Like countless others before me, the first time I saw the mighty volcano was through an airplane window. It was dusk, the sky was all shades of purple, and just as Mount Teide’s silhouette loomed large, the guitar riff of Pink Floyd’s ‘Shine On You Crazy Diamond’ kicked in through my headphones. It made quite an impression.
Years later, when I stood on the summit, I wondered if anyone could see me from their airplane window, but instead of their own Pink Floyd moment they had gotten some random nutter waving a football scarf.
The Canary Islands archipelago was created by volcanic eruptions spanning 20 million years, and sits in the Atlantic Ocean one hundred kilometres from the coast of West Africa. At 3718m above sea level, Tenerife’s Mount Teide is not only the highest point in the Canaries, but since the Spanish conquered these islands in the 15th century, it is also the highest point of Spain.
I came to Tenerife on holiday in the early 90s. I met the love of my life in a nightclub, and made the place home for a good few years. Whenever I returned from a trip, Teide welcomed me back, and while submerged in daily life on the coast, the mighty Mount was always visible.
Living in the tourist industry bubble, it’s easy to forget the incredible natural beauty that bought you there in the first place. So today, my two dear work colleagues and I are going to do what we’ve been explaining to hotel guests for years, and walk to the peak.
From the southern beach resorts it is an hour’s drive upwards on increasingly pine-fringed, winding mountain roads. The Teide National Park is a UNESCO Heritage Site and spans 190km2 of forested volcanic landscape. In all my years, this is the only place I’ve seen clouds rolling across the road in front of me.
At 1240m altitude, we drive passed vineyards that are organically irrigated by cloud cover. These bodegas consistently produce award-winning wines, and you can stop for a tasting with locally sourced traditional tapas, cheeses, beans, and goat meat. But that’s a treat for another day.
Above the clouds is a sky of uniquely vibrant cerulean blue. We pass the picturesque village of Vilaflor at 1400 metres, and Pino Gordo, the famous 800-year-old Canarian Pine. With the car windows open, you feel the temperature and air quality change as you ascend. With them closed, the bright sunlight tricks you into thinking it’s still hot outside, and stepping out of the car you’re greeted by an invigorating freshness, like being drenched by a virgin mojito.
Entering Las Cañadas, we have reached 2000m altitude and are now driving inside the 45km crater perimeter. The road levels out onto a grand expanse of lavascape, mineral-tinted rock formations, and Teide himself in the distance.
The iconic Tenerife image adorning many restaurant and hotel walls (and the old thousand peseta banknote), is the gravity-defying Roque Cinchado, or ‘God’s finger’, with the Mount as a backdrop. That view is from Los Roques de Garcia, which also has an amazing vista of the original caldera, remnants of ancient lava tubes, walking trails, a Visitors Centre, and the National Park’s only hotel.
We stop here to take in the majesty of the thing we’re about to scramble up. I spot a pair of feral Influencers. They ignore the signs to stay on the path and protect the endemic flora, to climb up for a photo shoot on a rocky ledge. I silently hope, rather uncharitably, that the Park Ranger fines them, or at least they don’t disturb any plant life as they slip off into a ravine.
Teide has been fascinating folks for millennia. The indigenous Guanches, who inhabited the island from the first century AD, called it Echeyde. They believed a dog-headed devil named Guayote was trapped inside the mountain, spitting fire and causing chaos when he was angry.
Guayote’s last tantrum was in November 1909, and although classed as an active volcano, the experts are happy to confirm he is currently taking a very long nap. It is common knowledge, but I decide not to remind Becky and Laura until we reach the top.
I have made the climb before, back in the days when I first moved here. Myself and several fellow ‘twenty-somethings’ bounded up with youthful exuberance, hangovers, inappropriate clothing, and most likely a couple of cheeky beers. That may make my previous comment about Influencers seem hypocritical, but health and safety rules were instinctual back then. We left no rubbish, touched no plants, didn’t build rock stacks to pose with, and the only damage sustained was to our kidneys. So there.
