaurant by himself.
Next step - souvenirs - Frank and I set off into the city in search of a nice Panama hat for my father, a simple clay Inca fertility symbol (unfortunately mass-produced, but we had so little time) and a small Obsynian (volcanic rock) polished stone egg resting on a jade ring that we found in a shop that had just tried to close (unsuccessfully) for the night.
When we got back to the hotel everyone but Igor was there. Francisco and Alexandria had brought a rather tacky cased Morpho butterfly and a far nicer hollow ceramic rendition of a fruit looking like a pomegranate, the delicateness of which impresses me to this day.
ADD PHOTOS OF SOUVENIRS ESP. POMEGRANATE & OBSYNIAN EGG
Jean kindly offered to drive us all in her ageing Jeep to the restaurant that she had recommended and that I approved of, having learnt more of the restaurant suggested by Francisco. It was a good decision. I had asked for somewhere special with a hint of Ecuadorian food. It was a fish restaurant and the meal I had, 'Langostines in whisky sauce', was hardly Ecuadorian but certainly special. I took the digital camcorder with me and showed footage of our trek and ascent of Sangay to Jean and the others, which made it all the more a memorable evening to round off the holiday.
After the meal I remember watching Igor walking off by himself and thinking that it was sad that our group adventure was almost over and I would never see him again.
Frank came back with me to the hotel and as I was packing ready for my flight back to the UK the next day, asked if there was anything he could do to help. Surtrek had very kindly given me the full size military maps that we had used on the expedition as souvenirs, in a sturdy long section of plastic drainpipe. It was too long to fit in a rucksack, so I asked Frank to saw a bit off using my pocket knife. It was whilst he was doing this, the time approaching midnight, that he cheerfully remarked we were two single men sharing a double room and the rasping noise the saw was making might raise a few eyebrows on the hotel staff! I like Frank, he has a great sense of humour and his timely remarks often made me laugh. Finished packing around 1:30am.
Day 20: Thursaday 4th Jan.
I was awoken by early wake-up phone call at 6:30am. A smattering of spanish on the other line had me going until my brain finally got into gear and I said 'wake-up call?' answered with 'Yes'. I had asked for a call and was expecting a knock, not the phone, which had taken me completely by surprise.
Breakfast was at 6:45am, assisted nobly by Frank, who got me second and third helpings. Surprisingly, the extra charge I paid for Frank to have the extra bed was only $5 and the cheapest night he'd ever spent in the hotel.
We were collected by Francisco and Alexandria at 7:30am and driven to Quito airport, to be ready for my flight that left at 11am.
KLM has a 'piece' system that requires passengers to only have two items of luggage in the hold, so with 4 rucksacks and a 4 foot long camera tripod bag, we took advantage of two men with of a portable cellophane wrapper at the airport, to combine them all into two items.
This was fine until after I had said goodbye to Francisco, Alexandria and finally Frank, and was waiting in the departure lounge. First a woman attendant came up to me and beckoned me to follow her outside to the baggage area, where nervous-looking soldiers wearing guns and dressed in army camouflage were waiting to ask me to cut open the cellophane holding the tripod to a rucksack. I had no knife but they still insisted that I had to be the one to open it. Eventually they realised that I had no means of removing it and they cut it open, only for me to open the tripod bag and show them that my camera tripod was definitely not a machine-gun!
After that, I was led back up to the departure lounge. 30 minutes later, a male attendant looked at my photographic rucksack and demanded I have it weighed, found it to be overweight (11kg, maximum is 10kg) and began to make obvious suggestions, whereupon I opened it, showed him the cameras and lenses and that seemed to do the trick. I wasn't bothered again and the flight took off with no further problems.
The sun was out, there was barely a cloud in the sky, I had an excellent window seat and I managed to take quite a lot of aerial pictures as we flew from Ecuador, across Columbia and on to Curaçao
MORE PHOTOS TO ADD?, where I also took a couple of photos of the turquoise shoreline before running out of film.
Below, What can only be the Galapagos, photographed on the flight home:
Another mistake on my part; I had not bargained for excellent weather for almost the entire daylight flight back. We flew over the Azores and I had no film. Even flying at 33,000 feet, you could make out the odd ship and ripples on the sea below, even though it was not particularly rough (there were no white horses).
I arrived back at Schipol airport in Amsterdam at night and it was wet, but the view was still excellent, with millions of street and house lights visible. It would have made an excellent photograph.
A delay at Amsterdam for a few hours found me taking a snack at an airport snack bar, followed by a meander through the hi-fi shop as it slowly began to open at 5:30am. Then a little while later, the connecting flight back to Heathrow, landing in the early hours of the morning in the same desolate, cold and bleak weather that I'd left three weeks earlier, met by Mo and driven back home, the end of the adventure that we had planned together for so long.
The only down-side is that back in the UK, the tripod bag went missing because the soldiers at Quito airport had not bothered to wrap it back onto its accompanying rucksack. My walking stick and water bottle were also in the bag, so I lost them too. And, as misfortune would have it, despite taking every precaution in Ecuador, Fuji's slide processing lab broke down, scored and severely damaged both slide films used for footage of the ascent, descent and flight over Sangay.
The expedition on the other hand, was a complete success.
MAPS: (North is at the top of the vertical plane on all maps) ADD SCALE TO ALL
Below left, the scope of the entire tour:
Ecuador and its neighbouring countries
Below, expedition route plotted by GPS fixes on military map for camps 6 to 10 (days 8 to 12):
Below, expedition route plotted by GPS fixes on military map for camps 1 to 5 (days 3 to 7):
FOOTNOTES
1. Ancient city buried nearby
In 2024 it was announced that the remains of a huge ancient 2,500 year old city had been found on the shores of Rio Upano, stretching 300 square km (116 square miles). The volcano they mention is Sangay:
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-67940671
2. Fatalities at Sangay
The fateful 1976 6-man scientific British Vulcan Expedition to explore Sangay volcano, 07-Mar-77:
http://www.thegazette.co.uk/London/issue/47167/supplement/3227/data.pdf
Cached: Geographical Magazine article by Richard Snailham, member of 1976 Sangay Expedition