The lovely Debra Pedrow is featuring an article of mine on her website today about a time when a classmate and I failed to summit a volcano in the Mexican wilderness.
In 1943 a Mexican farmer named Dionisio Pulido smelled something like rotten eggs. Thinking little of it, he continued working to prepare his land for spring planting.
Not long after he noticed a crack forming in his field.
Residents of Paríctuin and surrounding towns in south central Mexico had reported hearing thunder for days, even though the skies were clear.
Within a few hours of spotting the crack, the farmer saw smoke billowing upwards from the hole. Dionisio Pulido had stumbled upon a developing volcano.
By nightfall the volcano was in full eruption, spewing forth ash and liquified rock. The entire town would soon be under lava. After nearly ten years of eruptions, Parícutin, as the volcano came to be known, stood over 400 meters tall.
That’s what Ben and I had come to see.