On 21st December I got up early and woke Cesco up. Though not a mountaineer, Cesco had shown interest in coming some of the way up the volcano, at least far enough to enjoy a good view. After a quick breakfast I went and bought some llama wool gloves. And then I got ready to head out.

I had arranged through the gear rental shop to get a ride up to the trailhead – this ride was in the back of a truck, and apart from Cesco and me included a Swiss/Dutch couple, and some Germans. The truck had to go up a very rough steep road, and and one point got stuck – we had to get out and push.

From the trail head a muddy trail led upwards. We all took it slowly – it was reasonably obvious where to go, which was good since I was often out front. Several hours after starting, the temperature was suddenly feeling quite cool and the sun was half way to the horizon. At that point Cesco decided enough was enough, said “good luck” and started back down.

As I got above 3500m the air started feeling thin, just like on Imbaburo, and my progress started slowing dramatically as I huffed and puffed my way up the still muddy path. Some entertainment in the form of hummingbirds appeared and the view was starting to look quite spectacular as I neared the refuge at 3800 m (12,500 ft). I could see the hut above me and thought it would take but 2 minutes to reach it, but such is the trickery of high altitude that another 20 minutes of effort was required. Finally I was standing by the hut – watching a few other people come up behind me. The refuge was a simple structure perched on a shelf with a tremendous view to the north.

Apart from bunks, the hut had a small communal kitchen, but none of the food I had brought required cooking. After dark I got thankfully into my warm sleeping back and went to sleep as soon as I could, given the early “Alpine” start I was planning. I was actually awake at 2:30 – the other people sharing the hut got up at 3:00, and at 3:30 I was first away, heading off up the now rocky trail. After a couple of hours toiling up hill, it started to get light, and I could see the shapes of Chimborazo and the perfectly cone-shaped form of Cotopaxi in the distance, floating magically on the cloud sea below. Then, shortly after 6 am, the sun’s rays hit both these volcanos, lighting both of them first red then a wonderful brilliant orange.

The trail became progressively steeper and less well trodden. An hour after sunrise I had almost reached the crater rim. This was where the continuous snow started. I took a break while I strapped the 10-point crampons on to my boots. Though old, they felt secure, and treading on the iron-hard nevée would have been extremely dicey without them. Another very tiring 30 minutes took me up a narrow snowy ridge that ran up the rim of the crater towards the summit. Now, above 5000 m (16,500 feet), progress had slowed to a crawl in the oxygen-starved air, and I felt I’d never get there.

Then, almost imperceptibly, the snow upon which I was now so wearily treading, levelled out… and then dipped downwards to reveal the cloud-sea stretching to the horizon in front of me. I whacked the shaft of the ice axe into the snow, and sat down exhausted and delighted. I had just summited the highest mountain I had ever attempted. Solo.

The cloud sea was rising and wisps of cloud were floating around me most of the time. Some 90 km to the north the white cone of Cotopaxi gleamed, and just 40 km to my west was the highest mountain on Earth. Yes, that is true!! The summit of Everest might be the highest point above sea level, but due to the flattening of the Earth at the poles, the point on the Earth’s surface that is furthest from its centre is the 6267 m (20,561 ft) summit of Chimborazo, which I was admiring across the cloud sea.

After having the summit of Tungurahua to myself for 15 minutes, I saw the Swiss/Dutch couple heading very slowly up the final snow slope, led by their local guide who had them on the end of a climbing rope. This was a sensible precaution by the guide, whose clients were not wearing crampons.

I stayed a little longer on the top, though I was starting to get cold. The general temperature was, of course, well below freezing, but every so often I could feel wafts of unusually warm air rising out of the crater, smelling of sulphur, reminding me that I was standing on top of an active volcano…

Finally, at 8:00, it was time to start heading down, taking it very carefully on the initial snow ridge. With the sun behind me, the mist below the ridge produced a curious effect that looked like a white rainbow. I had no idea that such things could exist. The white arc could be clearly seen against the mist.

Once down below the snow, and with crampons removed, I made fast progress downhill, and had a leisurely lunch back in the hut while the other climbers drifted in. By mid-afternoon we were all back at the trail head from where the truck descended back to Baños, and the comfort of Hostal Patty. After washing all my sweaty clothes from the climb, I headed out with Holland and Denmark, and one of the large Germans, for a celebratory fondue.

I slept very well that night…

Needless to say, the following day (23rd December) was a rest day, consisting of letter and postcard writing (proclaiming my successful ascent!) and chatting with some guys from the UK at the hostel. Part way through the day a group of Swedes joined the conversation, which soon turned to football. Sweden’s performance in the World Cup this year was a national embarrassment – they ended last in their group, and lost to everyone, including Scotland. These Swedes wanted revenge, and proposed a football match the following day against the “rest of the world”. They had discovered a public football pitch which we could apparently use. It sounded fun, and several of us agreed to participate, including all the British guys. The deal was later sealed over pizza and beer, and some other backpackers agreed to join. It looked like we might have enough for 2 teams of 11.

The next day Cesco was due to head for home, and he offered to take a film back to post from Amsterdam to the UK for me – this seemed much safer than mailing from a post office. I packed up the film and wished him all the best – he has been a good travel buddy.

The Christmas football match was basically England versus Sweden, with 3 “internationals” on each team. It was played very earnestly, with the Swedes determined to win. Having been famously hopeless at sports at school, I wasn’t able to contribute much, except that (curiously) I seemed to be able to run faster than almost everyone else on the pitch. So I hassled the Swedish forwards incessantly… and rather successfully…

The final score was a very diplomatic 3-3, and everyone went to celebrate by having some beers in the plaza. While we were there, Bruce, the New Zealand cyclist, showed up, and after eating at the nice French steak place, we all ended up at the (unofficial) Hard Rock Café until 4 am.