The rage of Mount Mayon

Mount Mayon

Our day started at 5.30am, in a minivan, dressed in gym shorts and a t-shirt, winding down the long path towards the base of Mt Mayon, darkness all around.

Our guides, young men themselves, walked up the 4WD path with us, lush green bush intruding into our path.

The climb started, dense bush, steep, up and over, across and under, the deep green forest wet and damp. Still, we climbed higher.

We emerged from the bush hours later. The mountain opened up and we stood looking at it, looking up the narrow, rocky ravine leading to the unknown summit of Mt Mayon. Fog surrounding us, cold gripping us, we began our ascent once more, slowly, surely, one foot after another, each step mercifully taken. Up rocks, steep rocks we climbed, reminders of volcanic fury everywhere.

We reached our summit - any farther and we would have been overwhelmed by sulphuric gases. Handshakes all around, we had reached our summit. And, the best bacon and egg sandwich I have ever had. Period.

Then the rains came.

Soaking wet, shivering, the fog still chilling our bones, we began our descent. Rain stormed from the heavens, heavy and flat, the waters from above roaring into furious torrents.

Here was danger. Would I slip and fall? Flash floods. Flat-soled Nike shoes weren't made for climbing.

Freezing, wet through, I slipped, fell, slid, gathering speed and momentum, the terror overwhelming. Where would this end? How would it end. Everything rushing through my head at once. Nothing to grab on to. Nothing to stop me. I couldn't stop. Getting faster. Was this it?

Stop!

Caught by the guide, his legs barely holding as I crashed into him. My heart pounding, laughing with my head back as the rains poured down. Bone chilling. Had this man saved me?

Descent. Slowly. Carefully. Painstakingly.

We reached the bush, dodging poisonous snakes with silence and unspoken fear of men who had conquered more. We reached the bottom. Wet, cold, sore, nerves shattered.

I looked up, back one final time. The she stood, silent and brooding, fog covering her flowing tears.

This was it. She had taught me a lesson with her power, her rage - the rage of Mount Mayon.