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Ascent of Ponta do Pico

Arrival on Pico

The ferry ride from Faial to Pico was unenventful. I spent thirty minutes sitting on a banister and taking pictures of Horta growing ever smaller behind us. Despite being late I procrastinated even more and got a beer in a local bar before organizing myself a Taxidriver. On the short ride, he explained, among other things, the economy of the island and the general weather conditions of the island of Pico to me. One is based on beef and wine and the other one is apparently always good during the night if there had been no clouds on the horizon during the preceding afternoon. Keeping that in mind for later. At one point on our drive up the mountain he stopped and I took pictures of the neighbouring islands. Faial, the Sao Jorge and La Graciosa right behind it.

The Ascent

The People crewing the Mountain Hut at the Trail head warned me of adverse conditions on the mountain and reprimanded me for being late for an overnight stay on the mountain. The small size of my backpack was also questioned. I didn't mention to them that most of what was in there was photography equipment and clothing for cycling and everyday use and not gear for climbing mountains. I just claimed that I knew what I was doing, had all the proper gear and would be fine no matter what. In a last attempt to dissuade me the woman behind the counter turned around her computer screen to show me the weather forecast for the top of the mountain but to no avail. What's 80km/h winds to me, I come from the north. After listening with the most respectful expression I could muster to the mandatory safety and orientation speech I departed through the glass door up the first couple of concrete steps to start the ascent proper. There were many cars in the parking lot and I counted maybe around 20 hikers. Most of those descending from the mountain and only four I overtook. The later ascending ones certainly never went to the top but just the first designated view point around half a kilometer above the Hut. The usual issue to strike a balance between hiking fast and filming arose and I am afraid to say I heavily emphasised the first. Possibly because I had run an ultra the day before but also because it wasn't that warm and stopping meant feeling cold. Soon the clouds started to move in and the great views of Faial I had enjoyed during the first half hour of the climb disappeared behind a wall of solid white mush. The trail, being marked by concrete pillars placed in rather large distances, wasn't easy to find and especially above 2000 meters is more of a recommendation on how to traverse the rocky landscape from pillar to pillar than a prepared path. The vegetation also went from scrubs to some sort of moss and then to nothing within the first hour of ascending.

One reaches the rim of the crater at around 2250 metres next to a pillar marked with the number 48. There is also an automated weather station there. At this point the wind had picked up noticeably and the visibility had declined to maybe around 50 meters. I had encountered nobody for quite a while. After crossing to the other side of the rim, to the inside of the crater, the wind subsided and I descended around a hundred meters into total silence. Checking on my Map didn't help much here and the only pointers for being in the right place I got were a bunch of circular stone walls likely put up by generations of hikers to pitch tents in. Having selected the third spot I came across, maybe two minutes after crossing the rim I cleared the ground of rocks and started pitching my tent despite not being confident about the size of the spot being sufficiently large for my small mountain tent. The erected tent looked wonky despite using all the space provided to the last centimeter. It reminded me how one will always need a couple of days to get proficient in this endeavour on any multi day hike. Especially when not having the luxury of flat ground.

The Night

I put everything I had with me into the tent, took some pictures and attempted to cook the "just add water" cup meal I had brought. Unfortunately the gasoline from the lighter I had with me had evaporated and for that reason I had to eat the instant noodles with cold water that tasted like that plastic bag I carried it in. Can't recommend. If I had the original butan gas cooker it would have been fine since that ignites with a spark while whatever the hell I got from the Chinese store didn't. Eight O clock. Nothing to do. For once I've had gotten no book with me (mistake) and no reception to download something and read on the phone. I started listening to a Hornblower Audiobook on my phone.

The wind picking up made me concerned for the stability of the tent and its anchoring. I went out again to put stacks of heavy rocks on all the stakes to hopefully make sure they could withstand anything the weather would throw at them in the next couple of hours. Heavy rocks are hard to come by though on vulcanos. Shortly after that it started to rain. While I had my foldable keyboard with me the lack of a proper surface made it useless for typing and all I could do was listen to Hornblower being nursed back to health by a French Duke while seducing his daughter in law. The last light soon went and the inside of the tent was in complete darkness. The only sensory impressions were the deep roaring of the storm over the rim of the crater, the irregular sounds of the rain on the canopy and a light breeze when there was a gust. Depending on if I was laying on my back or side or chest I could also feel the moisture shaken loose from the inner tent on my face like a cold shower when a particularly strong gust shook the tent.

The wind doesn't make a howling noise, it's more like a constant distant roaring interlaced with short eery screams and the very close sound of the canopy being hit by gusts. Up until four o'clock in the morning the rainfall was heavy and sleep happened only in a couple of very short bursts of maybe one hour combined. I only ever noticed that I had been asleep for a couple of minutes when I couldn't make sense of whatever happened to hornblower after being woken up again from one of the short departures from my reality. It was a bit ironic that Hornblower was trying to keep a skiff on the Loire afloat, fleeing from Napoleon, while I from some point on struggled to stay above the water line in a tent on top of a volcano in the middle of the Atlantic. Feeling a comradery here through time and space. Also not having showered gave me an icky feeling and during the first two hours I couldn't really find a comfortable position due to back pain below the right shoulder. There are many things so much worse than this I told myself. Just get through the night without drowning or the tent being ripped apart and as soon as I can start moving again everything will be fine. I don't really want to think about what to do if the tent fails. There is no reception inside the crater.

At quarter to six I decide that it's late enough to start packing. I should be ready to go around the start of the blue hour I thought. Although packing took some time, a puddle had formed below me during the night and while I was lucky that the sleeping bag didn't get wet, my jacket and many other things did. Wet is not really the concept to differentiate things here anymore though. Everything was at least moist. The rain started again during the process of packing but fortunately subsided before I broke down the canopy. No point in packing it properly I just stuffed it into the backpack. Removing the tuff stones from the tentanchors hurt my soft, water damaged hands.

