Tim's Volcano Adventures

Mount St. Helens — The 10,000-Foot Day

Mount St. Helens was one of the defining climbs of my 1987 western road trip. I registered for a permit the night before and started around four in the morning. The climb added up to what I called a 10,000-foot day: roughly 5,000 feet of climbing followed by 5,000 feet back down.

The mountain was still a raw, unforgettable landscape after the 1980 eruption. Reaching the summit rim brought me face to face with the scale of what had happened. The climb also delivered one of those classic road-trip coincidences. I met Kelly, who had grown up near me and knew my sisters. That evening several of us camped together and headed to a local bar to watch Monday Night Football with the locals.

Mount Rainier — A Week Beneath the Giant

I spent about a week hiking the trails around Mount Rainier and returned on later western trips. Even without a summit attempt, Rainier is a complete mountain world—old forests, wildflower meadows, glaciers, snowfields and weather that can rearrange a plan quickly.

Five years after my first visit, Ricky took a five-day summit, ice and crevasse seminar there. The weather was cold and snowy, so while he trained on the mountain, I took off in the van and backpacked the Olympic wilderness coast. That was one of the great advantages of long road trips: when conditions changed, another remarkable landscape was waiting a few hours away.

I always thought the 100-mile Wonderland Trail around Rainier would be an extraordinary long-distance hike.

Mount Hood — Bivouacs High on the Volcano

After Mount St. Helens, Mount Hood was a natural next target. I climbed about halfway up the mountain and spent several days exploring its slopes. I bivouacked high on the volcano for a couple of nights and spent one evening at an old cabin that was being rebuilt.

Timberline made the mountain feel unlike anywhere I had been. Glacier skiing continued into summer, and serious ski teams used the high snowfields for training. Even without reaching the summit, sleeping high on Hood and waking up in that volcanic landscape made it one of the memorable stops of my western travels.

Crater Lake — Fresh Snow on an Ancient Caldera

Crater Lake was wild during my visit. Heavy snow fell the night before, closing about half of the rim road. Then the weather cleared. Bright sun on all that new snow made the caldera and deep-blue lake look almost unreal.

Crater Lake is the remnant of Mount Mazama, a much larger volcano whose collapse created the enormous basin. It was a perfect example of why volcano country fascinated me even when I was not climbing toward a summit: the entire landscape tells a story of destruction, rebuilding, erosion and time.

Volcán Pacaya — Ash, Wind, Warm Ground and Banditos

Antigua is surrounded by volcanoes, so naturally I wanted to climb one. At the time, guards accompanied groups because banditos sometimes robbed climbers. After a long, rocky bus ride to a tiny village, about fifteen of us began hiking toward Pacaya with flashlights so we could remain near the rim through sunset.

The final cinder slope was exhausting: one step forward and two steps back. Wind drove ash into our eyes and clothing. Near the top, the terrain looked lunar. Some of us descended into the crater area, then buried ourselves up to our necks in warm, buoyant cinders. It felt like a natural sauna while the cold wind screamed overhead.

Fog suddenly enveloped us, forcing a quick retreat. The 45-minute struggle up the cone became a five-minute standing and sitting glissade down. Less than two weeks later, from the Pacific coast near Monterrico, I watched Pacaya in full eruption—a magnificent sight and a sobering reminder of where we had just been.

Volcán Arenal — Camping Beneath an Erupting Volcano

Near La Fortuna, Arenal was still extraordinarily active. We had watched it for days from a nearby pension: every forty-five minutes or hour the ground might shake, sparks and lava would shoot upward, and red-hot rocks would tumble down the slope.

Eventually we hired a guide and Jeep, loaded tents and went closer for the night. We did not sleep much. The volcano provided its own fireworks, and by morning ash covered our tents. Nearby hot springs, waterfalls and tropical forest made the entire area feel like a living geology and ecology lesson.

That was one of the clearest examples of why I traveled the way I did. Reading about an active volcano is interesting. Camping beneath one while the ground moves and lava lights the darkness is something else entirely.

Concepción — Mud, Friendship and a Crater on Ometepe

Ometepe rises out of Lake Nicaragua as an island built around two enormous volcanoes. I spent time there during my Central America journey and teamed up with Heike for a climb on Concepción.

The route was steep, tropical and incredibly muddy. We climbed toward the crater and then worked our way back down through the same slippery mess. It was not a polished guided summit experience. It was exactly the kind of improvised adventure I loved: meet another traveler, compare ideas, pick a mountain and go see what happens.

Cotopaxi — Twelve Hours on Ice Near 19,000 Feet

Cotopaxi was the biggest and most technical volcano climb of the journey. I spent about a week acclimatizing in Quito before traveling into the national park and hiking to the José Ribas Refugio high on the mountain. The building shook in the wind while our rope team ate, drank mate de coca and tried to rest before a midnight start.

We practiced self-arrest and crevasse rescue, roped up and climbed through the darkness. After sunrise, the wind was so intense that when I closed my eyes briefly, they froze shut. Eight hours into the climb, only 250 vertical meters remained. The guide and I felt strong enough to continue, but one Austrian climber was dangerously ill with altitude symptoms. Turning around was the only responsible decision.

The descent still had one surprise. I broke through a hidden snow bridge and dropped into a narrow crevasse, catching myself with my elbows and the rope. After roughly twelve hours on the snow, we were grateful to reach the refugio. Two days later I was at sea level, swimming in the Galápagos.

The Galápagos Volcano Hike — From Ice to Tropical Lava

Only days after Cotopaxi, I was in the Galápagos surrounded by lava landscapes, giant tortoises, marine iguanas, sea lions and warm ocean water. On Isabela Island, we headed inland toward one of the huge volcanic calderas—identified on my original volcano page as Santo Tomás and commonly associated with the Sierra Negra area.

The contrast could not have been greater. Cotopaxi had been ropes, crevasses, frozen eyes and high-altitude wind. The Galápagos was tropical sun, black lava, wildlife and a broad volcanic landscape rising above the ocean. It reinforced how many completely different worlds volcanoes create.

This is one detail I would like you to confirm: whether the hike you called Santo Tomás was specifically Sierra Negra, Volcán Santo Tomás, or a route that included both names locally.