Bryson Rosell

Back drenched with sweat and legs shaking from the steep incline, I was perched with camera and tripod on rocks that looked like they could give way at any second. I carefully extended the legs of my tripod and searched for solid grounding to set up my camera looking out at the landscape ahead. Daunting mountains covered in vast greenery juxtaposed with the manmade scenes and the ash of previous eruptions had drawn me in. I needed this photo.

I’m not athletic and I have asthma, but somehow, I managed to make it up Mount Pacaya without falling behind. The entire trip up the mountain I would stop to set up my tripod to get the perfect image of the sights before me, and every time I had to catch up to the front of the group to stay ahead. This time though, I looked up from my camera to see my group was nowhere in sight. Scanning the mountain, I could make out faint specks that I could only assume were my teammates enjoying magma roasted marshmallows near the peak. I was alone; but I wasn’t alone. For the first time since arriving in Guatemala I was separated from my group, but I was surrounded by the slow but steady streams of fellow adventurers and tourists looking to conquer nature’s tourist attraction.

I wasn’t worried. In fact, I was invigorated. I spent the days prior experiencing Guatemala as a member of a large American group; we stuck out like a sore thumb. Being by myself made me feel like I could experience this country that I had been dreaming of visiting, as my own person. I felt keenly aware of the people around me; some Guatemalan’s and some heralding from places around the world. And still, I was by myself, with no group in sight to call myself a member of. I slowly packed up my equipment, determined to enjoy my alone time with the mountain. As I made the hike across the face of the mountain, I was joined by many individuals. Some of them were guides, some of them tourists like me, but the experience was wholly mine.