Paricutin

Having ultimately decided not to buy myself a birthday guitar in old Paracho, I was left with the question of how to otherwise commemorate this event alone in Mexico. Ransacking my brainbox, I recalled a conversation between Eden and myself a few days ago about an old dormant - and quite famous - volcano not too far outside the city of Uruapan, which was only an hour's drive or so from Paracho.

As the story goes, back in 1943, a local corn farmer and his family were out tending their field in the smallish town of Paricutin, when they noticed a sudden eruption of ash and stones ejected from a nearby fissure in the earth. Within a single week, that fissure had grown into an angry mound some five stories tall, and within a month it could be seen from miles away. By the end of the first year the nearby villages of Paricutin (the volcano's namesake) and San Juan Parangaricutiro, had been entirely buried in lava - although thankfully all of their residents were re-located to nearby vacant land - and the Paricutin volcano had grown to over 336 meters tall.

While at this point the bulk of the damage had been done, Paricutin continued to erupt for the next 8 years, often quietly spewing forth rivers of lava which oozed down into the surrounding valleys, scorching them beyond recognition. Only during the final six months of its life did Paricutin again erupt violently, one last hurrah before its eventual withdrawal in 1952, having reached a final height of 424 meters tall.

Amazingly, after nine years of erruptions, one building yet remained, standing tall like a beacon amid the 25 square kilometers of volcanic rock and jet black sand that surround Paricutin in all directions. Not un-significantly in the minds of the local residents, this building was none other than San Juan Parangaricutiro Church, and it's tattered remains stand even to this day, having understandably become quite the attraction to Christians from all across Mexico, and tourists the world over.

This seemed like a suitable location to spend my birthday - I'd never been anywhere near a volcano before, afterall - and so I resolved to visit said ruins, and Paricutin both, and to climb the latter.

After a fitfull sleep, I arose around 6AM on the morning of the 21st, packed my modest lunch and made for the bus station to catch the early morning shuttle to the nearby town of Angahuan, from which I would make the trek to Paricutin. Due to some complications however, I didn't arrive there until around 8. I had been told this trip would take the better part of the day, and so was a bit worried about the delay, but strode on toward what I hoped would be the opposite edge of town, dodging a few would-be guides along the way. I could just barely make out Paricutin's cavernous tip over the roofs of some of the buildings in town, and so was quite sure that I would not be needing a guide so long as I could keep her in my sights.

By around 9:30, I had passed through the small town, down some shady pine-wooded trails, and was making my way through the volcanic fields, strewn with jagged black bubbled stone. Amazingly, there was absolutely no one about on this sunny morning, I had only the song of the wind and the heat of the sun to accompany me. It wasn't long before I spotted the single remaining tower of the Church over the horizon, and was making my way up over scraggly but well-worn climbing paths toward it. To stand before this beautiful creation of human hands, humbled by the ravages of nature was quite an experience, I can tell you.

Two major sections of the Church remain. The larger section is a strip roughly 80 to 100 feet long, and 20 to 30 feet wide, which looks to have once been the entrance, with a large arched portal in the center, and major towers on either side of it, only one of which remains. The smaller section is basically a single wall, quite disheveled, with some columns on either side. Based on its position relative to the entrance, and the fact that it has been elaborately decorated with ornaments and images of Jesus, I assume that this smaller section must have been the original altar.

After having scouted the basic layout of the surrounding area, I began searching for potential ways to enter the larger section of ruins, and to my pleasant surprise, found three! The first was a basement entrance to the remaining column, nearly covered over with boulders, which I had to get down and scraggle through. It led, rather disapointingly I thought, into a single doorless room, with a high vaulted ceiling. Dark and quiet, but otherwise uninteresting.

The second entrance led to a room directly above the first one, and involved a little more work on my part. Disposing of my daypack, I had to scale a small section of wall, and climb over and down into a stair-well which must once have been covered over by a roof. Once inside, I walked past on old spiral staircase leading downward (entrance three) and stepped into the main chamber beneath the one remaining column. From there I could look upward toward the top of the tower, and although there must once have been stairs, they had long since disintegrated, and so unfortunately there was no way to climb any higher, and reach the top of the tower. And so, returning to the staircase, I slowly started down into the dark of the third entrance.

Now, as many of you well know, I am hardly a superstituous fellow, but I can confess to having felt a certain rushing of the blood as I made my way down those ancient steps, spiraling around and around until the last glimmer of sunlight had been choked away. Not 5, not even 10 or 20, but 44 steps I took, down into the darkness. When I had gone as far as I could, I removed my camera from my pocket and snapped a few flash photographs to see if I could get a better sense for where I was. What I saw was a doorway, or the top quarter of one at least, impassably clogged with the volcanic rubble that had created a new floor some five feet above the original. It seemed the stairs may have once led deeper, but were now also clogged with rock. I sat there for a while in the cool silence of underground, enjoying the rare feeling of complete and utter absence of light.

It was around 10 when I left the ruins and made for the volcano with renewed energy. To my surprise, there were several roads leading out of the area, and I selected the one which seemed to aim most directly toward Paricutin's looming presence. Twenty mintues or so later however, I found myself walking almost directly away from the peak, and so, reasoning that I must have made the wrong choice, decided to turn back and take another route. This I did, but before long, it too seemed to be leading me away from the peak rather than toward it.

