Hiking Stromboli

Active Italian volcano.  3000’ elevation. 

7 April 2011.  4 pm.  64 degrees.  Sunny. 

Sixteen anxious women from France, Canada, Norway, USA, UK, Kazakhstan.  

One guide--Carmello:  muscular, handsome, capable.  “My job is to get all of you to the top.” 

We’re nervous as cats: “Need to find a bathroom.  Where are the headlamps?  I’m slow, I need to start now.  Let’s go!  No wait!  Need a bathroom.  Need water!  Wait!  Stay here!”

Finally we’re off--carrying our questions and fears with us.

450’: point of no return.  Go back now or summit. Black and white.  We all think about it, but no one turns back.

Carmello forces a snail’s pace on us. Slow, slow steps.  Up, up, up. Switching back and forth through red lava rock.  Only rocks.  No trees.  Eyes on the boots directly ahead.  Step,  plant poles, step. Follow the boots.  Plant poles.  Step up.  Breathe.  Plant poles. Heart OK, not racing.  Breath OK, not hyperventilating.  5 minute stop.  Look down.  White town below becoming smaller.  Other groups like ants follow behind us.  Blue sea spreading out to the horizon.  Start again.  I can do this.  Slowly, slowly.  Up and up.  No rush of adrenaline.  No desire to do this again.  Head clear.  Body on alert.  The line moves forward and up.

750’: 2 minute stop.

1550: 2 minute stop.  Put on another layer.  It’s getting colder.

2000’: 5 minute stop.  Put on helmet in case of lava bombs.

Up and up.  Almost there.  Suddenly a loud explosion to the right.  Want to throw myself on the ground but can’t.  Too dangerous.  Could slide down the hill and into the sea.  Sounds like a bomb exploding.  Billowing black fumes fill the sky.  

Near Summit:  20 minute stop.  Two concrete three-sided huts shield us from the wind.  Put on another layer.  50 mph winds.  Much windier than normal.  Black biting gray ash hits my face like tiny knives.  We plump down in the black ash or on lava rocks, pull out sandwiches and eat quickly.  Who knows when we’ll stop again.  

                                                                                

Carmello draws a line in the dirt about a foot and a half from the crater’s rim.  “Don’t go beyond this line,” he says as though anyone would.  The earth trembles under my feet.  I wonder if I’m on solid ground or just on a sheet hanging out over the crater.  Another huge explosion.  Red lava shooting up.  Exploding, descending, flowing.  Glowing mounds of lava.  Then another explosion to my right.  Lava everywhere.  The gigantic Japanese sun drops towards the darkened horizon.  The wind continues.  

 I turn—the line has formed and is moving off.  I rush to get in. We ascend the rim to the summit.  Hard-hitting ash stings my face.  Another explosion rocks the air.  Red lava exploding everywhere.  I stand amazed.  I turn around.  The group is forming again.  Frantically I try to find my headlamp.  No time.  Swinging on my backpack I rush to get into the line already descending.  Why are we descending so soon?  

It’s getting dark.  How long will this twilight last?  How long will I be able to see?

The descent is steep through the soft grey volcanic ash.  My boots sink and disappear with each step.  I mustn’t stop.  The front part of the group is nearly out of sight.  The last part way behind.  I must stay here in our little midway line and descend fast with them.  Just straight diagonal descent through the ash field.   I need to adjust my poles.  Still walking fast I manage to lengthen one and then the other.  It’s getting darker.  I push closer to Amy ahead of me hoping her headlamp will light my path, too.  I can still make out the line we’re walking because it looks darker in the ash.  My eyes keep searching for that black line while my poles reach out testing where my foot will land—ash, ground, rock?  I can’t look down the side of the volcano.  One misstep and I’ll fall straight down into the sea below.  I feel I’m schussing through the ash.  Soft knees bending, hips moving, shoulders moving, schussing, skiing.  Don’t think, just keep skiing through the soft powder.  On and on.

Finally we reach the trees but still don’t stop.  Why doesn’t Carmello, wherever he is, stop?  I need my headlamp.  We’re out of the ash on hard ground now.  My legs move automatically, jerkily, no control over them, going faster than I want them to.  We keep going afraid to be left further behind.

A Stop: we reach Carmello and the head group going down.  We finally stop.  I take off my hot fleece.  My clothes are soaking with sweat.  I frantically search my backpack for my headlamp afraid we’ll be moving on any minute.  Luckily I find it.  Two women immediately help me turn it on and secure it to my helmet. I am so thankful.  At last I can see. 

We’re off again.  Fast.  Carmello and the front group are already out-of-sight.  Our middle group weaves through the trees.  Poles scrambling to find safe ground amidst the dirt, slippery rock and uneven terrain.  Boat back to Lipari and our hotel leaves at 9:30 pm.  Is that why we’re double-timing this descent? Carmello has gone, vanished.  We come to a T--do we turn right or left?  We can’t see or hear anyone ahead of us.  We grab our little whistles and blow.  “Turn left, over here,” the front group calls out to us.  We head towards them rushing on.  Carmello has apparently abandoned all responsibility for us.  He had said his job was to get us all safely to the top of the volcano.  He never mentioned the bottom, too.  I don't care.  The boat will wait for us or we can sleep here tonight.  Our legs are jelly.  We’re exhausted yet we race on.  

9:30 pm. The town appears.  Then the touring office.  We’ve made it.  We throw our helmets and headlamps onto the table.  “Grazie!!  Ciao!!”  Too hurried and tired to say more than that.  We race to the boat waiting for us.  Last ones on.

9:40 pm.  Upper deck of the speeding boat.  Star-studded skies.  Exhausted, hungry.  Everyone had summited.  No one was hurt.  

Bragging rights forever.