Lahar

lahar (lä'här') n.

1. A wet mass of volcanic fragments flowing rapidly downhill. Lahars usually contain ash, breccia, and boulders mixed with rainwater or with river or lake water displaced by the lava flow associated with the volcano.
2. An avalanche of volcanic water and mud down the slopes of a volcano.
3. A destructive mudflow on the slopes of a volcano usually brought on by massive amounts of rain.

I would like to amend the statement proffered in my last blog, that in Guatemala when you see an erupting volcano, you go towards it instead of away from it and no one will try and stop you. I have officially experienced an exception to that rule.

A couple days ago our crew embarked on a popular two-day trek to one of Guatemala’s most active volcanoes, Santiaguito. As the volcano is far too active to summit, we camp at the base, the culmination being waking up in the middle of the night after the clouds have cleared to watch the fireworks show above as Santiaguito erupts every 20-30 minutes. If only we'd made it to base camp.

At the beginning of the seven-hour hike to our camp, we crossed over a frighteningly deep gorge that our guide Deek told us was formed 20 years ago by a massive lahar that ripped through the valley (see definition above). To give you an idea of its power, the lahar’s warpath tore straight through a church that still stands, now in two parts, on either bank of the gorge. (see photo below)



A few hours hiking through the grasslands, then uphill into thick, thick jungle towards Santiaguito. The skies began to open up after stopping for lunch. More thick jungle, more rain, more uphill. Finally only an hour to go, the skies were dumping buckets, we were exhausted and very ready to arrive at base camp and change into dry clothes. Still under cover of jungle, we couldn’t yet see the volcano, but started hearing short explosions every few minutes, informed by our guide Deek that it was the volcano doing its thing.

The rain continued beating down on us, and the uphill path we were scaling started looking more like a small waterfall at times. (And this is where I have to admit, I did kind of imagine I was Kate out of a scene from Lost, desperately tramping through the jungle in search of a secret hatch or running from the bad guys. Alas, Matthew Fox was nowhere to be found.) As we got closer to our destination at the base of the volcano, the intermittent bursts from the volcano changed to steady rumbling and eventually I could feel the ground vibrating beneath me. The bursts from the volcano seemed normal enough, but was this normal?

We finally approached a clearing at the ledge of the 50-foot gorge that separated us from Guatemala's most active volcano in the not-too-far-off distance, our first peek at Santiaguito. Deek was at the front of the group surveying the scene as we one-by-one gathered at the ledge before making the final 30-minute hike up the edge of the gorge to base camp. As I approached the clearing, I peered across the gorge and could see several small landslides tumbling down the steep terrain just across from us. Hmmmm. Suddenly, a usually extremely calm and collected Deek turns around and yells over the increasing rumbling and pouring ran, “Go back, go back! Go, go!” gesturing frantically with his arms and making for the trail we had just climbed up. I think the unnerving rumbling of the ground underfoot was enough to know something was not right, but especially considering Deek's usually collected manner and the new tone of urgency in his voice, none of us asked questions before turning on our heels and booking it straight down the mountain, 35 lb. backpacks and all, running on pure adrenaline.

Suddenly it didn't matter that we were exhausted and soaked to the skin. Rain was beating down harder than ever and the small trickle of water we had contended with on the way up just five minutes earlier was now a raging river that we had to basically wade through on our way down. It was a miracle there were no injuries.

We continued to hear the menacing rumbling for a good half hour as we distanced ourselves from whatever it was were were running from. We finally stopped and found out that there had been a live lahar approaching fast just around the bend in the gorge, apparently the first time in 10 years of doing these treks that a group has come upon one. Deek had seen it coming around the corner, a dark, angry cloud of mud, rocks, and water sweeping through the gorge. One of the other guides Landon had stayed behind for a few minutes out of a morbid curiosity and reported back seeing landslides from across the gorge and watched as a bizarre mixture of mud, water, ash, steam and rocks filled the 50 foot gorge in a matter of minutes, splashing up over the sides where we had just been. He said the power was unbelievable and that the ground underneath him was shaking so hard he doubted the ledge we had just been standing on moments before was still standing.

The even more frightening thing was that we were an hour behind schedule given a glitch when we stopped for lunch. We should have been at base camp by that time, with an almost non-existent escape route. Still kinda gives me the heebie-jeebies to think about.

The rest of the story is not quite as exciting, we finally reached a good distance, night was falling, and we somehow found a decent place to set up camp in the middle of a mountain covered with thick jungle where there really shouldn't be much clear, flat ground. But there it was, and there we stayed for the night. No volcanic fireworks show from this camp, but I think we'd just had plenty of excitement to make up for it and didn't mind a bit.

I like to think a little life-threatening experience every once in awhile builds character. At least that's my best attempt to frame this into a "teachable moment" for the kids. Right.

Some less-eventful parts of the trek...

And on a completely different note, photos from Semana Santa...