Fargo Brook Times, Andean Edition: Filed Trip: Volcán Puracé, Pilimbalá, Colombia

I zipped up to Colombia for a little hike last week. By "zipped" I mean that I took a two-day bus ride to the awesome and beautiful colonial town of Popayán, Colombia, from which I launched an assault on Volcán Puracé. And by "assault," I mean that I walked up... and then I walked back down -- nothing technical. (Popayán, incidentally, might just have the most beautiful women per capita of any town on the planet -- which I mention strictly out of academic interest, and knowing that I contradict Jack Kerouac who said that the most beautiful girls in the world reside in Des Moines, Iowa.)

The trail for Puracé starts an hour or so way up into the hills from Popayán, from a little village called Pilimbalá (the triple-P threat). From there you usually have a 30-40 minute hike to get to the trailhead and the ranger station, where you pay the $20,000 fee (which is in pesos of course, and comes in at just over 11 bucks). Much to my chagrin, I overshot the village. Or I should say that the bus overshot the village. Assuming the shotgun guy on the bus would let me know when we hit my stop, the Cruce de Mina (mine road crossing), I'd let what looked to be the right place go by. Fortunately, with the help of a local passenger, we figured it out pretty quickly -- and I only had an extra 20 minute walk to the turnoff in Pilimbalá. With dawn coming on, it was a stunning stroll through some of the most beautiful countryside I've ever seen, Johnson County, Iowa notwithstanding.

The walk evolved from lush subtropical-feeling forest mixed with pasture, quickly up into páramo grasslands (still frequented by many a cow), up to rocky scrambles (still yet incredibly dotted with cow patties), and ultimately into the cinder-cone cloud-drenched moonscape of loose gravelly volcano bits. You can smell the sulfur from two fumaroles (steam vents) near the summit, which tops out at 4650m, or about 15,200'. There's a huge 500m wide crater with a lone steam vent that lets loose its vapor only to blend with the seemingly omnipresent clouds.

Thanks to Volcano Discovery (dot com), I just learned that it's one of Colombia's most active volcanoes, last blowing its top in 1977. I was happy to learn that its most recent "violent" eruption was over a hundred years ago, however. Puracé is part of a huge massif (redundant?) with 7 craters and cones, the last of which sits 6K to the SE, is named Pan de Azucar, and sports a "permanent" glacier. (As a multi-day technical climb, that one was out, unfortunately). Maybe more worrisome than its active status, hikers are told to keep to the trail, as designated by the yellow blazes, since the area had been spiked with land-mines the last time tensions flared between the FARC and gov't forces. Nobody had to tell me twice, though if that were true, I did wonder why there weren't more exploding cows. (Maybe there were, I don't know).

In all, the trek took just under 5 hours, with a 25 minute stay at the summit crater. As soon as I hit the cinders, the clouds dropped, and I was glad for the yellow blazed boulders every 25' or so. As soon as I topped out, the clouds opened up with a hailstorm of... yeah, you guessed it, hail. I was surprised to find that the ice-balls stung my bare hands, and I thought I might have to put my backpack on my head for protection at one point. Fortunately, the granizo (as it's called in Spanish) never increased in size. Yes, my heart did swell to see my beloved frozen precipitation after so many long months apart. But it quickly accumulated, and I quickly became cold. I hadn't prepared myself with gear for a high elevation hike when I set out from Ecuador (hat, gloves, etc.), but I did have sense enough to bring an emergency alpaca sweater and dry clothes, including a pair of socks and a (clean!) set of capilene(tm) boxers -- thank you PataGucci and Darn Tough Socks of Vermont! Being solo, I had no qualms donning an underwear-balaclava. (This, as I'm sure some of you are already thinking, recalls the now infamous Padraic Monks Poker Night Wellingtons and Tightie-Whities Hat episode -- something I was keen not to repeat.)

While I descended, the clouds lifted a bit, and the air warmed -- unfortunately, that meant that the precip. did as well. Once off the cinders, I packed everything away, took out a fresh bottle of water, and began a slow hustle to make it back to Pilimbalá for the 2:30 bus. I made it down by quarter to 1 and checked out with the ranger, who informed me that there was a 1:00 bus as well. On hearing that, I did a brisk jog to the road, making it with a couple of minutes to spare, where a woman sweeping her porch informed me that the next bus would pass at 4:30. Like most bus-routes in Latin America, these times are estimates and depend on many factors and moving parts, not least of which is the whim of the driver who might stop for an empanada and a bowl of soup wherever and whenever.

So I walked some more. Leisurely. The countryside below Pilimbalá, as I said, was beautiful and speckled with many farms and forests. I'd caught a 5:00AM bus (as recommended -- which of course left at 5:30), so much of the way down was new to me in the light. I walked for an hour an a half conserving my last 1.5L bottle of water and hoping that the huge rolls of thunder didn't portend anything too bad. I was passed by at least 5 trucks and a dozen motor-bikes heading up, but nothing headed down, until finally, a baby-blue vintage Land Cruiser pulled up blasting Salsa music (which is HUGE in Colombia, and which I thoroughly enjoyed after the ever present monochrome Cumbia electronica in Ecuador).

"Coming from the Volcano?" the driver asked, matter-of-factly. Yup. I hopped on a bench in the back, so happy to be off my feet for the first time in seven-plus hours. The driver took it easy on the gravel, babying his ride and goofing with his shotgun buddy, occasionally turning down the music to hear a joke. I'd be floored to learn they did not smoke a doobie before heading out on the road at such a leisurely erratic rate, but I guess I'll never know. The Land Cruiser was equipped with a "woo-woo" horn and a standard horn, which the driver used to wolf-whistle and beep at every car, bus, bike, woman, and guy on horseback we passed. This apparently didn't get old for the entire 1.25 hour ride back down the mountain. We picked up a few more passengers who filled the back benches, and finally rolled into Popayán proper.

The first step out of the truck sent a searing pain through every ligament and muscle fiber in my legs, having spent the maximum, and then sat motionless for the ride. I handed my stoned chauffeur a $5,000 note and hobbled straight to the nearest tienda where I purchased a 4-pack of Poker "lager" and popped one of those pain-killers right on there on the street, which by the way is perfectly legal in Colombia. Later, I'd enjoy a FAT meal at "Petir's" restaurant, tamales, soup, and the "typical" plate of rice and red beans, platanos, slaw, and a big fried piece of chicken. A most excellent adventure, which underscores for me yet again what a lucky mofo I am, and what an awesome wife I have!

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****Google seems to have re-installed the slide-show option. Photos looks better that way -- click on any photo to start it.

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