Don’t stumble into the Mouth of Hell

The shuttle makes its way through storied Masaya, a revolutionary stronghold from which Sandinista guerrillas launched their final assault on the Somoza dictatorship in 1979.  Whether as signposts to the gates of hell or as humbling displays of our powerlessness against nature, volcanoes have captured our imaginations for centuries.

The road leads visitors directly to Masaya’s lip and a tormentingly low concrete fence, from which we stare directly down a 2,000 foot crater donned the “Mouth of Hell” by 16th century locals.  I’m spellbound by the rumbling molten rock colliding against jagged black toothed walls until the acrid smell of sulfur hits me like a face slap.

My tourmates and I can’t stop gaping until the guide issues a stern “all aboard”.  The Mouth of Hell is not where any of us wish to be left behind.  Riveted and motionless we gently prod one another for one last view of the waves of yellow and orange glowing lava blasting and billowing under the wide night sky.