Through Helen Highwater

“Take a torch”. The skinny boy was our guide and looked no older than 14. Shivering, I claimed a torch from his out reached bony hand. Icy cold air surrounded us relentlessly nipping at our exposed and vulnerable hands and faces while the depths of the suffocating darkness blinded our visionary senses. Mother Nature tried one last sensory trap in an attempt to ward us off our climb. An unforgiving sulphury eggy stink pervaded the atmosphere which enveloped our flared nostrils.

Bright yellow torch beams cut deep into the abyss of the night halting on the one obstruction it could not pierce, the glorious sleeping volcanic beast. Feeling confident, we 3 strangers followed 14yr old Dewa on our quest.

Soft black volcanic ash sunk under our boots like determined quick sand. Calves were already becoming weary in battle. Ash evolved into small dirty grey pebbles which then advanced into huge boulder like obstacles. The incline of the rocky monster sharpened.

Hiking boots were becoming a hindrance. Loose stones cheekily rolled out from under them escaping a trod sending skidding feet clambering for solid ground.

Our lungs were just as tired as our sluggish bodies as they rapidly sucked at the thinning air. “Take my hand”. Dewa’s strength surprised me as he reached down almost lifting me upwards.

Looking over my shoulder and into the depths of the darkness, a trail of slow moving orange lights were ascending. I was hypnotized by the magical glow. “Helen! We want the best spot to watch the sunrise”. Dewa’s voice broke my resting gaze like a scratchy record stylus.
Tourists were in hot pursuit. Competitiveness injected a much needed boost of adrenalin.

Finally, painful leaden legs had climbed their last and were relieved to dump our heavy bodies at the top.

The struggle, the pain, (and eggy aroma) was worth it. Darkness bowed to the rising sun. We watched in awe as the sky magically morphed through a spectrum of colours. Deep crimson blues faded to burnt orange hues and fuchsia reds were transformed into golden pinks. The higher the sun rose from its earthy bed, the more spectacular the sky became.

The sunrise was a stage show curtain; it revealed the volcano in all its wonder. Cloud like pillows gently hugged the sleeping beauty to keep it from stirring. I whispered to Dewa “Aren’t the locals afraid it may erupt?” “Never”. Thankful for a short and sweet answer, I continued to stare at the magnificent backdrop.