Video: Battling Nature in 'Over The Edge'

Words: GASPI

At first, it seemed like a grand idea: flying to Guatemala to climb and ride down three 3,000+ metre volcanoes in three days. But right now, probably for the first (and last) time in your life, it seems like you’ve set up your own funeral. The volcano shakes and erupts. A similar scene repeats every 15 minutes but it feels different this time. It sounds as if someone slammed close a rusty door of an old van and it went boom and screech.

The explosion ejects a hailstorm of rocks out of the crater and that's when you decide not to wait any more. Glowing boulders blast up to several hundred metres and then free-fall to the ground and to the spot you were standing just a second ago, trying to navigate the route of what you expected to be the best ride of your life.




“Where’s the rest of the guys?” you wonder while steaming rocks the size of full shopping bags are hitting the ground. You think of war movies where bullets whiz past the heroes and no one knows who's the next to buy a shot. It's just a matter of luck, something like Russian roulette. You might survive or get it right now. Or now? The rocks are spinning, leaving smoke trails in the sky. It's chillingly amazing but it’s about enough.


“Run!” I hear the voice of expedition member Jan screaming on the radio. Jan stayed behind, monitoring the volcano with binoculars to alert us if anything were to go wrong. “Leave everything behind and go! Now!” Jan yells into his walkie-talkie upon seeing the hot rocks pelt the hillside around us after being ejected from the bowels of Mother Earth.

Be it elsewhere or at another time, you would probably freeze – but not here and now. As you watch the rocks that could kill you instantly, something makes you behave differently. It feels as if everything around has slowed down, resembling a slow-mo movie played frame by frame. With hell itself opening, you are finding your senses turning sharp. You can hear and see better than ever before. As the black smoke makes its way up to the sky, you can see the photographer running for his life and the cameraman stumbling in the volcanic ash, holding the camera bag above his head. It almost looks funny but even local guides are running and you know this is not good.




After realising that you've left your bike lying about fifty metres above your current position, you decide to go back for it and grab it, despite the radio's insistence that you must withdraw immediately. But no, you are determined – you're not leaving no matter what!

And that's exactly when the second eruption comes. Rocks are raining from the sky like it’s doomsday. You're saying goodbye to life because you can't possibly survive this. You jump on the bike and ride with all your might, breathing in dust, crashing down, picking yourself up from the ashes and fleeing away, using all your adrenaline. Maybe you are safe then but you can't say for sure because, suddenly, everything shuts down and it's dark.




“Why volcanoes?” A voice from the depths of your mind emerges with a question, and since there's no one else around, you must answer it yourself. “You know, I’ve always loved volcanoes. I am drawn to their symmetry and the fact that they're dead and alive at the same time. They're not mountains like the others, as they're always changing. They give fertile soil to the people around them but they can kill them too. Inscrutable, sublime, awe-inspiring, both hot and cold. For me, as a biker, they have another advantage – while most other peaks are in national parks, which are protected by law, meaning they’re becoming harder and harder to ride, the volcanic landscape is barren and lifeless, so you cause no damage.”




“Except to yourself,” the voice replies. Your reeling brain makes you recollect how the whole story began. You were looking for somewhere to go after riding down Etna and Stromboli and you found Guatemala, the land of active volcanoes. Most of all, you were enchanted by Fuego. It erupts regularly nowadays, several times per hour, but the truly monstrous eruptions come every few years. During the strongest one in 2018, one hundred and fifty people died and thousands of locals had to be evacuated. Tempting, right?

A flashback to the start of the journey. You don't want to fly halfway across the planet to conquer just one volcano, so you add two more to your list: Acatenango and Pacaya. Then the Horsefeathers label promises support and others join the team: photographer Miloš Štáfek, cameraman Ládis and manager Jan. Moreover, at all three volcanoes – Pacaya, Acatenango and Fuego – you plan to collect volcanic ash and stones to send to Werner Bronkhorst in Australia who will turn them into three pieces of art. These are then going to be auctioned off and the money raised will be donated to a good cause. The departure time is set for January 2023. The expected duration of the trip: two weeks.




After arriving in Guatemala, you find out your bike didn't follow you there. “Maybe they'll send it in three days, maybe not. Sorry, man,” you learn at the airport. Never mind, you decide to pass the time on an old full-suspension bicycle you bought at the local market for $50. You ride it for two days, crisscrossing the trails of one of the oldest coffee plantations in the country, and then gift it to a kid who sheds tears of happiness.



