Horsing in the Highlands

Location:
Ecuador

Horseback riding, Sierra Negra volcano, hiking

By Tyrel Nelson

My dad once summarized his only time on horseback, which took place in the early 1970s, as “awful.” He was in the middle of his Marine Corps service in the Philippines, desperately clinging to the reins of a bronco that did whatever it could to launch my father off the islands. By the way my pop described his lone riding experience, it sounded nightmarish. I couldn’t blame him for not saddling up since.

Reflecting on my dad’s story, I chuckled. Not because of his inability to tame the beast; I laughed because I understood. I could actually count on one hand the amount of times I had been on a horse. A cowboy I was not.

Suddenly, thickly-accented English brought me back to the cloudy highlands of Isabela Island.

“Who are experienced riders?” asked the stocky guide.

I took a step back while a few Caucasian hands reached for the overcast sky.

After the handful of skilled gringos climbed onto their horses, a weathered, diminutive vaquero shouted at me in Spanish. The Galápagos rancher wanted me to ride the animal he was pulling towards me.

Swiftly approaching, I immediately determined that the dirty white pony had lost a step. It looked old, skinny, and frail. Scared that I was going to break its back, I carefully climbed on.

I then grew jealous of my blue-eyed girlfriend, Amanda, who was atop a nearby horse. My light-haired companion’s pony looked healthy, fit for the uphill battle about to ensue. I was sure that I’d be staring at the back of Amanda’s navy baseball cap for the duration of the climb.

“Let’s go!” our dark-skinned leader yelled while turning to the thriving mountainside.

Along with our guide, his wrangler friend, a family of Canadians, two middle-aged German ladies, and an elderly woman from the States, Amanda and I ascended into the mild morning.

Soon afterward, I fell to the back of the band because my horse was too distracted. Instead of focusing on the muddy hike, my pony frequently stopped to eat the abundant trail grass or spent its time trying to bite his passing peers. It was a frustrating ride to say the least.

When I wasn’t kicking my animal’s side to get its face out of the herbage, I was admiring the green hillside that surrounded our ragged path nonetheless. Vibrant bushes and skinny trees leaned into our route while the aging cattleman brought up the pack’s rear, constantly shouting commands at the horses ahead. Moreover, the ponies only recognized his orders.

Clearly voice-sensitive, the horses didn’t respond whenever anyone else barked “arre”, which meant “giddy-up.” In fact, my four-legged nuisance maintained its sloth-like speed or down-shifted every time I yelled the Spanish word. I started thinking my horse was acting out of spite.

Struggling the entire time, I fought with my pony for about an hour before we arrived at the apex of the steep trail. There, we tied our partners to the wooden railings of a tiny, open-aired hut and wandered towards an immense, charcoal basin. Our group soon realized that this was no ordinary mountaintop.

Below the verdant ledge that spanned our entire foreground was an ashen wasteland. It looked like a nuclear bomb had formed the vast crater directly in front of us.

It was lava flows (one as recent as 2005), however, that had bubbled in this far-reaching cauldron, which was still hazy. We were actually standing on the Galápagos’ monstrous Sierra Negra Volcano. Isabela’s tallest and most senior volcano was also the proud owner of a 10-kilometer-caldera (the world’s second largest). The size of the extensive crater was truly magnificent.

After every group member snapped various photos of the colossal cauldron, the thirty-something guide then made an announcement.

“Next, we are going to hike for about 45 minutes,” he informed us.

Staying behind to keep an eye on the horses, the graying gaucho watched us follow our boyish-looking leader down a grainy dirt path.

As we steadily descended the narrow walkway, the terrain soon transformed from lush to lifeless. Instead of the thick foliage we were used to seeing on Sierra Negra’s mountainside, we were now looking at lava-colored tundra, decorated with the occasional shrub or cactus. Furthermore, this dead plain was wide-ranging, sweeping far across the apocalyptic landscape.

Nevertheless, the burnt plateau was fascinating. For the next couple of kilometers, our team meandered along the toasted expanse and examined its various formations. Intrigued by its steam vents, lava tunnels, and crevices, everyone took numerous pictures of the ridged surface. Awed by my unique surroundings, I couldn’t help but feel like I was standing in prehistoric times.

Finally, our short front-man led us to the edge of Armageddon, introducing us to Volcán Chico. Last erupting in 1979, this lava launcher sported a caldera that was dramatically smaller than its nearby friend’s. Although the crater wasn’t that impressive, Chico’s location was fantastic. In fact, the ledge next to the volcano offered all-encompassing views of the Pacific, as well as vistas of distant Galápagos neighbors. It was fun to watch our attendant point out and say the names of the far off volcanoes and islands.

Starving, we all then decided to eat our bagged lunches while taking in the misty panorama.

“Where are you from?” the guide, who was sitting behind Amanda and me, abruptly asked us.

“We’re from Minnesota,” I answered.

“And you?” inquired my girlfriend.

“I’m from the Ecuadorian mainland, but I’ve been living in the Galápagos for twelve years now,” the man said.

“Why did you move here?” Amanda pried.

“I was crazy,” he responded.

“For a girl?” she curiously fired back.

With a serious look now on his face, the Ecuadorian sat quietly for a moment and slowly stood up.

“It’s time to leave!” he hollered.

Although he had just taken us to the tops of two volcanoes, there was still one place our guide wasn’t willing to go.

And as we retraced our steps back to the horses, I grew increasingly uneasy. It suddenly dawned on me that my ride may not be willing to go either.