Before 2021, climbing volcanoes in Ecuador had never crossed my mind. That year, during a trip to the Scottish Highlands, I walked into one of the many outdoor shops in Aviemore and fell in love at first sight. Don’t get overexcited, it wasn’t a sexy climber – just a colourful bag. The brand? Cotopaxi. Since it was my first encounter with it, that day I went online and checked it out. Apart from loving their bold designs, I learned why they chose that name: the founder had grown up near Cotopaxi, a stunning active volcano in Ecuador. And it’s not just any volcano – we’re talking about a perfectly shaped cone, what any child would draw if asked to sketch one.
Beneath the surface, my interest in climbing Cotopaxi continued growing, but I had many mountains to summit before I could attempt such a lofty objective (5,897 m / 19,347 ft). Fast-forward three years and a few 4,000ers in the Alps, and I found myself in Pakistan, climbing a couple of 5,000ers in the Karakoram, and reading Feet and Wheels to Chimborazo, by British author and mountaineer Mark Horrell. In this book, he narrates his experience climbing the Ecuador volcanoes, including Cotopaxi. The pull inside me kept on growing, so seven months later, in March 2025, my partner and I decided it was time, and we booked an expedition with Quito-based agency Andeanface.
We wouldn’t go until December, so I had many months to up my training game – gym sessions with a heavy rucksack, bootcamp, running uphill, rock climbing, yoga… Everything helped enhance my fitness and develop my physical and mental focus, which is key for the long slogs up the mountain, often in the dark.
Arrival and first few days in Quito
On 22nd December, we arrived in Quito at a whopping altitude of 2,800 metres above sea level (9,186 ft) – a good place to start acclimatising for five days. We visited a couple of museums, the botanical gardens, and the charming old town. All in all, I’m not keen on cities, I much prefer being in nature, and Quito didn’t change my mind about that. Just another crowded, sprawling metropolis. And the exhaust that every single vehicle pours out in the streets surely didn’t help alleviate the mild symptoms of altitude sickness.
On Christmas Day, we finally met the rest of the group for dinner, and we hit it off immediately. Climbing mountains is a brutal and emotional business, so it’s always a plus when you do it in good company. The morning after, we met Javier, the agency owner, and Abraham, who would be our lead guide for the next 12 days. After going through some details and doing a gear check, we headed to an outdoor shop to rent double boots. For my partner and me, this was a sort of shake-down expedition to test how we feel climbing at (or close to) 6,000 m (19,685 ft), and decide if we’re actually willing to do it again. Hence, why we haven’t invested in such expensive boots yet. We left the shop with a pair that seemed to fit, and spent the rest of the day exploring the city with the group – walking slowly and staying hydrated.
Acclimatisation hikes
At 8 AM on the 27th, we jumped in our small bus, and Super Héctor (our very skilled, all-terrain driver) took us to the trailhead for our first acclimatisation hike – the 4,200 m (13,779 ft) Pasochoa volcano. With a light headache and an upset tummy, I wasn’t feeling at my best, but I made it through the day. Luckily, I was in much better shape the day after, when we climbed the active volcano Guagua Pichincha (4,781 m / 15,685 ft). After spotting a condor and taking a short break at the hut, we continued on the ridge towards the summit. When the clouds parted for a few seconds, the views of the crater below were spectacular. We ate lunch on the top before getting ready for a type 2 fun descent on a huge scree slope. I’m not a skier, so the dancing moves required to slide down scree smoothly aren’t part of my repertoire. However, after a couple of switchbacks, I got the hang of it and I actually enjoyed it.
Having done most of my hiking and mountaineering in Europe, something that shocked me while climbing some of the Ecuador volcanoes was how high the treeline was. Not to mention that you can climb a mountain the size of Mont Blanc (or close) without even seeing a light dusting of snow on the ground. I understand it’s due to their tropical climate and being on the equator and all that, but it still knocked my socks off when I thought about it while standing atop Rucu Pichincha (4,696 m/15,406 ft) in thin hiking trousers and a pair of standard mountain boots at the end of our trip in Quito.
