Conquering Volcanoes: Trekking Arequipa's Spectacular Andean Landscapes

Let me be clear: trekking Arequipa's volcanoes is not for the casual hiker. At 56, I've summited peaks across five continents, but the combination of high altitude, technical terrain, and unpredictable weather around Arequipa demands serious preparation.

Three months before my departure, I increased my training regimen to include twice-weekly stair climbs with my expedition backpack loaded with 40 pounds of weight. Living in St. Louis doesn't offer much in terms of altitude training, so I focused on cardiovascular endurance and strength work. The postal routes I've walked for decades provided a baseline of fitness, but volcanic terrain requires specific preparation.

Acclimatization is non-negotiable. I spent three days in Arequipa (7,661 feet) before attempting any significant climbs, taking progressively higher day hikes. Even with my Himalayan experience, I felt the altitude's effects—a reminder that the mountains command respect regardless of your experience level.

Gear selection proved critical. The temperature swings in the Andes can be dramatic, dropping from pleasant 70°F days to below freezing nights. My down jacket became my most treasured possession during predawn summit pushes, packing down small but providing essential warmth when the temperature plummeted.

Standing at 19,101 feet, El Misti is Arequipa's postcard-perfect volcano—a nearly symmetrical cone that dominates the city's skyline. Despite its aesthetic appeal, this is no gentle giant. The two-day ascent demands both technical skill and mental fortitude.

I joined a small group guided by Andrés, a local mountaineer with twenty years of experience on these slopes. Our journey began at the trailhead (10,000 feet), with a steady climb to base camp at approximately 14,760 feet. The terrain transitions from desert scrubland to increasingly barren volcanic soil, each step crunching on centuries-old volcanic debris.

Base camp—a collection of stone shelters built by local guides—offered minimal protection from the elements but spectacular sunset views of neighboring peaks Chachani and Pichu Pichu. After a simple dinner of quinoa soup and coca tea (the local remedy for altitude symptoms), we attempted sleep despite the cold and thin air.

The summit push began at 2:00 AM under a canopy of stars so bright they seemed close enough to touch. Headlamps illuminated our zigzagging path up loose scree—a dance of two steps forward, one sliding back. My trekking poles with carbide tips proved invaluable here, providing stability on the unstable surface.

As dawn broke, we reached the crater rim. The sulfur smell from active fumaroles mingled with the crisp morning air as we traversed to the true summit. Standing atop El Misti at sunrise, Arequipa spread below like a white canvas against the desert landscape, I felt that familiar mountaineer's paradox—utterly exhausted yet completely alive.

While El Misti may be Arequipa's most recognizable peak, Chachani—at 19,872 feet—offers the greater technical challenge and, in my experience, the more rewarding mountaineering adventure. This massive volcanic complex requires proper equipment and experienced guidance.

After a day of recovery in Arequipa (where I treated myself to a traditional rocoto relleno at a local picantería), I met my guide Miguel for the Chachani expedition. The approach took us through remarkable ecological transitions—from desert to puna grasslands, finally reaching the rocky base camp at approximately 16,400 feet.

The predawn summit push tested every aspect of my mountaineering experience. Sections of the route required crampons and ice axes, particularly on the northern approach where old snow fields persist even in summer. My mountaineering boots proved their worth here—the rigid sole and insulation kept my feet secure and warm through technical sections.

The final approach to the summit involves a narrow ridge with significant exposure on both sides. Having climbed similar terrain in the Himalayas, I felt comfortable with the exposure, but several in our group found this section challenging. The panoramic view from the summit, however, erased all memory of struggle. The entire volcanic chain stretched before us, with El Misti appearing almost diminutive from our higher vantage point.

During our descent, we encountered a group of local climbers who invited us to join their summit ceremony—an offering of coca leaves to the Apus (mountain spirits). As they performed traditional movements with the offering, I was reminded of the dance ceremonies I'd participated in across Nepal's mountain villages. Despite the different continents, the reverence for mountains as sacred entities resonated deeply with my own mountaineering philosophy.

After the physical demands of El Misti and Chachani, I scheduled three days to explore the Colca Canyon—a journey that provided both recovery time for tired muscles and rich cultural experiences that satisfied my passion for traditional performance arts.

Twice as deep as the Grand Canyon in sections, Colca offers trekking opportunities that, while still challenging, felt gentle compared to the volcanic ascents. The verdant agricultural terraces dating back to pre-Inca civilizations create a striking contrast to the barren volcanic landscapes.

In the village of Cabanaconde, I witnessed local dancers performing the wititi—a courtship dance recently recognized by UNESCO as cultural heritage. The intricate footwork reminded me of Kathak patterns I'd studied years ago, though expressed through an entirely different cultural context. When invited to join, I found my body remembering movements from dance workshops in Nepal, adapting to this new rhythm with surprising ease.

The canyon trek led to the oasis of Sangalle, where natural pools offered welcome relief for mountaineering-weary legs. My hiking sandals proved perfect for this section—supportive enough for the trails but ideal for crossing streams and relaxing at the oasis.

During evenings in local homestays, I shared stories of postal routes in Missouri with bemused locals who couldn't fathom mail delivery without mountainous terrain. In return, they taught me traditional huayno dance steps, laughing good-naturedly at my attempts to master the quick footwork. These cultural exchanges, as much as the mountain summits, are what continue to draw me back to high places around the world.

Arequipa itself deserves attention beyond being merely a staging ground for volcanic adventures. The historic center, constructed from sillar (white volcanic stone), earned its UNESCO World Heritage designation for good reason. I based myself at a mid-range hotel near the Santa Catalina Monastery, which provided easy access to both amenities and cultural attractions.

For equipment rental, I recommend Carlos Zarate Adventures, where I supplemented my own gear with locally available items. While I brought my own technical equipment, their rental quality impressed me—particularly important for items like crampons and ice axes that can be cumbersome to transport internationally.

Acclimatization days in the city weren't wasted time—I explored the fascinating Museo Santuarios Andinos, home to the famous Ice Maiden mummy discovered on Mount Ampato. The preservation of this Inca sacrifice and her artifacts provided historical context to the region's deep connection between mountains and spirituality.

For meals between treks, Arequipa's picanterías offer hearty, traditional cuisine perfect for refueling. The local specialty rocoto relleno (stuffed spicy peppers) became my post-climb tradition, along with a cold Cusqueña beer. My travel journal filled quickly with notes on local ingredients and preparation methods—culinary details I've found enhance my understanding of a region's culture as much as its dances and ceremonies.

When planning your own itinerary, I recommend scheduling at least one day in Arequipa between major climbs. This allows for equipment maintenance, laundry (readily available at hostels and hotels), and the physical recovery needed to fully enjoy each mountain experience. The city's 7,661-foot elevation provides effective intermediate acclimatization without the discomfort of sleeping at higher base camps.