Alarm buzzes at 2 am, headlamp flickers on, cold bites fingers while lacing boots. Imbabura base camp sits high, wind whistles through grass, guide hands me coca tea, bitter, wakes the brain. Trail starts gentle, switchbacks through páramo, tussock clumps glow silver in moonlight. Then it steepens, loose scree slides under every step, calves scream, lungs grab thin air. GPS pings 0°00’11”N, close, sun will rise dead center.
Halfway, sulfur stink drifts up, ground warm from below. Imbabura last blew centuries back but still grumbles, steam vents hiss like kettles. We skirt the crater rim, yellow crust cracks under boots, eggs could cook here. Summit push final hour, hands on rock, heart jackhammer. Crest at 4,630 meters, sky already peach, clouds pool in valleys far below. Sun breaches exact east, no tilt, perfect orange coin, light splits the world clean, north one side, south the other. I straddle the invisible line, boot scuff north, boot scuff south, wind rips tears from eyes.
Quick snack, chocolate bar frozen solid, then down, knees jelly, dust clouds behind. Afternoon bus to Quito, legs toast, already googling the next one.
Fast forward months, Lombok airport, humid slap, scooter taxi weaves through rice paddies to Sembalun village. Rinjani looms, perfect cone, cloud hat. Register at the park, porter loads tent, stove, my pack suddenly light. Start hiking 7 am, savanna first, golden grass, cows chew lazy. Then forest, monkeys crash overhead, drop figs like bombs. Camp one at 2,600 m, sunset paints the crater lake turquoise, Segara Anak, steam rises from hot springs.
Midnight wake, up, headlamp parade snakes the ridge. Trail turns cruel, three steps up, two slide back, volcanic sand sucks boots. Wind howls, 20 degrees drop, gloves useless. Rim at 3,728 m, stars so thick you could scoop them. Crater yawns black, new cone Barujari smokes inside, red glow pulses. Sunrise creeps, first light hits Bali peak across the strait, then floods the caldera, lake turns sapphire, shadows razor sharp. GPS blinks 8°24’S wait, no, wrong volcano, Rinjani sits south, but the spirit same, equatorial power.
Plunge down the other side, scree surfing, boots fill with grit, hit the lake by noon. Soak in hot springs, minerals sting cuts, fish nibble dead skin. Porter cooks mie goreng over driftwood, smoke curls into palms. Afternoon climb out, calves cramp, summit fever gone, just survival.
Both treks need guides, permits, warm layers, headlamp, 10 liters water per day. Imbabura day trip from Otavalo, Rinjani three days two nights, porters worth every rupiah. Dry season June to September, rains turn trails to rivers. Altitude meds, coca or diamox, start slow.
From Imbabura steam to Rinjani sand, both peaks straddle the belt, sunrise slices the globe in half. You stumble down, lungs raw, camera full, already tasting the next crater before the dust settles.