Now it’s more organised, and in the interests of conservation and safety, only 200 people are allowed to the peak daily. The cable car ascent takes 8 minutes to reach La Rambleta platform at 3555m, where we’re met by Spain’s highest public telephone, and a panoramic view of the crater with the ‘sea of clouds’ lapping up at its sides. From here, we need to flash our pre-booked summit passes at the nice man in the checkpoint hut to proceed upwards.
Depending on the cooperation of your thighs, it can take about 40 minutes to reach the peak from here, following the rocky path with its twists and varying gradient. The temperature combines laser-guided sunbeams with the brisk chill of an alpine ski resort, so it is the ideal place to get sunburn and pneumonia at the same time. There’s the odd flat rock that can be sat on to take a break and acclimatise to the changing altitude and thinness of the air.
Halfway up, Laura admits to feeling a little dizzy and breathless, so we sit for a while, taking the opportunity to appreciate the enormity of the view. A helicopter pops up and hovers just below us.
“Oh crap, the Feds are onto us, run for it!” I quip hilariously to zero reaction.
“Do you think someone’s in trouble?” Laura asks.
“It’s probably a training exercise,” offers Becky.
We agree that one of the trail guides must have forgotten his lunch and has just had a cheese and bacon baguette delivered en route, so continue upwards.
We cross over on the trail with a couple making their way down. They are beaming energetically. “It’s worth the effort!” they tell us. We swap pleasantries and smiles, as you always do when you see a fellow human in the middle of nowhere.
Laura needs to stop again, as the dizziness is getting the better of her.
We sit.
“What are you two doing? Keep going,” she says.
“No, come on, we’ll sit with you,” we say.
“I don’t know if I’ll get to the top, you two go.. go on,” she says.
“Look, it’s not far, we can wait and see if you feel better,” we say.
With a few choice words, Laura made it very clear what she thought of that idea, so instead of selfless camaraderie, we took her advice and “buggered off”.
The thought of reaching the top is exhilarating, and although probably looking more like an elderly antelope on its last legs, I pushed on feeling like a young gazelle.
The last part is steep and rugged. There’s a sulphur-smelling puff from a crack in the black sandy rock.
Charming.
You come all this way just to be farted at.
The sense of achievement is an amazing buzz, especially when we look back to see a determined Laura lunging up the trail behind us. The moment should have been accompanied by the Rocky theme tune, but she settled for the pair of us cheering her on instead.
The three of us are on top of the world’s third-tallest volcanic structure.
No phone signal, no white noise, no concrete, no pollution, and no people. We are 7500m from the floor of the Atlantic, and it’s beautiful.
Daily life’s problems temporarily dissolve. The loved one who passed away not long ago feels near. It’s as though the pure air and altitude has bought us closer to heaven.
We have our energetic beams, and laugh about finding real peace while standing on top of something highly explosive. We take our time, and the customary “we did it!” photos and start the journey back down telling anyone coming up that “it’s worth the effort.”
The last time I saw the mighty volcano was from an aeroplane window. That was nine months ago, as my better half and I left the island to go and look for adventure elsewhere. The reason for that, is a story for another time. We will return someday, but to make it our home once more, or just for a visit, right now is uncertain. The one thing for sure is that I’ll be looking for Teide to welcome me back as he always has, and I’ll still hear Pink Floyd when I see him.
So how do you get to be the highest person in Spain without taking drugs?
The second highest point of Spain is on its mainland. Mulhacén Mountain, in the Sierra Nevada range measures 3479m height, so you’re going to need an exceptionally long ladder to accomplish the task.
-It’s Teide or bust really, and plan your trip well in advance as there can be a couple of months waiting list for summit passes.
-Weather conditions greatly affect the running of the cable car, so it’s advisable not to wait until the last day of your holiday to go up, in case you get postponed.
-Wear layers, a hat, take water, wear sunscreen, sturdy footwear, and one of those inflatable dinosaur costumes, just to see if other hikers think they’re hallucinating.
-The trek is much more enjoyable with good company, and if your football team is rarely at the top of anything, don’t forget your scarf.