Slowly, you are learning more about Guatemala. It is a small country of 17 million people, with inhabitants sharing both the heritage of the indigenous Mayan civilisation and that of the Spanish colonisers. There are humungous mountains, about thirty volcanoes, and sprawling coffee plantations, each most likely belonging to one of the ten wealthiest families in the region. In every village, there is a Catholic church where motifs of pre-Christian décor peek out at you from every corner. Everything is colourful, cheerful, shabby, and laced with electric wires. There's coffee roasted the sour way and eggs served for breakfast every morning. The people are friendly but rather shy and taciturn. If they talk, they recollect the Civil War or mention corrupt politicians. The national bird is the vibrant quetzal and because their feathers were used as payment during the Maya civilisation, the Guatemalan people named their currency after them. For quetzals, you can buy beans, the Gallo beer and the Zacapa rum. The Botran rum is much cheaper, though.




It's always about 17 degrees Celsius in the country, so you never know what to wear to avoid getting hot or cold. The sun sets around 7 p.m. and because we're close to the equator, it gets dark like a tomb just a few minutes after sunset. In the morning, it feels like someone quickly opened the shutters to wake you up, which is good because it makes you feel all energized for your trip to the volcano.

Climbing up rubble makes a volcano hike an irritating struggle. You've been climbing for nine hours and it's all rocks, solidified lava, and everything is arid and dead. The only sign of life is the birds, circling high above you, occasionally swooping down to check how much juice is left in your exhausted body. You're carrying water, food and all your gear, so you're hauling 30 kilos on your back. The gravel crumbles, the rocks roll away and every time you step on one, you are risking a twisted ankle. For every step forward, there's a sliding half-step backwards. The stones are sharp as glass shards and you feel like you’re walking on nails. The air doesn’t feel hot but the sun is scorching, and, at this altitude, your lips are about to wither and peel off. You didn't bring sunscreen and it is impossible to buy one because only gringos need it and they never show up – except for you.




The first destination is Pacaya, an active volcano capable of spewing lava and causing deaths. During the last major eruption in 1998, its ash covered Guatemala City and La Aurora International Airport, which is 30 km away. About 200 metres below the crater, there is a line which is impossible to cross. There are only massive boulders and steep walls soaring beyond that point. You pick a gravel field with fine dust to become the first person to bike down from there. You ride for four kilometres through volcanic-ash dunes until the basecamp. One volcano down, two more to go.




The next item on your to-do list is Acatenango. This time, the struggle is even greater because it’s 3,976 metres above sea level. You're carrying only the bare essentials, especially water because the whole area is completely parched. You won't wash for four days because the water is reserved for drinking only. You'll spend several hours at the crater until nightfall. You ride, but most of all, you keep wondering. It's indescribable. You are standing high above the clouds with Fuego erupting in the background. Even when you get back down to the basecamp and lie in the tent at nearly 4,000 metres above sea level, the whole landscape is still in the palm of your hand with the world's most active volcanoes within arm's reach, rewarding you with the magical spectacle of red lava that glows like a funfair in the dark.



“A year ago, when another crew filmed a documentary here, Fuego erupted so strongly that the pressure wave swept away the terrace we're lying on now,” Jaime the guide says. Jamie has been guiding visitors to the volcano since he was eight years old, inheriting the profession from his grandfather, the first-ever tourist guide to the Acatenango.

On the morning of the third descent, the Fuego is calm, though. Suspiciously calm. You're out filming with the boys, the sun is shining in the azure sky, and you can hear your footsteps crunching in the volcanic sand as you push your bike towards the summit. Shielding your eyes from the sun’s rays with your hand, you search for your path. Then it happens. The earth vibrates and all hell breaks loose. You run to the bike and ride out of the range of the catapulted rocks. When you finally reach the safe zone, everything turns dark. Only for a second but it feels like an eternity. In that second, everything that has brought you to this place flashes before your eyes. When the darkness lifts up again, you realise everyone is safe and right there with you.




So, in the end, what’s the biggest takeaway and what did all that bring you? First of all, the joy that you survived and none of your friends got hurt. And then there are the experiences. Such as yesterday, when you were climbing Acatenango for nine hours, barely breathing, salty sweat and ash running down your face at nearly 4,000 meters – and then came the moment of exhaustion mixed with euphoria and tears welled up. It was you who made it to that point. Six months ago, you decided to come, and here you are now.



That's the way life goes. When you truly set a goal, there are a thousand ways to get there. The only thing you really need is the destination and the rest is a big bag of variables.


foto: Miloš Štáfek
video: Ladis Zeman
sport in art: Jan Dvořák
ride: Gaspi
local support: Brendan James - MTB Guatemala