Hello, Cayambe
On 29th December, we finally packed our big duffels and left the city behind. After a short stop at the equator’s imaginary line (latitude 0º0’0″), we arrived at the base of Cayambe, the third-highest peak in the country (5,790 m / 18,996 ft) and the only snow-capped mountain right on the equator. We switched to a jeep that snaked up a rocky dirt road to the Refugio Ruáles Oleas Bergé. Again, with my European hat on, I couldn’t believe that a hut perched at 4,600 metres (15,000 ft) above sea level could be reached by car. My socks? Yes, knocked off again.
We unpacked a bit, had lunch, and headed up the mountain for a short recce hike with the idea to continue acclimatising. Every breath felt heavy, and a not-so-subtle lightheadedness was starting to settle in. The sun was out, and the terrain was fun, with bits of rocks that were best tackled by scrambling, my favourite thing in the world. After a while, the cloud that had been stubbornly covering the upper half of the mountain suddenly thinned, revealing a smooth white slope topped with a magnificent summit. Wow! These are the moments that make you forget about the shortness of breath, and the throbbing in your head, and the sore quads. And to top it all off, one of our team members pulled out his phone and recited one of his poems at the top of his lungs. Nothing like some poetry on the side of a mountain!
We spent the night at the hut and, the next morning, we got up to a fierce wind. It was cold and sleety/snowy, but we still bundled up and headed to the glacier for some practice, and what a beautiful glacier it was! But the fierce gusts cut the excursion short and, after two hours, we returned to the relative warmth of the refuge. Nerves and excitement were starting to surface, as the summit push was planned for that night. We had an early dinner and went to bed at 7 PM to try and rest a bit before the first big effort.
When the alarm went off four hours later, the wind was howling and blowing so hard that the single-pane windows in the dorm were shaking aggressively. There was no way it was safe to be out on that glacier, with nothing to protect us from the gales. That, plus a headache, a very high resting heart rate, and the accumulated tiredness from the previous sleepless night made me decide to stay in the hut. I really wanted to walk on that glacier and reach the beautiful summit, but given the circumstances (and that my heart was, first and foremost, set on Cotopaxi and I wanted to ensure I was fit to climb it), I saw the team off and went back to bed. And I wasn’t alone – three of us decided to stay. Unsurprisingly, two hours later the group returned, as the guides had deemed the conditions too dangerous to go any further. A bit disappointed and quite tired, we headed to Otavalo the following morning for what would be a fun New Year’s Eve in a gorgeous inn.
On the way to Cotopaxi
After a very restful night, we drove to the Cotopaxi region. As we approached the hacienda where we would spend the night, the festive red, brown, and black skirt of the volcano became obvious, but the clouds cloaked the top half. As we were unloading the duffel bags from the bus, the mountain unveiled its iconic summit and showed itself in all its splendour. What a view! Even prettier than in my imagination. We dropped our stuff in the bedroom and set off on a walk to get a closer look. The summit played hide and seek for the rest of the afternoon, but the mountains on either side were quite epic as well, not to mention the friendly horses that came to say hello.
The day after, I went for a solo walk to capture Cotopaxi in the morning light and ‘have a little chat’ – it needed to know how I had longed for this moment and how important it was for me to reach its summit. It was the first time I ‘asked’ a mountain’s permission to climb it, but it won’t be the last because it worked wonders. In the afternoon, the whole group and five guides headed to the Refugio José Rivas (4,864 m / 15,953 ft), where we had an early dinner and tried to rest for a few hours. I was too excited to sleep, but I psyched myself up for the night climb ahead. The time had come, I was about to climb Cotopaxi! I reminded myself of the long hours spent on the StairMaster with a heavy rucksack on my back; of the sled pulls and pushes; of the strength sessions; of how strong I was and how much I wanted it.
