Santa Ana Volcano

Santa Ana Volcano has been troublesome ever since we arrived in El Salvador. Shortly after our arrival, it decided to give us a welcoming party by blowing its top. Two people were killed and hundreds displaced. It even made the BBC and put El Salvador on the map for minutes.

Yet, the saga with Santa Ana didn’t end there and we have since developed a love-hate relationship. Around 7 weeks ago, Giles, Marek and Mark decided to walk from Lago Coateque to the peak of Santa Ana. They decided this route was more interesting than the police escorted route from Cerro Verde National park. Ginnie, Giles’ girlfriend and myself should have known there would be trouble. I constantly ask myself now why? Why did I let three men climb a volcano? Alone?

The day of the climb started early; just as the sun raised its ugly head, Marek kissed me purposely and strode out the door. A man with a mission. At 6am, I rolled over and forced by eyes shut. 5.30 am on a week day is bad enough; 6am on a Sunday is even worst. Maybe it was tiredness that meant I didn’t stop them. If only I could have forced my eyes open instead of shut. My danger radar was obviously sleeping and I momentarily forgot other scrapes Giles and Marek had gotten into without Ginnie’s and myself’s trusty guidance. Being caught in a storm in an inflatable canoe being the most memorable.

All was well to start. A text message arrived at 2pm displaying a beautiful, green crater lake. They were at the top. Marek will be home for dinner, I thought.

Yet, at 6pm, it was getting dark and a phone call informed me in a blasé voice, “I’ve broken my finger and we’re lost.”

Thirty minutes later. Another phone call. “We are on a road” said a weary Mark. “Can you call us a taxi?” Logically, I asked, “Where’s the road?” and “Where should I call the taxi from?” “Don’t know” is the only response. I called a taxi company in Santa Ana. It is an hour away but the nearest one.

At 11pm, Marek arrived at the door dripping. With blood. Mark stood beside him looking sheepish. Apparently, they couldn’t find a path down from the top. Mark got stuck, Marek tried to help him and a rock came away crushing his finger. Was it Santa Ana’s warning?

Probably.

Yet I wasn’t put off.

Despite the finger, the boys raved about the crater. “It was like being on the moon”, Marek had exclaimed while clutching the blood soaked rag.

I had to climb it.
The following weekend, Manny, Emma and myself set off to Cerro Verde National Park to take the official route up the volcano. We weren’t foolish like the boys. Or were we?

Upon arriving at the National park, we informed the guide that our intention was to take the police tour up Santa Ana. She informed us that it was on the “blink” of eruption and she didn’t think they would take us.

Manny and Emma said we’ll see. I said, “Ok, let’s go home ..now.”

They chatted to the police. Yes, we will take you. It is no problem for us. They dragged me up; laughing. They chatted to the park warden at the foot of the volcano. No, there hasn’t been any activity from the volcano.

The tune of the police soon changed when we reached the top. “It wasn’t like that the day before” they exclaimed. “We should head down as soon as possible” they added.

It was a boiling pot.

The next day all tours were stopped. When Val, Ginnie and Richard tried to go up the week later, they couldn’t.

The news said it was on orange alert.

First the finger and then the whirl point; Santa Ana has given another warning. I am not messing with volcanoes anymore.