Volcano Hunters waiting for a glimpse of El Volcan

Tungurahua, or the Volcan, as it is known, is beloved by both locals and tourists alike in Ecuador, but none are more fanatical than the Volcano Hunters, a group of fans constantly on the lookout for Baños’ most famous denizen. The Hunters know for example, the best time to catch a glimpse of the Volcan (7.00 am on a morning when it has not rained the previous evening).

Tungurahua also liked to show itself on days when the wind was not so constant, on days that were cool but not too hot, on days that began with the letter T. Despite the cracking advice, I had no luck with visibility, always arriving too early, too late, or after it had made its cameo.

On one of my trips, I met a group of Hunters who had been hiking since dawn. They told me I’d just missed Mama Tungurahua in her full glory, snowy tip and all. We sat and watched silently, as the clouds floated around the Volcan, obscuring it completely from view.

You should have been here half an hour ago, one of the men said, as they passed around a thermos of hot coffee. Estas loco? someone else said, If she wants to see it she’s going to have to get up early every morning.

As usual it was all about timing. Clearly my moment had passed.

Tungurahua in the morning.

Earlier in December, they told me, there were red flames shooting out and Tungurahua rumbled every 15 minutes.

So she was an angry as well as elusive mistress. They passed the thermos around again.

It gets cold up in the mountains, especially when you are sitting waiting for something to happen. I told the Hunters I almost didn’t come to Baños after the UK had issued a travel warning.

They were upset at the bad press and what it does for their town’s tourism. Every night when she was active, they camped out here: cab drivers, bus drivers, school kids, everyone came out to see.

Now there is nothing, but we still visit, even when she is silent, they said.

I ask about the Big One, but they don´t like to talk about the eruption 11 years ago. Most of the town had to evacuate for almost a year while they repaired the bridges and the roads.

But despite the destructive antics of their mistress, they couldn’t wait to return. I guess you get used to living with a larger than life presence looking over them.

My cabby told me that the really obsessive fans will sit and watch the Volcan all morning, noting the times Tungurahua reveals herself. They come before work, after work, on weekends. Sort of like train spotters.

But it is not just the Hunters who are obsessed. Dozens of restaurants, cafes, hotels and other establishments in town feature photos or paintings of the Volcan in either its quiet state or its red-hot atomic fieryness.

A few days later, I took another cab up to see if I could get a glimpse at the elusive Tungurahua. I was in luck, as the cabby himself was a part-time Hunter. I know a place with a great view. Mind a little hike? My kind of guy. He shot up the windy and narrow mountain roads going 80 mph. I was certain I would never live long enough to get a look at the Volcan. Part of me wanted to ask him if he had lost his mind. Another part of me wanted to tell him to stop being such an old man and speed it up. Much more than me, he understood the Volcan’s impetous nature. Even though we could see it peeking behind the mountains, it would soon be hidden behind the clouds. My driver went faster, flying past dogs, horses and buses coming down the opposite side of the mountain. I shut my eyes afraid to look. Finally, he pulled up to a beautiful country road on a steep inclination and parked his taxi in the middle of the street.

We walk from here.

The man must have been well into his 70s, but he practically ran up the incline. What. is. the. altitude. here?, I gasped. Oh, we´re pretty high. Almost 3000 feet above sea level.

My lungs felt like an anaconda had a hold on them. Just a little bit higher, he chirped.

An hour later, we ended up in a place that looked like the Ecuadorian Alps. I would have been better able to appreciate its beauty, had I not been struggling to catch my breath.

When I was back to normal, I almost kissed the man. My darling driver had taken me to a place of cloudy dreams. An observatory where Tungurahua’s activities were monitored and tracked by satellite. I walked to the edge of the field and wished I hadn’t looked down. Thousands of feet of nothingness below, and no rail to stop me from falling. Right across from the shack, so close I could almost touch it, sat the Volcan: icy, regal, resplendant, blowing out gray smoke, but peaceful in every other respect.

There was a coating of ice on her left side. Her right, which the last eruption had caved in, made her appear lopsided. From this side spilled ocassional sediment and smoke falling toward the village of Puyo in the Oriente.

The Volcano Watcher in action

I was introduced to Carlos, who was even better than a Volcano Hunter. He is a Volcano Watcher. For 30 years he’s been living in the little shack across Tungurahua, noting its movements and sending back information to seismologists and volcanologists. He was kind enough to give me a tour of the place, showing me old photographs, maps, even ashes collected from previous volcanic activity.

The ash contained different metallic content depending on the severity of eruption. He brushed it with a magnet to show me how the fine powder clung to the metal tenaciously. Imagine if you breathed that in? He showed me a finer beige powder, which a few years ago made it all they way to Guayaquil. He showed me photographs of how the Volcan had changed with each new eruption. While Baños was currently protected by the left hand lip, if there was a big eruption, molten lava would shoot straight up, 8 or so kilometres in the air. Goodbye Baños.

He showed me softball-sized rocks that had shot out as recently as a month ago. But being hit with rocks was not the worst part. Long before the molten lava or the rocks, noxious gases would get you. Hard to believe that beautiful and sleep Volcan, was so treacherous.

I ask him what would happen if Tungurahua erupted now. He’d have just enough time to hit the alarm to warn the town below. But even with all the seismic equipment and advanced warnings, it was anyone’s guess. The only thing that is certain is that you and I would never make it in time, Carlos said. We are up to high. Still, I would not choose to live anywhere else. His father before him had been guarded the town and so had his grandfather. Generations of Volcano Watchers.

Do you want to see the treehouse? Carles asked.

Tree House

Despite my emerging problems with vertigo, I climbed those rickety wooden steps pretty quickly. From the top of the tree house I could see the craters of the volcano clearly. They reminded me a little of the moon. Two puffs of smoke were now visible, although now they didn’t seem as harmless as they had earlier.

Tungurahua is like a woman, the Watcher said. One minute she is silent, the next you don’t want to go anywhere near her.

My cab driver chuckled and pointed to a young man who was swinging himself under the tree house into empty space. He was the son of the Volcano Watcher, no doubt made of the same grit as his old man.

A memorable day, not only as I finally got to see Tungurahua as more than a pretty purplish hue in the distance, but I better understand the people of Baños who literally live under its shadow. Their lives revolve around the Volcan, in a similar way our lives revolve around the clock. The difference being that our clock is man-made, while Tungurahua is a constant and striking reminder that there are still mysterious forces we cannot control in this world. Thank goodness for that.

Tags: Casa del Arbol, Tungurahua