Frustrated, I decided to try and make my own path. I hopped the barbed-wire fence that bordered the trail, and wound my way through what seemed to me a small orchard (volcanic land is after all often extremely fertile) and eventually came to the crest of the volcanic rock. I struggled to climb its jagged ridges, and having come to the top, realised that hiking through several kilometers of raw volcanic moonscape was not something I was prepared to do today, and so made my way back down to the road.

The view I had from atop the rocks had helped me to decide to stick to my present route, however, and so on I walked, still headed away from my goal. Surprisingly, a few minutes later, a dusty old pickup rolled up from behind me. I flagged it down to ask directions and found to my pleasure that I was in fact headed the right way. Two kind Mexican men offered to give me a ride for a ways, and I hopped in the back. After a quick beer stop at a tiny roadside tienda, we drove on for some twenty minutes along winding dirt roads, through the tiniest of neighborhoods, and passed through a barbed-wire gate that I would never have thought to cross had I been on my own.

Around 11 we stopped abruptly in what looked to me like the middle of nowhere, and I hopped out. The driver of the truck got out and pointed yonder toward what he assured me was a walking trail up to the volcano. I shook his hand, and thanked him, turning to set off. ''Watch out for lions and tigers!'' he called to me in Spanish. I turned, smiling, and seeing his deadpan face, asked him if he was serious. He said nothing, but pointed to the knife at his waist. I patted myself down in search of the knife I knew I did not have, and then, shrugging my shoulders, put up my dukes instead. This won me a laugh, and I turned again toward the my goal.

Anyone who has ever walked across fine beach-like sand in anything other than bare feet or snow-shoes will know that it is a bit of a challenge. Heavy booted feet sink and slide with each step making traction difficult and pace slow. Now imagine walking in such conditions up the steep face of a mountain, in the blazing heat of Mexican afternoon. I had never experienced such fine deep sand on such a steep incline, and it took some time to get used to such slogging.


Eventually, sweating and ragged, I arrived at Paricutin's broad base, and after taking a short break in the shade of a nearby pine, started straight up her 400 meter face at a healthy pace. It wasn't ten minutes howewer, before I was clawing through the fine black sand on all fours, my chest heaving as I savored the few precious beads of sweat that found their way to my dusty mouth. I looked up, and noticing that I seemed to have made no headway whatsoever, again put my head down and crawled upward, my calves burning viciously, my boots now full of rocks and sand. It took at least three or four steps to make a meter's progress up the shifting slope, and I began to shout taunts to the mountian as I faught my way toward her peak. At what seemed to me to be the halfway point I felt I could go no further, and collapsing onto the sheer face, forced myself to take a short break, and enjoy the already incredible view.

Then, with renrewed vigor, I turned and again began to claw my way toward the peak which slowly began to come nearer. ''I've got you now!'' I shouted between gasps as I neared the peak, ''Nowhere to run!'' Finally, my hands reached out for sand and found only air, and with a last burst of energy I lurched forward and found myself standing before Paricutin's gaping mouth. Dizzied from the effort, I shouted into her face at the top of my lungs and staggered about like a madman. I could barely walk, but didn't want to stop for fear of collapsing. (Surely all those fools who had thought Everest to be the highest point on planet Earth had been mistaken. Surely they would thank me when I corrected their error, and told them of this place I had found in rural Mexico.) A second later, I heard my own voice answer back to me from across the crater, accompanied by a belch of Paricutin's warm sulpherous breath.


Taking a moment to collect myself, I slowly began my circumnavigation of the volcano's crest, snapping photo after photo as I went of the vast green valley she had flattened and blackened, and of the beautiful surrounding forested mountains. Containing the full breadth of the crater in a single photo from so close was unfortunately impossible, but I did my best to do her justice, as I wound my way around her jaws. Bursts of vapour shot forth from the ground all around, some ten feet tall, and dropping to my knees and digging away the rocks, I found rich red soil hot enough to scald the skin if held even for a moment. She was dormant - for good too, according to the experts - but she was still plenty warm.

Having made a full circuit, I cast one last look into her depths, and turned to make my way back down, on an angle this time, rather than straight. However taxing she had been to climb, she certainly made up for it by being a joy to descend. Boot-surfing, I lept, meters at a time, from left to right, gliding smoothly with each footstep through the soft sand. My boots were chock-full of the stuff, but I couldn't care less as I flew downhill, watching as the glorious view slid back down into the horizon line.

After lunching briefly beneath that same shady tree at the base of the volcano, I headed back down the mountain for home at around 1:30PM - I still had a long way to go. Sparing the details of my journey home, I'll tell you that the clock was just striking 7PM as I finally fell into my lumpy hotel bed back in Uruapan that night, exhausted to se sure, but supremely satisfied with what I am sure will be a 24th birthday I will not soon forget.

I have since left Uruapan, and am presently in the quaint little city of Patzcuaro. Having arrived yesterday, I plan on making the short trip out to the nearby lake today - reputed to be one of the most beautiful in the country - and tracking down some information about lines out of town. I still have a few places I intend to visit before making my eventual descent into the fray of Mexico city, and points south.

That's all for now. Thanks for all the birthday wishes, and much love from abroad! Talk soon.