I climbed the
volcano. From the marina to the peak is an elevation of seven thousand feet, a
distance of thirteen miles, and uphill all the way. The island of Pico
The hike up to
base camp was awesome. Eleven miles of steady incline passing field after field
of cows. Because the island has volcanic soil, the dirt is black and dense and
the plants were awesome, hydrangeas seven feet tall and wild roses blooming
everywhere. The cows were huge too, and whoever said happy cows live in California had never been to the Azores .
There were great views of cattle hanging out in dense greenery with clouds
rising behind them.
By the tenth mile
the girl's dad had had enough and told us to push on without him. When we
reached the base camp the best marketing I have ever seen was sitting there, an
ice cream stand and only mini bottles of water for sale. After we each had two
frozen snickers bars and collected enough bottles to fill my pants we began our
assent.
The closer we got
to the top the crazier the terrain became. It started with just rocks and mud
with cypress everywhere. Once we started passing lava vents the rocks became
long gooey looking tendrils of cooled lava flow. These were fun, but the
comparison between a cow pie and dried lava is scary so the risk of stepping in
a soft rock was very high. I am not one for rock climbing, hiking being my fun
factor, but once we passed the first mile the incline became so steep we were
forced into a crash course. I guess this is where the guide becomes important.
The slickness of the dried lava and the ease at which rocks tumbled down was
enough to leave the beaten path in order to climb through the sparse vegetation
that lived up there. It was some sort of herb that I can't place, but as we
disturbed it the smell wafted up and made me hungry.
The plan was to
make it to the crater. When we began running out of time to make it back to the
ferry we decided you only climb Pico once and we would just have to splurge on
a hotel room. Two hours later and not to the summit yet, still climbing hand
over hand up lava flows, I felt this decision wasn't the best. We reached a
point when the sun was beginning to set and we were a mile and half above the
cloud line that we needed to head back. The wind was too strong and the cold
was painful. I was the only one who thought to wear warm clothes. The other guy
was in shorts and sandals and the girl was wearing a tank and Converse. Both
were freezing and while the soles of her shoes were ruined, his feet were
exposed and bleeding.
The way back down
was a slip and slide of volcanic rock instead of water and not dying was on our
minds more than once. As we stepped down the whole slope would shift and our
butts became imperative to slowing down while riding the landslide. We reached base
came and looking at a map realizing we were less than 50 feet from the peak of
the cone left by the last eruption. The crater was so large we didn't recognize
we were in it.
It was thirteen
hours of constant walking done with only breakfast, frozen snickers, and
bottles of water. Freezing cold, body pounding trails, and pain, and we did it
and damn was it fun, and kind of illegal. At the end I was told my face was
peeling and wiping it off produced a good half teaspoon of salt. Canned
meats and preserved veggies will do it to you every time. The dad was waiting
for us at base camp with a sandwich he had ordered. Apparently they had all
sorts of food, just not on display and while we were woofing down chocolate and
ice cream I can only imagine what the employees were thinking. We managed
to pay a guy to take us to our island on his speed boat. Waking the next
morning was a slow and stiff process, my hips were on fire.
Besides the hike, the Azores offers great people, great
(and cheap) wine, french-fries that are like butter, pizza without sauce, and
some of the best red meat I've had in a long time. The architecture is all
terracotta roofs and white faces and Catholic churches dominate the cityscape.
The marina we are at is celebrating its 100th birthday and since the only
tourists are boaters the islands are way laid back. The streets are decorated
with mosaics and the area around the marina is a quilt of paintings done by
different sailing vessels. They cover every inch of available cement. George is
in charge of painting the Pipedream’s logo.
The next stop is Lisbon and with 900 miles to go before I have officially
crossed the Atlantic , I can't wait to get
there. Looks like another week of sailing, this time with a fridge!!! We got it
fixed!
Chris
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