When we stepped outside the hut a few minutes after midnight, the view was breathtaking – a clear sky above our heads boasted an almost full moon and thousands of bright stars. In the distance, the lights of Quito. No wind. No bitter cold. In a nutshell, perfect conditions for a night climb, so without further ado, we set off. The first two hours, we climbed on 35% grade switchbacks over a mix of black sand and scree, which was quite exhausting. The scenery, however, more than made up for the effort. In the distance, we could see the silhouette of snow-capped volcano Antisana, and the sprawls of Quito were now in full view. The beam of light from my headlamp and the moonlight above lit the earth beneath my boots, which changed from dark brown, to black, and then deep red, and all of them had a sort of glittery lacquer that really caught my eye. In the dead of night, I assumed it was minerals from the dried lava.
The second time we stopped for a break, I thought I would have to turn around and go back down to the hut – my tummy was very unhappy, my fingers were freezing cold, and I felt very lightheaded. My body had run out of energy about 15 minutes earlier, but I had to wait for the lead guide to decide it was time for a rest. When we finally stopped, I took off my liners and my thick gloves, took a few gulps of water, and forced myself to eat a dried fruit bar, trying to ignore the nausea. I flexed my fingers a few times until the numbness went away. The fruit bar and the water had kicked in, and I felt alive again, just in time to cover my hands and resume the climb.
Shortly after, we got to the glacier, and my partner and I were roped with Pepe, one of the guides. I ate and drank a bit more while putting on my crampons, and before we knew it, time became liquid, almost abstract, in a weird way that only mountains can pull off. I lost track of the minutes, the hours, and everyone else in the group, roped with other guides. I alternated side stepping with front stepping to give my calves a break, but exhaustion was slowly taking over. The guide was moving quickly, and instead of pulling the rope taut to force him to slow down, I kept up with him. My partner, who was last on the rope, was struggling to keep up, so he separated from us and went with Abraham, the lead guide, who offered to take him at a slower pace. We zigzagged up slope after slope, after slope, after slope… Every time I looked up, the summit seemed so close, but as we reached the top of what felt like it could be the last slope, an even longer one appeared in sight. Daylight started to envelop us, and just as I had begun to take frequent mini breaks to catch my breath, we got to the end of the road.
Before my tired eyes, a frozen crater with a plume of steam emerging from the bottom. I couldn’t speak – I needed all the brain power I had left to take it all in. Brutal beauty. But before I knew it, the rope tensed again. Pepe was pulling me towards the summit – this was just the rim of the crater. Five long minutes later, approximately at 6:30 AM, I was standing higher than my own two feet had ever taken me before – 5,897 metres (19,347 ft). In the distance, the white profile of Chimborazo, and in the opposite direction, Antisana and Cayambe. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t – I needed all the strength I could muster for the way down. My body needed water and calories. I had hauled up my favourite Spanish Christmas sweet to celebrate at the summit, but I was so nauseous that I couldn’t stomach the idea of even having one bite of it. Instead, I tried to eat a peanut butter sandwich, but I only managed three bites. (The struggle is real up there. At sea level, I’m a professional squirrel – aka peanut butter eater. I wouldn’t have believed there is actually a place on Earth where I would feel disgusted by it, but apparently there is.)
After trying to make sense of the surrounding beauty and taking a few pictures, it was getting too cold, and the hut below was calling. Luckily, as we arrived at the rim of the crater, we saw my partner and Abraham. We hugged, cried (a little), and had a couple of pictures taken together. Pepe and I began our descent, with me at the front this time. I was fast, as I needed to lose altitude quickly. Yet, I couldn’t ignore the fact that it was full daylight now and all the snow and ice formations I had missed in the dark begged to be photographed, so I paused for a few pictures and to look around now and then. Too often, we get so absorbed in the climb that we forget to actually enjoy the spectacle. Shortly before reaching the end of the glacier, to our left, the shadow of Cotopaxi drew a triangle on the land below, reminding us of its perfect shape.