The Descent

Let's go. I can't get the reverse track from yesterday on my watch so I have to go by the trail that is faintly visible on the digital map. After walking 5 meters I realize that I can't see anything. Barely the ground itself and I have no idea where I am going. It's mostly the foggy glasses it seems but it's also pitch black and the light of the torch dissipates in the fog without illuminating much. There is no blue hour up here in this weather. The clouds and the fog aren't even white, they are black. I understand that I can't cross the rim with the raging storm under those circumstances. I find a little cave, big enough to fit me sitting down but not my backpack which has to stay outside and wait there for 25 minutes until there is some semblance of light outside. In the cave, that is just the overhang of a larger boulder that people have stacked stones up against on the other side, there is water dripping from the ceiling and cold wind passing though. I do what one could call exercises with my arms to not get even colder than I already am. Almost shivering but not quiet there yet. I really hope this whole endeavour was a good idea, it doesn't look like it right now. When there is finally some faint blue shimmer I get going. On the Rim the conditions are like nothing I've ever seen before. The wind is going so strong that I cannot walk against it, just crawl on all fours, and I have to stabilize myself with the poles when being driven in front of it. Visibility into the wind is zero and it hurts too much to face it. Going with the wind the eyes still hurt but without the glasses I can at least see the ground. The noise is unbearable. I remove my glasses and switch off the headlight which improves the situation a bit. I can now follow the line on my watch, checking every ten meters by holding it close to my face after wiping it clean from the rain. It's not normal rain from above, it's the clouds being so wet that the wind driving them creates a strong horizontal powerwasher. I have to close my eyes periodically because they hurt too much from the constant onslaught of what I believe to be just water drops and wind. Possibly some hail though since it feels like being pelted with pebbles. Normal walking is not an option not just because of the terrain but mostly since I would get blown over every other second. A couple of times a shift in wind direction or strength surprises me and I get thrown to the ground. The rain jacket is completely useless, especially the hood which never lasts more than 5 seconds on my head after being put back on with frozen fingers.

For the first Kilometer or so the trail just goes around the crater without losing much elevation. The direction of the wind does change from coming from behind to blowing up the mountain. This is significantly worse now than it was at the rim. Am I in actual danger here? If so it would be from hypothermia. How cold am I? Legs and arms are very cold but not numb. Fingers are to the point that I can't press buttons on the watch but Head and Core are fine. If I would call the mountain rescue here they would need at least two hours. Probably more since they have to assemble and get to the trail head first. I don't think waiting for that long would be an option since there is no place to wait with any protection from the elements. There are no terrain features reaching beyond my hip. I am on a skewed flat with the mist blowing by at amazing speeds and the wind too loud to even use a phone assuming the touchscreen still would work in this washing machine from hell. So, step by step forward, as long as I don't get lost and don't get too far away from the thin gray line on the face of my watch things will get better as soon as I lose altitude. The weather will get worse the more time I waste though. They told me yesterday at the trail head that I best be back at seven since the wind will pick up during the morning. Pick up from this?! Which is also why I was trying to leave as early as possible despite it being still dark. Every time I see one of the concrete pillars that mark the trail in distances way, way too far apart to get from one to the other by visual navigation I count it as an accomplishment and the anxiety building when not seeing one for a couple of minutes vanishes instantly. Looking for them however is a luxury since facing up hurts. Only looking down, chin to the chest is bearable. My hat has been missing for a while, likely since the second I crossed the rim.

After an hour or so of slow progress I check my height on the watch. I am still above 2000 meters. What took me less than 15 minutes uphill yesterday already took me over an hour downhill. Soon after though, the line of pillars turns south and the trail begins to rapidly descend which brings another issue. What I would consider almost runnable terrain under normal circumstances I can't even walk with poles now since the danger of being thrown down the mountain by the constantly changing winds is always present. It doesn't help that my wide throwers function as sails and that there are around 15kg on my back. Around six of those are camera equipment I couldn't use once due to the bad weather. Weight well spent. I am happy though that I opted to wear my sport shorts under the long hiking trousers. Right now I need every bit of wind protection I can get. I can't tell exactly when but from a certain point on there is enough light to have a good idea of where the path is going and I run off into the weeds far less often. At 1700m, less than 500 meters above the mountain hut I start feeling confident to make it without major issues apart from being cold and shivering as long as I don't break anything essential. The bleak rocks start giving way to low, ground hogging vegetation that in turn will give way to scrubs around two hundred metres above the trailhead. The wind is still strong but only as strong as it was on top in chutes and only for short bursts. I feel a bit elated. A couple of times I mistake a marker for a person and wonder if they send up a party to look for me. Probably not. My glasses are unsecured in a pocket of my pants. If I fall on that side they are broken for sure but I will not spend the time to put down the backpack and to store them properly. My waterlogged and cold fingers wouldn't be capable of using the zippers anyway.

Suddenly, the concrete stairway with the rusted artwork in front of the hut appears through the clouds. The huts morning shift greets me and calls a taxi. I've been less thoroughly wet after taking showers. Doing something stupid like this once in a while helps to put things into perspective. I will not complain for quite some time when I am just cold and wet. Encountering physical discomfort I can tell myself that this is nothing compared to the feeling you get when there is a very real chance of withering from hypothermia alone in a storm on a volcano in the Atlantic. Shivering while barely keeping upright, without glasses, half blinded in deafening noise, being tugged on in every direction while all you can see are the rocks 10 meters around you dimly lit by a bony white light does that to you.

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