Once we unroped, we were back in the volcanic soil from the night before. Only now, in broad daylight, did I realise that the glittery varnish I saw had little to do with minerals and everything to do with the low temperatures: it was minute ice crystals! At that time, I noticed that my big toes were blistering, and the pain was getting worse with every step. I remembered our fast descent down Guagua Pichincha on the scree slope, and I hurried down using the same technique. Around 9:15 AM I made it to the hut, hit the bathroom, and went up to the dorm. Breakfast? I couldn’t face the thought. The nausea was unrelenting. I took off my double boots and the two pairs of socks (completely soaked) to check on my toes, now covered in huge blisters, and let my feet breathe.
I crawled in my sleeping bag, and let it all sink in. My eyes welled up, and I let my emotions come out. It was finally time to cry (a lot). Climbing that volcano was the second-hardest thing I had done in my life (one of the peaks I climbed in the Karakoram in 2024 takes the cake so far). I was completely drained, my battery was empty, but I had done it. I had pushed myself, and the reward had been one of the most jaw-dropping summits I will ever see. But not just that. I had proved to myself that I can overcome pain when I put my mind to it. Another lesson learned in the mountain and easily applicable to daily life.
Chimborazo: the grand finale?
Climbing Ecuador volcanoes is fun, but it was time for a break. The next stop was Baños for two nights to try and recover at a lower altitude before the last big push – Ecuador’s highest peak, Chimborazo (6,263 m / 20,548 ft). After a few tourist attractions (including massive swings and a canopy line where I got stuck above a river and had to pull myself to safety by sliding on the cable above while lying on my tummy – yes, it would have been a stupid way to die), we drove to Chimbo’s car park. Loaded with heavy rucksacks, we set off to high camp at 5,300 m (17,388 ft) with what can only be described as unfavourable weather – hail, wind, and cold for over two hours up the slope.
It was my first time at a permanent camp, and the experience was cool, but the weather Gods were not playing ball. Right before dinner, a splitting headache started to creep in, and back came the tummy discomfort and the elevated resting heart rate. While lying in the bunk, every heartbeat amped up in my temples. Add my blistered toes to the equation, and you can guess the result – I did not leave with the group at midnight for the summit push. Actually, only half of the team went. Altitude had hit us hard, and we clearly hadn’t recovered enough from climbing Cotopaxi either. After a gruesome night, the morning greeted us with partly cloudy skies and partial views of what lay below us, as well as the imposing glacier and the news that three team members had summited – legends!
After packing everything, we ate some breakfast and down we all went, crampons on, to descend safely on the fresh layer of snow. Once on the bus, exhaustion reigned and silence replaced the usual chatter. After a few hours, we arrived in Quito, where we could at last fill our lungs with oxygen-rich air, get a shower, and head for our last dinner together as a group. It was sad to say goodbye the day after, but we did it with big smiles, as we all knew how difficult it can be to find the right crew for this type of expedition, and we had hit the jackpot.
My partner and I stayed for a couple of extra days in Quito to wash the mountains off our system before heading back to Europe. We visited the hot springs in Papallacta, artist Oswaldo Guayasamín’s house museum, and we decided we had one more climb in us, so we got on the cable car and headed to Rucu Pichincha. On 9th January, after 19 days, we bade farewell to Ecuador, a fascinating country that we were not expecting to love so much, but we did.
While climbing Cotopaxi, one of the times I stopped briefly to catch my breath, my guide uttered a few words of encouragement that stuck with me. He said, ‘Come on, Carolina. Just 20 more minutes, and you’ll be standing on the second-highest volcano on Earth. The first one is Ojos del Salado, in Chile’. Little did he know he’d planted a seed. And little did I know then, while struggling to take yet another step, that such seed would germinate so quickly. It appears that buying our own double boots is in the cards for this year after all.
*Check out the trip Collection on my komoot profile